#”I know it feels violating as hell- but you can’t take it out on them. Artificial memories or information or not that is a newborn- a baby-

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 301

Ellie, during one of her stints of what do I do with my life right now, decides to, with the help of her Original Dad-Person (Look he’s aging and she’s not and it gets less questions the older he gets if he says daughter instead of sister with how the Fentons are getting older too) creates a Boo-Tube channel. No, not a Youtube channel, those are stuck to a single dimension.

Bootube on the other hand? Due to being through the Realms (and wow is Tucker getting so much income from creating it) is interdimensional. Which is so cool honestly. And she doesn’t know what to do at first, and honestly there’s already so many travel blogs that she kind of just… decided to do something that she wished someone had done for her and her brothers and Danny when she was new to the world. 

So she creates the channel CAAW: Clone Awareness, Accommodations, and Welfare. They had to learn things through trial and error, but maybe she can help someone out there learn how to find their own selves, or even help someone not melt. 

[starryeyedjanai]

Eddie texting Steve DO NOT OPEN THAT SNAPCHAT I JUST SENT PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

And Steve is like ??? Tf did you send me ?

And of course he’s insanely curious, but he’s a good friend and if Eddie sent something he didn’t mean to, he’s not gonna open it.

Eddie texts back 😔I sent you a dick pic I meant to send Robin. I have you both as thing 1 and thing 2 in my phone and I sent it to the wrong thing 😫

Steve sends back ???? Why were you sending my lesbian bestie a dick pic my guy????

And Eddie is like for the aesthetics? I need to know if I got a good angle

Steve immediately facetimes Robin and asks, “Why is Eddie sending you dick pics for the aesthetics?

Robin says, “Oh, because I’m objective and will tell him if his dongle looks weird.” Like it's a perfectly normal thing, like he's the weird one for even questioning it.

“Who is he sending the dick pics to after you approve them?” he asks, out of his mind with curiosity.

“How the hell am I supposed to know that? Why do you even want to know?” she asks.

He deflects and tells her that Eddie accidentally sent him a dick pic and that he can’t open it or he’ll see what Eddie dick looks like.

She lets him change the subject, but she's grinning at him like she sees right through him, sees through the deflection. He knows they're going to have to talk about his Eddie problem at some point.

Before they hang up, she says she’ll come over and delete it in the morning for him.

That should be enough to calm him down, that he doesn't have to deal with it alone, but Steve is perturbed all night. He wants to open the snapchat, wants to see what Eddie is sending other people. It feels like a violation of his privacy, though, because he didn't intend for Steve to see it.

So Steve sucks it up and leaves the entire app unopened, lest he be tempted. That doesn't stop him from thinking about it all night.

What kind of pictures is he sending people? What does his dick look like in these "aesthetic" pictures? He sneaks a hand into his underwear thinking about the kinds of pictures he might send Steve if he knew he was interested.

In the morning, Robin comes over and opens the snapchat for him - she doesn't let him see it, and she takes a selfie of herself holding up a peace sign so that Eddie knows it was her that opened the picture.

She says, “It was a really good dick pic,” to Steve, like that is at all helpful to his current situation.

He’s gonna be thinking about this for a long, long time, it seems.

[yuquinzel]

— flowerthief.

feat. itoshi rin. fluff <3 short drabble. rin doesn’t greet you without flowers.

itoshi rin shows up at your house at exactly 9:38 pm — standing in all his glory — drenched in sweat and a mess of shattered breaths. you know he ran all the way here, which you can’t find the reason for when you check the time twice to make sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you.

you would’ve said something like rin what the hell it’s so late or maybe just cross your arms and peer down at him with a look that says well? to what do I owe the pleasure except it’s only sarcasm.

you would say all that if the first thing he did as you opened the door wasn’t shoving the HUGE bouquet of flowers in your face.

you have no idea where this is going.

it takes 10 seconds for you to realise he’s not going to move from his spot unless you accept the flowers and get them out of your face.

“uhm... what?” is all you can say.

“flowers.” he replies. only now allowing himself to relax and lean against the wall.

“i can see that, but why now?” you bring your fingers to trace the petals. rin is aware of all your favorites, so you’re not surprised to find them sweetly tucked together.

in fact this isn’t the first time he’s given you flowers.

ever since three months ago at the start of your relationship, when you had mindlessly told him you’ve never been given flowers— rin had made it his life’s mission to bring you flowers every. single. day. it’s sometimes a bouquet of blooming colors, sometimes it’s just a small flower he could’ve found anywhere on the roadside.

rin doesn’t greet you without flowers.

“i was so busy with practice today, i couldn’t come earlier.” he says in a somewhat hurried tone, each word cut off by the next.

you think of the hurried text he’d sent you earlier — practice’ll drag out today. i can’t come. sorry. — it was simple, and you knew he was busy so you weren’t upset over it either.

“i thought you couldn’t come?”

“but i wanted to.”

that explains the impromptu visit past 9 pm, the disheveled hair and the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead saying he ran like there was no tomorrow.

“that’s okay rinnie. you give me flowers everyday. it’s okay if you were too busy.” your fingers trace the soft petals. rin holds his breath.

“no, it’s not. i give you flowers everyday. why should today be any different?”

a smile tugs at your lips. you feel giddy and warm. the thought that he’d rushed out of practice and took the time to get you a bouquet of your favourites just to come see you even though he must be exhausted — why he goes out of his way to make you feel special — it sort of steals your breath and make your heart ricochet like bullets in your ribcage.

so when you take your hand to brush his cheeks, the warmth lingering in your hands, rin takes a hold of it in a firm grip. his own hand resting on top of yours to keep it there.

his shoulders relax, “do you like them?” he asks, like always, eyes shining with a glimmer you only ever see around you.

“i love them.” you say, all your love for him and his flowers safely wrapped up in the syllables.

rin lets a small smile play at his lips, “...and?”

you laugh at this, knowing exactly what he means. “and i love you.”

“i love you too.” rin mirrors your laugh, a sputter of low breaths throughout the air.

© yuquinzel2024 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

one less draft. woohoo. fellas i present to you, rin, the epitome of “if he wanted to, he would.”

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 1

I am finally ready to show you all the Sugar Baby!Steve/Sugar Daddy!Eddie fic I've been working on. I'm not sure how long it will go, but Steve's going to go on a journey with this one.

But I feel I need to go into the title of this fic a bit, because I feel it’s important to talk about before starting the story.

The Caged Bird Still Sings, because they are well taken care of and has every need met. They will never starve, or thirst or get too hot or cold, they will be cared for if sick or injured. The only price is the cage.

It’s like that owl that got released from that zoo by well-meaning ‘animal advocates’ that died by flying into a high rise building. If it had still been in the zoo it would have lived for another thirty years.

So in this story Steve starts off thinking that Eddie’s love and attention is only temporary and is actively trying to get a job, make money of his own, and move out and away from needing Eddie’s money and gifts to survive so that they can be on more even footing.

But as the story goes on and he can’t get work and he meets Robin, he slips into this melancholy for awhile thinking that if he wants to continue living like this there has to be some sort of trade and thinks it’s about sex.

Which is why Eddie refuses to have sex with him during that time. He wants them to be couple and knows that Steve isn’t there yet.

It’s only at the end when Steve realizes this isn’t temporary, that Eddie isn’t just trying to buy sex from him, that he settles into being taken care of. By Robin, by Eddie, by the rest of the band. Not because they don’t think he can take care of himself but because they love him.

There will be only two sex scenes in this. Once at the beginning before the Arrangement, and once at the end when they are both on the same page and they consummate their relationship.

If you think this isn’t your cup of tea, no problem. Let me know in the comments, tags, DMs, or even asks (I’ll answer privately) and I’ll take you off the list. I already have one that has told me upfront that they aren’t interested and won’t be tagged.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little story.

~

Steve sat in his Bimmer, head hung low between his shoulders, tears streaming down his face. Everything he owned was in the trunk and backseat of the car. It was his car. The title had been signed over to him when he turned eighteen.

He was still wearing the stupid little green vest and name tag that bore the name Family Video. A place he no longer worked. He’d have to return them to the store in the morning, but for now, it created the illusion of still being employed.

When he woke up yesterday morning, he had three things; a home, a job, and a boyfriend. And now he didn’t have any of that shit.

All because last night his parents came home to find him and Tommy on the sofa with their hands in each other’s pants. Leaving no doubt about what they were doing.

They kicked Steve out mere minutes after Tommy fled, his father screaming that he wouldn’t have a dirty whoring fag in his house. All while his mother cried about losing her baby to those ‘horrid queers’.

Steve had called around to his friends looking for a place to spend the night, but they were all too afraid of his dad. His father roared with laughter each time a friend turned him down.

“They don’t want a dirty fag in their house either,” he said with a sneer as Steve hung up on his last hope.

“Now get the hell out of my house.”

Steve did as he was told and spent the night in his car in the parking of Family Video. When it came time to open the store, he grabbed his clothes and work vest and got changed in the bathroom.

By noon, his life was over. Keith had sat him down in his office and told him that due to morality clause that Steve had violated, he would no longer be working at Family Video. He handed Steve his last check and told him he had to return the vest cleaned with his badge by tomorrow or he would be forced to pay for them.

Steve cashed the check. It wasn’t much as it was only the beginning of the new pay period and he had barely worked eight hours before he had been fired.

He had some money in his savings account, another thing that had been signed over to him when he turned eighteen. But not enough for a hotel. So he went to the bank and closed out the account. All total it was only fifty bucks. That might get him a night at a cheap motel, but nothing past that. He would be homeless, penniless, and friendless if he tried.

But there was another way to get a warm place to stay at least for the night without spending everything he had.

He got dressed up in the sluttiest outfit he had. He pulled on tight leather black pants and yellow shirt that barely grazed the top of his belly button. He put on a little eyeliner and mascara, then he added strawberry lip balm to make his lips pop.

Steve opened his wallet and pulled out his fake ID. The one he got when he was sixteen off his cousin.

They looked close enough to be brothers and Scott was easy to change to Steve and ta da! He put it in front of his actual ID and drove out to the Hideout.

He parked far enough away from the bar so people wouldn’t see all his stuff in the back and then walked up to the line. He was so focused on getting in that he missed all the signs.

The lack of variety in clothes from those in the line, the bouncer asking for a high cover charge, higher than normal, and the most glaring? The great big fucking stage setup with the huge ass banner that said in bold fucking letters: CORRODED COFFIN.

Nope, it took getting a seat at the bar and the bartender straight up asking if his girlfriend was a fan of the band before Steve realized his error.

He was a prep surrounded by metal fans all there to see Corroded Coffin. Steve was familiar with them. But then again you had to be dead not to know the name of the biggest band to make out of Hawkins, metal fan or not.

Eddie Munson was older than Steve by a decade, so he was only ten when the older man took his band to LA and made it big. Which if you had listened to any of his teachers or even just anyone over forty at the time for longer than two seconds they would rant about how they never thought he would amount to anything. That making music was a pipe dream and to just accept taking his uncle’s place at the manufacturing plant on the outside of town.

He also knew that they made sure to stop and play here at the Hideout every time they did any American tour just to fuck with those assholes.

So he had really picked the worst night to have his life completely fucked over enough for him to even think about coming here to get laid. Because chances were, he wasn’t gonna. He just hoped that someone took pity on him enough to buy him his drinks so that he could shit-faced enough to endure sleeping rough again.

He ordered a dirty martini and hoped to be left alone at the very least.

~

Eddie was in the back tuning his guitar when Jeff came in shaking his head.

“What’s up, man?” he asked looking back down at his sweetheart.

“Some poor bastard wandered in on the night we perform,” Jeff said with a chuckle.

Eddie raised his head and frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Come here, come here,” Jeff said, waving him over.

Eddie set his guitar down and walked over. Jeff pointed at the guy at the bar. Bright yellow shirt and shiny leather pants.

“Ooh...” he said with a wince. “Poor guy. Probably had a shit day and wanted to blow off some steam and now his day is just going to get worse.”

Jeff nodded. “Yeah, I’m half tempted to at least buy the guy a drink for the sheer fact he fucking stayed. The balls on that dude.”

Eddie watched as the guy fondled the stem of his glass. He licked his lips slowly.

“Oh no,” Jeff said, face palming. “I know that look. And absolutely fucking not. He looks super young, Ed.”

Eddie just shrugged. “He’s at least twenty-one, otherwise he wouldn’t have made it past Monty.”

Jeff raised his head and blinked at him for a moment. Monty was a good bouncer who could spot a fake a mile away.

“Yeah, okay,” he huffed. “Objection retracted.”

Eddie clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Tell Chrissy to start a tab for this guy and have it be in my name and to put the word out that if anyone is seen harassing him will get kicked out.”

Jeff sighed but did as he was told. Eddie sat back down and began tuning his guitar again. He thought tonight was going to blow, but a little yellow canary just made things a hell of a lot more interesting.

~

Steve was sitting at the bar nursing his one drink for the evening and keeping his head down when a perky blonde slid up next to him.

“I need five bottles of Miller,” she told the bartender and then turned and gave Steve a once over. “And something for the fine gentleman here.”

Steve turned to look at her. Her hair was actually closer to red than blonde but she was cute in a preppy cheerleader kind of way.

“All these going on the same tab?” the bartender asked, handing her the five unopened beers.

She smiled up at him. “Yep! And all his drinks, too. All night. Whatever he wants.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow and then looked over Steve up and down. “God damn him. He’s doing it again?”

The woman just giggled and winked at Steve before taking her prizes with her.

Steve wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth so downed his drink and ordered a Tequila Sunrise to replace it.

But curiosity won out. “Do I want to know what that was about?”

The bartender chuckled and shook his head fondly.

Steve thought about saying something bitchy, but he really wanted his drinks for free and poking the bear was not a plan if he wanted that to happen, so kept his mouth shut.

