#and the salt bucket is in front of his

[i-am-simply-here]

Was chatting with someone in the office and she was appalled when I told her that my landlord doesn't salt or shovel the sidewalks at my apt complex 😭 like ik girl but its the cheapest place in town so imma tolerate it

[pythonmoth]

cw: violence. torture. waterboarding. hurt/no comfort.

simon x f!reader. poly tf141. father figure price.

i haven't written in a long time. it's good to be back.

First | Next

Traitor.

That's what Price thinks as Simon and Soap drag you from the table, nearly choking on your food as they give you no time to understand what's going on.

Alarms ring in your ears as you force the piece of stale bread down your throat, trying to stand on your feet but they're taller than you, so your feet end up dangling, useless. You take a deep breath, your voice shaking as much as you are.

"What's going on? Is this some kind of sick joke?", you ask, looking at Simon, desperate to find an explanation for this other than the anger and torment in his eyes.

Simon doesn't answer. Nobody does. Soap's grip tightens, but he doesn't say anything, his expression hard.

No.

No.

You can tell they are not joking when you realize they're taking you downstairs. Sweat rolls down your face, fear creeping from the base of your neck to your toes, making you snap. You beg them to tell you what's going on, to explain why you're being dragged down there. You kick and struggle, a sob ripped deep from your chest as you start screaming, begging for a reaction. And then, pain.

Tears fill your eyes when it's Simon who hits your stomach with his fist, effectively shutting you up. You can smell the blood from past tortures mixed with bleach, and, distantly, the scent of forgotten wet rags. There's something salty in the air, and that's when you freeze, the pain in your stomach becoming nothing compared to the fear that grows in your chest.

They know you.

You've been with them for nine years. They know your fears.

"No. No. Please. Simon, Johnny— Please, please, please" you beg, sobbing as you can't do anything but go limp and heavy in their grip, doing the best you can to keep them from tying you to the chair. But it's useless.

Stars and colors dance behind your eyes as a fist connects with the side of your chin. You wonder if it would be better if they made you pass out right now. Maybe if you bite your tongue, it could—

"Gag her" Price tells them.

He's trained you for nine years.

He knows you.

You try to bite down on Johnny's fingers as he stuffs your mouth with an old rag, but it's difficult when your senses are unfocused after such a hard punch. The rag wet and disgusting, the scent and the taste making you sob again, shaking your head, your eyes big as you look at Simon.

Please.

Then a wet rag is pressed to your face. You inhale sharply as cold buckets of salty water are dropped right on your face, the cloth making it impossible for you to breathe. Salty water fills your lungs, making you choke and cough around the gagging rag.

You can hear questions, accusations, but you're paralized with fear, with pain and grief.

Grief.

They've been your friends, your family for so long. It's impossible to tell if you'll live through this. It's impossible for you to think of them as anything but monsters.

You know they usually did this with traitors, with enemies when it was necessary.

And you know they never enjoy it.

You've scolded Simon for smoking so late at night, you've had so many drinks next to him when he can't even speak. Simon often flinches awake from nightmares, startling you and then sharing quiet nights side to side.

You know this.

But then Simon hits your face again, taking the rag out of your mouth, and you can't find the love you have for him. It's expelled from your body with each hard cough, with each drop of blood falling from your nose.

"Did you not hear me?" Price demands, his arms crossed. "I'll ask one more time, then."

Smack.

Your chest is heaving, the fear so paralizing you can't even feel each punch as much as you should.

"What did you tell them?" Price continues, not looking one bit anxious for you to answer. He stands in front of you, his feet dry despite the salt burning your lungs.

"I don't know what you're talking about" you manage, looking up at Price, your eyes wide and bloodshot.

With a hard yank on your hair until your head is thrown back again, you're gagged once more, and the rag is pressed to your face. The salty water keeps on filling your lungs, unable to breathe, unable to cough around the gag.

You can't say anything. You truly don't know shit.

Hours later, when it becomes clear you won't speak, Price kicks you across the chest, hard, and the chair flips back.

You're tied up to the chair, exhausted and wet, your lungs burning with salt.

Memories of you as a child, nearly drown to death by your cousins, fill your mind. It had been a good day, until it wasn't.

Simon had held you when you told him, kissed you, and tucked you in for a good night sleep.

Johnny managed to make you crackle when you told him, patting your head, and saying your cousin had awful skills.

Now, there's nothing. Nothing but pain, and the burning in your lungs.

