#i cackled like a crazed hyena

[m0netsberm]

She really was out here.. IN BROAD DAYLIGHT!!

..ON THE STREET!!... IN FRONT OF HIS APT!! Cuping his junk, fondling him.. just checking the state of the package like it was a regular old tuesday.

[rocorambles]

Who’s The Baby?

Pairing: Kenma x Reader

Genre: NSFW, PWP 

Warnings: Degradation

Summary: You really should have thought twice before teaming up with Kuroo to tease your boyfriend. 

Requested by Anon

You’re always mothering Kenma, but he doesn’t mind. He’s kind of used to it honestly, especially after having to put up with Kuroo throughout most of his life. He’s always glued to some kind of device as he juggles work, gaming, and streaming, so he’s appreciative of how you check in on him and make sure he’s eaten and drank enough and he won’t admit it, but he also loves how you comb his hair for him and style it. Really, it’s all fine...until it isn’t. 

Kuroo drops by the house one day and the three of you chat. Well, Kuroo and you chat while Kenma sits in front of his computer, typing and clicking away. Kuroo watches in amusement as you bring a plate of food to Kenma and spoon feed him bite after bite and his braying hyena laugh fills the room when he watches you take a napkin and wipe Kenma’s mouth for him. 

“Oi, Kenma, aren’t you a little too old to be treated like a baby? You can’t expect this kind of treatment all the time. But I have to admit, it’s kind of adorable.” 

Kenma ignores his best friend’s taunts, but his ears snap to attention at the sound of your laughter. 

“He’s cute! He’s like a little baby. It’s kind of sweet.” 

Kenma can feel irritation rising up within him. Were you making fun of him? With Kuroo? He watches the two of you cackle to each other at his expense and he can feel his pride being torn to shreds with every word that comes out of your mouth. You thought he was like a child? You felt like you were preparing to be a mom? He can’t even concentrate on the screen in front of him as his jaw clenches and his fists tremble with rage. He doesn’t know how he lasts the rest of Kuroo’s visit without visibly blowing up in front of you two, but finally his best friend says goodbye and it’s just the two of you.

You hum as you wash Kuroo’s mug and pour a cup of water for your boyfriend before walking over to his computer station and dropping the cup off on his desk, but you’re startled by the hand suddenly wrapped around your wrist, preventing you from leaving. Confused, you look at Kenma, but you bite your lip in nervousness as intense cat eyes glare at you. 

“Did you enjoy making fun of me all day with Kuroo?” Your heart drops and guilt eats at you as you profusely apologize to your boyfriend, but Kenma shuts you up with a scowl. “I don’t care if you’re sorry. You meant what you said, right? Do you even see me as a boyfriend? Or a man?” You immediately try to assure him, but he ignores your pleading words as he firmly pushes you down by the shoulders until you’re kneeling between his legs. You feel so small as you look up at him from your position and you shiver at his next words. “Prove it to me.” 

You scramble to pull down his pants, but anxiety makes you clumsy and your hands are shaking too much. Kenma scoffs. “I’m the baby? You can’t even do something as simple as this.” He removes his pants and he watches as you mouth at his cock, leave little kisses on his inner thighs, and gently fondle his balls. When he’s fully erect, he places a hand on your head and soothingly strokes your hair and you perk up, thinking he’s in a better mood, but suddenly he harshly tangles his fingers in your roots. “Open your mouth.” 

You obediently do as he says and you prepare to take his tip in your mouth, but you yelp as he shoves your head all the way down until your nose is brushing against his abdomen. You claw at his thighs as you attempt to get off and breathe, but he just firmly holds you there. You inhale as much as you can through your nose, but your throat aches and you whine. The vibrations from your throat make Kenma throw his head back and he begins roughly jerking his hips and tears leak from your eyes as your mouth is used as a fuck hole for your boyfriend. He’s never been this rough with you and you know your jaw will ache tomorrow, but something about how dominating and feral he is as he uses your body however he wants elicits something dark inside of you and your thighs clench together in arousal. 

Kenma smirks as he sees the telltale signs of lust on your face and he pulls you off of his dick with a lewd wet popping sound. He cruelly laughs at you when you whine and try to place your mouth on him again, but he just pulls your hair even tighter to hold you in place and you pout up at him. “Is kitten that desperate for cock? You’re drooling and begging for it like a whore. Does it taste that good? I think another part of you wants it more though.” He drags his foot against your clothed pussy and he smiles at the way you keen and grind against him. “Maybe you aren’t a kitten. Maybe you’re a puppy. You definitely look like a bitch in heat when you’re humping my foot like that. Strip and ride me.”   

You almost rip your clothing as you fling the articles off of you and Kenma bites his cheek when he feels how wet you are. Your knees are on either side of his thighs, your hands are tightly clutching his shoulder, and your mouth opens wide as you smoothly bottom out on his dick. He doesn’t give you even a second to adjust before he smacks your ass. “Don’t make me wait.” You moan as you frantically ride him, bouncing up and down in his lap while he just sits back, still fully clothed, and lazily stares at you. You clench your eyes in frustration. Kenma usually met you halfway in all your previous sexual activities, so you’re not used to doing all the work yourself and it’s not enough. No matter how fast or hard you ride his cock, it’s not enough and you try to move a hand to rub your clit, but Kenma holds your hands in his and you sob as you continue to do everything you can to find relief. But it’s useless and you find yourself groveling for your boyfriend to help you. 

“Kenma, please! Please help me cum.” Your boyfriend tauntingly coos at you. “You sure I’m man enough to help you? Wouldn’t want to get in your way. Didn’t you just tell Kuroo that you do everything around here? But you can’t even get yourself off. I wonder what Kuroo would think of you now if he saw what a slutty mess you are begging for me to help you.”

You wail as you desperately continue bouncing your ass. It feels so good. He’s filling you so well, but it’s not enough to reach your peak and you begin to plead again. “Kenma, I’m sorry! You’re more than enough for me. I can’t do this without you. Please help me. Please please please.” Kenma brings his fingers to your engorged clit and he watches in fascination as drool trickles down your face as you open your mouth in a silent scream. He’s not even moving his fingers, but you still try to rub yourself against his still digits. He teases you a little longer, just barely grazing your sensitive bud with his fingers as he holds his hand steady and he takes in the lewd sight of you lifting yourself up and down his shaft while trying to shake your hips enough to continuously brush your clit against his fingers. You look absolutely sex crazed as you work yourself into a frenzy on top of him. 

He wants to tease you for so much longer and he would if he could, but he can feel his own release just around the corner as you continue riding him. Deciding to take some pity on you, he sharply thrusts up into you, matching your rapid pace, and you scream at the added pressure and depth of each stroke as his balls slap against your ass. He rapidly begins to circle your clit and all it takes is a few more thrusts before your back arches and he can feel your walls spasm and milk his throbbing length. You collapse in his arms as he continues to brutally piston in and out of you in order to chase his own end. Your body twitches, overstimulated, but too exhausted to try and stop him and with a stuttering of his hips, Kenma grabs your hips with a bruising grip and sinks you fully down one last time as he spills his seed inside of you.

Panting breaths fill the room as the two of you recover. Kenma rubs soothing circles into your hips and whispers murmur after murmur of praise into your ear until he feels your body finally go still and fully melt. He gingerly slides out of you and he can almost feel himself getting aroused again at the sight of his cum and your juices dripping out of your ravaged cunt, but he quickly shakes the thought out of his head as he carefully carries you to the bathroom. He draws a bath and the two of you sit there together, his arms wrapped around your waist as you lean your torso and head back against his body. 

You finally find the strength to speak and with a raspy voice you apologize again, but Kenma just fondly kisses the top of your head. “I really don’t mind that you take care of me. I love it actually, but just try not to team up with Kuroo against me anymore. He’s bad enough just by myself. He doesn’t need any help from you.” You tiredly chuckle as you sink further into his hold. “I don’t know. If this is how sex is after I make fun of you with Kuroo, I might need to do it more often.” You squeal as a splash of water hits your face before retaliating with a splash of your own and any tension that had built up completely dissipates as the two of you playfully continue your water fight.   

[gravegroves]

For the prompts/headcanon thing:

Billy trying to save for a trip back to Cali and Steve raising money for him by doing a sexy carwash service except Billy turns up. Steve would be all like, 'I'm trying to raise money FOR you, get lost' and Bills would be like 'listen Bambi, I want my car ✨gleaming✨, not one spot missed, now hop to it'

Steve happens to be wearing the most obscenely short booty shorts, just saying...

(and omg your art is just *chefs kiss* stunning, welcome to the fandom 😊)

May I suggest a slightly altered version?

Maybe it's tradition for graduates in Hawkins to organise fund raisers for the kids going off to college and this year, Steve's year, the girls have decided to do a raffle of some kind while the boys decide to do a car wash. Now, Steve might not be going to college, but he really could use the money and say what you will about Steve and his dwindling popularity, but none of the guys can deny that he pulls in some serious bucks from the desperate housewives willing to shell over a whole five fucking dollars to have their car washed by a guy in cut-off jean shorts and a crop top.

