#every movement hurts so goddamn bad

[anonymous-dentist]

On April 25, Cellbit finds himself crashing onto a tropical island filled with the weirdest goddamn people he's ever met in his life.

(On one side of the glass is Cellbit. On the other is a man in a red hoodie who takes one look at Cellbit and winks before rushing to talk to the other trapped Brazilians.

For a moment, Cellbit swears there's a spark- a literal pink spark in the air directly between the two of them where they had locked eyes, and he swears that the man's eyes glitter the same pink just for a second.

But that's ridiculous. It's probably a concussion. Or something.)

On April 26, Cellbit wakes up to a heavy pain in his chest and back and a foreign weight to his limbs as he tries rolling over in bed. There's a pressure behind his eyes, all... all two of them.

Cellbit's eyelids twitch unhappily as a ray of incoming sunlight hits them from the window.

He hisses, and that's when he notices two very important things:

He doesn't have two eyes. He knows the familiar discomfort of keeping one's eyes closed when they're ready to open, and he can recognize the fact that this discomfort is multiplied by goddamn two. That makes... four eyes.

He isn't in his own bed. He went to sleep without a blanket or a pillow, just his hat and his jacket because, big surprise, spending most of the day in a cave didn't get him any luxuries besides a sore back and a definitely-not-dead child.

Cellbit opens his eyes, all four of them, and he's only a little surprised to see that he is not, in fact, in his own house.

"What?" he croaks.

He grimaces. Sore throat, almost like he'd been screaming in his sleep. Nothing he isn't used to, but it doesn't feel right in this body. In... whoever's body this is.

He pushes himself so that he's sitting up and against the wall. His chest pulls with every movement of his arms, muscles twinging in pain, and it almost reminds him of the War, almost. (He caused wounds like this, anyway. He didn't get hurt like this. He was too good.)

He looks down. Spider-Man boxer briefs. Naked chest, huge scar cut across the middle of it over his heart. Hairy legs, bruised arms and knuckles.

Vaguely, he thinks that he recognizes the house. Kinda. Sort of. Maybe? But he'd only seen the outside, and it would be crazy if his soulmate turned out to be that guy.

But, well. There's only one spider hybrid on the island that Cellbit knows about. Maybe there are more, but he's pretty sure that he met everyone yesterday. (He thinks; he was pretty distracted by the whole what the fuck I have a child now??? thing.)

Cellbit should be happy. And he kinda feels like it, in a distant way. But it's with a sense of numb fear that he grabs Roier's communicator off of the bedside table and opens a new message with... himself? His comm. That Roier has. Because he's in his body. At his house.

[iRoier whispers to Cellbit: I think we have a problem]

-

When Cellbit had finally officially turned 16 years old, Bad sat down in the middle of a warzone and told him that, one of these days, he might wake up in the body of one of his enemies.

"What?" Cellbit had grimaced, blood coating his face and crusting under his nails. "Why? Is that a new origin or something?"

Bad shook his head. "No, you goof. It's a soulmate thing. You know. Soulmates."

And that's when he realized that Cellbit's amnesia really was, in fact, amnesia. Of course he wouldn't have remembered his parents giving him the Soulmate Talk, Cellbit- at the time- didn't believe that he even had parents. ("I was born from blood, and to blood I shall return," he said when Bad tried asking, so Bad stopped bothering after a while.)

And so it fell to BadBoyHalo to give Cellbit the Soulmate Talk.

"When you turn 16, the universe assigns you a soulmate," Bad had explained. "And when you meet that soulmate, you'll both switch bodies with each other overnight. It'll only last 24 hours, though, so it should be fine if you meet your soulmate out here."

Cellbit had blinked, confused. "What? Ew, no."

Because, as romantic as the idea of soulmates sounds, Cellbit was a 16-year-old boy. Why would he give a shit about his soulmate when he could be thinking about, like, blood and violence and stuff.

By the time Cellbit was arrested, he had finally warmed up to the idea of having a soulmate if only because having someone assigned to him by the universe meant that there'd be someone on the outside willing to break him out of prison and help him get his revenge on all the fuckers who had dared try and mess with him while he was in there.

But then, after prison- after everything, Cellbit had realized that maybe he wasn't meant to have a soulmate, after all. Why would he? Why would the universe be so kind as to give him someone to care about who would actually love him back? Who would like him back?

Whoever his soulmate might've been, Cellbit had always hoped that they were dead. They'd be better off dead than stuck with a monster like him.

-

By the time Roier makes it to his own house, the sun is high in the sky and Cellbit has managed to find a a shirt and a pair of shorts to throw on on top of his underwear. (On top of Roier's underwear?)

Bobby is still asleep upstairs, Cellbit thinks. At least, he hasn't heard anything from him. Should he be worried?

But then Cellbit looks out the window and watches his body trip over itself on the dirt and faceplant, and, well, Bobby can wait.

Roier's body is... heavy as Cellbit pulls a pair of shoes on. It doesn't want to cooperate, but that can't be right, it's supposed to be natural. Or something. Cellbit thinks. Maybe.

So he doesn't actually know how soulmates work, but it's supposed to be natural, right? That's how he remembers Bad explaining it, but he also remembers Bad having as much emotional awareness as a rock.

Vaguely, he wonders if the problem isn't with the fact that it's Cellbit being in Roier's body but that it's because it's Roier's body and that this is just how it is for Roier all the time. But that's none of Cellbit's business.

(Yet.)

(Maybe.)

(Eventually?)

(Turn the detective brain off, fuck.)

Whatever!

Cellbit runs out the door and goes to help Roier up. He isn't hurt at all as Roier swears at him and grumbles and pushes himself up onto his knees.

"I'm fine," he insists. "See?"

He gestures towards himself with a sharp-toothed grin, eyes squinted shut, and, wow, it's weird for Cellbit to see himself smile. His body doesn't really... do that. It's unnatural. Kinda creepy, like looking into a fucked-up mirror.

Cellbit offers an awkward smile in response, and it hurts. Not his face, no, his soul. Well, not his soul, because that would be silly, but some weird little part inside his Everything stings and pulses with a dull, throbbing pain so sudden and harsh that his throat chokes up and tears threaten to well up in Cellbit's eyes.

With a shuddering breath, Cellbit drops his smile and his eyes. He looks at the ground, and he says, "Uh. We should talk inside, maybe?"

He doesn't wait for a response before turning on his heel and walking back into Roier's house. He does hold the door open, though, remembering that Roier's house has that weird security thing on the door that keeps everybody but him out.

"Your legs are too short," Roier complains as he brushes past Cellbit and walks into the house. "I keep tripping over shit."

"...I'm sorry?" Cellbit offers. (He internally smacks himself. No, stupid, why is he sorry? He can't control his genetics, fuck!)

Roier waves him off. "Nah, it's fine. It's just for today, right?"

He sits at his table with a groan, eyes slipping shut and head tilting over the back of the chair. He looks so... calm. Which means that Cellbit's actual real normal face looks calm, and that's weird. He doesn't do calm.

Hesitantly, Cellbit joins him at the table. He sits directly opposite him, leg bouncing nervously, hands clasped in his lap.

And then? Silence. Absolutely nothing but the slight rattle of the table as Cellbit's (Roier's?) knee bumps against it and the quiet sound of snoring from upstairs. (So Bobby is still asleep. That's normal, right?)

Cellbit glances at the goggles still firmly on his body's head.

"Thanks for keeping them on," he lamely says.

Roier hums a question mark and cracks an eye open, following Cellbit's gaze. He smiles, then, small and clearly fake.

"Hey, man, it's fine," he replies. "It kind of hurts, but it's fine."

Cellbit winces. "I mean, you can take them off! It's fine, it's just us."

Roier shrugs, but he doesn't move to take the goggles off.

Quiet again.

This is... fine. It's fine! Cellbit's soulmate is just a guy who probably maybe dislikes him, that's all. It's nothing he wasn't expecting from his soulmate, he knows how he is as a person. Roier is probably just disappointed, that's all.

"We don't have to do anything, you know," Cellbit says after a moment.

He looks back down at the table as Roier sits up to look at him.

Cellbit wrings his hands together, fingers hooking together and pulling-pushing and they throb from the bruises, and where did Roier get them, anyway? From the pattern, Cellbit would say Roier had punched something, but here are also small cuts indicating the involvement of glass, and-

(Detective brain. Off.)

"I mean, it's crazy, right?" Cellbit laughs weakly. "Us, soulmates? We don't even know each other."

"I mean, yeah, but that's normal, I think. You don't know your soulmate until you meet them, that's how it works."

"I guess? But-"

"And!" Roier interjects. "I know you better already! You sleep with your sword and you have cat ears, that's more than I know about half of my dates!"

Cellbit winces at the mention of his ears, but he manages to huff out a quiet laugh. He even feels himself smile, though it hurts bad enough for him to force it away after a moment.

"Okay," he breathes, and he looks up to meet Roier's (his own?) eyes. "So... it's fine?"

"What the fuck do you think I've been saying, pendejo?" Roier exclaims. He reaches across the table and lightly taps Cellbit on the forehead between his top set of eyes. "I know my body isn't deaf, so start listening."

He sits again, continuing speaking before Cellbit can say anything:

"I don't know you, and that's fine. You don't know me, and that's fine. You threatened my son yesterday, and that's fine. I'll threaten your son to make it even."

"Hey!" Cellbit protests.

Roier ignores him and keeps talking. "We're stuck on this island, Cellbit. We aren't allowed to leave. If we try, Osito Bimbo shoots us. So that gives us plenty of time to get to know each other."

Cellbit's eyes widen in alarm. "We're what?"

He thinks he remembers somebody mentioning that to him and the others yesterday, but there was so much going on that he didn't really register it. Prison, again? At least it's open-air this time...

Roier shrugs his concerns off with a literal wave of the hand. "So see? It's fine. We'll figure each other out, and then we'll kiss and have sex and stuff. Right?"

"Um," Cellbit stammers, the tips of his ears going red. "Maybe just the kissing part."

"Sure, sure. Point is..." Roier stands out of his chair and leans across the table, reaching down and pulling Cellbit's hands out of his lap. He holds them and looks Cellbit in the eyes and gravely asks, "...Cellbit, will you be my soulmate?"

Cellbit rolls his eyes and gently pulls his hands away. "I don't think I get a choice."

"Aw, come on! You're no fun," Roier pouts.

"There, that's a third thing you know about me."

"Shut up, what the fuck?"

And as the argument continues, the weight in Cellbit's heart slowly starts to lift. Just a little, because it's just the beginning, but maybe... maybe having a soulmate won't be that bad, after all.

-_-_-_-

A/N:

Thank you so much for reading! Please reblog maaaaaaaybe with a comment or a tag and tell me what you think! Or send an ask, I'm fine with anything!

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose. #or: a soulmate au :D #guapoduo #spiderbit #well. pre-relationship i suppose #this one is full of Implications #it's short but like i'm sleepy and i have a tummy ache so this is fine

[allidoishuynh]

First post or maybe second. I think there's a picture of stuffed animals from like a decade ago. But let's see how this goes.

Jason is having his death day, Danny wants to help. (Xey and xeir are used as pronouns for an alien species for whom English can't really cut it)

The day sucked. It fucking sucked every single year. Every inch of his body ached and screamed in pain with each step, turn, and movement. He could hear the incessant, unending beeping wherever he went. Of course… it wasn't unending. It had very abruptly and very importantly ended, once upon a time. Which led him to the next reason this day, every single year, was so unbearably shitty: the sweats. It felt like he was boiling alive on the surface of the sun and no matter what he did, no matter how he distracted himself, he always remembered why. Why he had to feel this way every year and how each torment served as a memento of that day.

Jason continued walking down the street in the vain hope to clear his head when he heard a voice.

"Yeeeeesh!" A boy said, "I think I can taste that."

As Jason turned, he noticed the boy, thin, no older than 16, with stark white hair, was staring directly at him. Staring at him and slowly walking closer.

"Hey there man," he started, "believe me when I say: I know today sucks. I don't know how badly or what exactly you're dealing with, but I know it's bad."

The teen was now standing right in front of him and yet Jason felt glued to the spot, like something was keeping him there and that the very idea of brushing off this boy and continuing on his horrid stroll would be an act of blasphemy. The boy reached out a hand and placed it gently on Jason's shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. And to his utter shock, Jason didn't shrug it off. In fact, he liked it? For the briefest of moments the aches subsided, the heat receded long enough to feel the cool spring breeze, and the beeping faded into nothing. He could swear even the pits were calm. No wait, they weren't just calm; they were cooing? Pushing him to lean into the young man's touch.

"Mind if I join you?" The boy asked.

"Please…" Jason spoke, somewhere between a whisper and a prayer.

And they started back along the walkway. Jason couldn't help but feel like the world had stopped as they made their way through Crime Alley.

"You know," the stranger began, "there's nothing wrong with asking, 'GOD, why the fuck is this happening to me?'"

"Sure, you know WHY it's happening. But it seems pretty unfair, no? I mean, we go through this absolutely awful thing once, and then we have to deal with the shadows of it once every three-sixty-five for the rest of eternity? That's just brutal."

Jason knew he had trusted every word spoken to him so far, though he couldn't be sure why. But the small, rational voice in his head now confirmed exactly what the subject of their conversation was.

"Well the truth is," he continued "it's not some command by on high. No one made these rules. It's just how the universe operates. I've actually met quite a few others like us, but they didn't live on a rock rotating around a yellow star. One of them lived their whole life on a space station flying through eternity. And yet even they feel this once every so often."

"See, the thing is, humans operate on an annual time scale. We don't feel greatly connected to something that happened exactly 7 or 28 or 30 days ago. But three hundred and sixty five days… and six-ish hours puts us in basically the exact same spot in the universe. You can feel it, the same air blowing in your face, the same setting sun, even the same clothes you were wear-"

Jason collapsed. He felt the air ripped out of his lungs as he coughed and choked and desperately tried to restart his breathing. Everything hurt, everything was hot, and the GODDAMN BEEPING-

And then it was gone. The only thing he felt was a gentle hand rubbing circles into his back. He turned to look up at the… Spirit? God? "Boy" felt wrong now.

"Ope," he said with a look of concern, "so the clothes were a really important part. Starting to get a picture of what's going on here."

Jason gratefully received a second hand positioned on his chest as he was lifted back into a standing position. Then he turned back to his companion and urged him to continue with his eyes.

"Well," he started again, "basically, we live on a yearly timescale. We don't count months or decades nearly the same way. But that's just us, if we were turtles and the only big happening we saw was that every 23 years a squall split the bay we lived in, you and I would have much longer between our episodes. One of the ones I talked to said xey only experienced it once every 91 years when a certain comet makes its pass through the night sky on xeir planet."

"Anyway," he continued, "what I'm trying to say is that the universe is a fucked up place. But it has rules. Action-reaction and all that. So if you want, I can try and help you get through this as someone more familiar with those rules than you are."

"Please," Jason pleaded, "anything that'll help. I just, I just want it to be easier, I don't need it to be gone; I just want it to be bearable."

"Cool," he responded "glad we're operating on more reasonable expectations. But first things first, I'm gonna need to take a closer look at your core and it's not going to be a particularly comfortable experience. Is that okay?"

Jason nodded, though he wasn't quite sure what this being had meant by "core." He just couldn't help but trust it.

That trust felt slightly misplaced when a hand passed directly into his chest and the arm it was attached to shifted to several angles as if searching for something.

"Aha!" Came the exclamation as the hand retracted, now carrying a small red… was that a page? Like from a book?

"Well this looks cool," the being said, "jeez a bad boy with the heart of a poet. Jazz would have a field day. But let me see here… oh! A protection obsession, just like me. Put 'er there bud."

Jason felt a deep reverberation in his chest as he shook hands with the entity. But everything felt wrong, like his very being had been separated from him so quickly and quietly that he hadn't even noticed. It felt as though he might've gone on blissfully unaware if he hadn't seen the page come out of his chest. And then the world returned. The sounds of the city came to life and when Jason looked down, the page was gone and the hand that held it was pressed gently and flatly back against his chest. The spirit reached down to grab Jason's hand before turning to continue down the street. 

After a few minutes, they came to a stop at a park.

"Why are we here?" Asked Jason.

"Dunno," came the reply, "but look closely and I'm sure you'll find the reason."

Jason scanned the park. The homeless resting in the bushes, the trees full of green leaves, several families playing, an old man feeding pigeons, and another walking his dog. His eyes suddenly snapped back to the families. One family. The mother. A young woman with a long, thin scar along her cheek.

He remembered those eyes, that hair. The scar was a fresh gushing wound when he had last seen it, but he remembered that too.

"Her," Jason said, knowing the one beside him understood, "I saved her. Or helped. Back when I was- back before I was- Fuck. Was that a decade ago? Jesus she has a ki-oh man kids. Wait, is she my age? Shit, she seemed so little then."

"Someone you protected," came the voice, "someone for whom you risked your life. Someone who looks at those kids and thanks the universe for putting you on her path every single day."

Jason felt a lump forming in his throat.

"See," the boy started, "I think that's what people forget. Not just other people but us too. It's not about carrying someone through the pouring rain to a hospital. It's definitely not about the praise or detractors or even seeing someone pull through in the end. It's about this. It's about-"

"Seeing them get the chance to flourish," Jason finishes, "watching the world step on them over and over and being there to help them back on their feet the one time it would've been too much on their own. And then knowing they thrived in the end."