The door springs open, and the three men leave.

Only then do you close your eyes, passing out.

[demonslayerunhinged]

Unhinged thinks

What if Sanemi is extra harsh on Tanjiro because he's jealous?

Sanemi's been trying to get Giyuu to fuck open up to him for so long and out of nowhere comes this scrub who somehow transformed Giyuu from a decorative object to a living, breathing human being who'll defend him without hesitation and was even ready to commit seppuku for him.

He's been playing the Trial Version of BefriendGiyuu while Tanjiro got access to the entire Game of the Year/Remastered/Director's Cut/21st Anniversary Water Breathing Collection complete with access to:

Giyuu's crib.

His past.

And the Buddy, Buddy Restaurant Hangout side quest.

He even unlocked the steam-0%-of-players Giyuu-san Bath Cutscene AND the Simmered Salmon with Daikon Invitation Achievement!

Sanemi's absolutely choking with envy like me when I see bastards pass that Stardew Valley Ginger Island cave, Simon-says minigame on the first try.

It's the same for Obanai too! I bet he cried in his bedroom after reading Mitsuri's letter.

Tanjiro hooked both their hoes easy! He came out the womb with testingcheats set to TRUE and used stats.set_skill_level Major_Charisma 10 to unlock the 'Best Friends' relationship level with Giyuu, Tengen, Muichiro and Mitsuri while Sanemi and Obanai are still at 'Acquaintances' playing on console against a PC blessed with an NVIDIA GTX graphics card and a 100gb CC folder.

It's gotta be painful knowing a literal child's got more rizz stats than you grown-ass men! Just look at the switch-up on both of them when Muichiro mentioned Tanjiro. The beef they have with him is real! 😂

Marinated for months in a bucket of brine, cooked well done, seasoned salt-bae-style with lots of seethe and glazed with a generous amount of thick, bitter sauce made from cold, lonely nights and bitchless tears.

For Sanemi, his own beef comes with a two-for-one promo because he had to deal with the little shit embarrassing him at the Hashira meeting in front of Giyuu, snatching up Genya and talking back to him!

It's no wonder he was out for blood, from his POV Tanjiro's a nosy, homewrecker who stole his brother AND his man!

Nah, Sanemi ain't gonna let that slide. My man grew up in the trenches so you know he's one of those messy, catch-me-outside bitches. I can tell just from this foul, 'seriously-fuck-you', backhanded punch he dished out here after he realized Tanjiro was tanking his swings 😭😭

We stan a petty Queen! 🙌🏼

[werecreature-addicted]

I remember some of your posts about a minotaur who lived with a peasant girl, can I ask for something about that? If it's not a bother of courseDue to the life that the minotaur has had, its instincts never appeared, that is, it never went through a stage of heat due to the stress and abuse to which it was subjected, but now everything is different, it is calmer, more relaxed, and it began to pay attention to a girl, specifically the girl she lives with, and apparently her instincts are beginning to appear, her body asks her to "mate" with her partner, although it is difficult to control herself, plus they are nothing yet and the girl does not know that minotaurs also go through a hot season, and it's not like she was going to ask him that, it would be very strange xd

(imagine that poor cock crying to enter the girl, but he must hide it, even if it is uncomfortable)

Sam master list for previous parts.

under the cut because this is long...for me at least.

Normally when it came to the physically demanding chores around the farm Sam liked to do the heavy lifting, literally. You were stronger than you looked but you still didn't have the monstrous strength that he did, and even besides that, he liked to spoil you. He'd never admit it out loud but he liked the way you sometimes watched him as he repaired the siding of a barn or hammered in a sense post. Something about the way your eyes followed him left a warm feeling in his belly. It's especially nice now that sometimes you kiss him after he's done a good job.

Now though, he just stands and stares as you work, nailing together bits of wood making your own saddle stand out of leftover bits of material. You looked so good, sweaty, and bent over your little bench. Is this how you felt when you watched him work? Sam doesn't even have the vocabulary to describe the strange heat that burns inside of him. He's supposed to be doing other work right now but he can't tear his eyes from you.

He wants to bend you over that saddle stand and- and what? He flinches back from the thought he didn't want to hurt you and he hates that his instincts are pushing him in that direction. But he wouldn't hurt you, his mind argues back. He wouldn't pin you down to hurt win a match or something. He'd be gentle. He'd pleasure you. Sam shudders. Where were these thoughts coming from?

