#that is a long™ torso

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

Signs of a Wes Borland malfunction:

Somebody, QUICK. RESET HIM BACK TO FACTORY SETTINGS.

[cursingtoji]

could you do sukuna and 27 for the clichés event? 👉👈

❛ 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮?❜ ┊ no one touches Sukuna's favorite

plus "Stay" ⊱ king of curses!Sukuna x fem maid!reader, blood, violence, reader is hurt, wc. 1k, The Clichés ™;

Sukuna wasn’t known for being gentle, he was mean and arrogant, sometimes serving him was not easy either, if anything was the hardest job someone can have, serving the king of curses.

Yet, against all odds, he took a liking on you, just another server.

He longed for the touch of your soft hands on his body when you applied herbs on his wounds, or when you dressed him. After a while he assigned you as the only one that didn't need permission to get in his chambers for your daily tasks.

That night you were just finishing setting his futons, as you did every night. Sukuna knew your schedule, the initial idea of a schedule was for him not having to find anyone inside his private room, but since he knew it was going to be you he even went in earlier to catch you there.

And there you were, you back turned to the door, and when you heard him coming in you bowed respectfully and kept your head low.

Sukuna didn't realize at first due to the hair covering your face, but once he noticed a strange shadow on your face he took one long step, grabbed your jaw firmly but not roughly, and brought your black eye and bruised face to the moonlight.

“Who did this to you?” he inspected it. Often having a whole bunch of bruises himself, he knew that should be fresh, like it happened earlier that day or last night.

"L-Lord Sukuna, do not worry about this" you smiled and attempted to turn your head away from him but he didn't let you, not when such a beautiful face has been broken like that, to the point there was a tiny red spot in the white of your eye, indicating a broken blood vessel.

"I asked you a question" he pressed.

"There was an accident and—"

"Give me a name, woman" he was fuming, and as your lord you knew there was no escape. Sukuna always gets what he wants.

"The c-chief of the maids" you murmured.

Sukuna didn't let go of your face immediately, he studied the fear in your eyes, having a weird gut feeling on seeing you like that. He brushed your hair away from your face and struggled slightly to let go of you.

Once he did, you found yourself trembling in the middle of the room, not sure if you should follow your lord or finish setting the bed so you wouldn't be punished again.

You opted for the latter, not sure what Sukuna's reaction would be if you interrupted his business, but after you did what you had to do you could only report back to your master.

The hallways of the Ryomen residence were quiet and dark, as you got closer to the single lighted up room a strong scent of iron filled the air. You pushed the door and the first thing you saw was the stain of a bloodied palm that had been dragged on the wall. Maybe you got a bit insensitive over the years of working for Sukuna but the first thing you thought was how troublesome it would be to clean that up. Your eyes were unable to find the body that did that — even though you had an idea — due to Sukuna's bloodied torso showing up in front of you, massive shoulders that didn't need to be too close to block your entire view.

"Lord Sukuna, are you hurt?" you placed your hands on his hot skin looking for any wounds.

"It offends me that you think an employee could hurt me" he gently turned you around leading you to his bathing room, where he knew a hot bath awaited for him.

Before he went inside the tub, you made him sit on a stool and dipped a cloth on the hot water using it to clean the blood off his body, Sukuna observed silently, not being over the bruise on your face, even after "dealing" with who caused it.

After he was cleaned you threw the cloth away and moved to leave the room, yet he called you back.

"Stay" he ordered, when you turned around he was undoing the clothes that covered his lower half, you turned back flustered. Even though you have been his personal maid for a few months, you only entered his bath room when he rang the bell and left when he dismissed you.

"Come closer" he called while sitting at the edge of his ofuro, now with a towel wrapped around his waist as he reached for the jars where the healing herbs and oils were kept to treat infection and inflammations.

"I thought you weren't hurt, sir" your voice was of concern.

"It's not for me" he mixed the contents on his palm and used a finger to spread it on your bruised cheek and nose. The scent made your eye water, "It'll dry in a few seconds" he ran a thumb under your eye, preventing a tear from running down and ruining the medicine.

"Thank you, lord Sukuna" even while sitting he still hovered over you.

"I want you to quit" he demanded.

"What?!" your breath hitched, this job was everything you had.

"Quit being my maid and become my wife" no words left your open mouth as you scanned his face for any signs of insincerity.

"Me? But sir, what would the rest of the staff think?"

"I don't care, I'll fire them all if you want" he rubbed your chin, "Kill them if I must…" Sukuna observed your eyes widened, but a certain gleam in them made him wonder if you truly wanted that "I won't take no for an answer" he brings you closer and you smile, tilting your head.

Truly, Sukuna always get what he wants, even if that is making a wife out of his servant.

See also: bodyguard!Nanami

[myvampyrez]

Hi hi! Can i repuest a bunch of headcannons for the Sparda Brothers™ with a reader insecure with her small chest? I love your writing

sparda twins with an insecure!reader 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

dante (dmc) x reader, vergil (dmc) x reader

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

do you guys ever think that sharks ever get a nasty tasting fish and then they’re all like ‘oh that fish was gross’

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

some suggestive/nsfw themes in both of their parts, lmk if i missed anything!! 💕

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓓ANTE — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ regardless of what anybody says, DANTE loves everybody!!

❥ if he catches you looking in the mirror nitpicking at yourself, he’ll just pull you away and into him. his embrace will last as long as you need.

❥ dante doesn’t mind if you have a smaller chest. you could have a big chest or no chest, you could be thin or thick or a whole ass other species.

❥ beauty is subjective, dante reminds you.

❥ and it is!! beauty is in the eye of the beholder. you could be the most beautiful person to your partner and someone else would think differently, we are all beautiful in our own way!!1!1!!

❥ dante will assure you that you’re perfect the way you are and he couldn’t care less (in a caring way) what you look like, he still thinks you’re hot either way 🤷‍♀️

❥ if this man can pay his bills, he might take you shopping for clothes that might make you ease up on your insecurities. only if you want, though.

❥ (suggestive!!) if dante catches you mentioning and self deprecating about your chest, he’ll start paying more attention to it when you guys have sex. he’ll usually initiate body worship in the bedroom but he’ll make sure to give your chest some extra love, regardless on if you have breasts or not.

❥ (suggestive??) careful though, dante has some teeth. your chest will literally be littered with marks 😭

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓥ERGIL — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ VERGIL’s much more blunt about confronting your insecurities. with a cock of his head and a furrowed brow, he asks a ton of questions.

❥ he just doesn’t get how you’re insecure about it? if you know he loves you, why are you so worried about it?

❥ if you explain it to him some more, i think he’ll understand it enough to start asking what he can do to help.

❥ he’s more curt about it, so it might come off a little rough. it almost sounds dismissive as he tells you that he doesn’t care about looks at all, but he means well.

❥ guys leave him alone his mom died and he spent a lot of his time in hell okay

❥ (suggestive!!) won’t mind if you wanna leave your shirt on during sex, but will slowly start to ease you out of these habits with the sweet whispers that fall from his lips.

❥ (suggestive!!) vergil takes his time in the bedroom anyways. he doesn’t fuck, he makes love. he cherishes those intimate moments between you two, sexually or not. there’s no need to rush things.

❥ (suggestive!!) and he is such a tease. he’ll leave you waiting all day, he’ll even initiate these moments more to make you feel sexier, and then finally at night when you two are in the comfort of your bedroom, he strikes.

❥ (suggestive!!) like dante, he’ll worship your chest and upper torso area more, whether you have breasts or not. albeit he’s less rushed than dante.

[sansypansy]

"You'd miss me too much."

Robin landed on the building right on Batman's heels, his bo staff at the ready as they faced the fierce and deadly Talia al Ghul with her loyal son.

"The League has no business here in Gotham, Talia," Bruce grunted.

"How else can I get your attention, Beloved?" Talia's smirk was beautiful, but sharp. She drew her sword as Bruce lunged. Damian had his own blade unsheathed as well and intercepted Tim immediately. The two pairs broke off into their own fights and with little chases and flips, the teens found themselves on another rooftop entirely.

"So uh," Tim began with a small hopeful grin, "haven't heard from you in a while. Think you can block out a date on your busy assassin calendar for me?"

A quick counter with his staff clashed harshly against Damian's sword.

"You must believe to be so charming, Robin." Damian's face was impassive, but his pretty green eyes reflected a different story. Tim could see, especially when they were this up close.

"Maybe." He shrugged, then flipped to dodge Damian's kick. "I just like to take my chances with a beautiful assassin prince like you."

A smirk painted Damian's lips. Tim swore he saw those long black eyelashes flutter. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Detective."

The vigilante narrowly dodged the sword thrusting for his abdomen.

"Alas, I do not think you would want a repeat of last time," Damian purred seductively.

How could Tim forget? He had to do the walk of shame when he'd woken up clotheless, walletless with his laptop containing all secret files stolen. Bruce had been insufferable that day.

It'd been so, so worth it. He would do just about anything to have a taste of the little prince again.

"Not that I didn't enjoy it. I'd like to see you try pulling a honeypot on me again. Might just tie you down," Tim grinned wolfishly as he lunged and swept Damian's feet with his staff. The latter leaped, trapping Tim's head between his thighs and flipped him over on his back.

Tim's mouth fell open as the breath was forced out of him due to the impact. And also the fact he just had a full face of Damian's crotch.

Fuck, not now Timmy Junior™!

Damian held his torso down with one foot pressed to his chest and a sword at his neck. "One day, your infatuation shall be the death of you, Robin."

Tim exhaled in awe as the subtle scent of royal jasmine flooded his nose, his eyes becoming smitten.

"Wouldn't be the worst way to go, honestly." His smile was loop-sided. "Besides, you'd miss me too much."

He noticed the slight falter in the blade aimed at his throat, and Tim took that momentum to swipe at the assassin's leg and rolled a few inches away. He moved to a low crouch just Talia suddenly dropped down next to her son.

"We are leaving, Damian," she ordered curtly before disappearing over the edge the building like a silent shadow.

Damian sheathed his sword without any questions, pulled up his hood and prepared to follow his mother. However, Tim didn't miss how he gave him a secretive smile before falling backwards into the alley below. Tim rushed forward and looked down, but there was no human trace.

It was then that Batman commed him to return to base as he'd already dismantled the League's mission. Tim sulked about Damian seemingly rejecting his offer until a few hours later, he received a cryptic, anonymous text on his phone with a single date and a meeting location.

'Do not be late, Detective.♡' the second text read simply. Tim let out the loudest whoop and fist pumped the air.

[solidwater-arts]

[ID: Three pen doodles. The first one is of Chara walking with their arms behind their back, looking up with wide eyes and a stiff smile. They are drawn as a skinny tall kid in their early teens. They have freckles and short wavy hair. They are wearing a sweater with a big stripe on the torso and arms, and an unbuttoned long overall as pants. Their cheeks are colored with a pink highlighter.

