#either way. jesus christ this drawing is going to take me weeks

[penxil]

pain

[stevesjockstrap]

@stcreators event 01: favorite

Ahoy Captain

“Jesus H. Christ.” Eddie stopped walking so sharply that Gareth ran into his back. He did a double take and his jaw was on the floor.

“What the fu-“ But Gareth followed his gaze and his jaw also dropped. “Is that?”

Jeff came to stand next to them, eyebrows raised. “…Steve Harrington in a sailor outfit?”

“That’s the Steve Harrington you won’t shut up about?” Drew said, especially loud in the crowded mall.

“Shut up!” He turned to hiss at him before rounding back to stare across the hall. “Did I die and go to heaven? Pinch me.” He pulled the sleeve of his leather jacket up and offered his arm to Gareth. He pinched his forearm roughly, without looking down. All of their eyes were locked on the figure in the brightly colored ice cream shop, now coming around the counter to crouch down to hand a cone to a small child. Doing so making the tiny shorts ride up his thighs, but Eddie’s eyes were suddenly drawn to where his v-neck hung open, getting a glimpse of chest hair.

“Buh,” he turned to Gareth to announce.

“Yo, we have to go in there. This is like once in a lifetime shit.”

Eddie adamantly shook his head and started backing away but Gareth and the guys shared a look before suddenly grabbing him under the arms to escort him awkwardly through the mall thoroughfare.

“Oh no. Oh no.” He chanted under his breath.

Back behind the counter now, Steve greeted them as they bodily pushed him into the store. “Welcome, fellas! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain!”

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathed. It’s so much worse, being this close. Steve’s eyes shine under the terrible fluorescent lighting and he can see the muscles in his arms flex as he leans onto the counter.

“If you need any help let me know. The flavor of the week is triple decker extravaganza!”

Eddie’s brain had stopped working. His arms were dropped as his friends went further up to the counter to look at the ice cream options. He continued staring stupidly at Steve as he leaned a hip against the back counter.

“You guys check out the new record store yet?” Steve Harrington was actually making decent conversation with them. What universe did he teleport to this morning?

“No, not yet,” Gareth answered. “That’s where we were heading actually, when uh-“ he awkwardly turned around to make eye contact with Eddie, still a few feet behind them and drawing Steve’s attention over to him.

“You don’t want anything?” Steve asked him. Oh he wanted something. Wanted to drop to his knees in front of him. Or the other way around. He wouldn’t mind either way. He would’ve done anything to have Steve’s undivided attention on him and now that he had it he was blanking on English. He opened and closed his mouth a few times. He finally forced his body forward, tearing his eyes away from Steve to send a panicked look at Gareth. He just smirked, the absolute asshole.

Steve frowned at him and he wanted to melt into the floor. “If you’re not a fan of ice cream we have cookies, too.”

Steve being so sweet to him finally rattled some brain cells loose. “Oh, um, no, that’s-“

Jeff chuckled from the other side of Gareth. “Eddie here loves ice cream. That’s why we had to stop in. Isn’t that right, guys?” The rest of his band laughed obnoxiously and nodded. Steve looked at all of them confused, but still with an easy smile when he turned back to Eddie.

“What’s your favorite?”

“Um, huh?” Eddie blinked at him. He watched as Steve pulled his bottom lip in to bite it, probably trying to figure out what was happening with him and the guys. Eddie’s gut clenched. He hoped he didn’t think he was doing anything wrong or they were making fun of him.

“Your favorite ice cream? We can talk about any of your other favorites after we get that out of the way,” he grinned at him and Eddie had to grab the counter in front of him when his knees threatened to give out.

“Rocky road?”

“Perfect. Coming right up! Cup or cone? Or waffle bowl? It’s like a big cone in a cup?”

“Cone please?”

Once he wasn’t under the heavy gaze of gorgeous brown eyes, he turned to his friends for help. But Drew just snickered at him and Jeff sent him a thumbs up. Dicks.

Steve handed him his cone and their fingers brushed. He dumped all the change he had into the tip jar and Steve fucking winked at him. The guys ordered their ice creams suspiciously easily, but Steve kept coming back to Eddie’s side of the counter. He tried hard not to hold eye contact with him as he licked across his ice cream.

“So was it worth it?”

“Wh-what?” He stammered.

“Coming in, for the ice cream?”

“Definitely. The ice cream is… great.” He looked around and realized his friends had gone to sit in the furthest booth by the door. Steve had only been sweet and amazing to him and he couldn’t leave without at least having a somewhat competent conversation. “But I- I really came in to see you.”

“Me?” Steve leaned further across the counter towards him. He turned those big brown eyes up at him and Eddie wasn’t sure if he could get any other words out.

“Couldn’t walk away from you in this getup.” His hand moved on his own accord to reach out and tug on the red tie in the middle of his chest.

“Oh,” he huffed. “Yeah. I wish I would’ve known before I agreed to work here. Not that I had any better offers.”

Eddie’s fingers itched to run along the blush that appeared across his cheeks.

“No, no, it’s- I mean, I like it.” He winced as it came out, but his eyes shot open when Steve chuckled. “Really. I really like it.” He cleared his throat because that couldn’t have been his voice. It was deep and gravely and sounded way too fucking hot to have come out of his mouth.

Steve’s wide eyes tracked his tongue as it came out to wet his lips. Fuck.

“Oh.”

Eddie leaned a bit closer, drawing on this unknown confidence that came from Steve Harrington hanging on his every word. “So what time do you get off, Captain?”

xx

This was a benedryl-fueled thought but Scoops!uniform Steve was the only thing my brain wanted to give me for “favorite.”

@lighthousebeams

[raythekiller]

I love the masky nsfw alphabet It riled up my imagination.. soo can i request for a hoodie one?? Thank youu

🗒꒰⸝⸝₊ NSFW ALPHABET ❛ ✧

Featuring: Hoodie/Brian

# Notes: its that time of the year again where i make 1 post and disappear for the next seven months <3 also DAYUM new post format?? (also also theres a new toby drawing on the way stay tuned)

A - AFTERCARE

Surprisingly soft. Wants to hold you close and maybe take a shower together. Don't get things twisted though - it's so he can keep feeling your body against his instead of to comfort you. Call it possessiveness or an ego stroke, maybe.

B - BODY PART

Thighs man through and through. Thigh highs drive him up-the-wall insane. Will also just absentmindedly knead them if you're sitting next to him, especially if you're wearing shorts or a skirt/dress.

C - CUM

Oh he likes it messy. Just enjoys having his cum on you in general - backshots, face, dripping from you after he came inside, you name it.

D - DIRTY SECRET

None. He has no shame and is very open about what he likes.

E - EXPERIENCE

Not as much as you might expect, given his demeanour. Don't get me wrong, it's still a lot, but he makes it seem like he worked as a pornstar for a few years with sheer cockiness.

F - FAVORITE POSITION

If you ask him, he'll say "all of them". But if you put a gun to his head and tell him to choose, he'll settle for doggy. Just loves grabbing your hips and ass while he's pounding into you.

G - GOOFY

He doesn't exactly make jokes, but his teasing might be a bit funny at times. He doesn't mind making things more silly or lighthearted as long as you still cum at the end of it.

H - HAIR

Usually clean-shaven, but he might get a bit lazy with it occasionally. Always at least well trimmed though.

I - INTIMACY

Usually adapts to what you like best. If you just want to get your brains fucked out and keep romance out of it, he'll happily do it. If you like something more tender with lots of "I love you"s, he doesn't complain about it either.

J - JACK OFF

A lot. This guy has crazy stamina (we'll talk about that later), I'd say maybe five times per week or so.

K - KINK

A lot but mainly: CORRUPTION!! I've said it before and I'll say it again he wants to bring the worst out of you. If you're a virgin, he wants go be your first. If you're not, he wants to see just how wild things can get when he pushes you a little.

L - LOCATION

Literally anywhere. He is a fan of semi-public sex, though. In the woods, living room of the manor when (you think) there's no one else home, in a busted alleyway, you name it.

M - MOTIVATION

Oh it's very easy to turn him on. Here's a huge one though: when you take iniciative. He's used to being the one starting shit. When YOU do it, though? When you make it clear you want him to wreck you? Fucking hot.

N - NO

Very short but obvious list: anything to do with piss, shit or vomit. Other than that, I think he's pretty open. Not even averse to being submissive every now and then.

O - ORAL

HELL YEAH BABY! Giving, receiving, whatever, he doesn't care. His mouth isn't just good for talking shit — he knows how to use that tongue. When he's getting head, though? He looks so pretty — head thrown back, moaning and whimpering with a grin on his face. Might buck his hips into your mouth for giggles (and because you sound hot choking on him).

P - PACE

Again, he'll go for whatever gets you off. If you like it rough and fast, he's in. If you prefer slow and sensual, that's also hot.

Q - QUICKIE

Biggest quickie fan in the manor. He just can't help himself most of the time and he doesn't really try to, either. If his horny, you best bet he knows how to get you horny as well and things just go from there.

R - RISK

Loves experimenting and finding new ways to make you moan. Doesn't mind getting a bit freakier every now and then.

S - STAMINA

Jesus christ what are they feeding this man. Y'know when guys are like "I'm gonna fuck you all night long" and stop after two rounds max? This motherfucker is serious about it.

T - TOYS

I don't think he'd go out of his way to buy them, but if you already have them you best believe he's using it to his advantage. Big fan of vibrators.

U - UNFAIR

This guy is MEAN. He doesn't make you wait for too long before fucking you but just those few minutes feel like an eternity with the atrocities he's whispering in your ear.

V - VOLUME

LOUD. He moans, groans, whines, whimpers, you name it. Not ashamed to make some noise and LOVES if you're loud as well.

W - WILD CARD

Likes having his hair pulled— WHO SAID THAT???

X - X-RAY

7.4 inches, cut. Not too thick, just the right girth.

Y - YEARNING

Can't go like, a week without having sex or at least jacking off. Homeboy has a lot of steam he needs to let out.

Z - ZZZ

Only god knows how he doesn't pass out immediately after. Chances are you'll fall asleep before him.

[oohnotvery]

Hand To Your Heart (Chapter 4)

After he leaves for Maryland, Scully doesn’t hear from Mulder for a day and a half. She figures it’s just as well. He told her this case was none of her business, so why should she bother concerning herself with its details?

But try as she might to ignore the pain, her mind is in turmoil. She knows she and Mulder have been out of sorts for weeks, but it’s unlike him to turn on her so aggressively. We’re not partners anymore, he said. Don’t hold me back, Scully.

Every time she remembers his words, she stops breathing. He stared at her like . . . like she was his enemy. Like she wasn’t his greatest fan, his most loyal supporter, his devoted partner. No, this isn’t just a casual falling out between friends; there is something far more insidious at play in the way he’s been acting.

She’s a scientist; she knows how to put two and two together. Mulder didn’t start acting this way until Diana Fowley arrived on the scene. Ever since that woman sank her claws into him, he’s become distrustful and moody and selfish. She only wonders if he’ll ever snap out of it, or if she’ll be stuck with this version of Mulder for the rest of . . .

For the rest of . . . forever?

“Forever” used to feel right for them. It only took a few months of them working together for Scully to realize that Mulder was it, that for the rest of her life, she’d be by his side. There was no future she could imagine without him playing a starring role.

But now the word forever feels bitter and acidic on her tongue. It doesn’t make sense for them, not if he’s going to act like she’s an impediment. Not if he’s found someone else to be his partner . . . .

She’s slipping out of the shower when she hears a loud knock at the door. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, she trots into her living room just as Mulder enters her apartment.

She blinks in surprise as he dangles his keys at her.

“I let myself in,” he says unnecessarily, and she nods, stupefied.

There’s water dripping from the ends of her hair, and she glances at the clock, noting that it’s nearly ten o’clock.

“Everything alright?” she finally asks, eyes sliding back to his.

He takes a step towards her and lights from her floor lamps illuminate his unnervingly giddy expression. It alarms her. Wasn’t it just yesterday that they fought? Why does he look so happy all of a sudden? Instinctually, she crosses her arms over her chest, as if this act will protect her from whatever Mulder is about to throw at her.  

He’s either unable or unwilling to read her cues, however, because he takes her by the shoulder and starts guiding her into her bedroom, his eyebrows jumping with excitement. Her hands fly to his forearms in protest but he’s strong, and when he tosses her onto her bed, she freezes.

Before she can enlist the help of her higher reasoning, his lips are falling to the juncture of her throat and shoulder, licking a long, wet path up her neck to her jawline. His hands wander over her breasts and down to the waistline of her sweatpants, and he tugs. Her breath hitches as she realizes that he’s trying to take off her pants. Her mouth parts in protest and her mind screams that she needs to put an end to this.

God, but it’s been weeks since he’s touched her like this, and her body resists the brain’s message. And as he slips off her underwear, she willingly parts her legs.

His eyes flick up to hers and a triumphant grin lifts to his lips just before he brings his mouth to her center. Her hips surge off the bed as pleasure unwillingly floods her body. Jesus Christ. She really, really wants this. And yet she really, really doesn’t want this. The effect is confusing. Her hands fall helplessly to his dark mop of hair and she starts to push him away, but then his tongue slides inside her and she can’t resist tugging him closer, nudging her clit against his nose. Fueled by her responsiveness, he hums greedily against her, wraps his arms around her thighs, and draws her tighter against his face.

When his lips form a suction around her clit, she whimpers in strained agony, trying and failing to fight the pleasure building inside her. But it’s becoming clear that he’s going to force this orgasm from her, whether he means to or not. Sensing that she’s getting closer, he slips one finger, then two, inside her and pulses them against her inner wall. One of her hands flies from his hair to cover her mouth. She bites her fist as she tries not to give into the waves and waves and waves of sensation.

Because if she comes for him, she’s weak, right? It would be undignified to come for a man who has no respect for her.

Oh, but this is Mulder eating her out, and try as she might, she can’t fight the culmination of emotions and physical sensations in her body. He’s too damn good at it, and he’s had too much practice doing exactly this to her with his mouth. He presses a kiss directly to her center and her back arches like a cat. It feels so fucking good. The pleasure in her body starts to drown out the weightier, more unpleasant messages her brain is sending.

So what if she lets Mulder go down on her tonight? What’s the big deal? There’s nothing wrong with letting herself have a little pleasure every now and then. There’s strength in that too, right?

“Stop overthinking it,” he mumbles against her clit, and she grits her teeth in frustration at his ability to read her so easily. “Come on, Scully, come on my face.”

She slams a fist into the mattress, her back arching as she tries to fight it one last time. Don’t give in, don’t give in—

“Come on, baby.” He rises abruptly to his feet, two fingers still inside her, and fixes her with a feral look. Above her, he looks powerful, a chameleon-eyed god cut from sharpest stone. It is not fair, she thinks angrily as he starts to drive his fingers in and out of her at a furious pace. It is not fair to have one’s senses assaulted with such an awesome amount of beauty, with such an agonizing amount of pleasure.

He slides a knee in between her legs and uses the weight of his body to drive his hands harder into her. A bead of sweat slips down her temple and he surges forward to lick it off her skin before pressing his lips to hers. His thumb slots into place against her clit and he rocks into her body, applying pressure in all the right places. She’s coming undone. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Her breathing becomes unsteady; her chest rises and falls erratically. And when his tongue slides against her lips and she tastes herself on him, she comes, a wild gasp into his mouth.

He stays on top of her until her orgasm subsides, rising to full height only when her heart rate starts to slow. The raucous, boiling pleasure of moments before is starting to curdle into self-hatred, and subtly, she turns her head away from him to hide the tears building on her lashes.

But he plops down beside her, one large hand falling to her naked thigh. He strokes slowly up and down the crease of her leg and she bites the inside of her cheek until her tears start to dry. But his fingers being to wander across her thigh and up into her wet center, and when he brushes her overly sensitive clit, it breaks something inside her.

Yanking her legs up into her chest, she scrambles to the other side of the bed and closes her eyes, trying desperately to forget what just happened. I did not just let Mulder do that to me, she repeats to herself. I did not let Mulder back into my bed. I did not—

“Scully?” she hears. She steadies herself with a deep breath, then opens her eyes. Mulder has twisted to face her, his eyebrows slanted in concern.  

Why does he look so confused?

Her voice trembles when she speaks. “What the hell was that?”

He tilts his head thoughtfully. “I figured I owed you one.”

Her heart plummets and her lips part. When she is composed enough to speak, her voice is rough with indignation. “So, obligation, then?”

He frowns. “You didn’t come last time, Scully.”

She blinks, confused. So he did notice. “It’s been six weeks,” she breathes.

“And?”

She swallows, clutching her hands together to stop the violent trembling in her fingers. “It’s been six weeks since you fucked me, and you’re only just now deciding it’s a good time to reciprocate?”

He huffs and adjusts himself so that he’s sitting with his back against the headboard. Off-handedly, she notices that he is half-hard. “So just because I’ve been a little distracted means I’m not allowed to come over and give you what I owed you?”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Literally anywhere,” he says, and she notes the undertone of aggravation in his voice. “Lay it on me, Scully.”

She swallows, trying to gather her jumble of thoughts. “You didn’t owe me an orgasm, Mulder, we didn’t make a contract. Our—our sexual arrangement was not a tit-for-tat transaction.”

“Say tit again, Scully—”

“Do not mock me,” she hisses furiously. Their eyes lock and when he realizes she’s serious, he nods. “You say you’ve been distracted,” she continues after a moment, “and I never expected our arrangement to include exclusivity rights, but you’ve barely even looked at me in six weeks, much less managed to suggest that our arrangement was still in play.”

He frowns. “Of course it’s still in play, Scully, it’s always in play—”

“It’s not always in play,” she growls, “I’m not a sex toy.”

He twists to face her fully now, his face darkening in outrage. “What? Of course you’re not, Scully—”

“You used me last time—”

“I never—”

“You fucked me, and hurt me, and you just admitted that you knew I didn’t enjoy it, and now you’re coming here nearly two months later with some half-ass excuse about being too distracted, and you’re hoping that one round of oral sex will magically bandage up this entire thing?”

He gapes. “I hurt you?”

“That’s not the point—”

He reaches for her arm and she yanks away so fast that she nearly tumbles off the bed. He catches her shoulders and holds her in place, her face flaming, her lower half still embarrassingly exposed.

“Scully,” he says softly, his eyes turning tender in a way that she hasn’t seen in weeks. His thumbs rub gently across her biceps. “What do you mean I hurt you?”

“Stop,” she replies, batting away his hands. “That isn’t the point. The point is, you can’t just use me for sex whenever you feel like it. You can’t just—just show up and—and do what you just did—”

“Did you not like it?”