His nostrils flare and even from across the barn, he can smell you and the salt of your sweat makes his cock throb. Sam sits down hard and pulls a nearby milk bucket over the large tent in his pants. He immediately feels stupid and tosses the pail aside, it did more to draw attention to his boner than hide it. He settles for just sitting awkwardly and hoping you don't notice.

How can Sam ever look you in the eye again after this? He supposes he shouldn't feel so guilty about being attracted to you but surely it's perverse to want you this badly when you're not even doing anything. At least if you were naked in bed trying to seduce him he'd have good reason to be this turned on. Sam shudders and replays the mental image of you, naked in bed, looking up at him trying to pull him towards you. Fuck he needed to get on top of you.

Just as that thought crossed his mind you bent over the waist-height wooden stand to grab something from your toolbox jutting your ass out in front of him. In a second Sam is on his feet, walking towards you before he can register what he's even doing, all he knows is that he needs you.

"oh, Sam-" you gasp, jumping a little when you turn to see him right behind you. For someone so big he moved silently. Sam takes a step forward and presses you back against the barn wall. "What's going on honey?" you ask trying to sound calm but you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little nervous about his behavior. Sam had always been so cautious with you, overly gentle and paranoid that he might hurt you by accident. The Sam you knew would never pin you against a wall like this, it was nervewracking but also exciting.

"I uhm I just wanted to be close to you I guess," he mumbled, lowering his snout to your shoulder as if he was smelling you. Sam steps closer and you feel something brush against your thigh at first you think it's his leg but you look down and realize it's his barely restrained cock poking into your thigh.

"Do- are you uhm in heat Sam?" You ask and the monster on top of you freezes.

"do- do minotaurs go into heat?" he asks puzzled.

"I guess I don't know but most monsters do have you really never gone into heat before?" You ask then wince, it made sense that he wouldn't go into heat when he was under such harsh conditions his body wouldn't let him go into such a vulnerable state.

"No," he said, his hips grinding softly against your thigh he groans at the friction and you can't help but shudder too. You might not go into heat but you did want him just as much. "Will you help me?" he asked desperately.

"yes- yeah, I'll help you let me just-" As soon as he has your consent all other thoughts fly out of his head. He pushes his mouth to yours kissing you and effectively shutting you up. This wasn't like any of the other soft and innocent kisses you and Sam had shared in the past this was heated, and needy and caused a warm heat to bloom inside of you. This isn't a kiss for the sake of kissing, this is a kiss that promises much much more to come.

Even desperate like this, Sam still tries to be gentle as he strips your clothes and kneels down so he can hook your legs over his broad, muscular shoulders, your back pressed to the wall of the barn he holds your weight easily.

"I'm going to get you nice and prepped for me, my cock is big and I need you to take every inch, okay?" he asks softly, kissing the soft skin of your inner thigh as his thick fingers ghost over your cunt.

"Hold my horns while you rid my face," Sam instructs. You look down at his horns, one normal and the other broken and jagged. You hesitated, you knew how much that broken horn hurt him and you didn't want to grab it, but before you could put much more thought into it Sam pressed his mouth to your cunt, running his large soft tongue over your folds getting you wet enough to slot his big fingers inside of you. You yelp and settle for holding on to his good horn with one hand and tangling your fingers in his hair with the other.

Sam's cock ached. He needed to be buried inside of you, but he held himself back. He imagined the pained squeak you'd make if he tried to fuck you without any prep and that was almost enough to snap him out of his lusty haze. Almost.

You lose count of how many times you cum as he stretches you out and gets you ready for his dick, eventually though he decides that you're ready for him, or he just gets tired of waiting. Your legs tremble and for a second you worry you're not going to be able to stand on your own but you needn't worry, Sam had no intention of letting you stand. he readjusts his grip so that your legs are over his forearms and he pins you against the wall again his cock nudging your opening, slipping up your pussy as he tries unsuccessfully to push into you. His cock head bumps your clit and you feel a pulse of warm precum ooze out onto your hot skin making you shudder, your thighs tense in his arms, and Sam grunts, spreading your legs a little further as he grinds his cock over your cunt again.

You reach between your two bodies and grasp his cock. You curse silently to yourself feeling the weight and girth of it for the first time. You stroke him a few times before you guide his dick inside of you.

