#it's bad anatomy but it's somethin

[myscprin]

Happy HOA Halloween! 🎃

Based off this tumblr quote 🦇

[strangegoingsons]

gosh miku sure does exist

[rowarn]

sorry i wasn't specific with my ask! if you could just give me some ideas on how you get your inspo and word usage, that's mostly what i'm looking for! anything is appreciated though, thank youu. :))

RIGHT ON! its okay, i would have given random tips but i wasnt sure if there was something specific you were looking for!

my inspo largely comes from other media. tv shows, movies, edits, fucking character ai bots, other fics; literally anything that i enjoy i typically wind up using in my fics. its not for me personally but plenty of people get inspired by music! songs and music videos

other fics are excellent inspo bc u can see how readers respond to tropes that they've done. age gap, dilf, aus, and stuff like that. its also rlly great to see characterization. as long as you're not plagiarizing then emulating and learning from other writers who are doing the same thing you do or want to do is excellent. i love reading fics hehe

ik that sounds like super basic and boring but having a repertoire of existing tropes and stuff is super great!

as for word usage, it's all super subjective bc my tastes and stuff will not match up for everyone. but if u like how i write and want to emulate it then there are a few things i can say! i focus mostly on smut and dialogue.

first, it's important to have a good vocabulary. knowing synonyms to words you want to say is important. u don't want to have a paragraph that uses the same word over and over again, you want to break it up and make it mentally appealing to read. it won't be interesting to readers if you don't expand your vocab!

i am primarily a smut writer so that's where most of my focus is on intentional word usage. all my narration and plot is pretty basic i'd say. nothing incredibly special except for my dialogue which i put a lot of thought into.

i don't use metaphors that much. so, say, for smut u won't catch me using "globes" in reference to tits. i much prefer to just come out and say breasts, tits, chest.

i also don't use like Correct anatomy language. so i don't use penis, testicles, vagina or clitoris. i use.......porn language bc that's what im writing; cock, pussy, cunt, clit. just to keep it......erotic bc i personally (again, subjective) find correct anatomy language to be more off-putting than erotic.

smut is where it becomes difficult to use broad language. there's only so many words you can use for a dick. so don't be afraid to bust out some wattpad words u know? length, member, etc. ik they can sometimes be cringey and u don't like them but use them at the right time and using it sparingly and most ppl won't rlly notice. it breaks up reading the word cock and dick over and over and over again for 2k words.

for some examples,

for dicks u can use; dick, cock, member, shaft, length

for the puth u can do; pussy, cunt, folds, core, sex isn't bad

clit i use clit, bud, and nub mostly...but ppl use pearl or button, i don't but it doesn't bother me when i see it

i also don't use flowery language. i know in creative writing or whatever it's common to use poetic word usage but i find it to be more confusing than anything. i can't read rlly flowery fics bc the meaning of what im reading just genuinely gets lost. it's all lost on me. i'd say im a much more direct writer with my words and scenes? i utilize a fair bit of narration and exposition in my writing.

i find dialogue style to be quite important. if you read my stuff (like the fics, we dont look at my word vomit LMAOOO) you'll usually see i make the characters talk in specific ways.

simon cuts off his words "goin'" instead of "going", "somethin'" instead of "something", like that. i dont use a ton of language to depict his accent other than that, i leave the leg work mostly up to the readers bc they know what he sounds like. but some writers do like british slang, "wanker", "mate", "innit" LMAO i just don't and thats my choice. i choose to just cut his words off and call it a day. he has a more casual way of speaking in Taking What You Need as compared to konig in Experience.

konig, in Experience, has a specific way of talking as well that is opposite to simon. he doesn't use contractions. i did that intentionally bc i wanted him to have a more intimidating, professional, cold kind of way of talking. "do not do it" comes across different than "don't do it"!

i personally would say that a large part of my characterization comes across in dialogue and the style of dialogue i choose. i think that makes it more enjoyable for readers!

all in all, i basically just emulate what i personally like to see in writing. that's how i keep finding it enjoyable. i love giving fics for ppl to read but if i didn't write straight up what I wanted to see then the actual physical task of writing would be a lot worse.

idk how helpful this was since i basically just told u.....what i like to do LMAOOOO but i hope it gives u some kind of idea of what i focus on and how i get my writing to be the way it is?

EDIT: important that i also use inclusive language to the best of my abilities!

instead of saying like "your cheeks turned red" i use "you feel your cheeks heat up" or something along those lines since people with darker skin tones won't have their cheeks turn red when they blush!! but feeling your cheeks BURN is smthn we've all experienced.

i also try not to use any "running your hands through your hair" bc not everyone can do that! i can't even do that i have curly hair hehe. an alternative would be pushing a stray strand out of your face or tucking some behind your ear or something like that.

also, i don't mention nipple color or vagina color or anything !

[beemers-hell]

(I'm bad at explaining shit but I hope this comes across well)

Thought I'd say somethin too. I don't talk much, but I wanted to go ahead and tell you: your art is what got me to re-discover MadCom and join the fandom back in 2021. (And um. while I already liked Tricky, ur art made me simp for him more lmfao /pos) Your improvement has been amazing!! Your use of bright colors 'n stuff is always nice to see :) And you've gotten really good at anatomy lately! In conclusion ur a really cool person and a great artist :D

UEHUSVSOUEOHWOEH ORZ

also HELL YEAH MY TRICKY PROPOGANDA IS WORKING

[circusclownfever]

i love saying TMI on main

uhhh sex warning i guess

me n my boyfriend decided to go further than voice call maaturbation , we tried video calling

now .. im a nervous wreck . love the adrenalin n shit , but my god i was shaking because 1. i dont want to gross him out , and 2. ive never even felt comfortable enough to make sex jokes with previous partners ... so this was a brand fucking new experience (not out of my comfort zone , just new)

he likes suprises , i dont . while i know he wants to be suprised about everything , i dont want to gross him out . i mean , hes a teenage boy whos image of female anatomy is 100% different than what i look like . kept telling him to lower his expectations because i wont look how he thinks i will

while others may think his message was mean , i found a lot of comfort in it .

"my expectations cant be broken if theyre low enough"

ive never felt so safe . so happy . so comfortable . ever .

all i wanted to do was praise him , because my god hes beautiful . i wanted to call him pretty , beaitiful , cute , all that shit . but no words came out of my mouth until we were both done

words are so , so evil . and for a fanfic writer , i am stupidly bad at words . physical touch is my primary love language for a reason

now to say what i was gonna rant about from the beginning that i got side tracked from ..

somethin about watching him cum was so fucking butterfly inducing ..

i fell weird for saying it , but i had butterflies after watching him ??

god being a teen with weird hormones is fucking a w f u l

[fulua]

i think i need to digest a anatomy book or somethin like this is bad

[rustedhearts]

i got you, babe (boxer!steve x librarian!fem reader)

summary: the beginning of your pregnancy leaves you bedridden with illness and dependent on your husband. steve happily dotes on you.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ the king of the ring ♡

tags: pregnancy, depiction of vomiting, sappy/lovey-dovey newlyweds being cute!

a/n: just somethin' sweet for the kids. enjoy! see you never

california, june 3rd, 1996

The hum of the television filled the rosy, sunlit room with a comforting thrum. The curtains made the afternoon light tolerable, casting a gentle brightness across the bedspread pulled up to your chin. Who’s The Boss? came on a few hours ago, and you were in too much pain to roll over for the remote. Nevertheless, there was something comforting about that muffled laugh track. Something soothing in the bright pixilated colors and muted patterns. It reminded you of mornings before high school, watching morning programs from the kitchen table with a freezer burnt waffle.

It killed Steve to leave you home alone, but you promised you wouldn’t leave the bed. He’d already missed so many training sessions with Big when you found out you were pregnant. What you assumed to be food poisoning from bad Chinese became a week long stretch of puking your guts out, and one visit to the doctor came with a sonogram print out of your spec of a baby. Steve tumbled into panic mode, and when you kept sprinting from bed in the middle of the night to hurl your dinner, he found it hard to leave your side.

But the puking came in waves now, and only when you were standing upright. So you promised, after thirty minutes of banter and pointed glares from your husband, that you would stay home alone so long as you didn’t leave the bed. At first, you huffed and pouted. But as the tv mumbled and the house fell quiet, you realized: maybe this wasn’t so bad. It was actually kinda nice.

Until the first wave hit. Like drifting atop a massive wave, or how it feels to go too fast down a steep hill on the gas. Stomach plummeting, skin chilling, mouth watering. You hauled yourself upward and leaned over the bed, unhinging your jaw over the pink, plastic trash bin placed at your bedside. You winced at the acidic stream spewing from your throat, coating your mouth and nose with a taste and smell most like ammonia. It made your eyes pool with hot warmth and your palms grow clammy. Every cough, dry heave, or hurl came with a dull ache in your eyes.

Flinging yourself back against the pillows, you fumbled blindly for the glass of water Steve left for you on the nightstand. It dribbled down your chin and across the satin of your pajamas, but you were too tired to care. With careful caution, you rolled onto your side and buried your nose in Steve’s pillow. It still smelled like his Old Spice shampoo and Polo cologne, and you sighed as you rubbed your cheek against the cotton surface.

Something about the pregnancy made you constantly desperate for Steve. It was actually a little ridiculous, how often you found yourself clinging to Steve, pouting and sometimes even tearing up when he had to go to another room without you. You knew you were being childish and whiney, but you just couldn’t help it. He was so big and warm and soft, and you loved the pressure of his arms around you. You felt cold and bare without him around.

You were just beginning to sniffle, lip wobbling, when Steve tiptoed into the room. He grinned when he found you exactly where he left you: lying on your side cuddled into bed, the television running. Steve carefully came around the bed, bending to find your half-smushed and tear-struck face.

Your eyes rounded at the sight of him, a sharp sniffle cutting through the room. “Steve…what are you doin’ back already?”

Steve cooed, fingers coming to swipe away your tears. “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you lyin’ in bed all alone. How you feelin’, honey?”

You pulled the blankets closer to your chin. “Not good. Threw up again.”

Brushing your hair away from your eyes with a heavy palm scented of leather and sweat, Steve frowned. “My poor girl. Brought you a smoothie, maybe it’ll help.”

Steve stood, placing a plastic bag on his nightstand. It crinkled as he dipped his hand inside, and you winced into the pillows, mumbling a pitiful ‘loud’ that made him chuckle.

A perfectly pink smoothie with a plastic straw was soon held out in front of you, and when you frowned and refused to move, Steve sighed. “Angel, c’mon. You gotta sit up just for a second.”

When you continued to pout, the brooding boxer rolled his eyes and sank down beside you on the edge of the bed. “You’re such a baby. C’mere," he grumbled.

Palm cupped around the nape of your neck, Steve gently guided you to a seated position, bringing the straw to your mouth. You suck down a few sips, then took the cold cup from him to hold as you sank back against the pillows. Steve instantly fluffed them, arranging them so you could see the television better and drink without choking. You flushed at the firm kiss he left on your head. Being pampered by Steve felt like heaven.

“Got you some other stuff too,” Steve mumbled, heading toward the door.

He reappeared moments later with another bag and a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of pink tulips. You awed, a cheek-aching grin reaching your face as he returned to the bed. His hairline was still sweaty, cheeks flushed from exercise. You placed a cool hand damp with condensation on his hot face and stroked it gently.

“Steve…you didn’t have to do all this.”

He shrugged, setting the flowers gently on your blanketed lap before reaching into the bag for more gifts. A plastic container of plump red strawberries (that you'd been eating like candy), a pair of fluffy, lilac purple socks rolled up, a large glass bottle of vanilla scented bubblebath that looked far too expensive, and a tiny white leather box (which, when opened, revealed a beautiful opal ring). You stared at all of it piled on your legs, overwhelmed and irrationally emotional.

"I want you to be comfortable at home, 'cause...well....'cause I don't know when you'll be feelin' good enough to be up and about, you know? And-and I can go to the bookstore and get you somethin' new to read—I know you have, like, every fuckin' book in the world but—"

"—Steven."

"Yeah."

You shimmied upward, shakily reaching to place your smoothie on the nightstand. Steve was quick to come to your aid, snatching the smoothie to place it down though you were an inch away from doing it yourself. His hands were always open and ready to catch you if you fell. His cheeks grew pinker by the minute, and when you cupped your hands on either side of his warm neck, stroking your fingers through his hair, he seemed to grow tomato-red.