They organise the fund raiser to happen over a whole weekend and they luck out with the weather, the sun is absolutely baking and most of the boys are down to just their shorts by late morning already and business is booming. Steve is fairly fucking sure that Mrs Wheeler's car is the cleanest vehicle in the county by now considering that she's paid to have her car washed three times in just two days. And it's late afternoon on Sunday, the fund raiser only has a few hours left and Steve's hands are wrinkly and a bit sore, his soaked clothes had been a nice way to cool off during the day, but are now starting to chafe uncomfortably and the tips of his ears are sunburnt of all the fucking places... so Steve is ready to call it a day already. Then the familiar, deep rumble of a car approaching makes at least a dozen heads turn to look, but Steve freezes in place because he knows that engine...

And of course it's Billy. Of course the dickhead would have heard about this and jumped at the opportunity and of course Steve is the one who's just finished up and ready to take on the next customer. And Billy gets out of the car, wearing those red life guard shorts that've haunted Steve's dreams all summer and nothing else, tips his sunglasses down his wrinkled nose, complains loudly about how he thought this was a sexy car wash, but still drives the Camaro into the free spot and grins at Steve when it becomes obvious who's gonna be washing his car.

He planned this. Steve fucking knows it.

And they might be on good terms now or whatever, but Billy's still an extraordinary dick when he wants to be and Steve can see it written clearly over the guy's face that today is gonna be one of those days. Some of the other boys snicker at his predicament, but quickly avert their gaze when Billy turns to look at them with his eyebrows raised.

"Get to it, Harrington." Billy smirks and pulls a fold-out chair out of the trunk. Flips it open with a flick of his wrist and sets it down with a clack on the bitumen like the show-off douchebag that he is.

Not that he ever gets to sit in it. Because Billy hovers. He calls out suggestions and approaches Steve from behind to lean down to make sure Steve is getting into every nook and cranny and giving his baby a good scrub, all while breathing sarcastic encouragements into his ear. All round being an absolute pain in the ass, as Steve had suspected he would be. And Steve could probably deal with all of that just fine, except Billy keeps touching him. Keeps accidentally knocking their hips together or glancing his knuckles over Steve's thigh where no one can see or breathes warmly over his sunburnt shoulders and neck when he leans in to get a better look, making Steve shiver involuntarily.

And Steve is a mess. He tries to keep himself angled away from Billy's stare, keeping covered with buckets and rags as much as possible because by the end he's definitely getting hard and his shorts aren't doing much to hide it. And he suspects that Billy knows exactly what he's doing, okay, but there's a small chance that he doesn't and that's a chance too great for Steve to dare say or do anything about it.

But when Steve is finally done and the Camaro is shining in the warm, late afternoon sun, Billy leans in to tuck a five dollar note into the waist of his pants like he's some kind of stripper and says, low and intimate, "I might need someone to help clean the back seat, too, of you're interested Harrington?"

And Steve, idiot that he is, looks through the window into the perfectly tidy interior and says "Looks fine to me."

And Billy throws his head back and makes that breathless chuckle Steve has come to learn is real amusement and not that crazed hyena cackle he makes when he's two seconds from flipping his lid. Billy leans in again once he gets a hold of himself, this time leaning one hand on the roof of the Camaro and all but trapping Steve against the sun-warmed window, "Well, wanna help me get it dirty first, then?"

And oh!

Steve can definitely do that.

.

.

.

I just got the most vivid image of Steve scowling at Billy over the hood of the Camaro as he washes it, probably yells at him to fuck off for half an hour so he can get some work done and Billy just grins, sucks down a slushie through a straw with maximum slurping sounds and stays put, keeps yelling directions and being a menace. I'm definitely gonna put this on the list for potential art prompts!

(And thank you so much, for both the prompt and the welcome!! 🌼)

[kennyisscrewy]

Playing Hard to Want II Webgott

Thank you to @speirtons aka Lily for organizing this #bobtogether fic writing event, and kicking a healthy dose of inspiration into me! You’re seriously a GIFT to this community 

W/C: 5076

Prompt: There was only one bed

   David was already not looking forward to seeing Joe again once he was finally let out of the hospital. Every day that he spent lying on that bed felt like a new nail added to his coffin, yet another tiny spike in Liebgott’s hatred of him. And truthfully Joe had hated David before he’d even done anything wrong, so now that he had… He shuddered at the thought. The street sign boasting Haganeu blared in his peripheral like a neon warning sign. Bitterly, he mulled over the unfairness that his one motivator as he was healing up (returning back to the 101st) was now something of a cold dread in his stomach. His friendship with Joe, too, had been shot in the dirt before he’d even gotten the chance to try.

  The icy ball continued to roll around in David’s stomach as he called out to George Luz, so very relieved to see a friendly face that wasn’t frowning and somber and pitying, only to have the usually animated man respond tiredly. And it just got worse, and worse, and worse. He couldn’t seem to stop his big, fat mouth from opening; asking where’s Hoobler? How’s about Toye or Wild Bill? Where’d that cheeky little Julien kid get off to now? Nobody said a word, and it spoke miles. Finally Foley and Martin ground out something about how thin 2nd platoon had become, and David was shooed away like a buzzing gnat.

  He swore under his breath as he walked up to the next Jeep and was instantly pinned in place by mean, dark eyes. The second Joe recognized him as more than just “anonymous annoyance”, he was rolling those glittering eyes, and David resented him for looking so pretty while doing it. It felt surreal to finally take in those near-black eyes that shone in the foggy french sunlight like pebbles in person once more, rather than just using his best memory to muse over them in his hospital bed.

   David has had a long time to mull over those eyes that narrowed into repulsed little slits as some unfamiliar face finally yanked David up into the remaining empty space. Four months, according to that red sneering mouth, which was news to him. In the first month, he’d kept count, anxious to get back to his platoon and his friends (and Lieb, of course). But around the second time that the nurses had none-too gently told him that if he left, the infection would kill him before he got another chance to play hero, David had become disheartened enough that he just let the days and weeks roll by sluggishly. Joe’s pissy remark: “Must’ve like that hospital.” almost made him collapse into hysterical laughter.

  That hospital room was never ending purgatory; solitary confinement. He lay there in his soaked through clothes and waited to die a meaningless, empty death. Dozens of times he’d pictured his father's reaction upon receiving the letter. Dull, bloodshot eyes would scan over the words: “died of his wounds”, and “taken off the frontline due to his own lack of awareness” and his father would chuckle meanly. Mutter how he’d been right to tell David he���d never make it out there, and “oh I hate to speak ill of the dead and say I told ya so!” The peeling off-white wallpaper and fleshy toned curtains plagued his nightmares still; Normandy felt like a tropical getaway in comparison. He opened his mouth to tell Joe that, and see that shit eating smirk slide off his pale face with satisfaction, but looking at him gave David pause.

  Beneath those pretty, glinting eyes were heavy bags so purple they could’ve been mistaken for bruises at first glance. His O.D.s and face were dirty-which was nothing new- but seeing Joe’s hair a stringy, careless mess sent something of a shock through David. Kind of like Perconte’s dental fixation, David has always been able to spot Liebgott from a mile away simply because it was clear that, even as his bloody bandages soaked through, the man took a few moments each day to make sure his thick, dark hair was still soft and touchable looking.

...Alright, so maybe David was just projecting there.

  Regardless, he looked like HELL. Which felt oh, so wrong. David has always admired how unaffected he’d seemed by the war, both physically and mentally, and his guts twisted as he watched those long, oddly dainty fingers bring a cigarette to his lips. They were shaking . And it’s not like it was exactly cold out.

  Feeling nauseous, his gaze moved unabidden to Heffron. Unkept, ruddy stubble dotted the usually chipper replacement’s thin face, and the shine appeared to have left his bright eyes. Dirty bandaged fingertips poked out of olive gloves that looked like the kid had torn the fingers off of himself. And he was quiet; so fucking quiet.If there was one thing David knew about Philly boys, it was that you could never get them to stop yapping even if krauts were peppering them in an empty field. He was unsettled by not hearing Babe’s squeaking, weird little giggles or Bill’s cartoonish cackling carrying on the wind. Honest to God, it didn’t even feel much like Easy anymore. No Luz attempting what had to be the worst British accent he’d ever heard or Toye bitching about whatever new thing had popped into his head. None of Muck trying out an hour's worth of garish standup while Penkala and Malarkey giggled like prepubescent hyenas. Just empty uniforms and the stench of stale cigarette smoke remained.

  Tracking down Lipton was a welcome distraction, as were the multiple near-death experiences on his way to the abandoned house he was posted up in. Something downright neurotic in him took comfort in the return of the bone rattling violence. Even as he was forced to dive away from a near-direct hit, which sent stabbing hot pains through his thigh, his heart soared with a sick kind of glee at the taste of dirt in his mouth. This solidified that he was really, truly back in the fight; it was as terrifying as it was liberating.

  Lt. Speirs previously from Dog Company and Lipton signed David’s execution by reconfirming that, yes, he was being reassigned to 2nd platoon. And, as a bonus, he’d acquired a squeaky clean West Pointer to babysit! Oh joy. Well, at least by comparison, David no longer felt so much like a replacement. The moment he’d laid eyes on that fancy graduation ring, he was filled with a perverse sense of relief. Oh, the toccoa boys are sure gonna have a field day with you, Lieutenant Jones. David felt like a little kid who’d desperately joined in on hazing the new kid, all in the vain hopes that the other boys might pick on him a little less.