The band came out and Steve knew he was in trouble. He objectively knew what the band looked like and vaguely knew who was who even. But all that blew out the fucking window in the face of Eddie Munson in the flesh.

Tight pants, leather jacket, shredded t-shirt, combat boots, and his hair whipping back and forth?

God, Steve was instantly horny and just as hard. He shifted in his pants and prayed that the tight pants kept his dick from showing too much. Otherwise, this was going be a very awkward evening.

He was listening to the band and bobbing along to the music when some dude over fifty came up to him.

“Name three songs off their third album,” he growled.

Steve blinked at him for a moment and then raised one eyebrow. “Dude, I’m just here for the booze. I’ve had a shit day just want to relax.”

“So you’re some townie who thinks that because this your fucked up hell hole that you can just take the spot of some real fan who wanted to see them more than you?”

Steve really didn’t know how to answer that. Because, yeah. That’s exactly what he thought.

“It’s not that serious,” Steve said, turning back to his drink. “They’re playing in both Indy and Bloomington. They can see them there instead of this dimly lit bar.” He mouthed ‘sorry’ to the bartender, who shrugged and tried to hide his smile.

“And how would you know that, asshole?” the guy growled.

Steve sighed and pointed to the sign behind the bar listing Corroded Coffin’s tour dates.

The guy whipped his head to look at the sign but before he could say anything else, Monty came up to the guy and quietly ushered him away, whispering furiously as the guy’s face paled.

The bartender shook his head. “These dudes never learn.”

Steve took a sip of his drink and set it down. “What’s that?”

“That the guys,” he pointed to the stage and Steve looked over his shoulder at the band kicking it on stage, he nodded, “don’t like it when fans try and gate keep. They can’t do jack shit at larger venues but place like this? They absolutely refuse to let that kind of shit go on.”

Steve looked over his shoulder just in time to catch Eddie winking at him. He blushed and turned bright red.

The bartender laughed before he moved on to take another order.

~

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33

[dark-and-kawaii]

I've always wondered how would Raphael or Haarlep react to another devil/incubus stealing their Tav away. Would they get jealous and protective? Or would they be angry that someone is stealing something that belongs to them?

Oooooohhhh I love this!!!! Hehehe love me some angst!!! Let’s do it!!! I couldn’t pick so I did both :3 because they are both perfect and we love them both (≧ᗜ≦)!!!

♡ Pairings: Raphael x Tav/Reader - Haarlep x Tav/Reader

♡ Content: Angst

₊˚⊹♡ Raphael ♡⊹˚₊

Papers, once carefully organized, lay strewn across his grand flooring like fallen leaves in a storm. His bed, once a symbol of everything sinister he’s done to you and you to him was now shattered, its luxurious fabrics torn to shreds, the feathers from the pillows still falling from the air. However, the most telling sign of his fury was the portrait -one of his most prized possessions- now bore deep, jagged marks from his own nails… A testament of his uncontrollable rage as he found you missing- taken from him by another…

Raphael’s breathing came out in ragged gasps, each exhale a growl… The room echoing from the sounds of his heavy footsteps as he paced, his mind racing with ways of torturing the one who dared lay their filthy hands on you, his little mouse…

Closing his eyes, he tried to take a deep breath to calm his nerves, but his mind flashed to the moment he realized you were gone. The emptiness of your usual spot, laying on his bed, awaiting for his return. Your arms always held out to him, your arch devil… Your king… The spot usually lingering the scent of your presence now tainted by the stench of another devil. It was a violation… You were his little mouse, his precious treasure… His possession. And now, someone had you all to themselves… Raphael’s nose scrunched at the thought of what this devil might be doing to you…

His claws flexed, the tips scarping against his wall with a screech that resonated throughout his house of hope. He would find you, and he would tear apart the very fabric of Hell if he had to.

Moving towards the shattered bed, his eyes narrowed as he spotted the tinniest pieces of torn fabric… Your fabric from the dress he gifted you. Picking up the golden red piece, Raphael brought it to his nose. Your scent was faint but it was enough to cause his tail to flick in anger, “They shall pay dearly, my little mouse.”he vowed, his voice barely a whisper, “I will devise torments beyond the darkest imaginations of any devil.”

And with a snap, he was gone.

₊˚⊹♡ Haarlep ♡⊹˚₊

Haarlep’s heart pounded in his chest as he took in the scene before him. There you were, in the arms of another incubus, their arm around your neck, their tail creeping up your loose shirt. The desperation in your eyes to get away was evident, tears brimming as you choked out your beloved incubus’s name, “H-Haarlep…”

The incubus holding you smirked, it’s tongue dancing along your ear, “I’ve heard this little thing of yours in quite the prize, Haarlep . You should be a good little devils pet and share.”

Fury and fear clashed within Haarlep, emotions he’s never experience when involving another… And something else- something protective swirled within him.

He’s played games like this before, he knew how to get what he wanted- especially from a lowly creature, they were simple afterall, he should know. Haalrep’s hips swayed seductively as he approached where you stood, his fingers tracing the ornate posts of your bed, “Why would you ever want a soft, squishy little toy like her,” he purred, his voice dripping with honeyed temptation, “when you could have me~”

The sounds of fire dancing around Haarlep filled your ears as he shifted into your form, every detail perfect down to the last scar, “I feel like her~ sound like her and~” he stopped just in front of you and the other incubus, his eyes locking onto the creature’s with a challenging gleam. Slowly, teasingly, Haarlep removed his top, revealing your identical chest, “you can’t break me like you could with her~ Haarlep taunted, his voice so confident, his eyes flicking to you, “you can use me to your heart’s content~”

Haarlep's eyes stayed on you for a moment, his little dove. He’d never share such a treat, such a delight that belonged to him with another. No other would ever taste you, feel you, suckle on your soul as they fed off you… No, your entire being, your body, your soul, it all belonged to him.

The promise of an unbreakable plaything was tempting for the other incubus. And just as the incubus reached out to grasp your- Haarlep’s chest, Haarlep's hand shot up, gripping the incubus’s wrist, allowing you to wriggle free and escape their grip. Fleeing behind Haarlep, you held onto his back and watched as your incubus had his fun.

“You shall make a pretty decoration!” Haarlep grinned wickedly, he would use this creature as an example, a warning to those who else dare try to lay claim to you. String up their empty husk like a decoration, their tail used like a makeshift string in a tree… Yes, it would be the most beautiful display of a warning. You were his, and he’d make sure all knew this.

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Cookie's Fic Recs

I feel like no one really does rec lists anymore! But last night I was feeling and sappy and mushy and decide to put together my own little list of fics I love. These are in no particular order, and they don't follow any real theme/tropes other than I dearly love them all, and you should definitely give them a read!

*I tried to tag everyone I could find a blog for, but if I missed anyone, please let me know I can tag them!

The Instinctual Gravitation Towards Warmth by kimkhimhant (@kimkhimhant)

This is my comfort fic. No joke, this is what I read when I want to die. It’s angsty as all hell, it’s made me cry, but it is so indescribably good. Kim is an addict going through recovery, finding love and family along the way. He hits rock bottom—arguably multiple times—but always claws his way back, always with the support of the people that love him. It’s such a beautifully written and cathartic story, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read it. But it’s almost certainly the fic I’ve reread the most. 

Error in the Code by BlackwaterVial (@blackwatervial)

Sneaking this VegasPete onto my otherwise KimChay list bc it altered me. I think most people already know what it is, but jic: it’s a sci-fi/cyberpunk/android AU, and it’s one of the best things I’ve ever read. I go feral for androids and this fic delivers in all the best ways. The world building alone makes me weep. But all of the characters interactions, the way we get such an in depth feel for everyone despite the limited PoV, and the most satisfying take I’ve seen on android artificial intelligence ever—I can’t recommend this story enough. 

Idiots & Idioms by snickerdoodlles (@snickerdoodlles)

This one is actually a series, and it's genuinely so much fun to read. For the most part it's a SocMed fic with Chay taking over Wik's twitter and making it everyone's problem, and it's fkn hysterical. This one is actually a series, and it's genuinely so much fun to read. For the most part it's a SocMed fic with Chay taking over Wik's twitter and making it everyone's problem, and it's fkn hysterical.

Silver for Truth by snickerdoodlles (@snickerdoodlles)

This fic is the Kim & Khun vs. Tawan team-up we deserve. Kim is a ruthless, demented bitch, that's too cool to beat Tawan to death bc what if he messes up his wrists right before a show?? Big, get 'im. Kim is the feral-est cat ever, leaving behind evidence and bodies for Kinn bc saying "hey bro, I still love you/look out for you" is too much emotion for him. The fic is also from Tawan's PoV which also makes it the funniest thing ever, for reason that I won't spoil <3

The Wiked Lies We Live by shubaka (@shubaka)

Oh my god, this fic. Canon divergence (technically??) where most things happen as normal... except KimChay have been bodyswaped at the start of it. The little twists Shu puts on the events of canon, given it isn't the correct characters experiencing them (such as Big being very confused about why Kim is suddenly nice to him??) are so much fun.

A Portrait of Affection by froginthesun (@froginthesun)

Kim is an artist and Chay is the part time nude model he hires. ‘Nuff said right there, except no it isn’t, this fic is beautiful. Kim’s frustration with his craft is palpable, and so is the way he rediscovers his passion through Chay. The writing is wonderfully detailed, every chapter felt like walking through a museum. And tension slowly building between them—unf. 

Sunshine in My Closet by moneskin 

This is an A/B/O AU that is so satisfying to read. Typical hilarious boundary violations (Chay stealing Kim’s clothes, a bewildered Kim handing over a freshly worn outfit, having barely any idea who this strange kid is) characteristic of the AU, but then the story also delves deeper into more serious topics. Chay has a history of abuse from a past alpha that he has to learn how to navigate with Kim, who is incredibly patient and works hard to make Chay feel safe and loved. Overall a very sweet and comforting read. Seriously, this fic makes me melt.

Your Body Feels Like Disrespect by Blue_Jay (@bluejayfiction)

This fic is so funny because it begins with Kim blurting out, in the middle of an Important Mafia MeetingTM, that he and Chay aren’t having sex, and then wanting to die about it. Followed by Kim’s family trying very hard to both support and terrorize him. It’s hilarious, sexy, and one of my favorite reads when I need a pick me up. (Bless Kinn’s determination to be a Good and Supportive Brother, and Vegas for being the Worst Person Ever.) 

In Silent Screams (In Wildest Dreams) by BelladonnaWyck and StratsWrites 

This is definitely a darker fic. There’s DubCon, Kim is generally Sketchy, but it’s very hot. And I love explorations of his character where he isn’t just outwardly psychotic and cruel. This fic shows the kind of dark that I think Kim could have been, if you just tilted his character a little to the left. He still seems very much the way he is in canon, but he’s also… a lot more calculating and cold, sometimes. I love it. 

Forget-me-always by bisexualbard (@bisexualbard-writes)

I cannot sing the praises of this fic enough. I think it’s probably tied for IGTW for my most-read fics. I’ve probably read this one more often in reality, but only bc it’s shorter. But oh my god, does it hurt. Kim gets struck with amnesia post-break up, does a little light stalking, and gets Chay to help him learn/remember who he is. In the process realizes that wow his life sucks, and there’s no way he wants to go back to it. Especially if he’s the kind of person that hurt Chay. He would rather start over. (Ofc, he doesn’t get to). This fic makes me cry, it’s so good 

Coffeehouse Play by AirgodSLV

This is a canon divergence AU that I adore. The KimChay characterization is on point. I love that despite everything going on around them, they also get to be two boys that hang out and play videogames and try to shove each other off the couch while Porsche makes dinner. Given the age difference it’s so easy to make Kim Older and MatureTM, but he’s still a kid, and this story never once forgets that. It felt so honest and true to his character that Kim does have a lot of plans, and he’s very smart, but he’s also still so young, and sometimes shit just goes wrong. 

Want and Need by bisexualbard (@bisexualbard-writes)

God, this fic. T h i s f i c. Post-canon Chay goes to therapy and becomes a camboy (in that order) and it’s delicious. Watching the steady breakdown of his and Porsche’s relationship is so satisfying. Everything one of them does to make things worse feels awful, but is so in character that it’s hard to be mad at them for their decisions. Kim readily giving up control if it means he can be with Chay, and Chay getting a crash course in how to dom. All of it is just. So good. This is such a good fic

Your Look, Through This Lens by WildelyDawn (@wildelydawn)

AU where Chay becomes Kim’s photographer. This fic emotionally hobbled me. Just a fair warning. You will cry. But that said, the ending isn’t nearly as sad as the tags would have you believe! At least in my opinion. I think it’s fairly open/hopeful, and beautiful either way. I love the way this fic shows how Kim balances being Wik while also being part of the mafia. And I love how temperamental he is; always hot and cold, while remaining pretty even as far as how he expresses himself. Always very aloof/detached, just out of reach, with Chay never really sure where he stands/what Kim wants. But at the same time the fic happens just before Kim gets a big break, and the subtle ways he shows his excitement and nerves as things start coming together—it’s wonderful. 

Love’s a Two-Way Dream by giraffeter (@giraffeter)

This fic is dark. Kim atticwife’s Chay and it’s not a good time. But!! It’s not just dark for the sake of it; Kim is a genuine sociopath, yes, but it unfolds slowly. You get a sense of creeping dread as he does things that are just a little bit off, until finally the Big Bad Thing happens. At first he seems normal, playing the part of good and respectful boyfriend. But it just goes downhill from there, and I love every word of it. The ending especially is very satisfying. 