“It’s not about liking it, it’s about you coming here expecting something of me when you’ve ignored me for weeks!” she shouts. “You—”

“How did I hurt you?” he begs, reaching once again for her arm. “Please tell me, Scully.”

She shoves him away and he retreats to his corner of the bed like a kicked puppy. “It doesn’t matter,” she huffs. “What matters is that you have no interest in me as a partner or a person but as soon as you start to feel a little bit horny, you come here to use me—”

“Stop saying that!” he yells, his anger exploding around the room. His eyes flash with outrage. “Our arrangement is to be friends with benefits, is it not? We’ve had a rough couple of months, Scully, sure. We haven’t seen eye-to-eye on anything lately, and I get that. I know we’ve been out of sync, but does that mean our agreement is off?”

Her mouth opens but she can’t find the words. “I just—I just expected something different,” she finally says.

“Something different than consensual sex?” he asks, his eyebrows creasing.

I expected you to fall in love with me, her brain provides. Humiliation darkens her cheeks. How could she have been so stupid?

“I just mean—forgive me if I’m a little confused by your actions right now.” She takes a shaky breath. “It may not matter to you, but I—I don’t want to do this if we’re not at least . . . .”

“If we’re not at least what?”

She buries her face in her hands, too humiliated to express her pain. You can’t just come here and expect to hook up, she wants to say. Not when we’ve been distant for weeks. But to admit that would be to admit that she wants more out of their arrangement.  

“Scully?” he prods.

She shakes her head and he groans heavily, dropping his head to his chest. “Why are you always like this?”

“Like what?” she breathes, afraid of the answer. She has a feeling she is about to discover why he’s been so withdrawn lately.

He stares at her. “Why are you always fighting me? I’m so sick of it, Scully.”

Bewildered, her eyebrows fly up. “Excuse me?”

“There’s a reason I didn’t want you there yesterday and today. You wouldn’t have believed a word of what we saw,” he says harshly. “You’ve been suspicious of Diana from the get-go. You were suspicious of what we saw in Antarctica. And now you’re not even satisfied with sex? This is what we agreed to, isn’t it?”

Tears prick at her eyes, and she briefly hates her body for revealing its vulnerabilities so easily. How could she have ever convinced herself that friends-with-benefits would be a good idea? She should never have expected Mulder to want this to grow into something more.

“Just get out,” she says under her breath.

When he doesn’t move, she turns on him sharply. “Get out, Mulder.”

He scowls, shaking his head. “But I—god, you make this so fucking impossible.”

She stays silent. She’s already said too much.  

He sighs and stands, his hands falling heavily to his hips. When he doesn’t make a move to leave, she glares up at him. “What, Mulder?”

He drags his hands roughly across his face and for a half-crazed moment, she wonders if he can smell her on his fingers. “I need you with me tomorrow,” he finally says.  

Her eyes widen in surprise.

“At the crime scene,” he adds.  

She untangles herself slowly, dropping off the bed to stand in front of him. “Am I going mad,” she asks carefully, “or did you not just tell me you didn’t want me there because I wouldn’t believe?”

He scowls. “We have a body we need you to look at.”

“I thought Diana had no need for a scientist—”

“Can you be there or not?” he interrupts harshly.

She swallows, wondering when her gentle, tender Mulder turned into such a monster.

Diana, her subconscious mind supplies.

And then . . . it clicks. Her eyes meet his and she seems to read the answer right there on his face. Diana. Diana is the answer.

He’s fucking Diana. That’s why it took him six weeks to get back to her. That’s why he’s insisting that this arrangement remain purely platonic. That’s why he’s telling her he doesn’t need her anymore.

Her limbs turn leaden and her heart seems to stop beating. For a moment, she can hardly catch her breath. Of course. It’s all starting to make sense.

“Scully?” He’s staring at her curiously.

She feels walls starting to rise around her heart, feels barriers slamming down around her mind. Her body quickly battens down the hatches, preparing a fortress that no one—not even Mulder—will ever be able to penetrate. All the love she has for him, all the care, the passion, the affection—it’s locked up tight behind those walls, and as long as there’s the possibility of pain, those feelings will never see the light of day.

One day, she promises herself, one day far in the future, those feelings will die, starved of light and energy. But for now, she will no longer continue to feed them.

Stoically, she raises her eyes back to his. Where she used to see a lover, she now only sees a coworker. If Mulder seems to observe a change in her, he doesn’t mention it. When she speaks, her voice is hard and cold, as emotionless as possible.

“Tell me when and where.”

[allwormdiet]

Arc 2: Insinuation, Concluding Thoughts

God, was this arc just one day? You're telling me it's only been like 72 hours since the start of the story and where we're at now? It feels like so much more somehow, so I guess let's get digging

Let's do the broad strokes and then go chronological through the chapter details, I don't have any kind of structure or template for this stuff but that's as good a way as any right here

I know there's so much fucking ground left to cover, but at this point I think I'm confident enough to say that I like Worm. I don't know if I'd recommend it to a friend, exactly, because I think it's rude to trick someone into reading more than a million words and also because the list of content warnings I'd have to provide up front would run longer than my forearm (I knew what I was in for going in but I also made this choice mostly independently), but I feel like there's a difference between liking a work and recommending that work to others. I think Midsommar is one of the best horror movies I've ever seen, but it also removed all the oxygen from the living room where I watched it via sheer oppressive malice so I don't really tell people "oh you should watch Midsommar," y'know what I mean?

(I don't actually know if Worm is at any point going to fill me with the same kind of yawning dread that Midsommar inflicted, so this might not be an even parallel to draw, but I'm not going to completely dismiss the possibility)

More on topic though. No fight scenes this time, but that left more room for delicious and filling character interactions. I'm so on board with the Undersiders so quickly, I love them all, the things they're going to be made to suffer are going to agonize me for years to come I think.

It also left more room for Taylor's day at Winslow High, and... okay we'll get there. Let's do this chronologically.

The Hebert family feels like it's a broken heart in the shape of a house. I wish that they could reconcile with each other, but I don't know if they manage that, or if they even can manage it. I think Annette's death tore a wound between them that never fully healed, or maybe it was on the mend before Taylor started getting bullied and now that process has just stalled out

...Speaking of which

Winslow High is a fucking pit. Like Jesus fucking Christ that was so agonizing to read. Everyone at this school feels either useless or brimming with malice, and for the life of me I cannot puzzle out why. I mean, okay, I get the mechanisms at least, the main three girls are popular and Sophia is a Ward and with that together they can bend the students and faculty around like putty, people are often willing to go along with a heinous status quo if rocking the boat puts a target on their back, yadda yadda. But just. What the hell is going on with the main three girls? You could maybe read Sophia as some kind of sadist, but that doesn't explain why she's taking to this with such gusto, and I don't know if this kind of behavior wouldn't be caught out by the Protectorate if she's acting like this around other Wards. Madison I don't even know, so far I don't actually know if there's any meaningful depth there beyond acting as a complementary force to the other two.

Emma, though. Fucking Emma. I was just talking in an aside about how I distrust any argument that paints a mostly realistic teenager as some kind of soulless monster or evil mastermind, and I'm trying really hard to cleave to that, but I just don't get what drives Emma to behave like this, how she justifies it in her own head. She's torturing her best friend, she triggered her power's awakening for God's sake, and I just don't know what can happen in a week or month that could ever make this explicable or justifiable. Maybe I'll learn something that makes it all make sense but for now it's just some kind of incomprehensible monument of cruelty

That last twist of the knife with the line about crying to sleep at night is also just. God. Like, fucking credit to Wildbow, I feel some amount of stress writing about this all like the day after reading it, that was a really really well written sequence, I just also hated every word of it.

Let's change to a happier topic

Love the Undersiders, they're all great. I love that Brian works so hard to meet on a level playing field, to be open about expectations and show vulnerability to make Taylor feel more welcome, and I like how he seems to take pride in being The Normal & Responsible One even though I somehow doubt that's the case. I love Lisa being so friendly and so quick to assure Taylor about what's going on and what it all means for her, and I literally can't stop thinking about what she must be reading off of Taylor with her powers. Alec is a snarky little snot and I love that about him, I really want to see him open up further. And then Rachel... oh Rachel. You might end up being my favorite once we manage to move past the whole "siccing dogs on the new teammate" thing.

And now Taylor's a part of the crew, and she's immediately second-guessing this decision because she's realizing that it had deeper repercussions than she'd initially thought! Like she already felt betrayed by all of them over a slight from Rachel, even though her entire goal of joining them is as a means to take them down from the inside and hand them over to the Protectorate, and that irony is absolutely not lost on her! She's terrified of being found out as a rat but still lets herself be vulnerable around these people in a way she hasn't even allowed her dad to see, and before the Undersiders he was basically the only person she still trusted for anything.

This is like, either the best or worst decision of Taylor's life, I dunno which. I'd like to think best. I'd really like it to be best.

And I think I already said this but I could gorge myself on just reading about the Undersiders fighting and growing and bonding together for the entire length of this story, and I want it so bad, and I'm not getting it until I dig up the appropriate fanfiction to that end so I'm just gonna have to cope with that

Basically fell in love with Victoria the moment I met her, I wish her the best and hope she learns to cut down on the accidental spine-breaking (if she breaks a spine on purpose they probably deserved it)

Amy... at this point I mostly just feel bad for Amy. She's gonna do bad things and a lot of it's gonna be her own damn fault but somehow I doubt she was born a monster.

New Wave in general I get weird vibes from. Like the Protectorate are cops, yeah, and cops suck no matter the uniform, but New Wave does it with nobody watching over their shoulders to check their work except for each other, and we see in their first on-page appearance how that's kinda fucked up!

...Like the guy was a Nazi so fuck him, but I don't have full faith it'll be a Nazi every time, y'know? God knows there's every chance Glory Girl or Brandish or whoever else decides to play this kind of hardball with someone a lot less guilty and a lot more sympathetic

And then speaking of the repercussions of Taylor's actions, again I'm looking at the threat of destabilization and gang warfare facing the Docks and wondering how much of the story's escalating danger is going to be a natural response to her deeds. Somehow I don't think Leviathan's attack is going to be Taylor's fault, or that she called up the Slaughterhouse 9, but she keeps making calls that are good but have unintended and dangerous consequences.

Call me crazy but I don't think I'm gonna like what those consequences look like when she acts to save the world. I'd rather she be happy than the world's greatest hero, but she wasn't even happy before she became a cape, so. Maybe she gets a legacy in the doing.

If that falls through I guess I'll just go read more fanfic.

[silver-pieces]

burn eventually

Pairing: dom!Jessica x sub!fem!reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Synopsis: Jessica Jones is hired to take some photos.

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, smut (FF, voyeurism, stripping, spanking, nudes, manhandling), alcohol consumption

A/N: Day 16 of Marvel Girlfriend May (please don’t check the date) is for Jessica Jones!! 💜 Please remember to reblog if you read and enjoy my writing, it helps me out a lot!

Divider ❊ Masterlist ❊ More Jessica ❊ Taglist

Jessica didn’t want to come back.

The client had requested the photos a week ago. I think my wife is cheating on me. I just need the proof for a divorce. He’d looked so down-trodden and heart-broken that Jessica actually felt the slightest bit of pity for him.

But pity doesn’t pay the bills.

When she had followed his wife, the first thing she did was find a good spot to take photos from. Perched on the fourth-story fire escape, she pulled out her camera, and waited.

That was the first time she saw you.

Hello, mystery girl. Peering through the shutter, she zoomed in to take a few shots. You were wearing a tan trench coat and sunglasses as you entered the building. Either you were doing something shady didn’t want to be seen, or you just had weird taste in clothes.

You disappeared into the building, so she focused her sights back on the third-story window she knew the wife had bought for the night. The blinds were drawn, light suddenly spilling out onto the street.

Click. She started snapping photos as soon as the wife walked into frame - in her line of work, more is always better.

“Come on,” she muttered to herself as the wife simply paced the room by herself, not exactly normal, but not criminal either. “What are you doing here, lady?” And with nothing better to do, she sat there and waited.

Until you walked in.

“Oh my god.”

Jessica looks down at the pictures splayed out for the client.

“They’re all there. Everything you need to divorce - ”

“I’m going to kill her.”

Shit, not another one. “Sir, if you’ll just sign - ”

“And with another woman?! Jesus christ!”

She closed the file, getting the pictures out of his face before he started punching things. The pictures were candid, detailed, and explicit. You in your lingerie with his wife, spread out on the bed together, tangled in the sheets, like a scene from a fucking tv drama. If not for the shitty situation, she might have actually found it kinda hot.

Scratch that - it is hot. She couldn’t believe her eyes when you took the trench coat off and saw what was underneath. And the way you knelt down on the bed, submitting to his wife like that, wanton and wide-eyed... fuck.

She clears her throat. “Are you going to sign the form? Because you’re not leaving here with these pictures unless you sign.”

He clenches his jaw and runs a hand through his hair. He’s shaking with rage. “Yeah. Yeah, you did a good job catching the bitch.” He leans down and signs on the dotted line aggressively. “She’s gonna get what’s coming to her. They both are.” He swipes the folder full of photos and stalks out the door.

Jessica leans back in her chair and reaches for her liquor draw.

Her hand closes around the neck of the bottle, ready to drink herself into a stupor. She should feel relief, now that it’s done.

But she pauses, unable to open the bottle as her mind races. That look in his eyes... he’s going to lash out.

It’s really not her business.

Fuck.

Like she said, she didn’t want to come back.

She hesitates at the door, knowing you’re inside, having watched you enter the building where his wife had booked for the night. You’re not innocent in all this, after all, you wouldn’t be meeting his wife in this shady hotel in trench coats and sunglasses if you thought she was single, but still, you don’t deserve to be hurt.

She knocks.

You open the door, your robe flaring with the movement, and your eyes widen as you see her. “Can I help you?”

She forces herself not to look down at your lingerie, but god she’s curious. “Jessica Jones, P.I.”

“Okay...”

“Yeah,” she looks down at her boots, shoving her hands in her pockets. "Consider this a courtesy call. You should go.”

“I’m sorry, what are you talking about?”

Fuck, why can’t you just listen? She holds out her phone, showing a picture of you and the wife.

Your eyes widen. “Where did you get that?”

“I took it. Your girlfriend’s husband hired me to find proof of her affair. Now, seriously, you need to leave because I’m pretty sure he’s coming after you and her tonight.”

Panic enters your eyes. “Fuck.” You bring out your phone and start tapping away, retreating further into the room. “Uh, just give me a minute. I gotta get my things and warn her.”

She stands at the door and waits while you get ready, bags rustling and cursing to yourself. For a moment, she considers just leaving, but the possibility of you being in danger compels her to stay for some reason.

You come back to the door with your trench coat done up and your bag over your shoulder. “Alright, I’m leaving.”

She steps back as you close the door behind you and lock up.

“Thanks for giving me the heads up. I know you didn’t have to do that.”

A shrug is all she can muster. After all, what else is she mean to do with your gratitude? She doesn’t know why she did it, except maybe because she saw you having sex in detail and fucking wanted you. She keeps that little detail to herself.

As you exit out the front of the building beside her, you pause, looking around.

Jessica frowns, digging the toe of her boot into the pavement. “What is it?”

“I uh,” you grimace, “I don’t really have a place to stay tonight. Know any good shelters around?” And you glance up at her with those wide eyes.

Fuck me. What is she supposed to do with that?

“So you're a P.I.?”

She flicks on the blinker to turn down her street. “Yes.”

You shift again, winding the window down in the passenger’s seat and letting in the breeze. “What’s that like?”

“It pays the bills.”

“Yeah but, you must see a lot, huh? Humanity at it’s worst.”

“Trust me, I’ve seen worse.”

“Worse than cheating? Damn.”

Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. “So what’s the deal with you and her then? You in love?”

You snort. “No.”

She glances at you.

“I mean, you saw us, right?” Yes. “It was just... a bit of fun.”

A muscle feathers in her jaw.

She watches you walk through her apartment for the first time. The lights flicker on, bathing the place in a cheap, but warm glow. Somehow, with you in here, it feels more like a home than an office.

The keys jangle on her desk, and she starts rummaging through her drawers, talking over her shoulder. “Kitchen’s through here, bathroom, bedroom, there’s only one so - ”

“I don’t mind,” you interrupt. That, followed by the sound of the trench coat dropping to the floor, makes her stop, and look up.

Shit. Her gaze roams your body, a different set of lingerie, black, clinging to your body and showing off your assets. And the way you’re staring at her, fuck.

She pulls out her liquor drawer, grabs the bottle of whiskey, tips her head back and takes a deep, long drink.

You approach her slowly, rounding the desk until you’re in touching distance. “So you like taking photos of me, huh?”

She lowers the bottle, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “It was the job, sweetheart.”

“But you came back for me.”

“Don’t read into it.”

“Too late.” You fold your arms and cock your hip against the desk.

Shit. You’re stubborn - as stubborn as she is, and she hates that. Why did she bring you back here?

She sets down the bottle of whiskey on the desk with a thud. “May I?”

You blink, and nod.

Faster than you can react, she takes hold of you by the jaw and manhandles you into looking at her.

You gasp, eyes going wide.

“Give me your safeword.”

“Uh.. whiskey?” you stammer out.

She nods, then pushes you down, bending you over the desk. “Whiskey.” She slaps your ass and digs her knee in between your thighs so you can’t close them. “Is this what you wanted?”

You moan, the sound so delicious it drives her crazy. She slaps your ass again.

“Yes,” you hiss, perking up your ass for her, looking absolutely divine in nothing but your lingerie.

It’s too much.

The whiskey scrapes as she grabs it off the table and tips her head back to drink more, keeping you pinned down as she does it. When she finishes and looks down, gasping for breath, you’re blurry.

“Not tonight.”

“What?” you gasp.

She pulls away, taking the whiskey with her. “You take the bed, I’m sleeping on the couch.”

She expects to find you gone in the morning. Knocking on the bedroom door, she waits only a moment before coming in, guilt in her throat. The hangover makes everything worse.

The bed is perfectly made - an unfamiliar sight.

Then her eyes catch on an object, left on the edge of the bed. A stupid instant polaroid camera Trish bought her last Christmas. For a moment, she fears that you went through her things, that you stole something, but then she notices the polaroid photo you’ve left beside it.

It’s you, kneeling on her bed, taking a photo of yourself in the mirror, naked. She flips it over, and on the back is your phone number.

Shit. Shit shit shit. She can’t do this, can’t sleep with someone she’ll break in two, someone so soft and submissive like you.

Shit!

She pulls out her phone and keys in the number, telling herself it’s just for the job, just in case she needs to contact you. And the polaroid... she’ll burn.

Eventually.