  Any sort of relief David was feeling vanished as he faced down his former friend’s critical gazes, bitterness radiating off them in thick, rolling waves. Wordlessly, he tossed his bag unto an empty upper bunk, and took a deep breath before turning back to the men.

“This seat taken?”

  For some reason, that had Ramirez chuckling and had Chuck swearing and rolling his eyes. Everyone in the little huddle swung their gazes over to Liebgott, who seemingly always had something to say, especially for Webster. He fidgeted anxiously as Joe took his sweet time sucking on his Lucky Strike like a popsicle, blowing a stream of smoke out of pursed, cherry lips so slowly that David dug his nails into his uninjured thigh.

“They’re all fuckin taken, Web. This look like a fuckin presidential fuckin suite to you? I know you’re so used to yer cushy hospital digs what with big canned nurses shaking their tits in your face-“

  He walked away before he’d even heard the end of Joe’s rant, dripping with acidic hatred that made the blood in David’s ears ring. He knew if he stood around any longer that he’d punch Joe right in his handsome, artfully carved goddamned face. And as badly as Joe wanted it, he wasn’t the enemy right now.

Far fucking from it actually.

****

   David could feel drying blood underneath his fingernails as he stumbled back into the dilapidated house, wondering if it were Kraut blood or Jackson’s. His head leant against the side of his/not his bunk with a dull thud that didn’t even register. Mentally, he was still kneeling by Jackson’s side, framing the sides of the boy’s head with his fingers as he pleaded for the kid to calm down. He’d told Jackson it was gonna be okay, that everything would be fine once Doc showed up. But jokes on them; Doc had shown up and Jackson was dead, dead, dead.

  He repeated it aloud when they were quietly asked about the mission’s “success”. The mission’s fucking SUCCESS; god David had to laugh. Two German prisoners captured sure, but it felt like a monumental fucking loss from where he was standing. 20 fucking years old…

“Yeah we heard.”

  Came Joe’s voice, breaking through the haze of blood and shouting and gunpowder. It was surprisingly gentle, softer than he could ever recall hearing him speak before. And for some reason that is what nearly made David crumple. Not watching a kid begging to live, not listening to McClung tearfully screaming and pointing a shaking sidearm at the German’s heads, just Joe Fucking Liebgott not treating him like a smear on the treads of his government issued boots for once. Quietly, David excuses himself, walked casually to the ransacked bathroom, and violently puked up bile until he couldn’t even feel the muscles in his throat.

   A few hours of shaking and vomiting later, and he shuffled in the pitch black room towards the bunk beds. Blindly, he made sure to step as lightly as possible (which was quite a feat for the heavy-footed man), and reached out with searching fingers for his bed. The moment fingertips made contact with scratchy, piling sheets, David hauled his weary body on to the mattress, only to be met by the sensation of something sharp digging into his side. For one crazed moment, he thought he’d stabbed himself with a bayonet that wasn’t on his person, and his hand trembled as he flickered his lighter on expecting to see crimson staining through his jacket. Honestly, he’d have preferred the sight of him slowly bleeding out to what he did see bathed in the orangey dim light.

  Half moon eyelashes so dark and thick they looked like ink blots curved against moonbeam cheekbones. Thin, dark eyebrows not scrunched down in irritation for once, and a smooth forehead oddly absent of worry lines. And of course, chapped but also sinfully flushed-looking lips, thin but shapely, barely parted and emitting sweet sighs. Liebgott, with his ridiculously bony elbows jabbing into his ribs he was so close, looking like a goddamned Rembrandt. Too stunned to speak (or even breathe), he gently grasped Joe’s elbow (“ Christ, so fragile; felt like it might snap if he wasn’t careful”) with the intention of putting some space between them. Cherubic, slumbering Lieb had other ideas, apparently, because the second David started to apply pressure, skinny little fingers were suddenly clutching his bicep and hauling David closer. Mary, Mother of Jesus , it took everything in him not to scream as the unconscious bane of his existence wrapped himself around David with all four of his sinewy limbs.

  He whipped his head to the side fearfully as sleeping Joe wedged his thigh between David’s with such a kittenish little sigh it made David’s face flush neon. Small mercies, all of the other men were slumbering, albeit restlessly. Upon second glance, actually, David was relieved to see he wasn’t the only one sharing a bunk. Heffron lay curled up small and sad on Chuck’s big, barrel chest, but there was something distinctly platonic about the pair somehow. Unlike the little wriggling motions that Joe was using to systematically ensure David’s early grave.

  He double, then triple checked that the slighter man was actually asleep and not fucking with David’s head in the most goddamned insane fashion imaginable as bony, calloused fingers knot themselves into his dog tags with a white-knuckled grip. This had to be a joke, or a hallucination. Maybe he’d been hit by some wayward shrapnel and he was actually bleeding out on the bank like that kraut.

  David couldn’t have imagined this even in his four-month stockpile of wet dreams, which Joe had increasingly intruded upon (read: starred in). In those, it was never this based in reality. Usually it was just snapshots: a long, arcing throat with rather specific scarring; the sharpest and deepest Cupid’s bow lips he’d ever seen wrapping themselves around an insult (amongst other things). Dark, bottomless eyes half lidded and digging all the way to David’s core. A scratchy, hissing drawl: “And whattaya gonna do about it, Web?”

  Actually feeling the faint press of those lips through the fabric of his t-shirt and those gorgeous, dark waves tickling the side of his throat made his head spin in a feverish haze. Not to mention the thin, surprisingly-muscular thigh that was occasionally flexing right up against David’s crotch. For the first time, he was thankful for the sharp stinging of his still-tender wound, as he was sure it was the only thing keeping his body from betraying him. Though, again, the downright coquettish way Liebgott was sighing in his ear was trying awful hard to overcome that hurdle. Blue eyes stared their own makeshift skylights into the slatted roof above their heads as David tried to freeze every muscle in his body completely. After the disaster of a patrol, he’d been pretty certain he wouldn’t be sleeping that night. But this little unconscious stunt of Joe’s had absolutely guaranteed that.

  David woke up the next morning half expecting rust coating the back of his throat as Joe shoved his bayonet down it, or perhaps to the sight of the tendons in those skinny arms flexing as he strung David up from the nearest tree. Instead, David woke up shivering in an empty bed feeling oddly lonely. For 24 years, he had woken up in a bed by himself, but this is the first time it had felt wrong.

  Carefully, he shifted himself into a sitting position and tried to shake the feeling of phantom knuckles brushing against his chest, and warm, moist air wetting his throat from lips that were no longer there. Christ, what was happening to him? Still feeling half asleep, he turned his head and was pinned in place by a bewildering sight:

"C'est bon, mon garçon, ça va. C'était un accident ... juste un accident."

  Had he not had such a distinctive, thick accent, David would’ve found it hard to believe that was Doc pressed so close to Heffron. Sleep-hazy eyes watched, transfixed, as cracked, pale lips pressed sweet french notions into the crown of Babe’s trembling, red-brown hair. Babe’s gangly, long-limbed body was curled up impressively small, with what appeared like all of his weight pressing down on Gene’s chest. The medic, for all of his scrawny stature, hardly seemed to mind having his back flattened to the mattress by his fellow paratrooper. Dark blue eyes shone with so much love, it rattled David to his core. Did the two of them not know David was still in here with them? Weren’t they terrified of being court marshalled, or worse? His skin tingled, feeling starved for the ghost of Liebgott’s skin on his, as his gaze tracked Roe’s fingers carding through Babe’s thin locks. The two men were so tightly pressed together from chest to toes that they melded into one being. And just when David felt like his reality couldn’t resemble more of a fever dream, something impossible happened.

“Regarde-moi, ange.” Doc rumbled in a low, sleep-scratchy voice before slowly moving one palm up to cup Babe’s chin. And then, as though it were nothing, suddenly they were kissing. And the way the duo kissed, searching and deep….that didn’t look like the first time they’d done that before. His cheeks flushed when a soft, sweet little moan slid out of those pressing lips-he wasn’t sure which. Okay, so now David was almost positive Doc hadn’t spotted his sleeping form across from Babe’s bunk. He decided to take pity on the guys; this was obviously a very private moment that David had no business seeing. Shifting his weight and clearing his throat, he sat up very gingerly so as not to startle the men too badly. In spite of his best efforts, he felt like a real bastard as he watched all the muscles in Babe’s back stiffen, the redhead ducking his face fearfully into the side of Gene’s neck. “For a grown man, Heffron was weirdly adorable.” David thought to himself absently, unable to connect the small, fragile boy with the sharpshooting killer on the battlefield.

  Gene slowly turned to regard David with a calm, unaffected aire that confused and frightened the groggy young man. The stony faced medic shushed Babe’s faint fretting while those strong, capable hands rubbed paths through fluffy, auburn hair and down the other man’s back. Those dark-washed denim eyes continued to pierce David’s gaze all the while, as though threatening David to open his big, stupid mouth. Of course, David intended to do no such thing (his nighttime activities from last night really gave him no grounds to) and he tried his best to silently convey that in his face. His mother had always told him “his face said everything for him”, so hopefully he’d be able to recall that skillset. Something must’ve clicked, because he watched the icy stare thaw and soften ever so slightly. And then, then: the smug bastard had the gall to wink at him. Well, that certainly went to show David just how threatening Doc Roe found him!