"It's hard," the spirit said, "to remember where we really sit in the grand scheme. It can feel like we haven't done anything or that no matter what we do, we'll never be more than one single moment. The reason today sucks every year is important. But it doesn't define who you are or what you'll do. Go visit Mr. Friedrichson at 2:03 today. One of his old tenants is gonna visit and I think you'll enjoy the reminder of why your home is a place worth fighting for, even in spite of the name. Talk to Jenny and Liu. They'll be on 5th Street tonight and they'll talk your ear off about all the good you've done and what it really means to bleed Crime Alley. And can I make one actual request, even if you don't do the other stuff?"

"Of course," Jason replied, "anything."

"Enjoy yourself," the voice spoke, fading as if it was getting farther away. "He's gonna come by as per usual, bearing gifts. But I'm begging you, forgive yourself, even if just for today, and try to enjoy some time with your brother."

"Hey Jason!" Came a call from his other side, "I've been looking all over for you. I got your favorite."

Dick lifted a large brown bag, undoubtedly from the greatest Chinese restaurant in the world… if you asked Jason that is. Jason couldn't help but let a soft smile creep across his face, before quickly hiding behind a groan and a hand pressed into his forehead.

"I can't get one day's peace from you can I?" Jason said as he closed the distance and took the bag.

"Uhh," Dick said, stunned by the more playful remark. "I… I thought you might want some company and I had a free-"

"Thank you Dick," Jason cut in, "I know you take this day off every year and I know you spend it mostly with me screaming and throwing things at you."

"It's not-" he began.

"But this year," Jason continued, "let's do something better."

He lifted the bag to his face and deeply inhaled the fragrant smell of nostalgia and stir fried vegetables.

"You even remembered my special instructions," Jason said, "come on. I know a few places we can go to enjoy this."

Oh boy that was long. Uhh, I hope Tumblr does the whole button to expand this automatically. I kinda only got halfway through what I was gonna say and then burnt out so we skipped Mr. Friedrichson's moment. Anyway have a good one y'all. Oh right, Danny says "bud" and "ope" because he's Midwestern just like me. I don't take criticism (on the Midwestern thing).

#dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #batman #jason todd #red hood #danny phantom #danny fenton #dick grayson #jazz fenton #mentioned #ghost core #obsession

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Spilled Ink

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.

Warnings: Lots of tattoo talk, obviously, which includes needles, tattoo guns, pain, mention of bleeding, etc.; reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent because I said so; yearning; lots of kissing; Marcus Pike being a goddamn menace and he fucking knows it

A/N: @kedsandtubesocks made a post about Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike (original post HERE) and then I wrote 7.5k words in 12 hours, as one does. All credit for the idea goes to the amazing Erika who entrusted me with this idea and THANK GOD SHE DID because I don't think I could have gotten it out of my stupid brain otherwise. Header pics credit go to Erin @perotovar, who made these with Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike in mind and I'm just WOOFWOOFBARKBARKBARKBARKHOWL. Thanks also to @littlebirdsbookshelf who suffers through HOURS of me sending screenshots every time I write anything. Love you <3

Additional Note on Canon: I am pretending that we never got to see Marcus Pike in short sleeves in the show despite it happening twice. He has full sleeves on both his arms in this fic that he covered up during his time working at the FBI. Because sleeves are hot and I said so.

Masterlist

It’s not unusual, these days, to wander down the sidewalk staring at your phone. Some people are texting. Some people are reading the news–because hey, this is D.C. Others, like you on this brisk morning, are watching the little blue dot on a tiny representation of the city streets, trying to find the address you had typed into the search bar.

A text box pops up, informing you of your arrival, and you finally look up.

No wonder it took you so long to find the place–it’s hardly what you expected at all. You always picture tacky neon signs, bars on the windows, undesirables milling about on the street, smoking cigarettes.

Okay, so you admittedly don’t actually know much about tattoos.

All you know is that you want one–a fact you confessed to a friend over lunch the other week: a conversation that led you here.

“Okay, so get one,” she had said bluntly.

“It’s not all that simple,” you had protested. 

“Why?”

“It’s just… it seems like a lot. Mentally. Physically. I’m not sure I have what it takes.”

“They don’t hurt that bad,” your friend had insisted.

“I’m not just talking about that, I’m talking about… y’know, just everything. The noise. New people. Strangers touching me. It just doesn’t seem like something I’ll be able to do.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Because of the… yep. Actually I might have something for you,” she said, taking out her phone and scrolling through that app that drives you crazy–it’s overstimulation in a convenient package–full of noise, chaos, and flashing lights. 

She must have seen you pull a face, because she held out her hand placatingly. 

“Just finding the name of the place, hang on. It’s a shop right here in DC that went ‘viral’ for this video of a guy with autism who wanted a tattoo to commemorate his dad, but he was only comfortable lying on the floor–so the tattoo artist just… got on the floor with him! It was really cute, and anyway I guess he caters to all sorts of people, so… I dunno. Check it out.”

And here you are. Checking it out.

The words “Government-Issued Ink” are spelled out on large windows, and the punny name–apt for its location not far from the Capitol–makes you snort. 

The shop is bright, warm, and inviting–tearing down your outdated preconceptions that tattoo places must always be run-down, dark, and dingy. It’s also empty this early in the morning, save for a lone figure in the back, seated at a well-worn desk, his head pitched forward over his work.

He’s so enveloped in whatever he’s sketching that he must not have heard the light ringing of the bell as you had entered. You watch him for a few moments–taking in the graceful movements of his hand and the way his fingers grasp the pen. He’s dressed in a plain blue button-down dress shirt, which also doesn’t fit your assumed archetype of ‘Tattoo Artist.’ You can’t see his face; his head is leaning forward too much and a few short locks of dark brown hair obscure your view.

Suddenly wondering if you’re being incredibly rude, staring at someone without announcing your presence, you open your mouth to introduce yourself.

“Um.”

While not exactly eloquent, it serves its purpose. The man startles and looks up in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, jumping to his feet and letting the pen clatter carelessly to the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head rapidly. “I was, um…” You blink a few times, your nerves getting the better of you as the man comes around his desk to approach the front of the store.

“Interested in a walk-in consultation?” he offers, holding out his hands in a gesture that could either be an open invitation or a shrug.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I was thinking about getting, uh, a tattoo, and I was told this shop was… good. With tattoos. And other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” he chuckles, smiling warmly. 

“You know… with people who… might not be good at getting tattoos.”

“What makes you think you aren’t ‘good at getting tattoos?’”

“A hunch,” you shrug, expelling a little huff of laughter through your nose. “I was told to ask for a Marcus Pike?”

The man’s smile widens. “You’re looking at him.”

Oh. You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Marcus Pike is well-dressed and clean-cut, almost startlingly so. You scan up and down, looking for any sign that this man could possibly be a tattoo artist, but the only evidence you can find is a small black target inked between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Don’t… tattoo artists usually have more ink? Of course, with him almost completely covered from head to toe, you obviously can’t create a full picture of Marcus’s skin, but the fact that he wouldn’t look out of place in one of the nearby government buildings still takes you by surprise.

You realize you haven’t said anything in response, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be bothered by your deer-in-headlights stare. Instead, he grins again and steps sideways, extending his arm in a silent invitation to come deeper into the shop.

“Come on in. If you’d like, go ahead and sit wherever you want, and we can talk about it. No pressure,” he promises. “I’m not here to push ink on you like a used car salesman; I’m here to collaborate with you. Figure out what you really want. And, if what you want ends up being ‘nothing,’ I totally support that, too.”

There’s something innate and intrinsic about Marcus Pike that sets you completely at-ease. You cast your eyes around, taking in the eclectic seating in the shop–all mismatched, all different colors, styles, and shapes, but all looking incredibly comfortable and inviting. You settle on a giant turquoise beanbag that seems to swallow you whole when you sink down into it, and Marcus grins and sits down in the bright yellow saucer chair beside it. 

“So at the very least, you’re thinking about a tattoo,” Marcus leads. “Can you tell me about that?”

You nod, feeling encouraged by his openness. “Yeah, so… my mom, she passed away a couple of years ago, and it just seemed like I should… memorialize her in some way. Like, in a way that leaves its mark on me like she left a mark on me, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of getting some kind of permanent art that commemorates her.”

“That’s a great idea,” Marcus says softly. “Lots of people choose to do that after losing a loved one.”

“Yeah, the only problem is that I’m not good with um… noise, or people touching me, or… pain, really,” you confess. “I’m like, the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.”

Marcus chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Personally, I don’t believe that. I think anyone can get a tattoo done if they want it, provided they get it done in a way that feels safe and comfortable.”

“My friend, she uh, recommended your shop because apparently you’ve done some stuff for people with autism and it went viral on TikTok…” you ramble, “and I thought maybe that meant you’d be a good fit for… for me.”

Understanding flickers in Marcus’s expression, and he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so,” he says with quiet earnesty. 

A beat passes–just a few seconds of silence–but something small and soft and warm settles down between the two of you, and the comforting feeling sinks down into the pit of your stomach and stays there, latent and waiting.

“So, let’s talk design,” Marcus announces. “Do you have anything in mind? Any images or ideas, however vague? I can do anything from replicating designs to building something completely from scratch for you.”

“I like the idea of it being a unique piece,” you tell him.

“I prefer original designs too,” he says. “Not to sound incredibly cheesy, but there’s no one like you, you know? In–In the general sense, of course.” He chuckles sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “I like knowing each person that comes in here leaves with something unique. Something all their own—I’m rambling,” he says quickly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “One thing about me is that I talk too much. Anyway–did you have any ideas you can share with me about what you’d like?”

“I don’t have a good image in my mind,” you confess anxiously. After all, how can he build a design based on the swirling, disjointed images in your brain? “I think I want it to be colorful, like she was. And… I keep getting thoughts about, I dunno, the cyclical nature of life, something corny like that.”

Marcus laughs. “Sometimes the corny stuff is what sticks with us. So, colorful and commenting on the cyclical nature of life,” he lists off on his fingers, still grinning. “Anything else?”

“I’ve looked through your galleries online,” you tell him. “You have a few that look like watercolor paintings, and I really love how they look.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m gonna throw out an idea—Feel free to tell me ‘no,’ because I’m just brainstorming here, but I keep thinking about a tree of life. The leaves could easily be done in watercolor and could be any combination of colors you want.” His right hand twitches–as if reaching for a phantom pen–as he speaks, and his gaze seems to be fixed on a spot on the wall, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as he starts to speak faster.

“You could have the leaves and the roots connecting on the sides, making a circle, maybe even having her birth date and death date embedded in the roots…” He blinks rapidly a few times, as if dispelling the image from his head. “Anyway. That’s a possibility.”

“I think that’s amazing,” you say softly, watching Marcus with something like amazement in your expression. “Actually… I really like that idea. It sounds… perfect.”

“Oh,” he intones softly, looking at you in surprise as a bright, toothy smile breaks across his face. “Oh. Well then, let’s do it, huh? One final question: where do you envision getting it?”

“I was thinking on my shoulder. Here,” you indicate, pressing your hand to the skin of your upper arm. “That way it’s visible when I want it to be, but easily hidden if for some reason it needs to be.”

“That’s perfect,” Marcus says. “Plus, the circular design will go really well there. Okay. Great. Um, some things to know about the process. We’ll exchange emails, and you can contact me at any time with any questions, concerns, ideas, changes, anything. In the meantime, I’ll get started on a design for you, and I’ll share initial sketches that you can give feedback on before I move to the final stages of the design. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maximum, depending on any changes you ask for. My only request is that you’re always honest with your feedback–don’t tell me you like something when you don’t. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.” He grins widely. “After that, you book an appointment on a day that works best for you. I almost always book the whole day for the appointment to factor in time for copious breaks and making sure you feel comfortable. Does that work for you?”

You nod eagerly.

“Last question,” Marcus says. “Is it okay if I get a close-up picture of your upper arm? That way I can make sure it fits the curvature of your arm, it’s the right size, stuff like that.”

“Mhmm,” you nod again, pressing your lips together and trying not to look nervous. Thank god you wore a sleeveless top under your sweater.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insists.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, removing just the one arm from your outer layer and pulling it aside. 

You watch as Marcus grabs a little ‘point-and-shoot’ digital camera from his desk and comes back to your side.

“This is just used for design purposes,” he promises. “I delete them after the design is done.”

“I trust you.”

His resulting expression could light an entire room. “Thank you,” he answers quietly. “Okay. Super close-up, just your arm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you confirm, and you hear the camera click several times.

“Actually,” Marcus says, still staring thoughtfully at your bare shoulder. “Would it be okay if I made a couple of little marks–washable marker, of course–to make sure the dimensions are how you want them?”

Oh. You normally don’t like it when people touch you. You knew it was going to happen eventually, obviously, because how else was he going to get the design onto your skin? But it was something you had planned on working yourself up to, not something you had to do today. On the other hand, something about Marcus’s entire bearing makes you inexplicably ache to be touched by him. 

“‘No’ is an acceptable response,” he interrupts your dithering with a quiet reassurance.

And actually, that works to seal the deal for you, and your decision is made in an instant. 

“Yes. You can. That’s fine.” And, to your surprise, you mean it.

Marcus seems just as surprised at your answer–his eyebrows shoot upward almost comically at your response.

“Okay,” he says softly. “That’s perfect. Hang on.” He jumps up again to retrieve a black marker–from what was clearly a children’s set of washable markers. He meets your eyes, and again you take in that sincere, earnest, patient look that endeared you to this man from the moment you entered the little shop.

“Is it okay if I touch your arm?” he asks quietly, still watching you carefully as you nod.

“Tell me if that changes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to your shoulder again. His touch, when you feel it, is just as warm as you’d imagined. He’s gentle, cautious, and when he speaks again, his voice remains at that same, soft volume and tone. “I’m envisioning being from about here–” he makes a little black dot, “–to here. What do you think?” 

You nod. It’s the perfect size–large enough to cover your shoulder but stopping just above the point where the sleeve of a regular t-shirt would hit.

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay, so that’s–” he tsks softly, measuring the distance with his finger, “–about four inches, so that same distance across, and–” he makes two more marks on either side of your shoulder. “About like that. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you answer, smiling with enthusiasm. 

“Great! Let me just…” Marcus draws a few short lines denoting the proposed boundary of your design, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you at the cool tip of the marker on your skin. 

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “One more picture?”

At your nod, the camera clicks one last time. 

“Like I said, that’ll wash off with soap, no problem,” he promises with a smile. “Thanks for that, makes it easier to scale.” He grabs two business cards off his desk and hands them to you. “Can you write your email on this one for me? And you can keep the other one. Like I said, anything you need, just email me. And uh, barring that, you’ll be hearing from me in a week or so with a rough sketch. Okay?”

You scribble down your email and hand the card back to Marcus before pulling your sweater back over your bare arm. You slip the other card into your purse and rise to your feet. “Thanks,” you say, nodding to him.

“Hey, no–thank you,” Marcus returns. “Thanks for entrusting me with this. I mean it.”

Surprising yourself, you extend your hand toward him, and, when he takes it, you feel enveloped with warmth again.

“Thanks,” repeat, a little bit more breathlessly this time, before turning and hurrying out of the shop before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Your shoulder still tingles from his touch hours later.

Rather than it being a week before you hear from him, you receive an email from Marcus Pike just three days later.

Subject: Initial Sketch

Hello,

Please see attached. It’s just pencil for now, but I made a note of the general blocks of color I was thinking for the leaves. You’ll see what I mean when you open the file. Sorry, I know it’s a pretty rough sketch, I was just excited to get this to you. I look forward to your feedback!

Best regards,

Marcus :) 

Eagerly, you open the attachment. First of all, there’s nothing “rough” about the sketch other than the fact that it’s just penciled in. The details are already so intricate, and you find yourself smiling in amazement as you take in the design.

It’s beautiful.

Brackets, each labeled with a different color in Marcus’s neat, tidy handwriting, surround the top of the tree. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet. 

At the bottom of the image is another handwritten note: *All the colors will blend together and the result should look like a rainbow.

Tears spring, unbidden, to your eyes, as you feverishly type out your response.

Subject: Re: Initial Sketch

Marcus,

I really don’t know what to say other than it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Made me tear up. Look forward to seeing it in color.

Thanks again!

Not even five minutes go by before your phone vibrates with another email.

Subject: Re: Re: Initial Sketch

I’m sorry if I made you cry! Obviously wasn’t my intention but I’m glad the design evokes emotion :) I’ll move forward with the design as-is and you should hear from me soon with a full-color image.

Marcus :) 

You can’t wait. The next week and a half stretches out excruciatingly, but finally, on a Wednesday evening, you receive another email. 

Subject: Final Design

Hey there!

Hope you’ve been doing well. Thought you might like to see the final design of your tattoo ;) See attached and let me know if anything needs to be changed. Be critical! Don’t hold anything back! Once we agree on a final piece, we’ll get you on the calendar.

Best regards,

Marcus :) 

Your mind skims over the fact that Marcus used a winking-face emoji in your email, because you honestly aren’t equipped to process that right now, and open the attachment instead. This time, you start crying in earnest. It’s perfect. The colors are so vibrant, and they make the tree look as though it’s in a constant state of movement. Your mom’s birth and death dates are entwined seamlessly into the roots themselves, in a way that makes them not readily apparent at first glance, but seeming to just appear out of nowhere upon further inspection. 