The second drawing is of Frisk and Chara standing next to each other. The kids' clothes and some details of their faces are colored with highlighters. Frisk is drawn as a fat child with green eyes and curly hair that reaches just above their shoulders. They have a bandaid on their nose and a gauze pad on their cheek. They are wearing a sweater with thin light blue and pink stripes and a short overall with a big pocket in the front.

The last drawing is of Kris. They are drawn with slightly wavy long hair that reaches below their shoulders. They are wearing a sweater with a stripe that goes across their torso, and the collar and bottom of a darker undershirt can be seen under it. /End ID]

Haven't drawn the kids in a while :]

I really like how Chara's design turned out, it has Chara Vibes™

[tenderfxck]

OHHH, I've been meaning to send you a short imagine that popped up in my head from the Alhaitam posts. But before I could realize, it went from a short paragraph to an actual little drabble. So here it is, I hope it's up to your bullying alhaitam standards™ as THE bullying alhaitam blog.

I wrote all of this on my phone so I apologize before hand for any mistakes but DAMN. I ADORE the idea of bullying entitled and bitchy characters so much it's not funny anymore (it is) because every time i tell my ideas, my friends are just. Flabbergasted. Queue an audible gasp and a "why would you do that to him?"

Well, with Haitam the story writes by itself: He asked for it. Oh, so he's better than everyone else? Different, logical and centred? He's absolutely not like the other academics, of course. Such an admirable and unique individual we have in front of ourselves!

Alhaitam thinks so highly of himself, it's only natural for me to desire to humble him.

I like the idea of playing along with his antics, testing him. He begins a discussion for a matter you don't really care about, but you take his bait anyway. Patiently, you wait for a chance to get closer to him and his frowned face, and before he knows it, one of your hands begins working its way up his chest. His breathing stutters as he tries so hard to keep talking. His mouth goes dry and there's something a bit shaken in his voice—you merely laid your fingertips over his shirt but your touch feels like a thousand sparks flying. Alhaitam can feel the heat in his body as he speaks, going all the way to his face, and even if he lets you push him against the wall, he refuses to adress what's going on.

(What would he even say? He knows he doesn't want you to stop, but he doesn't want to admit it either)

And just when your hand reaches his shoulder and you lean forward, mouth inches away from his, he finally stops speaking, bracing himself for the second your lips brush against his—But that moment never comes. Instead, you stand back and leave with a laugh. “That's all you get. See you next time, oh-Grand-Scribe”

He watches you go, heart beating so hard it may as well jump out of his chest. He feels hot all over his body, and feels shamefully familiar ache forming down, down his torso. The red creeping up his neck now it's not only caused by embarrassment but anger.

How could you do this to him?

You're the worst type of person he's ever encountered—a walking nonsense! Alhaitam has decided long ago that people like you are absolutely not worth his time.

Yet, he has reluctantly held himself in his hand and pumped his cock at night thinking about you, writhing with rage at the way you wake up his desire like nothing and no one ever has. Even if he hates every ounce of the situation you got him in, he continues to betray his logic when he goes looking for you the next day.

You're not alone when he finds you. On the contrary, the other person is so close to you they may as well try to steal your breath, as you help them hold their notes in your hands as you explain them a topic they didn't quite understand. You guide them with gentleness, as you're known for, but the only thing Alhaitam can think about it's the flush on the other person's face, the way they're staring at your mouth and absolutely not listening to your words. He coughs, so your attention goes to him.

“Oh, hello Haitam!” you chirp, so energetic, so happy and unapologetic despite the way you gave him a hard time the day before. “Didn't expect to see you here!”

You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? Helping this student who's obviously not interested in literary theory but looking for a reason to get close to you.

“You shouldn't be giving lessons on a subject you did poorly,” he states. He recalls your face the day the scores were posted, how your confident smile dropped and your mouth formed a perfect 'O'; he's been looking to see that happen again since you began pestering him.

To his displeasure, you laugh. “Yeah, I did have to retake the exam when I failed more than a year ago. You have quite the memory, don't you, Grand Scribe? Good thing I learned from my failure and moved on”

The other person shuffles in their place, slightly uncomfortable, beginning to understand you two aren't talking about linguistics. Good.

“I just remembered I had something else to take care of, thank you and goodbye!”

You wave them off, unbothered, sweet smiles and kind words, “you can come looking for me anytime you need me!”

Then you turn back at him and your nice front drops. “What a way to scare off the students I'm tutoring. You know I need this so the Akademiya approves my investigation, right?”

“They didn't come here for your help.”

“Yeah, but you didn't come here for a tutorship either, did you?”

Alhaitam ears begin to burn a bright red and you notice.

“You know, I said something about learning from my failures. I didn't think I had to give that advice to the Grand Scribe of the Akademiya but…”

Alhaitam breath stutters, and his words come out before he can regret it:

“You were lying when you rejected me.”

Your eyes widen for a second, grin big with teeth and amusement.

“Really? My, I didn't get the memo”

“You're doing this on purpose”

“Why would I?”

“I don't know!” He bursts. “You're nonsensical! You're the most absurd person I have ever met. Always acting like you know something I don't and I know that's impossible! I don't understand how you manage to be so irritating, and annoying, and yet I still can't understand why you, of all people, make me feel—what are you doing?”

Once again, you are moving dangerously close to him.

“Hm, I don't know. Tell me,” you say. Your breath feels hot, all over his neck as you lean over him. “Are you mad because I didn't touch you last time? Poor thing.”

“Don't call me—ah”

“I'm sorry, what?” you blow over the bite you left over his neck, hands moving from his torso to his chest. You wait for him to answer, but it seems that unlike some, Haitam is all bark and no bite.

“That shut you up real quick, huh”

“...I hate you.”

“Don't say it too much, Haitam. It might go straight to my head.”

<3!

ahahahaHAHAHAAAAAAA GO OFFFFFFFF

this is already a long post so i’ll put my deranged ramblings thoughts under the cut <333

i read this like i was watching a football game. full on yelling at my monitor. audible gasps. the pettiness, the backhanded compliments, the CALLBACKS??? like how do i add on to this perfection??

i know what you mean!! my friends think he's so dreamy. i will give them that he's handsome, but like. i think its my god given right to knock some sense into this man. i don't know if it's just because i'm a smartass with a quip ready for anything but humbling a man who would probably say something like "hitherto" with 100% seriousness needs a decent ego-check imo

okay i'll leave you with something small of my own.

late at night, behind closed doors, when nothing but his thoughts and hands can keep him company, your sweet visage won’t leave his mind.

it happens almost every night. most times he can will away these shameful urges. but others, nothing but you laid out, bare in front of him, fills his head.

but a slightly different version of you.

one that finally falls to pieces after hard fought battle that he’s finally gained the upper hand in.

and the spoils?

seeing your normally composed face twist in pleasure, gasping, panting under his gaze. tears cling to eyelashes, threatening to spill as your voice pitches, pleading, begging him to touch you.

i’m sure haitham pictures that pretty little sight more than he’d like to admit.

see? i can let him win once in a while. (in his own head at least)

[greetingsfromuranus]

What qualities do you like about Double D the most?

Soooo so many things I love about him - I often think about how soft his skin would be, like his cheeks are all soft and squishy, and his neck is probably so delicate and warm, his skin would probably be a bit clammy (he's so anxious and riled up all the time....) but not in an unpleasant way, it's just how he is lol. He's definitely one of those people with really cold hands and other extremities, but a warm enough torso

I love the way his face stretches when he smiles! I love seeing all the different shapes he takes but his smile is my favorite :3 how do I describe it- he isn't lumpy or anything, but he just has so many interesting moving parts, I love how his cheeks stick out and his chin sticks out and his jaw behind his ear sticks out, and his lil eye lines/eye bags, and of course his tooth gap! Big ol teeth...... He's just so wonderful to look at and I wish I could give him a big kiss on the forehead... boop his nose while I'm at it.... he's shaped all awkward like a newborn kitten or and I love it

I love how long he is! Lanky lil ferret creature, like a cat, or a weasel, or a salamander! I like the salamander comparison best, I've studied their anatomy before and it ready fits Double D the best..... They're all lanky and squiggly and flexible just like Double D ^w^

I really like Edds funky posture, he has such a cute lil belly and messed up scoliosis back lol..... like he's all tall and thin compared to everyone else but he's still fleshy and soft >u< like you can see his ribcage and spine poking out, but he still has a big kitten belly... I just wanna hold and squish him! his limbs are all lanky and awkward, but theyre more like that of a delicate baby bird than a bony human!

Also... cute butt........ squishy squishy 🤤🤤 LOL I know it's probably just his big ol shorts but it's still cute..... I love how all his clothes are so big on him! It's adorable!! I can imagine all the textures so vividly.... his outfits are def 10/10 comfy ^^ I love how he just wears knee/thigh high socks, it's very cute and funny, I also wear socks that go up to my shorts sometimes and it is VERY comfy when they fit well.

I also love his tiny lil legs and the way he walks/runs! They go pitter patter as he skitters around like a dachshund or a lizard a a funky lil bug!

And I really like the way he handles his energy... ill start with describing the other eds first!

With Ed, his energy is sort of consistently radiating out, he has an IMMENSE amount of power and imagination in there, but he's big enough to handle it. It seeps out like radiation from a 10 ton brick of uranium.

With Eddy, he has more explosive tendencies, he's short and stout, which makes it harder for him to hold everything in, but he tends to compress it all down into a little ball. He's extremely volatile and reactive, you set him off and BOOM it all explodes out! His little body just can't handle anything new, he's already backed up with so much repressed emotion that there just isn't room for anything new. His explosions are like dynamite, or a star that got too much mass and imploded on itself.

Now Edd is the Anxiety Creature™, his energy is also volatile in nature, but I guess he's more electric, or like plasma. It's the kind of heat that's so hot it starts to feel cold again, like coming inside from the snow, turning the bath faucet to the hottest temp and butting your feet right under it. The difference between him and eddy is that Double D isn't able to hold anything down, as soon as it's created it's let out into the world, however that may be. He wears his emotions on his sleeve, expresses any and all fear, excitement, disgust, and affection he feels because he just doesn't have the volume to hold any of it in. He creates huge amounts of energy, and there's nowhere for it to go but out into the world! His tiny body just can't hold it all in.... it's hard to find a comparison like the other two, something so small with so much energy.... his energy sorta functions like the sun, once you look at it up close.

Here's a diagram I made to visualize it better, (it looks better on computer than phone) I feel like Edds colors are different based on whatever emotion he's expressing, but theyre always bright, whipping out like pink and yellow and blue solar flares. Eddy's are definitely more firey and messy than what i drew, think dynamite mixed with a supernova.

I've been writing this post all morning, and I think im gonna call it here for now lol. I will add some stuff about Double D's personality later lol.

[thesmpisonfire]

How do bad and tina feel about cell after the incident ™?