  Once he’d scrambled out of the house with still-wrinkled ODs and a truly wild look in his blue eyes, David had been kind of counting on Joe not being anywhere near him. In his mind’s eye, he imagined the slighter man brooding in some distant alleyway all by his lonesome, smoking like a coal train with that patented scowl on his face. ‘ Probably brainstorming how best to kill me slowly and painfully…’ He thought stormily, feeling his stomach twisting yet again. He wasn’t sure why the thought bothered him so much; it’s not like that would be out-of-character or even unlikely that Joe had not been doing that from the minute they’d met. But somehow...after what they’d shared last night… the thought stung something fierce. This was what was swirling through David’s head as he clomped through Haganeu, startled out of his thoughts by bumping roughly into Martin.

“Webster, you gotta be pullin’ my leg. After that shit you pulled the other day?” The shorter man looked-okay, well, he always looked pissed, but this was a special brand of vinegar that made him itch to immediately cry uncle.

“Aw, Christ, sir. I’m terribly sorry, honestly, sir. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going…”

“Clearly,” Johnny scoffed, but to David’s surprise, his tone softened as he mumbled, “Well, I’m guessing you probably didn’t get much sleep last night. I...I didn’t sleep a wink.”

  He blinked dumbly at Martin’s abrupt change of heart. Sympathetic words from virtually anybody (but especially Srg. Martin) were so unfamiliar to him that they almost didn’t register to him. Tears threatened to prickle ludicrously at what might’ve been the only show of kindness David had yet to receive since he’d been cleared to go back, and he shook them off so he could offer Martin a respectful nod.

“I mean, if I said yes, that’d mean I was disobeying Major Winter’s direct orders.” He smiled cheekily, also feeling a bit of a rush addressing Dick by his new title. Inside, he wriggled and preened like a puppy when Martin replied with a faint grin of his own. With a faux-exasperated huff, Johnny reached up and rustled David’s mop of wavy, bed-messy hair before moving past him with a shake of his head.

  The brief interaction made David feel a bit lighter, no longer feeling so weighed down by what he knew was coming: a complete and utter shitstorm. Just then, a nasally, california drawl spiked his eardrums; as if his thoughts had summoned the bastard!

“No, no, see, Bobby COULD get with any chick ‘e wanted to, but he’s a lil bitch!”

Oh goodie; Joe appeared to be in yet another scintillating conversation. David couldn’t quite make out Chuck’s reply, but he most definitely heard Joe’s:

“You daydrinkin’ or somethin’, Chuckie?! Iceman’s like, the most badass one! Cyclops is just posturing! He’s a goddamned nerd!”

  Okay, so maybe David was struck slightly that Liebgott even knew what the word ‘posturing’ meant. And that surprise must’ve registered in his face as he did his best to inch past the cluster of 2nd platoon boys, because Ramirez suddenly called out:

“Somethin’ wrong, Webster?” with a mean, little smirk that had Grant rolling his eyes. David had always appreciated how little Srg. Grant tolerated the rest of his platoon’s relentless pestering of David. Not enough to speak up on his behalf, of course. After all, David was pretty sure that Joe was his best friend aside from maybe Talbert.

Liebgott’s eyes slowly swung over to acknowledge his presence, and David flinched in preparation for the barrage of insults he was sure were heading his way. Both parties had stopped walking, everyone apart from David and Joe shifting in slight discomfort as the staredown continued.

“You look like shit, Harvard.” Joe offered finally before bodily knocking his shoulder with David’s. And this one was purposeful.

  The group marched on, gravel crunching beneath their feet in the silence while David stood frozen in the same spot. W-what? That was it? Joe wasn’t even going to-to acknowledge what they’d done?? No, fuck that, what JOE had done to HIM! It wasn’t exactly like David had crawled into Joe’s bunk and-and….

Oh.

 Well, it was kind of like that. But, still! He’d been more than willing to leave and sleep on the frigid basement flooring, but then Joe had started rubbing and sighing and had latched onto David’s arm! Yeah...held him captive...with his slumber-sweet breath and surprisingly petal-soft skin. Jesus Christ, what was he kidding himself? Truth was, they were both at fault here, but only one of them had done so consciously. Did Liebgott think he was some sort of perverted creep now? God, he really wished that Joe had at least made some mention as to his feelings on the situation. Perhaps if he could manage to get the stubborn guy alone.

  David saw his chances and took it after Dick had informed them that they wouldn’t have to do a second patrol that night, snagging Joe by that sharp, little elbow on his way out the door. He ignored the look of unfiltered disgust on Joe’s face for the time being, swallowing his nerve before he had a fucking heart attack.

“Joe, can we talk? Please?

  He pleaded softly, ignoring how Babe was openly staring at them both as he brushed past them. The tips of his ears and high planes of his cheeks flushed at the sudden reminder that Babe knew . What made it worse was Joe’s gaze tracking the color as it spread across David’s face; he seemed unaware that he was even doing it.

“Why should I listen to anything you have to say, Web?” The question came out choked up, and obviously not as vicious as intended.

  Rather than replying, he simply tugged on Joe’s arm and ushered him away from where Nixon and Winters were still idly watching the interaction. The pair shuffled into a nearby alleyway, and David bit his lip, struggling not to comment on how easily he was able to move Joe around. That undoubtedly would set him off, and cause Joe to storm off before they’d even had a chance to talk.

   Instead, he let go of Joe’s arm hastily, and shifted so that his weight was pressing along the brick wall opposite him. Something on Joe’s face shuttered for a half-second, but his expression smoothed over into what he probably thought looked like apathy. Again, David fought off a smile; Joe’s face was always like an open book, and the older man never seemed to not be smouldering over some little thing. Maybe he was going insane, but David had always found it weirdly cute. If he wanted to really ensure his death, he might’ve even gone ahead and referred to it as a pout. That’s what it was really; Liebgott was never not pouting .

“The fuck ‘r you smilin’ for?”

  Oops, guess he’d failed. He wiped the grin off bodily with his palm and tried affecting an air of seriousness. Clearing his throat, his sky blue eyes rolled heavenwards as he searched for the right phrasing:

“I wanted to...apologize, for my actions the other night. It was inappropriate of me-”

Joe prickled instantly: “Jesus- don’t you talk to me like I’m some skirt, Webster! I-you, it’s not like you took my innocence or-”

   He seemed to register the words he was saying and his mouth shut with an audible clack. And David watched in fascination as Joe Liebgott blushed like an embarrassed little boy, shuffling his feet and looking away from him. He’d always thought a healthy flush looked particularly fetching on pale skin, the rosy color bloomed oh so beautifully, in his opinion at least. He continued to watch in baffled silence as Joe began to babble to fill the quiet:

“Not that- I’m not- and you, you didn’t… we didn’t- Look, nothing happened! Okay?”

  His ears got much redder than the rest of his face, and David let himself think it freely now. Cute . It was fucking endearing, the way Joe continued to huff and puff, brown eyes fluttering around the dirty alley. He felt a surge of warmth in his chest, feeling perhaps a little gluttonous as he soaked in the way dark brown locks shone in the dimming sunlight. With Joe refusing to acknowledge David’s existence, he was free to admire the man to his heart's content, appreciative that he was here  in the flesh.

    A sharp, defined collarbone peeked out of Joe’s jacket where the hem had gone askew, and long, pretty fingers toyed with his dog tags subconsciously. His memory recalled how those fingers felt: not rough, like he’d expect of a man so used to heavy artillery, but soft as silk. David recognized, obviously, that Joe was plenty manly. He acted with far too much aggression and seemed to compulsively throw his weight around (not that he had much to speak of). But physically, there seemed to be a disconnect. Joseph Liebgott had been sculpted into a thin, delicate form that clashed harshly with his mean attitude and meaner words. Call a spade a spade, but Joe was pretty . Handsome, sure, but pretty was more accurate. Pretty evoked images of sculptures and artwork to David; something finely crafted and meant to be….

To be appreciated.

“Do you have any memory…? Of anything you did last night?” Anger quickly bled into concern across Liebgott’s delicate features, much to David’s confusion:

“Do? Shit, David, I...I didn’t do somethin’ stupid, did I? ‘S that what’s got you all upset?”

  Wait, what? Now Joe thought he’d-ugh- taken David’s innocence?!? Any fondness he had for the shorter faded into irritation. God, he could be thick sometimes! He fought the urge to shake Joe, less inclined to fall through with this now that he knew how easily he could push Joe around. Hypothetically, of course. Although…

“Wha- I’m not upset, Joe!”

“The fuck you’re not!”

“But, really, I’m not-”

“You’re shoutin’ in my face, Webster! Clearly, something’s got yer panties in a bunch!”

He could feel his face heating up as his anger built, ticking upwards the more they shouted at one another:

“My p- You know what? Fine, yes, I am upset! Because you refuse to talk to me about what happened!”

“NOTHIN’-”

“WE SHARED A FUCKING BED, JOE!”