[smurphyse]

Bunny's New Rules

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 8 of Bunny and the Beast

Warnings: Extremely dubious consent, emotional manipulation, possessive behavior, toxic relationship behavior, rough sex, dominating behavior, sex rules, dirty talk, choking, choking with a belt, spanking, blacking out, aftercare

Summary: Spencer takes you to the new house, and you quickly figure out which room to break in first... and things get a little out of control

A week after asking you to move in, Spencer took you to his house in a much too nice area of DC for you to feel at home there. The block was lined with large brownstones, intricate structures with their own fences and gates and a guard at the front of the neighborhood.

“Jesus Christ,” you marveled as you pulled up. Snow had started to fall, and Christmas was only a month away. The gated community had decorated itself with lights and displays, and only Spencer’s house sat dark and empty in the snowbed.

He’d had a company move all your things to the house already, and his as well from the duplex except the bed so he could sleep there when needed. In a big puffy coat, you turned to him excitedly in the front seat of the car and grinned, “Can we put up lights this weekend?”

He made a face, “We’ll just have to take them down in a few weeks.”

You deflated a bit and looked longingly at the house. It needed color, and you hadn’t had the chance to really decorate for Christmas in years. You’d never had a place to call your own besides the duplex and the other shitty apartments you had over the years, always dreaming of a real home to decorate and beautify.

You felt Spencer’s hand rest on the back of your neck, and he groaned in annoyance, "Okay, we'll put up the damned lights, but I'm drawing the line at an animatronic Santa."

You giggled happily and looked over to him. He was trying to scowl at you but his smile was peeking through so you bumped him with your elbow, "We're putting up a tree too, right?"

Spencer scoffed and nodded, "Where else am I going to put the presents I got you?"

"You buy me too many things, Spencer," you told him, but he just cocked his head at you. 

"I don't buy you enough things, bunny."

He didn't let you reply, instead turning off the blessedly warm car and hopping out. He rounded the front and nearly tripped on the ice, flashing it a glare before opening your door. The cold air blew in and made you flinch, but Spencer grabbed your hand and pulled you from your seat. He laced his fingers with yours as you walked together up the walkway, and when he got to the front door he pulled out a d-ring with some keys.

One was purple, the other blue with a sunflower keychain while his had a stack of books, and he gave you the blue one with a smile, “This one’s yours.”

It was a simple act, but you couldn’t hold back your happy stupid grin as it landed in your palm. It was the same color as the sundress you wore the first day you slept with Spencer so long ago. Even though the small sliver of metal weighed next to nothing, the emotional weight it held for you was almost too much to bear. It was your key… to your home with Spencer.

He watched you expectantly as you stared at the key, pointing to the door, “Do the honors, bunny.”

Sliding the key into the heavy lock, the deadbolt opened with a loud thwack. The door was thick with a large window, and your jaw dropped as you peered inside. 

The mudroom had a bench on either side with room to put shoes under and a coat rack, but it was empty. Another door lay a few feet in front, and Spencer didn't waste any time as he tugged you along and opened it, ushering you in out of the cold, locking both behind him. 

You stepped into a large parlor with dark mahogany flooring, a long staircase leading to the upstairs while a living room lay to the left, a sunroom on the right. 

Spencer's voice made you jump as he leaned down to whisper in your ear, "Which way do you want to go first?"

"Uhmm," you hummed, unsure. You didn't know this place, and to be honest you felt a bit uncomfortable in it as it was so much larger and more lavish than you could have imagined. "Left?"

"Left it is," Spencer chuckled heartily, and then he was pulling you into the living room. 

Boxes lined the walls, some with your name on them, others with Spencer's. The walls were dark, a light gray blue and lined with mahogany trimming and hand carved moldings. A television hung on one side while your couch laid across it, the bright yellow velvet shining in the dim lighting. 

"How long has it been since you lived here?" you asked, eyeing the cobwebs in the corners. 

"I've never lived here, I just sleep here sometimes," Spencer shrugged, pulling you along. "I inherited it from a friend when he died."

"Oh," you said, coming to a stop. Spencer turned back to look at you, frowning. "I'm sorry you lost him, Spencer."

He smiled sadly at you, cupping your jaw with his free hand and kissing your forehead. He jerked his head toward the next room and said, "C'mon sweet girl, let's look at the dining room."

There wasn't much in there besides the built-in China cabinets in the corners and a hutch on one wall, the walls painted the same as the living room and a small bathroom off to the side, but when Spencer brought you into the kitchen you gasped as your mouth hung open. 

"Holy shit," you whispered, making Spencer laugh. 

The walls were a pale Robin egg blue with silver appliances and white cabinets. The countertops were a beautiful white quartz, and he watched from the doorway as you walked inside, running your fingers lightly across the surface. There was a bar peninsula at one end of one counter with little stools, room enough for all the coffee you and Spencer drank and to enjoy soft mornings together. 

A breakfast nook overlooked the back yard that was now covered in snow, but you could see where the large patio sat behind the back door and the massive length of the fenced in yard. 

You could see summer in your mind, the big oak tree flourishing with green leaves. There was room for your herb garden next to the giant windows at the back of the kitchen, even larger than the one you had at the duplex. 

"I can't wait to cook in here," you marveled, turning to catch his eye. 

Spencer grinned like a cat, "I can't wait to fuck you on these counters."

"Don't you think about anything else?" you scolded playfully. 

He shrugged, "I think about you most of the time, bunny."

Pushing himself from the frame, he reached out for your hand once more and led you into the next room. They all connected in these types of houses, old and nearing ancient, but Spencer had kept it in top condition. 

The last room downstairs wasn't just a sunroom, but a massive library with large windows overlooking the front of the house. A fireplace sat in the middle of the exterior wall, and you could already tell you were going to spend a lot of time there. 

Your shoes clicked on the wood floor, echoing around the empty house as Spencer led you through. The stairs had two beautiful carved railings, and you delicately ran your fingertips along the cool wood as he took you up them. 

The two rooms at the top of the stairs were larger than yours at the duplex, with big closets and their own small bathrooms, but the master suite nearly made your heart stop beating in your chest. 

It spanned the entire front of the upstairs, overlooking the neighborhood with wide wall length windows. A four-poster bed sat near the middle as the centerpiece of the room. Two walk in closets on one end and the door to the bathroom on the other, the walls painted a bright light blue. 

"Do you like it?" Spencer asked softly, setting his hands on your shoulders. You were grateful for it, as it grounded you when you were surely about to float away. 

Turning in his arms you wrapped yours around his waist and squeezed him tight. He hugged you back and chuckled as you spoke muffled into his chest, "I love it, Spencer, it's perfect."

"We'll decorate however you want," he mused aloud, making you grin until his shirt. "The place will be covered in velvet before we know it, but I don't mind. It reminds me of you."

"Velvet is amazing," you declared, and he laughed. 

"You can use the library or the little bedroom for your office so you can work. It'll be great, bunny. I'm so happy you're here."

You finally glanced up at him, and he was smiling down at you. You couldn't help yourself as you broke into a mischievous grin, "When are we going to break in this room?"

Spencer's eyes lit up, and before you knew it his hand shot out and gripped your throat tight enough to bruise. Heat rushed to your cheeks and the puffer coat became too much, but Spencer was pushing you towards the bed too quickly for you to do anything about it. Your gasp was quickly silenced by his choking grip, and he loomed dangerously above you as the backs of your knees hit the high footboard of the bed. 

"Now I've got you all alone, bunny," he whispered hotly, his breath fanning your face as you clutched his wrist just to keep yourself upright. "New house, new rules."

You watched him with wide eyes, gulping under his strong palm against your vulnerable throat. Spencer kissed your cheek much softer than his tone, "I've got you all to myself…and I'm going to take full advantage."

"H-how are you going to do that?" you asked quietly, a bit nervous. 

Spencer pouted at you mockingly, and it sent a delightful shiver up your spine, "Are you scared, bunny?"

You swallowed thickly and shook your head, "Excited."

Releasing you, Spencer reached out and slowly unzipped your coat. It fell to the floor with a loud echo that reverberated throughout the empty house as he pushed it off your shoulders, and soon enough he was gently pushing you down onto the bare mattress. 

You laid with your legs hanging off the edge, watching him as he took off his own and set it on the side of the bed. You wore a pair of leggings and a sweater since it was so cold outside, and the house was chilled due to it being empty for so long, but it wasn’t the reason you trembled. 

The dark look in his eyes could have swallowed you whole, and the way they trailed down your vulnerable body alone here with him… it had you feeling like prey caught underneath a predator. 

Spencer slipped his hands underneath the hem of your sweater, his fingertips cool and biting against your body heat. You took in a shuddering breath as he pushed it up to palm your breasts, kneading them and moaning quietly to himself. 

"You're so small and sweet," he murmured, leaning over you to press his lips to your sternum. "I love being with you. You know that, don't you bunny?"

He grazed his teeth along the sensitive skin before looking up at you, and you barely managed to squeak out, "Yes, daddy."

Spencer dragged one of his hands from your breast and over your chest, threading his fingers around your throat. It was gentle this time, and you extended your neck to make room for him. 

"You fit so perfectly in my hands…" he murmured, "I think you were made for me."

You let out a happy chuckle and wriggled on the bed and he smiled at you, "Are you ready for your new rules?"

"Yes, daddy."

Spencer licked his lips before kissing your exposed nipple, the heat nearly sizzling your skin in the cool house. He groaned and his hips bucked forward. You knew that sign, that he was holding himself back.  

"You are to be wet, open, and ready for me anytime," he growled lowly, a guttural thing coming from his chest. "I'll always take care of you, so you're going to take care of me."

"But I'm always ready for you," you frowned. 

"I know, but things are different now. I'm all yours and I need you," he told you, and you nodded. "I need you to be here for me."

This time you weren't tied down, so you reached out and cupped his jaw. You wanted to kiss him so he could feel your words, your intentions, but he didn't want that. Instead you pressed your thumb to his lips and rubbed them so they dragged. 

"I'm right here, Spencer," you said emphatically, putting every bit of yourself in it that you could. "I'm here for you, okay?"

Spencer kissed the pad of your thumb and nodded, then turned his cheek so he could lean into your palm, "You have no idea what that means to me, bunny."

You started to sit up, and Spencer pulled his hands from you so you could. You knew he still wanted to pound you into the mattress, but he needed a moment of sweet comfort and you were damned if you weren't going to give it to him. 

Pressing your forehead against his you nuzzled close, holding him to you. You squeezed him in as big a hug as you could muster, and when his arms wrapped around your waist you knew he could feel what you wanted to tell him. 

You kissed his cheek, each firm press of your lips staining a promise into his skin. Spencer leaned into each one, sighing and reveling in your attention. The scent of his cologne washed over you, his cinnamon shampoo flooding your nostrils as you kissed the shell of his ear. When you kissed that spot behind the back of his ear that he loved, Spencer actually whimpered and his hips twitched beneath you. 

"I'm ready for you now, daddy," you whispered seductively in his ear. "Just for you, and only you, forever. In our house together, you can take me whenever you like."

A guttural snarl burst from his chest, and you knew you were in for it now. Suddenly you were being shoved back onto the bed and flipped onto your belly, your warm leggings pulled down just enough to expose your ass and your pussy to the cold air. 

Spencer pushed up your sweater to show more of your back, trapping your thighs between his legs. You arched your back when you heard the clinking of his belt buckle in aching anticipation, twitching with excitement as his zipper pulled down. 

His hand came down on the back of your neck to hold you down, but he didn't need to. You wiggled your ass to entice him, smiling when he groaned and pressed the blunt head of his cock to your wet pussylips. Unlike his apology the week before, he wasn’t slow. Spencer shoved inside you with one sharp thrust, splitting your walls wide and open and trapped around his thick throbbing length and making you yelp as you gripped the fabric of the mattress.

He leaned over you, shaking you by the back of your neck as he growled in your ear, “I’ll take you whenever I want, as slow or fast as I want to be."

You shuddered at his words, dripping at the mere thought. 

"You belong to me, bunny," he hissed, but it was full of longing and care as he filled you. "I belong to you. We're going to take care of eachother."

Pushing back into him and whining, you said, "Let me take care of you, daddy."

He chuckled darkly and kissed your cheek, "Thank you sweet girl, thank you for taking care of me."

Without letting you reply, Spencer put one hand on your back, his big hand nearly covering all of it as he palmed your waist and started pounding into you. Each thrust made a small gasp or whine huff from you, the cool air fogging as Spencer held you down by the back of your neck. 

Your dripping cunt pulled him back in, his guttural snarls making your eyes roll into the back of your head. You could see the houses outside the window, the neighborhood going on without knowing that you were being fucked into oblivion. 

"My sweet little fuck bunny," Spencer groaned. His hips bruised the back of your legs with each slap of his skin against yours, the warming skin stinging in the cold room. "I can't believe I found you, I can't believe you're all mine."

"Just yours, daddy!" you whimpered into the bed, your voice muffled. 

His hands left you and his hips stilled, the sounds of his belt clinking behind you. Just as you turned to see what he was doing you felt the leather slip around your throat, tightening in an instant and pulling you back. Your back arched as a near painful shudder ripped through you, Spencer holding your neck with the belt like a leash. 

"Little velvet rabbit," he grunted, thrusting sharply to accentuate his point. You let out a groan as the fronts of your thighs hit the footboard, no doubt bruising them as much as the belt. "Daddy's little fuck toy…"

You yelped when he tugged on the belt, your hips pushing back to take as much of him as you could. There was something virulent coursing through you at his dehumanization, something primal and fucked up. Your head swam as the world went hazy, going limp as he screwed you like a piece of meat. 

When Spencer’s hand came down on your ass, you let out a shaky moan, heat coursing through your body. The world faded away until there was only this, now, right here with him. His cock pummeled your cervix, your quaking walls shaking around him as you took what he gave. 

"You're so beautiful like this. Maybe I should get you a collar of your own with my name on the tag," he chuckled darkly, panting with each thrust. "I'll get you a set of bunny ears and a little tail plug to keep you open for me, any hole, any time I want."

He hit you again, harder and the stinging radiated up your back, "What do you think, bunny? You want daddy to use this toy any time he wants?"

"Hnnnngg," you groaned, barely conscious between the subspace and his merciless pounding of you from behind. 

He gripped your hair, making you gasp and drip your juices down your thighs, "I can't hear you, cocksleeve."

"Yesdaddy!" you barely managed to cry out. Your body was cold and so hot, tight and limp all at the same time, that belt squeezing your neck and leaving bruises to enjoy tomorrow. "Fuck your hole, play with my little cunt and my ass any time!"

He let you babble, knowing how you got once he dominated you into this headspace. Tears streamed down your cheeks as your breath escaped in quick pants, "Keep me on my knees, in a cage! Tied to the bed, I don't care! Just breed your little bunny pleaseee!"

You heard his shivering moan at your words, pushing him over the edge as they so often did. He twisted the end of the belt over his hand and held you taught and tight as he buried himself balls deep. His cum spurting into your cervix ignited your own orgasm, your heated body curling up the best it could in the position. 

Your toes curled, your cries cut off by his grip, each new bit of spend flooding your cunt and soaking you in its warmth. Your vision whited out as you came again, barely breathing as your body lost all control. 

When you came to, blinking blearily at the ceiling, Spencer loomed above you. He lightly slapped your face, speaking to you in quick tones. 

"Oh thank god," he gasped as you locked eyes with him. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Mmm," was all you could reply, pushing at him so you could sleep, but he grunted and slapped at your hands. 

"Let me look at you, don't go to sleep," he snapped. His hand slid up the column of your throat, pressing gently on the forming bruises. "Did you black out from cumming or could you not breathe?"

"I don't know," you grumbled.

Spencer sighed, "Bunny you have to tell me if you can't breathe. If you need a break or I'm being too rough, you have to tell me so I don't accidentally kill you."

You groaned in annoyance, "But I like it…"

Spencer broke into laughter, but it was a bit panicked. He brushed back your hair and you let your head loll to the side, realizing he'd slipped the belt from your neck and tossed it aside. He leaned over you and pressed his forehead to your cheek, one hand rubbing your tummy to soothe. 

"You have to tell me, okay?" he begged, and you glanced sleepily at him, patting his arm in response. "You can't actually let me do whatever I want if it's really hurting you."

"But it felt so good," you insisted, and he pulled away to glare at you. You reached between you to touch his soft, pussy soaked cock, "I can go again right now, daddy."

"Oh fuck no," he said, pulling your hand from him. He stuffed himself into his pants and pulled up your leggings before scooping you up and carrying you into the bathroom. 

A large clawfoot tub with stairs and a ledge sat in the center of the room, much bigger than even the ones you'd seen before like it was made for multiple people. A large shower with glass doors and tile floors sat on one wall, a bay window opposite the sink counters with their massive mirrors. 

Even through your post-fuck haze you marveled at the beauty of it. Spencer held you like a baby in both arms, sitting on the tub ledge and corking the bottom. You clung to him limply as he filled it, going in and out until you found yourself in the water. 

You hadn't even felt him undress you, nor set you down long enough to undress himself. Spencer set you between his legs with your back to him, his strong fingers immediately digging into your back and massaging you. 

"Seriously," he murmured in your ear, and you smacked your lips as you tried to stay awake. "Are you okay?"

"I feel fine, Spencer," you rasped, realizing your throat was dry. "That was amazing."

He groaned and pressed his forehead to the back of your hair, "I don't want to hurt you for real, bunny."

"I think I just came too hard," you chuckled. "If your other partners can take it, so can I."

"I've never had anyone black out like you do sometimes," he said quietly. "I don't like thinking I lost control."

"Spencer, I don't think I ever had a real orgasm before I met you," you told him, and you felt his small laugh behind you. "You worry too much."

"You make me worry… I'm so scared of losing you or driving you away."

You groaned as you turned to straddle him and wrap your arms around his neck. He watched you with fearful eyes even as you bumped your nose with his, "I promise I'm okay. I'll tell you if it's too much. I just get so lost in you, I don't always realize."

"I feel the same way," he whispered. His hands rubbed lines up and down your back as he clung to you. "That's why this is so scary. You're so young, you can have anyone you want."

"I want you, Spencer. Even if you're an old man," you said playfully, and he chuckled embarrassingly. 

"I'm twenty years older than you, Y/N."

"Like I said, old man." You pressed your lips next to his so you didn't push his boundaries, whispering, "My old man, though. Just mine, and I'm just yours. It'll only work if we work at it."

He smiled softly at you, bringing his hand up to cup your face and watch you softly in the dim light. The water sloshed around you, warm and safe, but really it was him that kept you grounded. 

"I'm in this for real, bunny. Okay?" he asked tearfully, his eyes turning red rimmed and watery. "You're the only one I want, you're the only one I need. I'm in it for as long as you'll have me."

