#Bandana is just some kid

[jojo-schmo]

I'm updating my personal ref sheets and it's really hitting me just how SMOL Kirby, Bandee, and Elfilis really are compared to the rest of the cast.

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

Im thinking about gravity falls (making sprites of all the characters) and I was looking at manly dan and tyler cutebiker like 'who the hell do these guys remind me of' it's bowser and luigi. Full-on bowser and luigi.

[im-no-jedi]

the way I'm legit tempted to abandon all my current art projects so I can draw self-indulgent things with me and my angsty boys...

[sayoneee]

☆ POISON

“miss her, kiss her, love her, wrong move you’re dead, that girl is poison” - bell biv devoe (2.2k)

contains: luke castellan x daughter of aphrodite! reader. acquaintances to friends to secretish lovers. silena + drew mentions. during tlt.

kashaf’s note: u cant tell me a group of teenagers lived together at summer camp and no one had secret parties. dont @ me for the 90s music references (+ i imagine avantika vandanapu as silena, and momona tamada as drew)

i. and if there was a problem / yo, i'll solve it

“CASTELLAN?” YOU APPROACHED him slowly, tone cautious as if you were speaking to a wounded animal, although in this case, maybe you were, as you reached for his bruised knuckles, remaining persistent, even as he tried to withdraw his hands out of your grasp. “why’d you do that?”

“did i need a reason?” there is a forced jocularity to his words, a well-practiced mask he is never seen without, and you cringe slightly, your gaze catching the grimace that twists his lips. his attempt at a ‘roguish’ grin falls flat, the expression a discordant note against the backdrop of his injuries. luke’s already busted lip splits open, a thin line of crimson carving a river down his chin. he moves to wipe it off the back of his arm, but you’ve already pulled off the bandana tying up your hair (a birthday present from a half-sibling) and begun rubbing at his face.

luke’s eyes widened at the gesture.

despite being tentative acquaintances since your arrival, you’re still annoyed that luke castellan continues to underestimate just how much of his heart he wears on his sleeve — or rather, just how well you manage to see past his facade. his blatant lie hangs in the air, unacknowledged. instead, you deliberately shift your gaze to the purples and blacks that mar his knuckles, setting about wrapping them with your bandana, obscuring the damage.

“i could’ve done that myself,” luke says, amused, his words lightly appreciative. still, at your answering glare, he tosses his hands in the air in surrender as ‘ice ice baby’ continues in the background, uninterrupted, “but thank you, though.”

“i’m no apollo kid, but it’ll do,” you shrug instead of accepting the gratitude, tugging him to his feet, ensuring to grab his uninjured hand, and hauling him outside. 

“you’re no apollo kid, and you decide to take the injured man away from where the apollo kids are actually gathered,” luke muses, once again entertained with himself (was there any other emotion this boy could experience besides amusement?), once the lights of the apollo cabin are so far behind you, neither of you could fully see each other.

“you’ll live,” you say, scowling at him through the darkness, forgetting he couldn’t actually see you.

“and you’re moody for a daughter of aphrodite,” he says, still holding onto your hand as he trails after you.

you stop in your tracks, pinch the bridge of your nose, count to three, and finally turn to luke, who still has his stupidly pleased-with-himself expression on his face. “luke castellan, if you don’t end up dying of some tragic fate or the other i will hunt you down myself.”

“duly noted.”

“holy hera, do you even want to know where i’m taking you?”

“nah, i think the mystery really adds some suspense.”

“that’s it, i give up,” you say, before beginning to drag him back to the apollo cabin, when he plants his feet in the dirt ground firmly, grinning crookedly at you as the moonlight finally shines through the clouds, suddenly bathing him in a luminescent glow.

“nah, c’mon, let’s go to your spot.”

you glare at him, watching how his stupid grin only seems to grow in size, an annoyingly endearing trait. with a sigh, you continued to drag him along, scowling each time he tried to make a quip.

“what if we get to your spot, and i find out this was all just a ploy to murder me?” luke muses out loud, looking thoughtful for once.

“do you seriously believe that if i was gonna murder you, i wouldn’t have done it by now?” you say, pausing when he shrugged in agreement, “we’re here though, whiney baby.” 

luke’s eyebrows rose as he took in the secluded area near the dunes, finally meeting your gaze again. “aw, i can’t believe you just planned out our first date.”

“i seriously don’t know what any of my half-siblings see in you.”

“so you’ve discussed me then.”

“shut up, i dragged you all the way here, because even though i know you like attention, i don’t think you wanted the attention you were getting from punching that poor hephaestus kid in the jaw,” you say shockingly sincerely, startling both yourself and luke.

luke doesn’t say anything, letting what seems like a confession hang in the air, instead, sits down near the water, and rubs a hand across his jaw, watching you as you follow suit, sitting next to him. 

after spending what seems like minutes in silence, watching the waves lap at the shore, luke finally speaks, staring out at the horizon, his tone slightly hollow, and devoid of all things you have come to label as luke castellan, looking eerily similar to the night he had returned from his infamous quest, “heroes aren’t meant to be happy.”

you drew your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms around them and resting your head. “i know — achilles, orpheus, theseus…” you trail off.

“and hercules,” luke adds, almost melancholy. 

“i think i’ve pretty much accepted i’ll die young,” you say, your words coming out in nothing but a whisper despite the two of you being alone.

luke nods in solidarity, lost in thought. “it shouldn’t have to be like this,” he finally says, voice hardening.

ii. talking sweet and looking fine / i get kinda hectic inside

“okay, for this technique, i’ll need a partner,” luke says, looking straight at you. “can you come up here?”

deciding to oblige him, you rolled your eyes good-naturedly, smiling as you joined him in front of the other campers, who had begun whispering when he called out to you. in the crowd, just past your half-siblings looks of shock, you can see the stolls passing around a wad of cash. 

luke addresses the crowd once more, “i need everyone to be paying close attention here, we’ll be demonstrating how to parry, or counterblock for the newcomers.”

as both of you get into position, luke smiles, “don’t forget to go easy on me.”

you laughed, “don’t bet on it, castellan.”

your demonstration ends up feeling like eons, as the two of you continue to dance around each other, parrying and jabbing, and lunging, and striking, and parrying. both of you are panting, your faces flushed as you continue, and just when it seems like you have the upper hand, luke side steps, and easily parries your finishing blow, disarming you in the process.

you laugh as you yield, loving the exhilaration from the fight, but when the two of you face the campers once more, more than half of the crowd is slack-jawed. 

luke, ever the showman, can’t resist a grin, “not only was that your lesson to not underestimate aphrodite cabin, but also to show you the level we’re trying to get you guys to. now, partner up and spread out.”

before you can turn back to address luke again, drew is suddenly at your side. 

“what the fuck was that?” drew hisses, grasping your elbow and leading you away from the training session in full swing, pulling you into your cabin, where silena sits on your bed (still in her armor), clearly awaiting this impromptu confrontation.

“what was what?” you choose to feign innocence, examining your nails before glancing up to see the twin expressions of horror on both silena and drew’s faces. 

“do not act dumb,” drew eyes you coolly, “it’s so beneath you.”

“i’m not acting dumb,” you rolled your eyes at the both of them.

“yes you —”

“you and castellan,” silena interjects, “we want details, now.”

“what details even are there to give?”

silena grabs drew’s arm, pulling her back from apparently nearly pouncing on you. 

drew rolls her eyes at the hand on her arm, and then focuses on you, “you’re literally our next head counselor and you and castellan had never so much looked at each other until this week and now he’s asking you to help demonstrate training techniques, like hello?”

silena snapped her fingers in agreement, “c’mon, you can’t deny that something didn’t happen.”

“nothing did,” you crossed your arms across your chest.

“you know what,” drew says, “if you wanna be like this fine. come find me when you finally decide to — i don’t know — talk to your sisters?” she storms out of the cabin, leaving you alone with silena, who sighs, gives you an apologetic look and goes after drew. 

“well, that was a shit show.”

you whirl around to see your head counselor standing at the entry of the cabin, poised as ever, not a hair out of place as she stood, examining her manicure, looking bored, as usual. 

“couldn’t agree more,” you sigh, sitting on your bed, head in your hands. 

your head counselor takes a seat beside you, “look, i don’t care for whatever petty drama just unfolded, you’ll get over it, daughters of aphrodite and all,” she waves a hand in the air, “— but for now, we have more pressing issues. i’m gonna leave for college soon, and the entire cabin knows you’re my successor.”

you nod as she paused, meeting your gaze, and you can’t help but examine the perfect shape of her eyeliner, scanning her entire picture-perfect face in an attempt to discern her mood.

“i don’t care whatever it is you have going on with castellan, but you need to complete the rite of passage, before you become head counselor.”

“the rite of passage?” you asked, having only heard the phrase in hushed conversations around camp, the knot in your stomach tightening as she continued.

“no child of aphrodite is a true child of aphrodite without having broken their first love’s heart,” is all she offers as an explanation, completely straight-faced. “castellan is perfect for your rite of passage.”

your eyebrows furrow as you consider her words, and with a final nod, and gentle squeeze of your arm, she leaves you with both her legacy and your mother’s legacy in your hands. 

“oh, and before i forget, whoever doesn’t do it always ends up cursed.”

iii. now let me pray to keep you from / the perils that will surely come

luke’s shoulder brushing against yours has turned out to be extremely distracting, and now you can understand why your cabin is more notorious for breaking hearts, rather than falling in love. you can’t seem to focus on anything except how close his hand is to yours, even the golden hue of the fire or the sing-alongs can’t divert your attention. 

the distance between the two of you grows imperceptibly smaller when luke suddenly clears his throat, on the verge of saying something, when a twig snaps behind the two of you, causing you to jump apart and look at the intruder. 

annabeth is standing behind the two of you, looking faintly apologetic, but also terrified. “sorry if i interrupted you guys,” she offers, rubbing her arm.

you share a glance with luke, nodding at him. “you weren’t — luke can always talk to me later,” you say, offering her your trademark smile.

annabeth nodded, “thank you,” as luke gently squeezed your hand before getting up to comfort her.

“don’t thank me, sweetheart.”

you’re at your usual spot when luke rejoins you, running a hand through his curls. “sorry,” he says, “someone left a spider in athena cabin, and no one could kill it.”

you chuckled, “if it wasn’t a total accident, i’d bet money it was travis and connor.”

the corner of his mouth quirks up at the mention of his siblings, “i think you’re spending too much time around them to pick up on their habits.”

“or maybe, i’m spending too much time around you,” you offer, smirking at him, trying to ignore the funny feeling in your chest as he smiles genuinely at you.

“i like to say i’m an acquired taste,” luke shrugs, sneaking a glance at you as you laugh at him. 

“i think i’ve acquired that taste,” you say, without thinking, before realizing how phenomenally stupid that sounded.

luke smiled widely, “y’know, if you weren’t a daughter of aphrodite, i would’ve told you how corny that was —” you shoved him here, “— ow, let me finish, but i actually am really glad to hear that.”

“no wonder,” you smirked, “i can practically hear your heart beating out of your chest.”

“okay, look who’s confident all of a sudden.”

you shut him up with a soft kiss that has him seeing stars. 

iv. i know what’s weighing on your mind / you can be sure i know my part

“again, what the hell is going on with you and castellan?” silena asks one early morning before breakfast, birds chirping as she’s lining her eyes with kajal, glancing at the mirror in her hand as she sits at the top of her bed.

“nothing.”

“i literally saw you guys making out and had to scrub my eyes out with soap,” drew adds, looking extremely disgusted at the thought of relieving that experience, as she paints a fresh coat of nail polish. 

“fine, you’re right,” you concede, curling your eyelashes. 

“don’t you have to do the rite of passage, though?” drew asks, pausing to look up at you.

“i’m not doing the rite of passage,” you say slowly, setting the eyelash curler down on the vanity.

“excuse me?” your head counselor has her hands on her hips, the annoyed expression on her face marring her perfect features, towering over you as she stands in front of your bed.

“i said, i’m not doing the rite of passage,” you enunciate, looking up at her, maintaining eye contact.

the temperature of the cabin seemed to drop ten degrees, and for a minute or so, your stare remained unbroken until she shrugged. “your decision... but don’t say i didn’t warn you,” before dramatically whirling around and heading to the pavilion.

silena gave you a look as drew arched her brow, and you simply shrugged in response.

© sayoneee on tumblr. do not repost, plagiarize, translate or claim any of my works as your own.

[inseobts]

hello!!! could you write one about how after a fight the crew had, zoro being turned into a kid and how chaotic it would be? nothing weird just some platonic fluff if it makes sense 😭

Baby-Zoro Chaos

zoro x gn!reader (platonic)

a/n: it's not really after a fight but I thought it would have been funnier like this lmao hope you'll like it (ฅ́ ˘ฅ̀)♡

words count: 1.0k

tags: platonic, child zoro, humor

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The argument is loud. Deafening, even. Voices crash over each other like waves in a storm, and it’s absolute pandemonium. Nami’s scolding Luffy with all the fury of a woman who has had enough of everyone's nonsense, Sanji’s throwing rapid-fire insults at Zoro, and you, poor, exhausted you, are trying (and failing) to restore some semblance of order before things spiral completely out of control.

Zoro, of course, refuses to back down, his arms crossed, his expression bored but somehow still managing to radiate pure stubbornness.

“You’re a walking disaster, Mosshead!” Sanji shouts, jabbing a finger at him, his other hand dramatically planted on his hip.

“Tch… shut up, cook” Zoro grumbles, like the human embodiment of an eye-roll.

Before another insult can be launched, before the chaos can climb to its inevitable crescendo, a blinding flash of light explodes.

Everything and everyone stops. Frozen mid-argument, blinking furiously, the crew barely has time to process what just happened before Luffy, ever the first to state the obvious, shouts “WHAT WAS THAT?!”

You turn to look toward Zoro and Sanji to see what they did, and there you instantly forget how to breathe.

Zoro is… small.

Not just small. Tiny. Miniature. Pocket-sized (not really but really close).