In the Dark of the Night by bisexualbard (@bisexualbard-writes)

Not to recc everything Bard writes, but… This is a rape recovery fic that I feel handles the subject matter incredibly well. There’s no gratuitous rape scenes, and even with the flashbacks, I don’t remember any of them being incredibly detailed. I think Bard handled the fic with incredible respect and grace. This is another one that’ll make you cry. The way Chay handles his past trauma while trying to have a relationship with Kim is so painfully real. And so is the way Kim wants to help him, but doesn’t really know how. But they figure it out together, and it’s amazing. (Also Kim acquires a stabby child in the form of an OC that I adore.) I just love the path Chay's recovery takes in this fic, it's so visceral and relatable. It's all around just. So good. I love this fic for the same reason I love IGTW and it's because both fics show an excellent depiction of recovery.

Chains and Crowns, A Flower Can Both Make by Sweet_William (@sweet-william-writes)

Incredibly Regency AU. Historical AUs are some of my all time favorites, and this is everything I didn’t know I needed. Sweet_William captures the essence of an Austen-esque style while still making this feel like the KinnPorsche characters. Chay is wonderfully feisty, Kim is delightfully complex, and the various family interactions always had me cackling. 

Simple Little Secrets by CorvusCloudburst (@cloudburst-ink)

Chay sees the future when he touches people. Kim thinks he’s either insane, a spy, or a conman. Oh, and Chay’s visions of Kim? Always sex-related. The shenanigans are endless. What more do you need?? They’re both crazy4crazy and it’s my favorite thing ever. Their banter is snappy and fun, the writing is sexy, and it never once gave me second-hand embarrassment despite Chay’s horrible situations. 

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - XIV

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters gen. warnings: NSFW, blood, biting, violence divider by animatedglittergraphics-n-more

⚠Trigger warning: YET MORE GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, if that squicks you DO NOT READ!⚠

14. a universal conduit

You’re not much for praying, but if ever God should be interested in you stupid little trials on Earth now seems like the time. As you tear through the streets of L.A. holding on for dear undeath on the back of Wick’s motorcycle, you send up a request to the big guy in the clouds:  

Please, don’t let us be too late. 

You just had to make a little stop at the Four Seasons to collect some blood from the Antichrist; a criminal defense lawyer named Kevin Lomax, unwittingly on retainer as don Juan’s little failsafe. 

Truth be told, you’d expected more of a fight from one of Satan’s offspring–but then he was the other Son of Satan, an earthbound half-breed who possibly didn’t even know who he truly was. 

More’s the better, and you keep the double Ziploc-bagged portion of his profane plasma in the inside pocket of your jacket, close to your heart. 

According to don Juan…it just might be the key to saving the world. 

He’d told you other things too. 

Such as, this ritual was to take place at the old mental hospital, where supposedly two ley lines meet and the veil is fortuitously thin for such things, forming a sort of gate where it’s easier for the constituents of Hell to pass through. 

 “What sort of ritual?” you’d demanded, wanting to know what you were walking into. 

Somehow, Juan managed to shrug with what remained of his trunk of a body. “Oh, the usual chanting and sacrifice I suppose. But that wasn’t my part of the deal.” 

“What was your part of the deal?” 

“Keeping Constantine out of it all. He was the only real threat left,” Juan grumbled, then glared at you. “You didn’t prove quite the distraction we’d hoped, you useless wench.” 

You realized that he didn’t mean kidnapping you tonight, but earlier, when your whole ordeal as a creature of the night began. He’d ordered for this to happen to you. He’d been watching you all along. The weight of this truth dawned on you, and it hurt. Jesus, how it hurt, but rather than cry about it you’d bared your fangs at him, picking up his sword from the ground. It was nearly as long as you are tall, and Juan’s eyes went wide. 

“What do you think you're doing with that?”

“It doesn’t feel good, does it, when you’re treated like your life is worth nothing?”

He bared his own fangs at you, jumping to the correct conclusion in the span of a second. 

“We had a deal!”

“You had a deal with him,” you’d said, nodding at Wick, who stood by with his arms crossed and a stony expression. “Not me.” 

“¡Espera! No, wait! You can’t–” 

You’re not exactly proud of how quick you were, to cut off his head–but in the heat of the moment, the bite of the blade through flesh and bone–God it felt good. 

Bloody, violated, but avenged, you stood over his decapitated corpse, shaking like a leaf but the sword still gripped hard in your hand. Lifeless eyes stared up at you, his mouth gaping as though he would still try to bargain with you from beyond the true grave. You thought of the way he touched you, the way he laughed at your pain–and you kicked his head as hard as you could like a soccer ball with a scream, bombing it into the dark depths of the cave. 

The ringing in your ears returned; Wick spoke gently to you again, taking the sword from your hand. You weren’t exactly numb, but the world seemed to have narrowed to a tunnel, where there was only you, and Wick, and his strong hands upon you leading you away. 

You never found Chas in the cave, and you hope he is with John, and not dead in an alley somewhere. You had to hand it to them, for baiting you just with a hat…but it seems safe to say the joke was on don Juan in the end. 

♰♰♰

“You can stay here,” says Wick as you pull up to the hospital, cupping your cheek in his hand. It seems eerily abandoned, for a medical facility, the windows all dark. “You have done enough, milaya. Let me finish this fight for you.” 

But you shake your head, unwilling to sit out from the fray. You can feel that John is in there, and he is afraid, although he is controlling it well enough to function. You sense the fighting hasn’t started quite yet. So brave, your demon hunter. He deserves better, than dying in this place a second time. 

“No. I’m going with you.” 

You like him even more, for not arguing with you. He simply nods, and he is ready to get down to business. “I hate demons,” he grumbles, rifling through his saddlebags for vials and a pair of brass cross-emblazoned knuckles. “They are too complicated.” 

“Are they really harder to kill than vampires?” you ask, watching him with a fascination you’re not sure is healthy. 

“Yes and no. Their powers…vary. You must be smart on your feet to find their weakness, before they kill you. It is impressive…your Constantine has lived so long.”

You are so surprised to hear him compliment John that he could have pushed you over with a feather. He looks up at you with a rueful smile you do not understand. “Let’s hope his luck holds, eh? Come on.” 

Armed to the teeth with Juan’s broadsword, knives, guns, holy water, and what you think may have been a grenade slipped into his pocket, you follow your dhampir beau into the dark maw of the place some people would swear is already Hell on Earth.

♰♰♰

The moment you set foot inside the hospital you sense the demonic presence, like a seething nest of poisonous snakes in the heart of the building. Wick feels it too, and you follow the winding hallways towards the therapeutic recreation area of the facility; ie, the pool. 

“Water is a vehicle; it lubricates the transition between worlds,” Wick explains hushedly, when you speculate as to why. 

You are scared, but you shove it down, and follow a step behind at Wick’s side. Worry for Constantine knots in your gut; maybe it’s stupid, but you just want to see him again. You don’t allow yourself to think one last time–even if in the very back of your brain, you feel the impending doom all too well. 

“...are all in violation of the balance,” you hear a familiar voice say, and your heart soars. “Leave now, or you will be deported.” 

You arrive in time to find John standing on a chair with a crowd of demons looking upon him curiously, that golden shotgun at his side. He should look ridiculous like that, but somehow, he is so tall and resolute that he cuts nothing less than a striking figure. 

“Go to Hell,” he tells the room, holding his lighter up to a sprinkler head–then he seems to sense you behind him–he whirls with terror in his eyes. “No!” he shouts desperately, throwing out his hand as though he could physically push you from across the room. 

Wick seems to understand something you do not, for just as the sprinkler heads begin to spew water he grabs you around the waist and runs for the hall. 

A few drops splash your hands and your face–and you scream. 

It feels like battery acid, something horribly caustic that could eat the flesh from your bones. The pain is excruciating, and you can hardly think as Wick bundles you along, not stopping until you find a dry place in the building, far away from the sprinklers. 

“What the fuck!” you hiss, looking at the sizzling droplets that landed on your hands. 

“Holy water,” Wick answers, licking your skin. 

Somehow, that works, and you sit back against the painted cinder block wall so hard your head cracks. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, that’s diabolical.”

Wick pays you a commiserating half smile. “I fear you are the one who is diabolical, my love.” 

You realize a beat later he is playing word games with you, and you hiss. “What about John? There were fifty demons in that room!” 

Wick nods, and you cannot fathom how this man, who you’d witnessed literally tearing vampires apart with his bare hands, can give such effective puppy eyes. It’s really not fair. “Stay here, milaya.” 

You grip Wick’s hands in yours, knowing it contradicts everything this man wants in the world, but pleading with him anyway, “Please look after him?” 

With a growl the dhampir nods, electric blue flashing in his midnight dark irises. He makes to stand, but you aren’t done with him yet, pulling him back to you. You can tell he’s annoyed as he looks to you, and even with the looming doom and vestiges of the sting of holy water upon your skin, you can’t help but smile a little. “Promise you’ll come back to me?” 

Immediately he softens, pressing his mouth to yours in a hard kiss that curls your toes and claims your heart all over again. He pulls away while you are too starstruck to function, disentangling himself from your hands curled in his jacket. 

“Be seeing you, vampling. Ya obeshchayu.” You don’t know how you know that means, ‘I promise’.

And then he is gone, charging back down the hall towards the fray. You watch your warrior go with an ache in your chest; it moves you, just watching the way he moves with such deadly purpose. You find you are not half as worried about him, as you are Constantine. 

Feeling utterly useless, you pace in the hall, hating being left to wait while the–you have to admit it–two men you care about are battling the unclean horde. You know you cannot go near that holy sprinkler water, and you pause to study a map of the hospital on the wall. It is black and white and grainy, state of the art printing from 1968. But it looks like you can access the pool area from another corridor on the other side, and you wonder if that section of the hospital received the same blessed deluge. 

You know that John Wick asked you to stay put–for his sake, as much as yours. But the stakes are too high, and you just can’t stand by. It’s probably a bad idea, but you make your way down the hall. 

♰♰♰

As you burst through the pool room doors via the men’s locker rooms you hear the cacophony of the battle taking place in the other room. There is also something thrashing around in the pool, the water churning like a feeding frenzy of sharks. Juan had made it sound like the pool itself was the gate, and fear spikes through you from head to toe. 

Is it Him? 

A figure emerges for a mere second, gasping for breath–you realize it’s Angela struggling with something trying to drown her, and you jump in without another thought. The thing is strong, as strong as you, and you grapple with it under the water, trying to get its hands off the detective so she can have a chance to breathe. It’s impossible to get a foothold in the water against this thrashing thing. In a desperate ditch attempt to stop it, you grab its head and wrench as hard as you can, breaking its neck, twisting it around all the way backwards.

By some luck or finally some divine interference, it goes still. 

You waste no time in picking Angela up, hoisting her out of the pool. She is so tiny, for such a fierce thing. She’s gone still, and you plead or pray again through bloody tears, “Please don’t be dead.” 

Perhaps you are technically dead, but you still attempt to breathe life back into her, blowing air into her mouth and you thank all the deities when she violently coughs up water and gasps for breath, clutching your arms for dear life. You turn her onto her side and pat her back, trying to help her expel the water from her lungs. 

“Thank fuck,” you hiss under your breath, holding her. She looks up at you, her eyes widening when she sees your fangs and glowing orange eyes.

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” you tell her, trying to make yourself look more human and failing spectacularly in the heightened stress of the moment. “I’m a friend of John’s.”

She relaxes back against the concrete, nodding, maybe needing to believe you. 

You laugh a little out of pure disbelief. There are still flashes of blue lightning and gunfire in the other room, Wick and Constantine working together. Who knew? But it sounds like the fight is winding down.  

Is this it? Did you do it? 

Is it going to be ok??

You are able to enjoy the lightness of this sliver of hope for a mere second, before suddenly you sense that you are not alone in the room. Something invisible picks you up roughly, and throws you back into the pool.

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

*full credit to @discoscoob for the idea to bring Kevin Lomax into this!! 😄 *a belated fyi, the reason I call Don John ---> don Juan is because "don" is a prefix and honorific signifying nobility, like Mr. or Sir, not actually part of his name. In Spanish, it's not capitalized. He's from Aragón, which is now a state but once was a kingdom unto itself in the Iberian peninsula, before Spain became, well...Spain as we know it, unified. Sort of.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

you know you never stood a chance - epilogue

you know you never stood a chance series

epilogue: maybe light a candle

series masterlist | prev chapter 

Joel Miller x f!reader

Words: 2.9k

Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Joel hasn't come home yet. (this takes place about three years after the end of the main story.)

Warnings: established relationship, angst, christmas in the apocalypse, technically spoilers for tlou pt 2, mentions of breastfeeding (not as a fetish), found family, poor communication, oral (f receiving), postpartum depression, possibly violating child labor laws by using a baby as a plot device, pls remember I am playing fast and loose with both canon and the timelines lol

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

It’s Christmas Eve.

Or, at least, according to the council. You’re not sure if anyone is really sure what the date is anymore.

But for all intents and purposes, maybe it’s Christmas Eve. The holiday is a thin, moth-bitten version of its former self, but you’ve never been the holly-jolly or the religious sort, so Christmas Lite suits you just fine.

Maria had invited you and Lulu to the mess hall for a big meal and activities for the kids. It was less of an invitation than an expectation, but you stayed home anyway.

And maybe it wasn’t fair. Maybe she wanted you there for the same reason you didn’t want to be there. She’s fucking tough, maybe the strongest person you know, but she has to be feeling Tommy’s absence today, too. It isn’t Aléjandra’s first Christmas, but likely the first one she’ll remember, which is worse.

But it’s more than it just being Lulu’s first Christmas. It’s that Maria had made a point of telling you that Ellie would be there.

You prepare to watch her leave for the night. The light pours in the window when she opens the shed door, and you know she can see your shadow haunting the living room.

You want Ellie to meet her sister. You dream of it nearly every night. But there’s no way in hell you’re doing it without Joel. It’d break his heart. You like to think she knows, at least. Someone (probably Tommy) had to have told her.

So when she climbs the steps instead of walking past, you freeze. Her knuckles rap against the wood, and you close your eyes. You can’t. You need to, but you can’t.