  Joe surged forward anxiously and covered David’s mouth with his palm, and oh, touching was so much worse. In his haste, Joe’s body was pressing into his own from chest to thigh, and David tasted the acrid nicotine tang and salt of his fingers. As Joe hissed in a tense, barely-audible voice, their noses nearly brushed.

“Are you trying to get us both shot?? Shut the fuck up with that shit!”

He waited patiently until Joe finally removed his hand before saying: “So, you do acknowledge that something happened.”

  He practically felt Joe holding himself back from smacking him, but David didn’t back down. Once more leaning his head back against the bricks, he stuck out his chin pointedly and kept his lips pressed together. Quick, clever eyes took in the picture of defiance he made, and something shifted in Joe. They landed on his lips heavily, blatantly, and David felt the backs of his knees starting to sweat. A sly, wide smirk stretched across Joe’s full mouth that made David feel small somehow, but he couldn’t tell if he hated that as much as he ought to. They were already so close, but Joe shifted his weight so that both sides were pressing him back into the rough, dirty wall rather than just the one. He could only follow along helplessly as he watched Joe’s hand come up to cage him in on the sides of his head, and what the holy hell was going on??

“So, what if we did? Hm, David? Would that upset you, if I did remember?”

He scoffed but it sounded weak even to his own ears, “Yeah right, Lieb. You were asleep.”

Joe hummed, pressing impossibly closer, until he could feel just the barest scrape of chapped lips up against his own, near-black eyes boring holes into David that shone with a delicious mischievousness that had him shivering:

“Guess you’ll never know!” He said brightly, pulling away like he hadn’t pasted himself to David’s whole body with ease, and with a wink, he was gone.    

[sopeverse]

Scene set it was 4 am in the morning and I was scrolling through tik tok and I came about the dumbest video but it made me laugh, cackle like a crazed hyena so I proceeded to 🦟🦗🦟🦗🦟🦗🦟🦗 in my bed for 15 minutes gasping for air but then my cat jumped onto my bed and looked at me with the most concerned look a cat can muster and that made me lose my shit and I knocked myself out from laughing too much

i’m extremely concerned for you

also i just spent five minutes crying at 🦟🦗, that’s an extremely creative way to describe yourself laughing sjdhdjrjkr

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

Okay so I need like a million wedding fics okay I’m not even a wedding person like not my thing but I need them like you know. you all know it will be a clusterfuck.

royal wedding right? am I right? Royal Wedding and all that Entails. And it’s the (former) president’s son (because let’s be real here given all that these two lovely darling idiot angels want to accomplish I suspect a wedding will take four years to actually happen--

--and don’t even get me started on all the possible Proposal fics like my god I need a million proposal fics STAT Ao3 peeps you need to GET. ON. THIS. BULLSHIT. all other mlm ships are temporarily cancelled to write me some proposal fics and then y’all can get back to your regularly scheduled programming--

--so anyway yes the proposal will take like forever to happen because you know both boys will need it to be Perfect and it will end up Messy but still Perfect so yes former president it’s four years down the line anyhoo)

so we’ve got THAT to deal with and neither Alex nor Henry really gives a flying goddamn fuck about a royal wedding or a presidential wedding or what-have-you but dear God they literally have so many levels of diplomatic cultured gold-plated proverbial you-know-what that will hit the proverbial you-know-where if they don’t so they Gotta even if it’s Awful and it’s hilarious and ridiculous and over the top

and then

then

you know one of them is going to snap or both of them at once or maybe each of them at different times

and they’re just going to go fuck it, we’re having our own wedding.

and maybe they got married secretly years and years ago after Alex was in his 1L summer and cackling like a crazed hyena on coke going I can’t do this after all and it’s been a secret this whole time. or maybe it was a private ceremony somewhere in the French countryside the summer before the Official Proposal was leaked to the press. or maybe they did it impulsively while volunteering at one of Pez’s projects in like Nairobi or on vacation at the Taj Mahal because ooh exotic location H we gotta do it we gotta.

or maybe they just do it the way they would in Austen’s day (she is Henry’s favorite British author after all) and run up to Gretna Green the morning before the Big Posh Wedding.

but however they do it (in the millions and millions of delightful wedding fics you all are definitely going to write me yes good) I just know that it’ll be messy and awkward and just a li’l trashy and delightful and marvelous and wondrous and sooooft and Them.

[gender-critical-analytical]

49 and 19! (For the ask game)

Ooh, thank you for asking!

19. Book I was forced to read in class but ended up enjoying

A: The first mandatory book I ever ended up liking was Percy Jackson in 4th grade, but actually, I enjoy most current and past mandatory books. I especially like Where the Red Fern Grows and To Kill A Mockingbird, though. For a while, when all of my school’s english classes were reading The Outsiders, my friends went into a craze over the book, and the girl I liked was head over heels about it, so I remember that one pretty fondly, too.

49. Something I don’t have a picture of that I wish I did

A: ok, lmao, this is gonna be kind of a story/rant, so I’ll put a TL;DR at the bottom, but:

A few years ago, my family and I survived a housefire, and we were temporarily homeless. We sorted out a place to live again, but about a year and a half ago, our living situation was declared as unsafe living conditions, so we basically got booted to the curb again. While we were homeless for the second time, we borrowed some money from some relatives so we could rent out a hotel room for a few nights while we figured out what to do. It was me, my mom, my grandma, and my (at the time) infant baby sister, in a rather small room, and under some stressful conditions. 

I had reached out to a close friend of mine to tell him why I wouldn’t be in school for a few days, and he basically asked me if my family would be ok with him staying in the hotel with us for a night. He offered to just hang out to take my mind off of things, and promised to pay for something for all of us to eat for dinner, which was a rising concern at the time. My family agreed, since they all get along with my friend pretty well (and probably out of sympathy for me lmao) and my friend was dropped off. 

The hotel we were at (if I remember correctly, it was a Best Western) had a small arcade, so my friend dished out a few quarters and we played this stupid rubber duck claw machine like 3 times in a row. We also kept finding random ducks other people had won around the hotel, and we would pick them up as we went. By the end of the day, we had about 6, and we showed my family our collection because we thought it was really funny for some reason.

Well, skip ahead to about midnight, and he and I were still up. He convinced me to stay up and watch The Help with him, and by time the movie was over the rest of my family was asleep, and we were both wired. So, he convinces me to grab a room key and sneak out of the room to go see if the arcade is open all night (spoiler: it was). So, he gets out a few dollars, and we go to the front desk to see if they could exchange it for some quarters. They do. We win some more ducks. 

After we do that, he gives me this...look. And I’m like ‘what? what is it?’

He says “we should try to tip the machine”, because we were sleep deprived teenagers loose in a hotel arcade. We tried to tip it (read: flip it completely onto it’s side) but somebody started coming down the hallway and we panicked and stopped. 

He gets out a few more dollars to exchange for quarters. The people at the front desk, after learning that we were only playing the duck game, made a joking reference to the fact that some kids had managed to toss their ducks onto the top of the hotel vestibule nearest to where our hotel room was in the building. Basically, this thing

but it was red except for the doors, and the top was carpeted and had like, a wooden frame? Picture that, if you can. Our room was on the second floor, a little way away from this.

So, we took off towards it, and sure enough, there was near 20 colorful rubber ducks just. Strewn up on the top of it. 

We started brainstorming how we were gonna get up there when I was like ‘Wait!! what if I get one of the luggage cart things and hold it still, so you can climb up there?’ because I have terrible balance and I wasn’t gonna climb one of those things. 

But he agreed to do it, so I dragged a luggage cart over 

Similar to that one, and held it still while he climbed.

He got to the top, scrambled to his feet, and just started grabbing ducks by like 3 or 4 at a time and chucking them down, and the whole time he was laughing like a fucking MANIAC. I mean he was red in the face cackling. I started laughing too, because ??? It was just funny, y’know? I was tired, and there’s colorful ducks raining around me and just going ‘thump’ on the floor at like 1 in the morning, and my best friend was standing on a platform above me sounding like a hyena. He jumped down and I had to kind of rush to catch him, but after that we were both shushing eachother, and I actually ended up laughing so hard that there was just tears streaming down my face. We picked up all of the ducks and got in the elevator (I actually made him close the elevator doors and get on his hands and knees so I could pop one of the tiles on the ceiling up because someone managed to put another fucking duck in there) and we set all of the ducks on the TV stand in complete darkness, while trying not to wake my family up, because we wanted them to be confused when they woke up before us in the morning.

Now there’s a plastic bag in my closet filled with weird looking rubber ducks, and I never really do anything with them, but. Sentimental value, you know?

We also found a shitty plastic necklace with my name (but spelled wrong by one letter) on the arcade floor while my friend was having a mental breakdown, and now I keep it as a cursed object, but that’s another thing.

TL;DR: I wish I had a picture of my friend standing on a platform above me, showering me in multi-colored rubber ducks at 1AM in a Best Western while gasping for air because of how hard he was laughing

[shimmershaewrites]

Waltzing's for Dreamers, Chapter 9 (a Walking Dead story, Caryl AU).

Title:  Waltzing's for Dreamer's

Rating:  I'm going to say M, just to play it safe. 