His usual towering, muscular frame is gone, replaced by something impossibly round and chubby. His oversized clothes hang off his tiny form like a poorly fitted costume, his green bandana slipping down over his ridiculously large, confused eyes. He stares down at his own tiny hands in horror.

Zoro opens his mouth to demand an explanation, to yell, to curse, but instead of his usual gruff voice, a high-pitched squeak escapes his lips “G-guh!”

The room is silent for all of two seconds before Luffy collapses onto the floor, absolutely howling with laughter.

“ZORO, YOU’RE A BABY! THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER!” Luffy shrieks, slamming his fists against the ground as he wheezes.

Everyone else trying to hide their laughs.

Zoro, whose sheer presence is usually enough to strike fear into enemies, now looks like a furious, grumpy cherub. He stomps his tiny foot, but instead of an intimidating display of anger, he wobbles, loses his balance, and tumbles forward in the most unceremonious, helpless little roll.

“ZORO!” you yelp, lunging to catch him, but he’s already on the floor, his tiny fists flailing in frustration.

“Grah!” he shouts, or at least, tries to. What actually comes out is a high-pitched, indignant wail that only makes Luffy laugh harder.

Luffy scoops Zoro up with absolutely zero hesitation “I’m carrying you now! You’re my new little buddy!” he announces, swinging Zoro around like an overexcited kid with a new toy.

Zoro, whose entire being is built on strength and dignity, is now reduced to a tiny, helpless baby being manhandled by a rubber idiot. His eyes are practically shooting laser beams of rage “Goo-goo, gah!” he shrieks, flailing his tiny limbs in protest.

“Oh my god, I am never letting this go,” Sanji says, wiping a tear from his eye “Look at you, Marimo. Acting like a little brat already.”

Zoro turns his furious, oversized eyes on Sanji and, for a brief, glorious moment, tries to scowl. But the attempt is absolutely ruined by the way his lip trembles.

“Gaaah!” he cries out, trying to push against Luffy’s chest. Unfortunately, his tiny hands are as threatening as wet marshmallows. The realization that he has lost all his usual strength hits him like a ton of bricks.

His face scrunches up. His frustration mounts. And then—

A wail erupts from his tiny lungs, loud and dramatic “WAAAAAAAH!”

“Oh my god, he’s... he's crying” Usopp gasps.

You rush forward and scoop him into your arms before Luffy can swing him around again “Shh, shh, Zoro, it’s okay” you murmur, gently rocking him, but Zoro is having absolutely none of it. He kicks, he squirms, he shakes his tiny fists in a rage.

Sanji, grinning like he just won the lottery, leans in “Aw, poor little Zoro. Did someone get all cranky?”

Zoro’s face turns an even darker shade of red. He lets out an absolutely furious, nonsensical string of babbling that sounds suspiciously like an attempt at cursing. His chubby little arms flail toward Sanji, but his baby coordination betrays him, and he just ends up smacking himself in the face.

Luffy loses it all over again, slapping the floor as he cackles “HE HIT HIMSELF! OH MY GOD, THIS IS THE FUNNIEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN!”

Zoro, still struggling in your hold, lets out another furious wail before hiccupping mid-cry. His tiny body trembles as he sniffles, his pride in absolute tatters.

You sigh, stroking his soft green hair “Okay, let’s focus, guys. How do we fix this?”

Nami, who has been suspiciously quiet, finally steps forward. She looks at tiny, blubbering Zoro and tilts her head “Do we even want to fix this?”

“YES!” Zoro shrieks, though it comes out as “BAAABYYY!”

Chopper, ever the doctor, has his hooves on his chin, deep in thought “It could be temporary. Or maybe it’s a curse? Or a weird Devil Fruit power?”

“Well, until we fix him, he’s our new baby,” Luffy declares, grinning “I’m gonna take such good care of him.”

“Grrr!” Zoro whines, but his tantrum has tired him out. His little head droops against your chest, his energy spent. His tiny fists clutch weakly at your shirt as he lets out a small, defeated sigh.

“Looks like he’s finally calming down” you murmur, rubbing his back.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sanji smirks “Just don’t let him near sharp objects.”

You glance down at baby Zoro, his big eyes fluttering closed as he drifts off into an exhausted nap. Even like this, tiny and helpless, there’s still something undeniably Zoro about him. Stubborn, strong, and unwilling to back down—even if his body has completely betrayed him.

Luffy grins and reaches out, poking his tiny cheek “He’s so squishy.”

Zoro grumbles sleepily, too tired to protest.

You sigh, looking at the ridiculous scene before you “We’ll figure it out...” you say, though, deep down, a part of you knows that until you do, things are going to be absolute, unhinged chaos.

But then again, when is life with the Straw Hats ever anything else?

[tomswifty-fr]

Tundra hatchlings leave their eggs with horns and a full coat of fur and are capable of walking and running short distances just hours after birth (though they typically won't choose to for at least a couple of days).

On hatching, the horns are covered with a layer of mostly-hairless skin. The bone here is sturdy enough to serve a similar function as an eggtooth, but is still developing along with the rest of the skull. It will remain soft and somewhat malleable for the few few months to a year of life. The skin covering will die and be replaced with keratin of the same color when the horns are fully developed in late adolescence.

It's easy to affect a horn's development when soft, either accidentally or deliberately. Something as simple as a hatchling spending too much time leaning on one side can train a horn to grow in a "wrong" direction. Some cultures will go to great lengths to correct bent or asymmetrical horns, while others don't consider it a big deal as long as it doesn't affect the hatchling's health. Horns that are severely asymmetrical or curved in a very atypical way (straight forward, for example) can cause neck issues, problems balancing, or even cause stress or injuries to the rest of the skull.

On the other hand, some cultures consider it normal to deliberately sculpt a hatchling's horns. This can be done for purely aesthetic reasons or as a clan/family identifier. The latter is most common in very traditionalist Tundra communities in the Southern Icefield, where it is a very old practice, and is almost never seen in northern flights or mixed-breed communities. Folklore has it that it began as a way to recognize clanmembers in storms strong enough to blow away scent - skeptics say that visibility in a storm like that would be too low to see someone's horns at a distance anyway. The former is highly controversial for being fully elective, so to speak, and Tundras who practice traditional horn modification see it as deeply weird and kind of cruel to saddle your kid with a horn shape that won't be shared with anyone else.

All stances are controversial to someone, and medical opinion is mixed on whether "standard" horn shapes are inherently healthier than just letting them grow, whether deliberate modification is necessarily harmful, when it's justifiable, and how much is too much. Add in the fact that any procedure is irreversible and can only be done when the hatchling is too young to say yes or no - it's a mess.

On the fur front, a hatchling's "baby coat" is waterproof, thin, and extremely soft. Its purpose is to keep the egg liquids away from the skin and protect them from the cold just long enough to crawl under the closest parent. Adult Tundra fur is not waterproof; it keeps them dry by being thick and heavy enough that snow or liquid simply doesn't make it to the skin. A hatchling will start growing their adult coat almost immediately after making it out of the egg, and sheds their baby coat within a couple of days.

Shed baby coats are occasionally collected and woven into fabric in the same way that adult wintercoats are, but it's far less common for several reasons. The first being that the last thing on a new parent's mind is going to be collecting fur from their brand new infant - they have other things to be worrying about! The second being that one baby's worth of fur, or even a whole litter's, isn't enough to really do anything with. At best, you get a little keepsake bandana.

[pennyold]

tough | r.c

Summary: what do you assume could happen when Rafe acts tough with his friends and then turns into a submissive little one in front of you when both are all alone?

Warnings: degradation, humiliation, jerking off, orgasm denial, maybe sub!rafe, dry humping, and suggestive language/content.

w.c: 1,268

a/n: Ohhh, how I love this one! It’s a slight peak of “sub!rafe,” but I don’t know. I kind of like it. It turned me on while writing, so I hope you enjoy it like I did!! pleasee let me know ur thoughts on this one. Quick REMINDER if u don’t like this type of fic DONT interact or share hate about this, mind ur business and don’t mess up 🫂 i made this for my girls who like subs!

main masterlist ↲

peace and love, penny ★

The night was dark, and although there was a chance of rain, Rafe had bet with his friends on some races on the highway. His idea is so ridiculous but still, you remained with him, you would be there for him no matter what. It was already late when people began to crowd together with the others, waiting for the tempting race.

You had an intuition that the state police would arrive upon hearing the bikes revving, but you stood there with your arms crossed and listened to what came out of Rafe's lips, "The cops? Kid, I manage the police, they won't do anything to us here." You laughed mockingly at him. He heard you perfectly behind him, but he didn't turn to look at you.

Rafe greeted the one he was going to race against and began challenging him, proposing bets on who would win. Rafe felt his heart pounding very fast; he was challenging the top racer, everyone knew it, but still, he wanted to act tough and determined in front of everyone. Clearly, you knew how he was probably feeling, you know him and you know perfectly well that he would soon regret his own actions.

Both lined up in together, Rafe accelerated, making the exhausts of his bike roar among the crowd, while the other guy just smiled without doing anything else. A guy placed himself in the middle and, with a bandana, signaled the start of the race. Rafe accelerated fast, lowering his chest to the bike and glancing to his side, looking for the other guy, who was behind, not near enough. Rafe was about to cross the next exit when, unexpectedly, the guy overtook him, making Rafe lose the race.

When they arrived, everyone already knew who had won. That guy's bike was a 1000 cc, and Rafe's was a 600 cc; that's what he hadn't realized. They had torn it to shreds after challenging that other guy, disheartened, but with his head held high, he accepted the defeat. He paid the bet and walked towards you without gazing at you. "I think your tough and invincible guy attitude has fallen apart, don't you think?" Rafe only looked at your hips, avoiding your gaze. "Aren't you going to look at me because you lost?" He nodded slowly, hiding his embarrassment. "Let's go home, I don't want to be here," you commanded as you put on your helmet and climbed on the bike.

On the way home, you noticed Rafe was very tense, his back was hard and tight, and his abdomen tough and firm. You wrapped your arms around him, trying to soften his stiffness, but it was completely unsuccessful; he felt like a rock. Upon arriving at the apartment, he threw his helmet onto the living room couch and got into the shower. His helmet rolled across the floor, you picked it up and left it on the kitchen table, just like yours.

You changed your clothes and sat on the bed you were sharing, turned on the television, and took a comfortable position. In a few moments, Rafe came out of the shower, changed, and with dripping hair. He wanted to sit on the bed, but you stopped him. "Dry your hair before coming to wet it." He stepped back and quickly dried his hair, settling down next to you. He tried to wrap his arms around you, but you didn't allow it. "Behave better if you want to be treated nicely." Rafe knew exactly what you were talking about; he knew he had changed his attitude to impress and intimidate the guy he would be racing with. He looked at you sideways, observing you in detail, expecting to see hope in your eyes, but there was none.

"Babe, please..." he pleaded, grabbing your arm, trying to get your attention, but it was in vain; you wanted to make it clear that you didn't like his attitude at all. "I'll stop acting like that, I promise," he pleaded again, hoping to get your approval. Without lowering your face, you looked at him, and from your perspective, he seemed regretful. You held back a smile and nodded slightly. "Good," you said without further ado. Rafe expected a reward, but he said nothing more, feeling that it wasn't the right moment. Even so, you could feel how he tried to get friction with you, his cock was becoming rock hard, and his body radiated a lot of heat. You looked at him and could see the bulge in his pajama pants. "Do you need help, dear?" he nodded, stopping his motions and settling into the bed.

He leaned his back against the headboard and let you do whatever you wanted, just giving him a little help. You kissed his cheek and then traced wet kisses along his sharp jawline and neck, feeling him shudder. His cock began to feel more painful, longing to be freed, but he had to be patient if he wanted to get what he wanted. You were making him suffer, rubbing your hand over his cock, making the thick fabric move the fold around his erect glans. He whimpered, biting his lip, clenching his fists at his sides, holding back from cumming with just a slight touch. "See who you really are? You're insignificant compared to earlier, are you?"

Rafe couldn't say much, his thoughts were blurred, he could only focus on not cumming and enjoying it, although he got caught off guard when you moved your hand beneath his underwear, touching his cock, which was wet from the pre-cum that was starting to drip.

It started to rain, and the drops impacted the windows, that noise could cover the gasps that Rafe let escape, preventing the neighbors from hearing. You removed his underwear, pulling it down to his knees, leaving his cock fully exposed. You slowly stroked it, squeezing your hand at certain points where he felt most sensitive, where it made him tremble. "You like it, love?" he nodded weakly. He closed his eyes and furrowed his brows, feeling like he was about to cum, but you stopped your movements, even with your hand around his cock. "Shit, why are you stopping?" he asked, almost stuttering. "Because you don't deserve it, tough boy," he groaned as he felt his cock twist on its own, desperate to be released, but he couldn't without your help, although he considered doing it himself. You watched his hand rub his cock, you could sense his pain just by seeing the pre-cum continue to drip.

You stopped him by grabbing his jaw, making him look you in the eyes. "Are you going to touch yourself now? Very miserable". You decided to ride him, but without deep intimacy, you just let your covered folds help him cum. As you sat on his lap, you pleasantly felt his hard tip pointing at your small hole, begging for access. You wanted to feel it deeply, but you couldn't. You began to rub against his cock, Rafe moaned in a higher tone, and you silenced him with your hand, increasing the jerking of your hips, pressing your ass against his thighs. Without further ado, he came, his cum spread across his thighs, sticking your shorts and panties. He gasped in your hand, warming your palm with his hot breath.

"Happy?" he nodded, smiling under your hand. "What a poor little thing, he has to behave miserable just to get what he needs," you teased him, feeling how his cock hadn't gone down since he came.

divider: @/enchanthings-a

sorry for any grammar mistakes, i wrote this half sleepy and half horny lol

[lionneee]

Happy Halloween

English is not my first language, please be kind

Masterlist

Taglist

•Warnings: ghostface mask, smut, piv, knife play, orgasm denial, fingering, oral sex (male).•

Modern!Ghostface!Aemond x Girlfriend!Reader

In the real world, Halloween is when kids dress up in costumes and beg for candy. In Girl World, Halloween is the one day a year when a girl can dress up like a total slut and no other girls can say anything else about it.