“Maria asked me to remind you that you promised to come by tonight,” she calls through the door.

She knows you can hear her. She knows you choose not to respond (but she doesn’t know you bite your lip so hard to resist that it bleeds).

It would be wrong. But the ache is so strong you’re convinced it must be a physical wound.

She leaves.

“There goes Ellie,” you tell the baby, as you always do. “She’s got places to be, but she loves you very much.” The guilt of keeping them apart makes you nauseous.

Maybe it isn’t true yet, but you think it is. You think, despite everything, despite the anger she harbors for Joel (and a fragment of that for you), that she already loves her sister. Even if she’s only the shadow of a sister spied through dark windows and across the street.

You wonder if she knows her name. Tommy had started the whole “Lulu” thing, and though it had grown on you now, it made you suspect he hadn’t thought to mention she had a real, full name.

Luna Luann. Luna, for Ellie, and Luann for Joel’s favorite tía, the one who smuggled them chewing gum and taught Joel his strong right hook when the other kids were picking on Tommy.

You’d take this secret to the grave, but you hated the name Luann. But when he brought up the suggestion, he had talked about her for nearly twenty minutes, and so you love the woman despite her name, just for the way she brought a little more of Joel out.

You thought they’d be home by Christmas. You’re trying not to worry, but worrying’s one of the things you’re good at. It doesn’t help that you’re still struggling. You’ve been told it’s normal, but these last two weeks with Joel gone have been so hard.

She’s cutting a tooth (her very first), and you can barely catch a break. You sleep when she sleeps, but it’s never enough. A few neighbors have been bringing casseroles still, and it’s the only reason you’ve been eating.

So, you think it’s probably understandable that you crumble after you watch Ellie walk away and Luna starts to cry. The lights are out except for the single candle in the front window. You keep it lit all night in case Joel comes home. A beacon.

If you had a widow’s walk, you’d be haunting it. But you’re not a widow—couldn’t be, you’re not even a wife—and he’ll be fine. He’ll come back.

Joel always comes back.

It might be Christmas Eve, and you’re slumped against the wall of your living room, crying in tandem with your infant. There’s nothing wrong, you checked. It’s so much worse that she’s probably just picking up on your mood.

You orbit around each other that way. She is the sun that you and Joel revolve around, but his absence has sent you both off balance.

The sun might be the more accurate comparison, but you usually like to say Lulu, your Luna, was your moon, and Joel was the sun. He disagrees. He says he’s the rock, and you are her light.

It was profoundly beautiful, but none of the concepts held up to the reality. The truth was that you were a constellation, but without Ellie, you made no recognizable form. Sagitta with one feather, an arrow that can never fly true.

When you settle down to sniffles and the errant tear, Lulu has fallen asleep against your chest. You creep upstairs and lay her in the crib squeezed between the bed and the wall.

The room was plenty large, and part of it had been set up as a nursery. But after she was born, you spent each night on the floor next to the crib.

Joel hadn’t been having that. After the first week, he sat you down and asked if you’d be able to sleep in the bed if she was next to you.

And then he just… built a second, smaller crib. One that fits right up against your side of the mattress. It was low to the ground, so all you had to do was reach down, and you could feel her little chest rise and fall, or scoop her up to nurse her in the middle of the night. She’ll grow out of it fast, but by then, you hope you’ll feel secure enough to move her to the big one just across the room.

You had been embarrassed. Didn’t want anyone to know. After all, mothers had been putting their children to sleep in different rooms for ages. But you weren’t afraid to tell Joel, knew if there was anyone in this town that understood, it’d be him (and Maria).

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with keepin’ your baby close,” he said, as gruff and blunt as always.

When Joel comes home, he finds you that way. On your side, arm dangling into the crib with Lulu’s tiny fingers wrapped around your own. He sat down and gently tapped your shoulder, trying not to disturb the baby.

“What’re you doin’ here, darlin’?” he whispers when you stir. You blink up at him through sore eyes, then smile softly, sending his heart skittering.

“You’re home,” you say, extracting your finger and sitting up to reach for him.

He wraps you in his arms, lets you burrow into the nest of his broad shoulders. “M’sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, chasing the words with a kiss.

“Tommy okay?”

“Yeah, he’s good. Just hit some delays on the way home. Bridge was out. I thought y’all were going to the party?”

You don’t answer right away. You know he’ll feel bad. That he does feel bad, that the guilt eats a little part of him each day. All he wants is his girls all together.

“I was,” you mumble, feeling the tears prick with a vengeance. “But Maria said… Maria said that Ellie would be there.”

Joel’s arms squeeze you a little tighter for a moment. “Y’know I don’t want to get in the way of you talkin’ to her.”

“I know. But after last time… she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore, anyway.”

“She’ll come around,” Joel says.

It reignites a new round of self-hatred, that he’s sitting here consoling you. After all, she had spoken to you after their fight. Sat down and told you she wasn’t mad at you, that she knew he probably didn’t even tell you.

And he hadn’t told you, hadn’t clued you in, trying in his foolhardy way to spare you the burden of the lie. And you were mad at him for it; you’d had your own spat after.

But you weren’t mad he did it. Not one bit.

He can tell you don’t want to keep talking about it, and that’s fine by him.

“You miss me, baby?” he murmurs, a teasing brush of his lips over your neck.

You roll your eyes. “Oh no, did you have to go two weeks without gettin’ laid?”

He chuckles, dark and raspy, as he reaches to cup your ass and squeeze, smirking when you gasp.

“And you’re tellin’ me those little fingers were enough for your greedy cunt? Like ya ain’t droolin’ for my cock right now?”

You whimper. He’s right. Two weeks is too fucking long for either of you.

He tugs you properly into his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, before he just stands up and carries you into the guest room across the hall. It’s not ideal, but if you leave both doors open, you’ll be able to hear Luna if she wakes.

“How’ve you not thrown your back out?” you grumble as he manhandles you.

He tosses you onto the bed, already peeling off his clothes and pointedly ignoring you.

He’s halfway through tugging his jeans down when he stops and looks at you. “What’re you doing? Let me see ya, sweetheart.”

You’ve long gotten over how easy you are for him. You only hadn’t stripped yet because you wanted to work him up. “You can see me just fine. Or do you need your glasses, old man?”

He takes the bait, shaking his head, before looming over you and running his hands down the sides of his old shirt you use for a nightgown. He barely grazes your breasts, just brushing the tips of your hardened nipples and grinning when you whine.

“Up,” he orders, tugging at the hem of the shirt.

You lift enough for him to pull it off and flop back down. It’s your turn to smirk as he watches the way your tits bounce with deep hunger.

And then he fucking rips the along the side of your panties and pulls them off, throwing them to the floor.

“Hey!”

“Shut up, you can sew ‘em back.”

“I’ve already sewn that pair twice, Joel. You’re a fuckin’ menace.”

“Is that so?” Suddenly his breath is hot against your cunt, and you clench around nothing.

“Uh-huh,” you moan as he runs one finger along the seam of your cunt. “‘Cause you’re a menace.”

“Only for you, darlin’.”

You laugh. “Oh yeah? Let me do a survey around town.”

He shuts you up by sliding two fingers right into your cunt, the stretch almost too much. Almost. But you don’t really notice because he buries his face between your lips, and any sassy remark comes out in a desperate cry.

He pulls away and gives you a warning look, head tilted. His free hand comes up to cover your mouth, thick fingers clamping down and digging into your cheek. It makes you moan, but it also muffles it, so it works out fine.

“If you want your turn, you gotta be quiet. Otherwise, I’ll just have mine and shut you up proper.”

You choke down the moan dredged up by the thought of his cock down your throat and make the saddest pleading eyes you can muster.

He rolls his, shaking his head, before he goes back to your neglected clit.

You’re close, so close when you hear it. You pat Joel’s head, sitting up. “Was that the door?”

The shift is immediate. Three years in town has allowed Joel to relax somewhat, sometimes, but he slips back into it in an instant. He pulls back, brow furrowed, squinting like it’ll help him hear better.

It comes again, louder this time, insistent enough for him to pick up. A firm knocking.

There’s a pause, but Joel’s already on his feet, pulling his clothes back on. He tosses your shirt over as he ducks out of the doorway and you’re slipping it over your head when whoever is outside grows impatient.

Rapid, furious banging rattles the door, and you dart across the hall to shut the bedroom, but it’s too late.

Lulu starts wailing immediately, her little face scrunched up, nose wrinkling, and tears pouring out faster than a faucet. You scoop her up and soothe her, cradling her as she finds solace for her hurt feelings and empty stomach.

Joel goes downstairs, partly to shut up the racket but mostly because the sound fills him with dread. When he opens the door, it flings wide, and the tirade begins immediately.

Ellie storms in, already yelling. “—could you? What the fuck is wrong with you? You won’t even let her come out for fuckin’ Christmas because she might see me?”

You’re going down the stairs as soon as you hear her voice, but she stops yelling when she sees you on the landing.

“It’s not his fault,” you say, face hot with frustration and raw hurt. You hate the way your eyes water.

“Like hell, it isn’t. Maria said you were going to come, that one of you might actually have the balls to tell me you had a fuckin’ baby, and—”

“And I decided not to go, Ellie. Joel wasn’t even home. He didn’t know.”

Lulu has started to cry again, distracted from nursing by your ire. You murmur apologies, kissing the little tuft of dark hair on her head, and try to coax her back to your breast.

Ellie’s eyes are wide, and feet planted, ratty sneakers dripping filthy snow across the floor. Her mouth hangs open as she takes in the tiny, ruddy creature who finally agreed to return to her meal.

“Hey, Ellie. We had a fuckin’ baby,” Joel says after the silence hangs for a minute too long.

The bark of laughter that bursts out of her looks like it hurts, but she can’t fight it. The tension dissolves into absurdity and then tears.

Ellie sits on the ground instead of the perfectly nice sofa to her left. You come down the stairs and sit beside her.

You look up at Joel, and he nods. You wish he’d come sit, but he’s too afraid to break the peace. “Would you like to hold your sister?” you ask Ellie, keeping your voice low and steady.

“Can I? I mean… what if I break her?”

“She’s pretty tough.” Lulu is done eating, just suckling for comfort, so you pry her off your breast and tug your shirt back up.

Joel takes her without thinking, leaning her against his shoulder to help her work out the air.

Once she gives a satisfactory belch, he thrusts her at Ellie, who’s startled enough to take her without thinking about it.

You all hold very still. Except Lulu, who is blissfully unaware of the strife and coos up at her big sister. She bats a little hand at her face, smacking her nose in an attempt to grab on. Ellie laughs, and her smile, her perfect smile that you haven’t seen in a year, breaks out.

You can’t help it; you start crying. Ellie looks up in alarm, but Joel shakes his head, moving closer to rub your shoulder.

“It’s not you,” he says solemnly, “it’s just hard, after.” He gestures at the baby.

“It is you,” you say, and Joel scrubs a hand over his face with a soft groan. “It’s—I’m sorry, I just—”

Ellie’s looking like she might make a break for it. She tries to hand the baby back to Joel, who refuses.

You get ahold of yourself. “It’s not bad, Ellie. I’ve just been waiting for this since she was born.”

Ellie softens and then scowls. “Then you should have told me. You should have told me you were pregnant in the first place. I said you could talk to me.”

“No, I couldn’t,” and you pause as she shoots a dirty look at Joel. “No, not because of him. Because I would have done the same damn thing, so you may as well hate me too.”

“What?” She seems genuinely shocked, which you don’t have the patience for.

“I would do the same damn thing. If I had been there, there would have been nothin’ in the fuckin’ world keeping me from getting to you, Ellie. Nothing short of death. Not then, not now. I’d do it for her, too.”

The room is stifling, and Joel hasn’t even lit the hearth yet. Your breath comes out in little puffs, and every one of you has wet, devastated eyes. Even Lulu, who looks like she might be the first to break into tears.

Ellie looks down and sighs. “So, Lulu, huh?”

“Actually,” Joel says, and chances a step closer, squatting down. “It’s Luna. Luna Luann. Tommy’s just an idiot.”

Ellie’s a smart kid. You can see the moment it clicks—the way she looks up at Joel with something akin to hope. It fades quickly, but you know he saw it, too. His own staggering heart, heavy with love unspoken, is betrayed in the way he has to fight a smile, choke down the relief. Maybe, just maybe.

Maybe next year, you’ll get a tree.

thank you all so, so much.

*title from "Alone This Holiday" by The Used

[heliads]

GIRLFRIEND i adored your lewis hamilton fics and am BEGGING you to write one for our boy charles leclerc!!! reader could be the public relations manager for the team and after another one of ferraris (unfortunate) racing tactics the press is badgering charles about what went wrong and overstepping boundaries and reader (who would be charles' gf or something idk) kinda steps in and puts them in their place

girlfriend!! anything for charles!

masterlist

If there’s one job worse than being a Scuderia Ferrari strategist, it’s being the director of public relations for the same team. The strategists really do try, bless their misguided little hearts, or so they claim, at least, but they do tend to cause a fair amount of trouble. Every race week, you prepare your statements for every kind of mishap, and every race week, you find yourself scrambling to draft responses to all types of new problems. Delightful.

Well, at least it’s interesting. Besides, the need for all these responses keeps you in a job, so you can’t really complain all that much. If there was one person with a legitimate bone to pick, though, that would have to be your boyfriend. He’s the one out there on the track whose shot at the Drivers’ Championship slips away with every bad plan, but for some reason, Charles Leclerc has still managed to keep his public affection for his racing team in fact.

Publicly, that is. When no one’s around but the two of you, when no one can hear you but the moths clustering on the outside of your glowing windows and the curling wind after dark, Charles sighs and runs his hands through his already mussed hair and actually says what he wishes.

It’s sort of funny, actually, that the only person Charles feels safe to be honest with is the PR head for his own company. As if you’d do a thing to hurt either him or his reputation, though. With the daunting task of carrying the hopes and dreams of all the Tifosi, Charles’ image and the man himself are one and the same. If you can protect him in any way, why would you not?