"Okay," you said back, smiling at him. "You have me."

He broke out in a devilish grin, "We're waiting a few days, but what room do you want to break in next?"

You tapped your jaw as you pretended to think, trying to decide how you'd entice him to fuck you before then. 

"The kitchen," you decided. "Right on the counter, in front of that big window."

"Sounds like a plan."

Notes: Please tell me what you think! Do you think Bunny will start telling Spencer her boundaries? How do you think Spencer might take advantage of Bunny's new rules?

CM Forever Tag:

@thedancingcostumeyoungadult @muffin-cup @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @reidselle @randomhoex @scargarcia-magshotchner @stitchwrites @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @cle13 @aysixdy @elhotchner @directioner5life @elhotchner @loveeee2134 @preciousbabypeter @la-stuffs @stories-you-wont-hear @hotchlover @fortheloveofwonderland @lokiandhisdagger @bellanutellababyyy @dark-night-sky-99 @straightforbuckybutgayfornatasha @maltamurdock @charelletjee @kansas-reid @zephyrmonkey @spencer-reid-wonderland @spencersprettyslut @im-sure-its-fine @tvdstelenaforever @teddylupintonks  @lilibet261 @kneelforloki @dirtytissuebox @almostgenerallyalways

[yhwhrulz]

Worthy Brief - November 29, 2023

Are you wrestling with God?

Genesis 32:24-30 Then Jacob was left alone; and a Man wrestled with him until the breaking of day. Now when He saw that He did not prevail against him, He touched the socket of his hip; and the socket of Jacob's hip was out of joint as He wrestled with him. And He said, "Let Me go, for the day breaks." But he said, "I will not let You go unless You bless me!" So He said to him, "What is your name?" He said, "Jacob." And He said, "Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel; for you have struggled with God and with men, and have prevailed." Then Jacob asked, saying, "Tell me Your name, I pray." And He said, "Why is it that you ask about My name?" And He blessed him there. And Jacob called the name of the place Peniel: "For I have seen God face to face, and my life is preserved."

In the most extreme moment of his life, when his entire household was threatened with annihilation, the Patriarch Jacob wrestled with a Man through an entire sleepless night. Somehow, after this astounding encounter, Jacob came to the realization that he had been wrestling with God, and face to face! Once again, the Lord God of heaven showed Himself as a human being to a man He loved; this time, for the purpose of rescuing, blessing, and preserving the man's destiny.

Jacob was relentless during this struggle and his perseverance changed him profoundly, forever, in several ways: he was wounded and walked with a limp for the rest of his life, a sign of human weakness and dependence on the Lord; he was given a new name ("Israel") and with it, a new identity, as a prince with God, and one whose struggle with the Almighty saved his life, his family, and his God-given inheritance and posterity; and finally, Jacob received the long-awaited relief and closure with the brother whom he had deceived and enraged so many years before.

So this wrestling match with God was a massive turning point in Jacob's life, and though it must have taken every ounce of human effort he could muster, the victory he won affected every human being in history, since, of course, the Man that Jacob wrestled with was almost certainly the same Man who became his most important descendant, the Savior of the world, Yeshua, the Messiah; (Jesus the Christ).

How often difficulties and crises are used by the Lord to bring us closer and to develop intimacy with Him. It is sometimes the Lord's will to draw us to Himself through extreme and even terrible circumstances or threats. The inner transformation that can take place when we pass through these intense prayer battles, cannot perhaps, be accomplished any other way. But consider the fruit and the blessing which can result from these mighty wrestlings. And consider how being that close to God Himself may change you forever. So, you who are gutting out that anguishing trial--don't let go until you receive the blessing, the change, the victory. I believe the Lord also wants to say to you--- that you have struggled with God and with men -- and have prevailed!

Your family in the Lord with much agape love,

George, Baht Rivka, Obadiah and Elianna (Dallas, TX) (Baltimore, MD)

Editor's Note: The Apple App Store has given the green light to our upgrade! If you haven't installed our Worthy News App - https://worthynews.app/ on either Android or Apple devices, you can download it today. We've designed it to allow you to follow up to 50 different news sites within our app 24 hours a day, 7 days a week! And the best part? It's completely free!

Editor's Note: During this war, we have been live blogging throughout the day -- sometimes minute by minute on our Telegram channel. - https://t.me/worthywatch/ Be sure to check it out!

Editor's Note: If you have a desire to contribute to the support of Israel, we've established a dedicated fund where every dollar you contribute will go towards supporting helping Israeli believers in Yeshua. - https://worthyministries.com/israel/

Editor's Note: We are planning our Winter Tour so if you would like us to minister at your congregation, home fellowship, or Israel focused event, be sure to let us know ASAP. You can send an email to george [ @ ] worthyministries.com for more information.

[whumpcereal]

behavior modification, part eight

<previous, masterlist here!

taglist: @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, @aut0psy-s, @reflected-pain, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @mylifeisonthebookshelf (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

content warnings for: CSA mention (very veiled, but still), adult language, creepy/intimate whumper, cages, restraints, muzzles, discussions of past abuse, and implied future noncon

This isn't the whumpiest chapter (although there's a good bit at the end), but all you Jack + Joe 4EVA people will like it.

part eight, past, present, & future

“Jackie?” 

Jack doesn’t answer. He feels like someone’s taken a spoon and scooped out his guts. He’s empty. Hollow. Because he’s dumped it all on Joe. 

He shouldn’t have said anything. It was a bad idea. Joe won’t understand. How could he? Jack squeezes his eyes shut. What Bill did to him–what Jack let other people do after–

He doesn’t want to see the way that Joe looks at him now that he knows. 

Joe takes a shaky breath. “Thank you for telling me. For trusting me with that, I mean.” 

Jesus Christ. Joe isn’t supposed to thank him. Not for this. 

Joe reaches for him, and Jack can’t help but flinch away. He doesn’t mean to. It’s only that things are blurry just now. It’s hard to know the difference between now and then. 

Joe pulls away. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. I won’t touch you. Not if you don’t want me to.” 

It makes Jack feel worse.  Because he does want Joe to touch him, but he doesn’t know how to ask. No one’s ever let him ask. He draws his knees to his chest and hides his face. He knows he’s behaving like a child, that Joe is probably losing patience, but he can’t help it. It’s not like Joe is going to stay with him now anyway. 

“It isn’t fair to you,” Jack whispers. 

He feels Joe’s hand move toward him again, but it never makes contact. Joe’s weight shifts beside him. 

He’s going to leave. Jack knows it. 

But he doesn’t. “What’s not fair, baby?” Joe asks, his voice soft and careful. 

“You should be able to touch me!” 

Joe pushes a slow breath from his nose. “Not when you don’t want me to, Jackie. No one gets to touch you unless you say so.” 

Jack laughs. That isn’t true. It’s never been true. 

“That’s bullshit,” he says. “What kind of relationship is that?” 

“The kind that’s based on mutual respect,” Joe counters, and he doesn’t sound angry. Just sad. 

Jack rubs his forehead against the knees of his jeans. “Doesn’t it make you mad? That I can’t–that I’m–” 

“Do you want it to make me mad, Jackie?” Joe asks softly. 

“What?” 

Jack can’t look up, but there’s a funny kind of ache wrapping around his ribs. He doesn’t know how to do this, how to let Joe scale the walls he’s spent years building up. And he doesn’t know why Joe wants to. 

It’s supposed to be better. Jack’s done what he’s supposed to. He sees Dr. Breyer every week. He practices mindfulness. He writes in a fucking journal every day. He has “tools” now. He knows that he’s supposed to ask himself if what he’s feeling is reasonable or unreasonable–and this is unreasonable. It is. 

But, the thing is, it isn’t. It isn’t unreasonable for Jack to wonder why Joe would even bother. Not when no one’s ever bothered before. 

“Would it be easier for you if I were mad?” Joe asks again, and Jack can feel Joe’s eyes on the crown of his head. “If I gave you a reason to disengage?” 

Jack loops his arms around the backs of his thighs. Yes. Yes, it would be easier. But– “I don’t want to. Disengage, I mean.” Jack’s voice is a whisper. 

“I know you don’t,” Joe says. He turns, and his knees are a hairsbreadth from Jack’s. “And I don’t want to either.” 

“Even though I’m–” 

Jack swallows the words, but they do not disappear. Dirty. Used up. A whore. Unreasonable or not, he can’t shake the feeling that it’s true. 

“What are you, Jack?” 

Jack grinds his face into the denim. “I don’t know.” But he does. And so does Joe, now. 

“You know what does make me mad?” Joe says softly. Jack doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t think Joe expects him to. “It makes me mad that anyone could treat you that way. That people would even think to do things like that to a child, or to anyone. That you’re sitting next to me and thinking that I’m going to judge you for it, and that it’s your fault. Because that’s what they told you. That’s how they made you feel.” 

Jack can hear the rough edge of tears in Joe’s voice. 

“Jackie?” 

Jack peeks away from his knees. 

“It wasn’t your fault, baby,” Joe says. “None of it.” 

That’s what Dr. Breyer says too. And Jack tries to believe her. Sometimes, he does. He wants to. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Joe says, and even though his voice is soft, it slams into Jack’s chest.  

No one’s ever apologized to him before. 

Jack tries to take a deep breath, but it stutters against his ribs. He rocks back and forth on the edge of the bed, the way he used to when he would shut himself up in the closet, after Bill. 

“I–I know it’s not my fault.” 

Because he’s supposed to know that at this point. And maybe, somewhere he does. He wouldn’t be so angry if he thought any of it had been fair. 

“No, it isn’t,” Joe reassures him. 

“–but I can’t help–I just–I still don’t understand why. Five years of fucking therapy, and I still–I just–” 

Jack breaks off, and he crumples to his side. He still keeps his knees in close; it’s the only way he knows how to protect himself–or, at least, to pretend that he can. But he can smell Joe on the pillow, and he turns his face, breathing in the scent: ginger, basil, sandalwood. He wants to ask Joe to hold him, but he can’t. 

And then, Joe lies down behind him. 

There’s still a gap between their bodies; Joe doesn’t close the space. But Jack can feel him anyway. Jack can feel Joe’s warmth, and he wants to wrap himself in it. 

A breath. 

“Jackie. Can I touch you?”

Jack nods, but he doesn’t make a sound. 

“Jack?” 

“Yes. Please.”  

Joe’s touch is so ginger, so careful that, for a moment, Jack isn’t sure he can even feel it. But Joe’s hands are warm and soft, and they wrap gently around Jack’s waist from behind. Jack lets his knees go, and he wraps his arms around himself until his hands find Joe’s forearms. 

Jack is shaking. 

“Is this okay?” 

“Yes,” Jack whispers. He presses back against Joe’s chest, and Joe holds him closer. 

Joe’s lips press a whisper-soft kiss to the back of Jack’s neck, and Jack shivers. No one’s ever touched him so gently. It makes Jack want to cry, but he doesn’t understand why. It’s wonderful. Joe’s wonderful.  

“Is that okay?” Joe asks. 

“Yes.” 

Joe’s chin slides over his shoulder, and he nuzzles close to Jack’s cheek. “If it isn’t–” 

“It is.” Never let me go, Jack thinks. Please. But he can’t say it out loud. 

“Okay. Okay, good.” Joe squeezes him, and it feels safe. “I’ll never make you feel that way, Jackie. Never, never. You are more important than what your body has to offer. I promise you. You are more than what’s happened to you.”

Jack closes his eyes, and he tries to believe. If Joe believes, maybe he can too. 

---

“So, the last time you had contact with him was two days ago?”

Joe wants to slam his fist into the wall. It’s painted a soft, seafoam green–meant to be soothing. Public institutions love to pervert the psychology of color. Pastel blues, pale yellows, fucking seafoam green. They’re meant to trick you into feeling things you don’t. Joe isn’t about to be soothed. He can’t be. 

Joe rubs his eyes. “Yes,” he snaps. “I—I was away, like I told you. We talked that morning–”

What’ll you do tonight, baby? 

Are you kidding? The vegetarian has flown the coop. I’m makin’ steak! 

And contributing to the death of the planet. 

Sure, but you love me.

I really do. 

I love you too. Call me tonight? 

Soon as I’m done. 

“--but I—I had to give an address at the conference. When I tried to call him afterward, there was no answer.”

Call me tonight? Jack had asked him to call. And then–

“And that’s unusual?” asks the detective. Sergeant Julia Wade. She’s young. Not as young as Jack, but still. Joe can’t help but feel like they’ve sent a kid to do a grown-up’s job. 

“Yes, Goddamnit! He always answers. We always check in. Always. I promised him.” Joe’s voice breaks. 

He did, he promised Jack that he would always be safe; Jack deserves to be safe. And now–now– Joe hunches over his knees and swallows a sob. He must look completely unhinged. 

“Okay. Okay, Mr. Prescott—”

“—Dr. Prescott—”

“Dr. Prescott, I can see you’re worried.”

“Of course I’m fucking worried!” Joe feels the heat rising in his cheeks. “He’s missing!”

Sergeant Julia Wade winces sympathetically. “Sir, I understand your concern, but you’ll have to calm down.” Her voice is seafoam green soothing, and it makes Joe want to scream. “We’re going to figure out what’s happened, I just need some help from you.”

She stares at Joe for a moment, and he forces himself to take a deep breath.

“Fine. Yeah. Okay. Fine.”

“Good.” Wade shifts in her chair, licking her fingertip and flipping to the next page on her yellow legal pad. “Now, M-Dr. Prescott, was everything alright between you and Mr. Kenyon before you left for the conference?”

“Yes, of course,” Joe snaps. He understands that he might seem less than credible right now, but Jack is missing, and there’s no way Joe’s nervous system can funnel any energy into anything but absolute panic.

Wade raises an eyebrow. “No disagreements or—”

“No!”

“Okay.” Wade speaks as though she’s trying to calm a spooked animal. She licks her lips and tries to smile at him, but Joe is an expert in expressed emotion; she’s fucking humoring him. “I understand, sir. I do. It’s just that we have to be sure. There’s no reason Mr. Kenyon would maybe have taken the conference as an opportunity to leave without your noticing?”

Like this is Joe’s fault. Like Joe has done something to frighten Jack so bad he’d run away. 

It’s Jack who frightens Joe. Maybe Joe’s been worried something like this would happen for a long time. Yes, Jack is doing better. He’s worked hard to accept Joe’s love, to accept himself and everything that happened before. But still. Jack has moments–what if he did take off?  But why would he? He wouldn’t. Not right now. 

Joe shakes his head. “No! He’s—Jack wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. It’s almost the end of the semester, and he had finals. We were gonna go to the Berkshires when I got back, before he started his new job—”

Joe’s gut is a block of ice. 

“Dr. Prescott?”

If I had someone as lovely as your Jack, I’d snap him up right away. Lock him up so no one could get at him. That’s what Peters had said to him. 

It’s unreasonable, Joe knows. There’s no reason to think that Ivan Peters has anything to do with this. Peters was at the conference. He wasn’t even here.

And yet–

Joe shakes his head, but the thought doesn’t dislodge. Wade stares at him, waiting for him to go on. 

“He—” Joe’s voice breaks, and he clears his throat. “He just got a job. With Dr. Ivan Peters. He was so excited. He wouldn’t—he wouldn’t—”

Joe cracks open then, and whatever he would have said is completely swallowed by a choked wail. 

“It’s alright, Dr. Prescott.” Wade is kneeling beside him, her hand ghosting against his shoulder.  “It’s alright. We’ll file the report, and we’ll see if we can get a read on his cell phone and credit card activity.”

It takes a minute for Joe to get a hold of himself. He should be embarrassed, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Yeah.” He takes a shaky breath. “Yeah, okay.”

Wade squeezes his shoulder, and this time, she gives him a genuine smile. It’s sad, but at least it’s real.

“We’ll do our best to find him, sir. I promise.” 

It isn’t the promise Joe wants. She’s supposed to promise that they will find him, not that they’ll try. 

“Why don’t we get a list of folks we can contact? Neighbors, anyone on campus that might have seen him; maybe this Dr. Peters you mentioned?” 

Ivan’s name sends another jolt down Joe’s spine, but he forces himself to nod. 

“Yeah,” Joe agrees, his voice still wet and shaking. “I–I can do that.”

“Good, Dr. Prescott. That would be really helpful.” 

“Yeah,” Joe murmurs. 

He stares at the seafoam green wall, and he wonders what Jack can see.

---

I promise you. You are more than what’s happened to you. 

“Please,” Jack murmurs. He knows Joe is there. It smells like him, and it’s so warm. Something soft brushes Jack’s skin, and he snuggles into it. “Please, Joe.” 

He waits for Joe to slip his arms around him, to fill the space, but there’s nothing. He starts to reach back, but his hands won’t move. In fact, Jack can’t feel his hands at all. And then he remembers. 

His wrists are still tethered to the collar that fucking fried him yesterday, and when he thrashes and tugs, it only cinches the leather tighter around his throat. Wire rods dig into his bare hips, and the crate rattles around him. Joe’s hoodie slips away, falling behind him, and he can’t reach it. Not without his hands. But he needs Joe. He can’t–this isn’t–why–

Jack forgets that he’s muzzled until he tries to scream. The metal bit stops his tongue, and his throat aches. 

No. No, no, no, no, no! He tries to take a breath, but one breath is swallowed by another and another until he isn’t breathing at all; he’s drowning in his cage. 

“Oh, my. Sweet boy, are you scared?” 

A light flickers on, and Ivan appears above him, still buttoning his shirt. Jack throws himself against the side of the crate. He can feel Joe’s hoodie beneath him, but it doesn’t help. He knows what Ivan can see. And more importantly, he knows what Ivan can do. What Ivan’s done already. 

Yes. Fuck, yes, he’s scared. But still, Jack shakes his head–or at least, he tries; his fettered wrists keep his neck still.  The latticed wires of the crate dig into Jack’s back, and God help him, he whines like an animal. 

“You need to breathe, Jackie. You’ll only hurt yourself like that.” 

No. Not Jackie. Not for you. Jack tries again to wrench his head away, but he can’t. He’s stuck looking at Ivan fucking Peters while he hyperventilates. 

Ivan kneels beside the crate. “If you can’t control yourself, I’ll have to sedate you,” he says with a sigh.

Jack flares his nostrils, but still, there’s not enough air. Ivan releases the padlock and opens the door. His hands are on Jack immediately, one knuckled into Jack’s sweaty hair, and the other trailing down his neck.  Jack’s chest heaves, but the rest of him is frozen. 

It’s too familiar. Maybe he’s never been caged before, not literally, but Jack knows this feeling: Ivan’s the hunter, Jack is his prey, and this is the breath before the shot. And the shot always lands. Jack has the scars to prove it. 