That was a philosophy your boyfriend, Aemond, never shared with you. 

So that’s why you never shared your Halloween costume to him until the horror night came.

“So how are you going to be dressed this year?” He asked as he laid down on the couch, his head resting on your thighs as you held your phone in your hands, searching for inspos for your costume on Pinterest. You made sure to hold it high over his head, so he couldn't see anything.

“I’m not telling you baby, you know it.” You smirked as you closed your phone and threw it somewhere on the couch, smiling down at him.

“Come on, it’s not fair.” He whined, making you smile even more. “We could dress matched, you know? You just have to tell me how you’ll be dressed.” He tried again, but you weren’t going to fall in his trap, despite how much the idea of matched costumes sounded good.

“Nope.” You chuckled, making him whine even more.

“FIne.” He scoffed. “Keep the secret for yourself.”

«So you’re coming to Aegon’s Hallowen party? See you at my house?»

You smiled at your boyfriend’s message and quickly typed him back:

«Yes, baby. See you there»

You looked back at yourself in the mirror.

Fishnet stockings, short, fake blood stained white dress, a black corset, a brown bandana, and of course, boots.

The perfect bloody, sexy pirate.

Aemond was not one to enjoy costumes, he didn’t like to think about it and he didn’t care about making the effort, still, he had always managed to make you happy with his lame costumes.

And when you walked into the Targaryen house, you had to say you were very pleased with his costume choice this year.

You recognised him immediately only because his white hair was visible from under the mask.

The ghostface mask.

He was also wearing some baggy jeans, and a tight black shirt, that showed off his perfect biceps and his sculpted abs.

Aemond approached you and quickly backed you up against the wall beside the door, raising a knife to your throat.

You bit your lip as the mere sight of your boyfriend was getting you shamefully wet.

“No, please don't kill me, Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel!” You chuckled as Aemond pressed the knife to your neck.

“Hi baby…” His voice sounded way lower and rougher from beneath the mask.

“Fuck, baby… You really want me to miss the party and spend the night in your room?” You moved your hand on his abs, feeling the muscles hot and hard under your hand. “Why ghostface?” You smirked up at him, curious.

“Because it represents me.” He said from under the mask. You chuckled and pulled him closer, so his body was pressed against yours.

“Yeah? You’re a serial killer, baby?” You joked. Not like you could see it, but you knew he was smirking from under the mask.

“I’d kill anyone for you.” He said before raising the mask, confirming your thoughts about his smirk. You had to bite back a moan at his words.

As a fan of horror movies, and Halloween night, you couldn’t deny how those words were extremely sexy.

“Fuck the party, baby.” You breathed out. “Let’s go to your room.”

Aemond quickly grabbed your hand and started to drag you towards the stairs.

He had to keep pushing people away to make space for himself, and he was hating it every time more. He also hated how every guy seemed to be looking at your cleavage.

“The corset, baby?” He pulled you in front of him, then he wrapped his arm around your waist as he kept walking, keeping your back pressed against his chest.

“I like it, it makes me feel sexy.”

“Oh, but you are. You are too much.” He grunted in your ear. He finally reached his room and opened the door, thanking that no one had entered yet. 

He quickly locked the door and pushed you against the wall, the ghostface mask looking down at you as he raised his knife back to your throat.

You smiled as you stepped back until your back hit the wall.

“I thought you said you’d kill anyone for me.” You smirked.

“I did.” He pressed the knife harder against your neck. “But now, you’re the one who’s misbehaving.” He said as he put a hand on your shoulder. “And you’re the one who needs to be disciplined.” He pressed his hand on your shoulder, forcing you to kneel down on the floor, discarding the knife on the floor,

You smiled as you were faced with the crotch of his pants, already tight, the shape of his cock straining against the material.

“You see what your stupid corset does to men?” He growled as he started to unbuckle his belt, then unbutton his pants, letting out a sigh when he finally freed himself from them.

His cock jumped out in front of your face, the sight breathtaking as always. It was half hard, but it still was beautiful, long, pale and veiny.

You immediately leaned forward and licked his tip, taking it for a moment in your mouth, sucking it like a lollipop before pulling back. You placed a hand on his thigh, the other wrapped around his length, pumping it fast as you pressed your tongue against the tip, looking up at him.

Aemond moaned, his hips bucked forward as he leaned his head against the wall, open hand tangling in your hair from above.

“Hands off.” He growled, his voice low and authoritative, making you immediately pull your hands off of him, and moving them behind your back. “Mouth open.” He ordered then, his breath deep and heavy, his eye fixed on you.

From his angle he could see your perfect tits squeezed in the corset, he could see your mouth open, ready to take his cock as you looked at him with those pleading eyes of yours, he could see the shape of your ass, round and soft. 

You could see how he was losing control. You could hear his breath, the mask making it louder, the sound sending a shiver down your body. You could feel his body tense, hard, and restrained, but you knew that eventually, he was going to snap.

And you couldn’t wait for it.

“Happy Halloween, baby.” He growled, then, with a determined, firm move, he trusted his hips forward, pushing his cock in your mouth.

You moaned as the tip of his cock almost made you gag, the salty taste of his skiing mixed with his precum invading your mouth.

You tried to relax your gag reflex immediately, well aware of what was about to come.

Aemond pushed your head back against the wall, he moved forward and placed both his hands on your cheeks as he started to thrust in your mouth with abandon, listening to the sound your mouth did everytime he pushed too far, the gag or the slight choked moan, the squelching sound or your little whines.

“Take my cock, baby –” He moaned as he panted, he was trying to restrain himself, he was trying to no push so far, but when you looked up at him, with tears streaming down your face, your eyes full of lust, his cock pushed inside your mouth, it was too much.

He growled as he put his hand on top of your head, securing your head back against the wall, and he pushed his cock inside your mouth, to the end.

You widened your eyes and looked up at him, trying to resist every urge, to pull back, cough, gag.

“Jesus Christ –” He panted, his head falling back, his eyes closed as he moaned loudly. “Fuck, yes!” He pulled back, but he didn’t give you much time to take your breath, he immediately started thrusting his cock in and out your mouth.

Droplets of saliva were dripping down your chin, your cheeks were wet from tears of effort, your nails were digging in your palms to resist the urge to touch him.

“Give me your hands – “ He panted, and you immediately lifted your hands, letting him wrap his hand around his wrist and pin your hands on the wall above you. “Just one more time, mh? You’re taking it so well.” Without waiting for a confirmation, he pushed his length inside your mouth again, the tip slipping down your throat until his entire cock was buried in your mouth, again.

You writhed, despite your effort to stay still, but he had mercy, and pulled out almost immediately.

He pulled you up, and pushed you towards the bed, pushing you down on it so you were laying on your back. 

He quickly pushed your legs apart, spreading you open in front of him and pulled down your panties, looking at how a string of wetness connected your core to the material, letting out a moan at the sight.

“Sucking my cock made you so wet, mh?” He growled as he passed his fingers against your core, making you arch your back.

“Y.yes, Aem -” You moaned as you tried to grind your hips against his hand. He slapped your core, making your writhe on the bed.

“Stay still.” He ordered with a grunt, slipping two fingers inside you with ease. “Fuck –” He breathed out as he started thrusting his fingers with force, making you grip the blacket tightly in your hands. You moaned loudly as his fingers rubbed repeatedly against that sweet spot inside you, the fastness and roughness of his movements bringing you close to the edge in a time record.

The mask did its job too.

“Fuck, em, I’m –” You whined as you looked down at his hand, your eyes taking the sight of his veiny hand, his fingers disappearing inside you tight heat repeatedly.

You arched your back, ready to feel the waves of pleasure run through you after your orgasm, but they never came.

Aemond slipped out his fingers right before you could reach your climax and slapped you core a couple of times, the impact between his hand and your clit making you cry out and close your legs.

“Dont’.” He snarled as he pushed your legs open again, not so gently, and slipped two fingers back inside, you back arching violently. “I’m not done with you.” He growled as he resumed the same movements with his fingers, hard and fast, touching all the right places.

You moaned loudly, looking down again, but Aemond wrapped his hand around your throat, pushing your head back against the bed, his face leaning down close to yours, the mask straight right back at you.

“You make me want to kill everyone that looks at you –” He snarled as his fingers kept moving, thrusting inside you, rubbing your walls. You moaned as you felt your stomach clench at his words, the pleasure building fast, and harder than before.

“F-fuck, Aem – I-I -” You let out a loud whine when he straightened up and slipped his fingers out before you could find your release.

You cried out and closed your legs, curling on the bed, your whole body shaking from your second denial. “Please, make me come!” You sobbed.

Aemond moved to grab the knife from the floor, and got back to you, pushing you face up on the bed by your shoulders so he could get over you.

He pushed the knife against your throat, to keep your head safely down.

You knew you had every right to be pissed with him after two denials, but it was nearly impossible with how hot he looked with that mask on his face.

You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter every second you passed by looking at him.

“You’re mine.” He said, his voice low because of the mask. He didn’t give any more warnings, he just pushed his cock past your folds, all his glorious length spreading your walls apart with ease due to how wet you already were.

You moaned and arched your back with a long moan as he started with a hard, slow pace, taking his time to pull out, and slipped back in with all his strength, almost sending you up the bed.

He kept the knife against your throat and the other went to your dress, he pulled it out, tugged down the corset until your breasts would be both free, and naked to his eye.

“You’re so fucking tight, baby -” He moaned as he picked up the pace, his head hanging down as he moaned.

“A-Aem, you feel so good –” You moaned back, holding on his wrists as his cock spread roughly your walls, hitting you deeper at every thrust.

You reached up to his face with one of your hands, and pulled his mask off, revealing his face, his forehead covered in a veil of sweat, his hair a bit messy, half tied back, some strings sticking to his forehead.

His fake, blue eye uncovered, and a splash of fake blood painting his face red.

You smiled at his effort to come out with a fairly good costume.

“God, baby -” You moaned as your back arched again, the denial of the last two orgasm making you sensitive, but even making the pleasure that was currently building stronger.

“Aem -” You panted. “I swear, if you don’t let me come -” You tried to threaten, but he smirked and pressed the knife harder against the skin of your neck.

“You’ll what, uh?” He chuckled, giving you a few harder thrusts, as if to remind you hou you were not in control at the moment.

“Aem –” You whined. “Come on, please –” You cried out. “I want to come.” “Yeah?” He asked. “You want to wet my cock even more?” He smirked. “You want to come on this cock?”

“Yes! Aem, I’ll make you feel so good -” You moaned, your voice was strained as the pleasure threatened to wash over you. You arched your back violently, and you spread your legs even more, trying to get him deeper inside you. 

He growled as he started thrusting harder, speeding up so suddenly, making you almost scream.

“Then do it. I want to see my cock leaking because of you, baby.” He growled. “Come.” 

“G-God, Aem!” You moaned loudly as you finally came, your orgasm hitting hard on you, harder than usual, your hands were trembling as you reached for his neck, pulling him down close to you as you held onto him.

“Fuck – You’re squeezing me so tight, baby – “ He grunted, his voices strained as well, his body tense, on the edge. He threw the knife away and hugged you back, thrusting one last time, burying his cock inside you as he spilled himself in your heat.

You both panted as you simply hugged each other on the bed, trying to calm from the pleasure.

“I love you too.” He whispered in your ear, leaning his head back enough to look down at you.

You smiled back at him.

“You know, I think your costume is better than mine this year.” You smirked. Aemond chuckled and kissed you softly.

“I’ll keep it in mind for next year.” He rolled on his side, bringing you with him.

“Why wait a whole year? And why use only one mask.” You smiled as you mentally started listing all the masks you’d love him to wear.

“Oh, really?” He raised his eyebrow as he looked at you with a smile. 

“Really.”

Taglist: @ka1afbr @cynic-spirit @ladythornofrivia @zenka69 @queenofthekeep @adorewhatever @diannnnsss @kotadislikesthissite @iloveallmyboys @valyrianflower @dixie-elocin @gelacat0413 @quinquinquincy @mamawiggers1980 @darylandbethfanforever9 @rhaethoughts @believeinthefireflies95 @urfavnoirette @summerposie @sk1mah1 @queenofshinigamis @anukulee @chlmtfilms @m-riaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @malfoycassimalfoy @agoldenwoe

[fuctacles]

Time!

for @steddiemicrofic "time" | 485 | T | cw: mention of blood and broken bone | College AU, commentator Eddie, team captain Steve | Ao3 | part 1

The Tigers are one throw from winning the game. For the friends and family looking, it's just a friendly match between two colleges, but they don't know about the potential sponsors sitting among them. The sports department has been hoping to buy a new coach, so different teams wouldn't have to rock-paper-scissor who goes to the away games during the season.

Eddie's been hearing about it a lot, against his own will.

"DESERVED!" he yells into the microphone as Jason Carver trips and falls on the court. "I mean, foul! Somebody give that guy a yellow card!" he changes tracks as one of the professors glares at him through the glass. With a smile, he gives her a friendly wave.

"See, that's why I say there's no shame in wearing velcro shoes. There is so much blood, you guys. I think I see a bone? This is brutal, dear adventurers, be grateful you don't get the visual, only the kid-frie— well, the version that won't make you faint, filtered by yours truly."

There's a slam on his glass, so he waves again at the teacher. 

"Oh! The coach is calling for time! Yes, I already know they are not playing charades, thank you. But you know what, I think it would be great entertainment between sets. Uh-oh, the Tiger's captain is glaring at me. He's walking up the bleachers. This may be the end of our adventure, dear listeners, the journey was magical and—"

"Eddie!"

He squeaks, slamming the mute button in panic. 

"Captain!" he grins, turning around to greet the sweaty and flushed—and gorgeous—face of Steve Harrington. 