At first? They ignore him. Simply refusing to talk to him at all and only communicating to ElQ about Pac's health updates. It breaks Bad's heart a little, because Cell almost got integrated into the clan before deciding to stay in Ginkgo Guild, but it's the clan first and foremost

Tina never forgives Cell, constantly sending out her glaceon to chase him off if she crosses paths with him while on her way to the village. Bad forgives Cell when Pac does, months later, going back to how they were before

Because of that, they also don't warn Cell to stay away from Coronet Highlands. When Pac next meets Cell, he has a long ugly scar that goes from his shoulder all the way down his torso, that its still healing while wrapped in bandages

Turns out, Lady Sneasler doesn't like at all when someone hurts her warden

[cevans-is-classic]

Gettin' Hot (Something Unholy)

Warnings: ADULT CONTENT BELOW 18+ only! Unprotected sex, curse words, Bucky Barnes.

Marvel and Bucky are here

My Masterlist and Seb can be found here!

“What’s going on?” He grinned, a nervous laugh on his lips when you shoved at him. Your strides had a purpose, sweat still on your temples and the lines of your arms, your fingers red from athletic tape. His eyes followed your every move through the apartment — mouth going dry when asked Jarvis to queue The Song™ before you winked at him and disappeared into the bedroom.

“You didn’t answer me!” He shouted, settled into the couch, legs spread then brought back together before deciding to go with casual and comfortable and spreading them out again. It’d been a long day, a longer debrief once they’d gotten back. (Steve was his best friend, but the man went too hard on paperwork considering how impatient he gets when stepping foot in the tower)

You’d been with Nat in the gym for half the day — he’d wanted to come home and wrap you in his arms — he understood. He'd been gone for a week, stuck somewhere humid with Clint complaining in one ear and Steve trying to be in charge in the other. Your routine didn’t change because Bucky got home days earlier than planned.

There was a thunk followed by a mumbled curse. “Be patient it’s a surprise.”

Yeah, you said that too when he asked why you were shoving him into the elevator, making him leave behind a good plate of spaghetti.

“Okay, okay. Jarvis, you mind turning on the television?” He scratched his neck, nerves wringing his stomach, fingers twitching on his thigh.

“They have informed me not to tell you, Sargent Barnes.” Jarvis answered back.

His eyes cast towards the bedroom door, cracked open, light spilling out into the dim room. Should he turn the lights up? No, it’s your surprise. If you’d wanted the lights turned up, Jarvis would have done so already.

“Mind cluing me in some?” He joked.

Jarvis stayed silent this time — the lights dimmed though — a chorus of voices filled the silence of the living room and Bucky jerked in surprise. The bedroom door swung open — one leg coming out first, a black sheer stocking pulled up your leg a red thigh harness holding it into place. Oh, two of them. 

The couch wasn’t as comfortable.

The music started picking up, another voice drawling out lyrics that fell on deaf ears when you slinked into the living room towards him

“Holy fuck-” Bucky stopped breathing.

Your hips moved with the music, hands trailing up and down your body with each roll moving. The grey sweats you’d started in got swapped for something a lot more revealing. Your chest hinted beneath a sheer bra showing off your nipples, red patterns draw his eye up your torso, focusing on the rise and fall of your chest. Bucky moved to stand, reaching out wanting to touch — everywhere. You shook your head, forcing him back down onto the couch to turn around and drop with your legs spread. 

“Doll-” Words died in his throat when he saw your ass wrapped in matching underwear, cheeks curved by the hem the thigh garters snug around your legs. Your thighs jiggled when you bounced on the balls of your feet once, twice, three times before spinning on your knee to face him again.

He forgot how to blink. 

The music kept going, rising and falling with each sinuous move you made towards him. Bucky watched your every move, eyes tracking your chest, your hips, those thighs — you stopped right in front of him to turn back around and lean forwards at the waist, back arched, your ass (God your ass) shaking as you bounced up, down and up again. You backed up with each pop until you could turn around with your left foot, right leg coming to rest your knees on either side of Bucky’s thighs. 

“Like what you see?” You rode his lap, never dropping, your head tossed back, exposing the line of your neck, the swell of your chest, the brush of your ass along Bucky’s cock. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself anymore. 

You gasped when he gripped your left hip his right hand moving up your thigh to squeeze and knead with the roll of your hips. 

“Baby — I can’t explain how much I like what I see.” He moved his fingers up your thighs, shadowing a touch over your heat and then up your belly, causing you to shiver and lose rhythm for a beat. He leaned forward, metal hand moving to the small of your back to balance you, lips aiming to feel the swell of your chest, but you grabbed his hand.

“James.” You let his flesh and blood fingers crawl up your chest, allowing him to roll a nipple beneath the fabric that made you gasp once more, silencing the sound by sucking his fingers into your mouth and dropping your ass into his lap.

Bucky moaned, tossing his head back enough to catch a breath, coming to you and watching you roll over him, your ass grinding down into his cock over and over, tongue laving over his fingers, back arching into his metal hand. He wants to fucking taste you. He needs to fucking be inside you.

“Jesus,” the garters made your thighs spill over, a feral burn burst to life deep inside his stomach, catching his skin on fire. He watched you flex your legs garters straining in a mouth-watering show. Your tongue pushed his fingers out of your mouth, swollen lips parting with a gasp and Bucky started forward with a jerk but you were faster; moving off his lap to turn back around and drop back down, legs spread, hands on your knees to slide down your thighs and push yourself back up, following the curve of your back. You moved onto his lap again, back to chest, bringing his right hand to your chest. His fingers were still wet. He rolled a nipple the best he could as you shimmied in his lap, making his dick ache to fuck into you. 

“Baby, fucking shit-” You grabbed his hand again, sliding it down, down, down into your underwear, moving his fingers along your clit.

“I practiced.” You kept bouncing up and down. How long was this damn song? Wait, did it restart? It was still floating around the room, swelling; pulsing in his ears. 

Bucky rubbed your clit, feeling you twitch each time he brushed over the bundle of nerves. Your head fell back to thunk onto his shoulder. He didn’t hesitate to lick the spot beneath your ear that made you shiver, his thumb circling your clit, his fingers dipping into your heat — you thrust forward, choking on his name. 

“James-” How were you still moving the way you were? Breathing heavy, chest rising and falling faster. He moved his left around your waist tugging you further back your ass grinding down onto his cock back and forth, fucking yourself on his fingers. 

“Yeah?” Bucky loved whispering dirty things into your ear, loved hearing you groan and beg for it — he couldn’t think of a single thing to say besides yes, please, more. You were melting his brain far better than anything Hydra could have done. God damn. 

“Guess what?” He let out a breathy laugh, thrusting up when you flexed your ass against his lap. 

He dropped his forehead onto your shoulder. “Doll, I ain’t got a single idea what you want me to guess. You’ve rushed all my blood from my head to my cock, which is aching to be inside you.” 

This time you chucked, “Good.” You shoved at his hand whimpering when his fingers pulled out. 

“Hell no.” He grabbed at you as you shook your head pulling your underwear down in one swift move and climbing into his lap — God damn gym shorts are the greatest invention of humankind — you had his cock out and inside of you before Bucky could curse at the sudden cold air.

“Oh holy fucking, - god damn- fuck!” His whole body tightened, his orgasm rushing forward fast — too quick — it made his head spin and the pain from biting down on his tongue flood a copper taste in his mouth. 

“Yes.” You groaned, rocking yourself back and forth. Was he allowed to thank Hydra for a moment? A small groaning prayer to whatever fucking asshole pumped his body full of bastardized serum — you were hot, wet, the perfect clench around his cock that was still fucking into you with increased vigor. The orgasm seemed to push Bucky even further into the fire.

The orgasm seemed to push Bucky even further into the fire. 

He grabbed you. “Hold on.” His come spilled out when you bounced, making a squelching noise followed by a squeak when he picked you up and dropped you onto the floor to pull your leg up and around his waist.

“Please,” Your hips met his match for match, moving faster, airy cries of more, harder, there, there, there, “James.” You clawed down his back, tugging his shirt, the neck pressing into his throat enough to make it harder to breathe, vision swimming. Hello, kink you new in town? 

Buck kept fucking you, metal hand holding your ass up, holding you close to him. Your legs kept spreading wide and then closing back around his waist. He dropped his head for a kiss, letting his shirt choke him further to lick into your mouth. You groaned one leg coming back up, heel pressing into his back your hands moving from his shoulder to his ass to push him hard, faster, your gaze dropping; watching him move in and out — come and slick coating both of you.

“Baby-” 

You jerked your eyes back up to his before your whole body went tight and you cried his name out loud, heat pulsing around his cock, squeezing him tight. He kept his hold on your hips, kept moving you even as you whimpered beneath him. His balls tightened, thighs burning — he needed to feel you once more hear you scream his fucking name. 

“James.” your head made a cracking noise when you came again. This time Bucky followed, coming harder, deeper inside. His whole being became where he pushed into you. 

When you shoved at him he moved, easing you onto the floor, rolling onto his side and pulling your head up to check where you’d slammed it, “Carpet. I’m fine.” You breathed. 

Bucky nodded, letting himself fall beside you. 

“Question?” He turned his head to look at you. “Where did that come from?” 

You smiled. “Nat and Tony gave me a few ideas. I wanted to see if they worked.” You looked at him, winking when Bucky let out a huff of laughter.

“You gonna give an old man a heart attack, Sweetheart.”

Bucky caught you when you moved back onto his lap and shoved at his shoulders. “That a challenge?”

His cock twitched.

I'm not kidding when I say I wrote this in an hour while having a very curious panic attack that had me convinced if I didn't write and post this that I'll od on antibiotics or something

My paranoia is very peculiar

[astroboots]

Since this is still the SmutDonald’s… could I get a McRim?

Preferably Frankie making Santi put that smart mouth to good use?

You are sick for this you know.

HOMECOMING DRABBLE: McRim™

Trademark rights owned by @jazzelsaur (sending you my bill for drafting the trademark application for this one as we speak)

Homecoming Drabbles | Homecoming Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist

Frankie is absolutely fucking depraved. It's all Santiago can think of as he lies with his back against the mattress. His lower torso is hanging off the end of the bed only kept upright by how his legs are spread wide apart by the broadness of Frankie's shoulders.

Everything is a wet and slick mess. Sweat dripping and pooling in the hollow of his throat as he tries to keep his breath calm, and failing miserably.

His cock is glistening in the dim light from the night stand. Whether it's from spit or the precome steadily welling down the head of his cock, as it twitches and jumps from lack of attention, Santiago can no longer tell.

He's given up long ago on begging Frankie to help him with that situation. Instead, Frankie's fingers are gripping into the cheeks of his ass, spreading him apart, teeth marring the flesh underneath Frankie's mouth, and then Santiago can feel it. Frankie's tongue, soft and eager dipping into him, without a trace of shame, or decency or embarrassment.

All Santiago can sense from Frankie is hunger.

"That good honey?" you coo from above.

All Santiago can do is moan in response as he lays on your lap, your fingers threaded into his curls, as you whisper words of encouragement into his ears.

Frankie doesn't stop. Mouth ravenous. Frankie is just so sloppy. No different from when his mouth is covering your pussy, he always makes a mess. 

He understands why it gets you so affected. To have him this hungry for you. 