Subject: Re: Final Design

Marcus,

If I had any critical feedback, I would share it, I promise. But I have nothing. This is everything I’d imagined and more, and it means the world to me.

Thank you so much.

After a few more messages back and forth, you settle on a date one month out. 

You can’t wait.

As excited as you’ve been for the past month, when you step foot back into Marcus’s little tattoo parlor, the air of finality makes your body thrum with anxiety.

You’re really doing this.

Marcus is at the back of the shop, busying himself with setting up his workspace when you enter. Today, he’s wearing a dark green henley that looks just as soft as he is, and seems to complement his features even more. As soon as he hears the chimes, his head snaps up, and he grins widely. 

“Hey!” he calls out excitedly. “Just getting everything ready. Do you want something to drink before we get started? I’ve got water, juice, soda…” he trails off, waving his hand in the direction of a mini-fridge in the corner. 

“I’m okay for now.”

“Sounds good, but when we take a break, you should have some juice or something else with a bit of sugar in it, okay?” You nod, and he continues. “Okay! Where do you want to sit?”

“Don’t I have to sit in the chair over there?” you ask, gesturing to the traditional chair and bench near Marcus’s work table. 

“Not at all,” he protests. “The table is mobile, I bring it to wherever you feel comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I’ll go ahead and sit in the chair, though.” Of all the options, it looks like the easiest–you aren’t entirely sure how Marcus would be able to comfortably tattoo you whilst sitting on a bean bag chair. 

“Your choice,” he insists, spreading his hands out in an open and unguarded stance.

You settle in the chair and he sits down on a rolling stool beside you. 

“Okay, so I’ve got a stencil of your design here,” Marcus says, holding up a paper with an outline of the tree for you to see. “It’ll transfer onto your skin exactly how you want it to go, and I’ll just trace it. Make sense?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Before I do that, though, I have to make sure nothing interferes with the design, including tiny little hairs.” He holds up a pink safety razor. “Are you comfortable with me doing this for you?”

At your tentative nod of consent, Marcus leans forward and gently swipes the razor up and down your shoulder until he’s satisfied. His eyes dart between your skin and your face the entire time–making sure you’re still with him. After he’s done, he talks you through the stencil–confirming its location, gently applying it to your shoulder, and then holding up a mirror for you to approve. 

“It’s great,” you whisper excitedly.

Marcus returns your smile and begins to absentmindedly roll up his sleeves in preparation to start working–-and the question about tattoos that you’d asked yourself upon first seeing the man is suddenly and unexpectedly answered.

You can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes from you when you catch the colorful patchwork of designs on both of his forearms, disappearing under the pushed-up henley and suggesting that they go all the way up. 

Marcus catches you staring and grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I didn’t know,” you say softly. “You keep them covered up.”

“Force of habit,” Marcus shrugs. “I had a desk job for a long time.”

“Doing what?” you ask, curiously. You can’t see the man doing anything but this.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, winking in your direction. 

Ignoring how the wink makes your heart stutter in your chest, you bark out a laugh at his answer. “What? Were you like a secret agent or something?” you tease.

“Special Agent,” he corrects, grinning. 

“Get out,” you deadpan. “I can’t imagine you as a Fed.”

Marcus shrugs, giving you another one of his boyish, crooked smiles. “Would’ve been fifteen years this year had I not finally seen the writing on the wall and run for the hills a couple of years ago.”

“What made you leave?” 

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s a long story. How sensitive are you to noise?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.

“Uh, I dunno. Kind of depends on the day and the situation,” you shrug.

“Fair. Well, I usually let newcomers listen to what the gun actually sounds like, so there are no surprises. If it’s too loud, I do have noise canceling headphones.”

And miss out on hearing Marcus’s soft-spoken reassurances? No matter how loud the tattoo gun is, you’d rather endure it just to be able to hear him talk. 

Marcus turns the instrument on, and the room is filled with a mild buzzing sound. On your worst days, admittedly, it would probably grate upon your nerves, but you’re feeling relaxed, comfortable, and excited about your new tattoo.

“It’s not bad,” you tell him truthfully. 

“Perfect,” he grins. “Are you all set to get started?”

Heart rate increasing with pleasant anticipation, you nod giddily. 

“I’m obviously gonna be touching your arm a lot,” Marcus says, “so let me know if you need a break from that, the noise, the needle, anything.” Seeing your solemn nod, he continues. “I’m gonna do a little dot right here to let you see how it feels, okay?” He gently touches his index finger to your skin to indicate where. 

“Okay.”

The gun turns on again, and Marcus presses it lightly against your skin for just a second before pulling back.

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I thought it would hurt more,” you confess.

Marcus laughs. “Well, the same feeling over and over again in a small area can start to be pretty uncomfortable. I’ll check in regularly to make sure you’re still doing fine. Good?”

You smile widely. “I’m really excited.”

His smile softens, his gaze becoming warmer and more tender. “I’m glad.”

His other hand gently cradles your arm as Marcus leans in, a look of intense concentration settling over his features as he begins the design. Engrossed in his work, you take the time to study his forearms. They’re a hodgepodge of designs, clearly done at different times and by different artists, but you can see themes throughout. He likes classic styles, you can tell, and in between some of the more traditional works you can see beautiful references to an assortment of famous paintings. A Dali melting clock here. A sunflower clearly inspired by Van Gogh there. On his opposite bicep, you can just barely make out the side of one design that looks like it might be of a Greek statue. Tilting your head, you realize it’s Nike alighting on the bow of a warship, and you inhale sharply. That’s one of your favorite sculptures.

“Still okay?” Marcus asks, glancing up at you with concern in his eyes.

“Sorry.” You shake your head quickly. 

“Just checking,” he says softly. “Try to be just a little more still, okay?”

“Sorry,” you repeat, laughing sheepishly. 

“Don’t be, you’re doing great.”

You try to fight the way your entire body seems to grow warm at Marcus’s praise, but you can’t stop the way the feeling stampedes through you. You’re being ridiculous, you chastise yourself. He’s doing his job, and you’re getting all moony-eyed.

In order to distract yourself, you continue playing ‘Spot the Famous Artwork’ on Marcus’s sleeves–although, as distractions go, it’s not your best work. You can’t help but focus in on the way his forearm cords with muscle as he holds the tattoo gun, controlling each movement so delicately and precisely, creating a beautiful, intricate design on your shoulder.

After finding a bit of yellow patchwork that's clearly a reference to Gustav Klimt's The Kiss near his right elbow, you break your silence.

“You like art, huh?”

It seems like a stupid thing to say to a fucking tattoo artist of all people, and you immediately kick yourself internally for saying something so obvious. 

Marcus glances up, and, seeing how your eyes are focused on his own ink, smiles. “Always have,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to your shoulder. “Some of those are years-old.”

“Is that how you got into being a tattoo artist?” you ask.

“Sort of,” he answers, brow pinched in concentration as he continues working. “I uh, apprenticed for a shop in college to pay the bills before going to Quantico for training.”

“You’re really talented,” you tell him. “I was surprised to find out you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”

Marcus hums his appreciation as he carefully fills in a root. 

“Can I ask what made you join the FBI instead of opening your own place after college?”

He huffs a little laugh through his nose. “Parents would have killed me, going to college and then doing nothing with it.”

“Running a small business isn’t exactly doing nothing,” you point out.

“Well, public opinion on tattoos wasn’t what it is now,” Marcus says. “They were scandalized by my apprenticeship, but it paid the bills, so they couldn’t complain too loudly.”

“Was it them who wanted you to join the FBI?”

“Mm, not so much,” he murmurs. “It was more like ‘whatever you want to do, so long as you can make a lucrative career out of it.’ Being an artist wasn’t one of those things, so in lieu of becoming one myself, I decided I wanted to protect them instead.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Protect them how?”

Marcus grins up at you and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Art crimes,” he answers. “Being an art detective was kind of in the limelight in the early ‘nineties after the famous Gardner Museum theft, and I got swept up in the craze.”

“So you spent the last fifteen-ish years recovering stolen art,” you fill in for him.

“Stolen, forged, looted, illegally traded or smuggled…” Marcus offers, not breaking his concentration again. He wasn’t wrong–the repeated drag of the needle across what felt like the same square centimeter of your skin was starting to wear on you. 

“Uh-huh,” you say, forcing the discomfort out of your tone.

Noticing the tightness in your voice immediately, Marcus’s movements stop. “Feeling okay?”

You shrug.

The gun switches off.

“You gotta be honest about how you’re feeling,” he reminds you. “I might be able to create designs based off of customers’ vague descriptions, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.”

“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I can endure it,” you insist.

“There’s no need to endure something that’s painful,” Marcus argues with an amused smile. “Even if it involves choosing to repeatedly jamming a needle into your skin.”

You can’t help but laugh, and your heart swells when he joins you.

“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”

You let him lead you to the other side of the shop, where he stops in front of a large storage cabinet that you'd assumed held various supplies. When he opens it, however, you find that isn’t the case at all.

No, the entire cabinet is filled to the brim with a collection of stuffed animals just as eclectic and varied as the furniture. There's also a couple of shoeboxes filled with every manner of fidget toy you could ever imagine. 

"You can grab one, if you want. I know it might feel kind of goofy, but I promise they help with the pain."

"Okay," you breathe. Your gaze lingers first on the IKEA shark, then on a very soft-looking cactus with an adorable grumpy expression, but when your gaze lands on the largest and arguably oddest toy in the collection, your hands can't help but move toward it. 

"The big guy, huh?" Marcus laughs, taking the giant squid off of the shelf and placing it in your arms. You have to laugh at how large and ungainly it is; its massive black eyes stare vacantly back at you, but the effect is dopey, rather than menacing. 

"Where do you get all of these?" you ask in amazement. 

"Most of them are gifts from past clients, including that one," Marcus says, indicating the squid. "But I think he originally came from the Smithsonian. I was told his name is 'Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.'"

"Thank you," you say in a small, appreciative voice.

"'S'fine," Marcus shrugs. "Feel up to continuing?"

You nod, looking down at your partially-inked shoulder. "Guess you didn't get very far before I had to stop," you remark, somewhat self-deprecatingly. 

"It's not a race," your artist says earnestly. "We've got the whole day, and we go at your pace. You're paying me, after all." Another wink in your direction.

"Yeah," you nod, confidence growing again. "Yeah, okay." You plop down in your seat, with Cthulhu in your lap, and Marcus takes his place beside you. 

“Gonna turn this back on again,” he announces as the now-familiar buzz fills the room, “and I’m gonna touch your arm–” his fingers wrap warmly and gently around your skin, “–annnd here we go.” 

The needle scratches insistently against your skin, but it isn’t so bad–not really, not with the hilarious giant squid on your lap and Marcus’s gentle, soothing voice in your ear. He talks while he works, sometimes asking you questions about your own life–to which he listens intently and always seems to have follow-up questions–and sometimes telling you stories of his own. You discuss art, obviously, but also music, books, movies, and baseball of all things.

You find yourself wondering if he has this type of easy rapport with everyone who comes in, but you assume he must. He might be the most disarming person you’ve ever met, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe he’s like this with everyone. Still, there’s an ugly, jealous part of you that wishes the connection between you was unique, special. That he’s only this warm with you. 

Marcus was right–squeezing the stuffed toy on your lap is a perfect distraction from the discomfort of the needle, and before long, the sensation fades into the background. As the time drags on, though, the persistent drone of the tattoo gun causes an ache to creep in and settle between your eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose, count to three, and exhale slowly through your mouth.

Marcus glances up, watching you for a split-second before cutting power to the gun and stretching his back with a satisfied sigh. 

“Break time,” he announces. “Hand’s getting a bit sore.” He shoots you a knowing glance and another one of those crooked smiles. “And you should probably have a little something to drink, maybe a snack.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you say gratefully as he walks over to the little fridge.

“Apple juice?” he asks, holding up a little juice box that looks slightly comical in his large hands. When you nod enthusiastically, he hands it to you.

His fingers brush yours.

If it were anyone else, you’d recoil, but it’s him. It might just be the forced proximity, but…

You’re developing quite the crush on Marcus Pike.

Shoving the thought aside for the moment, you stab the straw into the little hole and take a long sip. Marcus settles down beside you with his own choice–a little can of vegetable juice–and holds it up in a silent ‘cheers.’

Feeling emboldened, you ask the question that’s been burning in your mind since you started.

“So what made you leave the whole ‘helping other artists’ thing behind and start a tattoo business instead?”

Marcus presses his lips together, and for a moment, you fear you’ve crossed a boundary. Just before you’re about to apologize profusely, though, he speaks.

“Have you ever just… woken up one morning, and realized that everything you were working toward, everything you thought you wanted in life… was a lie?”

“I… I don’t know,” you confess quietly, surprised at the emotion behind his words.

“Happened to me,” he laughs softly. “I had moved to DC for what I thought was my dream job, with who I thought was–” he shakes his head, as though dispelling an unpleasant thought. “I had spent my entire life checking boxes: College degree? Check. Well-paying job? Check. House? Check. Check, check check. I spent so much time trying to get ahead, like life was some kind of game to be won. If I said all the right things, did all the right things, if I did everything right… I’d have the life I wanted.”

“What was the life you wanted?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“It was bullshit, is what it was. Saw one too many rom-coms as a kid, I suppose. I thought I was after the picket fence, the dog, the wife and two-point-five kids, that sort of thing. And one morning I woke up, realized that… that relentless pursuit of something I couldn’t even hold–it was all bullshit.”

“So you just… quit?”

“I quit. I wanted to create things again. I wanted to feel inspired. After a bit of uh… frantic soul-searching before I ran out of money entirely, I sold my stupid, too-big condo that I hated and bought this shop instead.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, I’m not bankrupt yet,” Marcus says dryly.

“No, I mean… did you feel inspired again?”

“I did. I do. So very much so,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and that comfortable warmth that had settled in between you the first time you had met him… grows. Mutates. Until the warm, tingling feeling feels a lot more like electricity.

An unspoken moment seems to pass through you, but then Marcus clears his throat roughly, setting the empty can aside and standing again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Wanna keep going?”

Breathlessly, you nod. 

In no time at all, you’re settled back in the chair with one of Marcus’s warm, strong, large hands cradling your arm as the other gently wields the tattoo gun. As he starts to fill in and blend the colors, the pain starts to increase, and you worry one of the fuzzy tentacles back and forth in your hand as you grit your teeth.

“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “The color’s the worst part, but you’re being so good for me.”

It helps you to watch him work, so you do. He’s blending in the colors now, and you watch with interest as it starts to take shape. It’s so mesmerizing that you hardly even notice the buzz of the gun or the light sting of the needle anymore.

“And you said you ‘weren’t good at tattoos,’” he teases gently, noticing your obvious interest. 

“Did I say that?” you laugh, teasing back.

“I believe your words were, ‘I’m like the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.’” he reminds you. “And look at you now, huh?”

You duck your head at his praise, unable to withstand the intensity and honesty in his gaze.

“Doing okay after all, I guess,” you say with a sheepish smile.

“You’re doing amazing,” Marcus corrects, smiling warmly. “The type of client any artist dreams of.”

You don’t know how to respond to the things this man says to you. Stunned and at a loss for words, you stare awkwardly at your hand where it still wraps around Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.

“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that your enthusiasm and your curiosity is the stuff that makes me want to be an artist in the first place.”

“Are you saying I inspire you?” you try to tease, but it falls flat.

Just audibly, over the hum of the tattoo gun, you hear his whispered response. 

“Yes.” 

As Marcus wipes away the last of the stray ink on the purple bit of tree, the tattoo gun suddenly switches off. The silence is almost shocking, and you blink rapidly in confusion.

“Break time?” you ask.

Marcus chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s all done.”

“It is?” you ask, although you can see the answer for yourself in the large mirrored wall to your right. 

“How’s it feel?” he asks.

“My arm kind of aches,” you confess, “but oh my God, Marcus… it’s beautiful.”

It’s his turn to preen under your praise, the tips of his ears blushing pink as he grins back at you.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. “Here, let me give you a little something for the pain.” 

He squeezes a glob of light-green cooling gel and coats the angry skin with the barest of touches. “Still okay?” he asks, glancing up at you for confirmation.

After the harshness of the needle, the soft press of his fingers is more soothing than ever, and you have to resist the urge to sigh and melt into his touch. 

“Yes,” you whisper.

“You’re going to want to keep this covered for a couple of hours, up to overnight,” Marcus says as he carefully applies a dressing to your shoulder–still softly, but more businesslike than before as he walks you through all of the instructions for care. “Once you take this off tomorrow, you’ll probably see some fluid leaking from it–that’s totally normal. It’s blood, plasma, and extra ink, and it should stop after a few days before it starts to scab over.

 “You’ll want to keep it from drying out; I’d recommend scent-free, dye-free lotion if you don’t already have some,” he continues. “Wash it twice a day and put lotion on after. When it starts to scab, I can’t stress this enough: don’t pick the scabs.” He gives you a serious look. “Repeat that back to me.”

“Don’t pick the scabs.”

“If you do, you could cause it to scar, or even pull out the ink. One more time for me,” he prompts, and you get the feeling that this is always the sticking point in his speech.

“Don’t pick the scabs,” you repeat.

“It’ll take three to four months for the lower layers of skin to completely heal,” Marcus tells you. “During that time, keep it out of the sun, keep it hydrated, and you’re in the clear.”

“And don’t pick the scabs,” you say teasingly. 