"Coach is pissed," he states, pushing damp hair out of his face. Eddie has yet to make him wear his bandana on the court, but he will make it happen. At some point. 

"Why?" He blinks his eyes innocently. "I'm just doing my job."

Steve puts his hands on his hips and raises an eyebrow.

"Blood? Broken bone?" he reminds him. 

Eddie crosses his arms defiantly.

"People don't want boring sports commentary, Steve. They want blood and circuses!"

"Uh-uh. I know for a fact this is not how it goes." Steve gives him an unimpressed look. "Correct it before his family starts freaking out."

"Fine," Eddie huffs. "Did you come here just to piss on my fun?"

Steve shakes his head, dropping his arms to come closer and lean on Eddie's chair.

"I came for a good luck kiss. Daddy really wants that bus."

Eddie snorts and uncrosses his arms. 

"Okay, Daddy, then come here," he pulls him in for a quick peck, and then two more, lips catching hungrily but knowing they don't have time for more. They pull away and smile at each other. 

"Get that goal for the team!" Eddie pushes him away and slaps his butt for extra luck.

"Still the wrong sport, baby," Steve laughs before leaving the commentator's booth.

beloveds: @blasvemous @wheneverfeasible @phantomcat94

[jojo-schmo]

✿ Forgotten Land Roleswap AU ✿

✦ 3rd Anniversary ✦

I was hoping to get this Light Novel cover redraw finished by today, but I haven't been feeling well and ran out of time- but I still wanted to at least share this WIP and muse on how much things have grown during these three years, and how much this project has meant to me so far.

April 12, 2022 was the day I created posted the first doodles that would, unbeknownst to me at the time, germinate the idea that would transform into a passion project spanning multiple years. I had just finished Kirby and the Forgotten Land's story and slowly getting back into the Kirby fandom space for the first time in years. It had been a long time since a game made me feel as wonderful as Forgotten Land did. I've loved Bandana Waddle Dee since I first played Return to Dreamland on the Wii when I was a kid, and wished he had more opportunities to shine outside of directly supporting Kirby in the game. I also love "What If" and "Roleswap" AUs, so I considered what would happen if I swapped Bandana Dee and King Dedede's role in the game.

The posts didn't really get much traction at first, which was fine. But I kept going back to the idea after a few days and thinking about how to push it further. Instead of just swapping Bandee and Dedede, what if Dedede was Player 1 to increase the stakes of rescuing the kidnapped Waddle Dees? Dedede wouldn't have access to Mouthful Mode, so how would the gameplay work then? Instead of Kirby taking care of everything with his own Mouthful Mode, it could be more fun to have Meta Knight be Player 2 instead, and explore their teamwork dynamics and problem-solving methods together!

So I explored an alternative- Combo Mode! And developing and researching ideas for that lit a spark within me! I had to keep going after that!

Now I had to consider, if I'm already swapping around all the main characters, I'm starting to have an entirely new universe here! What's next to change up? For the heroes' companion, I felt like Elfilin wouldn't behave very differently in this AU than in canon, he would probably continue to be friendly and helpful and sweet. Which would be okay- but to make things more interesting for myself, what if I played around with the origin story of the missing pieces of Fecto Forgo and switched "Elfilis" and "Elfilin" around? That way there's new obstacles and possibilities there and maybe I can even surprise some people with the lore down the line!

Now I'd had my Dream Team shuffled around, a very different mysterious companion for them... And why stop there? Why not play with the Beast Council's roles too while I'm at it to make things even more interesting for myself to write?!

From the early days of this AU Project...

To my more recent work...

...Now here we are.

It'd been a long, long time since I enjoyed the creation process of anything for myself like this! I was coming out of some pretty hard times in the early 2020s, and in a lot of ways, this AU has been there alongside me during a years-long journey to get help for my mental health, to become more confident in who I am and what I can bring to the world around me, and to love myself. Now I'm the best version of myself I've ever been, and I can pour so much more into my art and writing, especially with this AU!! <3

AND MAN, does it feel good to see physical evidence of my art style's evolution side-by-side! Like comparing my first Light Novel cover redraw from 2022 with my current WIP!

Creating this AU has taught me so much about storytelling, the medium of comics, organization, and most of all, to enjoy the process and really push my personal limits in a positive way. I've met so many amazing people since starting this story, some of whom have inspired me in ways I never could've imagined. Some very key people have even helped me ponder different mediums to tell this story.... Some animatics... or maybe even more interactive storytelling...? I am slow cooking some fun ideas, dear reader....

This AU gave me the confidence to become more involved in the fandom space and find community among people who have taught me so much. I am so, so grateful for this project.

I know it's taken some time to get here. I still work full-time and now I'm pursuing a second bachelor's in hopes of a career change that will allow me more time to focus on creating someday. But for now, free time can be frustratingly limited for me. It's also taken this long because I've put a lot of thought into how to set up the metaphorical "dominos" in the forms of foreshadowing and world-building I want, to do my best to make the wait worth it for the future plot pay-offs and reveals I have planned!! I'm hoping to continue to pick up speed with updates as I increase my skill and solidify my master plan for this story... MUAHAHA....

I plan on seeing this project to the very very end, and I can't wait to continue this journey with you all. Especially with the announcement of Star-Crossed Worlds!!! I'm not too worried about it turning my AU lore upside-down quite yet since it's post-game content and my bigger lore drops are still a little bit away, so I have time to navigate that when it does drop :3

Thank you to everyone who has read, enjoyed, and supported this project in any way, whether it's a like, comment, reblog tag, dm, carrier pigeon, paper airplane- whatever!! <3 I love, appreciate, and am beyond grateful for every reader, supporter, and friend I've gained in the past three years!!

Cheers to a successful three years under my belt, and I look forward to the future!! By the end of this journey, I hope you will enjoy reading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

🫧 Love, Jojo T. Schmo 🫧

★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★

♫ Laughing loud! Even if you're far apart, they're right by your side. Hearts full of love! Everyone is welcome to live in this new world. ♫

｡⋆｡˚ ʚïɞ ˚｡⋆｡

[jackalopenecropsy]

ok i'll indulge myself....

part 1(?) of biker gang!141 and an interesting fem grunge!reader... if u want more

cw; slight mentions of blood

The streets were pretty quiet this time of night. The only sounds to be heard were barking dogs or tires occasionally skidding in the distance. And the teenagers were never out this late in the fall, as school just started or they were working their dead jobs at the gas station or high school graduates pouring the same 5 drinks at a bar.

You liked walking around- even though it was maybe 1 or 2 in the morning- mainly because you had your scary guard dog with you, (who wasn't even a bit scary, he was just a police academy dropout with a fear of cotton swabs and squirrels) but also because the air this time of year smelled the best. It did wonders for your skin and sinuses, so why not? Walking around in the daytime was a lot more of a chore anyways, teenagers skating sporradically with fruity vapes on necklaces or older men just leaving their blue collar jobs for lunch while staring at you with unreadable expressions.

The northwoods, sigh. You'd told yourself that you'd leave it all the time when you were a kid. Over the years, a mix of the economy making that absolutely impossible and an aquirement of taste for small-town life made it a lot easier to accept the impossibility of it. Bartending and eventually being remote in editorial work kept you afloat in the small house you'd been able to buy flat out in the south side of town.

That part of town was just cemeteries and neighborhoods, neighborhoods and railroads, and gas stations and bars. As most south sides were. Another luxury of living where you lived was the copious amounts of streets and drag-worthy strips of old highway that laid for miles in one direction or another.

You used to work as a freelance flag girl for drag racers on some shitty craigslist copy, but quit l because the only racers that wanted you were full of white-claw drunk young assholes rooting for douchebag car modders who compensated for their dick sizes by throttling so hard that the pop of their exhausts sounded like gunfights. It was too loud and to risky and too tasteless.

But in the ends of the summer, it was taken over by the bikers. Not bicycle-bikers, but motorcyclists.

You were absolutely terrible at hiding your drooling depraved stares at every single one of them. The young women in skin-clad leather and red lipstick with matching sleek bikes, the finer-aged older men in their lean-back harleys with bandanas, the cute guys your age in their blackout helmets and their modestly-modded bikes. Oh, the variety, oh the taste. You had once thought about picking up biking yourself, but when you told your friends they all cackled at the idea. You were too absent minded at times; definitely from all the weed you smoked. Only half embarassed, you agreed.

Tonight was no different than the other nights of early Septembers before. Your dog lapped his tongue in the air catching stray dew drops falling from leaves overhead as you took your time walking accross the street. He swayed his tail so hard that you almost got knocked over a few times. The sound of a motorcyle revving in the distance made you slow your speed to a halt, listening intently, shamefully to see if you could get any bit of eye candy while out.

You recognized the sound of the engine, which soon became engines as the sounds came closer.

'Oh... a group of Kawaskis?? No... that's at least two more different motorcyles, but a few Kawaskis.. Do I hear a Harley?'

You blinked to yourself before shaking your head.

'God fucking damnit, you geek. You should NOT be able to tell what motorcyle model someone's riding from the fucking engine.'

Before you can shamefully walk back towards your house, you feel your dog tug harshly at his leash. You try to hold him back, but he yanks with one solid push of his back paws on the blacktop, and before you know it, you're hands and knees down on the hard ground as he's running full speed towards the sound of the motorcycles.

You groan in frustration as you stand up in a small bit of pain, your fishnets torn to shit as your palms and knees are scraped just enough to bleed a reasonable amount for getting launched by a 90 lb dog of muscle.

"Riley!" You shout and run at him, dodging a few trash cans along the street's edge as you do so. "Riley, goddamnit! Come back! Here boy!" Your converse were broken in enough to give you good ground as you chased him, and you almost grab his loose leash dragging behind him- until you trip over your own feet again just before you do.

You stay on the ground this time, unworried for your dog, as he's a big boy who knows how to not get hit by a car or get lost. More focused on the soul-eating embarassment of being outrun by a dog with more anxiety than a war veteran, and tripping twice in the process. You ignore the growing and stalling sound of engines beside- or in front, you can't tell being face down in the gravel- you as you're grovelling.

"Eh... excuse me miss? Are you alright?" You hear a gruff, dark voice mumble from just above you. You whip your head up to look at 5 people in bikers helmets just in front of you, their motorcyles off or stalling as they stand looking down at you on the ground.

"Oh- oh my- uh yeah- don't worry about me I'm great. I just tripped- nothing serious." You wave them off as you try and cover the growing fluster on your face. You stand and shake the dirt off your hands before swiping it off of your zip up, shaking it out of your gloves too. You look up to see none other than Riley, sitting contently behind the man in front of you, eagerly being pet by one of the bikers with a skull design painted onto his helmet and visor.

"Riley!" The biker looks up and your dog wags his tail hard enough to knock the bikers over too, and barks at you. "You are so not going to get any treats when we get home." He whines and continues barking, then twirls in a circle.

"You're dog's name is Riley?" The man in the skull helmet asks- and you suddenly become hyperaware of how all of the bikers are staring so intently at you. And those that have spoken so far have sickeningly thick English accents.

"Ah- yes, yeah. I was just on a walk and I heard you guys from the other street- but he just loves motorcylists so much, he took off on me. Usually he just waits until they pass us by. I'm so so sorry if he got in your way or anything." You scramble to try and seem somewhat normal as you switch between standing like a deer in their headlights, and holding your arms as the wind blew against your back.

"Ain't that a funny coincidence." The biker next to him stated, his accent thicker, and different. Possibly scottish.

"You watch it- It is a good name for a dog like this." The skull-helmet points an authoritative finger at the scot before patting Riley's head again. The man in front of you laughs heartily and takes his helmet off, revealing an older- FINELY aged man with hair in a short, short pulled back light brown and gray spotted ponytail. His mustache pulled down into a scruffy beard by mutton chops, giving him a real grizzly harley-rider look. You swore your jaw dropped when he took it off, and you were quick to cover your mouth when he smiled at you.

"I'm sorry about that miss- You've got a good dog protecting you. My names John Price." He walked up and took your hand from your face, squeezing it lightly. "My boys back there are harmless. You seem to have roughed yourself up a bit." He tilts his head as he leans back and looks you up and down, still holding your hand. Oh how deeply thankful you were that he was blocking the headlights from illuminating your red face.

"Yeah- I'm fine though, really! I just, can't keep up with Riley if I tried." You laugh and tremble a little as the cold air catches up to you. He raises an eyebrow- and fuck it gets to you because it makes him smirk a little bit too.

"Well, no offense but you look like you're in no condition to walk home like that!" A woman's voice comes up from behind Price's. You squint at the light when she comes up, and you see a blonde woman about his age with smile lines and blue eyes that could knock you down to your knees yet again. "My name's Kate, don't let John here scare you, he's just an old man." They banter a bit as you stare into space, begging any ethreal being to show you a sign that this is real life.

'Fuck being bisexual, god hates me.' You curse to yourself as you smile shyly at her.

"We can give you a ride home if you'd want! I wouldn't feel right letting you have to get yourself home with blood down your legs." Price motions with his free hand at your torn fishnets, rocks littering the cuts on your leg.

"Oh- I don't want to impose or anything, and I'll have Riley!" You struggle to keep yourself still as the wind continually stings.

"Lass, you're shakin' like a leaf in this wind." The scottish man shakes his head in his helmet, leaning back against the flat of his bike.

"You ain't getting home with just a dog draggin' you forward." The gruff voice of the skull-head from beside him made you look away in embarassment. They were all right, you were blocks away from home, and you didn't have your phone on you either.

"Um.. If you're sure you don't mind... but what about Riley?"

"He can ride wi' me!" The scott excitedly patted the flat he was leaning on, shuffling a few top panels to show a compartment on the back of it that had a hooking mechanism for leashes. Assumedly he had dogs too, and how greatful you were for it.

You sigh in relief that you wont have to limp home in your misery, as strong as you are, the chunk of you lost twice to the blacktop actually hurt more than you'd ever want to admit.