You just have to take care that you’re doing it inconspicuously. Very few people on this earth know about your relationship with Charles, you’d done that on purpose. Both of you were afraid of the toll it would take on your respective careers should the news come out. You would be accused of unfairly favoring a fellow employee, and he would be called out for similar HR violations.

That’s what years of public relations occupations have taught you. That’s the textbook answer:  you don’t date your coworkers and so you don’t have to find out what sort of backlash that blunder would win you. In all reality, you have no idea what would happen. Ferrari loves Charles, and you’ve won them some serious Internet credit over the years. After steering them away from several controversies, you’d think they’d be willing to cut you some slack.

Such a scenario, of Fred Vasseur letting you date his golden boy, isn’t even feasible in your imagination, let alone real life. Your little fantasy of public acceptance will have to stay just that until several miracles happen all at once to twist the popular eye in your favor.

Until then, though, you’re happy with what you have, truly you are. You fell in love with Charles for a reason, despite your best efforts and smartest choices. He is a wonderful man and an even better boyfriend. No one in this world has prioritized you or cared about you even half as much as he does. Charles does nothing by halves– not his racing, not his passion for his sport and career, and certainly not loving you.

With him, you feel wanted, and with him, you are willing to hide until hell freezes over and you’re allowed to go public without risking your job. Right now, you have everything, and there’s no way you’d risk that. Working at Ferrari was your dream, and you’ve had it for years now. Falling in love with someone like Charles was beyond your wildest imagination, but somehow that came true, too.

And, when you speak to Charles, he says much of the same thing. Sometimes, when you talk to him, you can still see the boy who’d promised his father he’d drive for Ferrari, the same kid who stepped into a kart for the first time and knew it would be his world forever. Charles has a spirit wholly unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, yet he still swears that his life wasn’t complete until he met you.

Despite all of his charm, you had still initially tried to resist your feelings for him. Charles had joined Scuderia Ferrari only a year before you did; both of you were relatively new to the love and scourge of the Tifosi. It had been easy, then, to talk with him, to laugh with him, to let him eke out a place in your heart. It was inevitable. It was glorious. It was him.

You hadn’t counted on falling for him, but before you knew it, your heart was doing slow loops in your chest whenever you saw him, and meetings suddenly became way more interesting because Charles always went out of his way to sit next to you. It didn’t matter that drivers usually avoided public relations and media people like the plague, you were suddenly his favorite person in the world.

You watched and waited for it to stop, for him to get distracted by someone else, but that time never came. Charles still stayed hopeless for you, and when you could no longer hide the fact that you felt the same way, he asked you out at last, high on the adrenaline rush of winning a race. You had said yes, of course, and everything after that was history.

Charles is yours now, and you are his. He makes everything make sense, even when the two of you are gnashing your teeth over godawful strategy calls. It’s good to know that he will always be there to discuss the day’s work. It’s good to know that you will always have him.

That doesn’t mean that the Scuderia Ferrari strategists are in any way let off the hook, though. In fact, since you’ve started dating Charles, your resentment towards their bad calls has only grown. Both of your jobs are on the line whenever the strategy team messes up, and yet the problems keep coming.

For example, this week you’re reckoning with another round of bad calls. This time was another erroneous tyre mixup. Charles somehow went into qualifying with two different kinds of tyres on his car, like the strategists ran out of mediums and they decided two hards and two softs would do the same amount of work.

Spoiler:  it did not, and now Charles will be starting the next race from a less favorable position than hoped. In between furious complaints from Charles and utter incredulity from yourself, you’ve been scrambling to come up with some sort of angle for the Ferrari drivers to play during their next interviewers. Yet another crazy turn of events, but when has Formula One ever been boring?

Just in case, you’ll be patrolling the paddock with the other drivers and their communication managers so you can be available if the reporters start asking the kinds of questions Scuderia Ferrari wants to avoid. You split your time evenly between Charles and Carlos; although you may be dating one of the drivers, that doesn’t mean you’ll be favoring him.

Still, you’re not exactly ignoring Charles either. Spending time with him is easier, you can spot his ticks and the invisible signs that he’s losing his patience better than anyone else. That’s the benefit of loving him, you suppose, it gives you the ability to read his mind without needing something as exaggerated as telepathy.

You can see this right now, actually. This one Sky Sports interviewer has been hounding Charles for a good long while now. Charles has attempted to walk away several times, but the guy can’t take a hint and actually started following him, camera guys running in pursuit. Charles’ grin is starting to slip, and his eyes have long since stopped looking happy.

Carlos is still doing fine, so you bid him a hasty goodbye and turn back towards Charles before anything too terrible can happen. As you’re nearing your boyfriend, though, you hear the interviewer pushing Charles more than he should in a simple moment for the media.

In fact, the guy’s getting physical, which is the one thing that certainly should not happen in an interview. Unable to avoid Charles’ attempts to end the prolonged interview any longer, the other man has run up in front of him, actually grabbing onto Charles’ arms to stop him in his tracks.

Charles looks furious, but you are so far beyond that. You appear right behind Charles, stepping in between the two men as quickly as you can. Judging by the fright that cascades across the interviewer’s face, your expression reflects exactly what you’re feeling right now, and that is not a good thing for him.

“I think my eyes must be deceiving me,” you begin slowly, “because it looked to me like you just put hands on my driver. That would be such a monumentally stupid thing to do, so surely something else must be going on. You must have enough fluff in your head to know that laying even a finger on my driver would be a colossal mistake. I know you’re not doing that. I know you’re not. Right?”

The interviewer visibly blanches. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m not– I wouldn’t–”

Your smile is sinister but oh so perfect. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. This interview is over now, right? You were just talking about how Charles has continued to prove himself a capable driver despite setbacks out of his control?”

The interviewer audibly gulps. “Yeah, that. A lot of that.”

“Wonderful,” you grin, “I’ll just stay right here then, to make sure you’re staying on track.”

You take a few steps back for propriety’s sake, but the interviewer doesn’t look like he’ll be trying anything again. You’ve properly frightened him, which feels quite good, actually. Perhaps you should do this more often.

Charles certainly looks like he’s a fan of this. He’s beaming ear to ear, which is certainly a change from the glower that had been on his face only moments before. He’s supposed to be focused on wrapping up this sham of an interview, but he can’t seem to focus for longer than a second without turning around to look at you again. You’ll really have to get after him about trying not to be conspicuous, but you’re feeling pleased with yourself at the moment, so you don’t have the heart for it. Maybe later. Maybe never.

The interviewer shudders. “She terrifies me.”

Charles grins after you, somewhat in a haze. “I know, that’s why I’m so glad she’s my girlfriend.”

Your jaw drops as you realize what he’s said. “Charles!”

Charles’ eyes immediately go wide. “I didn’t– she’s not– shit!”

The public reaction to this is, as expected, insane. For the most part, though, it’s very positive. The fans are glad to see you defending their driver, and thousands of people have voiced their support online for how clearly infatuated Charles is with you. The idea that your bosses would try to split up the two of you is horrible to them, and it’s horrible to you, too.

It’s a good thing, then, that the higher-ups at Scuderia Ferrari would much rather prioritize the future of their drivers and public relations experts than try to cut off this relationship. Vasseur gives you the okay by the next race, and actually adds in some comment about how he’s been wondering if Charles would ever get up the nerve to ask for your number. It appears that the two of you may not have been as expert at hiding your relationship as you thought.

That was your greatest fear, that you would lose your job over this, and now that the danger has passed, you feel an immense wave of relief crest over you. You can keep the life you’d always wanted, and you can continue having Charles be such a main part of it, too. This is exactly what you’d hoped for in your wildest dreams, but your eyes are open now, and full of delight.

Charles is thrilled, too. He immediately rushes to his Instagram to post his favorite photos of you, something he fondly tells you later was a long time coming. The rest of the drivers absolutely destroy him in the comments for being, quote, ‘the biggest simp on the entire planet,’ according to Pierre Gasly, but you don’t think Charles cares at all. He’s got you, that’s what matters most.

And, to make up for the whole debacle, he gets you roses. Ferrari red. He’s a terrible flirt and utterly unstoppable when it comes to winning you over. Shame he’s able to do it every time. It’s almost as if you could never hold a grudge against him for longer than a second. Still, the groveling does him good, and soon enough he’s got a monopoly over your smiles just like before.

So, when the next race rolls around, you’re able to stroll into the paddock holding the hand of your boyfriend. It is not half as terrifying as you’d thought. In fact, it’s kind of extraordinary. Just like him.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy

[nolita-fairytale]

it's perfect, chef | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | bonus smut scene from 'still into you'

summary: carmy surprises you with a ring & an engagement dinner, but you're not hungry yet. bonus scene that takes place after the last chapter of 'still into you' sunday (you'll want to read this first)

warnings: fluff, engagement smut, swearing, 18+ only

wordcount: 3.9k

a/n: here is the long-awaited bonus engagement smut that i owe @carmensberzattos. i think this is the spiciest smut scene i've written them yet. also, hypothetically, if i wrote some cute fluffy shit about them getting married/planning... would you read that? y/n?

(^^ this is NOT an amatriciana BUT this scene is 'chef' is the same energy so it felt right.)

And you think to yourself, that maybe, this was always how it was supposed to be.

You can’t stop smiling.

Your eyes flicker from the ring on your finger to where Carmy stands over the stove. He’s put his apron back on, very serious about this engagement dinner he’s got planned for you. You watch as Carmy begins pulling the sauce together, giving the pan a shake over the gas burner in your shared apartment. Carmy uses the wooden spoon to evenly distribute the onion and guanciale mixture across the bottom of the pan once more. 

It’s perfect, really, that he’s decided to make you an amatriciana for your engagement night. The man knows you love a Roman pasta, and you love that they’ve managed to play such a special part in your love story. 

You glance back down at your phone, seeing a slew of messages in your group chat with Syd and Sugar, in response to the picture of the ring you snapped earlier:

Sugar: HE DID IT!!! HE GAVE YOU THE RING!

Syd: We did good, huh?

Sugar: You’re welcome ;)

Syd: It really is a beautiful ring. We love you!!!! Go enjoy your night, but spare us the details please. 

You’re so focused on your group text with Sugar and Syd that you don’t notice how close Carmy hasn’t gotten to where you’re perched on top of the kitchen island.

“Health code violation, don’t you think?” he teases you, giving your thigh a little squeeze.

You look up from your phone, letting out a small laugh as you lock eyes with your now fiance. While grabbing the bowl of tomato passata, he maintains eye contact, the smallest smirk on his face as he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. 

Carmy takes a few steps away from where you sit, causing your heart to beat a hell of a lot faster. That can’t be all he came over here for you, could it?

“Good thing our place is not a restaurant then,” you reply, your gaze following him as he returns to the stove.

Even though he’s gone back to cooking, Carmy’s touch lingers on your skin. You can still feel the pads of his fingers along your inner thigh and you’re not sure if you’re ever going to get your heart rate back down. You clear your throat in an attempt to collection yourself before offering:

“Need any help?”

Your ears fill with the sound of the tomato sauce hitting the searing hot pan as Carmy responds, “I got this babe.”

He steals a glance your way, before giving the sauce a shake in the pan. You swallow, watching as his forearm muscles flex prominently as he grips the hand of the saucier. He swirls the pan a few times, creating an emulsion of the ingredients inside, and it suddenly feels five degrees hotter in the room. You’re like a moth transfixed by a flame as you hop off of the kitchen island, taking a few steps to where he stands. 

“Can I at least watch, then?” you ask, suggestively.  

A smile spreads across Carmy’s lips as he feels your hand snake around his waist, your fingertips dipping underneath the hem of his shirt. He hisses in response to your touch, as your fingertips hit the hard planes of his abdomen. 

“Baby…” he sighs out, a smirk on his face as you press your forehead against his shoulder. “What’re you up to?”

“Nothin’,” you answer innocently, even though there’s not a single innocent intention behind this. You bite down on his shoulder blade gently, earning another laugh from his lips. 

He chuckles, “Doesn’t feel like nothin’.” 

You giggle, “Just testing your focus, is all.” 

You pull away from him almost instantly, pulling off to his left side. You press your back against the counter, leaning up against it as you watch what he’s doing. As Carmy leans over the stovetop, reaching for the salt crock towards the back of the stove, you can’t help but notice the newly exposed skin the hem of his shirt has revealed. 

Did his perfect vintage jeans always sit that low on his hips? 

Down girl… you remind yourself. 

“You tell Sugar and Syd yet?” Carmy asks, changing the subject. 

“Yeah. They’re very excited that you gave me the ring,” you reply, trying to distract yourself. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We have a group text, actually.”

“Uh oh,” Carmy sounds, shooting you another look. 

You smile wickedly before reassuring him, “Nothing to worry about it. They’re happy you finally, and I quote, did it right.”

“You three in a group text? Got nothin’ to worry about. Sure,” he replies with a playful eye roll, completely unconvinced that this group text is nothing to worry about. 

“I thought maybe we could call Liz and Maya after dinner. Or maybe tomorrow depending on what we get up to tonight,” you suggest. 

“Oh yeah?” Carmy replies, a hint of amusement in his ask. 

He knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows he’s winding you up, teasing you till you’re begging for him to fuck you. And you hate that you love it so much. 

Carmy leans towards you, his piercing blue eyes holding your gaze for a moment, watching you squirm. 

“I uh-, need to get a spoon,” he says, gesturing towards the drawer you’re standing in front of. His lips are inches away from yours and you forget to breathe for a second. 

His lips practically ghost over yours when you don’t move and you have to admit that you're so turned on by this little game of cat and mouse. But you’re not going to let him win. Not yet. You bite back a moan, nodding your head and stepping aside, murmuring a ‘sure.’ 