"You're the most wonderful thing I've ever seen, Steve Harrington."

Like a puppy in a storefront or a boy with a boo-boo, Steve Harrington's eyes welled to saucers. His lips parted with playful protest, but he silenced immediately when the warmth of your own pressed against them. Sure, you'd thrown up half an hour ago and tasted like watered-down battery acid, and the awful taste of bile and cigarettes mixed like water and vinegar on your tongues—but Steve loved the fuck out of you. He'd kiss you no matter what.

"Mm," he hummed, chasing the entrance of your mouth, "so glad," he tipped his head again, nipping and pecking, "you like," his hands touched your cheeks, squishing them close, "it."

You pulled away, grinning toothily and heaving for air, swollen-mouthed and matching Steve's flush. "Love it. Love you."

Steve chuckled, swiping his thumb across your lower lip. "Never seen you like this, angel. Woulda gotten you knocked up a long time ago if I knew you'd be this bad."

Eyes rolling, you batted playfully at his firm chest—but soon after you nudged him away, you clawed for his t-shirt and pulled him close again. Steve swooped in and kissed your neck, suddenly just as giddy and adoring as you. You giggled, clutching to the hair at the nape of his neck as he peppered your collarbone in kisses. Steve was just glad to see you were no longer pouting.

"Well, Mrs. Harrington," Steve mused, nosing at your jawline, "feelin' up to takin' a bath? You can take your smoothie."

You nodded. "I'll try."

Steve squinted, rubbing his hand against your side. "We'll bring the bucket...just in case."

You smiled, accepting another loving kiss to your clammy forehead. "Just in case."

Steve stood, carefully collecting your new items to place them on the chair near the bed. As you inched toward a seated position and kicked off the covers, Steve rushed back and snapped his fingers.

"Ah—hey! Don't go thinkin' you can walk, baby."

You gaped at him, an incredulous giggle spewing from your mouth. "What? Steve, don't be ridiculous—"

"—no walking. C'mon, angel, here we go."

Hoisted in his arms bridal style—the way he carried you through your wedding present (a beautiful home in Hawkins for the off season)—Steve took wide strides toward the bathroom. You clung to him, squeezing your eyes shut tight as waves of nausea washed over you.

"Steve, the bucket!"

Steve eased you onto the edge of the jacuzzi tub, rushing into the bathroom for your pink trash bin. It was in your hands with your hair pulled back before you could even lurch with your first gag. Steve rubbed your back and turned on the bath all in one quick go.

"I got you, baby," he mumbled, patting your back as you spewed a smoothie stream. "I got you."

♡ ♡

[lemongogo]

do u ever just. make Really bad art and you look at it for a solid minute wondering wtf just happened

[gingerbreadmonsters]

ALL MINE

or: it’s easy to have a good time, if you don’t mind getting a little messy - all it takes is meringue, cream, and strawberries.

the long-awaited finale of LOVE HEART! gn!reader, domestic fluff to smut, absolutely and without exception minors dni. this is… a lot more explicit than i thought it was going to be - i really didn’t think i had this in me, but what @ejunkiet wants, @ejunkiet gets! i hope this does the hot boi summer aesthetic justice :) sweetheart’s a brit because i say so - it’s not necessary for the plot, but quite frankly i think it’s a crime that eton mess and trifle don’t exist in america, and this is my only way of promoting them, so there you go. @solclaw is the source of all knowledge, and i am making trifle in their honour - rowan darling there is always an extra bowl for you! 

sweetheart is gender neutral, and their anatomy is not described. milo’s skin is stated to be of an appropriate colour to show love bites, but no specific colour is mentioned and the reader’s skin is not described at all. milo being an excellent sous chef for just over 3600 words.

this fic contains explicit content, and is 18+ only. minors please do not interact with this one i am BEGGING you. thank you.

“sweetheart, you’ve, uh… you’ve got a little somethin’ just there…”

“here?”

“a little higher, to the left - no, no, your left - let me just-”

he licks his thumb and strokes it over your cheek, wiping away the stickiness as your lips pull into a very familiar smirk. christ, he knows that look, knows what it means when you run your tongue over your teeth, eyebrow cocked and head tilted to the right - it usually means that whatever you’re about to say probably isn’t fit for polite company.

“it’s not fair - how come i always get it all over my face?”

damn that mouth of yours - even when he knows it’s coming, you still get him blushing up a storm. “not my fault you’re such a messy eater, sweetheart. maybe i oughta have you wearin’ an apron next time.”

you smack lightly him in the arm with the wooden spoon, laughing at his mock-outraged expression as you go back to your cake batter. “go and get me one then, lover boy. it’s weird to hear you telling me to put on clothes, though.”

he… yeah, he doesn’t really have a comeback to that.

the two of you have been in the kitchen all morning, putting together the desserts for david’s birthday party this afternoon. it’s pretty fucking warm today, early summer and all, so you’ve got all the windows open and the fan going full blast to try and balance out the heat from the oven. both of you are sweating from the humidity, so he’s can’t really be surprised you’d forgone the apron for a little while.

david always insists that he doesn’t want anything for his birthday, but the rest of the pack - as happens every year, and’ll probably happen until the end of time - has other ideas. about a month ago, his mate had sent him off on some errand or other and got straight on a video call with you, sam, and ash’s mate to get something together.

(he still can’t figure out how the four of you seem to read each other’s minds, ‘cause the lot of you can be fucking terrifying when you’re on a mission. if he’s honest, he’s still not recovered from that goddamn prank with the door, and he knows that ash has lived in permanent fear of sam’s overhand serve ever since his mate had made the dubiously-successful suggestion of late-night tennis. it’s got to be something to do with this secretive “mates’ group chat” he’s heard legends of…)

(it gets a little more complicated when you’ve got to get the actual wolves involved, but david’s mate is a force to be reckoned with when it comes to organising shit. jesus, it’s like they’re the alpha, sometimes, and you’ve told him that you’ve met superiors at DUMP that are less intimidating. it’s no bad thing - that’s what you need when you’re dealing with a crack team like the one right here.)

(well, maybe less of a crack team, and more of a team on crack, but that’s what you get for trying to get him and ash to actually stop bickering and decide on a playlist or whatever.)

in any case, the pair of you have been put in charge of desserts for today - well, nobody was going to have ash go anywhere near anything that needed to be edible, and sam had declined politely, saying something about how “unless david’s developed a taste for O negative, i might not be too much help in the caterin’ department”. fair enough.

it doesn’t help that basically the whole pack is coming, and wolves aren’t exactly known for their, uh, delicate eating habits. you’re going to need a lot of food, and as if that wasn’t enough, you’re going to have to impress david fucking shaw. looks like the fridge is going to be working overtime in this weather, huh?

you’d taken it as a challenge, which meant that yesterday evening had been dedicated to all of the shit that needed to set overnight: tiramisu, cheesecake, chocolate tart, caramel shortbread… he doesn’t know how the hell you managed to balance it all in the fridge, but he’s not touching it, not a chance.

(it’s got to the point where he had to ask you to grab him another can of soda off the shelf because he wasn’t looking to accidentally knock something over - you’d thought it was funny, but he’d been dead serious! that new flavour you bought - the ones in the pink cans? - is really good, especially in this heat, but it’s not worth a dessert catastrophe, alright?)

(he’s especially not going near the trifle on the middle shelf - it looks pretty freaking impressive, what with all the layers and shit, but he doesn’t need you mad at him for swiping one of the raspberries off the top.)

(he remembers you making it last time, when his ma’d come over for lunch at the weekend, and you’d damn near kicked his shit in for accidentally trying to put the custard in before the cream. let’s just say he’d got the message loud and clear - he doesn’t get in the way when you make trifle any more.)

this morning’s endeavours have got you two dashing about trying to get the last few desserts finished, in a flurry of buttercream and baking powder. neither of you could remember whether david likes chocolate or vanilla more, and his mate’s not picking up, so you’d just made both - the victoria sponge is cooling on the rack over by the microwave, and the chocolate cake’s just come out of the oven.

fuck, it’s hot in here today.

the morning is almost unbearably humid, sun beating down outside between a few, sparse clouds. looks like you’re both going to need a shower before you go, as if there wasn’t enough to do. his shirt’s unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up to the elbows and collar hanging open, and he’d be tempted to take it off entirely if he didn’t know that when he does that, you almost always end up late.

you’ve got all of the ingredients for cream puffs (at least, he thinks that’s what they’ll be? you’d rattled off some fancy name, and he’d just kind of nodded and gone back to his strawberry mousse) laid out on the counter, while he slices up some kiwi for the fruit salad.

he’s not bad at cooking, by any means, but you’re the pro when it comes to desserts - he’s really just your sous chef today, and the system seems to be working pretty well.

(hey, it’s not like he minds you bossing him around a bit. he certainly hasn’t been complaining about the view today, seeing as the warm weather’s got you wearing a little less than normal.. and christ, when you do that thing where you grab him by the hips to move him out of the way? you know exactly what that does to him, you little minx.)

speaking of b- wait, what the hell are you- “sweetheart, what on earth…?”

you appear to be bashing the ever-loving shit out of the meringues he’d bought from the store yesterday with a rolling pin, and a plume of powdered sugar drifts up out of the bowl to get blown apart by the fan as you look up at him.

“eton mess,” you say, as if that explains everything. “can you pass me the strawberries?”

you’ve eaten what? he takes a big gulp of soda and watches as you tip the strawberries into the massive bowl, followed by an equally-enormous helping of whipped cream, and start mixing it all together. is that all you’re going to do? oh, wait, you’re adding a few handfuls of blueberries and… yeah, you’re just carrying it over to the fridge.

“it’s really nice, actually. sweetened cream, fruit, and smashed-up meringue. plus, it’s meant to look like a trainwreck because it literally has mess in the name, so david can’t complain.”

actually, that’s a pretty good idea. he drops the empty can into the trash, already missing the coolness of the metal on his warm skin, and reaches for another kiwi. “well then, i’ll guess have to try some when we get there, won’t i?”

you stop just in front of him on your path to the fridge, holding the bowl in one arm, and catch his wrist with the other.

“...sweetheart?”

“we have to be there at 1, right?”

what’s that look on your face? yeah, that’s what the text from ash’s mate had said. “well, the party actually starts at 2, but we gotta give the others a hand setting up, first. why?”

“did you want to try some now?”

he’s not quite sure what you mean, and your fond little huff tells him that he’s probably making that dumb expression that you keep telling him is cute, but he thinks is plain embarrassing.

“the eton mess, genius. want some?”

well, it can’t hurt, can it? not if you’re offering, surely. plus, you’d just said it was supposed to look all jumbled up, so nobody’ll miss a little bit of cream off the top. he reaches behind him to grab a teaspoon when-

“mmmm, it’s really sweet.”

his jaw drops. he swallows heavily, very glad that he hadn’t had a mouthful of soda, watching as you finish licking the cream off your fingers and hum contentedly. there’s a tiny smudge of powdered sugar just by the corner of your lip.

“baby, you gotta…”

the thought tapers off into nothing as you dip your finger back into the bowl and swipe it through the cream, looking up from your hand to meet his gaze. “don’t worry, honey. i already washed my hands.”

your other hand deposits the dessert on the kitchen table behind you, and comes to slide around his waist, under his shirt, as you move closer. idly, he feels your fingers playing with the back of his waistband. his own hands, still sticky with kiwi juice, hover just over your hips.

“go on. try some.”

no need to tell him twice. he leans down and licks your finger into his mouth.

mmmm, you were right, it is good. the sweet cream tastes like vanilla and strawberries, and the crunchy pieces of meringue melt slowly in his mouth. he swirls his tongue around the tip of your finger, eyes closed, lapping up the drops of strawberry juice in the creases and spirals of your fingerprint.

your other hand is digging insistently into his back now, fingernails pressing into the muscle there as his teeth graze across your skin, biting gently at the pad of your fingertip before releasing it from his mouth with an exaggerated pop.

“...how was it?” you’re both breathless, not an inch of space between you as he slowly licks his lips.