Marcus winks at you. “Exactly. Any other questions for me?”

“No, just… thank you. It’s amazing,” you tell him. “You did such an incredible job.”

“Hard not to, when I have such a beautiful canvas.”

Your eyes dart up, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes, but all you can see is heartfelt sincerity. You swallow thickly, and he tracks the movement, his eyes dropping down, then back up to meet your eyes. Is it… not just you? Does he feel it, too? Realization slams through you and threatens to overload all of your systems. Marcus’s lips are parted slightly, and the look in his eyes… it’s desire.

“Marcus…”

“Wait,” he says urgently. “Hang on. Come… come over here for a minute, let me–” he dashes awkwardly over to the till on the counter and gives you your total. Frowning in confusion–he wants to do this now? Interrupting that electric moment that had passed between you?–you dutifully swipe your card and numbly take the receipt.

“Now you’re no longer my client,” Marcus explains softly. “I–sorry–I was about to throw caution to the wind and kiss you, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be unethical, I–”

“Yes,” you say simply, giving your response to his un-asked question.

It’s all he needs to stride forward, gently take your face in his warm palms, and, seeing no hesitation in your eyes even as he searches your face desperately—presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is as soft and as tender as the man himself, which hardly surprises you. Your eyes slip closed as his lips move against you with aching caution. He’s careful in all things, including this–taking your cues, giving you the lead, letting you feel everything he’s giving you.

All too quickly, he pulls back–but his eyes only sweep your face again, a growing smile on his lips as he sees nothing but want reflected back at him. 

When he lowers his lips to yours again, he’s less gentle. One large hand leaves your face too hook around your waist, pulling you closer, closer–and when the proximity causes you to gasp softly, Marcus is ready. His tongue gently slips between your parted lips and you practically melt into him. When your knees buckle, his strong arms are what keep you standing upright, and still–

He can’t seem to stop kissing you. 

You break before he does–pulling back to suck in a few shaky, heaving breaths, and he smiles through his own labored breathing.

“I wanted–I–” he begins, before hastily pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as if he can’t help but do so. 

“I’ve thought of you,” he tries again. “I thought of you like this for the last month,” the confession finally spills out. “I wanted to–wanted to kiss you so badly all day, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself.” He kisses you again. “But now,” he promises, whispering the words against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna get my fill.”

To punctuate his statement with one of your own, you slant your head and deepen the kiss, wrapping one hand around Marcus’s neck and pulling him closer still. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and the grip on your waist tightens. You lose yourself completely to the feel of his tongue sliding slowly against yours, until he suddenly pulls back.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he whispers–although he’s still smiling. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner, first.”

“So ask me,” you say with a giggle.

“Come have dinner with me,” Marcus murmurs, shaking his head in quiet amusement as he steals another gentle kiss. “Right now. Tonight.”

“You might have to open all the doors,” you tease. “My arm hurts.”

Another kiss.

“I’m wounded that you think I wouldn’t open every door regardless.”

“Are you always such a gentleman?” you remark with a wry smile.

Another. 

“Well,” Marcus grins wolfishly. He places on last, lingering kiss on your lips and then makes a show of offering his arm. “Not always.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro pascal

[lovelytsunoda]

stand by me // mick schumacher

summary: the past few seasons have been rough on mick, and sometimes all y/n could do was reassure him that she was there. because sometimes, standing by someone is the best that you can do.

pairing: mick schumacher x female reader

warnings: haas, guenther steiner. mentions of serious crashes. sad mickey, burning of old haas merch, angie makes an appearance

when the night has come, and the moon is the only light we see. i won't cry, no, no, no, i won't shed a tear. just as long as you tell me, say you're gonna stand by me.

it was one thing to watch your boyfriend hit a barrier at two hundred kilometres an hour.

it was a totally different thing for every mechanic in the garage to simply roll their eyes instead of expressing some iota of concern.

“what the fuck is wrong with these people.” y/n huffed, moving to push past the viewing desk, fully intent on fighting guenther in his own garage before louise pulled her back

“it’s not worth it.” the older woman reminded her as she tried to keep a clear head.

micks headset wasn’t working; it was like gary was talking to a wall. nobody knew if mick was okay, and the only reaction she could see from guenther was annoyance. even kevin had come over the comms to ask if mick was okay.

y/n took her headset off, stumbling over to gary as she tried to keep her emotions in check. getting upset wouldn’t be good for anybody, but that crash was bad. the car had essentially split in half, taking mick with it as the session was red flagged.

“gary, is he okay?” she asked shakily, reaching for something to hold on to. “gary, i need to know.”

“i can’t hear him talking, but I can hear movement. i think he’s trying to climb out, which is a good sign.”

she didn’t start breathing again until she knew he was out of the car, knew that her mickey was safe. when they brought him to the medical bay, louise helped her there on shaky legs, and she sat with mick while he called his mom, and then they both cried together.

but from that moment on, they knew his days with haas were numbered.

“gene called me a dead man walking.” his voice sounded so small. he had been transferred to a hospital and taken in for extra observation. his mother was flying in from switzerland, and the fluorescent lights were giving him a headache.

“gene haas better watch his fucking back.” y/n scowled. “what does he know about this goddamn sport? he’s a tax criminal!”

but that day changed things. even though he knew he had y/n in his corner, you could see the clouds in mick schumachers eyes, the little glimpses of his father coming through. he would t talk to her about it, insistent that he could somehow change gene’s mind.

next race weekend, she walked with sad eyes and a heavy heart towards the mercedes motorhome and the one man that she knew would never steer her wrong.

toto wolff had become something almost like a surrogate father for y/n once she had started hanging around the track more. the older man looked out for her when mick couldn’t. toto knew she had never felt at ease in the haas garage, that there was something about the atmosphere in guenther steiners garage that made her uncomfortable.

“hey, toto.” she sighed, sinking into the austrians arms as he opened the office door.

“hey, kiddo. how’s mick doing?”

she frowned, following toto into his office. “he won’t talk about it. he still thinks there’s something he can do, and he shuts me down every time I suggest he start talking another team. I think guenther is stringing him along.”

it hurt that mick was emotionally firewalling her. yes, they still talked, but never about his career. he always shut her down with that sad look of his, or a suggestively placed kiss, attempting to distract her from the topic with the thought of something else.

she was dead worried about him.

“the air is thinner where gunther is from. it’s impairing his ability to think properly.”

she snorted. “toto, I’m worried sick about mick, he needs to talk to someone. you knew his dad. so did bonno. maybe talking to someone who knew micheal will help. I don’t know, but I can’t let this keep going on.”

“I’ll give him a call. you’re doing the best you can, y/n. please don’t beat yourself up over doing or not doing enough. it’s going to take time for mick to feel like himself again.”

“I know. I just wish that there was more I could do.”

later that week, she and mick flew to texas to visit his sister and her boyfriend ian at the family ranch. the moon was high, refracting off the water and illuminating the evergreens. mick and ian sat outside by the fire pit, angie scampering around their feet. gina and y/n were inside the house, stuffing a cardboard bankers box full of old haas merch. it had become glaringly clear to both women that mick wasn't likely to have a seat the following season.

and mick wasn't taking it well. he was still processing it, but there had been times where she felt like the man she loved would cry himself to sleep. she had the suspicion that once she went to sleep, her lover began to cry, so that she would never see him in such pain.

gina and y/n came outside, two cardboard boxes in hand as they met the men by the fire pit. they had beer bottles in hand and sad smiles on their faces as y/n rejoined her boyfriend, sitting on his lap before gently kissing his cheek.

"don't think about it, mickey. you've talked to toto, right? and jost? you aren't completely out of options for next year." y/n frowned, running her thumb over mick's bare arm. "don't give up hope just yet."

mick kissed her softly, resting his cheek against her skin. "why did you put all of my old haas merch in a cardboard box?"

"because we're burning it." she said matter-of-factly, getting to her feet and grabbing a baseball cap from the top of the box. "it'll be cathartic."

she stood in front of the fire pit, listening to the wooden logs crackle and pop as she frisbee-threw the cap into the fire, watching the fabric catch fire. she flipped the bird at the burning object with both fingers, shouting insults at guenther steiner as she watched it burn.

“take that you old austrian bastard. I bet gunethers cock is like, minuscule and that’s why he has to call his boyfriend gene before he makes any decisions.”

mick laughed a little, pulling a polo shirt out of the box.

“I mean come in now, he calls gene more than he calls his wife.” gina added. “who fucking does that? if I was his wife I’d be asking for a divorce right about now.”

mick balled up the shirt in his hands, punting it into the fire as if it was a baseball. the fabric caught fire instantly, swallowed by the orange flames as they spread across the royal blue fabric, leaving blackened ash in its wake.

“you’re right.” mick exhales, putting an arm around his girlfriend . “that felt really good.”

lifting their beer bottles to the sky and turning up the stereo, all summer long by kid rock blasting loud enough that the speakers shook, the family sang along, throwing various haas-related memorabilia into the fire and watching it go up in a cloud of dark grey smoke.

“they made ugly-ass merch anyways.”

“uh, guys, is it supposed to smell this rancid?” ian asked, scrunching up his face at the smell of burning plastic and fabric.

“oh fuck.”

“we didn’t think this through! ian, come help me get some water to put this out with.”

ian and gina ran off to get water, angie barking after them as mick and y/n fanned at the fire, laughing crazily as they used their sweaters as fans, hoping to tamp down some of the blaze.

“hey, babe, I want to tell you something.” mick smiled. “I want you to be the first to know.”

giving up on fanning the fire, as the oxygen was making the situation worse, y/n paused, her wool sweater falling limp in her hands as she looked at her lover.

“toto wants me to sign as a reserve driver next year. he’s already lost nyck to alphatauri and I think stoffel is going to aston martin. if haas drop me, I still have options. I can still come back to the field somehow.”

“oh, mickey, that’s wonderful.” y/n gushed, throwing her sweater down on a deck chair before moving over to mick and wrapping her arms around him. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” mick reminded her, kissing her softly, cradling her body in his arms as they swayed back and forth to ‘hero’ by enrique iglesias, the song playing softly in the background as they kissed in the stinky firelight.

angie padded towards the couple, nuzzling into y/n’s leg as they stared lovingly into each others eyes.

“I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, mickey.”

TAGS

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @oconso @lorarri @scuderiamh @sidcrosbyspuck @thatsdemko @scuderiasundays @silverstonesainz

#mick schumacher #mick schumacher imagine #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #tina: the series by lovelytsunoda

[oliversrarebooks]

fuck you, I'm a goddamn menace pt. 1: morgan fucks up

the story of the barely tamed feral villain and the hero team determined to protect him

This first part is an edit of an earlier story of mine, to add actual names and additional context.

TW: injury, concussion, sedation, medical whump, abuse mentions

Oh, he'd really fucked up this time. Already so weary, at the end of his rope, he failed to notice the energy blast coming from the youngest member of the hero team, the one who struggled to keep her powers under control. He knew how badly he'd fucked up when his back hit the wall, pain exploding from every muscle, especially the parts of his back where his boss had already punished him. His head impacted the concrete with a sickening crack that made him see stars.

Morgan, the city's second-most menacing villain and public enemy number two, sank helplessly to the sidewalk, his body refusing to obey his commands. Through his blurred vision, he could see the painfully bright costumes of the hero team, and he tried to struggle to his feet. He couldn't fail here. It simply wasn't an option. Failure meant risking the wrath of his boss, or worse, being captured and at the mercy of the heroes.

Pain radiated from his knee as he tried to stand. It was broken, maybe. Even more urgently, every tiny movement of his head caused a wave of dizziness, the world tilting and spinning in a nauseating blur. He searched for the word. Concussed, he was concussed. Shit. This was bad.

"Oh god oh god oh god." That was the high pitched voice of the young hero. "Oh god, are you okay? I didn't mean to hit that hard -- oh no oh no --"

Morgan tried to answer, but his tongue was thick in his mouth.

"Step aside."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt him that bad --"

"It's okay, Julie. Step aside and let me take a look."

Morgan would know that voice anytime, anywhere, the smooth and confident voice of his nemesis, the city's most beloved superhero. Powerful, upstanding, and disgustingly rules-abiding. Morgan hated him. Hated that he had so much power and had the luxury of helping people with it.

"Morgan, speak to me," said Arthur. "Stay awake. Talk to me. How bad is it?"

Arthur's sickening face swam into view before Morgan's eyes. Fuck, this was really bad. He tried hard to focus. He had to slip away, couldn't let himself be captured. Salcedo would be furious. He'd hurt Morgan so much worse than he'd already been hurt.

"Let me go," Morgan managed, but it sounded weak and pathetic.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Morgan. You're severely injured. I'm going to get you medical attention."

Morgan tried to shake his head no, but all it did was make him twice as dizzy. He felt on the verge of passing out.

"Stay awake, Morgan, please, keep those eyes open. Can you see my fingers? How many fingers am I holding up?"

The fingers were nothing more than an indistinct blur. Morgan couldn't answer. All he could think of was his boss's unquenchable rage when he learned Morgan had fucked up so badly. He could feel it now, power suppressants strapped to each of his limbs, the way the smooth metallic floor of the lair felt against his face as his boss mercilessly beat him for his failures.

"Get up, Morgan," said the cruel voice of Salcedo, delivering a kick to his ribs. "Get the fuck up. I don't pay you to cower on the floor." 

"I -- I can't --"

"Yes, you can, Morgan. You can keep your eyes open," said a much gentler voice. "You can stay awake for me, please, stay awake. The medic is almost here."

It sounded nice. The voice was familiar. He felt himself nodding. A medic. That sounded good. 

"That's good, Morgan. Stay awake. Just a little more." 

His head felt heavy, his eyes strangely drowsy. He wouldn't mind going to sleep, but the voice was telling him to stay awake, echoing inside his head. Stay awake, stay awake.

A strong hand squeezed his, warm and comforting. Everything hurt except for that. He tried to squeeze back.

"Yes, that's good. I'm here. You're gonna be okay, Morgan, we're gonna keep you safe."

Safe. What the fuck was safe? When had he ever been safe? Safety was for people like -- like -- His sluggish mind placed the voice and face --  Toshiro. His nemesis' crafty sidekick -- Fuck. He instinctively backed away. 

"No, no, it's okay! Just try to relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

"No -- no --" If the punishment Morgan boss doled out was bad, he couldn't imagine what the hero team might do to him. He'd been a thorn in Arthur and Toshiro's side for years.

"The medic's here, Morgan. Just try to stay calm. I've got you."

Before he could protest further, Morgan felt arms picking him up and laying him down on a gurney. His struggle against them was fruitless, his limbs weak and uncoordinated. 

"Should we strap him down?" said a voice.

"I think you'd better. He doesn't seem to be all there. And even if he was..."

"Please -- don't --" said Morgan, too quiet for anyone to even hear, as he felt pressure against his chest and legs, holding him down. 

"The concussion seems to be very serious, and there are multiple fractures at a minimum, not to mention the possibility of organ damage and internal bleeding," said a serious voice. "We'll have to administer painkillers and sedatives, and prepare an OR for emergency surgery."

"No!" Morgan called out, a surge of adrenaline giving him the strength to fight. "You can't -- you can't capture me -- don't drug me -- let me go!"

Arthur's firm hands pinned Morgan's shoulders to the gurney. "You're going to hurt yourself, Morgan. We're getting you medical attention. We're not going to hurt you, I swear it."

Incoherent nightmares filled Morgan's foggy mind. "Yes, you are! Yes, you --"

His voice was suddenly muffled by a black rubber mask, and he gulped down a chemical-smelling, drug-laden breath before he realized it. He fell back against the gurney, his head much woozier and dizzier than it had been even a moment before.

"Just try to relax, Morgan," said Toshiro. "It's just going to ease your pain and make you drowsy, okay?"

Morgan shook his head in a vain attempt to get the mask off his face, but Arthur's hand was holding it firm. Incapacitating him. Placing Morgan at the mercy of the man who must hate him more than anyone. And his struggles were useless, the mask not budging an inch. 

Exhausted by his attempts, Morgan stopped struggling for a moment and allowed Arthur's face to come into focus. He didn't look angry. He looked... sad? Morgan blinked, and he realized that his eyelids were so heavy. The sedative was kicking in. He was utterly helpless. And he should be terrified of that, but his fear was starting to feel foggy and far away, almost as if he was watching himself from a distance.

"That's good, Morgan, you're doing okay. Just keep breathing," said Arthur.

He sounded so... reassuring. Morgan wondered briefly if that was how he sounded when he rescued civilians. Sometimes, on particularly bad nights, he wondered how that would feel. Being rescued. Being safe.

"You can shut your eyes now," said Arthur. "You can go to sleep if you're tired. It's okay. You're safe."

Morgan wanted to laugh. He never got to sleep just because he was tired. He was so, so tired, all of the time. And he was so impossibly, incredibly tired now. His knee hurt, his back hurt, his head felt like it was being jackhammered. His heavy eyes wanted so badly to close and stay shut. He just wanted to sleep. But he was in danger, wasn't he? He couldn't sleep here. Boss would kill him. He couldn't... sleep...

"...stronger sedative to put him under..." a voice was saying. 

There was the unmistakable feeling of a cold needle in the crook of his elbow. Morgan wanted to fight it, stop it from happening, but all he could do was blink his heavy eyelids. "Don't..." he muttered. "Please don't... please..."