Sam had been so careful to be gentle with you this whole time, but now that he feels your tight heat gripping him in a way he's never felt before he no longer has the restraint. His brain shuts off and he feels more like a beast than he has in years. Sam slams his hips against yours burying his cock to the hilt in one swift motion. You cry out and dig your nails into his biceps, holding on for dear life as he thrusts into you with all the strength of a bull plowing a field. You're pretty sure you hear something crack and for a minute you aren't sure if it's you or the barn wall behind you that's breaking.

Sam groans loudly as he sinks his cock into you over and over again. His hips have a mind of their own as they steadily rock back and forth. He hates to admit it, but every time you cry out in pleasure or in pain it makes his cock throb. He would have thought the sound of you hurting-hurting because of him, would be enough to break his heart instead it makes him whimper and only fuels his desire to fuck you harder and fill you with his cum until you were swollen with it.

The mental image of you bloated with his seed proves to be too much for him and with one more deep stroke he cums deep inside of you, his legs shake with the relief of finally breeding you. He pulls you away from the wall and crashes backward into a hay bail laying down to catch his breath while keeping you impaled on his cock.

It feels right to have you on his chest and be surrounded by the earthy comforting smell of hay and dirt. You shift a little and his hands fly up to your hips pushing you back down.

"Stay... please," he almost begs softly.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sam, I just want to get off your dick," you promise, trying to shift again. then he looks at you with the saddest most pleading look you've ever seen. his big brown cow eyes sparkling at you.

"Please don't, I want to be inside of you so you can feel me get hard again before I fuck you," he mumbles pleadingly. how could you say no to that face?

[jesuistrestriste]

30s art donaldson tired af from tashi working him to the bone. so tired that he just wants to lay down but is also very horny cuz when is that man not and he asks reader “can you please just sit on my face” in a really quiet whimper or smth idk (i really just want to read about sitting on art’s face lol)

when art showed up at your door, sweaty and tired and flushed all over, you knew that you wouldn't be able to resist his pleas for attention. the exhausted, slightly defeated look in his pretty blue eyes had you weak all over. it was just no use.

he looked like a kicked puppy.

or maybe just a really over-worked man.

but that was beside the point.

you ushered him inside, cupping his face and cooing at him in all the ways you knew that he needed you to. he pouted. he whined. you could practically imagine a tail tucked between his legs. his coach must have really chewed him out during practice. he had been on a downward spiral in terms of his ability to win for the last few months. it had been rough, to say the least.

he kicked off his shoes and stumbled over to your living room floor, sitting down on the carpet where he opted to stretch his hamstrings. you sat in front of him and ran a hand through his damp hair. he leaned into your touch instinctually, and then buried his face into your neck as his hands slid to hold your lower back.

you embraced him and rubbed his back, hearing him let out little noises of contentment as your palms caressed circles over his aching body. you pressed a kiss to his neck. he tasted like salt and self-doubt, which was not unusual for him after he had just freshly come back from the courts.

he moaned softly against you and then his lips were on yours with a tender ferocity that he always carried. his tongue was eagerly slipping past your teeth to lick at yours, and then he was pulling you closer and furrowing his brows.

"Please," he whispered against your lips as he tilted his head to change angles. his dick was already hard. that's how easy it was for you to get him worked up.

"What-" you pause, kissing him deeper, "What is it?"

his hands gripped your hips.

"Can you please just sit on my face?"

you felt your body warm up instantly at the sound of his whimpered plea, like a bucket of hot spring water had been dumped over you, and you nod slowly against his lips.

within thirty seconds, he was laying flat on his back on your floor, and the clothing on the lower half of your body had been removed and tossed aside to unknown places.

you crawled up his form, and he watched your every move with bated breath, letting his fingers ghost over your body as you inched your way up to his mouth.

when you finally hovered above him on your bent knees, pussy just inches away from his desperate tongue, he immediately shuddered underneath you and looked up to your eyes with a look that begged you before he could even get the right words out.

"C'mon, please.." he moaned pathetically, hands now grasping at your torso and trying to pull you down to him.

you smile, biting your bottom lip.

"Ask me again."

his hips lifted up from the carpet, bucking into the air and affectively jolting the both of you. it was an accident; he didn't mean to. it was just that his mouth was watering and he was too fucking aroused to think properly.