You run a hand through your hair, trying to calm yourself down. Carmy grabs a spoon, returning to where he’s planted himself in front of the stove. He dips the spoon into the sauce to taste for seasoning, and you can see the gears turning in his head. 

“A little more salt,” he murmurs to himself, before adding another pinch. 

“Can I try?” you ask, bold enough to get close to him again. 

You’re not sure if you’ll have the self-control to resist him, but you’re not sure you’ll care by then. 

He laughs dryly, dipping the spoon back into the sauce. 

“Let me know what you think, chef,” he replies, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. He holds the spoon out as you open your mouth to taste. He doesn’t look away and neither do you, until the tangy, salty tomato sauce hit your tongue. 

Fuck. 

You close your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. 

“It’s perfect, chef,” you answer, opening your eyes. 

Carmy smiles smugly in response. 

Because he knows it is. 

Because he knows he has you right where he wants you.

The only thing that could rip him away from you in this moment is the sound of the pot of water he has on the stovetop coming up to a boil. It feels near-impossible to rip his attention away from you, but he does, throwing handfuls of salt into the stock pot, with his deli container of dried rigatoni following.

He sets a timer, before stirring the pasta water a few times.

You’re hungry. Sure. But between his perfect amatriciana and this little game you’ve been playing, you’re not sure you can wait any longer. 

Dinner will just have to wait. 

“Carm?” you ask, your voice coming out breathier than you anticipated. 

“Hm?” he hums in response, completely satisfied with just how worked up he’s gotten you. 

“I… need your help with something,” you drag out, as he turns to you. 

“Yeah?” he asks, coyly. 

“Yeah,” you answer. 

Using your left hand, that left hand, you pull him towards you so that he’s dangerously close to you now. Your eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips before reaching up to press your lips to his. Carmy kisses you with the confidence of a man that knows he’s got you in the palm of his hand, pulling you in towards him for more. 

“This what you need help with?” he asks, as you feel his lips twist into a smile against yours. 

“Yeah,” you answer, in between sucking on his top lip. 

“It’s just…” you start innocently, tugging his hand to follow you. “Nat and I had some snacks right before I got back. Didn’t know my very sexy chef fiance would be here making me dinner and asking me to marry him again.”

In between kisses you manage to continue backing the two of you up against the kitchen island now.

“Think I need a little help working up an appetite.”

You hear him laugh against your lips, before turning his head towards the stove. 

“But what about the pasta?” he teases, cockily. 

You pull away for a moment, and with a shake of your head you reply, “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

Carmy laughs again before grabbing you back the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss. In an instant he’s hoisting you up onto the kitchen island so that you’re seated there once again, nudging your legs open to make space for him. 

“You set a timer right?” you manage to ask, wrapping your legs around his waist. You run your hands down his chest as Carmy’s eyes follow, focused on the engagement ring he’s just put on your finger. 

Fuck it. 

The pasta can wait. 

“Yeah, but that means we got ten minutes,” he finally answers, looking up at you. 

You smirk, satisfied, “That’s plenty of time.”

He can’t believe this is real. 

He can’t believe he deserves this, and yet, you make him feel like he does. 

He grabs your hands to stop them, before focusing all of his attention on your left hand. He looks down, focused on your body and everything he wants to do to you. 

His fiance. 

His future wife. 

His Mrs. Carmen Berzatto. 

“This what you want, pretty girl?” Carmy rasps, kissing your ring finger. 

You watch as he bows he head to you, his mouth leaving slow kisses up your arm. He’s gentle in the way that his lips brush against the tattoo on your forearm, and then into the crevice of your elbow. You sigh as he drags his lips up your bicep and your shoulder, before burying his face into the space between your shoulder and your neck. 

“This what you need help with?” he asks you again, his voice low and sultry. 

“Yes, baby,” you whimper, as he leaves a gentle bite on your neck. His tongue snakes out, quick to soothe the sting of his teeth, and you’re leaning your head back, offering up more of yourself to him.

Carmy’s hands trace up your thighs, tugging on your hips so that they press up against his. You grind your hips against his denim clad hips, searching for any kind of friction you can get. With the movement of your hips, Carmy chuckles confidently. He knows he’s dragging this out, teasing you for distracting him and possibly ruining his flawless amatriciana with your desire for him. 

Finally, finally, he crashes his lips into yours again, letting out a groan as surrenders to his own desire. Your hands are everywhere: in his hair, wrapping around his shoulders, grasping greedily at his back as he bucks his hips between your legs. 

“Wanna move this to the bedroom?” you pant, in between kisses. 

“Nah,” Carmy smirks in response, watching your face twist into a look of confusion. But he can’t deny you for too long, his next words sending you into a frenzy. 

He grabs a handful of your hair before whispering against your lips, “I wanna take you right here.”

“Carmen,” you gasp in surprise, feeling him pull on your hair. 

“In all the kitchens we’ve worked in together,” he starts, fire in the way his voice sounds. “Can’t believe we’ve never done this.”

“Think that’d definitely be a health code violation,” you tease him, before bucking your hips against his. You can feel how hard he is, if the tent in his pants and progressively tight-feeling jeans wasn’t enough. 

“Think about that a lot, Carm? Hoisting me up over my prep station in the middle of my mise and taking me right there?”

“Fuck yes,” he groans, feeling you bite into his chest. 

He gives you a half smile, before he’s untying his apron, throwing it somewhere on the kitchen floor. He returns to you in an instant, and you’re practically ripping his t-shirt from his body along with yours. Your mouth is on his again, your tongues tangling in a dance for dominance. Carmy’s hand is in your hair, his hips pressed against yours, and he’s laying you back on the kitchen counter. 

He thanks his past-self for cleaning up earlier. He’d hate to have to break any of your favorite ceramics by shoving them off of the kitchen island, his mind completely clouded with his need to consume you. He lets himself get lost in the heated makeout. He loves the little noises you make, the way your skin tastes underneath his tongue when he kisses your neck, the way you run your fingers through his curls as you whine his name. 

“Baby,” you sigh as his mouth moves from your neck to your breasts. 

Carmy’s pulling one of the cups of your bra down, exposing your right breast. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, as you feel his tongue snake out to draw circles around your nipple, causing your to arch your back. He’s hard at work, earning moans from you with his mouth pressed against one of your nipples when the timer for the pasta goes off, interrupting you.

“Fuck!” he practically shouts. 

“Shit.”

You laugh, flattening your back against the kitchen counter before sitting up. Carmy looks so upset that it’s almost funny. He swears again before returning to the stovetop. He’s quick to use a mesh sieve to pull the rigatoni noodles out of the boiling pot of water and into the saucier. You laugh again, watching him, because of course he can’t help himself. 

“You okay, Carm?” you tease him. 

He shoots you a playful glare, shaking the pan a few times. After giving the pasta a few tosses in the pan, he’s practically slamming the stainless steel pan down on the stovetop, flicking both burners off, before returning to you. 

“Now where were we?” he asks, his voice gruff with lust. 

You’re more than happy to pick up where you left off. 

“I think somewhere around here,” you say, pulling your bra off in one swift motion. 

“Jesus,” Carmy groans again, his hands moving up to your breasts. 

“And I think… you had me on my back,” you say flirtatiously, as you lay back over the kitchen island. 

“Fuck, babe,” he hisses, his hands snaking up and down your torso. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you confirm as he glides his hands over you. 

And he’s back to work, consuming you with his mouth and tongue as you arch your back off of the kitchen island. You let out the most surprised gasp as Carmy practically yanks your shorts off, tossing them and the pair of panties you’re wearing onto the floor to join the rest of your discarded clothes. 

Carmy takes his time, leaving kisses and love bites along your inner thighs, and you know this is payback. He has you breathless, dripping wet and squeezing around nothing before he’s even put his mouth on you. He’s got you so wound up that when he finally licks a broad stripe up your core, you’re screaming his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear. He’s gotten so damn good at this over the years. It’s not that he’s ever been bad at it… but the way he’s memorized everything you like, what makes you tug at his hair when he’s between your legs like this, what makes you come undone, has you cumming faster than you ever thought you could. 

Carmy’s got one hand palming at your breasts while the other holds your opposite leg open as he eats you out. Your legs are practically shaking as you cum, and he’s not letting you go anywhere. Not letting you have a single moment of relief as his tongue works you over, his fingers buried deep inside of you. 

“Holy shit, Carm,” you sigh, trying your best to catch your breath. 

He finally looks up at you, his mouth wet with your slick as he wipes it against the back of his hand. 

“Don’t think I’m done with you,” he promises, his eyes locked in a gaze with yours. 

Before you can pull yourself together, he’s wrapped your legs around his waist, and he’s dragging you off the kitchen counter and over to the couch. You want nothing more than to ride him as he lays you down on the couch, hovering over you. You watch as he removes his jeans and briefs, stepping out of them. You swear your heart skips a beat as you see his erection standing hard against his abdomen. 

“Let me ride you,” you beg, sitting up on the couch. You reach for him, wrapping a hand around his dick, earning a hiss from him at the feel of your soft hand. 

“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” he smirks, because he has other ideas. He makes his way down to the couch with you, moving you so that you’re on top of him. “Not yet at least.”

You shoot him a look of confusion as you straddle him, before letting out a yelp as he moves you up his body. You practically have to catch yourself on the edge of the couch with his movements, as soon as you realize what he’s doing. Carmy’s got you straddling his face, wrapping an arm around your waist, so that he can taste you again. You’re so sensitive from your last orgasm that you cry out as he pulls you down against his mouth. 

“Carmy, I can’t-. I-, I’m too sensitive,” you wince, feeling his tongue move over your clit in feverish circles. 

He shakes his head, earning another moan from you as you feel the drag of his mouth against you. You try to sit up, try to pull away, but he must’ve known you’d try something like this as the arm wrapped around your waist catches you from moving any further. 

“Nuh uh,” he tuts, scolding you as he holds you in place. “You said you wanted me to help, sweet girl. So I’m helping.” 

You know it’s no use, as those are the last words you hear him say before he’s pulling you down to him again, his mouth and tongue back on you. You feel the tip of his nose bump against your clit, and you’re begging him to make you cum again, surrendering to the beautiful, pleasurable torture he insists on inflicting on you. Carmy’s hands move to your ass, keeping you pressed against him as he works you over, refusing to let up.

Two can play at this game, you decide. 

You bring your fingertips up to your mouth, sucking them for a moment to gather enough saliva, before reaching back behind you. Your wet fingertips meet his hard cock, aching to be touched. With your back arched, you use your saliva and his precum to stroke his length, earning a groan from Carmy against you. You can feel him bucking up into the hand you’ve wrapped around him, moaning against you as you continue to ride his face. The vibrations are too much as another orgasm rips through your body, as you let out another sob of pleasure. 

Satisfied, Carmy finally releases you, and you’re not sure how you manage to hold yourself up over him. Breathless, he slides you down his body, your knees straddling his hips as you kiss him. You can taste yourself on his mouth, as you drop your hips, dragging your pussy against his hard on. 

“Fuck, babe,” he groans, because you feel too fucking good. 

“You gonna let me ride you yet?” you ask, your voice low and sultry. 

“Please,” he replies, his pupils completely blown out in pure lust. 

Your knees dig into the couch as you sit tall, grabbing his thick cock before guiding him into you. You both gasp at first contact, and the way he feels inside of you sends chills down your spine. You start to move your hips slowly, grinding against him as Carmy closes his eyes in pleasure. 

He’s enjoying this too much. 

And he gets to do it forever. 

With you. 

With one hand on his chest, bracing yourself, you begin to speed up the motion of your hips. Carmy lets out another moan, bucking his hips up into you. You close your eyes, throwing your head back in pleasure when you feel the slightest pressure on your neck as a tattooed hand wraps around your throat. You moan, beginning to fuck yourself faster on your boyfriend. 

With a groan, Carmy sits up straight, both arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer. The change in angle makes your eyes roll back as he begins to thrust up into you with a fervor you’ve been wanting all night. 

The room is filled with the sounds of the kitchen overhead fan, the sounds of slapping skin, and both of your moans as he pushes you closer to your third orgasm. 

“Jesus Christ, baby. You feel so good,” he murmurs, lost in pleasure. “Always feel so good. Like you were made for me.”

“I love you,” you whisper back, tangling your left hand with his right. 

Carmy glances over to your ring, then back to you, his eyes trained on yours as he explores this deeper angle. 

“I’m gonna come, pretty girl. Shit,” he swears, his thrusts becoming more and more desperate. 

“Me too, Carmy. Fuck… make me come again,” you beg him. 

You let him fuck you till you’re squeezing around him, gripping his shoulders, with your face buried in his neck as he follows suit. Carmy grunts, filling you up, pausing the motion of his hips while he’s still inside of you. You pull back with a sigh, trying to catch your breath as you brace yourself on his shoulders.

He leans in, planting one more kiss to your lips, a fucked out grin stuck on his face. 

“Hungry now?”

You laugh, “Absolutely.”

*

Carmy fills two pasta bowls with a sigh, using a microplane to grate over more cheese for garnish. 

“Doubt it’ll be al dente but…” Carmy apologizes with a shrug, though he’s not sorry that you took a much needed sex break. 

Still shirtless, you watch your boyfriend move towards you, bowl of pasta and a fork in hand. He’s slipped on a pair of sweatpants while you wear one of his old Original Chicagoland Beef t-shirts you found in the clean pile of clothes. 

He hands the bowl to you, where you sit on the kitchen island once again, a smirk on his face as he remembers what transpired here moments ago. 

You dig your fork into a rigatoni noodle, before raising it to your lips and taking a bite. Instantly, you’re met with the taste of what you swear could be the world’s most perfect amatriciana, even if the noodles are cooked past al dente. You can tell he’s watching you, searching for a reaction as you close your eyes with a groan. 

By the time you open your eyes again, a stupid smile plastered to your face, all you say to Carmy is:

“It’s perfect, chef.”