Ivan knows it too. He smiles. “And if you’re sedated, that will delay your training. I’d have to find some way to keep myself occupied, wouldn’t I?” He leans his head inside the open door, and his lips are close to Jack’s ear. “And you wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. Which I suppose is training in and of itself, isn’t it, sweet boy?”

Ivan’s thumb runs over Jack’s muzzle, pressing against his lips, working the bit into his tongue. Jack squirms, grunting in protest; Ivan only presses harder. 

“Is that how you want to start the day?” Ivan asks. “Or would you like to be a good boy?” 

Jack can’t answer, of course, but it doesn’t matter. He already feels his breath starting to settle. 

He doesn’t want to be a good boy, but it’s all he’s ever known how to be. 

He forces himself to his knees, and Ivan helps him out of the cage. 

next >

[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 12 - Bad Surprise [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: Sometimes plans have to change.

Series Masterlist

Every job required something from people, and your job was no different.

Being a spy was not a conventional profession, everyone knew that. You were expected to be on the move all the time, be a good liar, be a good fighter, be whatever the job told you to.

And most important of all; never show fear, which you were usually fine with. You had learned long ago how to keep your calm in times of crisis. You had even managed to keep your calm facade when your last mission required you to play Russian Roulette with a target in order to keep your cover.

But this? This was something else.

Bucky cleared his throat to stifle a laugh as he looked down at you.

“Is it just me or are you using me as a human shield against a peacock right now?”

Your eyes snapped up at his for a moment before you turned your gaze to the peacock again, taking a subtle step to Bucky’s right to keep him between you and the animal.

Coming to the zoo was his idea, and you thought it could be a fun experience. You had never been to a zoo before, and it would count as one of the old times dates, so you were almost giggly by the time you got there.

Right until now.

“I think peacocks don’t have souls.”

“Alright.” Bucky sipped his coffee while you tried to ignore the fear bubbling at the pit of your stomach, eyeing the peacock that walked around the area behind the fences.

“I’m serious,” you insisted “What if it attacks me?”

“It’s not going to attack you Y/N.”

“It could,” you said, “It looks like it wants to attack me.”

The peacock fanned out its feathers all of a sudden and let out a squawk, making you jump out of your skin.

“Fuck!” the curse left your lips and Bucky’s eyebrows rose, an amused grin pulling at his lips.

“Sorry!” you said quickly, “Sorry, I…I don’t trust peacocks.”

“You got mugged in a dark alley and got shot, and a bird is where you draw the line?”

Correction, you were once held at gunpoint by the Italian mafia and peacocks were still where you drew the line.

“That’s not a bird.”

“….Peacocks are birds.”

“No, that’s the devil looking like a bird,” you said, “In-in bird shape. Bird shaped demon.”

“Okay, how about we see some other less threatening animal?”

“Let me check—oh my God Bucky they have sharks, I love sharks!” you said, waving the brochure in his face and he pulled his brows together.

“Sharks fall under the less threatening animal category?”

“Of course they do!” you said, looking at the brochure before looking around, “I think the aquarium is over there, let’s go.”

You grabbed his hand to entwine your fingers with his as you both started walking towards the huge blue structure.

“So I feel like I shouldn’t ask because I know you can’t exactly tell me the details,” you said, “But you’re not going on another mission soon, are you? This week?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, “Why?”

“I’m kind of planning something.”

He tilted his head, “What are you planning?”

“Not a club, relax.” you said, “Although I find it quite ironic that you’re this unstoppable brave superhero with super strength who gets intimidated by dancing.”

“I’m not intimidated…” he grumbled under his breath, making you giggle.

“Whatever you say,” you sang, and reached the entrance of the huge building and you pulled your hand out of his.

“Excuse me sir, is the aquarium still open?” you asked the security guard by the door and a small smirk appeared on his lips.

“Yes but it is closing in ten minutes sweetheart.”

Sweetheart?

Jesus Christ….

You smiled politely at him, batting your lashes.

“Oh—“ you took a look at the sign, “I just want to see the killer shark and we’ll be out. In five minutes. Please?”

He eyed you up and down but seemed to snap out of it when Bucky cleared his throat behind you as if warning him, making the guy gawk between you two.

Even you had to admit you seemed like a quite unusual couple. You were wearing a short white sundress with ruffled sleeves and sweetheart neckline with your hair loose while Bucky looked as if he was there to kill someone, a complete opposite of you with his dark jeans and black leather jacket as well as leather gloves.

You didn’t even have to turn your head to know that he was glaring at the guard before the guy shifted his weight, then stepped aside.

“Enjoy.”

“Thank you!” you said, grabbing Bucky’s hand as you led him inside. He followed you without any objections whatsoever, in complete silence as the sight of blue filled your vision along with many fish swimming behind the glass.

“You don’t even see it, do you?” he asked softly and you pulled your brows together.

“Hm?”

“Does anyone ever say no to you?”

You approached the label by the glass, “You do.”

“Do I?”

“All the time,” you nodded, still reading the label but your head shot up when you felt him tug you by the hand. A giggle escaped from your lips as he turned you around so that you could look up at him, then wrapped his arm around you to scoop you up, making you squeal.

“Bucky!”

“All the time?”

“Put me down!” you said, your laughter echoing in the empty aquarium halls and he tilted his head.

“Not until you explain yourself,” he teased you, “All the time?”

“Sometimes, sometimes!” you said quickly, “Very rare times I might add!”

“Mm hm, I thought so.”

“If you drop me, I swear to God—“ you started but was cut off when he pulled you into a kiss, making you wrap your arms around his neck. He took a step with you still in his embrace and you gasped as you felt your back hit the thick glass, but every single protest you could think of seemed to disappear from your mind as you lost yourself in the kiss. You raked your fingernails over the nape of his neck, making his grip around you tighter-

Then someone coughed.

Bucky pulled back instantly and you turned your head to see another rather annoyed technician leaning on her hip, watching you with her brows raised.

“Aquarium is about to close,” she said, pointing at you, “Take it elsewhere.”

Bucky put you down and you tried to fix the skirt of your dress, trying to look presentable.

“Sorry!” you said as Bucky mumbled an apology beside you as well, and the technician shook her head and walked away, talking about how she wasn’t getting paid enough for this. You covered your face and let out a whine but Bucky chuckled, causing you to lower your hands to stare up at him.

“Why is this entertaining for you?” you exclaimed and he held your wrist, gently steering you to the exit.

“Come on.”

“We can never come here again, ever.” you insisted as you followed him outside. It didn’t escape your notice that he bumped his shoulder into the security guard’s quite hard, almost knocking him over on your way out and your jaw dropped.

“That was mean!”

“Nah, he had it coming. Are you hungry?”

“But you could get in trouble. Besides, he was a nice guy—“

“Uh huh, a nice guy who was ogling you.”

You pulled your brows together, pretending to be confused, “Oh I’m sure you misunderstood.”

He tilted his head and pulled you closer to wrap his arm around your waist, then brushed his lips against yours, making you sigh.

“Bucky, it was mean and you can’t just kiss me to distract me—”

“I can try,” he murmured to your lips before kissing you again and you looked up at him when he pulled back with a grin.

“Fine,” you admitted, still pouting. “I’m hungry. Starving actually, let’s eat something.”

                                                    ***

You were finding it harder and harder to convince yourself it was time to go home after every date with Bucky.

Scratch that, you were finding it harder and harder not to invite him upstairs.

But of course, you would have to report it back to the General and discuss the further strategies with him and for some reason, it felt more of a betrayal than this whole thing.

Surprisingly enough, it was something you wanted and not something you would will yourself to do because of the mission. There was no denying it, he was an attractive guy and you really liked spending time with him and you kept having dreams about him and whenever you were with him you had this lightness in your mind, as if you were a different person.

A better person, maybe.

You shook your head at your thoughts and left your apartment to knock on Keith’s door.

“It’s me, open up.”

You heard footsteps before he opened the door and a boyish smile pulled at his lips at the sight of milkshakes in your hand.

“Jesus, finally!”

“I made it at home, can’t promise it’s good,” you said as you walked past him into his apartment and stepped into the living room, “What are you watching?”

“James Bond,” he grinned at you, “Hey, have you ever tried milkshake with gin?”

“No?”

“Me neither, let’s try it.” He said, taking the big glasses from you to pour gin into them. You sat on the couch and took a look at the screen.

“How many times have you watched this again?”

“Like a hundred,” he handed you your glass and you took a sip.

“Not bad,” you commented, putting your feet up on the coffee table. He sat beside you, keeping his eyes on the screen.

“What did you do today?”

“Had a date.”

“With Barnes?”

“Yeah. At the zoo.”

“He took you to the zoo?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And peacocks are fucking scary,” you muttered, “And hey, we learned that Bucky is the jealous type.”

“The guy was dating people back at 40s, I could tell you that much myself.” He snorted, “Chloe says you went on a mission with Julian?”

You slipped a little on the couch, “He’s an asshole.”

“I know. Is he really that bad in bed?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “Nah as much as I hate to admit, he’s pretty good. Unfortunately.”

“So top or bottom?”

“He goes either way to be honest, that comment was more about me.”

“About you?”

“Yeah, I like to be on top.”

“Suddenly everything about you makes sense,” he murmured and you took another sip of your milkshake.  

“Don’t try that with Barnes though, the guy is from 1940s. He’s probably used to missionary only, you don’t want to give him a heart attack,” he wiggled his brows, making you scoff.

“Shut up.”

“Chloe is right, maybe you should go full on vintage on that when the time comes.”

You turned to look at him.

“Speaking of Chloe,” you said, “Anything you would like to tell me?”

Keith’s grin faded slightly and he shifted his weight, “Like what?”

“Bringing her coffee, taking her out to the field…” you trailed off, “What gives, man? I thought we had a deal.”

“We never had a deal,” he defended himself, “You slammed me back during training years ago at the academy and told me not to even think about it when you saw me looking at her.”

“No,” you shook your head, “Five years ago, in Ireland. That undercover job, the one that almost got you killed? We made a deal.”

He swallowed thickly, looking down at the milkshake before taking a sip. “Y/N…”

“Keith, you can’t,” you insisted, “She deserves a normal life, a normal family and kids and a dog and stuff.”

“I know,” he ran a hand over his face, “I know.”

“Then?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re a spy,” you said, “You said it yourself, spies die like flies.”

“Not all of them,” he said, “General is still alive. He has a family.”

“Yeah, one in a hundred,” you said, “Face it. That’s a very low possibility for us.”

“You don’t think you’ll get to grow old and have a family and all that?”

You pulled your brows together.

“No,” you said, “Of course not. I’m probably going to die in one of these missions.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“Keith, I can’t have any of those,” you said, “I can’t. I…it’s impossible.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” you muttered, “I made my choice ages ago.”

“Y/N,” he sat up straighter, “Do you want to?”

With a very bad timing, your imagination went overdrive and a strange scene flashed before your eyes. You laughing in Bucky’s arms, watching two kids playing in the garden-

You shook your head, trying to shake off the thoughts.

“I could never have that,” you stated simply, “You might love Chloe and you might also be lucky enough to have her love you but…it’s not the same with me.”

“I’d say Barnes loves you.”

A bitter smile pulled at your lips and you bit inside your cheek, taking another sip of your milkshake.

“He loves someone who doesn’t exist,” you managed to croak out, “He loves my cover. He could never love me.”

                                                           ***

Spending the night at Keith’s and drowning your sorrows in gin and milkshake meant that you would have a killer hangover the next day. Unlike Keith, you didn’t have the luxury to sleep until the noon, seeing that you had a cover job to keep so for the whole day until noon, you walked around like a zombie.

Coffee helped though. Just a little.

Thankfully it was a slow day at the shop. After serving a couple of people, you had nothing to do other than seriously considering sticking your head in the freezer to get rid of the hangover.

“Long night?” Tara asked as she walked past you to put the straws into the cup and you nodded, groaning.

“Remind me not to drink, ever.”

“I make that promise to myself every Monday, does not seem to work.”

You chuckled, “Have you ever tried to mix gin into milkshakes?”

“No?”

“Don’t,” you shook your head as you helped her to move an empty milkshake container into the kitchen. “It’s a terrible idea and I’m experiencing the consequences of that mistake right now.”

“That sounds like a fun night though.”

“Fun night, terrible morning,” you let out a laugh as you walked out of the kitchen but as soon as you did, your eyes caught the sight of the man in the shop. Your smile was wiped off your face as the familiar anger filled your system.

Jesus Christ, this day sucks.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you asked and Julian had the audacity to shoot you a grin.

“Whoa cute outfit,” he said, eyeing you up and down, “Holy shit I didn’t even know I was into this whole thing, I’m having an epiphany.”

You looked over your shoulder to see if Tara was still in the kitchen, then turned to Julian.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was craving milkshakes,” he stated, “Hey, would you recommend Lavender Macaron?”

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“I think I’m gonna go with Lavender Macaron, makes me think of France,” he said, “Fun times.”

“Fun for you maybe.”

He shot you a look, “Come on Y/N, we didn’t leave the honeymoon suite for two days. That was the greatest-“ he lowered his voice, “Mission I’ve ever had.”

“You’re putting this entire operation in—“ you started but stopped talking as soon as Tara walked out of the kitchen. Julian raised his brows for a moment before smiling at her and you went under the counter to grab his arm.

“Y/N, is everything okay?”

“Just peachy,” you said as you dragged him out of the shop, and he heaved a sigh, following you.

“No I’m serious…” he said with a chuckle as soon as you both stepped outside, then motioned at the uniform, “This is something else.”

“Why are you here?”

“I heard that it was good, I did not think it was this good.”

“I’m seriously two seconds away from punching you.”

“How come you never dressed up like this for me when we were dating?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you insisted and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I was around.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“Believe whatever you want,” he said, “Your shop has good rating, although I’m beginning to believe it has less to do with milkshakes and more about the waitresses.”

“Julian I swear to God—“ you started but you were cut off when someone cleared his throat, making both you and Julian turn your heads. Your stomach dropped as soon as you saw Bucky watching you two with a frown and you withdrew your hand from Julian’s arm.

“Bucky,” you breathed out, “Um-hi.”

“Hi,” he said without taking his eyes off Julian, and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head.

He was trying to decide whether he was a threat to you.

“I didn’t…I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I figured I could drop by,” he said, crossing his arms, “What’s going on?”

Fuck.

Fuck, you had no idea how to turn this around. Thankfully neither of you had said anything about the mission, so it was more than likely that Bucky just knew you knew each other, but other than that, your cover wasn’t blown.

“Nothing! Nothing at all, he’s just—“ you stammered, trying to come up with an explanation, “He’s um—“  

“Oh come on Y/N, don’t be one of those secretive people,” Julian said, “You hate secrets. You’re Bucky, right? I heard about you.”

Bucky just raised his brows, his glare on him unwavering but even if it was quite chilling, Julian was a trained assassin just like you were, so he was used to it. Instead he curled his lips, looking between you before offering him his hand.

“I’m Julian,” he introduced himself, shooting you a grin as if you two shared an inside joke “The evil ex-boyfriend who’s gonna take her from you.”

Chapter 13

[flippyspoon]

Pick Up

Note: Just a lil thingie because I imagining Steve’s voice over the phone lol. MMMMM.

To say Billy’s on pins and needles after the first time he and Steve fool around is a gross understatement. He can’t tell the terror from the ecstasy. He’s about to jump out of his skin. 

He’s used to feeling a lot about..everything.

This is more than usual.

Billy flees Steve’s place quickly, having no better ideas.

He’s nice about it.

“See ya, Harrington!” He says, as he pulls his shirt back on. He glances at Steve who looks half-delirious sitting on the bed, smiling sleepily at Billy, his jeans and briefs still down around his thighs, his spent dick hanging out.

Billy’s out the door before he gets a response, still feeling the sensation of Steve’s dick in his mouth.

He doesn’t sleep a wink that night and his thoughts race around too quickly in his head to catch a hold of any one in particular.

He burns through the half pack of Marlboros he’s got, his bedroom window open to let out the smoke, bringing in the chill. Nothing much is on TV to distract him. I Dream of Jeannie for four straight hours keeps him entertained. Or anyway, he stares at it and thinks of Steve’s head gently falling back against this bedroom door when Billy curled his tongue a certain way.

The way the little bump of Steve’s Adam’s apple stuck out, his mouth gaping open as he breathed. His hand tugging on Billy’s hair. Maybe not tugging quite as hard as Billy would have wanted. But that’s Steve. He was always going to be so sweet. 

I Dream of Jeannie...

He always thought Major Nelson was kind of cute in a fumbling, totally square kinda way.

Huh.

The line of Steve’s throat…

That vein along his dick pressing against Billy’s lips...

It’s maddening.

In the morning, his bones ache from staying up, his throat raw from smoking...and probably from the blow-job.

He makes breakfast for Susan and Max in the morning, feeling bleary, like everything isn’t quite real because he watched the sun rise outside, sitting on the stoop and chilly even in his hooded sweatshirt. He smoked and watched the sky turn amber and for a moment life was perfect because for a moment there, he had Steve Harrington.

They watched MTV because Steve had cable in his room. Steve made some joke about Robert Palmer girls and Billy laughed and when he turned his head, Steve was just staring at him…

Susan goes to work. Max goes to school.

Billy makes himself busy doing things around the house before pretending to look at want ads even though he’s always too chicken shit to apply for anything.

He feels a little braver today. He circles a couple jobs, makes two calls. He reaches Mr. Haggerty at the hardware store. That sounds promising.

He catches himself smiling for no particular reason. But around noon the high starts to fade. 

It’s not like anything is ever going to happen with Steve again. As if a guy like Steve would want him, a voice that sounds like his dad says in his head-

The phone rings while he’s smoking at the kitchen table, glaring into a Cherry Coke.

He lets it ring. It’s likely for Susan and they have a machine since Neil left, because he’s called a couple times and left nasty messages. 

Billy’s shoulders tense up, half expecting to hear his father’s voice after the beep. 

But-

“Hey…” Steve Harrington’s soft voice might as well be a crack of thunder and Billy’s heart starts thudding. “It’s...Steve. Harrington? Um. I just wanted to uh…”

It takes Billy a moment to collect himself enough to realize he should pick up the damn phone. He stumbles getting to his feet, scrambling to the corner counter in the kitchen where the machine sits.

“Just want to...talk to you um…” Steve laughs. “I dunno what to... Holy shit, please pick up-”

Billy picks up the phone.

“Harrington.” He winces at the crack in his voice.

He’s not as smooth as he used to be.

He clears his throat.

“Hey, what’s up,” he says. 

He bites his lip so hard, he nearly draws blood.