Before you can take a step forward, you're lifted off your feet and holding the shoulders of Kate. She laughs as you gasp and sets you on the back of skull-head's bike so you can backpack him, right next to Riley in the odd formation their bikes created.

"I promise he's not as scary as he looks- right Simon?"

"I don't bite." He chuckles deeply and you tense against his back as he does so. "You might want to hold on tho', I'm not exactly the easiest ride." You blush, hard as he says it, and the group laughs loudly as they start their bikes.

"Oi, treat her nice Si." A soft voice jeered from the last bike to Kate's right. "Or else I'll have to take her off your hands."

"Nice try Gaz."

"Boys! Quit scarin' her." Price chuckles and lights a cigar as he revs his engine. "Or else she wont wanna see us again. Now where do you need us to take you, love?"

'Ah.' Was all that crossed your mind as you locked your arms around Simon's waist, and you all shot off down the street.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Kid's Story - 6

Source for pic

Imperfect 6

Word Count: 4684

Tags and Summary can be found here.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Notes: I was going to post this yesterday, but then the blackout happened (Spain and Portugal left in the dark for over 12+ hours!) and I couldn't do it. So here it is. I had a wonderful time writing this chapter and I do hope you enjoy it. Let's see if Kid opens up a little bit or not... On another note, I thought I had the next chapter already written, but then another idea popped up, and now I'm writing another scene to pack in between these chapters! It's a nice scene, you'll all love it!

Here's a Spotify Playlist I created for this story if you want to check it out!

Masterlist

Killer lets a rare smile curve his lips, though his bandana keeps them hidden. He’s happy. You promised him you wouldn’t hold Kid’s actions against him and would try to prove him wrong. You were determined to show that stubborn ass he deserves some goodness in his life. 

And if Killer had any doubt about you being the one for Kid, he doesn’t anymore. You’re it. Even if neither you nor Kid can quite see the big picture yet, Killer is already thinking way down the line. 

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get to pounce some wise words into that knucklehead. Knowing Kid, he probably spent last night drinking himself into a stupor, so it’s about time to call him a dickhead and get him to clean up his act. Killer doesn’t want his best friend to look like shit when you decide to come knocking. 

Killer’s eyebrow raises once he parks his bike and spies the ‘closed’ sign still hanging by the garage door. It’s after lunch, Kid should’ve opened up shop by now, since it’s Killer’s day off. 

He unlocks the door, and as soon as he opens it, he’s hit with a dizzying waft of stale booze. “Jesus fuck. It smells like a fucking back alley here. Kid?” Killer calls as he opens the gate to let in some fresh air, because the stench is already churning his stomach.

He hears a grunt in the back of the garage, followed by curses directed at him and at the blinding sun and warmth that Killer let inside the space. Killer sighs and makes his way towards the back, avoiding broken glass scattered on the floor as well as empty beer cans and bottles. 

“I fucking knew it,” he adds, a small migraine already creeping its way into his head and settling behind his eyes. 

Killer was ready to find Kid still pissed drunk or with a dreadful hangover. He wasn’t ready for the sight that greeted him.

Slumped against the worn-out couch stands his best friend: shirtless, covered in dried blood and blackish bruises, his prosthetic arm forgotten on top of the couch. Kid’s hair is a mess and also matted with dry blood. He has a split lip and a nasty cut on the eyebrow above the left eye - one that’s hooded and closed because of swelling. 

“You fucking went to Hellpit, didn’t you?” Killer’s voice is cold as fuck, his earlier smile now completely forgotten and replaced by a frosty frown. “You asshole.”

“Stop screamin’ for fuck’s sake,” Kid growls, his good eye scrunching and his jaw clenching in barely concealed pain. 

“I ain’t screaming, dickhead. I’m stating facts.” Killer kicks Kid’s blood-covered boot. “You need a fucking shower.”

Just earlier, when Killer was talking to you, he was begging you not to give up on Kid. And now it’s him who has half a mind to do it. Killer’s pretty fucking tired of this self-loathing shit.

The fleeting thought quickly evaporates his mind. He would never abandon his brother.

“You promised you wouldn’t go there anymore. That place is fucking lawless. One of these days, you’re gonna end up dead. Use your fucking head to think, dumbass!” Killer kicks his boot again before turning and grabbing the first aid kit from the shelf.

“Booze wasn’t helpin’. Needed something stronger.” Kid straightens up as he presses his hand against his nose. “Fuck. Think I might’ve broken my fuckin’ nose. Again.”

“Well, thank fuck a few punches helped. You look so much better, Kid.” Killer’s sarcasm flies straight over Kid’s head when the redhead sighs. 

“Aren’t ya listenin’? I just said it didn’t help.”

Killer inhales deeply as he crouches next to Kid and lowers his bandana. “Kid. You have people who care about you. Stop being reckless with your life,” Killer says softly, shaking his head. He has this speech on repeat. Kid has been going to underground fight clubs for years. He always comes back with a little bit less soul in him. 

And a lot more anger. 

“Aye, cut yer sanctimonious speech,” he says, waving his hand in dismissal. “I don’t need that shite today.”

“Well, tough shit. I didn’t need to see you in this sorry state either. We don’t always get what we want.”

“Preach, broth–motherfucker!” Kid hisses when Killer presses the gauze to his eyebrow, disinfecting the wound before patching it up. “Warn a man first, aye?”

“Oops,” Killer deadpans. He then works in silence, patching up Kid’s open wounds as best as he knows how, like he has done a thousand times over the years. Unsaid words linger between both of them, and the silence feels heavy and thick. 

Until Killer decides he’s had enough. “So you pushed her away again?” 

Kid grunts and avoids eye contact. 

“Self-destructing idiot,” Killer sighs, slowly collecting the bloodied gauzes to throw them in the trash.

“She’s too–”

“Save it! She’s what you deserve! We don’t always get what we want, no. But we do get what we deserve in life, Kid, even if it doesn’t feel like it.” He gets up to put the first aid kit away. “Stop wallowing in self-pity and just accept it. You’ve done your penance. Now start living for fuck’s sake.”

He glances over his shoulder and finds Kid gazing at the spot where the picture of their army squad stands. His best friend scrubs his hand hard against his mouth, his whole body locking, repressing words of deprecation and loathing. 

“She’s gonna come back to you. So get your shit together and stop being a fucking baby.”

Kid doesn’t answer him, but he gets up, goes to the bathroom, and when Killer hears the shower running, he sighs in relief. Maybe he got through to him. 

Maybe he’s decided that it’s finally time to allow himself to be happy. 

-*-

You’re a woman on a mission.

You spent the rest of the day and the whole night plotting instead of sleeping and decided you’re about to turn the tables on Kid. He doesn’t want to take a big step into your relationship? It’s fine. You’re both grown adults. How hard can it be to keep it in your pants?

Killer’s plea kept replaying in your head like a broken record: ‘Don’t give up on him’; ‘Prove him wrong.’ 

Oh, Eustass Kid is going to be proven wrong so hard, he won’t even know what hit him. 

Your plan is to leave the romantic tension behind and just have fun. Try to peel the layers of the complicated, brooding onion that he is and get to the core. Make him realize he deserves goodness in his life if only he allows it. 

And that’s why, as soon as the afternoon dwindles to its end, you arrive unannounced at the ‘Damned Punk Garage’.

You kick the door open, sunglasses perched on the tip of your nose, Kid’s leather jacket hooked on your index finger and draped over your shoulder. Killer takes one look at you and visibly relaxes, leaning back on the car he’s working on, ready for a show. 

You can see Kid’s boots sticking out from under Victoria, so you go near him and kick him on the heel. 

“The fuck?” He rolls from under the car, a scowl painting his grease-stained face. When he sees you, his eyes widen, and something shadows them. “Sparkles…”

“What the hell happened to you?” Momentarily forgetting your no-nonsense plan, you lean down, examining his wounds. There’s nasty swelling on his eye, the underside blackened and bruised. Not to mention the cut on his lip and eyebrow. He looks like shit.

Kid grins, chasing away the shadows in a heartbeat. “Worried, sweetheart?” You scoff, and he gets up, dusting his hands against his jeans. “Ran into a door.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“That’s the best lie you can come up with?”

“Fine. Ran into a fist.” You cock your head and frown, ready to pry him further, but then he sees his jacket hanging on your shoulder and his grin disappears. “Givin’ that back already?” 

Does he sound slightly hurt about it? There’s clearly still tension from what happened between the two of you, but you’re about to pull a Eustass Kid on him and completely ignore and disregard the matter. While you’re at it, you decide not to pry any further about his face. 

One step at a time. 

“This?” You look at the jacket and shake your head. “Not a chance, handsome.” Kid raises a brow, and you tilt your head so you can stare at him over the rim of your sunglasses. You point at his Harley and grin. “I want to go for a ride.”

You hear Killer chuckle slightly, but when Kid pierces him with his gaze, he gets back to what he was doing, pretending he’s not listening in on your conversation. 

“A ride?” Kid crosses his arms and assesses you, seemingly looking for something he’s missing as to why you’re acting like this. He’s probably thinking that you should still be pissed at him, since he pushed you away again. 

“Why not? Are you busy?”

“He’s not,” Killer chimes in.

“Shut the fuck up!” Kid growls, and Killer snickers softly. Then he reaches into his pocket and fishes out the keys to his bike, which he tosses at you. “Warm her up. I’ll go wash up.”

You grin as he turns and disappears inside the bathroom. Killer passes by you and squeezes your shoulder gently. “Thank you,” he says, before you put on Kid’s jacket and start his bike. 

You can do this!

-*-

Kid cruises the freeway like he freaking owns the road, leaning into the curves, the engine roaring beneath you as he picks up speed. The wind whooshes in your ears, tangling any hair that dared get free from the helmet, and you laugh. A loud, carefree laugh shakes your chest as you press it against Kid’s broad back and he seems to melt into the touch. 

A briny waft of fresh air hits you and you smell the sea before you see it. Another laugh escapes your lips as you realize Kid brought you to the ocean. 

The tires crunch over loose gravel as Kid cuts the engine and parks the bike. You both hop off, and you don’t miss how his eyes linger on the way his jacket hugs your smaller frame, something unreadable shadowing them.  

“The beach?” You practically stand on the heels of your boots, itching to take them off and bury your feet into the sand. 

“Aye.” Kid scratches the back of his neck as he puts the helmets away, and you both lean on the railing, watching as the waves lap gently against the soft sand. “When yer car broke down and ye called me, ye were here alone. I don’t need half a brain to know ye like it here.”

Kid avoids your gaze as he states this, and you can’t stop your silly little heart from taking a tumble and skipping an entire beat. 

“You’re right. I do like it here. Thank you.” You smile at him and then turn towards the ocean, before the lingering heat between you turns this into something you want, but can’t indulge right now. That’s not the plan. “Let’s go.”

You take off his jacket and kick off your shoes, dropping them near the bike, then sprint towards the shore, letting out a shriek when your feet enter the cold water. You twirl and kick up the surf with your arms raised in the air. Behind you, the sky’s bleeding red and orange as the sun starts to dip on the horizon. 

“Come on, grumpy pants!” you shout at Kid, waving your arms and beckoning him to the sea as if you were a siren and he a wandering pirate. 

“Ain’t gonna happen, Sparkles.” He grins but doesn’t move from the spot he stopped at once you entered the water. He didn’t even remove his boots.

“I’ll drag your ass inside!” you threaten, but that just makes him snort. 

“That would require a lot of muscle, which ye don’t have.”

“Are you challenging me?” you press your hands to your hips and glare him down.

“Is it really a challenge, though?”

You let out a barking, obnoxious laugh before pretending to crack your neck and roll your shoulders. Then you march towards him. “Challenge accepted!” Kid’s grin curves his lips upwards as he crosses his arms and spreads his legs far apart, like he’s daring you to try. 

Determination empowers your gait, and you stomp your way towards his massive frame, only getting slowed down by the unevenness of the sandy terrain. 

“Yer gonna hurt yerself,” he sounds perfectly amused. 

“Ah! We’ll see about that.” You don’t even think, with overconfidence in your stride, you rush towards him using the momentum of your little jog to wrap your arms around his torso and, if every movie, TV show, or wrestling match taught you anything, he should fall. 

He doesn’t even budge. 

“Wow.” Kid’s gaze drops and he stares at you, clinging to him as if your life depended on it, huffing and puffing as your feet get buried in the sand with the effort. “Do ye have an actual plan?”

“This is it…” you mumble between gritted teeth. Then you plant the soles of your feet on the sand and try to lift him up by sheer willpower. 

Kid actually lets out a barking laugh. An unfiltered, joyful laugh. You’re almost thrown out of balance by how unburdened he sounds, but quickly remind yourself that that is exactly the plan. 

“Look at ye tryin’ so hard!” he pats your head condescendingly, but does. not. move.

“You’re going down, Eustass!” Hooking a leg behind his, you try to throw him off balance, but once again, nothing you ever saw on TV is real because he doesn’t fall down! He doesn’t even tilt!

He laughs again. A very raw, clear, rumbling laugh that sets all the butterflies in your stomach aflutter, and you try to drown them out by sheer will as you continue your efforts to topple him. 

“Yer cute, Sparkles,” Kid deadpans. Then, without warning - and still laughing - he bends and scoops you up like you weigh nothing, hauling you as if you were a sack of potatoes. “Yer runnin’ so hot there that ye need to cool off.”   

When he carries you straight to shore, his plans become clear, and you start to squirm in his hold. “No! NO! Kid! Put me down! I was kidding!” Kicking your feet and thrashing in his hold doesn’t seem to help as he only continues to laugh.

“Any last words?” Kid asks with a hint of amusement as he approaches the water. 

“I’m sorry?” you try weakly, a laugh already bubbling up on the back of your throat.

“Wrong answer,” he makes a buzzing sound like you lost a contest and launches you into the water with a glorious splash. 

You sit up with a shriek, your clothes soaked, hair dripping, and a shocked look upon your face. “You didn’t!”