"Ssh, Morgan, it's okay, I swear," said Toshiro. "I swear no one here is going to hurt you. You're just going to go to sleep, okay? The drugs are going to make you feel really warm and nice and then you'll go to sleep, and nothing bad is going to happen. I promise."

That strong hand squeezed his again. Morgan felt so safe, so comforted, and he was so sleepy now, so sleepy and relaxed. The world was just a fading blur beyond his half-closed eyelids. He couldn't feel the pain as much any more. All he wanted to do was sleep. He never got to just sleep. Sleep would make him feel so much better.

"It's okay to sleep," said the reassuring blur. "I'll be right here."

Morgan remembered the reason he couldn't go to sleep. "Salcedo...?" he said weakly. "Salcedo is gonna fucking kill me."

"He's not here right now, Morgan. I'm here. And I'll protect you while you sleep. No one is going to hurt you."

This had to be a dream. A dream where he got to sleep and someone was going to protect him from his boss. But he never got nice dreams like that.

"Is it..." His mind was so hazy. He couldn't think of what he was trying to say. "I'm..."

"You're going to sleep, now, Morgan. You need to rest. Go to sleep. Shut your eyes. Rest."

"Mmm." He was too tired to argue. It felt so, so good to close his eyes. He could feel his pain fading as he relaxed onto the gurney.

"...surgery... gonna have to..."

"...can't just let him..."

"...right thing to do."

That was the last thing he heard before the sedatives pulled him down into a dreamless sleep.

Thank you for reading this story of a villain who needs some sleep.

Part Two

#whump #whump writing #villain #hero #villain whumpee #sedation #medical whump #concussion #fuck you I'm a goddamn menace

[delphi-dreamin]

Delphi darlin', I simply must know: What do you headcanon to be the brothers' favorite sex positions? Maybe pick up to 2 for each, in case you can't decide.

-SK😈👑

Sassy, my love, light of my life...You must be trying to kill me. Because, sweet hell, I about sublimated reading that. I can't even begin to describe how red my face is right now. But y'know what? That's okay. We're gonna have some fun on this most horniest of nights.

All right, kids, buckle in. Because it's getting hot in here, that's for damn sure. 🥵

(AFAB reader, mentions of somnophilia, breeding kink, mating press, exhibitionism, mirror sex, pegging)

Belphegor

Let's start with the youngest for once. Belphie is a sleepy boi. We all know this. He likes to let you take the wheel and do most of the work. Cowgirl/Reverse Cowgirl are perfect for that! He gets to watch your tits or ass jiggle while you fuck yourself dumb on his cock and he only has to put in the minimum amount of effort. It's honestly a dream come true.

Speaking of dreams, though...I also headcanon that he has no qualms with you waking up stuffed full of him as long as you have no qualms with it. And so spooning comes into play. Maybe he lifts your leg, maybe not, but he loves how well you respond to him even in your sleep.

Beelzebub

Beel knows he's bigger than you're used to. He knows that he could easily hurt you, and he never wants that. This sweet boy is going to take his time working you open so that you can take every inch of him. He likes to lay you out of the kitchen counter with your knees over his shoulders to start.

But it's when he takes you upstairs to him room and puts you in a mating press that he really gets worked up. It's the way he's able to rest his hips against yours, how his tip kisses your cervix with every thrust, the thought of filling you to bursting with his seed...

Asmodeus

He has his own bathroom for more than one reason. Asmo enjoys to have sex face-to-face in the bath. The intimacy, the warmth, the wet slide of your bodies against each other as you ride him or he guides your movements, he loves it all.

He also loves sitting you in his lap in front of the full-length mirror in his room. Having you watch where he disappears into you, how your fluids combine and make a mess of his silk sheets. He likes to watch how your tits jiggle with every thrust and the beautiful expressions you make when you moan his name.

Satan

Satan's a goddamn freak, okay? You have the option to fuck him in front of not one, but TWO of his brothers. He has no qualms. None whatsoever. I fully believe he'd bend you over the dinner table in front of God and everybody just to show them that he can. That said...he likes to bend you over. Tables, desks, study carrells in the library, the back of the couch in the HoL library (while Lucifer is in his office, of course), you name it. The best part? At least one of you can read while he does.

Jokes aside, Satan is also a hopeless romantic and I think he'd also enjoy lotus. Sitting with you in his lap, your arms and legs wrapped around him, foreheads touching as he rocks into you slow and deep...

Levi

Sweet Levi. He really, really, really wants you under his desk, sucking him off while he games. He's so red and stuttering so bad the first time he asks, but after that, he starts to get bold and will gently push you under the desk and spread his legs.

I also think Levi is another one who would enjoy spooning. Poor thing is so anxious most of the time that I don't think he'd be comfortable with eye contact at first. So, you facing away from him is the way to go. He can hold you close, maybe even wrap his tail around you, touch you to his heart's content, but he doesn't have to be nervous about you watching him.

Mammon

He likes to fuck you in his car. Full stop. Doesn't really matter the position as long as you're in his car with your pants off. He really likes to put the seat back and have you ride him, though.

Mans is also a massive switch. Like. Switchiest switch to ever switch. As such, he enjoys when you peg him. Either bent over his couch or pool table, or with his legs over your shoulders in bed. (Call him a good boy, too. He might combust.)

Lucifer

I'm probably gonna catch some flak for this, but this man is the horniest motherfucker in the game and he is ready to fuck as soon as you are. Whenever, wherever, however, he is down. Now, that being said...

One of Lucifer's favorite pastimes is spreading you out on his desk with the door open for all of his brothers to hear. It's especially fun when they've been a particular nuisance lately, as it serves the dual purpose of letting off some steam and punishing his brothers. All this with your consent, of course. He's a gentleman, after all.

I also think that Lucifer would be particularly fond of lotus or face-off. One where you can move at your pace and he can worship you, but that he can still take over if he wants. He thinks you're absolutely perfect and he likes to be able to show you. Face-to-face positions are perfect for that.

#obey me #obey me smut #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #sassy dearest #cute moots #☆whispers from the wood #this took so long to write lol

[vintageshanny]

Waiting for Love - Part Eight

Healing Hands

Content: February-March 1971 (this picks up right where it left off 😉), smut, fluff, tiny bit of angst, references to some possible health issues, 18+

Catch up here: Waiting for Love series

Mid-Februay 1971

“Oh, Elvis, oh, Elvis, oh God…”

Elvis looked down at Vivien’s face, her lips softly moaning his name over and over as he inched his way inside of her. He could feel her involuntarily clenching around him as her hands gripped the bedsheets. “Ya okay, baby?” he asked tenderly, pausing his movements. Vivien nodded, searching his face for some reassurance. “Honey, I want ya to wrap your arms around me, okay?” Elvis felt Vivien release her grip on the sheets and move her clammy palms to his back. “That’s right, baby, jus’ hold on ta me. Try ta relax and I’ma go in a little deeper, okay?”

“Okay, I’m relaxed, I’m relaxed,” Vivien whispered, trying to sooth herself, her fingernails running softly down Elvis’ back toward the curve of his butt. “Elvis, I want you so bad, I want you all the way inside of me.”

Elvis stifled a groan at her words, it was all he could do not to explode right then and there. He resumed his slow advance, feeling the friction of his foreskin against her tight opening as he pushed deeper inside until he was completely consumed, her wetness coating every inch of him. “Goddamn, Vivien, it feels so good in there,” he moaned out, rolling his hips, thrusting as gently as he could.

Vivien felt almost delirious with pleasure as she allowed herself to rock back and forth in rhythm with Elvis. The words flew past her lips almost faster than her brain could form them. “Oh God, Elvis, oh my, I can’t, oh God, it feels so good, I’ve never felt so good, oh God you’re so amazing…”

Elvis smiled down at the look of pure ecstasy on Vivien’s face, taking some pride in his ability to make her feel so good. “Honey, did ya, I-I mean, are ya havin’ an orgasm already?” He continued his thrusting, the intense passion of his movements growing, little beads of sweat now trickling down from his hairline.

“I, I don’t know, I’m not sure, it just feels so good,” Vivien panted, trying to get a handle on all the sensations happening in her body. Elvis reached down to where their bodies were connected and rubbed her clit with his thumb, applying a little pressure to it. Vivien’s back immediately arched, her legs shaking on either side of him. “Oh, Elvis,” she cried out, her head tilted back into the pillows. Elvis tried to stay in control as her pleasure gushed over him, but the feeling of her fluttering around him as she moaned his name was just too much to bear. With one final thrust, he could feel himself pulsing inside her, filling her up with everything he had to give.

Ah shit, I should’ve pulled out, he thought to himself as he rested his body on top of Vivien’s, Little Elvis starting to soften inside of her. The thought of any consequences for his actions was clouded by the depth of love he felt in this moment. As he slowly eased himself out of the warm hold Vivien had on him, he noticed the tears that were sliding down her cheeks.

“Honey, what’s wrong? I-I-I didn’t hurt ya, did I?” Elvis asked nervously.

“No, no, it’s not that, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying. I mean, wow, that was incredible, it’s just everything feels so intense.”

Elvis smiled as he leaned down and pressed his soft lips against hers. “I thought it was incredible too, honey. That was such a sacred gift ya gave me. I-I-I’m honored that ya gave yourself ta me like that. It’s okay if ya need ta cry, baby. I understand how special that was. It was special for me, too. I love ya so much, Vivien.” Suddenly overcome, Elvis blinked and glanced away before his own tears could spill over.

“I love you too, Elvis.” Vivien pulled him close, holding his body tightly against hers until her tears subsided.

“Lemme get ya cleaned up, baby,” Elvis said as he finally lifted himself off the bed. “Although I hate ta leave those nice pillows ya got,” he said with a wink. Vivien giggled through her tear-stained face as she shyly tried to cover her breasts. Elvis disappeared into the bathroom and came back wearing a pair of briefs and carrying a warm wet washcloth and a silky pink nightgown. He gently wiped between Vivien’s legs with the cloth and then helped her slip into the nightie. “Now c’mere and hold me, sweetheart,” he said, patting the bed next to him.

“Actually, first I have to, um, I mean I think I need to…pee,” Vivien whispered, her face turning red.

Elvis let out a loud guffaw. “Honey, we jus’ made love to each other, I think you can say the word ‘pee’ in front of me.” Vivien laughed at herself too as she headed for the bathroom.

She came out to see Elvis reaching for a bottle of pills on the nightstand. “Is everything okay?” she asked worriedly.

“Yeah, baby, I’m healthy as a horse,” Elvis said reassuringly. “I jus’ get so keyed up from performing that I need a lil’ help fallin’ asleep.”

“Well, I could help you fall asleep,” Vivien grinned.

Elvis paused, the pill bottle in his hand, before setting it back down with a slight nod. “Okay, we can give it a try. What magic tricks ya got up your sleeve?”

Vivien cleared her throat nervously, hoping she wouldn’t sound like an idiot. “I’ve, uh, been reading about the power of touch. Physical touch, especially from someone you love, can have calming, healing properties on your body. So I could give you a massage and see if it helps you fall asleep.”

Elvis looked excited and intrigued. “I’ve read a lot about that too! I actually tried a technique on Jerry when he hurt his back. Okay, let’s see if it works on me.”

“You should really take those back off, though,” Vivien said, nodding toward his underwear.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, baby. I-I-I mean, he gets a little shy after a performance,” Elvis laughed self-consciously.

“I think the touching would be more effective with no barriers between your skin and my hands, but I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or anything. And I’ll be trying to relax you, not turn you on,” she added, her cheeks turning pink.

“Honey, you ain’t gotta try too hard, that’s the problem,” Elvis teased. “Okay, I must really like you, cuz I don’t let jus’ anyone look at me like this.” Elvis pulled his underwear off and lay back on the bed completely nude.

Vivien climbed up next to him. “Well I must really like you too, because I don’t give just anyone a full body massage.” Elvis chuckled at that and squeezed her hand. “Now close your eyes,” she instructed. “And try to just clear your mind and breathe evenly.” She started rubbing his arms, his hands, and then worked her way down toward his legs, massaging the muscles in his sturdy thighs. He lay there peacefully, trying to breathe steadily as she’d instructed. Vivien felt almost guilty looking at him in this vulnerable state, but she couldn’t help but admire his thick soft cocoon nestled in his patch of pubic hair and the wiry little hairs that decorated his inner thighs.

“Honey?” Elvis mumbled, sounding half-asleep already. “I can feel ya starin’.”

Vivien blushed profusely and wondered how he could see her with his eyes closed. “I’m sorry, I thought you were asleep. I wanted to give him a goodnight kiss, but I didn’t want to ruin your relaxation.”

Elvis snorted a little bit and opened one eye to look at her. “Ya wanted ta give him a goodnight kiss?”

VIvien’s face flushed hotter with each passing second. “I’m so sorry, that sounds stupid,” she whispered, hoping he would think this had all been a dream.

“Naw, honey,” he mumbled, closing his eyes again. “I think it’s sweet that ya love him so much. Not ever’one’s like that. It’s a little weird, but sweet.” A teasing grin spread across his sleepy face. “You can give him a little kiss, but don’t wake him up or this will all be for nothin’ cuz he’ll wanna get back in where it’s nice and soft and warm.”

Vivien blushed and leaned down, pressing her lips very gently to his velvety soft skin. The smile still spread across Elvis’ face told her that he enjoyed the attention, no matter how much he might tease her about it. She continued to massage his legs until a very light snoring sound let her know he was asleep this time. She pulled the blanket over the two of them and rested her head on his chest, letting the steady beat lull her to sleep.

*************************************************

“Honey, I did really appreciate the massage last night, it was really nice, but I need ta take these.” Elvis could see the way Vivien eyed the pill bottle suspiciously as they got ready to lay down for the night. Elvis had needed to mingle with some special guests after the show, so they hadn’t had much time alone together, but she could see he looked exhausted.

“But we could just try it again-”

“Dammit, Vivien, is this gonna be a problem? Me takin’ the medication I need?” Elvis snapped.

Vivien flinched at the anger in his voice. “No, I’m sorry, I was just trying to help. I care about you.”

A look of guilt flashed across Elvis’ face. “Honey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean ta snap at ya. It’s jus’ that I know what my body needs ta get through these performances, okay? I don’t want ya ta stop carin’ about me, though.”

“I could never stop, Elvis,” Vivien whispered, trying to stop the tears that were welling up.

“Aww, baby, don’ cry now, you’re gonna make me feel bad. It’s okay, honey.” Elvis pulled her into a hug.

“I’m sorry, there’s just a lot of things I’m worried about,” Vivien sniffled. “I’m not sure what to do about my job.”

“Why? What happened?” Elvis asked with concern.

“Um, I didn’t want to tell you and upset you, but I overheard my boss calling me Elvis Presley’s whore,” Vivien whispered, hanging her head in shame. When Elvis didn’t respond, she looked up nervously to see his reaction. The intensity of anger in his eyes was something she’d never really seen before. “I didn’t tell them anything, I swear. But my nosy neighbor might have seen you leaving my apartment…” she trailed off.

“I ain’t mad at ya, honey, I’m mad at that boss of yours. He might jus’ need a good talkin’ to.” Elvis’ voice had a cold, steely edge to it.

“Oh, no, Elvis, I would get fired if you say anything to him,” Vivien pleaded.

“Honey, you ain’t goin’ back there anyhow. No one’s gonna talk about my baby like that.”

“But I need a job, I won’t be able to afford my apartment.” Vivien was starting to regret having said anything at all.

“Baby, I can pay for your apartment, it ain’t a big deal,” Elvis said nonchalantly. “Besides, you’ll be livin’ with me at Graceland soon enough.” Despite all her stress and confusion, Vivien’s heart fluttered at those words. “Now you jus’ leave things ta me baby, I’ll take care of ya. Let’s jus’ get some sleep.” Elvis took his pills and pulled her in close to him, his warm hands holding her tight and secure. As he drifted off, he mumbled something almost incoherent.

“What’s that?” Vivien asked, turning her head toward him.

“Not since mama,” he mumbled. “I think not since mama has anyone loved me for who I am the way you do. I don’t take it for granted, baby. I really love you…” his voice trailed off into a soft snore.

*************************************************

March 16, 1971 - Baptist Hospital in Nashville

Vivien’s stomach was in knots as a nurse led her to Elvis’ room in a private wing of the hospital. Joe trailed behind her, silent and unfriendly as usual. She normally wished that Elvis would have someone else, almost anyone else, make arrangements and pick her up from the airport. But right now she just wanted to make sure he was okay. He said it was nothing to worry about, just an eye problem, but still, a hospital is a hospital.

As soon as she saw him lying in the hospital bed, Vivien rushed to his side and grabbed his hand in hers. “Elvis! Are you okay?” her voice quivered with emotion.

“I’m okay, honey. ‘Specially now that my baby’s here ta take care of me. None of these guys know what I need,” he said, squeezing her hand and nodding toward his crew. Vivien looked around and blushed, as if it had just dawned on her that they were not alone.

“And Priscilla’s taking care of something in Los Angeles,” Joe announced with a smirk.

Elvis’ eyes shot daggers in Joe’s direction. “And I didn’t ask her ta come back early, did I? Why don’t ya make yourself useful for once and go get us some hamburgers?” Joe nodded and turned, looking relieved to leave the line of fire that he’d put himself in. “Ignore that asshole, baby,” Elvis said, turning back to Vivien. “First thing I did when I got in here was call ya ta come be with me. Now get over here.” He patted the spot next to him on the somewhat narrow hospital bed. Vivien looked around shyly at the other people in the room and then back at Elvis. “Don’t worry, honey, they were jus’ leavin’,” he said, waving everyone off.