Fuck, Santi feels like he is actually going insane. 

Your hands move from his hair to cup his cheeks. "Just a little more Santiago, doing so well. A little bit more, and then I'll ask Frankie to fuck you with his cock okay? Can you do that for me?"

Santiago nods.

He'll do anything you want him to. He can take anything Frankie has to give him.

[maccreadysbaby]

that thing you posted about danse finding deacon half dead? write it 🔫

Oookkaaayyyy only if I have tooooo *tip toes away giggling like a crushing schoolgirl*

3rd person limited to danse

Just a Hobby of Mine™︎

Danse’s thundering, power-armored footsteps echoed through Sanctuary like a warning to anyone who planned to attack — they wouldn’t last very long.

The pack of Raiders that had assaulted Sole’s main settlement had done so at the perfect time. Sole was away with the young sniper kid and wouldn’t be back until morning, leaving Danse and the rest of their questionable companions, plus a few settlers, alone in the neighborhood. The ambush had only lasted a few moments, but their tactics were good. They came from every angle unexpectedly.

A few settlers were injured, none critical. Preston Garvey was sporting a nice concussion from behind hit over the head by a tire iron. But other than that, everyone seemed alright. Curie was tending to the injured in Sole’s makeshift infirmary. The rest of the companions were all keeping watch, nerves shot to some extent. Danse had seen Cait and Piper, he saw Codsworth and Nick helping Curie, that dreaded raider from the amusement park had holed up near the bridge to do a bad job of keeping watch, Hancock had slinked off somewhere but kept appearing randomly. The only two he hadn’t seen since the attack were his least favorites (and by least favorites, he meant the ones he despised the most), Deacon, the buffoon with the sunglasses from the Railroad, and X6, the Courser he couldn’t believe Sole actually worked with. He didn’t mind their absence much.

He guessed he couldn’t blame Sole. After all, they’d taken him in after he found out he was a synth. And, now that the Institute and Brotherhood were gone for good, he guessed X6 had nowhere to go, either. But that didn’t mean he liked him.

He walked from one side of the neighborhood to the other for what seemed like the hundredth time, laser pistol clasped tightly in his hands. It was dark out, and dawn would be breaking soon, which meant Sole would be home. He wasn’t going to let his guard down until they came home.

He scanned the settlements surroundings for any movement, glancing toward the other side once he made sure one was clear. He stopped short of the bridge, trying his best to avoid conversation with the raider that was standing near the end of it with an automatic rifle, turning on his power-armored heel and returning the way he’d come. But, suddenly, something made his ear twitch.

Footsteps. From the left. Between two houses Sole had fixed up.

He turned and immediately began stalking toward whatever lay in wait there. He heard a few more unusual sounds as he drew nearer — groaning, maybe? Panting?

Danse rounded the yellow house with his gun raised, quickly rolling his eyes at the sight of who was in front of him.

It was Deacon, staring straight back at him with his bald head, shiny sunglasses and white t-shirt. But, oh, his t-shirt wasn’t white, it was red. And his hands, too. A shade of red all too familiar to the ex-Paladin, a shade of red that put a cringe on his face. Deacon was pressing his hands hard against his torso was blood oozed from between his fingers at a rapid rate.

“Ah, just the guy I wanted to see before my ultimate demise,” The spy forced out some kind of humorous chuckle that made Danse grimace. Why was he laughing?

“Are you injured?” Danse half muttered, like Deacon wasn't wearing half of the crimson liquid that should’ve been inside of him.

“No, it’s just a hobby of mine to walk around pretending I am. Gotta keep everyone on their toes— ah, hell,” Deacon cursed quietly to himself, reaching out with his left hand toward the yellow house next to him. Danse only shifted slightly when he managed to step over to it and prop himself against the wall, leaving a bloody handprint on the yellow siding.

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. You can go back to stomping,” Deacon muttered, but the way he was paling didn’t seem very good. Danse glanced around, searching for anybody else he could inform, but the only person within earshot was Gage, and he simply wouldn’t do. He holstered his gun. Well, he couldn’t just leave him. That wouldn’t fly with Sole.

“You require medical attention,” Danse deadpanned. Deacon only hummed in acknowledgment as he let himself slide down onto the ground, leaving a long streak of blood on the wall behind him. His back must’ve been bleeding, too. The bullet went all the way through.

“You think?”

“Affirmative. You seem to have lost a detrimental amount of blood, sold- ah, Spy,” He corrected, not picking up on the sarcasm the other was throwing at him.

Deacon snickered. “I have a name, y’know. It’d be nice if- what the hell?”

Danse didn’t let up as Deacon squirmed in his grip. He was holding onto his arms, pulling him off of the ground. “You require medical attention, and unfortunately, if you die, Sole will be incapacitated.”

“Unfortunately?” Deacon spat, venom falling from his tongue like a snake. He jerked out of Danse’s grip and stumbled, only catching himself by hitting the yellow wall again.

“Don’t be difficult,”

“I was born difficult,”

“I find that easy to believe,”

Danse shifted his weight to the side as he watched Deacon. He was breathing ragged, bloody, shaky hands hovering over the red spot on his shirt like it would magically disappear. He coughed — a pitiful and wet sound Danse didn’t much like given his condition.

“You require medical attention,”

“Are you gonna keep saying that over and over? Because I’m kinda tired of hearing it,” Deacon stated. He brought a hand up to his face and stumbled a little to the left, steadied only by Danse’s hand that landed on his shoulder as soon as he saw him sway.

“Let me help you,” He said nonchalantly. Deacon huffed.

“I’m not just another soldier you can order around, tin man, I’m a… a…”

Danse tightened his grip on the spy as Deacon’s legs seemed to give out, keeping him from crumpling to the ground. He blinked, clearly dazed.

Danse simply hauled him up and over his shoulder, traipsing toward the infirmary. He’d thank him later (maybe), and so would Sole.

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Night Nurse - CH 2

A John Wick x Helen Fic

When nurse Helen Morgan is caught in the crossfire of a shootout and aids the injured John Wick, she’s faced with two options: serve the High Table, or be executed as a Witness. She tells herself her choice to work at the Continental has everything to do with survival, and excellent pay, and *not* her growing feelings for the Tall, Dark, and Handsome Assassin™ who got her into this mess in the first place, thank you very much.

II.

It wasn’t long before they were situated in a room, and John was seated on the bed, hissing in pain as he peeled his blood-soaked shirt away from his wounds. The cut on his abdomen was a little deeper than he’d originally thought. The puncture in his shoulder, however, was definitely the star of the show this misadventure.

Helen’s eyes went wide as she beheld his torso, and he didn’t think it was entirely because he kept himself in shape. The myriad of scars that covered his body from his various adventures was vast and varied.

“Not so pretty to look at, I know.” There was a note of apology in his tone.

Realizing she’d been standing there just staring with her mouth open, Helen shook her head. “My god. The pain you’ve been through.” She was an ER veteran, of course. There was no fooling her with they looked worse than they really were. He looked up at her to find the brightness of tears welling in her eyes, and he couldn’t describe how it made him feel, that a creature so full of goodness would feel pity for an imp of Satan like him.

In the end it was too much to stand—he was the first to look away, until he felt her hand on his cheek, sliding against the scruff of his beard. Without thinking he leaned into her touch, and when she moved to hold him against her heart he didn’t fight it. That was how Doc found them. The fearsome Baba Yaga, having a quiet moment with his head upon a kind woman’s breast. It wasn’t quite flagrante delicto, but in their world, it was possible it communicated the same sort of weakness.

In that moment, John wasn’t sure he gave a fuck.

Helen quietly and competently assisted as Doc sewed up John’s wounds.

Only once he’d finished and handed Mr. Wick some gratefully-received pain pills, did Doc slide a meaningful look Helen’s way.

“May I have a word with Mr. Wick?”

Begrudgingly, she went to the far side of the room, making a show of looking out the window. 

“Winston wants to know what you decided about her?”

“No one touches her.” The same cold steel in John’s tone had caused more fearsome men to quiver in their boots.

“Then you know the rules.”

“Yeah.”

Helen was a Witness caught in the middle of Underworld business, and as reward for her goodness she currently possessed two options: Serve, or Die.

John knew he couldn’t abide the latter, so he hoped she would be open to hearing about the former. Was this the sort of thing they could discuss over that Thai food she’d mentioned?

Somehow, he doubted it.  

***

When Doc left he turned to look over his shoulder at her, taking a long moment to appreciate her profile against the lights of Manhattan beyond.

She was beautiful.

She did not belong here. 

None of that mattered now. 

He fancied he knew how Hades must have felt, having freshly snatched Persephone from the meadow.

Welcome to your new life. 

I am so sorry. 

He should have fought her more, outside. But in his heart of hearts, he knew, he just hadn't wanted to. 

“John...” He noted that her gaze was fixed on his back. Probably, more specifically, the tattoo that had been forced on him when he was just a teenager. He did not bear the eight-pointed stars of the Vory v Zakone, but the Orthodox religious imagery of the Ruska Roma certainly left a dramatic impression. 

“I have literally seen combat veterans with less scars than you.”

“Yeah.”

Still frowning, she came closer, kneeling on the bed so that she could see his back. “Jesus.” Even her light touch hurt the bruises forming from the bullets he'd taken. A tremor ran through him at her touch, but he did not shy away. A lesser man would have cried out. “How did these not go through?”

“My suit is tailored with armor. Stops bullets, but still hurts like a bitch.”

“Wow. I didn’t know that was even a thing.” She kept touching him, and he found he could hardly think, with her gentle fingers on his skin. He was so entranced he almost didn’t register her next words. “You took these for me.”

John sighed. It would have been nice, to be a hero for once, but he knew which part he played. He was the villain, through and through. “Maybe. But the shooter wasn't there for you, Helen.” 

“Why was he trying to kill you?” 

The possibilities were literally endless. 

“I don't know yet.”

That, at least, was true. 

“So what happens now?” 

Very slowly, he laid back, trying to arrange the pillows in a way that wouldn't be total agony. Anticipating his need, like the good nurse she was, she helped him. It brought her close, so close, and the ache of longing hurt almost as much as the stab, cut, and bruises combined.

“We have to talk about that.�� 

The fact that she seemed to know she couldn't just walk away maybe boded well.

Maybe.

She lay down beside him, curled on her side so that she could look at him. 

“You are, what we call in my business, a Witness.” 

“Why do I sense that is capitalized?”

He huffed a laugh, and even that hurt. “Yeah. There's a lot of that going around here.” 

“Here?”

“Have you ever heard of the Underworld?”

“Like what, the mafia? Sure. Or is that capitalized too?”

“Yep.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. They take themselves very seriously. So...you have two choices.”

She nodded gravely. “Fine. I will marry you.”

John's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, even while his heart, the treacherous thing, tried to burst in his chest.

Promises, promises.

Before he could have an apoplexy she broke out laughing. Infectious belly laughter that one rarely has occasion to hear within these walls. “What? That's how it always goes in my fake-marriage mafia romance novels?”