Warnings:  Adult language.  Some innuendo. 

Characters/Pairings:  Carol/Daryl, Bob Stookey, Merle Dixon.  Mentions of Andrea Harrison and Amy Harrison, Dale and Irma Horvath, Michonne, Sophia Peletier, Simon. 

 Sorry for the delay on this.  I got sucked into watching Ice Dancing, hahaha, and yeah.  It's Tuesday already.  ;)  Oops.  Damn, I really need to go to bed.  If it's makes you feel better, it's twice as long as usual, lol.  Which, shit.  Means there's twice as much chance for typos--that I will totally fix later. 

  Waltzing’s for Dreamers

    Four months after Vegas.  Their first Thanksgiving together as a pseudo-family.  More accurately, the aftermath.   

      “Thanks for the invite,” Bob grins.  “The leftovers, too,” he says, lifting the foil wrapped plate in his hands as they reach the foot of the stairs and near his door. 

  Offering up a distracted nod as acknowledgment, Daryl peers out into the November night.  His expression sours a bit when he sees the orange glow of a lit cigarette and the outline of a familiar figure.  He ducks his head, attempts to piece together an apology.  “Hey.  Uh, about what my brother said…” 

  The former army medic barely spares him a second glance, just shrugs the whole awkward situation off like water off a duck’s back as he fumbles one-handed for the keys in his pocket.  “It’s alright.” 

  He shakes his head.  Sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Don’t have to say that because I know it ain’t.  Fucker was a real asshole to you and I know he ain’t gonna say sorry himself so I’m sayin’ it for him.  M’sorry.  You didn’t deserve that.”  The man’s ever-present smile freezes.  Just a moment, a blink and you’d miss it second that leads Daryl to believe he’s somehow made this whole mess worse, but then it returns slow and easy-like. 

  “Apology accepted.  Now tell Carol I’ll wash her plate up and have it back to her in no time.” 

  “Ain’t no rush,” Daryl tells him gruffly. 

  “Tell her,” Bob insists. 

  “Will,” he agrees, rubbing a restless hand over the scruff on his chin as his eyes gravitate again to the parking lot.  The orange glow has disappeared, but he can still make out his brother’s outline lurking around his truck and his jaw clenches.  He tenses even more when he feels a hand land briefly on his shoulder, forces himself to relax when he realizes the other man just wants to offer him a bit of friendly, unsolicited advice.  

  “Keep it civil.  Don’t let him get under your skin.  You’ll be giving Simon the ammunition we both know he’s been looking for.” 

  Daryl takes the pointed reminder to heart.  Grits his teeth and digs his blunt nails into his palms when his brother starts spewing his same old garbage, cackling like it’s high comedy instead of ignorant drivel, making him question how he ever managed to look the other way in the past.

  “Lookin’ pretty cozy over there with Ole Buckwheat.  Hell.  Thought for a second you two’s gonna kiss goodnight.”   

  “Man, fuckin’ shut your mouth,” he snaps, snatching up the cigarette Merle offers him and tossing it to the cracked asphalt below.  Grinding it beneath the heel of his shoe and anticipating the irritated slap to the back of his head, ducking just in time and making his brother grumble under his breath in response. 

  “Takin’ it you ain’t gettin’ no so-called benefits out of this marriage arrangement of yours.  Wouldn't be wound so tight if you was.” 

  “Benef…” Daryl sputters.  Jerking his collar up against the noticeable chill in the air, he stalks off.  Avoids facing the knowing glint in Merle’s eyes head on.  “Benefits?” he scoffs.  “Ain’t like that, Asshole.  You even hearin’ yourself?”  He whirls around angrily when the sonuvabitch starts laughing like some kind of crazed hyena.  He figures he probably ain’t far off.  Expects to see his eyes bright and wild with his latest ticket to oblivion, but they’re clear.  Calculating and concerned in their own way.  “Goddammit, Merle.  What you playin’ at?” 

  “Ain’t playin’ at nothin’,” Merle shrugs.  “Just wanted to confirm something and you confirmed it for me alright.” 

  Tiredly, he asks.  Because he knows he can’t let it go.  “Yeah?  What’s that?” 

  “This little situation you got yourself stuck in, it’s more real than you bargained for.” 

  His words strike a little too close to the truth.  Glance off an unshielded nerve and Daryl mutters, “How you figure that exactly?”  

  “You’re in love with her.  Even worse, you done tripped ass over tea kettle for that little girl watchin’ your every move with stars in her eyes.  Might as well admit it, Baby Brother.  You treading water in the deep end.” 

  “Fuck you,” he growls. 

  “See now,” Merle smirks.  “I bet if you ask her real nice and polite-like, your mousy little missus will let you crawl between her thighs and…”

  Daryl gets up in his brother’s face, pointed finger stabbing him in the chest and voice hissing low.  “Best not finish that sentence.”

  Holding his hands up, the elder Dixon steps back.  “All I’m sayin’ is you ain’t alone.  Know you didn’t see ‘em.  But judgin’ by them heart eyes she was givin’ you over the dinner table, you and Mouse is in the same boat.  And Ole Merle, well…” 

  Daryl cuts him off, his denial vehement.  “Ain’t you.”

  In an instant, Merle sobers.  “Never claimed you was.” 

  “Merle…” 

  “You try to apologize, I’m gonna kick your ass into the end of February.  You feel something, you stick by it.”  Cupping his big hands over Daryl’s shoulders, he looks him in the eyes.  All the jokes, all the innuendos stripped away in a rare moment of sincerity.  “Mean it ‘til somebody does something deservin’ of reconsiderin’ but don’t you dare say you’re sorry.” 

  Caught off-guard by his brother’s serious tone, he can do no more than nod.  Look down to his feet. 

  Clapping a hand against Daryl’s neck, Merle gives his hair one last obnoxious knuckling before putting some distance back between them and patting his front pocket for his pack of cigarettes.  Coming up empty, he blows out a big breath.  Launches into a whole string of rambling words.  “Headin’ back out tomorrow.  Figured I’d see which way the wind takes me.  Can’t say as to when I’ll be back ‘round these parts.  Know it won’t be no big loss to you, but I probably won’t make it to you and your girls’ Christmas.” 

  He really lays it on thick, makes Daryl feel sorry as shit for him, and before he even recognizes what he’s doing, he’s inviting the weasel to breakfast.  Feeling like he’s just been played like a golden fiddle. 

  “Always was the sweet one,” Merle drawls as he cranks up the Triumph, starts walking the idling machine backward.  “Don’t you be keepin’ Mouse up all night.  Gettin’ an early start.” 

  Daryl’s answer to that is a middle finger salute as he turns on his heel, takes the steps two at a time until the door knob is turning under his hand and he’s letting himself back into the apartment that just hours ago had been filled to brimming with Stookey, Andrea and her kid sister Amy.  His Hawaiian shirt-wearing boss and the man’s wife, who just so happened to share an address with the youngest Harrison.  And Michonne and Merle, not to mention Carol and Sophia.  Now it’s empty.  Silent but for the absent humming that he follows to the kitchen and he lingers in the doorway, watches the woman that wears his ring.  Sleeps just down the hall from him every night and gives him a soft smile goodbye each and every morning since she first welcomed him inside her home.  “Hey,” he finally greets.  His voice rumbles low as he approaches her and a tiny shiver ripples across her slim shoulders.  One he wouldn’t have even noticed had he not been studying her so intently, and he schools his surprised expression, the very idea that Merle wasn’t just blowing smoke up his ass like always causing a seismic shift in his way of thinking.  The way he searches her blue, blue eyes when they light on him and sparkle in the low light. 

  “Hey,” she murmurs.  “Your brother make it out okay?”  

  Dipping his chin low to his chest, he steps up beside her at the sink.  Turns on the tap to start rinsing as she washes, her hands delving in and out of the soapy water.  “Asshole invited himself to breakfast tomorrow morning, though.” 

  She laughs, soft and silvery at the news, flicks a foamy bubble at him as she transfers a plate into his waiting hands.  “Sure hope he likes cereal.”

  He huffs out a laugh of his own.  “Yeah?” 

  “Yeah,” she smiles to herself.  “I don’t cook the day after Thanksgiving.  Not since Sophia and I have been on our own anyway.  It’s strictly cereal and leftovers.” 

  “New tradition?” he teases. 

  “Something like that.  Last year it was Lucky Charms.  This year we put it to a vote and decided to expand the menu to include Apple Jacks.” 

  “Knowing Merle like I do, he’ll eat that shit right up.  The less nutritional value the better far as he’s concerned,” he explains.   “Man’ll put damn near anything in his mouth.” 

  “In my admittedly limited experience,” she shyly points out, “he’s not the only one.  Pickled pig’s feet?  Seriously?” 

  The corner of his mouth lifts in a tiny half-smile of remembrance.  He still ain’t sure who’d been more disgusted.  The woman at his side or her girl.  “Sign of a true Dixon.” 

  “That so?” 