Vivien climbed into the bed and curled up next to him, snuggled into his body, enjoying the feel of his silky pajamas against her. Before she could protest that someone might walk back in, his lips were smashed against hers, his strong hand gently squeezing her hip. “God, I missed ya,” he said, pulling back with that grin that still made her heart skip a beat. “I’ma need ta bring ya along to the next recording session. Now tell me what ya been up to while I’ve been wastin’ away here without ya.”

Vivien bit down on her lip as she considered her next statement. “Well, um, I’m having a little trouble finding a new job. So Roxanne said I could move in with her if I need to…” VIvien’s voice trailed off as she saw the look of fury on Elvis’ face.

“Why are ya lookin’ for a job and tryin’ ta move? I said I’d pay for your apartment until I can move ya into Graceland with me. Didn’t I tell ya I’d take care of ya?” His tone grew more biting with each word.

Vivien cleared her throat nervously. “Well, yes, you did say that, but Elvis, I don’t know if I could take that money from you-”

“When is ever’one gonna stop tellin’ me how ta spend my own goddamn money?” he snapped. “First Daddy, then Cilla, now this? It’s my money, dammit.”

Vivien had never heard Elvis sound so angry, not even about the sleeping pills in Las Vegas. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to take advantage of your kindness,” she whispered, trying in vain to fight back the waterworks that she knew were coming. She shifted on the bed as the tears started to fall. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I should just go.”

Elvis could see by the pained look on Vivien’s face that he had crossed the line with his temper. He grabbed her wrist, careful not to be too rough. “Wait, honey, wait. Don’t go. I-I-It’s jus’ that ever’one’s been on my case lately. I-I-I shouldn’ta taken it out on ya. I guess I ain’t used ta havin’ someone be worried ‘bout takin’ advantage of me. Usually jus’ got people tellin’ me what ta do.” He laughed hollowly at that as he pulled her back in close to him.

“Well I guess I’m not used to having someone want to take care of me,” Vivien whispered as she laid her head on his chest. “So maybe this is something new for both of us.” She felt suddenly very warm inside, as the hairs that were escaping his pajama top tickled her cheek.

Elvis looked down at her affectionately and kissed the top of her head. “Honey, ya jus’ better get used to it, cuz all I wanna do is take care of ya. I’ve done a pretty good job so far, huh?” he teased as he let his hand slide down her hip to her thigh and then back up under the hem of her short skirt. His fingertips danced along her bare flesh. “Is that why I can feel your heart poundin’ right outta your chest, hmm? Ya thinkin’ ‘bout me takin’ care of ya?” Vivien nodded and blushed, wondering how he always seemed to know what she was thinking. “Y’know what I’m thinkin’, honey? It sure would be nice ta feel those healin’ hands of yours again. And this time ya ain’t gotta worry ‘bout wakin’ no one, cuz he’s all ready ta come out and play.”

“I can tell,” Vivien laughed as she looked down at the protruding part of his pajama pants. Elvis leaned down and caught her open mouth with his, letting his tongue taste hers before biting softly on her lower lip, eliciting a sweet moan. “No one could take better care of me than you,” she whispered, diving back in for more of his sweet kisses. As his fingers found the elastic leg band of her panties and continued to tease her, she let her hands wander under his pajama shirt. His soft warm skin felt so comforting. Right as she reached one hand into the waistband of his pants, Joe came barging in with the hamburgers.

“Jesus Christ, son, ya forget how ta knock?” Elvis exploded, looking to make sure Vivien was all covered up. She was frozen in place, her hand still tucked inside his pants. “Leave that on the table and get the hell out, man.”

“Sorry boss,” Joe muttered, actually looking a little embarrassed instead of like his usual smug self.

“Now where were we?” Elvis murmured, turning back to Vivien. “Oh, that’s right, about ta work up a good appetite.” Vivien giggled and wrapped her hand around his hard length as Elvis slipped his tongue in her mouth again, each kiss growing more passionate. She was so deep in love, she couldn’t possibly concern herself with what anyone else might think about it.

Tag List: @whositmcwhatsit @lookingforrainbows @arrolyn1114 @thatbanditqueen @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @from-memphis-with-love @pebbles403 @deniseinmn @everythingelvispresley @little-laamb @annapresley8 @leapresley @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @atleastpleasetelephone @gatheraheart @richardslady121 @helen06dreamer @arg-xoxo

#elvis #Elvis smut #elvis fan fic #elvis fan fiction #Elvis x oc #waiting for love

[gooppoo]

hi this is BRAINROT. in case you confuse it with a request, is pure concept dump and i wanted to share it with you.

imagine subby jake with reader and he is SO sensitive. like he just starts whining and being so NEEDY, like he is BEGGING for us to fuck him

- 💮 anon

fucking love.

I don't think you understand.

Requests Closed!!

mdni.

warnings: subby!Jake :) he's just being a little baby omg, you're kinda being a top ;), teasing, p in v, creampie

More and more he reminded you of a toddler.

All morning he followed you around, his hands grabbing at your body to pull you close to him. The afternoon was much of the same, this time he managed to get close enough to start whispering unspeakable things into your ear. Finally, he spent the evening practically on his knees.

Now, he had himself pressed against your backside as you prepared some items for tomorrows daily tasks. He was unmistakeable hard, and from the way it was twitching and the damp spot on his loincloth caressing your skin, you knew it was painful. On you shoulder, he rested his cheek, pleading with his life. His palms kneaded at your waist and even reached for your wrists at times.

"God baby, what else do I need to say? Please, just give me five minutes. I just want you to touch me for five minutes." There was a peculiar hiccup to his tone. Was that a tear trickling onto your shoulder?

When he sniffled, your heart dropped, "Fuck, I'm a goddamn mess. Please hon, jus'...ngh-" you had shifted against him and that was enough friction for him to tense "-c'mon, I'm already so close, jus' want you on my lap." He finished off with a few pathetic sobs.

Truthfully, you didn't think he'd take it this far. Jake normally had much more composure and dignity. Perhaps this was a side of him that was deeply buried. The part that was pawing at your arms and crying on your shoulder to make him cum.

"I-I've been behaved, ya know? Not pickin' fights, doing my duties, treating you good." You rolled your eyes, how could he get anymore pitiful? "Havent I been good? Baby, please, please fucking please!"

Now he was just plain crying. He had himself pressed against you so tightly that any minuscule movement made by your body had him yelping. At first, there was a particular kind of guilt that rung in your chest. You wouldn't like to be denied like this, for this long. But seeing him get so worked up that he was practically rutting against your back was downright annoying.

"Alright!" You huffed, "Enough, get a grip." Gently, you wriggled from his desperate grapple, and had him seated on the ground.

"Yes! Oh god thank you." His eyes already rolling back into his head at the thought.

You clicked your tongue, "I said pull yourself together." Your eyes shifted down to his loincloth, and you began to shimmy it out of the way, "Look at this Jake," you scolded.

He clenched his jaw, his brows dipping in an embarrassed manner, "I know babe, it's bad. I can't help it, you're too fuckin' hot and I turn into a goddamn animal."

At least he was self aware. The least you could offer him was what he wanted. For a moment, you genuinely worried about hurting him, denying him this long.

With a loving hand on his thigh, you indulged, "What do you want?"

"You!" he whined, "Anything, fuckin' anything."

"Be specific Jake."

Considering your words carefully, he chewed his lip, then babbled out, "Please ride me baby."

A faint grin painted your lips, "Sure Jake."

Staring off, you let your hands explore his twitching thighs, purposefully dancing around his impressive length. Every time you neared the area he cried for you to give attention, he'd rut into the air, and sigh out a few more pleads. Each beg and whimper of your name helped your own ache accumulate beneath your naval. Knowing he was yours to tease and tamper with had your mind fogged over with an incredible ego. You knew the way to hear him weep again was to sink yourself onto him.

So, you shifted onto his reliable lap, flicking away his excited hands. With two fingers, you woke up your center, spending a few moments at your clit and smearing your slick onto both of you. When your hand haphazardly pumped against Jake to lubricate him, his back collapsed against the ground, garbling out jumbled nothings.

"I hope you're ready." You warned him, hoping to penetrate his daze as you penetrated yourself with him.

He didn't reply with confirmation, only groaned lowly and richly as you enveloped him. With each inch that entered, you felt the way his blood pumped angrily and thought of how much self control he struggled for in that moment. He had been stiff for hours, too many hours, so how he wasn't finishing in you that moment was commendable.

You had to applaud him when your hips were flush, "Wow...so so good. Mm! Want me to move, my good boy?"

A sudden gasp for life snapped his eyes open at you. Had you struck or strummed a chord within him? His expression was almost readable.

Tentatively, his hands settled on your hips, the tiniest curve upward of hips lips teasing the idea of a smile, "Please."

You leaned down slowly, holding his enamored stare as you approached his expression, "Of course baby." You purred, taking his lips onto yours.

After gingerly pulling away, you used your strength to lift off his groin and slide back down again. Still, he wasn't finishing, but his nails digging into your sides said otherwise. You wondered if your slower pace was more agonizing than a steady rhythm. Either way, Jake would still be fighting to spit up fragments of sentences through his numbed mind. Most of what he coughed up was choked up moans that offered you motivation to keep at what was doing just the trick for both of you.

You knew both your hearts were working overtime. Blood rushed rapidly through your body, and Jake's blood was pumping furiously in you. Sometimes it was hard to decipher his nearing orgasm twitches, or how sensitive he had made himself.

Each time your pelvis met his again, he would mewl or sigh. These sounds weren't entirely foreign to you, but the frequencies of them was. It was like clock work he would sputter out a pleased confirmation, all of them making you hotter and hotter.

"Love hearing you like this Jake." You grit, finding the might to pick up your pace, and his moans became more jumbled.

"Ohhh, feels fuckin' amazing." Jake groans, barely coherent. Amazing was right.

To add a special spice, you rolled your hips in varying directions and watched as his composure completely crumbled into a fine dust. This seemed to trigger more tears from Jake.

"Is everything okay?" You let your hips slow and you wiped away his tears,

He was pathetically gasping for air, "C-can I cum? So good." Some more tears spilled over.

You had been in this position before. Tears rolling down your cheeks because Jake had fucked you like an expert. Sometimes, it is so good all you can do is tear up.

"'Course baby."

With a reassuring kiss placed on his sad, puffy lips, you returned to rhythmically maneuvering your hips. Though it would normally haunt you to see Jake in tears, you found his tears here and now to be so sexy.

A few more salty droplets were squeezed from his tightly closed eyes as he cried out. "Thank you, thank you..." he chanted mindlessly. A few pathetic thrusts of his hips meant his cum would soon be dripping out of both of you.

It was like Jake had crossed the finish line when he released. All day he had worked toward this moment, and now that it was here he was absolutely euphoric. He let his body do what felt best so he could milk every sensation you pulled from him. The amount of cum spurting into you was almost alarming, especially when Jake starting writhing beneath you and dragging his deeply embedded nails down your sides.

"Fu-u-uck!" Jake sobbed, his chest hiccuping with each syllable.

But you continued. Why would you stop now? Though all the signs pointed to him maybe being in pain, you knew this was the only way to heal him.

He was right. He had been behaving. Even when he was sobbing for you, he treated you right.

#avatar #avatar x reader #avatar smut #jake sully #jake sully smut #jake sully x reader #jake sully x y/n #jake sully x you

[yorshie]

Hey, Yorshie! Fun fact: I was the one who sent in the original prompt for Raph with the phrase "tell me it was a lie. tell me you're playing with me right now." You did SUCH a great job with it.

After deleting my reply to your other post, I kept thinking about it trying to remember exactly what my reply had been, and then I was like... hm. I'm gonna. I'm gonna write that, actually. So, here's a present for you Yorshie! My first ever reader-insert piece. (Obviously, feel free to delete/not post this if it's too... idk. Anything. I hope this is an okay thing to do.)

Another fun fact: the title in my gdoc is "Yorshie's Gift" lol <3

---

You would recognize the rumble of that motorcycle anywhere.

No one else had realized, yet, just how much danger you were all about to be in. The others were still hauling boxes into the back of the truck. Only you were frozen, hands hovering in the air above the box you’d been reaching for.

You needed to get everyone out of here fast. Most of these new recruits were just kids, barely out of high school. Searching for a sense of belonging, a sense of purpose, like you had when you first joined years ago. Every year there were more. Kids who had never believed they even had a chance at a future, kids who got caught up in the pretty lies and promises that the clan used to suck them in. You hated to see it happen, but there was really nothing you could do about it. You had agreed to lead this excursion, hoping at least that you could be there to ensure no one got hurt.

The rumble was getting louder.

You jerked up, hissing out an order to retreat. The others paused in their movements to look at you, surprised, and you felt a wave of frustration and terror constrict your lungs as they stared at you. 

Their hesitation would get them killed.

 “Move your ass!” You shoved the keys of the truck into the hands of the nearest member and pushed them toward the front. “Now!”

Thankfully, they started to scramble. Within seconds the truck peeled away, leaving behind at least half of the goods you had been ordered to secure. You really couldn’t fucking care less. You made sure the recruits who hadn’t been able to fit in the truck were headed toward safety, too, before starting to run.

And then you stopped.

The rumble was so loud, now, that you could almost feel the vibrations in your chest. He’d be here any second. You should run. You should run. The last words he’d spoken to you, weeks ago, echoed in your mind. 

“I’d better not see you again. If I do, my face is the last thing you’ll ever see, I can promise you that.”

You knew what you would be running from, but… what exactly were you running toward? More listless days with your mind lost in a haze of regret? More nights alone with your chest hollow and aching? Before him, you hadn’t even realized that you were just going through the motions of your life. And then you had found what you were looking for, after all this time. You had found that sense of belonging, that purpose that you had so desperately sought out when you were too young to know any better and you had turned to the foot clan. And when you’d found what you’d been looking for, it hadn’t even been something you found in the foot clan itself. You’d found it in their enemy.

Raphael.

Then you’d lost him. It was your own goddamn fault, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. The weeks since he’d found out had left you feeling untethered. Floating through the days, wondering what the fuck the point was, anyway. You hadn’t realized just how much he had changed your life, just how much he had changed you. And now, without him…

You didn’t want to run anymore.

A strange sense of finality settled over you. It’s what you deserved, anyway, wasn’t it? You were a criminal. No matter what circumstances had led you here, no matter how trapped you had felt… you were still a criminal. And you had still lied to him, for so long. 

And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. For his face to be the last one you ever saw.

Tires squealed, pulling you from your thoughts, and then he was there. You watched him leap from his bike, sprinting down the alley straight toward you, and the adrenaline that burst through you reminded you that you should run. You were wearing your full gear, face covered by the mask that had been replaced after he’d crushed your old one in his hand. He didn’t even know it was you. You could still slip away into the shadows, you could still- 

You didn’t move. 

He was fast, faster than most people could even follow, but time seemed to slow as he approached. You could see the determination, the anger in his expression. In the tense set of his shoulders. But beneath that, there was a weary sadness. And despite the fear that was clawing its way up your throat, that sadness that you saw was what solidified your decision. 

An enormous fist, clenched around a sai, barrelled toward you, but you focused instead on Raphael’s face. The last face you’d ever see. So angry and tired and sad, and it looked like that because of you.

Yeah. You deserved this.

And the blow hit.

WWWWOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! OMG YOUR FIRST READER INSERT AND YOU SEND IT TO ME????? *crying* LET’s GO!!!

Wow! Your pacing is very good *trying not to cry* I was totally immersed *tears start falling* and the feeling! The feel- *breaks down sobbing* omg what if raph takes off the mask at the end OR DOESNT WHICH ONE IS WORSE!!!!???

*straight up bawling at this point* im fine! It’s just. It really hit me in the angst corner. Don’t mind me I’m just. Gonna slide along the floor in a little raccoon puddle.

But IT WAS A GOOD READ. IMMA READ IT AGAIN!!

Also! If you ever write for the turtles again, please tag me. I’d love to be in your tag list and I’d love to read it.

#ask away! #gift for me #might make that a tag #but back to the crying #fuckedupcleric #straight. up. bawling. just bawling. #read again tag #oh yeah. def reading this again #quick content tags #bayverse tmnt #bayverse raphael #bayverse raph x reader #dark themes #reader in peril

[yowyowyaoi]

Sasori’s Daily Texts from the Akatsuki

From Tobi/Obito

Obviously.

You can gloat all you want but the fact of the matter is you’re wrong; NOTHING is eternal. 

But can you keep it up without chakra strings? 🤔

Asleep or awake it’s all the same thing.

Go ahead and tell them. They’ll just think you’re crazy 😜 

I’ve tried but Hidan is insufferable and the only way to truly hurt Kakuzu is in his wallet.

Ok please just look at this tooth I feel like it’s throbbing out of my head 😣

Me and you? Teaming up? What a novel idea … REJECTED.

It’s not ridiculous. When you were human did you never just eat a bag of sugar?? It’s so soothing.

He said no cats or dogs. Not a thing about birds. And besides if Itachi can have 900 crows I can have a parakeet. 😤

From Zetsu

I don’t know why YOU get to keep all the best bodies every single time 😒 Your art isn’t more important as my stomach.