*

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos @blue-weekends @rexorangecouny @ridingthehotmessexpress @the-nursery@strawberryalicia @astronautelilanded @veryplatoniccircunstances @fonteyn @hlkwrites

[mothwingwritings]

C and D for hekuta doyler!! >:3

Aye aye! (￣^￣)ゞAfter months of working on these I am in the home stretch. Sorry they have been coming so late, thank you all for your boundless patience and for just being all around lovely. <3

Warnings: Doyle is a huge asshole, mentions of sex (non and dubcon) and emotional, mental, and physical abuse. Kidnapping and being held against your will, too. Please be mindful!

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Being with Doyle is a state of constant whiplash-you never know what you are going to get with him at any given moment. One minute he’s cold and calculating, watching your every move as he picks you apart and lashes out at the smallest indiscretion. Everything you do is wrong, you are a useless idiot, how were you even able to survive so long on your own with how brainless you are? You should count his intervention as a blessing really, if he hadn’t scooped you up on the street who knows how long your dumbass would have survived out there.

Then the next minute he couldn’t care less about you. It’s like you don’t have a presence, as if you’re just a phantom haunting his walls. You can actively seek him out, speak to him, touch him even, and he’ll ignore it all. He’ll give you the cold shoulder, shoot you a warning glare, or if you get annoying enough, slap you away-but he won’t talk to you. In these instances there is no acknowledgment of your existence at all, which is more dehumanizing than any of the other abuse he throws your way. When he wants you, you exist. When he doesn’t, you are nothing. Everything is based on his whims.

To Doyle your whole life is a mockery, your existence something to sneer at and lord over. You are his pretty piece of property, making your sole purpose on this planet to bring him entertainment in whatever form he deems fit.

It’s maddening. If he is so detached from you, why did he kidnap you? If he can’t stand you, why keep you forced in his company? You live in a constant state of dread, unsure if you will wake up to an abusive tyrant who will assault you the moment you open your eyes, or a flippant jerk who doesn’t have the decency to acknowledge you are even alive, let alone feed you or take care of your basic needs.

But the absolute WORST is the rare instance he tries to show ‘affection’. His hands trailing down your sides leave goosebumps in their wake, his mouth teasing and biting as feverish lips latch painfully to your neck. Sex with him is just as much of a whirlwind as the rest of your ‘relationship’. He could be jackhammering away at your poor abused body, littering your skin with bruises and cuts while he’s consumed in his lust, only to moments later be handling you so gently it was as if you were made of porcelain. Each moment of intimacy is a venture into unknown territory, bliss and despair, pleasure and pain mingling in a dangerous dance for dominance with each encounter.

You don’t know what disgusts you more, that he forces himself upon you without a second thought, hurting and violating you in every way imaginable until he has had his fill, or that he knows all the right things to do to your body to coax pleasure from you while he’s doing so.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Doyle has very little regard for your opinions and feelings-everything he does is for his pleasure and satisfaction alone. If he wants to kiss you, he’ll do it. If he wants to fuck you, he’ll do it. If he’s in a mood and needs to take out his anger and frustration on something, you are the perfect outlet. His attention is never something you take pleasure in, he knows this and chooses to disregard it. You belong to him now and he can do whatever he wants with you, to hell with anyone else’s opinion (yours included).  It would be more out of character for him to actually take your desires into consideration then for him to not just do with you as he pleases. Should you try to impose your will on him in anyway he’ll give you a merciless reminder, quickly and efficiently nipping any thoughts of defiance in the bud.

You have very little say in just about every aspect of your life with him. From what you wear to how and when you sleep, none of it is truly in your control. If you get too cold you have to beg for a sweater or a blanket. Not satisfied with the amount of food he gives you? He’ll only accept ‘favors’ for anything extra (if he even follows through after you perform them). Any choice you have while in his possession is an illusion, every option always boiling down to ‘give him what he wants or face the consequences’.

So you can cry and protest all you want, beg and plead and even try to negotiate with your unflappable captor, he simply doesn’t care. All of the wallowing and supplicating is part of his amusement, and you do it so well! He doubts you understand just how hot your tear stained cheeks and quivering bottom lip makes him, you don’t realize the rush of excitement he gets when you get on your knees and cling to his leg, staring up at him with big watery eyes. Sniveling beneath him is the ideal place for you, and if you have any ounce of self-preservation you’ll be a good little pet and continue to do as he says and accept his authority. Otherwise, you better get used to pain darling~

[irkimatsu]

I know you said you're busy tonight and you have other requests so take as long as you need but I just wanted to put in a request before I forgot it! Don't feel pressured at all though, take your time.

BUTTTTT anyways, I was thinking about casual dominance headcanons for husk 🫣🤗

Sorry for the delay - I really hope these are worth the wait! I love casually dominant Husk. He's deeply loving, just a little clingy, and as an Overlord, his domineering nature is just how he cares for his treasure...

A big thing for him, whether as an Overlord or in the present day, is physical contact. Not so much in the sense of PDA, but in the sense of keeping a hand on you at all times so everyone knows you’re his. This is especially apparent when he’s an Overlord; whenever the two of you are at a public event, his arm is wrapped firmly around your waist. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, far from it; he knows you’ll stay loyal to him. He just doesn’t trust any of the other fuckheads in this hall. If Valentino even looks like he’s thinking about you, Husk is fully ready to tear him to shreds, reputation be damned.

He’s a little more trusting in the present day and doesn’t need a hand on you 24/7, but he’ll still worry and start clinging again if he doesn’t trust the current environment. You don’t need to worry about anyone ever drugging you; Husk will have them tackled to the ground before they can even get near your drink. Consent is important to him at this stage in any case, and if someone is trying to violate the consent of someone so precious to him, his rage comes out in full force. He’ll be all over you afterward, holding you tight, asking if you’re okay, insisting that you both get out of this shithole… he’ll be worried about you for days after that, a bit more clingier where he can get away with it. He won’t lose what’s his… he's still willing to let you live your life apart from him, but for the next couple days it'll worry him sick to have you out of his sight. But you enjoy being submissive to him, so maybe you wouldn't mind obeying his request to stay put and let him protect you... just don't let him know that's what you're doing. Present-day Husk is a lot more willing to be dominant if you don't call it that. He needs to watch your boundaries, you know?

As an Overlord, Husk loves dressing his pet in beautiful collars. They serve as a reminder that his pet is owned, but still cherished. Don’t expect to ever go out in public without him or your collar. Like I said earlier, he can’t trust anyone to behave themselves; all he can do is hope that the knowledge that you’re owned by the Gambling Demon is enough of a deterrent for some demons. He must admit he gets a rush of power when a demon starts looking at you, then immediately notices whose arm you're on and flees... it's good to have others respect his property.

In the present day, he’d rather not think about collars at first. He sure as hell hates his own, and he doesn’t like thinking about the controlling asshole he used to be. But one day, you come down prepared for that night’s date, your outfit completed by a black leather choker with a white diamond hanging from it like a name tag…

If he can work up the guts when you’re in private, he’ll ask if he can call you his pet, and if you can leave the choker on while you make love. His talk should come off as demeaning - come here, my pet, you’re such a good pet… but the sheer amount of love he can fit into the word “pet” melts your heart. The charm on your choker will eventually be traded out for a ruby heart. It looks like a simple fashion accessory, but you both know exactly what the choker and charm mean.

Overlord Husk loves petnames like “pet” and “doll” because they indicate what you are to him; something for him to dress up and care for, something he owns. He loves making his doll look beautiful. When he picks out a new outfit for you, you don’t need to put it on yourself; he’s more than happy to help you out of your current outfit and into your new one, his paws touching your body more than he strictly has to. He would much rather you dress conservatively; other people don’t need to be ogling you, and he likes to get to use his imagination when he admires you.

“Amazing,” he whispers as you both admire your reflection in the mirror.

His claws graze your neck as he affixes your newest collar and gently kisses the top of your head. “Shall we be off, my doll?”

[fishyvamp]

S.C.R.E.A.M 18+ NSFW MDNI Dark Themes Mind the Tags

(unrelated note I was listening to music when this song came on and it fits S.C.R.E.A.M's mentality)

Thinking about S.C.R.E.A.M blackmailing you into getting him an android dick. You have to use your hard-earned cash already mentally trying to figure out how you're going to afford rent for the month. You’ll figure it out, it's better to be groveling to your landlord for an extra week than to tell her you’re unemployed. This was an unauthorized upgrade and you told him as much as you booted up your holo pad, hooking him up to the diagnostics computer. Everything was looking normal. The bot cocking his head, if he had a face no doubt he’d be smirking at you as you nervously adjusted your tools.

Taking a deep breath you drag the rolling stool up to him watching him far too eagerly put his legs in the stirrups. “Can’t you pretend to have shame?” you growl. The bot leaned back, chuckling. Gears whirring and stuttering as he watched your tools working to remove his cod plate. You flinch hearing him groan. Can Androids get off? Or maybe he’s just mimicking something he’s seen. Whatever it is, you're unnerved. “If I get this attached; it could be weeks or even months before I can get the code in and working.” you chide wishing he had waited.

You hear his joints click and shift as he rumbles out, “Trust.” sighing heavily you remove the heavy piece maybe 5-6 kg. Your stomach rolling thinking of every time the bot had you pinned to your workbench; The filthy things he’s spoken, The way his finger violated you over and over again. You're just thankful that he’s water-resistant up to 500 meters. No doubt with how messy he’s gotten with you he’d have short-circuited a long time ago. Your fingers placing the new codpiece on, you did find it suspicious that the exact model he had requested fit perfectly not even having to move the internal mechanisms to slot it on. Hell even had a clear port you could use to refill the lube canister.

“Hey stop!” you called out watching as he removed the wires unhooking himself the moment you tightened the last scream the bot picking you up to set you on the exam table he was just on. “My turn.” he growled mechanically, “been desperate. Been wanting to feel you. Not just hear you.” he nuzzles his cold face plate against your pulse, fingers tearing at the fabric of your jumpsuit, slipping past your underwear as he starts to work you open. Your hand frantically trying to push him off; uselessly pawing his hard chest plate. The android pressed down further with each desperate push.  “No! No! Stop!” you shout adrenaline spiking through you. “It won’t work, it doesn't have the code!” you call out knowing that he won’t see reason.

Your body tensing feeling the silicone appendage rubbing along the fabric of your clothed sex. It’s retractable… How did he? He shouldn’t have? Your thoughts, a jumbled mess hearing the echo of his modulator. “Figure it out yet?” he purred, pulling your undergarments to the side so he could press in. He always ensured you were nice, loose, and always ready for him. His new cock slid in easily twitching as you let out a moan of panic. S.C.R.E.A.M having to brace himself feeling you wrapped around him for the first time. The unused coding finally fired off. Fuck if he wasn’t happy to get into his pretty thing. “Remind me again?” he asked, “how many litters did you put in?” your core clenching at the implication. “five…” you managed to squeak out through the pistoning of his hips. The mechanical man’s fingers digging into your hips threatening to break them. “Good, We’ll need all of it.” his tone was dark and threatening. it's a good thing you did this after hours right? After all, you're working so hard for that promotion...

[worldcatlas]

Star Trek: The Motion Picture (part 2)

We’re back to the big screen to finish up Star Trek: The Motion Picture, and discover even more exciting shades of beige.

In part one, I skipped over a brief appearance by the Klingons because you can barely see them, but with a bit of photo editing, we can take a closer look.

Why are their bridges so dark? Do targs have sensitive eyes?

Interestingly, they wear a style of uniform we would later see in TNG and beyond – all grey leather and metal studs – rather than the “sparkly sweater vest” uniforms Klingons usually wore in the original series. Although it’s a significant and unexplained departure from their small-screen appearance, I have to say, it’s a lot easier to take these Klingons seriously.

Remember these guys? Star Trek wants you to forget.

I also skipped over a brief appearance by a lil’ guy in a space suit, but we’ll get back to this costume later.

You just float there for now.

Picking up where we left off, Kirk steps off a shuttle sporting a handsome new uniform in slimming charcoal grey and white. It maintains the gold rank braids on the cuffs from the original series uniforms, but adds a futuristic belt, military-style shoulder marks, and a solid metal Starfleet badge. A stiff, quilted collar adds a touch of “space suit,” as well. All in all, a very sleek space-age outfit that feels like a solid upgrade to the brightly-coloured sweaters of TOS.

I can’t wait to see how everyone else looks in this cool new uniform! 

We also get a momentary, blurry glimpse of some excellent-looking Vulcan robes in black and gold, but once again, this beautiful costume barely gets a moment of screentime before being whisked away.

He had to hurry off to fix his eyebrows, I get it.

So… as it turns out, only admirals get the cool new penguin uniform, and everyone else is stuck with space scrubs. They don’t even get a metal badge (not even hard-working Scotty!), just an embroidered patch with a silver Starfleet delta against a coloured circle indicating the wearer’s department.

At least he gets the cool belt.

Up on the bridge of the Enterprise, It’s a full-on Situation Beige. Crewmen buzz around the bridge in every imaginable shade of white, off-white, tan, taupe, and ecru, blending in nicely with the bulkheads.

Fashion crimes notwithstanding, I think there’s also an OSHA violation or two going on here…

Not even Uhura is immune to unflattering shades of khaki, although she does give us a quick glimpse at the Apple Watch-like wrist communicator worn throughout the film. It’s a great accessory that would unfortunately be rendered obsolete by the comm badge as the franchise moved on.

This woman deserves fashion, dammit!

Chekov, Sulu, and other crewmen model a few interesting variations on the theme, including a tight-fitting polo, a standard crew neck, and an awkwardly-tailored sport coat that can’t possibly be regulation.

You know, for uniforms, they’re not very… uniform.

While others, like Commander Decker, enjoy tight-fitting jumpsuits in the beige-est possible shade of blue. Somehow, I just don’t get a sense of authority from a man who looks like he’s been vacuum-sealed inside his footie pajamas.