“God. You do read trash. I'm going to make you a reading list.”

She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. He was baffled that it seemed to be a product of mirth, not despair.

“Does that mean you're not going to kill me?”

Just the thought made him physically sick. 

“I couldn’t,” he assured her with a frown. “But that doesn't mean you’re safe. Do you understand?” He couldn’t tell if she was actually taking any of this seriously.

She nodded, her expression turned grave. “Sorry. I tend to cope with stress with humor. Some people find it off-putting.” It was a common coping mechanism for people in high-stress professions. Police officers, firemen, and even assassins. Apparently, trauma nurses could be added to the list too.

“I get it.”

 He would be the last man on Earth to judge her.

“Thanks.”

“But…do you get how serious this is?”

Utterly honest, she shook her head. “Probably not. What are my choices here, John?”

“You can swear fealty to the High Table, and work in the Underworld. There’s always a need for medical professionals.” She would be safest working right there at the Continental. Neutral ground. No business allowed. He would see to it. “Or...”

He just couldn't bring himself to say it out loud.

Maybe taking mercy, or she was just braver than him, she said it for him: “Or I can be disappeared.”

A lump formed in his throat, and it took him three times to get out a simple, “Yeah.”

Helen sighed, slumping down into the pillow. Inexplicably, she reached for his hand, curling her fingers around his lightly. Her touch electrified him, the gentle contact sending fireworks through his veins as she stroked his thumb with her own.  

“What is a man like you doing with these people?” She asked it quietly, as though someone could be listening in.

With some effort he turned slowly to face her, laying on the shoulder that hadn’t been fileted. Like on the subway, and the street, when she’d sidled close, this seemingly innocent contact felt blessedly intimate.

“You don’t really know me, Helen.” It pained him to say it.

“Maybe. But I don’t think I’m as surprised by all this as I should be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I guess I made some assumptions, and maybe drew some conclusions…that turned out to be correct.”

“Such as?”

“Well…you always wear these amazingly tailored suits. But you are so not a Wall Street type. You’re not oily enough to be a banker or a salesman. I thought maybe an attorney. But then, there was the Belarussian thing.”

He feels his mouth twisting in an attempt to keep from smiling. “You hear Eastern Bloc and assume I’m in with the Bratva? I see how it is.”

She chuckled to herself, her eyes shining. He could lay like this forever, he decided. Talking to her, looking at her. Making her laugh. It was sweeter than candy, and more addicting too. “Sorry. But wasn’t I right?”

He grumbled to himself, and she offered him a conciliatory smile, though her eyes still inexplicably glittered with mirth. He always felt like he was the butt of a joke he didn’t quite understand, with her.

Stranger yet, he didn’t mind.

“There was one thing that didn’t add up.”

“What?”

“Those fucking soulful puppy dog eyes of yours. Jesus, they should be illegal!”

He raised both eyebrows at that, taken aback yet somehow also delighted. This woman had a way of inspiring such baffling conflicts of emotion in him. He was so addicted. He was so fucked.

“Helen…” He took a deep breath, and it hurt. It hurt his back, and it hurt his heart. “You’ll hear about it eventually, around here. I am a bad man.”

She made a small pfft of disbelief. “If you were a bad man, you would have let me get shot on the subway.”

“You’re special.”

“I’m really not.”

“You are to me.”

Somehow, this was the thing that seemed to tie her tongue. She just looked at him, with those amber-brown eyes that missed so little. It seemed like an eternity before she finally answered, “I actually believe you, you know.”

It made him wonder who else had told her that, only to let her down. It made him think murderous thoughts, like, Who hurt you? and What’s their address?

“Good.”

“So…one question. Who the fuck is the High Table?”

Knowing that information would be her best survival tool in this new world he’d plunged her into, he told her everything.

<<Chapter 1 Chapter 3>>

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - Jan 29th

Hey, friends!! Here’s what I’ve read this week--enjoy and be sure to leave a comment/kudo for your authors!!

~*~ 

An Armored Heart by ishipallthings

Tony had thought that the worst thing would be to have a chance with Steve and then lose it through his own carelessness and inexperience. He thought that by keeping Steve at a distance, things would be fine. He thought that by not pursuing anything beyond friendship with Steve, he’d always be able to protect and keep him safe.

He had never been more wrong in his life.

(In which Red Skull goes after Steve Rogers, and Tony realizes just how much he has to lose.)

I Almost Do by tinystark616 

Tony almost wants to call Steve.

Almost.

A fill for the Cap-Iron Man Community Gifts 2022!

The prompt was "Post Civil War fix-it. Either they were in a relationship before the events of CW or they don't get together until afterwards, dealers choice!"

inside my love by Thahire 

Natasha’s mouth curls into a satisfied smile when his torso gets uncovered, leaning in to kiss him on the shoulder. Steve swallows heavily.

He’ll never get over how it feels to be wanted by her.

Steve and Natasha undressing each other after a long day.

the consonant i forget by starvels (dinosaur) 

The man who comes to see him in on the 9th day in the hospital is gaunt. Greasy. Less clean than everyone else who's trundled in, asking if Steve knows them and then lied about being disappointed when he’s said no. This man is a spindle. A man spun around too many times. Wind chapped full lips and scratchy threads of his haphazard beard peak over a strange metallic, full-bodied suit of armor that makes something behind Steve’s eyes hurt.

He blinks them slowly at the man, just to see if that helps.

It doesn’t.

tell me you can't bear a room that i'm not in by quidhitch 

The meeting place for this interview changes four times in the week leading up to the scheduled date. The first email comes from Mr. Stark’s personal assistant, who sends me the address of a stylish dive bar on the Upper West Side and asks if I’ll be available around happy hour. The second email comes from Captain Rogers — not his team, not his agent, but Captain Rogers himself, writing from his personal Gmail address, which has a pretty flagrant typo in the handle.

(He’ll later tell me he just never got around to setting up a new one, but having met him, I suspect he keeps it that way more out of cheek than convenience.)

remedy by quidhitch for nasa 

“I like the walls,” Steve shrugs, knocking his knuckles against the side as if to demonstrate. “Makes me feel covered.”

A soldier in a fortress, Tony thinks, which is a pretty ridiculous thought to have about Captain America and his enormous limbs stuffed into a too-small bathtub, but there it is.

Or: Tony Stark learns a thing or two about what it means to be In Recovery™.

when i run out of road, you bring me home by quidhitch

“Oh, I won’t bother you.” The tone of Steve’s voice implies that he definitely will be bothering Tony, aggressively and frequently. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll keep to my farm, you keep to yours. Solitude together.”

Tony opens his mouth to argue that that’s not how this works, but he snaps it shut at the realization that Steven Grant Rogers is fucking with him. That twinkle in his eye has accelerated into a full-on glimmer, and the ends of his lips are twitching. Jesus, he hates this man. Or maybe he wishes he did. Tony can’t really tell the difference anymore.

I know I'll be alright (but I'm not tonight) by xWinterDreamsx 

Keeping their relationship on the down-low is hard sometimes, especially when Tony is drunk.

A Lifetime Of Christmases by Coffee_and_notebooks

One of the things that made Christmas so special for them was the traditions they had, what they could look forward to every year.

They had both always been those people that were absolutely obsessed with Christmas, getting excited well before Halloween and Thanksgiving, and getting excited all over again after the two occasions were over.

Or: Three Traditions Steve and Tony already had at Christmas and the One New Tradition they make.

Navigation by felisnocturna

There are several upsides to being telepathically linked with your own spaceship. Sometimes, it also makes things more complicated.

The Way You Look by Nixie_DeAngel

There’s just something about the swell of his husband’s belly as he nearly dances between isles of the grocery store in one of Steve’s own white tee shirts —so large on Tony’s slighter frame, that it slips off one shoulder— with his Captain America logo, a pair of black yoga pants and his curls loose and wild.

Invisible String by iam93percentstardust

And isn't it just so pretty to think

All along there was some

Invisible string

Tying you to me?

~

Ana is the person who notices it first, and she’s the person who alerts the Starks and then calls the doctors when Mrs. Stark faints and Mr. Stark storms off in a rage, raving about deficiencies, and she’s the only person around when the Stark’s personal doctor arrives thirty minutes later, which means she’s the only person to hear the doctor confirm what she already knows.

And what Ana knows is this: two-year-old Tony Stark is colorblind.

Sandbag by paxnirvana

Tony Stark meets a recently thawed out Captain America.

Red Sand by peculiva

There is a hole in Tony's side. As in an actual hole caused by a jagged piece of metal that once must have held the place up. Now it's no longer supporting large concrete floors but lodged in Tony's torso. 

The Baby-Sitter Experiment by nightwalker

Steve and Tony volunteer to babysit. Fluff ensues.

As The Ice Creeps In by askaniblue

When Steve and Tony are grabbed by AIM, they're not too worried. Easy job. But then when their plane goes down in Siberia and Tony is knocked unconscious Steve is left to try and keep them both warm till help arrives. If it arrives.

Hope’s Torn Out Pages by geekymoviemom

For most of his life, Peter Rogers has watched his father struggle against the demons of regret and betrayal, unable to do much of anything to help turn the tide.

Until one day, the youngest person to ever intern at Stark Industries is struck with an idea, one so unbelievably bonkers that it just might work.

But first, Peter needs to help his father overcome his fears, help him realise that hope is no longer a curse word, but something he’s allowed to embrace.

Because hope is always stronger than fear. And it’s up to Peter to prove it.

You Take My Breath Away by jellybeanforest

Tony had watched his mother wither away from the flowers growing in her lungs. Though he is uncertain whether Howard was the reason, he never forgave him for prioritizing the search for Captain America over his mother’s life. He vowed never to fall to the same illness, to never take even a passing interest in his father’s all-consuming obsession.

He fails on both accounts.

This Mess We're In by Kiyaar

Steve is a troll, Tony is obliging. Everyone gets done. Set in that fictional interval during Secret Avengers where Steve is a Commander and he and Tony are actually on speaking terms. Unrepentant porn.

Persistence of Vision by dirigibleplumbing

Last night, Natasha Stark stopped by Avengers Mansion to pick up some of the recently “deceased” Tony’s files and found a sobbing, grieving Captain America instead. This morning, she’s going to clear the air with Steve, and make sure he knows his friend’s death isn’t his fault.

She'd know, since it’s her own death she faked.

If We Have Each Other by ralsbecket 

Steve grabs one of the leftover gift bows and sticks it to his head with a mischievous grin. “Look! It’s like I’m your present.”

Tony smiles, bright and sweet, as he squishes Steve’s cheeks together in his hands. He leaves a chaste kiss to Steve’s lips, replying almost too honestly, “And my future.”

Sarah watches her son fall a little more in love with Tony Stark that day.

Or, five times Steve and Tony surprise Sarah, and the one time Sarah knows.

Gather Ye Rosebuds by lazywriter7 

It isn’t like that, for many people. For them, love is the point: the axis around which everything else revolves, the destination at the end of a long, tumultuous journey. Realisation, confession, resolution. Happy ending. That’s how it goes. And love was a point in Tony Stark’s journey, except it came towards the beginning, rather than the end. The issue, instead of the solution.