I licked his arm once but my goodness he had such a bitter aftertaste.

Clay and gunpowder. Sometimes aftershave.

It wasn’t me this time. Must have been an animal. 🤷🏻‍♂️

Me either! No Bowel Movement Club 🥳

I imagine it’s only the first blow that truly hurts. After that the body goes into too much shock to register the pain. 

From Nagato

Well I figured that with your expertise in puppet chakra control, my bodies wouldn’t be that much different to you.

Redhead unity ✊🏻

Let’s be real, here; Konan is the one running this thing.

I can if it’s cut into very small pieces. And drink lots of water afterwards.

At least yours wasn’t a goddamned pervert.

Clearly I can’t stop these things. All I can do is strongly advise you three use protection with them. Our organization is not equipped to care for babies.

I’ve never really had time to properly train it. I’ve never even heard that much about it before. Maybe Itachi will know.

Yes but I firmly believe we choose our families. And I chose this one. Even Hidan.

From Konan

No, thank you. I’ve learned to appreciate my flaws and live with them.

Okay once again, PLEASE read that book I got you on how to talk to women. For the love of God. 🤦‍♀️

Actually most of them make me sneeze; that’s why I started making paper ones lol 

Of course I can teach you. Why do you want to learn? So you can dance with a certain someone 😏

Yeah, preferably one that’ll give me a pick-up in the mornings.

If you use your chakra strings to make him trip down the stairs I will love you for forever.

I know you don’t eat but you should come for the conversations.

I know he’s been using mine the bottle was full 3 days ago and now it’s almost empty 😡

From Kisame

Itachi and I are traveling past there on our next mission. If you write down what herbs you need I’d be happy to pick them up for you on our way back.

I’m sorry; if I’d known you wanted to use the body I wouldn’t have chewed off the hands 😣

Well I suppose both have caffeine but to me, tea is more calming.

I understand but if it happens again, tell him I won’t be looking the other way. 

I don’t know. If he’s not sleepwalking he’s up for days at a time. I’m worn out trying to keep up 🫠

Please join us; Monopoly seems like it’d be your game.

I stayed until they wanted to do karaoke. Then I snuck out the back door.

That’s more Zetsu’s thing. I only do it if I’m really hungry.

Ah but, if you’re truly going to live forever, why not have some fun with life?

Yes I’ve noticed. Everyone has. But I’m fairly certain Deidara sees nobody but YOU in that way.

From Itachi

My thanks.

Not so bad today actually 

I would just say “ignore it” but he’ll probably throw a bomb into your face so 🤷🏻‍♂️

Well I was going to paint it yellow so it’d be more cheerful but Kisame thinks it would drive me crazy after a few weeks.

Watch the video I just sent and tell me that’s not Hidan 😂

Kisame said to ask you two. Tell Dei they have bakudan.

They just like to sit on top of them. I promise they aren’t pecking or causing any damage to the wood.

One of the funniest things I ever read. Laughed so hard I had to go to bed early because my head was pounding so hard after. But don’t tell Hidan, he’d kill me.

I’m not sure. But after I die you’re free to take one of my eyes and put it into your puppet to see.

From Hidan

No really DO you have one? 🤔

Wtf are you gonna do tho like won’t you catch on fire in the sun?!

He’s my best friend and I love him in a not gay way. So it IS my business asshole.

Thanks puppet dick, I’ll make Kakuzu pay you later. He prob won’t but 🤷🏼‍♂️

No fuck that, that cake was MINE they’re just being little bitches about it 

Damn could you be any gayer for him?

Wait, CAN you fly??

Stop being stingy puppet fuck just give me an arm that shoots fire it’ll be an early birthday present pleeeeease 

Idc get this thing out of my room it’s creeping me tf out 😒

From Kakuzu

I’ve tried but the only way I could see it legitimately working is if I sewed his mouth shut.

Oh of course. I’m always happy to spend an evening surrounded by culture.

That would be ideal but you know how sensitive Leader is about his appearance.

Yes but it’s the most expensive there. You’d be better off disguising yourself and getting it from your old village.

Honestly, at 91? I’m surprised it hasn’t turned to dust yet.

Perhaps Kisame would join us. Give us an evening away from the wives.

I know but what else could we do? He refuses to accept treatment. The only way we could “help” is slipping it into his tea.

Page 34. I wrote notes along the side of the diagram.

I would rip out all of my hearts before I let anyone, including you, spend money on something like that.

From Deidara

No but I’m pretty sure you enjoy making me beg.

Wasn’t me. And you can’t prove otherwise 😈

Your lack of appreciation for my art is truly the most horrible thing about you 😒

Well tough shit it’s MY turn to choose and that’s what we’re doing

Well yeah it’s awkward but I don’t want you worrying. I’m *yours*. I’ve made that clear.

Idc I’ll wear it every single day 😭

If Itachi or Kisame asks, me and Hidan were with you from 12-5 yesterday. Okay?

Keep sending pics like that and you’re gonna end me 🥵

Oh come on pleeeease? I’ll feed it and walk it and everything!

My bed or yours? 

Did you make it yourself?? Awww thank you Sasori 🥰

It’s not the only thing that’s tight ~ 😏

A real boyfriend wouldn’t question it he’d just bring a shoe and come kill it !

Hey at least I found BOTH arms this time!

Geez that sounds so boring. Can’t he send Kakuzu and Hidan instead?!

You know I hate that word … but yes, forever. And ever and ever and ever. 💛

#the akatsuki #texting #text message #sasori #sasodei #sasori x deidara #deidara #kakuzu #hidan #itachi uchiha #tobi #obito uchiha #nagato #konan #kisame hoshigaki #zetsu #Akatsuki Daily Texts Series

[allzelemonz]

Finding and Feeling (1.1): The Cold

Pairing Type: M/M Rating: M/Violence, language Warnings: Cannon event, swearing, kidnapping, rough handling, threats of violence Summary: Kieran Duffy is captured by the Van der Linde gang, meeting Bill Williamson for the first time. Other Chapters

The wind hits against his face. Kieran spurs his horse forward in a hurry, not even completely sure who’s chasing him. Being chased is something he generally tries to avoid. He can hear the hoofbeats behind him, muffled by snow. His ears throb, his blood turning warm, and for a moment he thinks he’s gotten away.

Then a tight feeling fixes around his chest.

Kieran yells as he’s pulled back, his horse racing out from under him. He hits the ground, cold and wet seeping into his coat as he starts to panic.

Not good, not good, not good. 

He can hear the man approach, heavy footfalls stopping right next to him. “Don’t hurt me!” He cries, desperation taking over.

The man kneels down, pulling tight at the rope around Kieran and binding his limbs. “You’re comin’ with me.”

Kieran’s head races, trying to come up with some plea. “You got me mixed up with someone else.”

The man ignores him, hoisting him up on his shoulder. Kieran squirms a little, testing the binds, but he stills when he feels just how easily the man lifts him onto his horse. He’s too strong, Kieran’s heart falls. The horse beneath him is sturdy, not bothered much by the weight of two men. Movement jostles him, making his heart beat faster and tears start to sting against frozen air.

“What's your name, boy?” The man asks

Kieran panics, his name escaping him. “I don't know!”

The man nearly laughs. “You don't know your name?”

“It's Kieran.” He says, not wanting to get into more trouble than he already is.

“Kieran what?”

“Duffy. Kieran Duffy.”

Kieran pictures the man smirking. “Well, I ain't gonna lie to ya... this is a real bad day for you, Kieran Duffy.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere you ain't gonna like.”

Kieran panics slightly. “Why? What are you gonna do ta me?”

“Something you ain't gonna like.” The man says, his tone making Kieran’s stomach twist. “So I'd advise you to save your breath for screaming.”

“No, please!” Kieran begs, quiet tears taking over.

As the ride continues, making Kieran’s stomach twist and likely bruise, he grows desperate. He begs a few times, his voice shakes and his limbs tremble over the shivers.

“You better shut your mouth, you little shit, or I will shut it for you.”

Kieran is quiet for a bit after that, his head burning with a need to plead for his life or reason. “I've only been running with them a couple of months. I don't know nothing real about them, honest!”

“Are you trying to test me, is that it?” The man turns hostile. “Because I will break every bone in your body.”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry... okay?” Kieran cries.

“Not one more goddamn word, am I clear?”

Kieran nods uselessly. “Okay, okay!”

“That's two bones, right there.” The man says harshly.

Kieran whimpers to himself, shrinking against the horse. He’s really done it now. Even if he got mercy from his captor, Colm wasn’t too happy with him when they left camp. His cheek still stings a little. Either way, captured or free, he’s doomed. Rock and a hard place.

“Here we are, you sack of shit. Let's introduce you to the boys.” The man says, his horse slowing pace.

Once again, Kieran is slung over the man’s shoulder as if he weighs nothing. “Don't hurt me, please.”

“Oh, don't worry, they're real nice.”

Kieran has a feeling that’s a bald faced lie. Noises fill his ears, replacing the sound of his beating heart. A door opens, footfalls in the snow.

“You found the little shit, did you?” A voice asks.

“Yep…” The man grunts, throwing Kieran on the ground. “I got him.”

“Very good.”

His bindings are roughly cut and Kieran is hauled to his feet. The man he faces is one he recognizes from stories and wanted posters. He’s in deeper shit than he thought.

“Welcome to your new home…” Dutch says sarcastically. “Hope you're real happy here.”

“Want me to make him talk?” His captor asks, holding his arms behind him tightly.

“Oh no, now all we'll get is lies.” Dutch narrows his eyes before glancing at two men in the distance. “Uncle. Mr. Williamson. Tie this maggot up someplace safe. We get him hungry first.”

Kieran feels new hands grabbing him, one pair much stronger than the other, but both holding him steady.

Dutch takes a step forward, making Kieran want to step back. “I got a saying, my friend…” He smiles. “We shoot fellers as need shooting, save fellers as need saving, and feed 'em as need feeding. We're gonna find out what you need.”

Kieran feels his body fill with shivers unrelated to the cold. He desperately hopes he’s in need of saving.

“I can't believe it.” Dutch chuckles. “An O'Driscoll in my camp.”

Kieran’s heart sinks as he’s dragged away. “No, I ain't an O'Driscoll, mister.” He pleads. “I hate that feller!”

The two men dragging him pull harshly, kicking open two large doors and yanking him inside. Kieran’s nose fills with the familiar scent of horses and he’s comforted for just a moment. There’s several of them in the stables. All kinds, all colors, each and every one of them is so beautiful and-

“Fetch us some rope, Uncle.” The bigger man mutters, taking both of Kieran’s arms.

The older man, Uncle, walks over to the wall, grabbing some rope. He loops it around a post as Kieran is walked over to it. The two men tie him as Kieran starts to regain his senses, no longer comforted by the presence of the horses.

“Please-“

He doesn’t get much of his plea out before a large hand tugs his hair and makes him yelp from the sting. A strong hand has a tight grip and the man in front of him stares down at him. Kieran shrinks down, only letting the man tower further.

“Keep yer mouth shut, boy.”

“Aw, leave the young feller alone, Bill.” Uncle chuckles as he mimics Kieran’s cowering. “He’s startin’ ta temble.”

The large man, Bill, releases Kieran’s hair. He stares for a moment, his face red from the chill wind, then he stumbles away. Uncle follows after him, starting to ask about having a drink before the stable doors close and leave Kieran alone in the dark.

#burn month #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #slow burn #fanfic #fanfiction #bill williamson #kieran duffy #kieran duffy x bill williamson #bieran

[glitterypinkconverse]

Hi! I was wondering if I could request a Peter Ballard x fem!reader, where she has a bad day at the lab (she’s a staff members or an older subject/patient, your choice) and Peter sneaks into her room that night and realizes that she’s sad so he comforts her?

late night comforts

summary peter has noticed that you’re feeling a little off, it concerning him throughout the day. so when he had the chance to sneak into your room at night, he spends every minute trying to comfort you.

pairings peter ballard x fem!orderly! reader

warnings slight angst?

Something was off, and Peter knew it. He studied your movements across the rainbow lab, watching as you forced yourself to play with Eleven, only because she wanted you to play with her.

You were a people pleaser. Anybody knew it. You would put other people's feelings before your own, causing you to mentally breakdown during the nights when it went on for too long.

You needed comfort, and Peter could sense it. It took everything in his will power to not walk up to you and give you the biggest hug ever, to kiss you, to make all your worries go away.

But that was the shame of being trapped in Hawkins Lab, everyone here was isolated and alone. You couldn’t be seen interacting with other people apart from the kids, and it hurt you. You missed your life outside of Hawkins Lab, wishing you could go back to it. But once you started working here, it’s like you couldn’t pull away from it.

During the testings Peter could see you silently wincing, though you were barely moving. He could feel your grimace when Dr. Brenner would torture the kids to put then against these mind tests against their will, and it pained you. All you wanted to do was run away with Peter and all the others, and take them to a safe spot where no one could get hurt.

Even during dinner time with all the other staff members Peter wanted to reach over and give you the biggest hug in the universe, but the risk of getting caught concerned the both of you. You didn’t talk to him during dinner time, as well as not talking to the others like you normally do. The others didn’t notice, but Peter surely did.

He wanted to get to the bottom of it. When everyone was supposed to be asleep, you were not. Your door opened with a silent creak, a little beam of light passing through the doorway. You sat up in your bed, examining the figure shutting your door.

“Peter?” You asked once you made out his frame. In the dark room he smiled, sitting down on the bed next to you. “What are you doing here? You should be in bed.”

“I couldn’t go to sleep knowing something was wrong with you. Care to tell me what’s wrong?” He asked, bringing you closer to him. You immediately pushed down into his embrace, his smell filling your lungs. He held you closer and tighter, his fingers running through your hair.

You two sat like this for a couple of minutes until you let out a sigh, looking up at him. He was already looking down at you, sympathy in his eyes. He was genuinely concerned for you.

“I just need someone. That’s all. And I know I have you and I’m grateful for that, but I just hate being stuck in this goddamn lab! I feel so isolated and alone, and yet alone it’s still risky even sending a glance your way.” You burst out, your anger spilling. Peter leaned down and pressed a kiss to your head, bringing you even more humanly possible.

“We’re going to get out of here. Trust me, we’ll take Eleven with us too. When the time comes, everything will be perfect.” He murmured, you two sitting in silence again.

“How much longer can you stay here?” You whispered, Peter sighing in response.

“Only a couple of more minutes, but until then, I’m staying right here with you. I’ll always be with you, no matter what happens.” His warmth and his comforting words made you feel a bit better, and being in his arms made you more comfortable than you have been since the past few weeks. You found yourself slipping away into the darkness, a deep and peaceful slumber lurking upon you.

#jamie campbell bower #jamie #jamie bower #jamie campbell #jamie bower x reader #jamie campbell bower x reader #jamie campbell x reader #oneshot #stranger things #stranger things volume 2 #stranger things x reader #stranger things vol 1 #stranger things 4 #peter ballard x reader #peter ballard #peter #henry creel x reader #henry #henry creel #001 #001 x reader #001 stranger things

[saintmurd0ck]

in perpetual fall, in immeasurable rain

masterlist

characters: frank castle, matt murdock, father lantom

summary: based on this anon ask about frank finding matt's church in his quietest, weakest moments

warnings: mention of grief, trauma, blood/canon typical violence

a/n: i believe (i think) that my angst-fuelled fic writing is over. for now. back to smut after this (thank fuck). to the anon who requested this: i love you, and i'm sorry bc this shit is gonna hurt

song pairing: the archer (taylor swift)

He’s never felt so hollow.

The hard wood of the hassock bites into his knees, a familiar pain from the days of his youth. He thinks it’s futile, pressing his hands together like this, staring upwards at the wooden rafters and stone carvings, perhaps upwards, at something– someone beyond. 

The church’s hallowed ground feels tainted with his presence, its sombre atmosphere marked by the echo of his sins. Silence stretches out around him, expanding its way into every dark crevice in his mind, filling the cracks marring his heart. 

A bitter taste fills his mouth. Being here feels wrong. Kneeling here, basking in the presence of a God that’s long since forgotten him… He clears his throat, knuckles going white from the pressure of squeezing. He has to try. For them, he has to try.

“Dear Father,” he murmurs, “it’s… it’s been a while.” Frank swallows, ignoring the dread sinking in his stomach, raising a hand to wipe at his bleeding temple. The blood drips through his fingers, and Frank follows the trail. It pools thinly on the cathedral floor.

“Ah, fuck,” he curses, staring at the splattered marble. 

His throat bobs as he leans down to look at the mess, mouth twitching as he gazes at his own reflection. He doesn’t like the man who’s staring back; the man whose eyes are haunted. Sunken. Almost devoid of life. He can’t stand the sight of himself. Who could, after all he’s done?

His head snaps back to face the altar, chest tightening as he tries to shrug off his intrusive thoughts. “I’m uh–,” Frank starts, clasping his hands together, “M’sorry for swearin’. I know it’s not proper.” He bites his lip as his mother’s lilting accent fills his ears. ‘Francis, no swearing. OK?’ she’d say, tugging on his earlobe affectionately. ‘I don’t know where you learn this… language.’ Although she was a stern, no-nonsense woman, she warmed his heart, broken English and all. 

Tears sting Frank’s eyes as he recounts that loss. And the loss of everyone else he’s ever bothered to love. His parents, Maria, the kids, Russo, Gunner– he stops and thinks. His breath falters as he thinks about all the people he’s failed.