“Oh shit,” Steve says, sighing. “Thank God, you picked up. I had no idea what to say to the machine. Holy shit,”

His voice is so warm in Billy’s ear, and just a little crackling through the phone. It’s like coming in from the cold. Billy slumps against the counter and closes his eyes, holding the receiver so tightly in his hand, his fingers ache.

“You at work?” Billy says.

“Yeah! I’m on lunch,” Steve says. “Um. Slow as hell. I just uhhhh…wanted to...say...hi?” He mutters under his breath: “Goddammit.”

Billy takes a breath and summons the courage and cool that used to come more easily.

“Can’t get enough of me, huh?” He says.

That breaks the ice and Steve chuckles in his ear. Billy can practically feel it on his skin.

“I can’t stop thinking about it!” Steve whispers. “I can’t...I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Billy says: “Oh.”

His legs give out a little and he sits down on the floor, his hands shaking so hard, it’s difficult to hold the phone.

Because Steve Harrington can’t stop thinking about him.

“Look, I don’t care if it’s lame or whatever,” Steve goes on, “because like we’ve all almost died ten times. So I don’t give a shit what anybody thinks or anything. Even my parents! I don’t care! I really like you. I like hanging out and...I like...what we did. And...just... do you want to come over tonight? Come over tonight. Don’t make me beg, okay? This speech sounded a lot better in my head. I should’ve written it down-”

“Yeah okay,” Billy says, his head swimming. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Steve says, sighing again. “There’s just one thing. You have to promise me.”

Billy braces himself. “What.”

“If...if you don’t like me,” Steve says, “if it’s not… Just, if you don’t like me like I like you? You have to tell me. Okay? Just don’t lie, like don’t pretend. I can’t pretend shit anymore. Please?”

Jesus. Harrington can make things heavy quick. He didn’t see that coming.

“Okay,” Billy says. “Cool. I promise.”

“Alright,” Steve says, but he sounds farther away now.

It’s almost like maybe he doesn’t believe Billy which causes a sharp pang in Billy’s tender heart. 

“My place at six then?” Steve says. “I’ll order pizza-”

“Cool.”

“Okay.”

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“I uh…” Billy rolls his eyes, but that sharp pang doesn’t go anywhere. He licks his lips and says: “I like you? A lot. I… just, I do. I like you. Since...forever. So. Um. Don’t worry about it. Cool?”

The pang is gone. Feels a lot like after Owens gets him to crack his heart open every week. Totally excruciating and then better.

There’s a terrifying pause before Steve says, “Okay. Cool.” And all that warmth is back suddenly and he’s close in Billy’s ear again. Billy can even hear the smile in his voice. “Okay okay! Cool! Okay, I’ll see you at six then!”

Billy checks his watch. It’s only one. So many hours until he sees Steve again, but the anticipation is so acute it almost feels good and he blurts out, “Can’t wait, baby.” 

Steve says, “Jesus Christ… Me either. Kay um...bye.”

Billy hears a giggle before Steve hangs up. 

Five hours seems like a long time, but the minutes are made shorter by the memory of Steve’s warm voice in his ear.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Rain Check

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: 2860

Warnings: Lots of sexual tension and pining and ~heated glances~ or whatever but no actual sexy times. Author plays fast and loose with the canonical details of Spencer’s teaching sabbatical, as well as the logistics of grad school. There’s a teacher-student thing going on, but no weird age gap or whatever. Excessive objectification of Spencer’s hands, because really, what else do you expect from me? 

A/N: For the “mutual pining” square on my @cmbingo​ card! 

You trail off. Spencer’s staring like he’s waiting for you to say something else, even though you’ve been rambling for a while now. 

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. 

“For what?” 

“You probably didn’t need to know all of that.”

He blinks, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. 

Something about him makes you want to open up; it’s been almost an hour of nonstop conversation, and you haven’t told him what you’re studying or even where you’re studying, but you feel like you’ve known him for years. You’ve talked about your favorite books and assorted high school traumas. He keeps insisting he’s not good at small talk anyway. 

“I really like listening to you talk,” he says, soft and sweet. “I just… I like watching you talk, too. I noticed your eyelashes and — and I got distracted.” 

Your cheeks feel hot, suddenly. You know the feeling. 

“Oh,” you manage.

There’s something about his hands; they’re just very fucking distracting, and every time he tucks his hair behind his ears, you lose your train of thought. It doesn’t help that he keeps absently-mindedly twirling a pen as he talks, long dexterous fingers moving with precise little movements, and — yeah. Distracting is putting it mildly. There’s this constant low flicker of want in your gut. 

“It’s been a long time since I enjoyed myself this much in a bar,” he admits, with a self-conscious little half-smile. 

“Me too.” 

Probably helps you’re not actually inside the bar. You’re tucked in the corner of the deck, leaning on the railing, and even though it’s crowded, you’ve barely noticed your surroundings. Every time you look at him, the rest of the world feels distant, like one of those perfect movie moments where the crowd parts and the hero and heroine walk toward each other in slow motion, meeting in a spotlight as everything else fades away. 

It’s just… those moments don’t happen, not in real life and certainly not to you. It’s never as simple as that: see — want — have. 

You can’t help but hope that this time might be different. 

Spencer’s smiling, and the way he looks at you with those big soft eyes makes you feel like you’re standing in a spotlight. It’s not a bad thing, necessarily. It’s just unusual, this jittery, excited, not-exactly-stage-fright thing happening in your chest. 

You have to remind yourself to breathe. 

The pause stretches a bit too long, and in an effort to fill the silence you blurt out, “What are you thinking about?” 

He hesitates, and his tongue slides along his lower lip, drawing your attention to his plush pink mouth as he says, “I was thinking—”

“Spence! There you are!” someone says loudly, and you’d be embarrassed by the way you jump, startled, if Spencer didn’t do the exact same thing. 

“Hey. Emily. Um… what’s up?” His voice cracks. He looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar; it’s flattering and oddly endearing. 

“We have a case.” The woman seems to be holding back a smile as she glances apologetically at you. “Meet you up front.” 

Spencer is visibly disappointed as he turns back to you. He gives you a helpless sort of shrug, and for a second, neither of you say anything. 

Your throat feels tight as your eyes lock on Spencer’s parted lips again. It’s been such a long time since you felt this drawn to a person; his closeness feels hypnotic. 

“I’d like to see you again,” he says shyly. “I — can you—” 

“Phone number?” you supply. His hands flutter and his eyebrows rise, like he forgot, for a second, that cell phones exist. Then he pats his pockets, pulls his out, and passes it to you. Once your number is saved, you give it back with a small smile. 

“I’ll probably be out of town for a few days, and then — maybe next weekend,” he says. 

“I’d really like that,” you admit, trying to make yourself take a step back. “This was — yeah. I’m glad I met you.” 

“Spencer!” someone says, from the door, and he waves them off without turning to look. 

“Earlier, when you asked—” He pauses, frowning, shifting his weight like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “I was thinking about how much I’d like to kiss you.” 

His voice is soft and husky, and it cracks on the last word like maybe his throat is tight too. You feel hot all over. 

You never even shook hands; there’s been no physical contact whatsoever between the two of you, and now your head is spinning with the urge to reach out, to touch, to get closer... but it feels like you missed your opportunity for that — it doesn’t feel right, not when you know it’d be over much too quickly. You can tell Spencer feels it too. 

Once two magnets snap together, it’s a lot harder to separate them. 

“Rain check on that,” you say breathlessly, and he nods, raising one hand in an awkward wave as he steps back. 

-

This is Spencer, by the way. I’m really glad I met you.

The text comes in just an hour or so later, when you’re sitting in the cab on your way home, and you smile so wide it feels like your cheeks might split with it. 

-

The giddiness lasts until Tuesday morning, when you walk into the first session of your six-week-intensive graduate seminar and see Spencer at the white board, writing down page numbers for your reading assignment. 

Your eyes lock, and there’s another of those moments where you can’t see anything other than him. It’s not so pleasant this time, though. 

Spencer drops his pen, and you promptly forget how to walk, stumbling and spilling coffee down your front. You curse so loudly that the rest of the class turns to stare at you. 

To add insult to injury, the only open seat is directly across from Spencer’s. 

Fantastic. 

You spend the next hour and a half trying very hard to avoid eye contact, and for the most part, you’re successful. He doesn’t seem to want to look at you either. 

You do sneak one glance, though, and he’s just as pretty in the harsh fluorescent light of the classroom as he was in the golden glow of the bar lights. It seems really fucking unfair. 

If it were any other class, you would consider dropping it, but you were lucky to get a spot; this is big for your resume. It’s a special, one-time-only class, and your advisor had described the guest professor as “a genius, and one of the leading names in his field.” 

...fuck. 

Spencer dismisses the class. You start packing hurriedly, convinced he’s going to ask you to stay back, but you get out the door without incident. You’re already halfway down the hall when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. 

Can we talk? 

It’d be so easy to lie, say you have somewhere to be, put the rejection off for another day, but instead you take a deep breath and turn around. 

Spencer is sitting right where he was, except now he’s cross-legged in the chair, twirling a pen and frowning at it like it contains the mysteries of the entire universe. He gives you a twitchy attempt at a smile, eyes wide with worry. 

You move closer, sitting down next to him, trying to ignore those fucking fingers as he plays with the pen. This would be a whole lot easier if he would stop doing that, because it’s just like the bar — the same hot, fluttering sensation low in your belly, no matter how much you try to ignore it now. 

“I thought you worked for the FBI,” you mumble and he lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sigh. 

“I do,” he says ruefully. “I just — also teach, sometimes?” 

“Yeah. I got that.” 

His tongue does that slow swipe across his lower lip. You bite your own lip, trying not to stare, and Spencer drops the pen with a clatter. 

“Sorry,” he says, shoving both hands through his hair. “I’m so sorry if I — if this is — is this going to make you uncomfortable?” 

You frown, looking at him blankly for a second, because that was so not the reaction you expected. “Uncomfortable?” 

“Knowing that I — that I’m attracted to you? I’m aware of the power imbalance inherent in the situation and I promise I would never—” 

“Present tense?” you blurt out, and Spencer stops, blinking at you. 

“Well… yes. I thought that was obvious. I meant it, you know; I don’t just meet people like that,” he says, agitated. “It’s usually difficult for me to talk to strangers, and you’re — you’re just — yes. I’m attracted to you.” 

“I figured you would think I was immature, and — I mean, it’s such a fucking cliche,” you laugh, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. “I usually try to avoid modeling my life on Van Halen songs.” He gives you a blank look and you add hastily, “Never mind. Point is, a student with a crush, throwing themselves at a professor? Seems like a recipe for embarrassment.” 

“Oh,” he says, as a smile spreads across his face. “So… maybe after the class is over, we could—” 

“Yeah?”  

Spencer is blushing. Jesus pogo-jumping Christ, you want to kiss him. 

“It’s just six weeks. We’ll keep it strictly professional — appropriate — for six weeks.” The words are quiet, all husky and promising, and you can’t tell whether it’s intentional or not, but something about that tone sounds very fucking inappropriate. “And then… we’ll take that rain check.” 

You nod and clear your throat. “You’re on.” 

SIx weeks, two classes a week, ninety minutes per class. Easy enough. 

-

It’s not easy. Not in the fucking slightest. 

Part of you wishes he could be a bad teacher, or something. If he was boring — if he had an obnoxious laugh — something. Instead, every goddamn minute spent in his classroom seems like another reason to fall for this guy. 

And yeah, sure, he’s pretty. You catch yourself staring, sometimes: his long lashes, the hint of gold in his eyes, the sharp angles of his jawline, the messy hair… and you’re not the only one. It seems like the entire class is crushing on him by the end of the second meeting, boys and girls alike, and maybe you would make fun of the Indiana Jones-style lash-fluttering that’s aimed his way if you weren’t guilty of doing the same thing yourself. 

Once word gets around that there’s a cute new professor in the criminology department, rumors start to fly left and right. You’ve heard other students talking about him, speculating about the apparently “way more badass than you’d think” Doctor Reid. You hear stories about how he got shot once — was kidnapped and tortured — overdosed on heroin — saved a train full of people by talking down a lunatic with a gun — hooked up with a movie star — went to jail for murder — you name it, every story more far-fetched than the last. 

Well, he did mention getting shot one time, but you’re pretty sure the rest are too absurd to be true. 

Either way, it’s not the looks or the legends that have you hopelessly head-over-heels. 

It’s the way he lights up when he gets started on a subject that interests him. It’s the joy in his expression when a student asks a good question, or when they draw the right conclusion; his smile is bright and brilliant every time. 

The first time one of those smiles is aimed in your direction, along with a half-shouted, “Correct!” and an excited wave of his pen, you’re just about blinded. It quickly becomes one of the driving goals of your day-to-day life: make Spencer smile. 

He’s beautiful, in those moments when he’s grinning and enthusiastic, but the quiet moments are even worse. 

Sometimes he stares as you work your way through a train of thought, eyes glinting as he fixes them on you with a breathtaking intensity and this fierce pride. Sometimes, his voice is firm and sharp, and sometimes when he says things like, “Yes, exactly like that,” it sounds so much dirtier than it should. 

Sometimes — sometimes — once or twice or a dozen times — you fantasize about that voice. You’re only human. 

You never realized there was such a thing as a “praise kink,” but… yeah. That about sums it up. 

At first you worry that he’ll lose interest: that you’ll say something stupid or he’ll find someone else, because in your experience with men, they don’t wait around for six hours, let alone six weeks, once they’ve realized they can’t immediately have what they want. Instead, it only gets worse as the weeks pass. 

It’s nothing obvious, nothing that could be labeled as inappropriate — you still haven’t touched Spencer, not so much as an accidental brush of his hand against yours when he passes back a graded essay. It’s just that his gaze lingers, whenever he looks in your direction, just a moment longer than it would on anyone else. Every time your eyes meet, you have a hard time remembering that the rest of the world exists. It might as well just be the two of you. There’s this heat between you, this crackling electricity, like touching a live wire every single time, like you can’t pull yourself away to break the current. 

It’s the longest six weeks of your life. 

-

“That’s our time,” Spencer says, glancing at his watch. “I’ll get your essays marked and returned to you before break, and on Sunday evening, I’ll submit your final grades, at which point—” His eyes flick to you, and you bite your lip. “— my responsibilities as your professor are complete. It’s been a pleasure.” 

-

“Hi,” Spencer says, without preamble, when you pick up the phone on Saturday evening. “This is — um. This is Spencer?” 

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning so hard you can barely say, “Yeah, I know.” 

“Right. Um… where are you?”

“Just dropped off a few library books.” 

“I got grades done a little early,” he says hesitantly. “Do you want to… meet me at my office, maybe? We could go out for dinner?” 

You’ve never been there before, but you know where it is. Open office hours with Spencer always seemed like a disaster waiting to happen, because your self-control only goes so far.

“Sounds good,” you say, voice strained, heart racing. “Be there soon.” 

You walk fast. 

The building is mostly deserted, at this hour, and as you walk quickly down the hall, the catch and release of breath in your lungs seems too loud for your quiet surroundings. 

You might be panicking a little bit. There’s still a part of you that’s just waiting for him to change his mind, to realize how dorky and awkward you are, to find someone more polished or accomplished or… something — fuck, this seems to good to be true. 

Spencer has one of the old, cramped temporary offices used by visiting professors, and even though he’s only been here for a month and a half, he’s amassed quite a collection of books in the small space. When you step through the open door, he’s got his sleeves rolled up as he places a couple books gently in a box. He runs his hands through his hair with a sigh, making it even more hopelessly touseled. 

“Hey,” you say, and he turns around, wide-eyed and nervous for a moment before a smile — one of the brilliant too-bright ones you’ve become so fond of — transforms his face. 

“Hi! Um, I’ll come back tomorrow to finish cleaning, I was just — we could go out, I don’t have to — dinner? Are you hungry?” He picks up a pen from the cluttered desk, twirling it like he just really needs something to do with his hands; he seems just as anxious as you feel. It’s comforting, for some reason. At least you’re both awkward dorks. 

“Not hungry,” you say shyly. You close the door, slow and deliberate. 

Spencer’s eyes widen and then go dark, all heavy-lidded and heated. 

He drops the pen, closes the distance between you in two long strides, and cups your face in his hands before kissing you, deep and urgent, dizzyingly perfect. It’s desperate, after all this time, all that pent-up longing and suppressed electricity surging through you all at once, making you gasp at the sharp incredible sting of his teeth nipping your lower lip. 

It’s one hundred percent worth the wait. 

You’re both breathless when he breaks the kiss, but you sway closer anyway, trying to follow his mouth, and blink like you’re coming out of a trance. His lips are red and swollen. 

“Rain check on dinner?” he asks. His voice is suggestive and smoky — there’s nothing appropriate about it. 

When you nod, he just reaches behind you and locks the door. 

.

.

Smutty bit is now here!

.

More CM fic here! 