“i’m not too sure, sweetheart,” as he spins you both around so you’re leaning up against the counter, “i might need another taste to make sure.”

your answering grin only lasts a split second before he’s kissing you, all tongue and teeth and powdered sugar. sticky hands come up to cup your jaw as you greedily reciprocate, hastily untying the knot of your apron behind you.

everything is hot, the fiery heat of your lips against his as he growls softly into your mouth, and he briefly thinks that he probably ought to put the bowl behind you in the fridge before you get too distracted.

the thought is quickly forgotten when he feels you start to play with the tab of his zipper - he tips his head back and gasps as you press burning kisses down his throat, nipping at his adam’s apple.

“baby, baby - aghhh…”

you smile against his skin, cheek resting on his shoulder. “too much?”

“no, nonono, it’s good, ‘s really, really, oh, sweethea- fuckfuckfuckplease-!”

his brain goes delightfully blank as your fingers dip inside the elastic of his boxers and close around his cock. the pressure is just enough to have him groaning, hips twitching forwards into your hand, slow strokes just the way you know he likes.

head spinning, he pulls hazily at the hem of your shirt, too drunk on your touch to hear your laughter (he can’t quite tell if you’re calling him “needy” or “pretty”, and it really could be either), too desperate to worry about the careless way he’s practically tearing your clothes off you.

whatever it was, he’ll buy you a new one.

now that he thinks about it, with what little brainpower he can summon, this is probably why you asked him what time the party started.

“let - hahhh - sweetheart, let me touch you too,” he’s burying himself in your neck frantically, pushing his face against the sweet spot under your jaw, “wanna touch, want you feelin’ good, let m- shit, right there- sweetheart!”

you nod, regretfully withdrawing your hand as he hoists you up to sit on an empty part of the counter, between a stack of cookbooks and the side of the fridge. as soon as you’re settled, he wastes no time in pulling your face back down for another kiss while you shimmy out of the rest of your clothes.

you dangle your shirt just at the edge of his vision, showing off the unfortunate rip in the side seam that couldn’t possibly have been his fault, but you’re quickly placated by his teeth skimming over your now-bare collarbone.

he’s fairly sure you forget about it entirely when he makes good on his promises - one arm hooks around your shoulder and up to the far side of your head to nestle your face down into his neck, and the other runs over your chest and down your stomach until he finds what he’s looking for.

“nnnng, milo- ah!” your stifled keening goes straight to his head as you rock into his hand, voice breaking as he works you harder. he always knows how to make you sloppy, slick snaps of his wrist just where you’re most sensitive. “more, more, need it, yesyesyes-”

he shushes you softly, kissing the top of your head while he makes you see stars. “that’s it, sweetheart, mate, my mate, so good, so so good, that’s my baby…”

your hands scrabble to push his shirt off his shoulders, but it doesn’t quite work with his arm up by your head as he keeps you upright, cheek now against his chest. instead, you settle for reaching back down to stroke him faster this time, feeling more than hearing the growl that shudders through him as you tease the tip.

he feels the pleased thrumming of your mate bond, right in his chest where you’re pressed against him, and curses lowly as you kiss just over where the magic settles. goddamn, does it feel good when you’re both all blissed out like this - heady pleasure ricochets across the bond, building and building inside, misting in his mind until he’s not sure where he ends and you begin.

both of you are shaking now, sticky with sweat and eyes screwed shut as you prop each other up. he knows he’s getting close, faster than usual, but he doesn’t want to stop so soon, especially not when you - fucking hell, when you twist your hand like tha- haaah…

“sweetheart - sweetheart, please, can i…?”

he doesn’t even get the whole question out, although that’s probably for the best seeing as he’s not sure his love-drunk brain can manage full sentences right now. you’re already wrapping your legs around his waist and urging him closer to you, one hand on his shoulder and the other spreading yourself open for him.

“yeah, yeah, please, milo i need you, love you, love you so much…” he can tell that you’re having as much trouble as he is with words, but even so your voice is equal parts lust and love as you lean in to sweetly kiss his nose. fuck, you’re hot, and he can’t help but smile softly at the adoration on your face when he presses his forehead to yours, reaching up to gently smooth his thumb over your cheek.

the world goes blurry for a second as he pushes into you - you’re so warm, so slick and tight, aching for him to fill you, hold you, please you. the mate bond in his chest is white-hot and happy, sparking with joy as you tug him closer. he sets a decent pace, a little faster than normal, savouring the way you stutter and whine with pleasure into his skin.

“feels - mmf! - you, you, i-” the stack of cookbooks by your hip totters as you hastily push it aside, limbs clumsy and breath hitching.

“i, yeah, i know, ‘s good, so fucking perfect, sweetheart-!”

he grinds his cock deeper and deeper, laying you back on the counter and pressing his weight down over your body. the change in angle lets him nudge up against that sweet spot that has you gasping for air, back arching up into him and hot, needy tears threatening to spill over.

he feels the sudden burst of ecstasy as it rushes through you and overflows into your bond, and he moans, long and broken, into your neck. your hand slips between your bodies, lower and lower, so he tilts his hips just a little to give you the room you need to - shit, he loves watching you make yourself feel good, and the way you tighten and tense around him is almost, almost too much.

every instinct tells him to mark you, his mate, and he feels his teeth start to ache as you rock up into him.

he licks over your pulse, feels it pounding under his tongue, and wordlessly urges you to do the same. your free arm loops around him and your fingers tangle into his hair as you seek out the fading hickeys on his neck, a satisfied hum swelling in your chest as new ones blossom in the wake of your mouth.

his teeth dig into your shoulder when you leave a particularly dark love bite just above his collarbone, and he can tell that neither of you are going to last much longer.

“milo, milo- nnnng, so much, can’t… please!”

giddy with pleasure, he threads his arm under your waist to press right back into that sweet spot inside you, the heat of you too much to bear. “yeah, s’okay, sweetheart, s’okay, let go - baby, fuck, mine, my mate, all m- haahh-!”

his core sings with yours, desire and love and bliss washing over the bond and sloshing around in his chest. somehow, his lips find yours, and for a second - no, an hour - no, forever, he and you are paradise.

slowly, the world begins to filter back in, and he watches fondly as you grab the side of the fridge to pull yourself upright.

“how- how long do we have?” your voice is soft and a little hoarser than before.

he blinks up at the clock over by the doorway. “it’s… nearly half past eleven?”

your eyes meet, and you sigh once before pushing him back a step and letting him help you down off the counter. he’s sure that he probably looks totally fucked out right now, hair a mess and eyes still a little dreamy, but he helps you into the bathroom and leaves you to shower.

(he’d much prefer to shower with you, but he knows exactly how that’s going to end, and neither of you need david’s mate yelling at you for turning up late. he’ll be damned if ash and his mate beat you there again.)

walking back into the kitchen, he picks up the remains of both of your clothes and heads towards the bedroom to put them in the laundry hamper, remembering halfway through that he needs to put your bowl of meringue-cream-whatever in the fridge. and finish cutting the fruit. and melt the chocolate, and turn the cake out of the pan, and-

the sound of running water in the bathroom stops. he’ll do it in a minute.

-

surprisingly, you do actually make it to david’s house mostly on time, although unfortunately not before ash catches you two running in from the car. he smiles wickedly as he opens his mouth, presumably to say something about the very obvious hickeys all over milo’s throat, but you cut him off before he can even manage a wolf whistle.

“milo, baby, did you bring the tennis rackets, or is sam going to?”

ash immediately flinches, life apparently flashing before his eyes, and ducks back into the house - presumably to beg his mate not to make him play against sam again. you snicker, leaning into his side, and god, does he love you.

(he did not bring the rackets, thank goodness. david would probably commit a murder if he thought they were going to try and fuck up his yard with tennis.)

(again.)

“you’re somethin’ else, you know that, sweetheart?”

“yeah,” you reply, “and you like it.”

well, he can’t say no to that. the pair of you wave david’s mate over to help you carry the desserts inside, and he’s suddenly overcome with a rush of affection as you heft the stack of cake tins in your arms.

just before you cross the doorway, he stops you.

“hold on a second, baby. i think you’ve, got a little somethin’ just there…”

“hmmm? where?”

he kisses the side of your cheek sweetly, “all gone now, sweetheart. just a little leftover cake mixture, is all.”

your face splits into a devilish grin as you realise what he’s doing, and in the early afternoon sun it makes you look like a goddamn angel.

“not my fault i’m such a messy eater.”

PART 4 - always read the label

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

[that-one-weeb-but-it-transformer]

Optimus with an artist human s/o

I must do the drawing is your always mood

But with art block half the time your chucking your shit out the window

He was there to actually pick up Jack, because Arcee was out on a mission with bulkhead you skipped class so you sat there sketching him, bee, and wheeljack

Couldn't get the grill right so you oh so casually went up and rubbed your hand against it

"Oh...so in....that looks right..."

Taking pictures for reference

"Can I help you-" "oh shit-"

It was just jack

"Sorry was taking refrence photos. Is this your truck?" "Uh...yeah..." "Can I get and interior shot?" "Maybe another day?"

Ayo Optimus not noisy but he kinda wanted to see them drawings

Turns out Arcee was out longer than expected and the next day you were there again and so was he because Jack was so nice and let you take some refrence photos of the outside you slipped a drawing through the open window with a thank you note and went about you way.

Hah. Not Knockout and breakdown thinking your an ally to the autobots and basically snatching you like they snatchin someones weave

"Ayo can I draw you-" "Bitch im litterally kidnapping you" "....okay so can I take some ref picks atleast? Please?" "...well shit you said please"

Not you having fun being kidnapped

"Damn I look good. Whats your name human?" "Y/n" "and why is such a fabulous artist with the autobots?" "The who?"

Oh. You- oh...oh shit.....

Not knockout dropping you off at your house and grtting your # ya'll buddies now

You despite being kidnapped for two days just show up again randomly and walk up to Jack.

"Yeah can I see the inside your truck no pictures no anything, just. Real quick?" "Sure?"

Oh shit your sitting in a transformer.

"Okay I know about your talking alien car that transformers into a huge robot"

Bam friends now now you go to the base everyday

Ratchet wasnt very Happy till he realized you were just extremely quiet. And YES he could work in peace

Often you sketch the autobots forms.

"Wow! Thats real detailed!" "Holy shit miko-"

You often let her go through your sketch book.

"This is a lot of-" "Shhhhh"

It was alot of Optimus: you dont know why to be honest it was like he your comfort person to draw

You've probably had every expression of his in your books, sketches of...well everything.

Mhmm those hip sketches somethin else dude

"I made my first art based Tarot card deck!"

Smokescreen realizes there based off them and is obsessed with his tarot card desgin (the sun card because come on its Smokescreen)

Optimus even compliments you on them and ask you about them you happily explain them to him

You tell him you based him in the Justice card and told him it was pretty explaintory

He told you he was honored that you seen him such a light, and there you go getting all flustered and complimenting him back

Arcee wants to know why shes the hanged man but your too busy being flustered

Now often he'll wander up behind you looking over your shoulder why you sketch away.

"What are you drawing today y/n-" "Ah! nothing! Nothing at all! Hah! Ha...."

Not more optimus hip images: they're just too fine not to draw

Despite being well Optimus he's very innocent and would simply see them as anatomy drawings

But they aint....you know that

For that reason: you refused to draw Optimus (or his hips) anymore and now your crying inside but tiding to have will power

HOT ANIME GUY POWER; drawing hot anime guys to leed your mind occupied but you just make Human Prime and your crying and screaming without the s.

Miko, knows because you forgot your bag at her house one time

"Damn man you got it bad." "I know..."

Luckily ratchet sees Vaule in your skills and ask you to draw out invention plans you say yes immediately

With Ratchet asking for help your around the base more often, sketching out plans for him

Which means you and Optimus talk alot more

He finds your conversations relaxing

You often fall asleep at the small table, after finishing plans and starting on your own work, usually homework

So that means he sees your litrle fifth grade crush drawings, you know with lopsided hearts and all luckily you know better to draw Human like alien robots in your notebook so he only sees the O + F/i surronded in hearts

He doesnt know why but now he's gotta talk to you more: its a now or never situation.

"Y/n-" "It wasnt me!-" "would you like to go home to rest?" "Um. Yeah that sounds great"

Optimus now drives you home everyday, and picks you up from school instead of you just riding with Bee and Raff

Litterally a dream come true on your part and on his part

Is it akward silence? Or do you both just think its awkward silence making it more awkward

Asking Ratchet to describe how the iacon archives use to look and sketching it out and giving it to Optimus

"Im not sure I got the file cases right. I had Ratchet describe the your world to me as best I could.