He’s nothing more than a soldier now, defeated in his own war. Reduced to nothing but pain and gore and torment. All his days of brotherhood, of heart-leaping joy… they’ve long since turned to ash and dust. And what of his friends? They all become enemies in the end.

Frank sniffles, pushing back the throbbing ache in his head, setting aside the growing void in his heart. His voice breaks. “It hurts, Father,” he hisses, tasting salt on his tongue. “It f– it hurts so goddamn bad.” 

He pulls his hands apart, staring ahead at the altar, at the flickering candles in the alcoves beyond. His eyes are blazing as his grief turns to wrath. “And where were you.” It’s not a question, not to anyone in particular; not even the omnipotent being above. No, Frank can’t stand the thought of grovelling like this.

He feels like an idiot for thinking this would work.

Every movement is silent, calculated, as he gets up off his knees, pulling his wallet out to leave a twenty dollar bill on the pew. For the blood. His lips press into a hard line as he steps over the stain, heading for the side door he came through in.

He loosens a heavy breath, mulling over the thoughts in his head.

A gentle voice calls from the altar. “Son, are you… alright?” 

Frank jerks his chin towards the sound, feeling his muscles go taut. How long has he been here? 

Shame creeps over his face, turning his cheeks red. “Uh, yeah. I’ll be on my way, Father.”

“There’s no harm in asking for help when we really need it,” Father Lantom begins. “You must’ve been brought here for a reason.”

“Yeah, it was a mistake to come here,” Frank mutters, unable to look directly at the ageing priest. A delicate light in contrast to Frank’s bloodshed.

“Whatever sins you bear, whatever burden it is you carry… it doesn’t matter in the end, son.”

And Frank chokes up. As his eyes begin to well, he feels that  burden begin to rise, bringing with it every last dreg of emotion sitting at the bottom of his stomach. It feels as if it’s searing through his flesh and bones, through every fibre of his being. 

Father Lantom swallows as he watches Frank bury his hands into his face. “There’s no judgment here. Not in my church. Not in the eyes of my Lord.”

“Sorry Father,” a muffled call sounds from the church annexe, “did you say next Wednes– Frank?”

Frank squints his eyes at the figure that emerges and feels his stomach go leaden. “Oh, Christ.” 

Matt Murdock feels like a phantom; yet another face Frank didn’t think he’d ever see again.

“Everything okay, Father?” Matt asks, inclining his head.

Father Lantom whispers something in Matt’s ear too quiet for Frank to decipher before walking away, disappearing into the shadows of the annexe. Frank feels his body tense, suddenly hyper-aware of his surroundings, of the heart pounding so loudly within his chest. For a moment in time, he’s grateful for the blood rushing through his ears. It’s a reminder that even in this limbo, his heart beats. He exists, even if every step, every breath, every living second is a chore.

Matt’s voice cuts through. “Let’s talk, Frank.”

Frank’s eyebrows press together as he feels the ‘no’ catch in his throat. He feels frozen in place, unable to run away, because something in his gut tugs at him, telling– no, pleading, him to follow suit.

How is it that in his quietest, weakest moments, he finds himself in Matt’s church? Matt Murdock — the only person who has ever truly gotten under his skin. Made him face himself.

And so he faces himself. He swallows his pride — or the shreds left of it — and opens his mouth. No more running. 

“Okay.”

tags {x} @marvelswh0re

#frank castle #the punisher #frank castle angst #the punisher angst #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock angst #frank castle fanfiction #matt murdock fanfiction #rhi writes 💻

[moondust-imagines]

Crumbling Part 3 (Adam x Reader x Christian)

Masterlist

“So you’re kicking me out of my own damn house?” Christian spat, glaring at you and Adam across the kitchen island. You kept your gaze on your interlocked hands resting in front of you, knowing if you looked at him you would break. Adam, however, was glaring right back at his lover.

“We’re not kicking you out, we just feel it would be best for us to have some space for a while” Adam explained through gritted teeth. Christian scoffed angrily and got up from his seat, pacing the room. You didn’t dare look up.

“How are you going to explain this to Aurora? Huh?! Katy and Arthur are old enough to know something’s up” Christian ranted while gesturing wildly.

“I think they’re used to you not being around by now Christian!” Adam shouted, his resolve finally breaking. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself not to cry.

“Adam” You sighed quietly, desperately trying to calm the situation. Thank god the kids were staying with your friends tonight.

“Oh so it’s fine when you’re swanning off every week but when I do it I’m the fucking bad guy” Christian replied. He was still now, almost taunting Adam to get in his face.

“I was never gone as much as you are and you fucking know it” Adam screamed, pointing at the other man angrily.

“My careers more popular than yours for five goddamn minutes and you just can’t stand it can you? You narcissist!” Christian screamed back

“Alright, alright enough! This is exactly why I think we need space! We can’t just scream at each other!” You finally interrupted. Adam retreated to your side almost immediately, hands resting on his hips. Christian’s strong gaze turned to you.

“So you’re kicking him out too, right?” He asked lowly. Your blood ran cold, what explanation did you have?

“Christian, don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. Please” You sighed, massaging your temples to ease the impending headache.

“No, if this is because of the fighting he’s equally responsible” Christian responded angrily. Adam’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, his fingers running gently over your skin.

“I’ll go if you need me too, honey” Adam said gently, a sad smile on his lips. That made the dam finally break.

“I can’t deal with three kids on my own! I need someone!” You sobbed. The movement of Adam’s hand was more solid now. You could’ve sworn you saw Christian’s face soften for a moment as he watched you.

“Alright, fine. I’ll go” Christian muttered before storming out of the room. Adam bent down to kiss the crown off your head, muttering sweet words of encouragement while your body shook with sobs

-

You slid another piece of French toast onto Katy’s plate and handed it to her. She thanked you and wandered off to watch TV while she ate. The other kids were already camped out on the couch. You put the frying pan in the sink then wiped down the counter. Adam watched you from the doorway carefully.

“You ok, honey?” He asked quietly. You nodded silently.

“You don’t have to be” He continued.

“Adam, just leave it” You muttered, he held his hands up in surrender.

“Ok, I’ll go sit with the kids” He sighed. His kissed your head as he walked by and disappeared around the corner.

Your phone buzzed where it was sitting next to the sink. You paused before picking it up, your stomach sinking.

Christian 💖: How are you and the kids? xx

Christian 💖: I miss you xx

You chewed your lip as you read his messages. You should tell Adam that he’s texting you. But you know what will happen, Adam will fly off the handle. So, you glanced at the corner Adam and the kids were behind then at your phone again.

You: We’re ok, we miss you too. Hope your doing ok xx

Christian 💖: I love you baby x

You: I know

Adam watched you nervously tap away on your phone. He could guess who you were texting. It shouldn’t make him angry, all of you were in this together. The burn of betrayal from you hurt his chest. How many other secrets were you keeping from him?

#aew imagine #christian cage x reader #christian cage imagine #adam copeland x reader x christian cage #adam copeland x reader #adam copeland imagine

[disneyanddisneyships]

@gyubby99 I didn't forget!!! This idea is gonna drive me crazy.

Warnings: stripping, dancing, a club, bi panic, Valentino, gyrating. Tell me if I missed anything. (Also yes I cut off the dance I'm the fic. My brain can only describe so much)

Summary: Mal was relieved (and a bit confused) when she found her best friend was in hell. It meant she wasn't alone anymore. Apparently aponi had been there for almost a year prior to mal joining her. Aponi got Mal a job working for Valentino at his club. Tonight, Mal finally gets to witness her best friend's performance... which was a surprising one considering Mal has only ever seen Aponi do ballet.

Buttons

"Hey Lills!" Mal called as she plopped herself on the couch in Aponi's dressing room.

"Hey Mal! How's your day off?" Aponi asked as she applied makeup, getting ready for a show.

"Pretty good. Kinda just sat in bed all day," Mal replied as she pulled out her phone, scrolling through sinstagram.

"Lucky you!" Aponi teased as she looked at Mal through her mirror. "You gonna stay for my performance?" She asked, completely and honestly expecting Mal to say 'no'.

Mal shrugged. "Sure why not. All you do is ballet anyways," she stated, half joking, half telling the truth.

Aponi tolled her eyes. "You say that like it's bad," she stated as she walked behind her dressing board.

"Its not! It's just ALL you do," Mal replied, a hint of humor in her voice.

Aponi emerged, a robe wrapped around her so she wouldn't be cold from the lingerie she was wearing.

She said nothing, only rolled her eyes.

..........

Mal was able to get a good seat, not in the front or back. Just perfect. She'd be able to see the whole show.

The lights flickered before turning off, save from a few orange ones on the stage to illuminate the dark outline of the dancers as they took their places on stage.

"Now ladies and gentle demons! Our star attraction of the night! Aponi Wiiiings!!!!" The announcer yelled as the music started and the lights blasted on.

Mal's breath caught in her throat as she saw her best friend in the skimping clothing she's ever worn.

Aponi moved her hips sensually to the rhythm of the music, the crowd cheering loudly as she moved to the beat before straightening up and walking confidently to the front of the stage, placing her hands on her breasts to the beat of the music, her background dancers doing the same.

Mal's eyes widened.

This was the girl who went to church every Sunday with her mother, who never snuck out, who always did her homework.

Jesus christ

Mal thought to herself as she caught herself staring at her best friend in a not so 'best friend' way.

Aponi turned around, removing her entire robe and throwing it into the crowd of horny demons who all looked at her ass as she walked rhythmically.

She turned back around, swinging her hair as she ran her hands through it.

As the dance continued Mal couldn't help but rake her eyes over her best friend's figure.

Nope! No! Stop! Best friend! That's all she is!

Mal thought to herself as she watched Aponi's performance.

The dance went on, almost torturous for Mal as Aponi practically folded herself I. Half before standing back up again, dancing to the beat.

Mal looked down only to notice the very VERY high heels Aponi was wearing.

Goddamn.... if she breaks an ankle on stage that's her fault....

Mal thought to herself some more with a chuckle.

Aponi moved so she was kneeling on the stage, the demons went wild with cheers before she whipped her hair around.

Mal winced at how much that must hurt....

Aponi continued to dance on the floor, the movements of her hips almost the most mesmerizing thing about the dance.

As aponi stood up to her full height again with ease, Mal let out a cheer for her best friend. Mostly for not tripping in the heels, but also because goddamn this was a good dance.

Aponi danced more, moving back down to the ground as she messed with her hair.

And just on beat, she threw herself back, her back arching and her hands on her heels, her body making a 'c' shape as the lights flashed orange.

"WOO!" Mal cheered at the move, trying to suppress the thoughts she was having about her best friend... suppressing the thoughts shes ALWAYS had for her best friend.....

As the music continued, aponi stood up from the ground before walking to the back of the stage again, her background dancers following her.

Aponi looks up with a smirk before the lyrics begin again.

.........

Mal ran backstage after the show.

"Okay what the actual FUCK?!?!?" Mal exclaimed with a wide smile. "Where the hell did THAT come from?!?!?" She practically yelled as she sat next to her best friend on the couch.

"A hear is a long time! I had pretty good training!" Aponi replied with a chuckle as she took off her heels.

"I have NEVER seen something so hot in my entire life or death!" Mal exclaimed.

Aponi giggled. "Thanks!"

Mal sat there for a second, staring at Aponi- Lilly.... Mal was debating something.....

Until Aponi spoke up.

"Oh! I've been wanting to introduce you to someone!" Aponi stated as she took her earrings out.

"Oh? Who?" Mal asked.

And just in the nick of time, a knock sounded on the door only for it to burst open to reveal the radio demon.

"Hey Al!" Aponi smiled before turning to Mal. "Mal, this is my boyfriend, Alastor! Alastor, this is Mal, my best friend!" Aponi stated as she stood up, kissing Alastor on the cheek.

Mal's heart practically broke, the peices sinking down into her stomach.

"Ah! It's very nice to meet you my dear!" The radio demon stated with a large, fake, smile.

Mal took a deep breath and put on a fake smile of her own before taking his hand and shaking it.

"Nice to meet you too!" She stated.

#Mal is having bi panic so hard rn #Youtube #I love angst.

[my-name-is-jefferooni]

I JUST SAW “GRIME TIDINGS” AND I AM SHOOKITH TO MAH CORE

The new episode was… Oh my god. There’s so much Sonadow in just this first episode and I am close to fucking SOBBING.

So to start off, we got the fabled “Sonic feels bad about how Nine took the shards” in the cavern scene and even though it ended far too quickly compared to most other predictions, it was still very enjoyable! Shadow wasted absolutely no time in getting Sonic back in the game, while it took Sonic a while to realize that now is NOT THE TIME FOT A GODDAMN MENTAL BREAKDOWN. Twas a great interaction that had my soul flying outta my body frfr

THEN SONIC’S FRIENDS LITERALLY START FLYING AWAY AND MY HEART JUST SHATTERS BECAUSE WTF THEY LITERALLY JUST WENT TO SAY HI TO GOD I AM NEVER GONNA BE NORMAL ABOUT THAT THEY LEGIT JUST SAID “Bye Sonic cya in heaven” AND THEN WERE GONE LIKE WHAT

Poor Sonic just had to speed run the five stages of grief lmao

AND THEN ALL MY WORRIES WASH AWAY WHEN I SEE SONADOW WORKING TOGETHER TO GET OUT OF GHOST HILL AND IT IS SERIOUSLY THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SEQUENCE OF 3D ANIMATION I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE. There is so much squash-and-stretch, so much dynamic posing, so many fast movements, so many moments where you blink and you miss something. It’s so fluid and so expertly done, my heart was melting when I saw it. Prime is just straight up eye candy at this point and I am not in any way complaining. This scene was so pretty and so epic and so intense. And I could feel literally every impact. Wonderful story boarding to whoever did the storyboards. You have my full respect.

And then Shadow gives Sonic a compliment and my soul once again leaves my body. I am not okay.

AND THEN THE SONADOW FANKID BATTLE ENSUES WOOHOOOOOOOOOOO

And then. AND THEN. WHEN NINE BRINGS OUT THE OTHER 4 ROBOTS TO FIGHT SONIC AND SHADOW THE TWO HEDGEHOGS LOOK AT EACH OTHER AND GO “Behind you!” AT THE SAME TIME AND I START DYING AGAIN. Feel bad for Big tho. Bro didn’t get a robot… 🥺 Feel so horribly bad for Shadow too. He got stuck fighting the Rouge robot during the fight. Must’ve been a horrible experience. Can’t wait to see how he’ll react to the other versions of her though! If we even get to see him again…!

Which by the way, the ending scene…? OH MY GOD??????????? THEY REALLY HIT US WITH THE BIGGEST CLIFFHANGER EVER. SHADOW THE HEDGEHOG. SHADOW THE GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING HEDGEHOG. THE BITCH WITH ALL THE EMO DRIP AND THE HEELIES. THE ONE WHO CAN FUCKING FLY NOW. YEAH. HE SACRIFICED HIMSELF FOR SONIC. WHAT!!!!!?????????

Obviously, he’s not gone for good. Cuz then we wouldn’t be able to call this season “Sonadow Prime season 2.” But the fact that he gave himself up and chose to fight off a whole horde of super strong and powerful robots that could beat him in an instant all because Nine had his sights on the blue blur…? That is A LOT. Especially since we’ve waited like 2 whole decades for some good Shadow characterization. In no way am I complaining, duh, but for someone like me…? MAN I WAS NOT OKAY.

Sinister Nine is… It is wild. I always knew he was gonna be a problem ever since Shadow pointed it out at the beginning of season 2, but I never expected him to actually be this evil. He lands next to Sonic and Shadow before the sacrifice, and when he reveals what he plans to do to Sonic… He’s hardly recognizable anymore. It’s scary, how utterly broken and changed he feels. This is still the same fox as before though, just a bit more sure of what he wants. And that’s terrifying.

So naturally, when Shadow figures it out, he is mortified.

AND I START INTERNALLY SCREAMING BECAUSE I WAS NOT EXPECTING HIM TO REACT THAT WAY OH MY GOD BRO WAS FLABBERGASTED HE WAS SO TAKEN ABACK HE WAS SO HEARTBROKEN HE WAS LIKE “Why u tryna hurt my boo???” AND THAT MAKES THE SACRIFICE HIT THAT MUCH HARDER. OH MY GOD. MAKES IT WORSE THAT SONIC HAD NO IDEA WTF HE WAS TALKING ABOUT TOO.

Anywhizzle my energy has dwindled since my first watch because it’s been like 30 minutes but I just wanna add that. I am pretty sure it’s official that the Prime Universe is dead. Gone. Deceased. That shit ain’t coming back, I can guarantee. We spent like half the episode trying to get out of Ghost Hill and then mourning the loss of it, and I highly doubt all that screen time is gonna go to waste. They’ll probably say that Sonic succeeded and that we’ll be shown everyone returning to normal, but based off what we see I at least hope this isn’t the case. This now feels more like a show about moving on, about finding out who you are and making friends. It’s about change, but it’s also about connection. And with the Prime Universe gone, with Ghost Hill destroyed, and with the Paradox Prism in Nine’s grasp until the foreseeable future… I really doubt we’ll see Ghost Hill restored. This fact is amplified by the fact that we’ve been getting more screen time and development with each different universe/shatterverse.

Aight that’s all for now bye bye

#As you can tell I have my priorities straight lmfao #my shitty rambles #sonadow