[vicious-vixxxen]

Mermaid!Kirishima X Male Reader

((Lost the original ask who prompted this, but here’s a little Mermaid!Kirishima to start the prompts off here! Thank you again for being the first to send in an ask, I appreciate it so much! And such a fun and interesting one to kick things off with, so manly! <3))

You’d almost fallen asleep. Again. Jesus Christ. Groaning, you stretched your limbs out as far as they’d reach- stifling a cry as your joints popped, and you became a puddle against the wooden dock you were laid across. The soft plap-plap of the waves beneath you very nearly lulling you under once again. Opening your eyes finally, you raised your arm to block out the harsh mid afternoon rays, and to check your watch for the time. Nearly four. He was late. “Where the hell are you, sharkboy,” You grumbled, sitting up, and stretching your arms out for a second time, stretching them for all they were worth, before slumping over and scrubbing at your tired eyes. Wincing slightly at the soft burn of your palms against your cheeks. Fuck. No sunblock. Of course. You’d be confused with a lobster by the time you went home and scooped up in a net for dinner if you didn’t apply any. Chancing a glance around the open ocean around you, spotting hues of blue after hues of blue- but no red- you sighed, tugging off your sweat soaked tank top- shoving it into your bag with the rest of your things, before retrieving your sunblock, and squirting a liberal amount into the palm of your hand. Slapping them together afterwards to smear it around, before hiking a leg up to begin applying it. The soft scent of coconut filled the air around the dock, and mixed with the salty scent of the seafoam below the dock, it reminded you of Kirishima. How enamored he’d been the first time he spotted you out here, doing just as you were now. The scent, the sight. Long tanned legs, short board shorts, no top. He’d been drooling, it was a whole adorable thing. Of course, you absolutely flipped your shit the first time you saw him. He wasn’t exactly the most subtle creature to catch a glimpse of, especially when he reared up to apologize- fins fanning out, causing you to nearly have a heart attack. You knew of mer-people, of course, but no one had seen any in these parts in decades. You certainly hadn’t. Not in your lifetime. First time for anything, though, you supposed. He’d wandered too far from his pod, and gotten curious of the handsome human male spread out like a buffet on the docks. If there was one thing to be said about Eijiro, it was that he was too curious for his own damn good. Something that both endeared you, and frustrated the fuck out of you. You hardly noticed, so caught up in your thoughts of the creature, the sound of the water breaking- the soft creak of the dock straining beneath the merman's grip as he hoisted himself up quietly, laying flat on his stomach just a few feet away. Eyes wide as saucers, red irises glinting mischievously as he tried to stick to his plan. Thwarted only by all the bare expanse of skin you were showing off. Tan, and soft looking. Soft to the touch, too, Kirishima thought suddenly, mouth too full of saliva as he recalled the feel of your skin beneath his webbed fingers. Shaking himself from his awed stupor, Kirishina grinned- all sharp teeth, as he shimmied across the dock, long tail swishing excitedly beneath the water, where it hung low from the dock. Already aware of his tardiness, Kirishima wasted no time lunging for you when he was close enough- laughing boisterously as you shrieked, and began swatting blindly at him. “You asshole! How many times have I told you /NOT/ to do that?” Y/N Shouted, initial panic already seeping away, as he was rolled over beneath Kirishima- the merman's soggy red spikes haloed by the sun’s rays, making him look….positively angelic. The fucking heathen. “You’re an absolute menace to both land and sea society Kirishima- no, no don’t fucking kiss me, I’m mad at you. Take your fishy kisses somewhere else, they will not be accepted here!” Y/N continued to shout, laughing suddenly as Kirishima nuzzled and raked his teeth along the soft expanse of your neck, webbed fingers digging just this side of rough into your sides, to elicit a fit from you. “L-Lemme g-go you smelly s-sardine! Ah-ahah! S-shit, i’m gonna p-piss myself if you don’t-ah!- stop! Kiri, please, mercy, mercy!” You cried, tears in your eyes as Eijiro wrapped your legs around his broad hips- shifting his scales downwards, as to not scrape you. Cradling you in his arms, his elbows against the dock, to shift you both upwards just a bit. Toothy grin as bright as ever as he gave in, and finally looked at you. Kirishima swore he could look at you forever. Your bright, twinkling E/C eyes, the soft, sun bleached tips of your hair. The curve of your nose. The curve of your /lips/. Especially the curve of your lips. “You can’t just show up late and expect me to be all hugs and kisses, that’s not fair,” You pouted, despite the smile you couldn’t help forming on your face. Ankles hooked just at the small of Kirishima’s back, where waist met scales. One hand splayed across the creatures back, the other finding its way deep in the crop of damp hair atop his head. Fingernails digging gently into the base, in that sweet spot that always had Kiri mewling if you scratched long enough. “Mm, i’m sorry, baby shark,” Kiri cooed, snickering at the eye roll he could practically sense, as he dipped his face back down against your neck, and kissed. “-It was my turn to lead the roundup for dinner. You know how long it takes to completely swarm a school of flounder? Little bastards shoot off in different directions. So yummy,” he paused, nipping at your earlobe, causing you to tense, “-but so difficult to catch. Like, but also kind of unlike, another little fish I know.” “A man of a thousand sweet talks.” You were already putty in the merman's hands, and you both knew it. Didn’t mean you had to advertise it. “I am sorry, baby shark. I tried to hurry, but you know how Denki can be. He gets a little zapped if he exerts himself too much on the hunt. We all gotta get him back to the cove in one piece after that, and he’s such a squirmer, so...ya know,” Kirishima shrugged, arms tightening just barely around your middle, as he leaned back, smile less predatory, and more sincere now, as he pressed your foreheads together gently. “Apology accepted...I guess,” You mumbled finally, breaking the creature's gaze, only to flick your gaze down to his plump, bitten lips. One drop of saltwater still clinging to his cupid's bow. “I missed you, dude,” Kiri whispered finally, blush painting his pale face, as he pressed chaste kisses to your cheeks, and chin. Peppering them all over afterwards as you began to giggle. “Missed you too,” You sighed, closing your eyes, and angling your head to catch Kirishima’s lips in a soft kiss. Just a press of them together, no real urgency. You had the rest of the evening, and long after sunset to spend together. There’d be plenty of time for rough, heated kisses below the docks. When you lost your trunks, and Kiri started losing control of the sharpness of his scales. Leaving small pricks and scrapes over your inner thighs, from how you’d going to his hips. Only to have the merman lay you out on the dock under the stars, and kiss them all better. Webbed hands spread wide over your stomach, your hips. Trailing down your thighs, up, and around… “Whoa now,” Kirishima whistled, pulling back to glance down between you, and you huffed. “Don’t get cocky, asshole. I haven’t seen you in almost a week, give me a break.” Hooking your chin over the merman's shoulder, you rolled your eyes once more at Kirishima’s little giggles. Mesmerized by the expanse of muscle in his back. Gaze trailing down between Kirishima’s shoulder blades. Down the small of his back, where his hips dipped first inwards, then back out. Hips filling out below his scales, bright red at the tips, and a deep obsidian at the base, where they met his flesh. Similar to the hair atop his head. Unhooking one of your feet, you ran your toes down along the soft, slippery surface of his tail, as far as you could go, before bringing it back up. Noting the shiver down Kirishima’s spine, and grinning. “Never gets old, does it?” “No, nope. Absolutely not. You make my tail feel like it’s gonna shake right off,” Kirishima groaned, planting his plans on either side of you now, caging you in as you rested back against the dock. “Should probably get that checked out by a doctor.” “Asshole.” “See if I give you the gummy worms in my backpack now.” “....did I mention how much I love you yet?” “That’s what I thought, seaweed brain.” You laughed, flinching back with a frown as Kirishima nipped at the air in front of your face playfully- reaching back for your brag, to draw out the large bag of gummy worms you’d already opened, when waiting for the merman to arrive. Grabbing one out of the pack, and holding it up between two fingers for Kirishima to slurp up. Humming contentedly as he chewed, and you simply smiled. “Love you,” You whispered, feeding him another- watching as he slowed in his chewing, before gulping audibly, and leaning down close. “Love you too. Beautiful boy.” ((Thank you again to the wonderful prompter who asked for this, I had a blast writing it!))

[beginagainunsolved]

RYAN: This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved, we’ll be talking about the mysterious “death” of Jason Todd.

SHANE: Why is death in air quotes there?

RYAN: You’ll see.

SHANE: I love it when you get all mysterious. Really draws me in. You’ve got me on the edge of my seat here, Ryan!

RYAN: Oh, it gets edgier.

SHANE: Don’t think that works in this context, buddy.

RYAN: It does. You’ll see. This guy’s a real edgelord.

SHANE: Gross.

RYAN: Shut up. Anyway, this is actually one of our most highly requested cases. We get comments to do this one every time we post a new video, so —

SHANE: You guys can SHUT UP now. We’re DOING IT. Get off our BACKS.

RYAN: Okay, maybe don’t — maybe don’t yell at them.

SHANE: Hey, I’ll yell if I want to yell.

RYAN: Okay.

RYAN, NARRATION: Jason Peter Todd was the second ward of billionaire Bruce Wayne, adopted shortly after his first ward, Dick Grayson, was emancipated and moved away from Gotham city.

SHANE: Why is this guy always adopting kids? Can that be the next episode?

RYAN: That would be so boring. “This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved: A Billionaire is Lonely.”

SHANE: There are better ways to deal with loneliness, Ryan.

RYAN: I don’t know. He seems to like his way.

SHANE: I guess.

RYAN, NARRATION: Not much is known about Jason’s life prior to his adoption. Unlike Wayne’s previous ward, Dick Grayson, it doesn’t appear that Todd had any sort of public persona. Most reports claim he was born to a poor family and largely grew up on the streets, but it’s difficult to confirm.

SHANE: You mean you couldn’t find it on Google?

RYAN: Yeah, I couldn’t find it on Google. I typed in “Jason Todd - Street Youth?” And nothing came up, so I called it a day and got a smoothie.

SHANE: (wheeze)

RYAN, NARRATION: Most accounts of Jason’s life begin shortly after his adoption. During this time, it appears that Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne weren’t on speaking terms, at least to the general public. Shortly before Jason’s adoption, Dick stopped making public appearances and attending galas with Wayne. Many speculate that Jason’s adoption was Wayne’s attempt to fill the void left by his first ward’s departure.

SHANE: Oof.

RYAN: Yeah, oof.

SHANE: And I thought my family had drama!

RYAN: Your family has you. That’s enough drama.

SHANE: Didn’t your dad cut someone’s head off once?

RYAN: Please stop telling people that. Someone’s gonna believe you! The FBI are going to show up at his door!

SHANE: I hope they do. I hope SHIELD interrogates him.

RYAN: NO!

RYAN, NARRATION: People who knew Jason Todd in the years immediately following his adoption into the Wayne family paint the tale of a troubled young man vying for the attention of his newfound father. After his supposed death, many of Wayne’s high status acquaintances who had met the boy at galas and public events were quick to come forward with their own accounts of his demeanor and personality.

SHANE: Ryan, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again…

RYAN AND SHANE, IN UNISON: Rich people fucking suck.

SHANE: Rich people fucking suck!

RYAN: On this, we absolutely agree.

SHANE: This one thing!

RYAN: This one thing, yeah.

SHANE: Anyway. Eat the rich!

RYAN: Okay.

RYAN, NARRATION: The real mystery of Jason Todd, of course, doesn’t lie in how he became associated with Bruce Wayne. The real mystery comes from how this association ended.

SHANE: Here we go!

RYAN: Here we go.

RYAN, NARRATION: Then, in 2010, not long after his adoption into the Wayne family, Jason suddenly disappeared from the public eye. Much like Dick Grayson before him, he stopped attending galas and public events. Unlike Dick Grayson, no one seemed to know where he ended up at all.

SHANE: So this wasn’t a “I’m mad at my dad so I’m gonna crash on my buddy’s couch” type situation.

RYAN: Oh, no, definitely not. This kid seemingly vanished into thin air.

SHANE: Like Amelia Earhart! We all remember her!

RYAN: Don’t say anything about the —

SHANE: She was eaten by crabs.

RYAN: Jesus Christ.

RYAN, NARRATION: This went on for some time, with Jason out of the public eye and Bruce largely dodging questions about him when asked. Then, one day, Bruce Wayne called a press conference and made a startling revelation: Jason Todd was dead.

SHANE: Not a fun press conference.

RYAN: Not really, no. It’s — You can still watch it on YouTube. It’s bleak, man.

SHANE: Well, he’s announcing his son’s untimely death, Ryan. There’s not gonna be confetti.

RYAN: Yeah, but I mean — he pretty much just gets up on stage, makes a depressing ass announcement, and leaves right away.

SHANE: Imagine being a reporter there. Just standing out in the rain. Was it raining? I bet it was raining.

RYAN: I think it’s just, like, perpetually raining in Gotham. It’s got those kind of vibes.

SHANE: Depressing noir detective vibes, yeah. That’s why all those people dress up like bats and clowns. Nobody does that in L.A.

RYAN: No, we don’t get a lot of bats or clowns in L.A.

SHANE: We had the flame head guy! Miss him.

RYAN: He comes up in this.

SHANE: HE DOES?!?

RYAN: Spoiler alert!

SHANE: No, she lives in Gotham, too.

RYAN: Shut up.

RYAN, NARRATION: Life seemed to move on for the Wayne family after this. Jason was buried in a Gotham cemetery following a private funeral. Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne seemingly reunited. Some time down the line, Wayne adopted Tim Drake, a boy whose recently deceased parents ran in his social circles. Jason continued to be a rarely mentioned subject in any public appearances made by the Wayne family and their close associates, and any time he was brought up in interviews, journalists were categorically shut down.

SHANE: This is getting depressing, but I want to circle back around to this guy’s kid adopting addiction. Nobody should have this many orphans, Ryan.

RYAN: I mean, he’s helping them, right?

SHANE: Is he? He’s just replacing one with the next! Like a congo line!

RYAN: A congo line of — You know, I say this a lot, but this time I really mean it. You are going to get us so sued.

SHANE: It’s like the Macarena. You put an orphan in and take an orphan out.

RYAN: That’s the Hokey Pokey.

SHANE: And shake ‘em all about.

RYAN: Please stop.

RYAN, NARRATION: With most cases, this would be the end of it. A bleak end to a bleak story. But instead, this is where things get weird.

SHANE: Hooo boy. This is where the air quotes come in.

RYAN: This is where the air quotes come in!

RYAN, NARRATION: A few years after his death, Jason Todd seemingly reemerged. He was spotted leaving Wayne Manor, a few inches taller and with a new hair do.

SHANE: I’m just gonna put this out there, like, as an unofficial theory.

RYAN: Oh god.

SHANE: Are we sure this wasn’t just some other random orphan? The guy likes orphans, Ryan. He has an orphan problem.

RYAN: If it was another random orphan, it was a random orphan that looked exactly like Jason Todd.

SHANE: Wouldn’t put it past him!

RYAN: How would he even manage that?

SHANE: I don’t know! He’s rich!

RYAN: That can’t be your answer to everything shady you accuse someone of doing.

SHANE: It can, and it is.

RYAN: I really hope Buzzfeed has lawyer lined up for us. We’re gonna need so many lawyers.

SHANE: I’m sure we’ll be fine.

RYAN: (long sigh)

RYAN, NARRATION: When asked about Todd’s sudden reappearance, members of the Wayne family dodged the question just as thoroughly as they once dodged questions regarding his death. Their excuses, typically flimsy, varied from person to person with some saying the man who appeared to be Jason was actually someone else, and others saying said man didn’t exist at all.

SHANE: Pfffft. “Oh, no, there’s no man here! No man at all!”

RYAN: I actually looked up a lot of the denials, and some of them get… wild. Dick Grayson once claimed that no one ever said Jason Todd died at all.

SHANE: The press conference is on YouTube!

RYAN: He said it was a prank.

SHANE: A prank? Man, fuck this guy!

RYAN: I think he just panicked.

SHANE: He can panic more smoothly than that, at least! Have a little respect!

RYAN: (wheeze) You’re telling people about respect now?

SHANE: I’m very respectful, Ryan.

RYAN: You told a ghost to eat your ass last week!

SHANE: We’ve been over this. I don’t respect ghosts because they aren’t real. I told an empty room to eat my ass. And it did not comply.

RYAN: You accused Bruce Wayne of stealing orphans three minutes ago!

SHANE: I don’t respect rich people, either, because fuck ‘em.

RYAN: (wheeze)

RYAN, NARRATION: So, what ever happened to Jason Todd? Let’s get into the theories.

SHANE: I’m sure they’re all perfectly reasonable.

RYAN: As always.

SHANE: Oh, no.

RYAN, NARRATION: The first theory is that Jason Todd’s “death” was a coverup for a ransom attempt.

SHANE: That kind of makes sense.

RYAN: Yeah! Like, obviously Wayne wouldn’t want people to know his kid was abducted for ransom. Especially if he was going to plan on paying it.

SHANE: Well. I don’t think he’d say “yeah that kid’s dead” if he was planning on paying the ransom.

RYAN: You think he left him to die?

SHANE: RICH PEOPLE SUCK!

RYAN: God. I can taste the lawsuit.

RYAN, NARRATION: This theory is a rather straightforward one: After receiving a ransom note for his son some time after his disappearance, Wayne announced Jason’s death to cover it up and prevent the kidnappers from getting the publicity that would have made them infamous.

SHANE: Like a big ole fuck you!

RYAN: Yeah, I mean, you’d get a lot of clout for kidnapping a famous billionaire’s son. Especially in Gotham, right? Out there, it’s like… Crime is currency, almost. You build up a reputation like that, you can rule the city.

SHANE: Exactly! So by taking that away… Kind of ruins their whole thing.

RYAN: Right! And then they’ve got no use for Jason anymore and, you know, killing somebody’s a lot harder than kidnapping them, so…

SHANE: Oh, I don’t think they let him go. That kid was scrappy. He probably gave ‘em all rabies and ran.

CAMERAMAN, IN BACKGROUND: Guys. Defamation —

SHANE: Yeah, yeah, we know. Let’s move on!

RYAN, NARRATION: The next theory ties back to Jason’s alleged life before his adoption as a street kid. This theory states that Jason, like many young people in Gotham, got tangled up with some of the neighborhood’s local gangs and got in over his head.

SHANE: His sordid past as an eight year old came back to haunt him?

RYAN: Well, presumably he stayed in contact with people he knew at the time and got pulled into the gangs later.

SHANE: Nah, I want an eight year old with a shiv. He’ll shank you… but only from the waist down. Can’t reach any higher.

RYAN: (wheeze)

SHANE: Except for on you! You’re, like, the size of an eight year old. Man, he’d crush you.

RYAN: Yeah, well, you’d be fine, Gumbo. He wouldn’t be able to reach anything above your foot. You’d be like a giraffe stepping on a thumbtack.

SHANE: I keep telling you, Ryan, I am average height. You’re just abnormally short.

RYAN: Fuck you, buddy.

SHANE: Ouch.

RYAN, NARRATION: According to this theory, Jason’s death was faked in order to save his life from mobsters associated with famed Gotham gang leader Oswald Cobblepot, otherwise known as the Penguin.

SHANE: Why does everybody in Gotham have a stupid name?

RYAN: You don’t like the Penguin?

SHANE: I don’t care for it, no, but I also don’t love the name ‘Oswald Cobblepot.’ Like, that sounds ridiculous.

RYAN: Maybe that’s why he chooses to go by the Penguin.

SHANE: He should choose to go by Stan.

RYAN: Stan?

SHANE: Stan.

RYAN: No clarification there?

SHANE: I don’t believe it needs any.

RYAN: Okay.

RYAN, NARRATION: Our third theory is by far the most simple: Tired of the life of a billionaire’s son, Jason asked Bruce to fake his death in order to allow him to disappear from the public eye.

SHANE: (wheeze)

RYAN: I will admit… There are probably better ways to duck out of the public eye.

SHANE: YOU THINK?

RYAN: Like, faking my death might not be my first resort.

SHANE, IN AN EXAGGERATED IMITATION OF A CHILD’S VOICE: Oh, I’m tired of people taking my picture. Papa, will you tell them all I died a gruesome death? I’m going to Fiji!

RYAN: (wheeze)

SHANE: And then Wayne, what, just went along with it?

RYAN: Well, I guess he was due for another orphan soon anyway.

SHANE: I’m so glad you’ve warmed up to these jokes.