"Will you sit on my face? Please?"

and with that, you lowered your wet core down to his mouth and relished in the way that he immediately groaned into you. his hands tightly held the back of your thighs as his lips suckled on your clit and his tongue lathed sloppily over your slick folds. his tongue darted in and out slowly from your hole, trying with everything in him to taste all that he possibly could.

you rocked your hips over his face, smearing his chin and the tip of his nose with your slimy arousal, but he couldn't have asked for anything better. he loved this. he craved this with everything in him. he wanted you to sit on him like this for however long you could stand it. he could die like this and be happy.

your orgasm built quickly thanks to his expert knowledge on what and where you liked to be kissed and tongued, and he let you gush over his face until you were shaking like a leaf. he gulped every drop down.

at the tail end of your climax, you felt his body shake below you, his eyes rolled back into his head as he gasped and murmured muffled words into your sopping cunt. you arch your back and pivot your body to look down at his form, and your eyes are instantly drawn to the wet patch soaking and growing over the fabric of his gym shorts.

he made you cum a second time after that. and then a third. and a fourth. your hands stayed tangled in his hair through each one, and you called out his name every time the waves of pleasure rushed through you.

even though you wanted art to feel better about himself in terms of his tennis career, there were certain.. perks to him feeling down about it. making you cum let him feel like a winner again, so you were going to ride this low-point of his for as long as you could. you knew he wouldn't mind.

[humaling]

Stacking Seashells, Falling Hard.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

summary: a seashell competition between you and finnick on a random saturday afternoon.

warnings: none! just finnick being absolutely smittened by you

word count: 1k

author's note: a little treat for the angst i fed last time

The sky stretches endlessly above you, a cloudless canvas of pale blue as the sun hangs high, pouring golden heat over the world. You sit beneath your pink sunshade umbrella, the fabric fluttering gently in the salty breeze. The sand beneath you is warm, almost too hot, grains of it pressing into your bare legs, rough and scratchy against your delicate skin. Beside you, a small metal bucket overflows with seashells—smooth and jagged, large and small—each one carefully collected and sorted. You take them one at a time, brushing your thumb over their textures before stacking them with careful precision in front of you. The fragile tower rises steadily, seashells balanced precariously on top of one another.

It’s a dull day, painfully uneventful. Since you’d rolled out of bed that morning, there’s been nothing to do. Your father’s busy brokering deals over the seafood he hauled in at dawn, your mother’s off with her amigas on a rare no-husband-and-kids day, and your brother—well, he’s probably sneaking around District 4, up to something he’ll deny later. That left you alone in the house, bored out of your mind, until inspiration struck: head to the beach and see how tall you could make a seashell tower before it toppled over.

So here you are—at the beach, under the relentless midday sun. The heat presses down on you, heavy and thick, but you hardly sweat. You’ve been shaped by this weather, conditioned to the sun's weight after spending countless childhood afternoons racing down these very shores, salt in your hair and sand between your toes. The heat is familiar, almost comforting.

These days, though, you prefer the quiet. You’ve grown to savor the stillness, finding a kind of peace in your own company. Stacking seashells, listening to the waves, breathing in the briny air—it’s simple, but it’s enough.

You’re so lost in the rhythm of it that you don’t hear the approaching footsteps, the soft shuffling of feet over sand. Your focus sharpens on the 32nd shell, fingers steady as you carefully place it atop the growing tower.

“Bet I can make mine taller than yours.”

A sharp gasp rips from your throat as something small and hard whizzes past your face, close enough to stir a lock of hair. Your stack crumbles in an instant, shells scattering across the sand with soft, hollow clinks. Your jaw drops, heart stuttering as you stare at the ruins of your hard work.

The intruder drops down beside you, elbows digging into the sand as he props himself up with an infuriating ease. You whip your head toward him, your glare cutting sharp enough to draw blood.

Of course. Finnick Odair.

"Bet you can’t," you shoot back, picking up a seashell and chucking it at him. He snatches it midair without even trying, the movement so smooth it’s almost irritating.

He flashes you a grin, teeth white and perfect beneath the sun's glare. His sea-green eyes dance with mischief, strands of damp bronze hair clinging to his forehead. His skin glows under the sun’s touch, tanned and lightly glistening with sweat. Dimples carve into his cheeks as his smile widens.

“You’re on,” he says, voice low and teasing.

And just like that, the quiet of your afternoon is gone.

The sun melts into the horizon, bleeding warm shades of amber and rose into the sky. The soft, golden glow reflects off the ocean’s surface, rippling light across the sand and casting long shadows behind you. The competition had been brutal—neither of you willing to concede, both of you clinging to victory like it was life or death. Your pride was on the line, and Finnick’s was too—though, truthfully, he stopped caring about winning long ago.