He hasn’t been alone on the trip, of course. Steve’s been there: sometimes three steps behind, sometimes waiting up ahead by the turn of the road. They’ve sprinted and stumbled, sometimes stood still and refused to move on ahead, sometimes thought of turning away altogether.

Steve and Tony’s story began after they fell in love, and this is about how they fell in everything else.

Recursion by Missy_dee811

Tony finds himself at a crossroads when he receives a call from a long-time friend — Maya Hansen. Then, things take a sudden turn for the worse.

Will Tony ever be the same? And more importantly, will Steve come to his aid?

[nirikeehan]

happy friday niri!!! for DADWC perhaps "And the veil tears and rages till her voices are remembered and his secrets can be told." from the tori amos lyrics for Cullen/Thalia?

Hi Jay, Happy Friday! I really leaned on the Vibes™ for this one.

Here is some post-Trespasser marital angst for my babies.

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1113

CW: Some internalized ableism on Thalia's part

---

After the worst of it, he sits her down at the kitchen table and makes her tea. She stares at the varnished surface with the sort of desolation that comes when the sobs have run their course. She feels like a thin layer of ice, ready to crack. 

In her periphery she sees the jagged edges of her hair. They are blood red. They ought to be dripping. Cullen’s back is to her, the muscles of his shoulder blades defined through his thin shirt. The sunlight falls on him slanted, a cheery yellow, in this house that they have the audacity to call their own. 

“Does it look terrible?” Thalia’s voice is hoarse. 

“You could never look terrible,” Cullen says softly. Which isn’t what she asked. He hasn’t turned to face her. 

Thalia tugs fingers through the shorn hair at the back of her neck. She feels impossibly light and exposed. She might as well be naked. She shivers, wraps her one good arm around her torso, and hunches over. He’s standing at the counter, watching the water boil in the cook pot. His hand clutches the scissors he took from her. His knuckles shake. 

Thalia swallows hard. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” She feels guilty, all of a sudden. Ashamed she’s put this burden on him, of all people, when he has so many of his own. 

“It’s all right.” Cullen sounds genuine, but tired. “You scared me, that’s all. I thought…” He trails off. 

You thought I’d cut more than hair. Thalia sniffles. She wipes at one eye, then the other. Her phantom arm feels useless at her side. “I was just… frustrated.” 

So much hair, so thick and so long. Barely manageable with two working hands. Impossible with one. 

Cullen turns, a teacup in each hand. How she envies him that. He places one before her. The tea leaves steeping smell of chamomile and lavender, a blend his sister gave them as part of a housewarming gift. Thalia focuses on the steam rising and not the worry lines at his forehead that have only deepened since they moved in. 

He sits across the table. His eyes are on her, warm brown in the afternoon light, but she can’t meet them. She glances to the counter; the scissors have vanished. He must have pocketed them, she realizes. He wants them well out of her reach.

Like I’m a danger. Her heart pounds in her ears. 

“I told you,” Cullen says, still so softly. “I would have taken care of your hair, if you’d wanted.” 

“It isn’t about that, Cullen,” Thalia snaps, too sharp. He flinches as if slapped. Now she feels worse.

“Then what is it about? Explain it to me.” Not even with an air of hurt. Infinite patience, he has. She’s learned this since marrying him. She’s been a nightmare to deal with, Thalia knows, and yet he’s taken it entirely in stride. Well, mostly. He’s treating her so delicately. Part of her wishes he would get rattled, needle her back. Do something. “I’m listening. I want to assist.”

Thalia chews her lip. It’s almost too rote, too practiced. She eyes him, tilting her head, trying to see past the bedhead that overtakes his hair most days, now that there’s no troops who need to see him perfectly groomed. He’s even grown a bit of a beard, mostly out of laziness. He claims he had a goatee in the past, but that’s impossible for her to picture. She tries to see him in an office, not at Skyhold but before that, in a city she’s never visited. It’s difficult. Everything she imagines about the Gallows looks like the Circle Tower in Ostwick, just more tropical. 

“Is this what you used to do with distraught mages back in Kirkwall?” Thalia asks. “Make them tea?” 

The question surprises him. He hesitates, lets out a nervous laugh. “Sometimes.” 

The admission feels like progress, somehow. He’s good at this. Good at dealing with hysterics from people like her. 

“Did it help?” Thalia pulls out the strainer, leaves it dripping on the table. Picks up the teacup carefully to take a sip. See? I’m trying too. 

“It depended. Too often I would listen and be unable to offer any solution to their problems.” Cullen raises his own cup, both sets of fingers grasping the rim. Jealousy blooms inside her once more, alongside as the desire to kiss each one. He sighs. “It was… taxing, when that happened.” 

“Is it taxing now?” Thalia asks quietly. “To have one for a wife?” 

“No.” He returns the cup to its saucer with a clang. “Do you truly think me so fickle?” 

“I don’t know.” Tears blur Thalia’s vision. The tea is too hot, bitter as she swallows. “You didn’t sign up for this when you married me, Cullen. I wouldn’t blame you if you… couldn’t…” Couldn’t love a cripple are the words on her tongue, burning worse than the tea, but she can’t bring herself to say them. 

“Hey.” He’s standing, circling the table now, kneeling beside her to envelope her in a hug. He kisses her temple. “Of course I ‘signed up’ for this, whatever that means.” 

Part of her wants to pull away, but she won’t allow herself. He must not see how broken she is. She’s deceiving him, somehow. She buries her face in the hollow of his neck, cheek scratched by stuffy facial hair. She inhales the scent of him and tries not to cry. “Are you sure?” 

“Of that, more than anything.” 

Thalia can feel the hum of his voice in his throat. She wants to believe him. She’s not sure she does, but there’s relief in hearing the words all the same. He doesn’t think she’s irreparably damaged. Hiding the scissors is just a precaution. Probably. 

She pulls back, leveling her gaze at him. “Tell me the truth. Does it look awful?” 

Cullen’s eyes stray from her face to her hair. His eyebrows raise, and he suppresses an anxious smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I think Mia knows of a barber in town who can even it out a bit. Unless you’d like to pioneer a new look, like Sera…” 

“Ugh.” Thalia pulls a face. “No thank you.”

They both laugh, a little uneasily. Cullen combs his fingers through her spiky locks. “It will be all right, with a little work. I promise you.”

She puts her good hand against his chest and curls it around the lacing of his shirt. The pain is still there, lurking beneath her ribcage, but she feels a pang of love for him that briefly outshines it. 

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

hi ! sorry to bother you , but do you mind doing a trick smut ? ( the owen teague character from black mirror ) it could be anything but yk just some sweet stuff , him being a dork and teasing the reader . and if you want just a little bit of drugs involved

Aw, no bother at all, lovely. Yes, of course! I've never gotten an Owen Teague request before so this got me excited lol

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), breaking and entering, drug use (coke, specially), oral (f!receiving), fluff, and I'm probably supposed to say don't do drugs so...Don't Do Drugs™ Just Say No™