The image of Kid actually doubled over as he laughs his ass off is going to be imprinted into your brain for eternity. It feels like this stupid, silly adventure helped ease some weight off his shoulders. 

Which was exactly what you were aiming to do. 

You take advantage of the fact that he’s so distracted with his own mirth to jump forward and tackle his legs. He goes down with a splash larger than the one you produced and a loud curse, and now you’re the one laughing. 

“Ye menace!” Kid roars as he comes up, a piece of seaweed clinging to his face, and you nearly cry with how much you’re laughing. 

Soon enough, he’s holding you underwater, and then you’re both chasing each other around the shallow surf. 

Nothing else matters in this moment but having fun. There are no raised walls, no fears, no confessions… just fun.

-*-

The sky is laced with dark purple, and the sun can no longer be seen dipping on the horizon. You’re enjoying the last bit of twilight before heading back. Your arms are on the railing overlooking the beach, and you’re facing the horizon, hair blowing slightly in the wind as you close your eyes and let the remaining warmth of the day wash over you. 

Kid is trying very hard to squeeze the water from his favorite boots, and he’s about to direct his mild anger at you when he sees the expression on your face. 

Stopping his actions, he senses his chest constrict. His heart does a little somersault motion he doesn’t care to acknowledge and his eyes soften slightly. 

He was a dick to you. Scratch that. He’s been a dick to you since you two started hanging out. He pulls and pulls and pulls until you give in, and when you’re in his arms, his insecurities pummel him and knock him around like the useless piece of shit he is. And then he pushes and pushes and pushes until he wounds you. 

Yet, you’re always here. 

He can’t remember a single day in his life after the army where he felt so free, so at peace… unburdened. And you gave him that without him asking for it and without asking for anything in return. 

This just proves to him that he’s right in keeping his distance. You’re too good, too fucking perfect. He can’t ruin you. He won’t wreck you!

There’s no way he’s going to drag you down into the pile of shit he’s under. There’s enough misery in here to last him a lifetime, he doesn’t need you to share that with him. 

But when he looks at you and his stupid heart behaves like it’s trying to claw its way out of his chest, he wants to be enough. God, he wishes he were enough. And that scares the shit out of him. Because however righteous he’s trying to be, he knows he’s a selfish prick who wants you all to himself. Even if that will destroy you. 

You shiver slightly, your clothes still wet from your silly taunts in the water, so Kid grabs his jacket, the one you were wearing and left on his bike, and makes his way towards you. Absently, he inhales its scent, cracking a smile when he realizes that it does smell like you.

And a little bit like him, too.

He drapes the jacket over your shoulders and breaks the spell you were under when you open your eyes and smile softly at him, thanking him. He leans on the railing next to you, trying to prolong the moment, but it inevitably has to come to an end. 

“Laughter becomes you,” you tease him, bumping his shoulder with yours and drawing a gruff chortle from his lips. “You should do it more often. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the grumpy, brooding type also works, but then again, I’d say you’re more the angry, in-your-face type.”

You’re rambling, and he finds himself laughing again. He grips the railing tightly until his knuckles turn white because he knows that if he doesn’t do that, he’s going to have to cup your face and silence you with an earth-shattering kiss. 

And as much as he would like to do that, he can’t.

You turn around on the railing, pressing your elbows against the upper part and letting your back lean into it. Then you tilt your head so you can look at him, and he tries to avoid your gaze. 

He can’t.

So he grips the railing tighter. 

“You don’t have to carry all of that alone, Kid. Whatever it is, and you don’t have to tell me what it is. I just want you to know I’m here for you. You can stop pushing me away.”

And now he forces his gaze to the ground, stupidly realizing he’s still only wearing one boot, and the other one is lying next to his bike. His brows furrow, and he’s about to answer when you start talking again. 

“Picture this,” your voice lilts again, into that bright and light, careless tone. “Zombie apocalypse. Best three spots to build a shelter and why. Go!”

The smile returns to his lips, and though he knows you’re deflecting his attention away from the serious subject you breached, it’s working. You delivered your message. He got it. 

Time to have fun again.

-*-

When Kid’s bike comes to a halt in front of your porch, the sky is already black, but your clothes are still slightly damp and stiff from the saltwater. You both hop off the bike, and you hand Kid his helmet. You’re about to unzip his jacket when he stops you, his hand over yours, stilling your motions. 

“Keep it for a little longer.”

Warmth spreads from his hand and tingles all over your body. Today was so simple, peaceful, and nice. And, God, you were so right. You knew that once you started to spend more time with Kid, you’d be drawn even more to him. The agonizing knot in your stomach attests to it. 

The more his walls crumble and the more his layers peel back, the more you want to dig. 

You don’t move to go inside, and Kid doesn’t make a move to leave. You’re not pressed together, but you’re close enough to him that you can feel his warm breath brush against your eyelids. 

It feels like the perfect time to kiss. 

You lock eyes with his, and what you see there makes your breath hitch. Desire and restraint. Want and caution. You know your gaze mirrors his, a craving barely held back by flimsy self-control. The only thing lending you enough discipline to withstand the will to jump him is the fear of him shutting you out again.

One step at a time. 

Kid takes one step closer, and his broad frame towers over you. Yet, this time, he’s not demanding. His fire is not burning hot, it’s a low ember burning steadily but bright. He raises his hand, and you trap a breath between your teeth, not quite knowing what to expect. 

Then, with much less bravado than the last time he touched you, Kid runs his thumb over your lower lip. His touch is almost reverent, barely there, and yet it scorches. His eyes don’t leave yours, as if he’s searching for something.

There are an insurmountable amount of words left unspoken between you two, and you know deep in your bones that this moment feels too precious, too fragile to shake it so harshly. 

So, neither of you speaks. 

And still, the unspoken words linger in the air like a soft morning haze. A promise, a vow, as if to say: ‘I won’t kiss you tonight. Not tonight. We’ll take things slow.’

The moment drags and lingers, and so does his touch. When Kid drags his thumb away from your lips, it feels like forever has passed and, at the same time, like not enough time was spent in this moment. 

He gives you one last burning look before turning and climbing onto his bike. “G’night, Sparkles.”

-*-

Kid is not surprised to find the garage lights still turned on when he arrives. He had an inkling that Killer would be waiting for him to return - the nosy bastard. 

He slides the gate open and rolls his bike inside. His boot still squelches obnoxiously every time he takes a step, but he doesn’t even find the strength to frown. 

He’s too goddamned happy.

“Look who’s back! And just in time for curfew. I was already planning how I was going to ground you.” Killer lowers his bandana and grins at Kid. Then he has to stifle a snort when he sees the state his best friend rolled in. “What the fuck happened? Were you rolling in the sand? Lose a bet or something?”

Kid can’t help the way the corner of his mouth quirks up. At this point, it’s like an involuntary spasm every time he thinks about you. “Somethin’ like that.”

“Shit, dude, you’re actually happy, aren’t you?” Killer drops the remote control for the small TV of the back office and strides closer to Kid, tilting his head so he can have a better look at his face. “She shoved you into the water?”

Kid grins, scratching the back of his head and trying to avoid eye contact. “Aye. But she cheated,” he grunts half-heartedly. 

“Cheated? What do you mean? She batted her eyelashes, and you melted and forfeited?” Kid doesn’t say anything, and Killer whistles. “You’ve got it bad, man.”

For the first time in what feels like an entire lifetime, Kid doesn’t feel the urge to drown his thoughts in alcohol after a workday. Instead, he sits on the couch, places his arms behind his head, and grins.

An absent thought reminds him that he should clean his prosthetic because of the saltwater, but that practicality is easily replaced by your smiling face. 

So he smiles too.

“Fuck. You’re smiling.” Killer is baffled, and Kid doesn’t even have the strength to tell him to shut the fuck up. 

His best friend slumps into the seat next to him and stares into nothingness. They both do, letting the weight of everything settle between them. 

After a while, Killer speaks, breaking the silence. “She’s good for you, man. I know I said it before, and I’ll say it again.”

Don’t fuck it up. Killer’s unsaid words ring in his ears, despite not having uttered them. He knows Kill like the back of his hand, knows what he’s thinking but is too polite to say. 

“Don’t mean I’m good for her, though.” Kid didn’t want to go there. Not today, not like this. But he can’t escape the truth. It’s better to just deal with it. 

“Don’t do that, brother.” Killer shifts so he’s facing Kid. “Don’t act like you’re a ticking time bomb waiting to blow up in her face.”

Kid closes his eyes, and some of the lightness you brought him today dissipates, taking away all sense of warmth. 

“That’s what I am, Kill. That’s what I do.”

“We’ve talked about this before. You’re not a fucking monster, Kid. She sees that, she sees you. Sees past your bullshit and the crappy walls you hide behind. She wants that, she’s here.” Kid clenches his jaw and swallows past the lump in his throat. “You pushed her away, but she’s still here.”

Kid’s lip twitches up into a small smile again.

“You really fucking like her, don’t you?”

Kid punches Killer’s shoulder with a growl. “Stop makin’ it weird, asshole.”

“I ain’t making it weird, man! It’s already weird enough to see you smiling like a teenager in love, smelling like a wet dog, and having hearts for eyes.” Killer grins and gets up with a jump, escaping Kid’s reach just as he’s about to pounce again. “Fucking lover boy!”

“Oi!” Kid barks, enraged but not truly angry. “Do ye want a new set of teeth?”

“You’re offering dental now? The perks of the job have just been raised!” 

Kid guffaws loudly and settles back on the couch, draping one arm over his eyes, the stupid grin never leaving his face. He can still smell the salt and the sand on his skin. He can even smell you. That characteristic scent of your perfume that now haunts his dreams. 

He was so close to claiming your lips again, hell, he wanted to. But this time he didn’t. He wants to do things properly now. He doesn’t want to kiss you just out of desire, only to regret it the next minute. 

Maybe Killer is right. Maybe he does deserve happiness now. Yet he knows he can’t fuck it up. So one step at a time it is. 

Killer keeps taunting him good-naturedly, and Kid lets him, only telling him to fuck off once or twice. 

Sleep comes easier today. And that’s a fucking first. 

Tags: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @elysian-asphodel @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall @moldychefboyardeecan @dazzlingstarlight23 @bearg-bia @babyboofangirl @praline357 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @traffys-heart @cherileecore @violetmatcha @theloserqueen

Check out @igiulss sketch of roughed up Kid! and this one of the beach scene! They're absolutely lovely!

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|Chapter 7|

[tab00-t33f]

Would be so awesome if you make a headcanons or a mini sceneario ( separate for each character. you chose!) of Reader making accessories and creative gifts for bucci gang + Trish and how they react and feel about it! Only if you want also I just want to tell you that I love your writing! :3

Bucci Gang Handmade Gift Reactions!

Absolutely! Here are some scenarios for the whole bucci gang + trish reacting to handmade accessories from the reader!! Definitely had to include everyone 😭 I’d feel bad leaving anyone out! <3 thanks for the ask! 🌈🦴

Trish Una

Trish loves accessories and admires your creativity. She’s especially impressed if the gift matches her aesthetic.

Scenario:

You give her a pair of earrings inspired by Spice Girl—pink and glittery with subtle soft-textured patterns. She gasps in delight, immediately trying them on.

“They’re perfect! How did you know exactly what I’d love?” She flaunts them everywhere, telling people about your craftsmanship. She might even ask you to collaborate on more designs for her wardrobe.

Bruno Bucciarati

Bruno values meaningful gestures and can tell when something is made with care. He cherishes the thoughtfulness behind your gift as much as the item itself.

Scenario:

You hand him a bracelet made of blue beads interspersed with tiny golden zippers. He immediately smiles, running his fingers over the details.

“Did you make this?” he asks, his voice soft with admiration. When you confirm, he places it on his wrist and promises never to take it off. Every time someone comments on it, he proudly says, “A dear friend made it for me.”

Narancia Ghirga

Narancia loves anything personalized. He’s a bit rough with his belongings, so he treasures handmade gifts even more, knowing you took the time to think of him.

Scenario:

You give him a keychain of his Stand, Aerosmith, crafted out of resin and painted with incredible detail. His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas.

“This is so cool! You made this?!” He runs around showing everyone. “Look at this—look! I’ve got the coolest keychain ever!” He attaches it to his bag immediately and refuses to use any other keychain again.

Guido Mista

Mista appreciates fun, quirky gifts. He loves wearing something that stands out, especially if it’s from you.

Scenario:

You present him with a handmade bandana featuring designs of tiny pistols and bullets stitched along the edges. He grins ear to ear.

“This is awesome! Way better than the ones I buy.” He ties it around his head and strikes a pose. “How do I look? Be honest. Actually, don’t—I know I look amazing.” He wears it almost daily, rotating it with his other accessories but making sure everyone knows which one you made.

Leone Abbacchio

Abbacchio is initially stoic, but he secretly values sentimental gestures. He might not show it outwardly, but he keeps your gift close.

Scenario:

You give him a leather bracelet engraved with small clock hands to represent Moody Blues. He accepts it with a quiet “Thanks,” but later you catch him looking at it when he thinks no one’s watching.

Over time, he’ll wear it more openly, even if he never directly comments on it. However, the way he keeps adjusting it on his wrist when you’re around speaks volumes.

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno deeply appreciates creativity and thoughtfulness. He admires your talent and often gets inspired by your attention to detail.

Scenario:

You give Giorno a lapel pin shaped like a golden rose with green accents. He studies it intently before pinning it to his jacket.

“This is exquisite,” he says, his tone sincere. “You’re incredibly talented. Thank you for this.” He wears it during important missions and meetings, saying it brings him luck.

Fugo Pannacotta

Fugo is surprised by the gesture but deeply touched. He struggles to show his gratitude openly but treasures your gift privately.

Scenario:

You present him with a tie clip shaped like his Stand, Purple Haze, with tiny purple accents. His first reaction is a shocked, “You made this? For me?”

He hesitates, then mutters a quiet “Thanks” with a small smile. Later, you’ll notice him wearing it during formal occasions, straightening it nervously but with pride.