It was perfect to him, and he thanked you for it, it never leaves his glove box

Usually because your an artist your dressed in clothes that have paint stains, perhaps the back of your shirt is hand painted or your old converse.

Yet you had a presentantion you had to get dressed up for, for school, in a knitted pencil like skirt and a knitted sweater with some boots

He couldnt pick you up or drive you to school that day so Wheeljack went with you instead and Smokescreen picked you up

Not wheeljack bragging trying to get Optimus to confess that you look rather hot that day.

Turns out when Optimus returned to base he'd be blown away by your change in outfit.

"How'd it go!"

"All the energon secured. There was no doubt after all!" Wheeljack laughed, "Right Optimus."

You looked at him with such a big smile and eyes he only nodded with a smile

Wheeljack drove you home: saying the boss was tired and just like he had hoped you left your bag in his back seat

Now Miko and Wheeljack both have the power to tease you

Not Optimus seeing where you work and creating a holo form to go and see you

"Hm? Y/n?" The employee asked, "Yeah shes in right now there doing a study. Come on I'll take you there."

When he said study he thought idk maybe like with a book. Not figure studies, you know the ones where your naked

So he was not expecting to walk in with people surrounding you as you sat laid on a couch with a thin sheet covering your lower hips down, top bare and a hand propping your head up.

Poor baby had to stand there for twenty mintues attempting not to stare at you

But time was called and you got up going to dress again.

"Ayo n/n." "Hm?" "This guys here for you."

You only smiled hoping it was an art scout as you apologized for your current state and fixed yourself.

"Hello Im Y/n!" "I...I know..."

Voice sounded oddly familiar

"Do...I know you from....Wait a mintue!"

Pretty easy to figure it out, "stay there!"

He only listened as you rushed to your bag, flipping through the pages of one of your sketch books and lifted it up besides him.

"Its...Op-"

"I believe Orion- would be a better choice sounds more human."

Your weezing; hes evern prettier as a human

"I had no idea...you could..." "its older technology but works well." "Ah... I see..."

Thank god for being 18...primus hes just so pretty

"Um...I have to go pick up my work bag...do you wanna come along?"

Not you guys having a moment in the locker room where you told each other your feelings.

Making out in the locker room super softly? Absolutely.

Making out in his Alt form? Even a bigger yes, especially if hes dropping you off at your house

But its best to keep it a secret

Miko and Wheeljack notices that the teasing doesnt get to Y/n anymore and Miko realizes you stopped drawing Optimus and some human guy now. What a bummer

They realize Optimus does seem to have a much brighter glow to him, and he always lightly smells like something fimilar.

*cough* your perfume *cough*

"Is Y/n okay?" "What would be the problem?" "Shes always in a daze these days."

It true, drawings and plans you offered to help ratchet draw out are completed but sometimes you dont even remember drawing them or the process.

"Hmm? Yeah....I don't really care....whatever you want Miko." "Um Im jack and Im asking for the science text book back." "What!? Oh- sorry!"

"Ah Miko! Isnt the world so bright today!" "Its raining outside Y/n-" "Lets go run in it!" "What-"

You've never been so happy, even around finals your kicking your feet like a schook girl

It causes everyone great fear,

Not Optimus sneaking out of base to help you sneak out of your house so you guys can go have fun in some forest.

Refused to go into your room, its your private space but you convinced him anyways and well...its chaotic organization.

You show him around, pointing out things to him that your super proud of.

Ends in you guys on your bed trying to be quiet as you laugh with each other.

Falling asleep in his arms for the first time is wonderful

Not he leaving a jacket behind for you to wear and you do just around the house it did have the autobot insignia on it after all.

Sleeping prime refrence photos if you wake up before he has to leave

Can dance surprisingly well, and he'll go dancing with you in abanded parking buildings

You couldnt find a more perfect boyfriend

Finds a way to go to every art gallery your in.

You often do peices based on the bots and there stories, like a verbal reference

Some of your paintings worry him: you always reassure him you cant always have a happy peice but your happy to have him

Old people think your both just the sweetest couple

Until your parents pull up and your not a couple anymore, you try and keep it a secret from everyone and ya'll manage

Your parents like him upon introductions that you are both friends

Your dad's actaully a greek philosopher, and gets along very well with Optimus, he did introduce himself as Orion after all.

Life is good for the both of you

[arrowflier]

Hi Arrow, I don't know if you've ever seen Grey's Anatomy, I was doing a rewatch and I got an idea: in the episode it's Arizona's birthday and her girlfriend is throwing a party but Arizona, who had a bad day at work, doesn't react very well. Could you do it with Ian and Mickey?

It was Mickey’s birthday, and he was tired.

Ian had woken him up early with some tale of a family emergency, and rushed off without so much as kissing him goodbye, much less mentioning the date. Then it had been a long day of solo deliveries and running wild errands that Ian texted him, things he needed before he could do them himself, and Mickey was done.

Done with work, done with people, done with everything. He just wanted to crash on the sofa with his husband, get some good takeout for dinner, and maybe follow it up with a birthday bang before hitting the hay.

But when he got to the door of their apartment, it seemed that his shitty day wasn’t over yet.

Because the door he had closed and locked that morning, double checked the way he always did now, wasn’t locked anymore. And Ian wasn’t due home for at least another hour.

He stopped. Put his key away. Listened.

A shuffle. A scuff. Someone, or something, was inside.

He closed his eyes briefly. Fuck this fancy place with its rules and its regulations and its shitty fucking security.

He had left his gun in the ambulance, but he always had his knife. He eased it out then, braced himself, opened the door…

“Surprise!”

And immediately lowered the weapon he had inadvertently aimed at Ian’s face.

-

Hours later, after the party wound down, Mickey passed little Fred off to Tami and let her hug him goodbye. He closed the door behind her with a final, satisfying click, and leaned back against the wall with a sigh.

“You okay?” Ian asked him, appearing from the kitchen where he had taken over cleanup. “Been a little quiet tonight.”

Mickey knew he had been. He’d tried to play nice, play up his enthusiasm, but there was only so much he could do in the face of the full Gallagher family plus friends.

“Fine,” he grunted, trying to sound cheerful, and knew he failed when Ian’s face fell.

“No, you’re not,” Ian said, and then, “what’s going on?”

Mickey hesitated. Ian stepped closer.

“Didn’t you like the party?” he asked. “I made sure to get all your favorites, and I know you liked your gifts..”

“The party was great, Ian,” Mickey tried. “I know you went to a lot of trouble.”

And he had, it was obvious. The food, the booze, even a few silly games that were just weird enough or rough enough to be up Mickey’s alley. He had waited on him all night, made sure he had everything he could want, and Mickey just…

Hadn’t wanted any of it.

Ian’s frown deepened when Mickey’s assurances fell flat, and he twisted a dirt dishtowel in his hands as he stood there.

“But…” he prompted, not willing to let it go, and Mickey gave in. Rubbed a hand over his face, and stared down at the floor to answer.

“Look man, I love your family—”

“Our family,” Ian interrupted.

“Our family,” Mickey agreed. “But I didn’t think I’d be comin’ home to a fucking house apartment full of people.”

He laughed humorlessly, rested a hand on the knife now back in his belt.

“Fuck, I saw the door unlocked and thought…” He trailed off.

“What?” Ian asked, confused.

“That somethin happened, man,” Mickey finished, and saw the moment the words registered on Ian’s face.

“Sorry,” Ian said after a moment. The last thing Mickey wanted him to be.

“No, don’t be sorry,” he said. “Just…”

“Do better?” Ian finished with a wry grin.

Mickey snorted, and shook his head.

“Yeah,” he acknowledged. “Maybe.”

Ian hummed.

“That’s not why you’re upset though, is it?” he asked. He tossed the towel he had been wringing back into the kitchen, and leaned his shoulder against the wall.

And it wasn’t. Not really. It wasn’t like Mickey was scared when he saw the door; he was more annoyed than anything. Sure, years of living southside had taught him to be wary, but he had no doubt he could take any westside would-be thugs if it came down to it.

No, it was just…

“Not upset,” Mickey tried to explain, tugging at his nose to avoid meeting Ian’s eyes. “Just…really fucking tired.”

A pause. Just the sound of the dishwasher running, himself breathing, until Ian broke the silence.

“And you thought it would just be us.”

Mickey looked up to find Ian watching him, something soft and understanding in his face.

“Yeah,” Mickey agreed. “And maybe a steak or somethin, some beers, you know.” He shrugged. “Nothing big.”

Ian scratched the back of his head, looked down.

“I just wanted to do something nice,” he said. “You threw that party for our anniversary, and I—”

“Yeah, I did,” Mickey interrupted. “Cause you love that stuff, love havin’ all your people around, grand gestures and shit like that.”

Ian nodded. Looked at him again.

“And you love…”

“You, Ian,” Mickey said, and pushed off the wall to walk toward him. Got close enough to grab his arm, and put it around his own waist.

“I love you.”

“Okay,” Ian said softly, tightening his grip. He leaned down, kissed the top of Mickey’s head.

“Then tomorrow, you’ve got me,” he said firmly. “Just me. Promise.”

“Gonna hold you to that,” Mickey murmured, tipping up his chin. “But right now, there’s another way you can make this up to—”

He yelped as Ian bent abruptly and scooped his legs out from under him.

“Already on it,” Ian promised, and carried him to bed.

[fific7]

Ticket to Ride - Part 6

Billy Russo x Reader

A/N: Inspired by The Beatles song of the same name. This takes place in my S1 Punisher AU with Arrogant!Billy in attendance, in which he gets a taste of his own medicine. Here we are at the final part!

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content, including oral and unprotected, between consenting adults* in some chapters. Drinking and swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My photo edit and my photos of Murano & Burano)

𝕄𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

𝕄𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

𝕄𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

{…𝕠𝕣 𝕕𝕠𝕖𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕖?}

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy awoke early the next morning, reaching over to his phone on the bedside table and tapping the screen to see what time it was. Seven. Plenty of time to have a shower and make his way down to the breakfast room.

Standing under the stream of hot water, he couldn’t help feeling apprehensive. What if she had done another runner? He wouldn’t be able to cope with that. He didn’t think she would have, but…. he just wasn’t 100% sure what she was thinking or feeling right now.

After his full disclosure of what he’d got up to with Madani followed swiftly by his confession of love last night, he felt more optimistic but he could tell she was still conflicted.

He’d just have to do whatever he could today to persuade her to give him another chance.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Making your way into the light and airy breakfast room at just after eight, you couldn’t deny you were pleased to see Billy, sitting up super straight like a well-behaved schoolboy, already at a table.

His face broke into a huge smile when he spotted you, and you could see a large measure of relief wrapped up in it. You knew he would’ve been wondering if you had run out on him again. But no, you’d decided overnight to at least see how things went today on your trip to the Lagoon Islands.

He’d thrown you a curveball by telling you he loved you last night, and while you were relieved to hear that he hadn’t slept with that woman (his anger when you’d pushed him on it had finally convinced you that he hadn’t), you still weren’t exactly happy with what he had admitted to doing. It was still cheating in your book.

Could you ever really trust him again?

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy fussed over her like a mother hen when she sat down across from him at the table, jumping up and rushing over to the buffet table, picking out a selection of toast, focaccia, butter, jams and Nutella for her along with a couple of mini pain au chocolat croissants. They were her favourites so he felt quite proud of himself as he laid the plate before her like the spoils of war, before making his way to the coffee machine and creating a cappuccino for her.

“Thank you, Billy - you’re spoiling me,” she said with a small grin. “Your every wish is my command, Princess,” he smiled back, hand covering hers and stroking gently. Now she started properly laughing at him, and he huffed, slightly offended. Once she’d calmed down a bit she said, “Honestly Billy, you don’t have to wait on me hand and foot. All I need from you is complete honesty.” Billy tried to look as convincing as he possibly could, “I will be, sweetheart, I promise.”

She took a sip of her cappuccino, and fixed him with an intense stare. “Bearing that in mind, Billy, just what exactly was going through your mind when you were making out with Madani?”