Oh boy, you can see Commander Decker’s whole entire Commander Decker.

Next, we are treated to a great crowd shot that really shows off the scope of the costume department’s efforts, with dozens of varied uniforms packed into the scene. It makes me feel a little bad for going after the colour palette so hard, considering the difficulty of coordinating so many pieces.

Then again, it really is giving “thermal underwear in space.”

There are a few noteworthy variations in the crowd, including the guy with an uncovered electrical socket in the front row, but my favourite is probably this Native American officer with cool beaded accessories.

Chakotay could learn a thing or two.

The next character to make their big screen debut is the ship’s doctor, Leisure Suit Larry Dr. McCoy, in a fly as hell, disco-ready outfit, complete with gold chain, oversized belt buckle, and a frankly criminal amount of chest hair. And let’s not even talk about the beard. Thankfully, the good doctor soon cleans up and changes into uniform.

Still too much chest hair.

Next, we pay a visit to engineering to see Scotty, who has gotten a significant costume upgrade. Along with his fellow warp core enthusiasts, Mr. Scott sports a heavy-duty, protective-looking white suit with a strange socket (or antennae?) on the chest, surrounded by concentric circles of padded fabric that really make you wanna plug something in there. Oddly, the costumes also feature black rubber collars that presumably attach to their matching helmets, but do not appear at all sealed to the body of the suit.

They’re air-tight…ish.

Fortunately, the suits also include a handy, built-in to-do list.

Memory aids can be helpful for a… mature crew.

Last but not least, the old gang is finally back together as Spock joins the crew, feeling absolutely no emotion about how slick he looks in these long-sleeved Vulcan robes. I love the matching grey tones between the high-collared shirt underneath and the embroidered Vulcan script on the outer garment (though I’m sure this was a purely logical choice).

It says “zip up here.”

Sadly, Spock is quick to follow protocol and changes into a Starfleet uniform as well. However, he does keep the collared undershirt, creating an ensemble that – in a nice nod to TOS – closely resembles his old uniform.

Spock appreciates consistency.

Uhura has also gotten a costume change, and although they still won’t let her out of Beige Hell, she has at least gotten a smart two-piece pant suit that looks a little more comfortable. In addition to being more flattering, this uniform also includes the gold rank braids at the wrists.

Maybe the replicators in the 2270s only have one colour of ink.

Some plot happens, and the ship’s navigator, Ilia, gets hijacked by an alien entity. After briefly experimenting with no costume, she manifests this wild sci-fi bath robe with a huge Dracula collar. The asymmetrical hemline is super cute, but the belt at the waist could be a bit higher and more fitted. I do like how the pink lining inside the collar complements the robo-transmitter implanted in her collarbone.

The bad news: an alien has taken over your body. The good news: they put on a cute fit~

The back of the collar is a nice touch as well, tapering into a heart shape that flatters the actress’ perfectly-shaped head.

So smooth.

On the other hand, I cannot agree with V’ger’s choice of psychically-manifested footwear for this outfit. Clear plastic high heels might look futuristic, but they’re completely impractical for walking through a ship with perforated deck plating, running through sandy-floored caves, or standing near a warp core without melting.

At the other end of practicality, we are introduced to some members of the ship’s security team, who are inexplicably dressed like old-timey football players. They sport shiny helmets, phaser holsters, and crotch-protecting armour in a lovely chocolate brown. While it does break up the beige, it feels a bit silly to see combat guys ready to rumble on a Starfleet vessel.

I think they saw what the Klingons were wearing and got jealous.

Deciding to accessorize, V’ger tries on a headband belonging to her host. It’s a lovely beaded and sequined piece, with a gold charm dangling at one side, and very nearly reminds the navigator who she used to be.

Does this accessory clash with my parasitic control of another sentient being?

Things are getting intense story-wise, and Spock suits up in a shiny red “thruster suit” to take care of business – that is, an EV suit painted safety orange and strapped onto a rocket that looks like it was built with spare kitchen utensils. The whole ensemble is incredibly bulky, but believably looks like a rocket-belt-type contraption that might’ve existed in the 1970s.

Do what you have to do, Spock, but I’ll need my colander back before dinner.

We’re treated to a close-up on the suit’s gloves as Spock pilots the contraption, revealing plenty of details, including more structural quilting. I like the raised details along each finger on the gloves, implying some kind of built-in system, perhaps heating or robotic assistance. The frame of the thruster suit (painted beige) contains a control panel, with buttons on every surface. This segment detaches from the suit itself, so there are also buttons built into the left sleeve.

One for lemonade, one for ice, and one for diet Romulan ale.

We also get a good look at the back of the suit without the rocket attachment when Spock mind melds with V’ger, revealing more quilted details, including some hilarious concentric squares on the butt. From this angle, the suit is mostly the work of the prop department, who have done an excellent job making the hardware look both hi-tech and capable of playing Betamax tapes.

I think my Grandma had one of those on top the TV.

Kirk comes thrusting to the rescue in his own suit, and soon Spock is whisked away to Sick Bay for another costume change. I think this is meant to be a futuristic hospital gown, but it really looks like they’ve just wrapped the sheets around his legs and pinned them in place with binder clips.

In case the doctors need quick access to his thighs.

On the other hand, the sleeveless top is a whole look, and I love the hood with contrasting orange lining.

Not gonna lie, I’d wear it.

As a bonus, Doctors McCoy and Chapel have evolved into their final form: an all-white medical uniform with an oddly rounded collar, shoulder marks, and – notably – a rod of Asclepius embroidered on the left breast, in lieu of a Starfleet delta.

Missing a couple buttons there, Doc?

In the climactic finale, our brave crew suits up for one last away mission in suede jackets, taking advantage of the material’s natural beige hue. Unusual for Trek, they appear to have several large, prominent pockets – but any unease is quickly dispelled by the reassuring presence of decorative quilting along the arms. Speaking of which, the left arm of each jacket bears a reflective stripe that, curiously, does not seem to indicate rank or department, as Spock alone has a red armband.

Fascinating.

With little to differentiate their outfits, Decker decides to accessorize with dramatic lighting and sparkles. Lots of sparkles. Met-Gala-rolled-in-a-Michaels level of sparkles, a.k.a. the correct amount for any outfit. And with that, the Earth is saved.

What was the point of the film again?

[marinettesaltprompts]

Cat in the Belfry (Part 3)

Adrien x Gotham City Sirens

Prompt by @somereaderinblue​ . Grammer edits by your’s truly.

Selina hates kicking kittens but sadly, she has to tell Chat Noir the bad news: that she’s figured out HM’s secret ID. To no one’s surprise, it’s Gabriel. 

S: …..he’s your dad, isn’t he?

CN: How-

S: Takes one to know one.

Chat doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. He really is a criminal now, or at the very least, the son of one. Plagg tries to comfort him, then glares at Selina with the full force of destruction.

S: I won’t tell anyone. I have standards.

P: Good, because if you do, you won’t have a tangible presence in this mortal plane anymore.

... As far as father figures go, Selina supposes a chibi eldritch creature isn’t too bad.

Adrien can’t go back to the manor, so Selina lets him hide in the penthouse she rented. She, Ivy & Harley soothe him with cats, ice cream, movies, facial masks & offers of arson/murder. Eventually, they plan.

HM’s end goes out with….another whimper. Catwoman steals the brooch & drops evidence of Gabriel’s other crimes (i.e. violating child labour laws, child abuse, possessing literal military grade weapons) to the police. Adrien Agreste is written off as missing, likely having run away in fear of his father. CN shows the police the brooch & vouches for his innocence but as expected the seed of doubt has been planted.

Ladybug confronts him, once again enraged that he made such a heavy decision without her & secretly envious of how effective the Cat duo were in a month compared to her in an entire year. Paris was starting to talk about her incompetency & the distance between her and CN.

She tries to manipulate his old feelings for her & brings up revealing their secret IDs to one another. CN flat out refuses. So she orders him to hand over his miraculous. He also refuses because he doesn’t trust her or the Order with Plagg.

She tries to take it by force. Except Harley & Catwoman have taught CN how to fight dirtier, harder, sharper. He doesn’t hold back & this time, there’s no mind control akuma LB can target or temps to back her up. His new trick, Black Hole, keeps her on the ropes.

Eventually, Ivy arrives to bind LB & CN snatches the earrings. Because life’s full of disappointments, it’s Marinette. Ignoring her tantrum, Ivy gags her so he can undo all the commands Fu & Mari put Tikki under.

Once freed, Plagg teaches Adrien a spell he concocted. A spell he kept close to his chest because god forbid the Order/Fu find out he can think of something other than cheese & chaos. The spell ‘destroys’ Mari’s connection to everything Miraculous-related, meaning she can’t mention & will barely remember CN himself, both in and out of the mask.

While waiting for the spell to settle, Adrien snatches the Miracle Box & frees the other kwamis which opens cans of worms abt the Order’s corruption. One thing’s for sure: there’s no way in hell Adrien is letting them go back.

Adrien says his goodbyes to Alya & Nino and tells Marinette’s parents everything. They’re heartbroken at how far their daughter has sunk but swear that they’ll transfer her to another school & enroll her into therapy. The others also find out about her crimes (minus the LB part) but at this point, Mari made it clear she wants nothing to do with them so all anyone can do is move on.

Mari is forced to live with a gap in her memories & the sudden tension on her parents and ex-classmates. Why are her parents stricter? Why is the class shunning her? She just wanted to protect….someone! (but who?) And Lila’s to blame, not her! Why is no one fawning over (their everyday LB) her anymore?

Days later, he quietly gathers what little he has left from the penthouse.

A: I guess this is goodbye.

H: Where you heading?

A: Anywhere. Always wanted to travel the world.

S: Alone?

A: I have the power of mini gods & destruction on my side.

S: I don’t think they count as a chaperone, kit.

A: My aunt & cousin won’t want anything to do with me thanks to Gabriel and I can’t stay here. Not now.

S: …..interested in touring the rest of Europe?

A: I can’t-

S: No strings attached. Well, except your charming company.

H: It’ll be fun!

I: Someone has to teach you proper biology.

Adrien cries & group hugs ensue.

Sometimes, family is a teen hero, his mini god of destruction dad & his 3 gay criminal aunts. 

[apples-and-heartbreak]

I feel like when I’m reading or watching something, for me to like a hero, they have to

1) have ambition about anything

2) not be annoying

3) not excuse their shitty behaviour with their shitty childhood

4) not be so self-righteous they don’t see their own flaws

For these reasons I hate with a burning passion Jace Herondale, Clary Fairchild, Eli Ever, Tiberius “Cal” Calore VIII, Dean Winchester, and Legend/Dante Santos

Jace is constantly doing something shitty in every book and people don’t care and they just put up with it for some reason. In CoG he belittles Clary because he wants to push her away but keeps coming back to her. He also keeps coming onto Clary when he thought she was his sister and said that cursed sentence in CoG that I need to bleach from my brain. I know if he said that shit to me I would’ve punched him in his stupid face cuz who does he think he is? He mocks the werewolves after they lost a child in their pack, he’s just awful to Alec at times, he doesn’t seem to understand there are consequences to his actions and just does shit because he wants to. He had the emotional maturity of a dried up pinecone.

Clary also does so much shit and people don’t call her out because she’s the protagonist and she just lets Jace do whatever to her because he’s hot. Girl please get a grip. She slut shames Izzy because apparently women aren’t allowed to have a sex life or wear revealing clothing 😒 girl you kissed someone you thought was YOUR BROTHER!! She dated Simon to get over Jace and then kissed Jace in the Seelie Court, and repeatedly thought about Jace in a romantic sense WHILE she thought they were SIBLINGS! I can’t.

Eli is so self-righteous, annoying and hypocritical. He uses God and religion as an excuse to kill innocent people which is just disgusting. Like I get that he thinks being an EO changed a person because Victor became different but he is an EO himself and he just takes it on himself to murder innocent people for simply existing.

Cal has no desire to do anything, at least up to the beginning of King’s Cage he doesn’t (where I currently am). He knows how poorly the Reds are being treated and he doesn’t want to change anything because (and I’m paraphrasing) there would be outrage among the Silvers and a war would break out. Bitch you are already at war! He’s the reason why so many innocent young Reds have lost their lives fighting in a war they have no say in. He sees the Scarlet Guard killing Silvers and he doesn’t try to stop them. He sulks and whines but doesn’t take any real action, which he could if he actually wanted to. He stalks around the camp like Mare’s dog and thinks he’s better than everyone.

Dean Winchester is an abusive asshole. He locked Sam in the cellar when he was addicted to demon blood when he knew the withdrawal could kill him. He shit on Sam for being manipulated. He’s made horrible perverted jokes about women, might I remind y’all of the high school episode (he was at least 26 at the time). He guilted Sam for leaving him in Hell and Purgatory when he did THE EXACT SAME THING when Same went to the cage. He threatened Kaia, a teenager at gun point for his own selfish purposes. He abused Jack til the very end, yelling that he wasn’t family when Jack had sacrificed his soul and life for the Winchesters, and made Jack hate himself for being born. He was shitty to Cas in so many seasons and didn’t care that Cas just went through seeing his son die and wasn’t able to save him. He violated Sam’s body by tricking him into letting Gadreel in which led to the death of Kevin and had the audacity to think he was wronged.

Dante is shit. Julian, his brother, lived with him for centuries, followed him wherever he went and loved him unconditionally. All Julian asked was for Dante to love him back, which he never did. When Julian finally found someone who loved him, Dante made fun of him. And then in the next book he gives up his immortality for Tella, a girl he has known for literal months at most. He didn’t love his brother, who has been with him since the beginning, enough to give up his immortality but he loved this random girl he has known for a couple months at most to give it all up?? Tella should’ve left him in the dust just like she did Jacks and went off on adventures by herself and met someone that wasn’t a twat.