  Her fingers brush against his own when she hands him another plate and it’s all he can do to keep from shuddering because it’s like Merle’s offhand suggestion tripped all his circuits and his body’s stopped trying to mask its responses to her.  His heartbeat starts to pick up speed and his breath grows short.  His voice sounds a little strangled when he responds, “Yeah.  Yeah.”  He clears his throat but it does little good.    “T’is.”  He hasn’t felt this off-balance since he woke up in that bed with her, his dick all snuggled up to her backside, and he busies himself with arranging the rinsed dishes in the nearby strainer.  Gazing out the tiny kitchen window until he can trust himself not to bury his hands in all those messy curls piled up on the top of her head.  Pull her to him and kiss her ‘til she sighs and melts against him, soapy water soaking him to the skin because dammit.  This isn’t what they agreed.  This isn’t what either of them signed up for.  Already, he adores that little girl sleeping down the hall too much to fuck things up by letting his head go under.  Allowing himself to fall in love with her mama.  Anyway.  It’s too soon.  Too damn soon to even be entertaining these thoughts.  Fuckin’ Merle.  Ain’t ‘til she reaches over him, places the last of the dishes in the strainer beside his own that he realizes how lost in his head he’d been.  How his silence had worried her. 

  “Hey.”  Her brows furrow and her teeth tug at her bottom lip.  “I was just teasing.  You know that, right?” 

  “Know,” he mutters.  “Think I’m gonna take a shower.  Go ahead and turn in.  Been a long day.”  He forces himself not to react to the disappointment she can’t quite hide on her pretty face.  Covers up his own guilt by making one last half-hearted offer.  “Need any more help with anything in here?” 

  Quietly, she reassures him.  “I’m alright.  Be sure to save some warm water for me.” 

  Won’t be a problem, he thinks.  “Will,” he promises.  “G’night.”

  “Good night, Daryl.” 

[princessofthedarkrealm]

Stroke of Midnight- Chapter 4 (Pennywise x reader)

Stanley Uris’s kippah went sailing through the window of a passing school bus like a frisbee.

“Guys? Really?” You put your hands on your hips, shaking your head as Patrick and Vic cackled like a pair of hyenas.

Stanly got to his feet, dusting the dirt off his pants. Vic pushed him towards your group. Bill had just gotten over being sick, so your aunt had asked you to pick up him and Georgie after school for a couple of days instead of letting them ride their bikes so that Bill wouldn’t over exert himself. Luckily Mrs. Stout had let you leave work for a little while.

“You guys are sad, you know that?” you shot at the Bowers Gang.

Patrick mimicked crying and wiping away a tear. “So sad,” he said mockingly. Vic laughed and Belch gave the response that had earned him the only name you knew him by.

Henry Bowers, the leader of this gang of pathetic miscreants, pointed a finger at you menacingly. “Why don’t you shut your face, bookworm, before I have to add a matching mark to your other cheek?”

Your face grew hot from anger and embarrassment. Your cheek was still tender from when the man in the alley had hit you the night before. The dead man, you thought. You could still see Pennywise’s large form standing out in the dark like a pale ghost, holding your attacker up as if he weighed nothing.

You glanced to the right and saw Georgie come out of the school. You shot a nervous glance back at Henry. There was no way your little cousin was going to bypass this group of trolls. As Georgie got closer, you tried motioning at him to go around to the right. He noticed, but to your horror, so did Patrick. A sadistic grin lit up his face. 

“Aww. It’s the little shrimp.” He dubbed his thumb towards Georgie and started side stepping towards him.

You stepped forward, but Bowers got in front of you. For the second time in two days, your path was blocked by some menacing goon. You bit your bottom lip. Henry was a head taller than you and even though he was pretty scrawny, you knew he could still hurt you. Patrick was moving back and forth in front of Georgie, taunting him. Every way Georgie would go, Patrick would go that way. Patrick laughed.

“Bill,” Georgie called out weakly.

“P-Patrick, leave h-him alone,” Bill hollered.

You were seething. You glared at Henry and then your eyes flickered to the two cops that were standing across the street behind him. You smirked when you recognized one of them.

“You really want to keep making a scene in front of Daddy?” you whispered. “By the look on his face, he doesn’t look too pleased.”

Henry’s eyes grew wide as his face took on a crazed, murderous look. Jeez, there is something seriously wrong with this kid, you thought. But you didn’t dare let him see the unease that was building within you. Instead you raised your eyebrows at him, daring him to continue his little charade.

“Patrick!”

Patrick twisted around to face you and Bowers and Georgie scampered past him to safety. Bowers got in your face and jabbed a finger at you. “This isn’t over,” he whispered heatedly.

Bowers stalked off and the rest of his goons followed. Bill and his friends crowded around you. You jumped when you felt a thump on your back.

“Ho-ly shit, that was great!” Richie clapped you on the back again. “I mean, you just stood there right in his face.” He held his hand up in the air, fingers bent forward to emphasize how close you had come to danger. “I would have died.”

“Yeah, like fucking literally,” Eddie Kaspbrak added.

“Hey! We’re still at school,” You scolded.

“Yeah, we’re still at school,” Richie whispered in Eddie’s face. Eddie pushed him.

The boys said their good-byes and while the others got on their bikes, you and your cousins headed to your car, which was parked in front of the other end of school.

“Are y-you going to be d-driving us tomorrow?” Bill asked.

“Nah.” You unlocked your door. “I think your mom just wanted me to do it for a couple of days. You should be ok. Your cough is almost go-” You glanced up and froze.  Floating towards you, from across the road, was a single red balloon. You watched its slow approach, then glanced around nervously.

Georgie looked up at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, sweetheart.” You unlocked the back door and the boys climbed inside. A car passed, causing the balloon to swirl around in the air. You opened your own door and went to climb in, but decided to take one more peek.

And wished you hadn’t.

The balloon was gone. But there was something else. Someone else. Standing in a small copse of trees right across the street.

Pennywise.

You felt your body lock in place. He just stood there, his intense, predatory eyes slanted slightly downward, staring at you. Devouring you. His puffy, cherry red lips hung slightly open. You started trembling. You couldn’t look away. You wanted to, only you didn’t want to. You wanted to go to him. You wanted-

Another school bus passed. And then he was gone.

******

You went about your daily routine. People talked about the man who had been murdered and of course you would act shocked. No one could ever know the truth, and there was no way they would even believe you. The next day passed. Still no Pennywise. No sightings, no gifts, even your nights were beginning to feel empty and mundane.

Friday came. The last day of school. The day had been pretty quiet at work. By afternoon a boy came in asking for books about the history of Derry. He seemed like a quiet boy, with a round, friendly face. You found a few books for him, then got him settled at a table.

“It’s a pretty day today,” you told him. “The last day of school. Wouldn’t you rather be out with friends?”

The boy glanced out the window. “I like it in here.”

You smiled at him. “Me too. Well if you need any help, just ask.”

You went back to the circulation desk and grabbed the drawing that you had started working on after lunch. It was in pencil and was more of just an idle doodle.  You traced his lips you’re your fingers. Those lips that you couldn’t get out of your mind. And those wild, intense, yellow eyes. You sighed and set it down.

You walked past the steps that led to the storage room and heard something that sounded like a holler coming from that direction. You went to investigate and were halfway down the stairs when the boy that had requested the Derry books came running up them as if something was chasing him. He slowed down when he got to you and the two of you just looked at each other, not saying anything as he walked past. What had caused him to run like that? Or even better… who? You descended the rest of the stairs. The light in the large room was dim. Long shelves full of archives, old equipment, and other things ran parallel to her. You started walking down the center aisle.

“I know you’re here,” you called. You turned slowly, all your senses on high alert. “No one else could have scared that boy like that.”

You heard a creaking sound off to your right and froze. Your heart started pounding. Did you really want to be down here alone with him? “Please, I know your there. I need to know you’re there. I know that I’m not losing my mind.” You started glancing around frantically. “I need to know that you are real. I need to see you, I need to feel…” You brought your hands up to your face and closed your eyes. A cacophony of feelings raged through you, each one fighting to take precedence: fear, anxiousness, and in the deepest part of you, something else that you were afraid to label. You heard movement behind you, close behind you. Every muscle in your body seemed to lock in place.

“Pretty little princess, don’t be afraid.”

Your eyes flew open. You’d know that voice anywhere—that soft, silky, squeaky voice.

“Pennywise has come to make your day.”

When you felt his hand on your neck, you squealed and jumped sideways so hard that your back hit one of the shelves. You heard something clatter to the floor on the other side.

You had never seen him this close before. He towered over you. Three furry orange balls went down the center of his chest. Your head reached the middle one.  His buck teeth shown prominently through his cherry red lips that were lit up into a grin so big his face could have split along the single red lines that curved from his lips and up along his face.

He leaned in towards you. “Did the little princess jump?” He giggled.

“Y-you startled me,” you stammered.

He frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

You highly doubted that.

He leaned in closer. “Are you afraid of me?”

Your mouth opened and closed a couple of times. You weren’t sure how to answer him. “I g-guess I am a little.” You were starting to sound like Bill. He reached out and barely grazed your cheek with a gloved finger causing you to flinch slightly.

“I’m not going to hurt you, little one. But I know you’ve been missing me. So I’ve come to give you what you want.”

“And how do you know what I want?” you said a little too loudly.