Billy blew out a big breath; he hadn’t seen that coming. “Well… uhh… nothin’ really. I was just doing somethin’ I had to do, and needed to get it over with as quick as possible.” Another sip of coffee, another intense look from her. “Uh-huh. So you didn’t enjoy it then? Is that what you’re saying?”

Billy suddenly felt like he was back on very thin ice. He could feel himself squirming in his seat, and fought to keep still. Madani was, in all truth, a pretty woman.

Fuck.

What should he say in reply to that?

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Your eyes were drilling into Billy’s, and he looked about as comfortable as someone who’d just found out he’d got a scorpion down his trousers.

His face flushed pink, so you could guess what that meant. He cleared his throat, and then said in a low voice, “Look, she’s not bad lookin’ so it wasn’t as uncomfortable as it could’ve been.”

You smirked, not ready to let him off the hook yet, “So you were attracted to her, then. Not sure I’m happy to hear that, Billy.”

“NO! No, I wasn’t. Well.. like I said, she’s not unattractive but I’m not interested in her.”

You picked up your knife and aggressively sliced right through one of croissants. The look on Billy’s face was priceless. No doubt he’d guessed that the croissant was a surrogate for a certain part of his anatomy.

“Sweetheart, they weren’t long or involved kisses… not real ones, not like between you an’ me,” he said in a worried tone, very unlike his usual assertive manner. “Sweetheart, you’re the one I’m in love with. The only one I want to be with.” He was gazing earnestly at you, hand covering yours.

You cut off another piece of croissant and popped it into your mouth.

Billy would have to work a hell of a lot harder than that today if he was going to get you back, you thought.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Once the vaporetto had moored alongside the jetty you walked on board the boat up the ramp in front of Billy, while the disembarking passengers walked down the other side of it as it swayed from side to side, the boat moving in its own wake. The crew member who’d expertly tied up the boat a few moments ago was still calling out “Palanca, Palanca” as you headed through the covered section to the open area right at the back, sitting down on the bench seat in the stern and turning your face up to the sun.

Billy sat next to you, scooting as close to you as he could, suddenly lunging in for a hungry kiss. Two mothers with children in tow emerged through the doors leading from the salon, and you pushed him away while hastily smiling at the newcomers, saying, “Giorno” to them. Both of them smiled at you, returning your greeting, but then their eyes slid over to Billy and you saw both sets widening as they looked him over. You sighed. Having a hot boyfriend sucked sometimes. And Billy was looking particularly hot today in leather jacket, white t-shirt, black jeans and combat boots.

However, you noticed that Billy’s eyes were glued to you, still gazing at you ever since you’d fended him off. You didn’t think he’d even glanced at the other two women.

OK, Russo - one point on the plus side to you, you conceded.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy was paying full attention to his girl. He felt slightly triumphant that he’d managed to steal a kiss, and she’d only shoved him away when he’d vaguely heard the salon doors opening behind him.

He was so worried that she still hadn’t made her mind up whether to take him back or not, and he knew that today was his final chance to convince her to do so. Whatever was in his power to do, he’d do, to make that happen. And he wasn’t dumb, that meant not paying any attention whatsoever to any other females in the vicinity. He’d guessed that a couple of women had arrived along with the kids he could hear squealing and laughing just out of his sight line, so he made sure he kept his eyes trained solely on her.

Her lips curved upwards in a small smile as she looked back at him.

Pleased, he thought - ha, think I just scored a point there.

He wondered how many more of those he needed to rack up to finally win his woman back.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

There were no direct vaporetti lines to the Lagoon Islands so you had to firstly go to Fondamente Nove, which was a busy hub for several of the numerous lines. You wanted to visit two of the main islands; Murano - where Venetians had made their famed glass items for centuries - and Burano, an island of fishermen and lacemakers. You were really excited to go there, as the houses were painted in a rainbow of colours. Legend had it that this was so the returning fishermen could spot their own individual houses as they returned home across the lagoon.

You needed to find the ferry stop for Line 12, which luckily Billy spotted just as the two of you were about to walk right past it. There was a vaporetto arriving just as you did and swiping your travel passes, you went aboard and took seats in the salon. This ferry was a slightly different type to the others you’d been on, longer and lower and was soon packed with locals and tourists alike.

It took a little while to arrive at Murano, alighting at the Faro stop. They still produced glassware on Murano but nothing like as much as they had in the past. You and Billy wandered alongside one of the main canals, looking into the windows of all the little glass shops until you came to the entrance of one of the big glass foundries.

They offered tours of the workshop and of course also had a shop, so the two of you paid for the tour and watched in amazement as an old man took a fiery red and yellow blob onto the end of a pole, and blew and turned it until it started to take on the shape of a little vase.

In the store, you browsed along the shelves looking at all the glassware on display, until you suddenly noticed you were alone. Glancing around, you spotted a dark head over in the corner at the cash desk and were heading over there when Billy turned round. His trademark smirk appeared and he hurriedly picked up the little paper carrier bag which was on the counter by its handles and strode towards you.

“See anything you like, sweetheart?”

Smirk getting wider. You eye-rolled and grabbed his arm, noting at the same time that the female sales assistant was still gawping at Billy, even though he now had his back to her. You tugged him towards the door, asking, “What’ve you just bought?” as you went. He shook his head, “Can’t say. It’s a surprise.” You glared at him, “Billy….” but he just kept grinning as you left the store and wouldn’t say anything, even though you nipped at his wrist just below his leather jacket sleeve with your nails.

“Wanna get a coffee?” he suggested, as you resumed your canalside stroll. “Yeah, okay,” you replied, stopping next to the outdoor tables of a small caffé and sitting down, Billy joining you. He slid his hand over yours, “M’glad we’ve got this time together today, sweetheart. Wanna make you understand just how much you mean to me.”

You nodded in acknowledgment before waving at the waiter and ordering two double macchiatos. You carried on, “The main problem I have, Billy, is how I’m ever going to trust you again? You might not think you cheated, but that’s what it is in my book.”

Billy looked over at you, eyes wide, sad …and scared.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy had then looked up and thanked the waiter as the coffees were placed in front of you both. He really didn’t know what to say, to be honest. He knew Frank - and no doubt Karen - also thought that it had counted as cheating. But he truly hadn’t. Well…. Cheating Lite, as he’d already designated it in his head. But not proper, down-and-dirty, long-term cheating. It had been a means to an end. Nothing more, nothing less. He just hadn’t considered the bigger picture. At all. And that had been a big mistake.

He took a sip of his coffee, and cleared his throat before spilling out what had just gone through his head. “Y’know I’m not exactly an expert at relationships, angel. In fact, I’m sure you’ll agree I’m totally shit at them. I need you to keep me on the straight and narrow. Tell me how things need to be. Please don’t give up on us, don’t leave me… please.” Billy was completely and utterly pouring out his heart to her, and he prayed she could see that.

His girl looked at him, some anger and hurt still in her eyes but she managed a shaky breath and looked down into the depths of her coffee cup for a few moments.

Billy held his breath.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Your eyes met his again, “But how am I going to trust you again, Billy, tell me that? Every time you say you’re working late, how d’you expect me not to think you’re meeting up with her or someone else?”

Now it was Billy’s turn to look down. The silence stretched out to a few minutes, and you did nothing to break it. Eventually he looked up at you again, “M’tryin’ to think of how I can prove to you that I’ll never, ever, do something like that again - whether it’s work-related or not.”

He reached across and slid his long fingers between yours, holding onto your hand so tightly it felt like he’d never let go.

“Firstly, I give you my word as an ex-Marine that I won’t ever pull a stunt like this again. Secondly, I’ll be the most attentive boyfriend you’ve ever had. In and out of the sack.” You tried to hide a smile, but you knew he’d seen it. “Thirdly, I’ll put a tracker on my phone, and I’ll hack you into my messagin’ and email apps so you’ll have absolute access to my location and comms.” He was smirking back at you by now, he felt this was going pretty well.

“But you’ve got access to burner phones, Billy.”

His smile dimmed, while his brain scrambled to come up with a solution to this inconvenient fact. You saw his eyes light up and the smirk returned, “Easy. I’ll put Frank in sole charge of issuing them and I’ll tell him not to give me any unless it’s absolutely necessary for an op.”

“Could just buy them in Walmart’s,” you dropped into the slight pause after he’d finished speaking. His face fell again, and now you burst out laughing. “Okay, okay, Billy - I get the message. I see that you’re doing your best to be honest and transparent. There’s no need for you to put all that tracking and hacking in place.”

Billy beamed at you.

“I’ll just get Micro to track your ass.”

His mouth dropped open as you spoke.

“And monitor all your calls and texts.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Woah! thought Billy, didn’t think she’d be getting King Nerd involved. That was probably Karen’s idea. Gee, thanks Karen. But he would agree, what else could he do? And he’d offered to track himself, so it didn’t really matter in any case, did it?

“Uhhh…” he stuttered, “….uhh yeah, whatever you like, sweetheart.”

She smiled over at him, a genuine smile. “It’s OK, Billy. I wouldn’t do that to you.” She side-eyed him, “Unless you give me good cause. Like… coming home stinking of another woman’s perfume ever again.”

His hand went over his heart, and he put on his best puppydog eyes. “Angel, I swear on my life - never. Never. Ever. Again.”

She nodded. “Okay, Billy, I’ll take that as you being on oath now, just like when you joined the Marines.” His eyes widened and he nodded fast. “Yeah. I am. I’m on oath.”

He watched as she drained the very last few drops of her coffee. “Okay, Russo! Let’s go,” she said standing up and picking up her bag.

“Yes, ma’am!” He jumped up and saluted, taking his place at her side as they retraced their steps to the Faro stop and their next vaporetto.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You’d hopped onto the next Line 12 ferry which arrived, and recommenced your onwards journey to Burano. Sitting inside the salon again, the loud chatter around you from the mostly local passengers almost drowned out any conversation you and Billy tried to have. He finally leaned right up against you, snaking his arm round your waist, his lips against your ear.

“Got you a little somethin’, sweetheart.” He handed you the gift bag.

Opening it, you saw a mass of tissue paper inside the bag and took it out. “Careful!” he warned, so you slowly opened up the paper and saw a delicate rose pink heart trinket box sitting at its centre. You lifted its little lid up and then replaced it, delighted with it. Smiling at Billy, you said, “I love it!” into his ear and kissed his cheek. His lips returned to your ear, “See? You have my heart.”

Now you rolled your eyes heavenwards, “I’d stop there if I were you, Russo. Cheesy really doesn’t suit you!” He burst out laughing. “Hey! Give a guy a break. He’s over here layin’ his heart and soul right out in front of you.”

You leant in and kissed him on the lips, before pulling back and saying, “And don’t read too much into that!” But Billy was already grinning happily back at you.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy was happy. His steps were light as he walked beside her from the vaporetto stop along a small street, lined with stalls and shops selling souvenirs and lacework, which eventually led to a square.

She loved the trinket box! he thought, very pleased with himself. The minute he’d seen it he knew that she would, and had decided to buy it on the spot. While he didn’t want her to think he was trying to buy her back, he’d just wanted to make some gesture to show her that he treasured her, the same way she’d treasure the little things she put in it.

He blurted all of this out to her as they strolled along. She stopped walking and looked at him, amazed, “Billy Russo! I think that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He felt shy suddenly, and he could feel his face heating up. What was happening to him? Is this what love did to you? He didn’t hate it. “It’s how I feel,” he mumbled, looking away from her. He felt her hand on his cheek, “Well, keep that up and maybe, just maybe…”

She turned and started walking again, and Billy hurried to catch up with her. I won’t push it, he thought, I’ll just leave it be while I’m on a winning streak.

There was another street leading off the square which was full of trattorias and caffés, and they chose one of the restaurants to sit outside, the tables rapidly filling as more people from the vaporetto stop arrived.

She’s definitely looking at me more kindly, he thought. Things might just be okay after all.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

After a delicious lunch of pasta and several glasses of wine, you and Billy started exploring the little canals and streets with their cute colourful houses. They looked so bright and beautiful in the sunlight, and you imagined the fishermen back in the day sailing home and being able to see their own little house from afar.

You reached the waterside, beside a quiet little square with houses all around it and some grass in the middle, clothes on washing lines strung across it, blowing in the breeze. There was no-one else around and suddenly you found yourself pressed up against the wall of one of the houses, Billy’s long fingers on the nape of your neck, his hand on your waist. His dark chocolate eyes were gazing into yours, a soft look in them. But you could also feel something a lot harder pressing into your hip, and you saw desire spark in his eyes.