2.4K Words🤙🏻

~~~~~~~~~~

You bit the dead skin off your fingers as you watched Trick climb over the fence of some abandoned water park, claiming that it had been that way for years and no one was guarding it anymore. He kept telling you that it was safe to explore, but you still felt your heart threaten to beat out of your chest as he encouraged you to follow after him.

“Come on, Y/n, no alarms have gone off yet!” He called out beyond the fence with a tired grin.

You looked back and forth between him and the bright yellow no trespassing sign, groaning as you finally made up your mind. “Fine. But if we get caught, I’m saying you forced me.” You started climbing the chain link fence as Trick giggled maniacally.

“That is technically what I’m doing, yes.” You playfully punched his shoulder with a huff as you made it over the fence. “Chill out, babydoll, it’ll be fun. Live a little.” He took you by your hand and ran off, leading you deeper into the park.

Despite being in constant anxiety that the cops would suddenly show up and arrest the two of you, Trick actually got you to have some fun.

“Woah, this pool is just filled with rain water.” Trick called out, beckoning you over to where he was. “Should we?”

“Uh, no thanks. It’s freezing and I’d rather not be soaking wet.” Trick only smirked mischievously at you. “No.” You scolded, but his smirk grew wider as he turned to you. “Ryan, no! Ah-!” He moved so fast there was nothing you could do. He grabbed you by the hips and pushed you as hard as he could into the pool, freezing water enveloping you whole. “Dick!” You gasped as soon as you resurfaced, only to get the water splashed back into your face as he jumped in after you.

“Woo! That just wakes you up, doesn’t it!” He laughed.

“Jerk.” You splashed him as you pouted, goosebumps raising all over your skin. Trick swam closer to you, pulling at your waist. “No, nope.” You tried swimming away but he already caught you, pulling you to him and wrapping your legs around his torso.

“You’re cute when you’re mad.” He teased, lightly kissing your nose. “Wow, you’re so cold.”

You scowled. “Oh really? I wonder why that is.” Trick smiled as he grabbed your face, pulling you close and passionately kissing you as you both floated in the water. You moaned as he grinded your hips on his, an aching arousal starting to develop and you could feel his smirk as he noticed. “This doesn't mean you’re forgiven for pushing me in here, jerk.”

“I’m sure I could remedy that, dolly. Want me to prove it to you? It’ll warm you up too.” You gasped quietly as one of his long fingers ghosted over your pussy, mentally cursing your clothes that clung to you.

“If it gets me out of this disgustingly cold pool, then yes.”

You and Trick couldn’t leave the park quicker, desperate for each other and desperate to get your soaking clothes off. It was hard enough to climb over the fence in the first place, it was even harder now that you weighed even more with all the water drenching your clothing.

Trick opened the back of the van and quickly ushered you in, pouncing on you as soon as he closed and locked the doors. “Ugh, god, I understand your annoyance now. So much harder to get these damn clothes off.” He chuckled as he tried peeling his shirt off with great difficulty, the collar getting caught on his head.

“And you have no one but yourself to blame.” You threw your own shirt at him, hitting him right in the face.

He pulled the wet shirt off with a faux offended expression. “How dare you!” He gasped dramatically.

“Me? How dare you!” You yelled back, pushing him on his back and straddling him, making sure to grind your hips down on his hardening cock as you kissed him, hearing him groan and feeling the vibrations tickling your mouth.

“Wait!” He pulled away with a smile. “You know what we should do?”

“Oh god, what?” You said in frustration.

“Drugs.” He lifted his eyebrows playfully before he crawled to the front of the van and came back with a little baggie full of white powder.

“Seriously?” You snickered.

“I’m super serious. You wanna try it? You don’t have to though, obviously. But I will see you as a scaredy cat.” He teased, but you knew he was only joking around. You knew he’d never pressure you to do anything.

You bit your lip in thought. “Okay, fine. I’ll try!” 

You watched as Trick lined up a few lines of powder neatly on a book he had laying around in the van, his face in full concentration, using his pinky to wipe away any excess and licking it off. “You wanna go first or…?”

“You should probably go first.” You giggled nervously, watching him quickly snort up the powder with a rolled up dollar bill intriguingly. He groaned as he tilted his head back, sniffing a bit more before handing the bill to you. 

“First thing, make sure not to breathe out when you’re lined up, or else you’ll blow the powder everywhere. Just go for it really, hold one nostril closed and tilt your head back after so it doesn’t fall out if you didn’t get all of it.”

“What if I sneeze?”

“You won’t sneeze.”

“What if it hurts?”

“It doesn’t.”

“What if-”

“Babydoll!” He interrupted with a laugh. “You’ll be fine, I’m right here.” He reassured, gently rubbing your back as you bent your head down to inhale the drug.

You did as he instructed. You just went for it, inhaling the whole line. He was right, it didn’t hurt, it was just a bit uncomfortable. It tickled as it entered your nose, making you cringe. It smelled sweet, but it tasted bitter as it started to drip at the back of your throat. “Ugh…” You wriggled your nose as your eyes watered, causing Trick to chuckle. “Don’t laugh at me.” You whined. “I don’t feel any different.”

“And you won’t, not immediately,” He kissed you, “but you will. Lay down.”

You exhaled shakily as Trick hovered above you, trailing sloppy kisses down your body, squeezing your bra covered breasts as he made his journey down until he got to your jeans. You both laughed as he struggled to get them off along with your underwear, the water making the material like a second skin. “Fuck…” You moaned out as he buried his face in your cunt, lapping up all your wetness and pushing his tongue into your entrance.

“Best part of my fuckin’ day.” He moaned, licking and sucking your sensitive clit. “I’m sure you’re warming up now, right, babe?” He chuckled, pulling you as close to him as humanly possible, resting your thighs on his shoulders. You moaned loudly, arching your back as he focused on your clit, your body buzzing with oversensitivity, but you couldn’t get enough of it. You could feel your heartbeat thrum in your chest, and you felt so restless. You wanted more, you needed more. You needed him inside you.

“Fuck me, Ryan.” You whined, rutting against his face as he kept going faster. “Please.” He finally stopped as he heard your begs. “I feel so hot all of a sudden.” You panted.

“Are you okay?” He asked as he removed his pants, settling in between your legs, but still waiting for your okay.

“Yes. I just need you.” You brought his face down to kiss you, tongues dancing with each other roughly before you pulled away with his bottom lip in between your teeth.

“Think you’re feeling it now.” He smiled, helping you remove your bra, your hardened nipples practically calling out to be touched. You hummed blissfully as he latched onto one of your nipples with his mouth, trailing up to kiss you once more before finally bringing his cock to your pussy.

You sighed out as Trick rubbed his dick in between your slick folds, the head of his cock bumping against your throbbing clit before he finally sunk into your cunt, stretching you out deliciously. He moaned roughly as he felt your walls clench around him as he went deeper and deeper into you, slowly pulling out slightly before sinking in further. 

You took deep breaths to try and relax yourself so you could take him fully, his girth making you struggle. Trick brought his thumb down to lightly rub your clit, eliciting a moan from you as he was finally able to bottom out, filling you to the hilt. He grinded against you until you were ready for him to thrust, the tip of his cock hitting the ends of you, the feeling making your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Fuck, you’re so tight, babydoll. You still feel like a goddamn virgin, even after all this time.” Trick chuckled darkly, starting to thrust in and out of you slowly.

Trick’s pupils were blown wide as he looked down at where the two of you were conjoined, smirking at the sight of his cock glimmering with your arousal, leaving thin trails of stringy slick every time he pulled out and coating his pelvis and your inner thighs. “Shit, you’re so wet. Can you hear? Can you hear your pussy singing, baby?” He cooed, thrusting faster and deeper, the slapping of your damp skin against one another's reverberating around the inside of his messy van.

“Fuck, Ryan!” You cried out as his cock kept hitting that sweet spot inside you over and over again. “You feel so good.” You whimpered, lifting your head as you felt something tickle on your chest. “What-?”

Trick had poured a line of coke onto your tit, holding one nostril closed as he snorted up all the white powder from your skin, holding his head back and looking up towards the van ceiling as he moaned loudly, his thrusts slowing as he focused on sniffing all the contents down. He smiled widely at you, leaning down again to lick up all the residue on your breast and pulling a nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking until you felt the nipple go numb from the drug. “Feels so weird.” You giggled, pulling at your nipple and feeling barely anything.

“Here.” Trick moved for you to straddle his lap, dipping his car key into the little baggie of powder and offered it up to you. You mirrored his smile as you allowed him to put the key up to your nose, his pointer finger pinching your other nostril shut and watched intently as you sniffed up the drug with a groan.

You cringed at the tickly intrusion, the taste bitter as it dripped down your throat once more. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.” You swallowed harshly, rubbing away the leftover powder that didn’t make it into your nose.  

Trick kissed your cheek with an amused smile. “Well, you never have to take it again then.”

“I didn’t say I never wanted to.” You smirked, slowly moving your hips against him, causing him to groan quietly, his pupils almost completely taking over his bright blue iris’. “You’re so pretty, you know?” You kissed him passionately, his slightly cold hands running up your back and causing goosebumps to raise all over your skin. “You fuck me so well.” You whispered in his ear, following that by biting his earlobe gently.

“Oh yeah?” He panted. “Compared to who?” He teased, knowing fully well he’s the only one you’ve ever slept with.

“No one.”

“Exactly, and that’s exactly how it’s gonna stay. Okay, babydoll?” He growled, flipping you over on your back, pinning your wrists above your head as he licked and bit the sensitive skin of your neck, forcing you to stay still as you couldn’t help but squirm. You opened your mouth as Trick brought up his fingers to your face, licking and sucking on them until he pulled them away and started to rub your clit in between your bodies. “I can feel how close you are. Can you come for me, dolly?” He panted, thrusting into you as fast as he could.

You cried out, clinging to him, your grip on his shoulders sure to leave bruises the next morning. “Oh god…” You moaned, your legs shaking as they tried to stay wrapped around his hips. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna come, baby.” You almost hyperventilated, a strong and intense tidal wave of pleasure knocking the breath out of you, a strangled groan escaping your lips as you finally reached that peak. You were sure the drug had something to do with how strong it was, you could honestly say it was the best orgasm you had ever had. “Fuck…”

Trick throbbed and pulsed inside you, his moans getting louder and louder, signaling that he was close too. “Tell me you love me.” He moaned, his thrusts speeding up if that were even possible.

“I love you, Ryan…so, so much.” You repeated back to him, your eyes spilling over with your overstimulated tears.

“Say you’re never gonna leave me.”

“I’m never gonna leave you. Never ever.” You spasmed, another orgasm taking over your body out of nowhere, your words jumpstarting your nerves and allowing you one more. “Fuck, I love you!” You cried, your walls clenched down on him harshly, causing him to grunt loudly as he stilled inside you and letting out a breathless moan as he finally came, releasing and painting your inner walls with his cum.

Trick sighed heavily as he pulled out and laid beside you, grabbing you and pulling you close so that your head rested on his sweaty chest. “That was amazing…” He chuckled breathlessly. “We should fuck on coke more often.”

“And after being high on the adrenaline of breaking and entering, of course.”

“So you’re saying we can do this again?”

“No, no, no-”

“Too late, I’m already planning it in my head.”

“Are you even sure there’s anything in that pretty little head of yours after fucking me that hard?” You teased, eliciting an oversensitive gasp from him after running your fingers up his cock.

He scoffed with a smile. “You are evil. I could ask you the same thing.” He tried to reach for your pussy but you quickly stopped him, grabbing his hand and pushing it away. “You’re only proving my point.”

“Oh, do shut up.”

~~~~~~~~~~

baby boy trick, he deserved better☹

and like, I tried coke last month and it didn't even do anything? either I didn't take enough or it doesn't work on antidepressants. oh well. don't do drugs™

[tttinytrash]

The long awaited siren fic! Decided to go for Lust for maximum sass levels (sorry/no worries depending on your preferences here, but despite the AU nothing spicy here, just light sexual humor) Unzipping and food turning to liquid magic are both concepts stolen from @shamedump. 

Siren skele and arctic researcher reader instead get acquainted by accident, then skele helps out their little human before being stuck with the consequences. Enjoy the awkwardness!

The cold never bothered you, but even given that this was a bit much. You were bundled in all the best thermal gear of course, being in the arctic required it, but couldn’t help the shiver as a particularly vicious gust threatened to throw your fluffy hood down. Ah well, get the equipment checked quick and you and Taylor could get back all that much sooner. 

Taylor, your previously mentioned research partner, was slightly ahead of you in the ankle deep snow as you both slowly shuffled towards the ice shelf that harbored the frigid water you two were studying. Coring ice and checking for fossils and chemical dating, monitoring water currents and other various data to guide the calculations required, all of it was rather dull. The crunching of numbers was more your taste, Taylor was the one who loved all their equipment. They each had names, in fact. They treated the machines like they were their kids. You might tease, but you were glad for the levity in what would normally be a tearjerkingly boring job. You didn’t appreciate their insistence to not go alone near as much, however. But you also couldn’t blame them.

After all, sirens were about.

There were precautions against their fabled charms, sure, but the thought of man-eaters being out was terrifying. So with Taylor you begrudgingly went. 

Taylor approached the mooring spot of one of their submersible probes, and activated the winch to bring it up for inspection. It had stopped sending data a few hours ago, which is what started your trip outside. To be honest, you weren’t fully sure what the probes should look like, but the mangled pile of scrap that game up on the end of the line was clearly not correct.

“No! They killed Trevor!” Taylor wailed.

“This was Trevor?” You asked.

“Yes! And he’s dead!”

“Clearly. We’ll need a whole new probe at this point. Better load this hunk of junk up.”

“Rest in peace, Trevor. You will be missed.”

Any funeral rites were interrupted when your proximity sensors went off. As precautions against sonic attacks (read as: siren song) you both were wearing noise cancelling headsets with communication links specifically between both of your headsets and the home base. You both also had sensors that would ping when something moving besides you two got within range, and you had a sinking feeling you knew what it was before you whipped your head around to find the offender. 

Yep, definitely a siren. 

It had the lower body of a spotted seal, but the torso of a skeleton was plopped where the neck should have been. Vibrant pink eyes were oddly hooded seductively at you two. Even deaf to it, you could tell by posture and movements it was singing to you. 

Nope, no thank you.

“Leave the scrap, we’ve gotta move!” You urge, pulling Taylor up by the arm. 

You both move as fast as possible back to the snowmobiles, luckily not too far away, and begin to book it. As you jet away, you scream over your shoulder “Not today, Pinky! Find something less sentient to eat, ya jerk!”

To your shock, the thing looks legitimately offended, and even blows a raspberry at you before it dives into the water.

Did it actually understand...?

You didn’t give it any more thought, instead flooring your snowmobile back to the warm, safe base. You didn’t want to be lunch, and were also pretty excited to feel your toes again.