“Oh I know everything, my dear.” He rubbed his thumb along your chin. His face was so close and his breath smelled super sweet, like cotton candy. “I know you lie awake at night, haunted by your fears…” He tilted his head sideways at you and brought his thumb up to rub along your bottom lip. You whimpered as a shiver ran through your body, one that had nothing to do with fear. “And your desires.” He said that last word slowly. You yanked your head back to break the contact and the clown chuckled. “Look how easy you come undone by my touch.”

“I did not ask you to touch me!”

He chuckled again. “But isn’t that what you wanted to do to me?” He shook his head at you, causing his bells to jingle. “To see that I’m real. To…” He reached out like he was going to poke your nose, but then stopped just inches away. You stared at his hand. “…touch me.” He lowered his hand and leaned down to you again. “Go ahead, kit-ten. There’s no one here. Do it…Touch me.”

Your heart was beating erratically. You glanced at his chest. You slowly reached out and rested your hand on it. You had thought his costume would feel course, but it was kind of satiny, like a parachute. You ran your hand up a little farther. Pennywise leaned in closer to you, his brow furrowed. You tilted your chin up as he passed his nose inches from your hair. You heard him inhale, as though he was smelling you. You closed your eyes. You felt his nose graze your temple and felt a warmth spread through your belly as you felt his hand slowly snake around your back. Your breath was now coming out in short bursts. He started rubbing your back.

“Y/N!”

Your eyes snapped open. You glanced up at Pennywise. “Shit, I’ve been gone too long!” You pushed passed him and ran to the stairs. “I’m in here,” you called up to Mrs. Stout. 

“Well I was wondering where you had gone,” the librarian replied. She appeared at the top of the stairs. “Everything alright? Your face looks flushed.”

“I’m alright. I just…got overheated.”

“Well go splash some water on your face. No need for you to be passing out, especially not down there.” Mrs. Stout left.

You turned around, but Pennywise was gone, leaving you more confused than ever. There was no denying it now—you were definitely attracted to him. You had to see him again, as frightened as you were by your feelings. Just being around him was intoxicatingly. But was he dangerous? Was he a danger to you? You needed to find out.

@destiel-lover321  @hello-helianthus

[crtlz-a-a]

' i can't forgive you. ' / SHOUTO N DABI RIGHT FUCKIGN NOW

it starts as something simple. a smile stretching wickedly, teeth bore like fangs as he starts giggling quietly. bubbling until he’s leaning back and holding his sides as if they’d split while he cackles, no love or warmth, happiness in it. his foot is planted on the lifeless chest of enji, whipping back forward with crazed eyes. vision isn’t clear and he’s not exactly looking at shouto. his irises are vacant, lifeless, those of a monster.

“is that supposed to mean something to me ??”

he asks, one hand juts to the side, blue flames lick his palms until they focus at the tips. dabi doesn’t have to do this, but he wants to, a statement, torment his little brother, bound only by blood. fire burns flesh at endeavor’s face, needlessly and violently. mercilessly. 

“i don’t want forgiveness from his pet, his prize, his protégé.” a step is taken back, reeling his foot back only to slam down into the deceased’s sternum. “i was supposed to be you. you could’ve been me,” his smile hasn’t shifted, his tone only getting crazed as he carries on. “you think your forgiveness will save your dead brother ?? will you save me ?? make me feel bad for doing this, after years of being homeless, traumatized and cast to the side in favour of YOU ??”

heel digs into his side only to roll him onto his stomach, closer to the youngest todoroki. dabi wants him to remember this, know that any sort of forgiveness he even thought about giving endeavor is misplaced. wants him to know : he fucking hates him. 

touya realistically knows that shouto had no hand in this, none, but he was thrown away like trash after he was deemed a failure. given nothing but crumbs while shouto was going to be the next heir. 

he also know that shouto was abused just like the rest of them. he faced physical, mental, and emotional strife at the hand of enji todoroki, just like he did. but he’s better than him. he’s better than the rest of them. shouto put on a pedestal, held to a different standard while they were failures.

     stains on his name.

          things he didn’t want to look at.

               think about.

touya seethed over it. if things were different, if shouto wasn’t trying to be a hero, if endeavor didn’t love what shouto could be more than he loved them. he didn’t love. he couldn’t love. he’s a monster, heartless, and now lifeless. if he could, if he had the strength, dabi would continue to batter him until his own legs couldn’t stand anymore. instead, he stays where he is, smiling instead of grimacing. laughing like his mind was being lost, cackles remnants that of a hyena. 

“i’m not asking you for forgiveness. i don’t want anything from you, shouto todoroki.” a constant state of tear in his next sentiment; doe she want to help, or is it just an insult ?? not even he knows. it’s laughable to him, “you’re pathetic.” yet he almost feels sorry for him. 

[gathering-storm]

Sorrow and Salvation (drabble)

The rain fell in sheets, soaking the ground in a glossy veneer as Lightning flashed brilliantly in the sky overhead, Illuminating the deathly scene on the ground below as 4 people gathered in one spot, three in a small group, a short Erie looking man with a jeweled eyeball in a ribbon on his hair, his smile as Twisted as those of the worst psychopaths in history, his Aquamarine darting between those on either side of him from the beautiful blonde woman on his right, her tranquil blue eyes filled with fear and confidence in tandem to the handsome young Gentleman on his left, his mismatched eyes and two tone hair giving him a very distinct look as they stared at the man in front of him with an expression of hunger and Malice. The one standing alone opposites these three stepped slightly closer, his ivory handled cane held tightly in his pale hand, his Emerald eye open wide with Fury and sorrow, happiness and remorse, vengefulness and gratitude all in one as he looked upon the two that were related to him, his children in fact, his heart racing as he struggled to hold back the bubbling cauldron of hatred building within himself directed towards the man standing between his two beloved offspring " release them you bastard!" The normally Dapper gentleman yelled at the top of his lungs as the anger and unmitigated hatred boiled over for a Split Second, his usually lyrical voice sounding as though he were channeling some form of demon, " return my children to me and I may be able to find it in me to let you walk away" he offered in a tonne that would Shake many men to their cores " I'm just why would I do that my pet?" The villain holding his children as weapons and hostages questioned alongside a nightmarishly evil grin " I'm afraid it's much more fun for me if I get to watch you suffer, you should be punished, after all you left home way too young and disobeyed your father" " I would much rather be dead then claim you as my father you worse than subhuman collection of animal excrement", the gentleman shot back as he drew the blade from his Cane and pointed it directly at the man he hated more than any other, " it will be a pleasure to finally put an end to your wretched life." He growled Darkly, as he began to lift the eye patch covering his right eye, set to awaken the monster within himself that single piece of decorative leather kept quiet " I wouldn't do that if I were you", the cocky villain laughed as he tapped the man's son in the shoulder, the eighteen-year-old trained killer getting anxious with the touch as though it were a signal to act. " You see, I don't think your son would like having to kill his own father simply because he wouldn't be good enough to return to his master" he added has he danced his fingers are crossed the youngsters throat, the young lady on his other side looking to her brother as if trying to counter the signal without uttering a breath " by the time my son could reach me, the demon you possessed me with would have torn your pathetic worthless body to shreds and desecrated the pieces", the Furious father responded as his blackened in I was revealed, his expression turning to one far more twisted as though Jekyll had just released Hyde, is body twitching with excitement rather than fear or apprehension as the images of how he would butcher the man he saw the for him flooded his no crazed mind. " get ready to die Daddy, one of your son's wants to play" he cackled wildly has he leaped onto the man, his blade soon finding its mark deep within the villains leg, eliciting a pained yell and a call in some unknown language, prompting the younger male to attack his own father only to be intercepted by his sister who buy sheer unfortunate happenstance took a blade through the heart as a result, her lifeless body slumping to the ground unseen by her currently fixated father whose sole Focus in his currently deranged original mental state was on making sure the putrid devil who created him died a horrible agonizing death, is attention only faltering when he felt the warm droplets of the woman's blood upon his shoulder as they dripped from the young man's blade, the ceiling shocking him back into sanity and her untimely death doing much the opposite for her brother as he realized what he had done, the Unholy rage and agonizing sorrow willing within him reducing him to his knees amidst horrid wailing, every memory he had of her flooding his mind like a tide of punishment, his pain bellowing soon turning to the Twisted laughter of a lunatic unhinged, the veins in his eyes visible even through his blackened in whites, streaking across the Abyssal sclerae like bloody cracks carved into sorrowful flesh, his gaze flipping back and forth between the corpse of his beloved sister and his desperately fighting master who was at the mercy of the man on top of him " you made me do this, you made me!" He screamed at the top of his lungs has he shoved his progenitor off of the man that had commanded him for most of his life only to climb on to them himself and tear at him like a starving hyena devouring the corpse of a gazelle, his entire body soon a wash in that Asian Devil's Crimson farewell, the doomed man begging for mercy beneath him while simultaneously trying to command him to stop both methods equally futile as he was torn apart by one he had trained to be his most elite bodyguard and assassin, the grizzly Wrath of his assailant soon leaving his body in little more than tatters, the berserk fury only coming to an end when they growling and sobbing killer was pulled off of them by none other than the man he had replaced, the well dressed Brit embracing him in a tight hug, drawing his face into his shoulder to let him release the pain in a more healthy way.