His mouth was on yours and he kissed you, the sudden passion of which took you by surprise. He pulled back, his forehead touching yours. “I’ve missed your touch so much,” he whispered, “…every minute of every day since you.. since you left me.” You laid your hand on his chest, “I missed you too, Billy - even if I did hate you at the time.” He chuckled, “Do you still hate me?” You looked into those beautiful eyes, “No, I guess I don’t. Although you’re still walking a line, Billy.”

He nodded, “I know. I do know. But promise me you’ll give me another chance?” You smiled at him, pushing yourself away from the wall and him, “Let’s see, shall we?”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy tapped on her hotel room door, and gave her a devilish grin as she opened it. He’d made sure to wear a white tank and a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms. He knew she liked him in those.

She was already in her sleepwear - an oversized Anvil T which she’d stolen from him ages ago - and leant against her door, looking back at him, amused. “Why Billy, whatever brings you here?”

He just kept grinning at her and also leant against her doorframe. As if she didn’t know, he thought. She’d had to spend the entire journey back from Burano fending off his hands and mouth.

“Just checkin’ you’re OK, sweetheart. See if there’s anything you need.”

She laughed. “And what could I possibly need, Billy?”

He angled his body so that she couldn’t fail to get a great view of his toned torso and more importantly, the very obvious outline of his erection showing in his joggers. If there was one thing Billy had complete confidence in, it was the effect his body had on women.

“I can think of one or two things, sweetheart.”

He was ecstatic when her hand reached out and grabbed him round the back of his neck, pulling him into her room. “Uhuh… maybe you should show me what those are.”

Billy’s grin got twice as wide.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You gave a huge sigh as Billy pushed inside you, hearing an answering one from him and you ran your hands up into his lush hair. You couldn’t deny it, you had missed him. And his enthusiastic lovemaking.

However you were a little taken aback when he began moving slowly and sensually on you, instead of his usual frenetic pace. He was stroking your hair, placing little kisses all over your face and neck, running his hands over your body, whispering “I love you, love you so much” between his languid thrusts. He slid a hand down and massaged your clit, so well that you climaxed within a few short moments. Not long afterwards, you heard him gasp and he released into you, with a long groan.

The two of you lay in silence, side by side but still entwined. Then Billy leant across and kissed you, softly, slowly, with passion. “I can’t be without you, angel.” The puppydog eyes were out in force again as he gazed at you, “Please. Gimme another chance. I’ll be a better boyfriend, a million times better.”

You continued to look back at him, then gave a quick nod, “Okay. Yes, okay Billy. But one… just one transgression…” His hands went up in supplication, “Understood! Not one transgression will be made.”

“And you make sure to tell that thirsty bitch back in New York that her little dates with you won’t be happening anymore.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

“Already done.”

He saw her eyebrows rise.

Oh. Oh, she thinks that means I’ve been in touch with her.

“No, sweetheart…. Frankie took care of that for me while I’ve been away.”

She smirked, “Pleased to hear it.”

Billy let out a sigh of relief, he was going to have to be so careful over the next few months. He’d only just got her back! He couldn’t let a stupid, chance remark or two ruin it. He ran his hand over her hair again. “I’m so happy, y’know? M’never going to take you for granted again.” He saw her smile widen in the darkness of the room.

“But, sweetheart, you gotta promise me something too.” She looked at him, puzzled, amused, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. No more runnin’ out on me and flyin’ halfway round the world.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23 @omgrachwrites @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @ourloveisforthelovely @swthxrry @odetostep @supernaturalcat7 @obscurilicious @strawb3rrydr3ss @bruxa0007 @aleksanderwh0r3 @theshadowkingsqueen @bat-luna-cat @carlywhomever

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

[camels-pen]

D(anny) Stabilized

Summary: Danny just wanted to be a leaf, is that so bad?

based on @calamarispider's prompt "danny, like dani, is or was unstable. whenever he used his ghost powers for too long, he started to melt into ectoplasm."

Ao3 Link

~

Drip.

It was a calming sound. Like listening to a leaky faucet after a nice hot shower.

Drip drip.

Or like sitting wrapped up in a blanket with a mug of warm milk, all cozy and snug while a light rain pelts the window.

Drip.

It was mesmerizing. Drawing him deeper and deeper into a swirling cloud of rich black waters that, for once, had nothing to do with forcing wakefulness.

Drip drip.

Oh man, it was so comfy here. Now he just needs his special people to curl up against and things would be absolutely perfect-

“-ny… DANNY!”

“Bwuh?” Danny raised his head off his desk and automatically started wiping at nonexistent drool on his cheek. “‘M awake, Lancer. Danny’s brain ready to do stuff. No heehawing here.”

Softly the voice asked, “What?”

Danny turned to face the vaguely tall and teacher-like shape of Mr. Lancer to his right. “Teacher man, I’m at the land I understand.”

“Is he okay?!”

Danny felt someone poke at the softest part of his flesh, just under his nape. A second, more monotone voice said, “He’ll be fine. Mostly.” Warm arms wrapped around his shoulders and under his thighs. He instantly leaned into the body cradling him close. “He just overdid it a little today.”

“Oh!” He heard zippers opening, followed by rustling and a familiar click. “Okay, help me get his sweater off.”

“Ah, he’s not really injured per se. He’s just… melty.”

“Melty?”

A third voice beside him spoke up, accompanied by the sound of a tapping stylus. “Yeah, you remember when we told you how Ellie was unstable after she was fighting with Danny? It’s the exact same deal: using a little too much power makes him softer in a few places, but when he completely ignores his limits, or experiences a fatal injury for a human, he straight up starts turning into liquid green goo.”

“We think it’s part of the healing process, but Frostbite isn’t well versed in halfa anatomy so we don’t really know. And since this dumbass doesn’t know the meaning of relying on others, he’s been having a worse time since we left the FarFrozen.”

A pair of hands poked and prodded at him, and once they reached a spot just above his stomach, he hissed and hid his face in the nearest available spot. It was warm and smelled nice. He hummed, content as he buried his face in the spot. “Oh, fuck. Danny no. You can’t snuggle my neck right now, okay? We need to get you out of here before Lancer comes back.”

“You Lance man. Two Lance man?” There was a fond sigh beside him.

“Okay, so he’s a bit more loopy than we were hoping, but at least he’s awake?”

“He won’t be for long if we don’t keep him occupied, Tuck.”

“I’m sorry, why would he be loopy if he’s turning to, um, goo?”

“Frostbite was pretty sure that the liquification process takes up a lot of energy and since he usually doesn’t have a lot when he gets gooey, it diverts some energy from mental processing stuff. Or, that’s the leading theory anyway.”

A tune began playing in his head and Danny automatically started singing aloud. “Somethin’ in the skyyyy. We can go twice as highhhh. Take a look, ‘s in a book. Reading rainbooooooooooow!”

A hand slapped on top of his and all three voices shushed him.

Danny grumbled. Why do the voices have to be so mean? He just wanted to sing a little. And when did Lancer man start hating rainbow reading?

“Right uh, we should get going before he starts belting out something like through the fire an—” The sound of skin slapping on skin abruptly cut the voice off. He wondered what it was going to say.

“Yeah, genius, and if we say it then he’s definitely going to sing it!” A muffled sorry followed the hissing voice.

“Wait I don’t get it, what was Tucker going to say?”

There was a brief pause before two voices in union said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Danny was jostled against the warmth, bouncing repeatedly in its hold as it started moving forward. He whined in protest.

“Shh, shh it’s alright. We’re gonna leave and then we’ll put you in the bathtub with lots of nice blankets, okay?”

Danny would like that very much, yes. But he wants his special people too. “Wha’ bout my lovelies?”

The voice beside him chuckled. “Your lovelies will sit right up against the tub with you. I’ll even narrate while Sam piles ice packs on you.”

Ohh, that sounds really nice. Danny was sad he couldn’t hold his special people the whole time, but… ice good.

“Icy pops?”

“All the ice pops you could possibly want.”

“And kisses?”

This time there were two people chuckling and the voice above him spoke. “I’ll make it my personal mission to kiss you all over.”

Danny smiled and nuzzled further into the warmth. “Love my lovelies.”

“We love you too, Danny.”

The bouncing started to slow down a bit and after a loud squeaking sound, a blissful breeze of fresh air danced across the exposed part of his skin, cooling off his uncomfortably warm extremities.

“Good air. Very good air,” he mumbled as he turned his face towards it, eyes still closed. Danny wanted to feel it all around him. Danny wanted to feel light enough for it to push him around at its command and just sleep on a cloud.

He wanted to be a leaf.

“Danny- Danny no! Don’t—” There was a wordless noise of frustration above him and then three pairs of hands were holding him down. “You can’t use your powers! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

No! That’s bad! Danny wants the breeze, he can’t be hurt! He has to be a leaf!

“Okay, if either of you has a thermos with you that would be incredibly helpful right now,” the voice above him said as Danny struggled to get out of the quickly tightening hold.

“I don’t see the problem;” the voice behind the warmth said. “I mean he doesn’t even remember he can phase through your arms—” The other two voices loudly shushed her.

Phase through her arms? That’s a great idea!

“No, Danny no. Stop. I will take away your icy pops if you use your powers. Don’t think I won’t.”

No! Danny likes his icy pops!

Wait, he can make his own icy pops, can’t he? He can!

Why didn’t Danny think of that before? Now he can have icy pops all the time!

Mmm. Danny makes good icy pops.

There was the sound of something dripping directly below him.

“Danny!”

---

“Fantastic work, Jazz.”

“To be fair, you didn’t provide clear enough instructions for handling a loopy goopy Danny.” The voice continued, amusement colouring their tone. “And it seems Tucker’s got things covered with Blue’s Clues so…”

Sam groaned loudly. “Just… stay quiet until we get to my house okay?”

Haha. Doggy doesn’t know where his icy pops are. Danny knows where they are though. And he can make more!

“DANNY!”

[tachihound]

I think we need some sauce on that steak 👀

[amor-immortalem]

Everything Undesired chapter 5

A/N: this went in a completely different direction than the original comic did but I think its better this way. More angstier.

Chapter 4

The glow of blue fire emanates from the Witches’ house. As the three brothers watched, the child tucked safely into Lucifer’s arm, the mood was solemn.

“So, it’s over? What happens now?” Beel asked.

“We go home,” The Avatar of Pride replies, “And we help Mammon do his best to move past this...” He turns to look at his brothers, the glow from the fire casting a dark shadow over his face. “We’re finished here. Let’s go.”

A portal was opened as the eldest walked through followed by the others. On the other side, he found Levi and Belphegor trying to move Satan’s old crib from the attic down to Arella’s old room.

“Come on, Levi, put your back into it!” Belphie said as they moved down the stairs carefully. “I’m practically carrying this thing on my own here.”

“I'm trying! A shut in like me isn’t meant to be moving something so heavy.” Levi groaned as he hefted the crib up further.

Lucifer only cleared his throat as the seventh and third-born brothers looked his way. “Where’s Mammon?”

“I used my powers to put him back to sleep so he could rest up before the kid got here.” The Avatar of Sloth replied. “He doesn’t need to be over-tired and dealing with an infant at the same time. It’s a recipe for disaster, if you ask me. ”

At the commotion, Arella came out of the kitchen where she was washing out all of the old baby bottles they would need. “Oh, you’re back. I can take him now. Beel, would you help them with the crib please? It’ll be going in my old room for the time being, and Satan, would you finish drying the bottles for me, please?”

Both brothers nodded with Beel stepping forth to take the crib from his brothers and Satan headed to the kitchen. Levi and Belphie let out exhausted sighs as they headed off to their rooms and the only two left now in the entrance hall were Lucifer and Arella. She held her arms out for the little one and Lucifer was all too happy to oblige her.

With a small cry of discontentment, the baby settled into her arms quickly as she shushed him. She rocked him gently until he was back to sleep. Seeing her step so readily into the role of motherhood left the demon impressed.

“He’s already had a diaper change around two hours ago and he ate around an hour ago so he should be fine for a little bit.”

”Alright, he is frightfully thin though which worries me, but he’s in good hands now.”