RYAN: I’m getting sued anyway, I might as well have fun with it.

SHANE: I am loving this development for you, Ryan!

RYAN, NARRATION: The next theory ties into a legend that some of our viewers from the Los Angeles area may be familiar with, —

SHANE: OH HELL YEAH! HERE IT COMES!

RYAN, NARRATION: — the Ghost Rider.

SHANE: (cheering)

RYAN, NARRATION: This theory states that Jason Todd’s anonymity exists to cover up his identity, and that the initial ‘death’ occured when he took up the mantle. Some believers of this theory claim that Wayne may have actually believed Todd was dead at the time, as he may have dropped off the radar entirely in order to pursue work as the Ghost Rider.

SHANE: This is my favorite one.

RYAN: I don’t think there’s any merit to it.

SHANE: Oh, absolutely not. But you’ve gotta love the theater of it!

RYAN: It does have a certain level of aesthetic appeal, yeah.

SHANE: Just some random rich kid out here with his head on fire, killing guys with crowbars.

RYAN: (wheeze) Why crowbars?

SHANE: I don’t know. Crowbars feel right here.

RYAN: That doesn’t make any sense.

SHANE: And the rest of this does?

RYAN: Good point.

RYAN, NARRATION: Perhaps supporting this theory is the fact that Ghost Rider tends to go after gangsters much like the ones Todd would have been dodging as a young man in Gotham. It also seems to tie into the rash, angry personality that many people claim he displayed. According to this theory’s supporters, Todd became fed up with the state of the city.

SHANE: And… what? Decided to light his head on fire?

RYAN: Well, maybe he was a metahuman.

SHANE: I guess that’s why he didn’t stay in Gotham. Doesn’t Batman kick them all out?

RYAN: That’s what people say, yeah.

SHANE: Man. Dick move of Batman to kick Bruce Wayne’s kid out of the city. (chuckles.) Get it? Dick?

RYAN: Oh my god.

RYAN, NARRATION: Our fifth and final theory is that Jason Todd was abducted by aliens.

SHANE: Nope.

RYAN: Don’t you at least want to hear the full theory?

SHANE: Absolutely not.

RYAN: Well, they do.

SHANE: Who is ‘they’ ?

RYAN: The people!

SHANE: They don’t want to hear your alien theories, Ryan. No one does.

RYAN: Well, it’s my video. And I’m going to tell the alien theory.

SHANE: (long sigh)

RYAN, NARRATION: This theory states that aliens, in an attempt to gain power and intel in preparation for an invasion, targeted Jason because of his close relationship with one of the richest and most prominent men in Gotham.

SHANE: So they interrogated him and then just spat him back out?

RYAN: Let me finish!

RYAN, NARRATION: According to this theory, the Jason Todd who returned after his ‘death’ was not Jason Todd at all but, rather, was an alien clone.

SHANE: I regret letting you finish.

RYAN: (wheeze) I knew you would!

RYAN, NARRATION: Believers of this theory claim it’s supported by the physical differences between the Jason Todd who disappeared and the one who lives in Gotham now, including his hair and his height.

SHANE: Or, hear me out. He grew. And he dyed his hair.

RYAN: Aliens seems more plausible to me.

SHANE: I hate you.

RYAN: (wheeze)

RYAN, NARRATION: So, what really happened to Jason Todd? Did he fall in deep with the wrong crowds and have to give up his life to find his way out? Was he kidnapped in an attempt to get money and influence from his wealthy adoptive family? Or is there something otherworldly about his disappearance and reappearance into the world? With the Wayne family refusing comments and no other sources to consult, it looks like the truth behind the scenes of Gotham’s most prestigious family will have to remain… unsolved.

WHAT UNSOLVED MYSTERY DO YOU WANT TO SEE NEXT?

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #29: Fade In: Katsuki Bakugou

On a late-night movie date, you and Bakugou have the theatre to yourselves. You take advantage. 

Characters: Katsuki Bakugou / f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!), aged-up characters, overworked pro hero Bakugou, movie theatre (public) sex, lots of dirty talk, Bakugou’s sailor mouth

Notes: Today’s prompt was “Dirty Talk.” The premise is inspired by real-life events that are FAR more innocent than I’m making them sound. 😂  I’m enjoying writing all of these little Bakugou bits! Let me know if you want to see more of our grumpy boi after Kinktober.

Kinktober Masterlist

The city is buzzing with life, even at 10pm on a Tuesday.

You drag Bakugou out of the train station, practically hauling him up the stairs and dashing across the street in the last few seconds of a walk light. A few months ago, you’d have been amazed that he’s even holding your hand in public, but these days he’s quite happy to- even if he pouts the whole time.

It’s a warmer night for the season, so you’ve got on something cute- with a playful little skirt swishing around your bare thighs. You figure there’s no better night to push your comfort zone than one you plan to spend sitting in a dark theatre.

Comfort zone or not, you feel cute. Especially given how many glances you’ve caught Bakugou stealing at your legs.

You’re meeting this late on a weeknight because it’s the only chance that Bakugou actually has to see you. He’s been busting ass night and day at the agency lately, and he’s been pulling weekends for months. You’ve got work in the morning, but you’re so thrilled to actually go out with him you don’t mind.

It’s not like your job is particularly exciting these days, anyway.

You file into the theatre, snag a popcorn to share, and take your seats. You’re the first ones in the theatre, which doesn’t surprise you- this movie’s been out for a while, and it’s not exactly a primetime showing.

Besides, you’re early.

You catch up a little, taking handfuls of buttery popcorn. Bakugou does not like taking on the role of sidekick, but he’s way ahead of the rest of his classmates even landing a job like that at twenty-one. Still, everyone knows that sidekicks are some of the most overworked heroes in the game.

It’s not until the theatre goes dark and the previews start that you realize. Nobody else is coming.

Holy shit.

“Are we seriously the only ones in this theatre right now?” You turn to Bakugou in nervous disbelief. He gives an absent little shrug, reaching for more popcorn.

“I’ll still kick your ass if you start texting halfway through.” He shoots you a wicked smirk, stroking an indulgent palm affectionately over your thigh. You’ve still got goosebumps from the chill outside, but fresh ones race across your skin when he touches you.

It’s been a while. For both of you.

“Be honest.” His voice is gruff in your ear, cutting deeper than the noisy previews that flash across the giant screen. “You wore that skirt for me, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t wear it for anyone,” you chide. You rest your palm on top of his. His fingers curl against your thigh- and yours curl around his.

“So fuckin’ cute,” he growls. He nips at the lobe of your ear and you suppress a gasp. “Looked so naughty, stickin’ out the bottom of your jacket. Like you were walkin’ around the city with nothin’ on.”

“Stop,” you chide, heat rushing to your face. “We’re-“

“What? In public?”

Whatever witty retort you had planned dies in your throat. You’re the only ones in here. It’s dark. The doors are shut. The music is loud.

You’re not sure how long it’s actually been since they needed someone up there in the projection booth, but you’re pretty certain it’s empty.

Bakugou slips an arm around your shoulders and tugs you in close. He nuzzles the spot where your ear meets your jaw, then tilts his chin up and nibbles at the same place.

It’s getting harder to say no to him. Not that you were ever trying very hard to begin with.

You relax into his affections as the previews end and the movie itself rolls. The opening credits begin with a burst of music as you turn your head and surrender yourself to a searing kiss. Bakugou twines his fingers into your hair and tugs gently, tilting your head back for access to the bare column of your throat.

“D’you have… any idea… how long… I’ve been thinking about this,” he gasps into your skin. You try not to whimper. It doesn’t work.

Bakugou’s rough palm slides up the tender skin of your inner thigh. You part your legs just a little, encouraging him. His fingertips brush beneath the hem of your skirt. You’re already damp and heated, ready for him after what feels like a lifetime apart.

You’ve seen each other plenty over the past couple of weeks, but it was always in passing. You’d drop by the agency at lunch (and embarrass the shit out of him in the process), he’d come home to you exhausted on weeknights and pass out seconds after falling into bed. He’s so fucking overworked these days it’s a wonder he’s got any libido left at all.

You’re going to take what you can get.

“Fuck,” he snarls as his mouth trails back to your ear. “You’re wet for me already, sweetness? I knew you were into this kinda shit. So dirty, sweetheart, so fuckin’ naughty.”

“Katsuki,” you plead. He’s running his mouth especially hard tonight. It’s doing more for you than you’d care to admit.

“That’s it, baby,” he continues. “I know it makes you sloppy when I talk to you like this. C’mere, sweetness, lemme take care of you.”

He slips his arm down to your waist and drags you over the armrest into his lap. You don’t fight him, letting your thighs spread across his jeans. Immediately, he anchors one powerful arm around your waist to hold you in place, sliding his other hand between your thighs and pushing your underwear to the side.

“God,” he gasps against your shoulder as he sinks two fingers into your tight heat. “I’ve missed your pussy. I’ve missed fuckin’ you so goddamn much.”  He draws his fingers back and pushes them in again, settling into a slow rhythm. You’re right there with him, rolling your hips smoothly into his touch.

He’s hard already, stiff and excited down one leg of his jeans. You felt it the second he tugged you onto his thighs, and you’re not shy about rubbing yourself against it.

“That’s it, baby,” he growls. “You want it? You want my cock, right here in the fuckin’ theatre? You do, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you find yourself whining. You never used to be adventurous. Not before Katsuki came along. But he makes you wild.

He lets go of you and you lean forward a little, letting him scoot backwards to fumble with his fly. He unzips, pulling his thick cock out and hiking your skirt up. You feel it, heated and already dripping with precum, against your ass.

With one hand braced on your hip, he lifts you. You tug your underwear out of the way and hold it there. As you sink down on him, he lets his head fall back against the seat with a feral groan.

“God damn, sweetness. Fuck, you’re as fuckin’ tight as ever. So goddamn wet for me. That’s it, ride my fat fucking cock. Shit, you really know how to milk it outta me, don’t you?”

You start to rock your hips atop his, keeping the movements subtle. As you let go of your panties, your skirt flops back down around your thighs, concealing your union. Bakugou keeps one hand braced on your hip while the other roams, tugging your shirt out of the top of your skirt and slipping his palm over your chest.

“Not… gonna last long,” he warns tightly behind you.

“Me neither,” you pant. It’s been too long for both of you.

Bakugou loses patience and lifts you by the hips, planting his feet on the sticky theatre floor and rutting up into you with a sloppy slap slap slap. He pants hard into your shoulder, sucking and biting at your tender skin and growling more filth into your ear.

“That’s better. God, I really needed to fuck you, baby. Look at you. You’re gonna cum so fast on just my cock. You’ve been holdin’ out on me this whole time, huh?”

He’s right. You’re tipping your head back against his shoulder and riding out the waves of pleasure he pumps into you. He knows your body well- he can feel the way your thighs begin to tense and shake as you get ready to cum.

“Fuck, Katsuki… b-baby, I…” Your voice dies in your throat as your peak hits you, tight and silent. You dig your fingers into the fabric armrests on either side of your hips and grip him tight, descending into shivers atop him.

“Jesus Christ, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight.” Bakugou’s voice is beginning to break, too, but he keeps it down hard and growls softly from the depths of his chest. “Wet little pussy drippin’ out all over me. God, you’re such a mess. Fuck, I can’t wait to fill you up. Gonna put so much cum in your belly, sweetness. Gonna make you so messy for me. Getting so fuckin’ close, baby, oh, shit, oh g-gah…”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence either. He cums hard beneath you, intense and sudden and fast. The wet burst of him inside you is harder than you anticipated but you let him fill you. You let him fuck out the pleasure and you let him collapse, spent, into the plush chair behind him.

His jeans are a mess. Your underwear is, too. Slowly, you work your way off of him and he tucks himself back into his pants. You settle into the pleasant weight of each other. To your immense surprise, nobody finds you. Nobody discovers what you’ve done. You leave the theatre without incident and later, when he takes you home, he fucks you twice more.

The next morning, your coworker slinks eagerly up to you in the break room as you’re grabbing your first cup of bitter office-brew. You didn’t get much rest last night.

“So?” She nudges you, grinning wickedly. “What’d you think?”

“Of what?” You eye her sleepily.

She rolls her eyes. “Duh. The movie. How was it?”

“Oh.” Your brain freezes up. You panic. Think of something to say. Quick. “It was… great. Such a cute ending.”

Quite an answer, considering it was a horror movie she’d recommended yesterday.

[allfather-we-stan]

A little life update "summer 22 with no solid poo"

for anyone who cares lol

as some of you may have seen from my other social medias and here, my health has gone to pretty downhill and I want to share my story and explain bc idk

And for not to scare anyone, no its im not deadly ill. Im prob gonna be just fine.

gross warning i talk about poop

So umm this all started at the end of may- start of june when i started having diarreah. no biggie, i get anxiety diarreah like once a week so i didnt think much of it at the time. Only took me like few more weeks for straight diarreah to realize that something may be wrong lol. So i joked about it and let it be. I call this summer "Summer 22 with no solid poo" and wanted to wait till august to go to doctor. Then i got covid. So i had to wait that out before going to the hospital.

And finally the day I got to go to the doctor and everything was fine, i was supposed to get blood work tested and maybe poop in a container and the doctor thought that it might be celiac-disease bc that runs in my family. But i got fever straight as i got home. I didn't feel so good. The fever continued for a couple of days and then we decided its time to go to ER.

We went there, got bloodwork done etc. Waited there like 6 hours and finallly at 9pm the doctor had time to see me and turns out my inflammatory values were super high and that theyd like me to stay at the hospital for a while. So i stayed at the hospital for 7 days.

In those 7 days they took so much bloodwork from me it was insane! (and fun fact, turns out my veins are shit and no one can find a good spot to draw blood or put an IV tube in). For a couple of days, no answers. They had no idea whats wrong with me. My fever rise and they gave me antibiotics and other meds. Went to the ultrasound and nothing. And then, they had to give me a observation aka "put a little camera up my ass".

But bc i live in a small city theres like one doctor who does that and his schedule was full. So I had long long days waiting for my appointment. And they got me on friday.

But before we get to the camera up my ass part. Hell was loose. They had to "clean" my bowels. And they told me, and I QOUTE "It's either 1: drink two cups of this cocktail that tastes like orange juice or 2: drink 3 litres of water". Obv i took the orange juice! It cant be that bad! WRONG! JESUS CHRIST I WAS WRONG.

As soon as i drank the bad tasting orange drink, i felt like throwing up. Then the pain came. Oh god the pain. It was like level 10 menstrual cramp kind of pain. I was literally crying and screaming bc it hurt so bad. Only thing that helped at the moment was to stay still but i couldnt do that bc i had to shit out the cocktail like every 5 minutes. Many times i thought to just shit my pants on the bed and not let that be my problem. I was in so much pain I was in panic mode. And the worst thing was, no one warned me. They didn't even mention that it might hurt with some people. I don't remember all bc panic lol but i remember this one bitch ass nurse going "Duh its gonna hurt it has big chemicals in it! Even gas can hurt inside bowels". I would have punched her if I wasnt shitting at the time. Then the nurses took their sweet time to get me painkillers and nausea meds. But I couldnt take those bc i felt like throwing up. And then I remember a doctor came. He was nice and explained to me that it hurts bc the orange juice made my bowels like spasm to clean it. I was like "lol thanks for warning me beforehand". Some time goes, they give me that yummy tranquilizer trough IV and I'm high asf. It still hurt but atleast i was high. Then came the cup number 2! I tried to drink it, immeadetly i threw it up like no way that stayed down. And again, panic bc idk what happens next. Do i need to do this all again? Is my bowel clean? Am i gonna be okay? And then i passed out and slept trough the night.

And at this point, on a serious point. WHY THE FUCK IS TELLING PATIENCE THAT THIS THING X IS GONNA HURT SO FUCKING TABOO??? Like i get it, you dont want to scare people but a little heads up would be better than nothing! I just wish someone had told me.

Okay, morning comes, its friday, camera about to go up my ass. they give me nice tranquilizer again, YUMMY. Im high again. they roll me to the operation room, and the nice nurses and a doctor explains whats gonna happen. ( I knew this was gonna hurt beforehand bc they gave me the tranquilizer and figures). At this point they tell me that going up my ass is the hardest part and hurts but after that its easier. Im like okay i can do this, im high and im a big boy! So there i was, laying on my side, doctor rips hole in my underwear to put the camera up my ass. And there it goes, felt weird. Then this stinging pain comes and i curse. Nice nurse lady notices and presses against my tummy and the pain gets easier. They tell me to take a deep breath everytime the pain eases. I do. I'm breathing so good baby you wouldnt believe ( still fucking high). And that thing happens over and over again for like, maybe 3-4 minutes but felt much longer. Sometimes the pain was larger but the nice nurse always pressed my tummy and i, kind of, farted the pain out? It's weird but you get it. Then i hear the words of heaven "We are there"! THE WORST IS BEHIND. I'm happy! I turn around, look at the screen where i can somehow see ( didnt have my glasses) the inside of my bowel part. And i said "ew" and turned my head back. I dont wanna see that. it was pink. Then the doctor spoke something doctorly that i didnt understand. They spend a minute inside my ass doing... doctor stuff and then they took the camera out. It didnt hurt just felt weird, like taking a weirdly shaped long shit. And then they were like "lol we done! We gonna take these samples to the lab asap!" And I was like "you took samples?". THEY TOOK PIECES OF THE INSIDE OF MY ASS WTF.

okay its done, im still high and after couple of hours, they let me go home. I'm happy. I'm feeling good. Life was good. Untill the next morning.

I felt bad again, I threw up at night and I had a mild fever. We call the ER to ask what we do. They tell me that i havent drank enough liquids. So for the next two days I drank so much water you wont believe but i still felt bad and had a fever. So off to ER again!

We went there, they were like lol again bloodwork. At this point im sure i have no blood left. Then we waited and waited and they take some more blood and wait again. Results come back. My inflammatory values were high again. They again want me to stay at the hospital overnight. Hospital booked full. I wait. And finally its time. They take me to a 2 person room, as a 3rd guy. Like it was so cramped and I didnt even have the emergency button. Everything is overwhelming. It smelled like shit. I cried. it was a horrible experience and i can go all night about how shit it was but ill skip it at this point.

So i spend like two nights at the hospital, and they finally have the results in about the pieces of my ass they took. they dont know what it is. THEY HAVE NO CLUE. But atleast they got me meds that work and i dont have a fever anymore. But its like 5 different meds. They make me nauseous and tired. So its not going that well now but atleast im in a good shape to be at home rn.

Im still waiting for more results and follow-up things at the hospital. I'll update as I get to those. Thanks for reading, feel free to ask any questions and stay healthy lmao.