-----

Repairing that damn probe took so much longer than it should have. But that was mostly because Pinky was very much Not Helpful™.   

Taylor made fun of you for naming the killer skelemer, but you solidly blamed their habit of naming everything rubbing off on you. Regardless, Pinky had become the thing’s title and at this point you were near certain it knew its name too. 

Pinky surfaced not too long after any attempts to retrieve, replace, or repair Trevor’s remains. You were always on guard duty while Taylor worked, so you were the one to spot it first. You’d raise the alarm and you and Taylor would scram, but it was alarming how quickly the mer picked up on what your tiny team was doing. It quickly figured out neither of you could hear their song, so it gave up on that and instead posed in what was probably supposed to be alluring poses, literally beckoning you to come closer. It eventually got nearly lewd.

The first time Pinky went fully sexual, you busted up laughing. He looked offended right up until you posed while channeling your best Jessica Rabbit on the back of Taylor’s snowmobile during your retreat. From that point, he seemed to take it as a challenge and almost seemed to be laughing along at his own ridiculousness. He also seemed to pick up on the meaning of your habitual flipping of the bird as you escaped inland and would return your one finger salute, or even rise up out of the water sometimes with the raised middle phalange the first thing to break the surface.

Ugh, you’d seen this thing too many times. You were personifying it.

It hadn’t ever gotten more than 100 yards off, barely in range of the proximity sensors. So your sightings were seconds each. You’d rather keep it that way.

Fate did not comply.

The day you finally got Trevor 2.0 ready to submerge was the day everything went wrong. You and Taylor lifted the equipment, shuffling towards the edge of the ice shelf to chuck the machine into the depths. Pinky had yet to be seen despite you two having been out here particularly long without disruption. Had it finally given up?

No, the sensor went off which startled both of you, enough so that the equipment was fumbled and ultimately dropped. Trevor 2.0 hitting the ice caused a chain reaction. Both of you stumbled back, Taylor luckily onto solid ice shelf, you less luckily onto rapidly cracking ice. You hit water, and shock made you instantly black out.

-----

Sans lazily went toward where the humans would be. Ever since wrecking the probe, they’d been out there daily. But while his plan for easy lunch didn’t work since they were somehow deaf so his song, he didn’t even mind at this point. Playing with the spunky human, or Brat as he thought of them, was a highlight to his day.

Originally he had tried to lure them other ways besides song, but their ability to sass back at him had gone from vexing to charming, the same way his usual insult for them became an affectionate moniker. As a reward for getting a good chuckle out of him the previous day, he’d decided to give them a little extra time unmolested.

Any plans went out the door when he saw Brat hit the water. 

The other human was flailing about on shore and froze when it saw him, but he paid it no mind. He instead dover underwater after Brat’s panicking form. He watched as shock made them gasp, the precious air they needed becoming a cloud of bubbles around their rapidly sinking body.

Forget plans, all thought went out of his head and a protective instinct he didn’t know he even had kicked into overdrive. He didn’t wanna eat them anymore, but apparently human was on the menu again. At least, in a way. He briefly surfaced, less than a moment and just long enough to flush the water out of his system to replace with air before he dove, snatching their eerily still form. He shoved their head into his mouth and gulped greedily, dragging their unresponsive frame into his body. He had to get them warm, and he was the warmest thing in the vicinity. The air in his belly would let them breathe, and the warmth of his magic would keep hypothermia at bay.

Once they were down, he panted with exertion, feeling their body through his own. 

...SHIT.

The hell did he do now?

-----

You woke slowly, not knowing where you were.

Then you remembered and suddenly waking up was very fast. Still didn’t know where you were though. You flailed around in surprise, finding everything rather squishy, wet, and ...pink?

“human?”

“Huh- what?!” You cried in response to the sudden voice, falling backwards and sliding to the bottom of this weird rounded space you were in.

“delta, i’m not used to shit moving around in there like that. dunno how i feel about that yet.”

“where am i?” panick straining your voice up an octave.

“uh, currently inside a siren. in neither a food way or a fun way, if that helps.” He said, blandly.

“PINKY?!”

“that’s usually what you call me, among insults of various quality and originality. ‘pink tailed prick’ was always my favorite.”

You’ve somewhat realized you’re in his gut now, and a quick once over of your body reveals that it’s intact, if damp. “....why am I not dead?” 

“i already said it wasn’t in a food way. you nearly drowned, don’t you remember?”

Crap, now you did. “The question stands.”

“fair. easy answer though; i begrudgingly like you, brat.”

“I’m a brat? You tried eating me- wait, did eat me!” You clap your hands over your traitorous smart mouth, god please don’t piss off the thing that can easily kill you if he had a mind to!

“well, i didn’t. not for lack of trying, though. and you’re still not food, you’re actually safer in there then out here. even i know you’d freeze to death if i just let you out on shore. you need to be dry, which isn’t really attainable for a mer.”

“...oh.” You can’t really object to the logic, even if your brain were in a place to.

“yeah. i did try to bring you back. other one tried to shoot me.”

“Damn, Taylor has shit aim.”

“they do. which leads us to now.”

“Oh... the ‘how the hell do we get me out’ phase.”

“yeah. and at this point without death. if you’re going to be making such a drastic impact on my impeccable figure for this long, it’d better not be in vain.”

“Excuse me Princess!” you guffaw, tone dripping sarcasm.

“sans.”

That stumped you. “Come again?”

“my name. it’s sans.”

“Oh. Well, I’m y/n.”

“well, y/n, you’re stuck in there until we find a way to get you back on dry land without near immediate hypothermia. so get comfy, because we’re sleeping now. even if i do look pregnant, i need beauty rest.”

“Oh. Uh. Guess I can’t complain. And uh... thanks for the lack of murder.”

He hums in reply, movement finally ceasing.

You slide into a maintainable, comfortable position and finally take in your surroundings, since you’ll be stuck here awhile. The walls do softly glow pink as you’d initially seen. Less obviously, they also have a subtly wavy texture, and a bouncy give almost like a waterbed. The walls are slick and frictionless, but don’t appear to leave slime on your questing hands. 

“that feels nice. feel free to keep that up.” sans interrupts your exploration.

There’s a brief flare of guilt before you take his advice and keep playing with the plush walls, as if pawing will grant you extra knowledge.

You don’t really remember falling asleep, but apparently you did. The soft sounds of his body around you make excellent white noise apparently.

-----

It had been days. Inside a siren’s belly. What is your life?

It was weird, but not too bad without the death to go along with it.

Sans encouraged you to play with he odd texture of his magic, but that got old after awhile. You would say however, that you were extremely comfortable. The walls had a lovely give, and tended to mold to your body in whatever position you took due to their plush nature. They even moved in a soft undulating pattern, which felt kind of like a massage. Oddly, you had gotten used to this enough to almost enjoy it.

Then you were doused with liquid magic. Again.

“Dammit, warn me!” You cried, wiping the pink glow out of your eyes.

“why would i? that’s so much less fun.”

“Pink tailed Prick.” You muttered.

“ah, my favorite title.”

-----

As nice as having a constant companion and warm weight inside was, he was at his wits end with this arrangement. Honestly not even because of y/n. They could come back to visit his gut again after this whole thing was over as far as he was concerned, but they other one was incredibly dense. 

The perceived loss of their companion really made it impossible to break through. Especially since they couldn’t hear him, and wouldn’t get close enough for him to get the headphones (which y/n told him were what made them immune to song) off. If he charmed them, the violence would stop long enough to prove y/n was ok. But lack of communication was a big issue here. Of course, the water had rendered y/n’s pair defunct.

Y/n appeared to have adapted to their space decently too, they didn’t struggle and once he was used to it their readjustments and stretches felt divine inside. They were bewildered by the fact that his magic could sustain them, meaning they didn’t have to eat as long as he intended to care for them. Them playing with the liquid magic his body converted his actual food to was hilarious, if maybe gross under other circumstances. 

He was going to miss his internal companion desperately. 

But that wasn’t the goal for now. Y/n came up with had to be plan H (he’d lost track of where they were in the alphabet by now) which was risky but the best shot they had yet. He’d just unzip on shore and show Taylor that y/n was ok. That meant that his human was risking hypothermia, and he would be in no position to bail if Taylor shot. (They were a bad shot, but that wasn’t a risk he was thrilled with.)

He didn’t really like this plan, but he hauled himself up out of the water by where Taylor would be sure to patrol, and waited for the human to arrive.

Eventually, an indignant “You bastard!” heralded the misguided human’s arrival. A bang indicated a gunshot, but no bullet whizzed by. Wow. Strormtrooper level bad aim, Taylor.

He turned to face them, then raked a finger down his belly, letting y/n throw their damp top half out into the frigid air. “TAYLOR, STOP!” they screamed, waving their hands in a ceasefire gesture.

Taylor either panicked or didn’t see, firing another shot. y/n screamed, pulling their now bleeding forearm close to themself. 

Sans reached a hand down, healing magic already summoned and tending to the new hole y/n had been gifted.

“that’s it, this didn’t work. get back in, we’re out.” Sans growled.

“W-wait! N-N-” y/n protested, blue lips and chattering voice making it difficult.

Sans was about ready to shove them in himself when Taylor called in utter shock “Wait... y/n?!”

Taylor stumbled forward a step or two, grip on their gun slack.

Thank Delta, this was the opening he needed! He used his magic to rip off their damn headphones, and before they could reorient their grip on their gun, he began to sing. With the charm in place, they could finally talk.

He also got to eat y/n again now, which was another bonus.

-----

You strode confidently to the water with Taylor beside you, going to check on Trevor 2.0 like normal. Most things were back to normal, but what wasn’t was far more interesting.

You got three things from the ordeal in the end, and they were as follows:

One, your hair was now pink. Prolonged exposure to Sans’ magic had affected your hair’s natural pigmentation, and there was no indication as to whether it was permanent or not. Eh, at least you’d save on hair dye.

Two, you got a scar. Taylor was endlessly sorry for it, but the bullet hole had left a definite mark on your forearm. Had to think of a cover story for that before shipping home. That was concern for later, though.

Three, you got a new friend or constant pest depending on how you felt at the given moment. The smile that broke on your face at seeing the familiar glow beneath the frigid surface of the water said you were currently leaning friend. 

Sans chilled with you while Taylor did their thing, Taylor also chipping in on conversation as they worked. The typical flow was interrupted when Sans’ belly growled.

“Too lazy to hunt again?” You asked.

Sans shrugged. “guilty as charged.”

“Just go, don’t do your usual beat around the bush thing.” Taylor butted in.

“Hey! I didn’t even do anything!” You groused.

They raised a brow at you, smiling mockingly. “You brought extra clothes.”

“...shut up.”

Sans and Taylor both laughed at you.

From his spot in the water, Sans looked up at you and said “i’m game if you are.”

You hesitated.

“Just go, I’ll have dinner ready by dark. I can get back to base on my own.” Taylor said, retreating to their snowmobile. 

You turned to Sans, who wordlessly opened his mouth wide and waited.

Smiling, you obliged.