“Why are you doing this, Arella? You know you don’t have to and yet here you are, embracing a child that’s not even yours.”

“Do I need a reason?” She smiles as she looked up at him. “I don’t think I do. I suppose if I have to have a reason it would be that I just want to help Mammon. He can’t do this alone. Don’t you think that’s enough?”

The Avatar of Pride only nodded. “You humans never cease to amaze me with your generosity. Has he thought of a name yet?”

“He threw a couple names out there but ultimately he couldn’t decide so he asked me to choose the name from the ones he suggested.”

“And?”

“I chose the name Cyrus, from the Latin meaning sun. Right now, it’s a very dark time in our lives, but I hope one day he’ll be bright like a little ray of sunshine.”

“Very thoughtful of you,” The demon hums. “But are you sure you’ll be alright tonight? You’ve been up nearly all night. You have to be exhausted by now.”

“I’ll be alright. This isn’t the first time I’ve pulled an all-nighter. When I graduated from Cambridge a couple years back, I earned myself a degree in biochemical engineering. I can’t tell you the number of sleepless nights I had cramming in last minute reviews. This won’t be anything compared to those. I’m obviously not planning to go to RAD tomorrow, so I can just sleep when Cyrus sleeps.”

“You can take online courses then. We’re going to try to pass him off as your child for that to work you’ll need to be absent from RAD for an extended period of time. If word gets out that my brother was assaulted, the mockery he’ll face will be absolutely ridiculous. It’ll be easy since demons don’t know much about human anatomy. We can always say it was a surprise pregnancy and you never showed.”

Arella only nodded at that. “Thank you,” she turned and headed to her old room for the night to settle the baby.

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

Mammon slept for a full eight hours before waking up with a start. While he felt rested, there was also an odd sense of worry flowing through him. He looked around frantically and then realized what was missing. Arella wasn’t with him. He got out of bed and made his way around the house looking for his mate. She would be in the last place he looked- in her room. He shrunk back at the sight of his child resting against her chest, as a soft purring noise filled the room. The sight reminded him just how much he wanted them to have a child of their own together.

The demon stood there, mesmerized by the sight in front of him until his human noticed him. She motioned for him to join her on the bed, a bright smile enveloped her features as he did just that.

“He’s beautiful, love.” She said as she leaned her head against his shoulder. “Do you want to try to hold him?”

He shook his head as he rested his cheek against her. “I don’t know if I can right now...” The Avatar of Greed only frowned. He wanted to hold Cyrus but he still felt like none of this was real. “It feels like a bad dream... Like I’ll wake up any second now.”

“That’s alright. If it helps, you could pretend that he was always our son to begin with. It might help you in the long run.”

“Do ya think... maybe I can trick myself like that?” He reached out and stroked the child’s cheek. “’Rella, I don’t get it... How can somethin’ so beautiful be born from somethin’ so horrible?”

“Sometimes the best things come from tragedy, Love. I’m so proud of you for being strong enough to take him in, do you know that?”

Mammon would only nod in response as a tiny hand came to wrap around his finger. For a moment all the air was stolen out of his chest as he recoiled from the contact slightly. The feeling of a crushing weight on his chest that he had only felt in his worst nightmares had returned. Suddenly, he wondered if he made the right decision as the realization set in that he was a father now. What if he was never able to love his son? What kind of damage would that do to his child? Could he do this?

“Mammon?”

“I-I’m fine. Don’t worry,” he takes a few deep breaths and he’s able to calm himself. “I'll take him now. Hafta get past this at some point. I hafta be the parent he needs.”

“You will be. I have faith in you.” Arella kissed his cheek before carefully transferring Cyrus to his father. “I know you’ll be a fantastic father once you’re able to see him separately from what his mother and aunts did to you.”

He only nodded as Arella cards her fingers through his hair. He thought this would be a monumental challenge at first, and it still was but as long as she was here, he thought maybe things would go smoother.

—————————————————————

The crying was the worst part for Mammon and Cyrus was unfortunately a fussy baby. Over the past few weeks since he’d been brought home, there were multiple times where the white-haired demon had to leave the room whenever his child cried or pass him off to his adoptive mother, feeling too physically sick to listen to or even look at the child.

The end of the spring term was nearly upon them and since exams would be coming up. Mammon took every chance he could to stay late at RAD for some extra studying with Satan and Asmodeus, knowing he had to get his grades back up. But the guilt was eating away at him. Arella was at home all day, typically alone, with his child. Any good father- any good mate- would be rushing home to give his partner a break to take time for herself and Mammon knows this but even when he doesn’t stay late at school he finds himself dragging his feet to get home.

He stared and stared at the work book in front of him. It was curses and hexes, one of his most hated subjects and arguably his worst grade. Eventually, he just shut the work book, taking of his glasses and just rubbing his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. This caught the attention of his younger brothers.

”You alright, Mams?” Asmo asked as he set his pen down.

”Am I a bad father?” The white-haired demon countered with his own question.

”No, of course not.” Satan frowned. “Given everything that happened, I’d say you’re doing great.”

”It doesn’t feel like it,” he frowned. “This is my kid and yet it feels like Arella’s doin’ all the work. Takin’ care of him all the time, stayin’ home with him all the time… It should be me doin’ all the work not her! I’m the one who said I’d keep him and yet I can’t bring myself to do anything for him. A-And its not like I don’t know how to take care of a baby. I’ve done it before.”

The Avatar of Greed ran a hand through his hair in frustration before packing up his things.

”Where are you going?” Satan yelled after his brother before being shushed by the librarian.

”Home! To apologize to my mate and force myself to take care of my child.”

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Next

Masterlist 2

[maddiewritesstucky]

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Stripper Bucky / Architect Steve

Words: 3790

Tags: Sexy shower antics, post-exercise endorphin highs, Steve is a badass for like 10 minutes, Bucky is not a morning person (until he suddenly is), enthusiastic morning sex

A follow-up one-shot to the slow death of Steve Rogers. Many thanks to my radiant cassowary @kalee60​ for giving it your clever eyes. Infinite birdseed for you 😘

(Also on Ao3)

When Bucky wakes up, he is aware of two things, and two things only.

One - it’s way too fucking early for his eyelids to have peeled themselves back the way they have, if the rosy tint of the sky outside is anything to go by, and two - his foot should have connected with some part of Steve’s anatomy by now on it’s customary post-waking stretch across the mattress.

His body is coming online one limb at a time, and he grunts his displeasure into the rumpled sheets; gaze firmly averted from the clock on the bedside table. Putting a number to it will only make him angry, and the stupid beautiful soft dawn light filling the bedroom tells him everything he needs to know anyway. 

Why they had decided to move into Steve’s apartment when Bucky’s actually had things like properly functioning curtains, he has no idea. 

"Steve,”  he groans, voice thick with the remnants of sleep and the injustice of waking before he intended to. 

He kicks his foot out a little further; throws an arm out to join the search party too, but finds Steve’s side of the bed decidedly more vacant than it had been when he fell asleep last night. 

Running, some vaguely helpful part of Bucky’s subconscious supplies, you fell for a man who goes running at bastard o’clock in the morning. 

He flops over onto his back and scrubs his hands up over his face; up through the tangled mess of hair that seems to find new ways of defying its scrunchie-prison every night. His vision sharpens into focus and sticks a moment on the giant canvas print photo of himself and Steve smiling back at him from the far wall; a grinning relic of a Bucky who was not woken before his time.

It still makes his stomach flip a little, that picture - the two of them stuffed into the heavy-knit sweaters Bucky’s ma had made them last Christmas; both in the  throes of losing their shit over the comically absurd miscalculation she’d made on size. Steve’s got tears in his eyes, and Bucky’s aren’t even open, and they’re clinging to each other with that special kind of desperation that intense, prolonged laughter seems to spawn.

It’s everything good about their life together, that photo; the sheer warmth and joy they’ve found in one another over the past year, the sense of  home and family and right. 

It’s even more heartwarming, Bucky finds, when the sun is a reasonable distance above the horizon.

He drags his protesting body out of its sleep-warmed cocoon, his intentions set on the brand new bag of espresso grind that Last-Night Bucky had so wisely left sitting on the kitchen counter. 

He’s going to use Steve’s favorite mug, the one he’d happened across in a yard sale that reads ‘architects do it on drafting tables’  with a lewd stick figure drawing. Partially because it holds the most coffee, and partially because if Steve had remained in bed this morning, with all his familiar warmth and dependable big-spoon behavior, Bucky would have remained blissfully unconscious until his alarm went off. 

...Steve’s not here to actually  see  this particular middle-finger of a gesture, but that’s beside the point. Bucky will  know.

It’s not until he’s shuffling his way down the hall, already two steps past the closed bathroom door, that Bucky registers the faint sounds of water hitting tile, and the sporadic, off-key hum of a post-run Steve. 

His feet halt in their tracks before he’s even made the conscious decision that coffee can wait.

He wants to keep walking, to get his precious cup of bean nectar and crawl back into bed for another hour or three, it’s just...

Post-run Steve is kind of Bucky’s jam. 

He’s sweaty, and loose-limbed, and hopped up on exercise endorphins which, more often than not, make him inexplicably horny and give him the closest approximation of a bad boy complex that someone with Steve’s demeanor could possibly get. 

Post-run Steve is the only good thing about being awake at this god forsaken hour. 

The sunrise, and the stillness, and the smell of fresh dew can get fucked, but Bucky will carpe the hell out of a diem for some Post-run Steve.

He slips quietly into the bathroom, and is immediately grateful for the time he spent descaling the shower door yesterday when he’s met with an unimpeded view of Steve’s glorious back. What goddamn right an architect has looking like that, Bucky has no idea, but you wanna talk about some aesthetically pleasing angles?

Steve’s got one hand braced against the wall, head dipped to draw out the line of his back. His skin’s a little flushed; water channeling in fast-flowing rivulets between the soft ridges and swells of his drawn-taut muscles, and he’s breathing those quiet grunts of the recently-exerted. 

He’s a living, breathing thirst-trap, and the knowledge that he’d only blush and change the subject if Bucky told him so just makes it a thousand times better. 

Bucky pushes his soft flannel sleep pants off his hips and lets them fall to the floor, sending up another silent salute to Last-Night Bucky for going commando, and steps forward to pull open the shower door.

...Later on, when Bucky is reflecting on it all, he’ll blame the early hour and his pre-caffeinated state for the fact that he didn’t realise. The soft noises falling from Steve’s lips, the very particular bunch and flex of very particular muscles…

Any other time of day, Bucky would have known straight away. 

Any other time of day, and Bucky wouldn’t have even needed to be in the same room - he could be at the bodega down the street, and his nipples would inexplicably harden at the pluck of Steve’s distant arousal on the cosmic spiderweb. 

But as it happens in the moment, it’s not until Steve’s head is falling back on a low moan that Bucky realizes exactly what it is he’s walked in on. 

“Oh, shit...”

It’s off his tongue before he can reel it back in, and Steve almost jumps out of his skin. 

His head whips around, and for the briefest flicker of a moment, he looks shocked and uncertain and embarrassed as all hell. 

But this right here is no weekday-afternoon Steve. This is not the blushing, bumbling hunk of love meee that occupies the corporeal form of Steve Rogers 95% of the time. 

No, this is Post-run Steve, and it’s all of about two seconds before he’s schooling his features into something more akin to vaguely-smirking indifference; turning until he’s facing Bucky front on, and settling his weight back against the shower wall.

“Babe, I’m sorry, I didn’t--” Bucky begins, as close to apologetic as one can really be about seeing their significant other in a compromising yet Very Sexy position. But the words dry up on his lips as Steve lifts a finger to his own in the universal gesture of ‘shush.’   

He watches, rapt, as Steve first reaches over to the tap and shuts off the water, and then takes up the bottle of Bucky’s conditioner, squirting some into his hand before wrapping it back around his cock. 

And then that jacked-up idiot, that neuro-chemical flooded pseudo bad bitch, looks Bucky dead in the eye...and goes right back to jerking off. 

He’s putting on a goddamn show with it too - pulling at his cock, long and slow and tight; dropping his head back against the wall and letting his moans ricochet shamelessly off the tile. The sound of his fist working over his dick is lewd as hell, so much more audible for the fact that there’s no rush of running water to mask it anymore, and Bucky wonders briefly if he ever actually woke up at all, if this isn’t just all a very believable wet dream. 