Bonus (Group Reaction):

When the gang realizes you’ve been making gifts for all of them, they tease each other over whose gift is the best. They eventually gang up on you, begging for more personalized creations. Trish might even suggest you start a side business. It becomes a bonding experience for everyone, making you an even more integral part of the group.

[neiljostenslawyer]

The Rules Never Change / Andrew POV of the Foxes vs Ravens Aftermath

When Andrew is seven he gets pushed out of a tree because his foster father wants a child that is bedridden. It is a hard first fall into an iron ruleset. The first bone he ever breaks is in his leg.

In juvie, it's his hands that take most of the damage. He stops growing by thirteen but he is uncommonly strong and fights to maim every time. The pigs are the first one to call him monster, and they make him play goalie because they don't trust him near the other kids.

He sprains his neck when he grabs the wheel from his mother's hands and throws her subaru into a ditch. He gets a concussion in Columbia, a black eye and a broken heart in Binghamton. When the pigs pull him off of the guy who kicked Nicky's teeth in, they dislocate his shoulder.

“Have you ever suffocated?” Neil asks him in pitch dark that miserable July. The whole month is characterized by a menacing, record-breaking heat, but Andrew just feels cold. He knows the sun is there, but his dread is a black hole getting bigger and bigger every day closer to Aaron's trial.

They're sitting on the side of the road somewhere in the middle of nowhere because it's the 4th and Neil has bullet holes all through his body. They thought if they drove far and fast enough they might escape the fireworks, but even here on the edge of long woods, in a pitch black place ruled by cicadas and locust and mosquitoes, their peace is short-lived. Peace is a long, ruleless game of chance.

Injury is a simple game of physics, of motion. What goes up must come down.

Neil stopped waiting for Andrew to answer ten minutes into this one-sided conversation. He says,

“Riko was into waterboarding. I don't remember most of it.”

It's almost too hot to breathe. Once they were certain they'd reached the exact middle of nowhere, they stopped for a needed smoke break. Their cigarettes are long gone and Neil hasn’t stopped talking for almost an hour. The grass is damp as they sit against the wooden fence outlining some field. It's too dark to tell what is growing behind them.

They're close but not touching. July started and Andrew stopped talking almost completely. In the pitch black Neil weaves between loosely connected ideas, pulling at the threads of Andrew's psyche and stitching them together again with each easy bounce from how getting shot feels to the atrocity of the dining hall's limited summer options. He talks about the freshmen and Exy and what he thinks of Thea and and what he thinks of Andrew and how Moscow is too cold and South Carolina is too hot, and Andrew takes it all in stride.

“It was all ego for him,” Neil continues. There are rules. There is a chemical reaction, and the night sky explodes over top of them. Never safe. Neil goes still for a moment and there is cheering somewhere in the distance. Rednecks setting off homemade fireworks, probably. The orange light unmasks them for a moment. Neil has a face you could pick out in a crowd of thousands. He keeps talking.

“He liked looking into your eyes and seeing nothing but himself. He liked watching your whole world shrink down to the tip of a knife.”

Another firework showers them with light, gold this time. Neil flinches but doesn’t stop talking. Andrew has always been the property of the state. He graduated from the foster system to parole in eighteen short years, and now he watches as everyone who stands to benefit from his talent on the court scrambles to keep him out of jail. The United States gave Andrew the last name Doe, until his brother found him and gave him a name that only they share. And now they want to put Aaron in jail too. He thinks about that and he thinks about homemade fireworks and he thinks about waterboarding and he thinks about Riko and he thinks about last weekend when they went to Columbia and Andrew used the orange bandana Neil is wearing right now to tie his wrists to the guest room headboard. But nobody ever looked at Riko the way Neil looked at Andrew as he hovered over him tying that knot.

And then there’s another firework, and the sky glows crimson.

Coach is the first thing to cut through all the red.

"Andrew, focus you need to fucking focus," he shouts in his ear, his arms wrapped around Andrew's neck in a desperate attempt to contain without harming an opponent with none of the same reservations. Wymack can thank him when Jasmine Lane's dead or throw his scholarship out the window like he threatens to every other week. It doesn’t matter.

The entire left side of his body is nothing but pain, and he thrashes anyway against the hold. Luckily, or maybe not, Coach knows exactly what he's doing, and uses all his weight to wretch Andrew around until he catches sight of Neil's broken body on the ground. Wymack takes advantage of the second Andrew's heart drops into his stomach to get him moving. His shoulder screams at the way Wymack drags him but it barely registers as he's finally deposited onto his knees next to Neil. Hard fall. Security is moving toward them, saying they need to get Andrew off of the court and Wymack fights them off because he knows how much worse this will get if they try.

And then Neil floats to another topic. He's a disembodied voice in the dark, dragging Andrew’s aching mind in and out of itself.

“And I like that you don't react when I tell you about it. I love my teammates, but their pity is suffocating. Why the fuck do the southern states have so many goddamn bugs anyway? They don't have mosquitoes in Iceland. Maybe we'll live there one day. I liked it, what I saw of it anyway.”

What goes up must come down. It isn't long before a pig finds them, some tall gangly guy who was probably out around looking for drunk drivers. They don't get up or say anything until his flashlight is right in their faces, and even then not until he asks what they're doing. Neil does all the talking.

The officer asks for their names, which Neil doesn't give him. He asks if they've been drinking and Neil says they haven't. After a few more questions Neil gets bored and asks the guy point blank what the fuck his problem is, anyway. It only gets worse from there.

Andrew thinks about Renee crying when they thought Neil was dead. Maybe she thought she was doing him a kindness by crying for him, and maybe she was. Andrew drowned himself in as much liquor as he could find but his mind wouldn't let go of the slow and gory fate of the kid he’d spent the afternoon sharing past lives with. Up, down. Stupid liar, worthless traitor, psychotic junkie, scared kid. The worst part was that when Andrew pushed through the haze of absolute defeat he found that he had already forgiven Neil. He’d called it, hadn't he? A pipe dream, too good to be true. It was his own fault. You were always going to lose him, Kevin had said right before Andrew tried to strangle him. Iron ruleset. Renee walked him to the gas station for cigarettes with red eyes, and she said there's no pain in heaven and Andrew didn't believe her and still doesn't. And then coach got a call from the FBI.

“I need to see your ID,” the cop is saying.

“The fuck you do,” Neil says, standing up now. Between flashlight and headlights he is on full display, the white glow rendering the burns on his face darker, his scars sharper. His pale blue eyes look almost demonic. He's gorgeous.

The cop directs his light to Andrew. Neil hates that.

“We're not doing anything wrong. Do you seriously not have anything better to do? Is your time actually this worthless,” he demands.

The cop looks to Andrew again, silently warning him to keep his companion under control. Andrew has nothing to offer; every time Neil gets sent to hell he comes back hungrier.

“What's your name,” he asks for the third time.

There are rules and then there is Josten, Andrew's very own uncontrollable force of nature, who snaps at the cop to get his attention and says,

“Don't fucking talk to him,” with a smile that's going to get somebody killed.

"Neil, honey, I need you to talk to me. It's okay, we've got you. Just breath, okay, it's okay," Abby is saying, working to loose some of his armor. Her voice is steady, but her face is a banner of devastation. She's looking him over and over, but it's clear she's afraid to move him too much without a better idea of how badly injured he is. Neil's eyes are glazed and he's gasping for air but it's like every breath he takes is shredding him from the inside out.

Wymack crouches next to them as security drags a half-conscious Lane off the court. As if there is anywhere in the world she could be safe from Andrew. He'd already made her a promise.

"Neil," Wymack says, "Neil, wake up."

Neil makes an airless sound, whatever words it was meant to be come out shattered. He steels against the pain, though, and tries again anyway.

"Is Andrew-" is all he manages to cough out before Andrew cuts him off with a growled,

"Fuck you."

The last thing Neil would've seen before going down was a racquet flying toward Andrew's skull.

Neil's eyes squeeze shut as what would be a sigh of relief is ripped in half by a choked cough, which seems to only make the pain worse as his breath shallows.

Andrew tries to turn to make sure Lane is out of sight, but Abby's hand shoots up beside his head.

"Don't," she warns quickly, looking him over. "Andrew, you need to move as little as possible."

Even as he starts to shift, he knows she's right. He tests and gets a taste of the fire that is waiting for him once the adrenaline wears off. He isn't sure what, exactly, is broken, but he knows this feeling well enough.

"Lane?" he asks through his teeth.

"Probably in police custody already," Wymack confirms, and so Andrew begins to undo Neil's neck guard. Abby removes his helmet, and Andrew guides Neil's sickeningly heavy head to the floor as gently as he can. His eyes are open again—blue and cold and blinking away clouds of asphyxiation.

Andrew puts his head to the floor and meets his gaze.

Hate is a chemical reaction, too. Everything has rules.

Even laying like this, Andrew can feel his collarbone screaming at the pressure and he knows something is very, very broken. It hurts, but he holds the position as long as he can. There's a stomach-turning sense of hope that comes with the decision to stop guessing how much worse things can get.

After Neil hands over their IDs and annoys the pig out of their way, the spot loses its magic. The whole encounter didn't need to be as dramatic as it was, but Neil knows that Andrew likes it when he runs his mouth, no matter how much they suffer for it. Neil is quiet as Andrew pushes the mas faster than he probably should through the winding black night. The first part of campus to come into view is the towering floodlights of the Foxhole Court.

“I know if we lose Aaron it's going to be the worst thing that could ever happen to you,” Neil says. Andrew doesn't answer because it isn't a question.

He turns up the heat and lets his hand fall between them, and Neil links their pinkies together in a silent promise.

[vandme12]

I'm so sorry you got a NSFW asked in your inbox from someone, So I'm here to give ya a completely Different prompt-to make up for the random NSFW prompt.

Prompt: Ronin popping in at random into visit his darling, expecting to take them out on a bloody date he's got in mind, only to find them watching a marathon of Puppybowls as serious as can be- as in cheering for their favorite puppy when they score, laughing at the puns, wearing either something blue or orange. That sort of thing. I would love to see what his reaction to this whole thing would be and if he joins in lol.

Thank you so much!

Bloody Plans and Puppy

Ronin had a plan.

A perfect, beautiful, bloody plan.

He had it all mapped out—sweep you off your feet, drag you into the night, and paint the town red. Maybe he’d take you to a nice rooftop where you could watch some poor bastard’s final moments together, or maybe he’d let you pick the target this time. Romantic, right?

Except—when he strolled into your apartment, all smug confidence and sharp edges—

You didn’t even notice.

No, you were too busy cheering.

For puppies.

Ronin stopped dead in his tracks, blinking at the scene before him like it was some bizarre hallucination. You, curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, eyes glued to the TV like it was the most intense thriller of the decade. Except instead of murder or mayhem—

It was a goddamn Puppy Bowl.

On screen, tiny, clumsy puppies in blue and orange bandanas were tumbling over each other, chasing around a mini football. The announcers were going wild, spewing dog-related puns at a machine-gun pace, and you—

You were into it.

Like, genuinely, seriously into it.

Ronin watched as you fist-pumped the air when a golden retriever pup barrelled into the end zone.

"YEAH! GO TEAM FLUFF!"

He blinked again. Slowly.

What. The. Hell.

"Babe." His voice was smooth, easy, as he strolled further inside, finally making his presence known.

You didn't even look away.

"Hey, Ronin," you said, voice distracted as your eyes flicked across the screen, laser-focused.

He raised a brow, waiting for you to acknowledge him properly, but instead, you just grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it in your mouth, nodding at the TV like some grizzled sports veteran analyzing the game.

"God, that Pomeranian's got no game sense," you muttered.

Ronin's lips twitched. Was this real?

"You're kidding me, right?" He flopped onto the couch next to you, propping his feet up, smirking. "You're skipping out on my very romantic murder plans for… this?"

You threw him a brief glance. "It's the Puppy Bowl."

"Right, and I'm the Pope. Babe, what the hell is a Puppy Bowl?"

You gasped like he just stabbed you in the heart.

"Oh my god, you don’t know??"

Ronin’s smirk widened. "Would I be askin’ if I did?"

You turned to him fully now, eyes wide with shock, hands gripping his jacket like you were about to tell him the meaning of life itself.

"It’s only the greatest event of the year."

He snorted. "Yeah? Thought that was our anniversary."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t let go of his jacket. "It’s a big, adorable football game where puppies ‘compete’ for the Lombarky Trophy."

Lombarky.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Ronin blinked at you, expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause—

"You are… way too invested in this."

"And you are way too NOT invested!" You pointed aggressively at the screen. "Look at them. Look at their little tails! Their tiny, stubby legs! Their over-the-top replays!"

Just as you said it, the slow-mo cam caught a Labrador puppy tripping over its own paws and face-planting straight into the goal line. The dramatic replay made it look ten times funnier than it should have.

Ronin stared.

Then—he actually snorted.

You gasped. "See? SEE? You’re enjoying it!"

"That was one laugh." He smirked, but the way his eyes flicked back to the screen? Yeah, he was already hooked and didn’t even know it yet.

You grinned and grabbed his arm, pulling him in closer. "C’mon. Stay and watch with me."

"Babe, we had a date planned."

"Puppies first. Murder later."

His grin widened. "You’re lucky I love ya."

"Damn right."

Five minutes later, he was into it.

Like, way too into it.

"GO, YOU LITTLE FURRY BASTARD! GO!" Ronin shouted at the TV, gripping the armrest with white-knuckled intensity.

You cackled beside him as he leaned forward, eyes dead serious, watching a tiny dachshund sprint toward the end zone with all the power of an Olympian.

"If this pup doesn’t score, I’m personally takin’ out whoever rigged this game," he growled, narrowing his eyes.

"It’s not rigged!" you laughed.

"That Pomeranian’s been hoggin’ the damn ball all game. It’s clearly a setup."

You buried your face in your hands, laughing so hard your stomach hurt.