It certainly contains all the usual elements - intense eye contact; a big fat dick getting rubbed off by a beefy, naked, wet dude (bonus that it’s Bucky’s actual, real-life boyfriend); the kinds of sounds you usually only hear in porn…

For all Bucky knows, he could still be tucked up in bed asleep, and not standing here naked and painfully erect in this steamed up bathroom, watching his boyfriend jack it like he’s starring in some locker-room porno.

“You need somethin’, or you just come in here to watch?” Steve drawls, arching a brow at him, and yeah  - there’s a  lot of things Bucky needs all of a sudden.

He rakes an assessing gaze over Steve’s body, stepping into the shower and pressing his palms to the swell of Steve’s pecs.

“I just wanted to make sure your run went okay,” he shrugs, “no pulled tendons, shin splints...aching muscles…that kinda thing.” 

He squeezes at Steve’s shoulders and his biceps and his tiny waist; threads his hands up through Steve’s hair and slots a thigh between Steve’s to push their hips together. 

Steve’s skin is so warm, and slippery, and he smells like soap, and Bucky starts mentally calculating just how much time they have and how much energy he can feasibly expend before their respective work days start.

He’s not on stage tonight, but he is on shift for his day job at the community center, teaching a preschool ballet class at 10am, and then a seniors ballroom dancing session at midday before his contemporary classes in the afternoon. Steve’s working from home today, so hypothetically it wouldn’t matter if Bucky wore him out a little…

“Buck...” 

“Mm?” 

He rubs his whole self shamelessly against Steve, pressing in so the barbells spiked through his nipples drag across the wet expanse of Steve’s chest. He kisses Steve’s neck and his tits and his mouth, hungry and handsy and a little frantic, and Steve laughs softly against his lips as he turns them to push Bucky up against the slick tile of the shower wall.

“Your concern is deeply moving,” he deadpans, caging Bucky in with hands planted either side of his head, “but I think we need to talk about your bathroom etiquette...didn’t anybody ever teach you to knock?” 

He’s staring Bucky down with eyes lit up something wicked; his body so very nearly touching Bucky’s but not quite, and it hits Bucky all over again that his boyfriend is, physically speaking...really fucking imposing.

It’s easy to forget, when he’s being...well, Steve. Perpetually polite, kind-hearted, goofy...Bucky feels like when he looks at Steve, he sees the softness of his nature, the quiet goodness that radiates out of him. 

He sees the sensible shoes and the khaki pants, the careful artist hands and the way Steve still sometimes carries himself like the much-smaller man he claims to have once been. 

He’s Stevie, and Bucky wouldn’t have him any other way. 

But all of that also happens to be contained within a 6’2”, 200lb frame, and right now...Bucky kind of wants to suffocate under it. 

“I am so sorry, Steven,” he says, though it’s entirely negated by the raging hard on he’s sporting and the giddy, gratuitous manner in which he’s still feeling Steve up. 

He skates his fingertips down the rippled plain of Steve’s stomach, down to the trail of dusky blond hair leading south from his belly button, but Steve catches his hands and pins them up above his head. 

“I’m sure you are,” Steve hums, “but I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of the situation here. See, you caught me in a very private moment, one that I was very much enjoying, and now I’m all thrown off. You got me feelin’ shy.” 

...There’s some very compelling evidence to the contrary rubbing up against Bucky’s hip right now, but that’s beside the point. Steve’s teeth are scraping a line all the way down Bucky’s neck to nip at the ice fractals tattooed across his shoulder, and Bucky’s more than willing to play along.

“However can I make it up to you?” 

He arches into the press of Steve’s body, the hard line of Steve’s cock nestled into the crease of his hip.

If Steve shifted just slightly, he’d be rubbing up against Bucky’s dick. 

It’s not an accident that Steve isn’t making that shift. 

“You really want to?” Steve kisses the question against his skin, making his way slowly back up to Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky nods vehemently.

He’s already wetting his lips in preparation for all the ‘making up’ they’re about to do; signalling his knees to get ready to bend and pulling at Steve’s grip on his wrists, but Steve doesn’t release him.

Instead, he pulls back just far enough to look Bucky square in the eye, and smiles entirely too sweet for the authoritative edge that rumbles into his voice. “Go back to bed, Bucky.” 

Bucky has to blink a few times as the words circulate in his ears. His expression turns from I’m about to get some D!  to  oh god I’m being denied the D in about 0.2 seconds flat.

Bed is very far away from the dick that is currently in need of reparations, he can’t achieve anything from bed.

“But—you said—I was gonna—”

“Go. back. to bed.”  Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s wrists and leans his whole weight against him, right up in his space so his lips catch against Bucky’s as he speaks, “...and wait for me.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

A big, stupid, ‘bout-to-get-railed grin stretches across Bucky’s face. He wriggles free of Steve’s grasp and stumbles out of the shower, stopping himself just shy of a wildly enthusiastic ‘yes sir!’

He thinks he can hear Steve’s laughter as he takes off back down the hall toward the bedroom, but it might just be his own echoing back to him. He throws himself down onto the unmade bed, still warm from when he got up not ten minutes ago, and honestly who needs to sleep in anyway? Sleeping in is for people who don’t have absolute poundcake boyfriends to screw them into the sunrise.

He should have toweled off, he realizes as his damp skin rubs against the bedding, but he cannot be blamed for life choices made before six am, and there are far more important things afoot anyway. 

Things like the sound of the shower turning back on for approximately forty-five seconds, then the muted pass of a towel being scrubbed over hair, and footsteps on the hardwood growing ever closer to the bedroom.

God, this is gonna be a good day. What  a beautiful day to be greeting the dawn, making the most of his youth, seizing everything life throws at him!

He has the good sense to snatch the lube out of the bedside drawer just as Steve walks into the room, eyeing him with amusement and hunger in equal measures. 

“You know what the problem is, with what just happened back there, Buck?” 

Steve saunters toward the bed with all the nonchalance of a man whose work day doesn’t start for another three hours. 

He wraps his sizable hands around Bucky’s ankles and yanks him down the bed a little - for no other purpose than to hear Bucky’s breath hitch at the unnecessary show of strength - and climbs up onto the mattress to straddle Bucky’s shins. 

“The problem is, I don’t like to make a spectacle of myself.” He plucks the lube from Bucky’s hand and pours some into his own, spreading it over his cock in lazy pulls. “Being the center of attention, having eyes on me...that’s more your speed.”

“Mhmm, yes, I am an attention whore,” Bucky nods, reaching grabby hands out at Steve who refuses to shift any further up his body, “and you are humble and handsome and have a big dick. Make out with me.” 

Steve tuts and shakes his head, reaching his unoccupied hand to flick at one of Bucky’s nipple piercings. 

“Oh, I don’t think you get to make requests right now. See, the worst part of you throwin’ me off back there? I was so fucking close.  So now what you get to do, James, is flip the fuck over, and let me finish what I started.” 

...Jesus, Bucky loves Post-run Steve.

He’s gonna marry Post-run Steve and have his hopped up little post-run babies, and make sure Steve never misses a single day of early morning exercise so he can bask in the glory of this magnificent bastard every goddamn day of his life.

Bucky flops over onto his front and gets his knees under himself, sticking his ass up in the air with a wiggle that’s probably a lot more comical than it is enticing. But the heat of Steve’s palms hook around the front of his thighs and pull them out from under him, sprawling him flat against the mattress.

There’s a sudden clamping of teeth on his ass cheek and the sharp swat of an open palm, and then Bucky’s being pressed firmly into the sheets by Steve’s weight settling high up on the backs of his thighs. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Steve sighs, planting his hands on the dip in Bucky’s spine, “I’m gonna use your ass to get off, and then I’m going to get back into bed, while you go make us some coffee.”

Bucky nods into the mess of blankets under his cheek, futilely trying to rock his hips up against Steve’s considerable weight. “Yes, agreed, punishment fits the cri-hi wow okay.” 

A wholly undignified sound is wrenched from Bucky’s chest as Steve skips all pretense of tease, and thrusts his slicked up cock into the crease of Bucky’s ass, rubbing off between his cheeks with a very singular purpose. 

Bucky scrabbles to grab hold of his pillow and drags it down, wedging it under his hips with as much success as can be expected when you’re being pinned by a 200lb adrenaline-testosterone cocktail. It’s enough though, to very favorably cushion the rub of his dick, and all things considered…this whole thing is working out pretty well for him.

He’s expending precisely zero effort, but the wet glide of Steve’s cock over his hole and the push of Steve’s hips rubbing him into the pillow is very much Doing It for him, and he lets his body go loose and pliant as Steve does all the work for the both of them.

And Steve is putting in work - rocking Bucky into the mattress with a fervor that knocks the breath out of him and sends the headboard careening rhythmically into the wall. 

“Y’hear that, Buck?” Steve pants, not for a second breaking his frankly devastating pace. “That’s what a fuckin’ knock sounds like.” 

“Oh my god.”   

This is exactly how every single day of Bucky’s life should begin. Naked, giddy, cocks enthusiastically rubbing up against holes, and Steve running his mouth like he won’t be turning ten shades of red about it later. 

If this is the payoff, Bucky will bust in on every single shower Steve has for the rest of his life.

“I love you,” he laughs a little breathlessly into the bedding, biting off a moan at the heat coiling low in his belly. 

It’s entirely sincere, and he says it because he means it...but if he also happens to know by now that those words are a direct hit to Steve’s prostate during sex?

That’s just a happy coincidence.

Steve makes a sound like he’s been punched, his thighs twitching and tensing where they’re clamped around Bucky’s hips. 

His breaths are coming sharp and shallow, his movements taking on a frantic edge that betrays exactly how close he is, and Bucky would ask him to slow down, except he really, really doesn’t want him to. 

“I love you, Stevie,” he says again, letting his own building climax bleed into his voice, “love you so much...come on, baby...” 

“Fuck,  Bucky, I...oh...” 

His weight falls forward over Bucky as he comes, and it’s all the shove Bucky needs to tip over the edge with him. 

He spills all over his pillow, burying a moan into the sheets and huffing under the weight of Steve’s body going lax on top of him.   

“Oh my god, Buck,” Steve groans, vaguely awed like it wasn’t his own efforts that just brought them both to sticky ruin, and Bucky reaches a hand back to swat weakly at him. 

“You said it, pal.” 

Steve nuzzles into the crook of his neck, planting breathless kisses against his skin and running his hands over every part of Bucky he can reach. 

It’s so tangible, that shift back to normalcy, back to  Steve.  It always hits Bucky square in the chest, the way he can feel Steve’s edges softening, feel that boisterous energy turn sweet and mellow in the aftermath. 

It’s kind of precious, actually, though Bucky would never phrase it like that to Steve’s face.  

He squirms beneath Steve’s weight, getting himself turned over until he’s on his back beneath him. “Good morning,” he smiles up at Steve softly, running his fingers through the still-damp tufts of his hair. 

Steve sighs happily, letting his eyes drift shut and tilting his head into Bucky’s hand. “Good morning, pervert.” 

“Hey, come on, you know I didn't do that on purpose!  ” Bucky laughs, cupping Steve’s face and kissing him all over his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes, though the smile on his face says Bucky’s doesn’t really have anything to be sorry about. “Guess I can forgive you this one  time.”

“You’re a gracious man.”

Bucky drags him down and kisses him right on his smile, sweet and lazy. When they pull apart, Steve’s got that dopey look on his face like he’s feeling a whole lot of something, and Bucky knows exactly what’s coming before Steve says it.

“Glad you love me, Bucky Barnes.” 

...He knew it was coming, but it still gets him every time. 

“Glad to love you, Steve Rogers.” He feels like he’s glowing a little as he leans up to peck Steve on the tip of his nose. “Now if I’m not mistaken, I owe you a cup of coffee...you’re gonna have to let me up if you want me to follow through on that.” 

“Mm, counter offer - we both go wash off, together, and then I’ll make us breakfast while you handle the coffee?” 

Bucky pretends to consider for a second before he nods, stretching his body out as Steve rolls his weight off him. 

“Agreed.” He waves a hand in the general direction of the door, shooting Steve a wink and a lopsided grin. “Lead the way, pal. I believe you are intimately familiar with where the shower is.”