Ronin, meanwhile, looked like he was watching the Super Bowl. He was all in. When a tiny beagle got distracted mid-play and just started rolling around on the field, he let out a long, suffering sigh.

"No discipline. No strategy. This team’s a joke."

You nudged him. "They’re literally puppies."

"AND? If you’re gonna play, play to win."

"Oh my god."

And then—it happened.

The dachshund—Ronin’s guy—made a break for it, zooming across the field, dodging bigger puppies left and right. The announcers were going wild.

"LOOK AT THOSE LITTLE LEGS GO!"

"UNSTOPPABLE! A TRUE UNDERDOG STORY!"

Ronin leapt off the couch.

"HOLY SH—RUN, YOU LITTLE DEMON, RUN!"

The dachshund dove—DOVE—into the end zone, ball clenched in his tiny mouth. The crowd on TV erupted. The score updated. Touchdown.

Ronin fist-pumped the air.

"YES! THAT’S MY BOY! MVP! MVP!"

You were cry-laughing at this point, clutching your stomach. Ronin was actually invested. You never thought you’d see the day.

He collapsed back onto the couch, running a hand through his hair, exhilarated.

"Shit," he exhaled. "That was better than half the fights I’ve been in."

"Told you." You grinned.

He glanced at you, then at the screen, then back at you—before smirking. "Guess you got me, angel."

You leaned against him, pressing your face into his shoulder. "So does that mean… Puppy Bowl is a new tradition?"

He let out a dramatic sigh. "Guess so. But next year, I’m bettin’ on Team Ruff."

"Traitor."

"Competitive."

You laughed, and Ronin, despite all his chaos, all his darkness, found himself smiling.

Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind nights like this.

Even if it meant postponing a little murder.

For now.

[sweetimpurity]

c.w.: very smutty, ice cream and sex

The hot sun beats down on your hometown. It’s finally summer and you’re ready for the beach, freedom and romance. You and Miguel have been together since you were both 15. Growing up together, going to school, falling in love and staying in it until now. 18 years old, the two of you. You can’t wait to spend every day with him this summer, and you really can’t wait for those hot summer nights. 

The only thing that gets in the way is summer jobs. If only you two were 10 again and you could spend every minute wasting the day away in the kiddie pool. But now at 18, there are other, better things you two can get up to. 

This summer you’re working at your Dad’s store in town and Miguel is logging in his 3rd consecutive year at Sunny Scoops ice cream. A cute little place by the boardwalk with really good waffle cones and the cutest boy in town behind the register! 

There, Miguel works all day, sweating and smiling, handing out ice cream to little kids, the elderly, families, anyone who’s having a beach day. And any girls who ask for his number, he just tells them to text you and ask for it. That usually prevents them from ever asking again. 

He’s grown muscle over the past three years and ultimately you just had to help him cut the sleeves off his work t-shirt. Complaining about the ‘fit not being right’ on the bigger sizes. 

The uniform he used to wear when he was 15 was pretty horrendous. Pink and blue striped and that goofy ice cream cone hat. Then he turned 16… 17… now 18 and wowza. You’ve watched him grow into a man. Now his arms are showing, his muscles from scooping rock solid ice cream all day long. Toned and extra tan from the summer sun. A bandana wrapped messily in his dark curls to keep the sweat off his forehead. Sometimes you’ll sit there with ice cream melting down your hand and between your fingers because you’re just staring at him moving around behind the little counter and through the little shop. Smiling handsomely to customers, his muscles flexing when he’s scooping the frozen treat, catching his eye and his smile when he sees you watching him. Flustered and flushed pink when he comes back over to talk to you, licking the drips off your knuckles. 

“Your ice cream is melting, baby…” He would coo. Licking his lips of the sweet chocolate melt. “You’re really hot.” You’d sigh, completely in a daze. 

You’re finally done with work now, letting your Dad know you’re leaving for the night. A plan in mind. A need for something sweet. Not just ice cream tonight.  Leaving your Dad’s store at 9:30pm and Sunny Scoops closes at 10. You get in your car, letting the summer night breeze blow in through the windows. The cool down finally here as the sun is set. The night is still warm and sticky but not as blazingly hot as before.

…

“Here you go… have a good night.” You hear his voice as you’re walking up to the window. Watching a little boy and his mother walking away happily with huge ice cream cones in hand. And would you look at that… you’re next in line.

“Hey, gorgeous…” He smiles seeing you, leaning his elbows on the counter and watching you approach the window. “Hey!” You chirp, smiling up at him. “Busy day?” You ask, admiring his tip jar full to the brim. “Yeah, busy but good.” He nods, grabbing a waffle cone and moving around behind the counter. You peer over the edge to look inside. Watching him at the soft serve machine. He knows you so well of course. “Chocolate vanilla twist for the pretty lady…” He announces and hands you a tall swirl of ice cream.

“Come around back, I’m just closing up.” He nods and you take your ice cream, moving to the back of the teeny building to the back door. Walking inside. Like you do most days you come to see him. Miguel slides the window closed, locking it and pulling the wooden panel over to block the window. Locking the place up. 

You hop up to sit on top of the big box freezer, licking the swirl of ice cream in your hand and watching him move some stuff around and close up.

“You wanna go to the beach tomorrow?” You ask, looking over at him with those eyes that make him weak. His eyes watching your pink tongue lick up your ice cream. “Sure.” He answers just softly. Focusing on doing his job before he loses all control. Not just yet. You smile and kick your legs softly. He walks past with a box, grabbing your ankle as you kick your foot up, giving you a look and letting his fingers run up your calf, bringing a smile to your lips, walking away as he finishes clearing the place up, taking the box to the shelves in the back. Coming back after a minute or two. 

“Hey.” He hums, stopping in front of you, a sly sort of smirk on his face. “Hey.” You respond, just as softly, your ice cream only beginning to melt. “You’re so pretty…” He hums as if he hasn’t told you a million times before, making you smile and he steps closer, between your knees. His fingers teasing the sides of your thighs. “Preciosa chica…” He whispers, looking in your eyes and licking the drips off the back of your ice cream cone. Like he always does. Licking all the way to the top of the swirl and then his lips are on yours. His lips moving against yours, his tongue parting your lips. His tongue tasting of chocolate swirl and his lips sugary slippery sweet. His tongue delves into your mouth, his hand going to cup the back of your head, ice cream smashed and mixed between your two tongues. So sweet. Until he’s pulling back, both of you with a slurp. 

You giggle softly, feeling sticky sugar all over your lips. “You want more?” You laugh, raising a brow at him and he grins. You tilt the cone towards his lips. “It’s yours, baby… I wanna see you eat it.” He replies. 

His hands move up under your shirt, tickling your sides as he pulls you closer, sliding you across the freezer top. You smile, bringing the swirl to your lips and licking the melting ice cream, sucking gently and enjoying it, all while staring in his eyes. His hands move under the fabric, fingers moving up your ribcage, your diaphragm, to your breasts. 

“No bra, mami?” He laughs, fingers exploring and kneading the plush of your tits. Staring in your eyes as he does it. “Took it off in the car…” You smile so innocently. He grows harder at the thought. That you took off your bra on the way over here. Like you wanted this to happen, you wanted him. Watching you gasp among the ice cream in your mouth, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples, rolling them gently between his thumb and index fingers. Massaging gently under your shirt. He leans forward, placing three deep kisses to your throat before pulling back again, his fingers grasping the hem of your t-shirt. 

“Can I take this off?” He asks and you nod, mouth full of ice cream. He pushes your shirt up and off, the neon lights of the shop reflecting off your skin, off your breasts, making his mouth water. His arm anchors around your lower back, lips latching onto your breast, licking and sucking and squeezing the other in his hand. “Mmm- miguel…” You sigh, sensitized from his caress. He slurps and smooches your soft skin, the naughty noises filling the small space. The hum of the many fridges and freezers a soothing harmony with your soft moans and the sticky sucking of his lips.  

He pulls back, kissing you a few times, tasting that sweetness on your lips. Keeping one arm around your back and your eyes widened in surprise watching him dip his fingers into the mountain of ice cream in your hand. Picking up dollaps of cold chocolate swirl on his fingers and smearing it over your nipples. Eliciting a sharp gasp from your throat as he does it. Looking down at your chest. He does the same with both sides. “You like that?” Grinning the whole time, holding you tight as you squirm. Freezing coldness hardening the buds until his warm lips come back down to suck the ice cream off. A shuddering and trembling moan leaving you at the feeling. Your free hand going to his hair, tangling in the dark curls. Pulling the bandana off of his head and watching his summer curls bounce free. “Ohhh- Miguel- '' You moan sweetly and he groans against your chest, your sticky sugary nipples sucked and kissed over and over until it's all gone. 

“So sweet baby…” He pants, pulling his shirt off, coming back up to kiss your lips and holding your flushed cheeks in his hands. “Mmm..” You whine, kissing him back hungrily, deeper, your free hand running up his toned abdomen to his chest, a map of his body already ingrained in your brain after all these years, then wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, the ice cream dripping down your knuckles and onto his bare back, making goosebumps on his skin, his big hands running down your back and to your waist. “I don’t have a condom, baby…” He pants against your lips, his fingers in your hair; the words making your tummy flip in butterflies, knowing he wants you; he’s going to be inside. He pulls back for air, desperate to have you as he’s had you many times before.

“I do.” You pant for air, reaching blindly in your back pocket for the one condom you brought. “You really came here just to get fucked, didn’t you?” He laughs and smiles, taking the small foil packet into his sticky fingers. “I came here to see my love…” You hum, tilting your head at him. Not very convincing. His brow cocks in suspicion. “Fine. I came here to get fucked by my love.” You finally admit and the two of you can’t help the giggles. 

Outside the small ice cream shop, cars drive by, peepers peep and crickets chirp. The temperatures go down as the night goes on, but inside the little parlor, things are heating up. 

“Tell me where baby… tell me…” He whispers in your ear, knuckles deep in your heat and you’re barely able to hang onto him. One hand still occupied by the dripping melting ice cream cone. “Right there! Oh right th-there!” You squeal, his thumb moving expertly on your clit and his fingers flicking and curling deep inside. “Oh my god…” You whine, back arching and leaning back so far you almost fall back off the freezer. “Hey… hey… there you go…” He coos, holding you and helping you lay on your back. Limited on space but you make do. His fingers pumping generously into your needy pussy. 

His bottoms are long gone but he takes the condom foil between his teeth, ripping it open carefully. “C’mon baby…” He pants. Taking your free hand and pulling it down to his dick. Guiding you to roll the condom onto his length. Shuddering and groaning feeling the lubed rubber and your soft warm hand pushing it down on him. All while his fingers still curl up against your g spot and you’re on the cusp of coming already. For a few moments, he thrusts into your hand around him. Relishing that pleasure until it’s not enough. 

“Ready, sweet girl?” He steps forward, pulling your hips down to meet him at the edge of the freezer. “Mi corazón…” He whispers, a hand running flat over your tummy. “Mmm… yes please…” You whisper. And when he gets that confirmation, there’s no stopping his gummy tip from kissing your clit, pushing through your slick before slipping down and inside. Like the two of you were made for this. He was made to be with you in this way. You were created to be in love. 

“Haahh…. Baby…” He sighs and shudders, easing himself in with small pulsing thrusts to stretch you out nicely for him. He doesn’t want to hurt his precious girl. Soon he’s pressed to the hilt and your back is arching from that alone. Your trembling legs latching around his waist as he starts his rhythm. Skin slapping skin in the sickly slip of sticky slick. 

Moaning loud and free, the both of you, at the feeling. The feeling of being so full, so filled to the brim. Of love. Of him. The ice cream cone nearly falls out of your hand, your brain unable to think of anything but the pleasure between your legs. One leg wrapped around his hip and the other held in his arm, your knee draped over and his big hand wrapped around your thigh. Keeping you open for him; spread. Pumping into you steady and deep. His heavy eyes watching your face to see how much you love it. His hand on your thigh finds your free hand, lacing his fingers with yours. Panting and focusing. On getting you there. On making you feel the best he possibly can. 

You’re delirious, hazy, a mess of moans and a buzzing burning ache for him. 

“Baby baby-” He grabs your wrist when the ice cream almost slips entirely, holding your wrist and making it stay upright so he doesn’t have to mop the floors. Smiling when he sees your fucked out face. Easing the cone out of your hand so he can hold it. So that it doesn’t splatter on the floor. Letting your hand fall, fingers gripping and clenching around nothing. His thrusts are so deep, so giving, and he’s hitting every little spot that has you melting. 

“That’s it, baby…” He encourages you, trying to bring you that sweet release. “So good Mig…so so sooo…” You whine, on the very edge of bliss. Miguel watches, breathing so fast and heavy. His eyes trail down your face to your soft, marked neck, to your shoulders, your tits, sternum, stomach. Until it’s almost involuntary, he dumps the cold, melting, dripping ice cream cone on your soft tummy. Pulling a high pitched squeal and gasp from your lips, the cold like the spark in a chain reaction, back arching as he drags the freezing smushed chocolate swirl up to your sternum. Your orgasm hits you before another second can think to pass. Your skin shining in melty vanilla and chocolate swirl. The cold making you clench around him. 

Screaming in ecstasy and squeezing him so tight he's doubling over and groaning at the pressure. Thrusts become impossible and all he can do is spurt deep and hot. Filling the condom with a groan and feeling you fluttering around him. He licks a stripe up your sternum, slurping ice cream from your skin. Pressing messy kisses to your chest and his face just drips with the melted sugary substance. Drops and dribbles rolling down your sides as you gush on his dick. Trembling, shaking, coming down from what might be the strongest climax you’ve ever experienced. 

“Oh baby… hah… that was amazing…” He pants, his voice wavering, leaning over you, kissing your cheeks, your neck, your lips. “I love, love you… hah…” He huffs, looking over your face to make sure you’re okay. “Mmm… I love you” You sigh, a blissed out smile on your face. He smiles seeing you’re happy and you’re feeling good; because that’s all he’s ever wanted. And all he’ll ever want.