He had taken the lead early on, his hands deft and steady as he stacked shell after shell. But the higher the tower rose, the shakier it became. He lost his rhythm while you found yours, his 40th seashell barely clinging to the precarious stack while yours stood tall at 54, stable and impressive. His breath hitched as he placed the next shell, heart racing—not from the pressure of competition but from the way you looked under the soft afternoon light. The sun kissed your skin, warm and golden, highlighting the curve of your cheek as you sucked it in, brows furrowed in intense concentration. A loose strand of hair fell into your face, and Finnick’s fingers twitched with the quiet urge to tuck it behind your ear.

He leans back, stretching his spine with a satisfied sigh—only to watch in horror as his entire tower collapses, seashells clattering into his lap. His mouth parts in disbelief, frozen as the wreckage sprawls across the sand. You take one look at the disaster and your face splits into a triumphant, mischievous grin.

“Ha! Loser!” you crow, pointing at the scattered shells with a glint of savage satisfaction in your eyes.

Finnick groans and lets himself fall backward into the sand, arms flopping to his sides in mock defeat. A laugh bursts from your chest—bright and unrestrained—and the sound of it makes his heart stutter. Your own tower wobbles and topples over, shells tumbling down into a pile, but you don’t seem to care. You're too busy soaking in the sight of Finnick Odair brought to ruin.

He shields his eyes against the sun with a lazy hand, squinting up at you as you sit above him, framed by the fiery sky. The sunset bathes you in shades of peach and rose, and the wind stirs through your hair, making it ripple like silk. His chest tightens. You look… breathtaking. Otherworldly. Like some sea goddess born of foam and starlight. His heart squeezes painfully at the thought. He knows better than to say it out loud—knows it’ll inflate your ego beyond repair if you found out that Finnick Odair—Capitol’s golden boy, the one everyone wants but no one truly gets—is utterly, hopelessly in love with you.

But he is.

A slow, helpless smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, his irises dilating as he watches you. His gaze traces the soft curve of your jaw, the delicate slope of your nose, the faint salt-kissed sheen on your skin. He could look at you forever and never get tired of it.

“Fine,” he says, voice low and soft as the ocean breeze. His eyes glint with quiet affection. “You win.”

And in his head, he knows you’ve been winning for a long time now.

[cupofwyn]

beach shenanigans w/ bf!dream⠀( a series )

▬⠀content יִ،⠀mark. renjun. jeno. haechan. jaemin. chenle. jisung.

pairing/s יִ،⠀bf!mark lee × gn!reader

genre/s יִ،���fluff.⠀established relationship.

warning/s יִ،⠀pure fluff.⠀bulletpoints.⠀lowercaps.

wc יִ،⠀0.72k⠀

a/n יִ،⠀i've had this prompt for a few weeks already, and im proud to say im making it a series! i hope you'll enjoy the series first starting off with mark ^^

prompt יִ،⠀"having a bf is like having a misbehaved child." and you think about it a lot when you see bf!mark running towards the white sand with his shovel and bucket in hand.

as a child, mark only experienced the coldness of winter

the city that he lived in, the country, canada, boasts a cold temperature every winter season

and when he had the chance to experience summer in his country, his summer break usually consisted of him going back to seoul with his parents

a city full of skyscrapers—opposite to what he wanted to see in his summers

everywhere he looked from social media, pictures sent by his friends

and even his parent’s pictures of going to the beach without him as he was already, what they liked to call him, "a fully-fledged adult"—he would be envious of them

he only experienced summer in the confines of the pool

he wanted sand

he wanted to dig in anything that was sand

mark was getting tired of thinking of snow as sand

it was cold, it melts, and is annoying to get rid of

but sand?

sand, for him, was a privilege

it was that serious for him

so when you invited your bf!mark for a summer beach getaway this summer break

his eyes sparkled in delight

he took you in a tight embrace, carrying you and swirling you and him around the room as he repeated a bunch of thank you's

and you giggled, happy to see him in this state

as soon as he saw the view of the beach, the smell of salt air, the crashing waves, and the white sand, he wasted no time

he got his sand-digging supplies on the backseat of the car when you were done parking the car

then ran giddily barefooted on the soft and warm ground of sand

“mark! wear your sunscreen first!” you yelled at him, and he immediately ran over to you, his feet running in place as he stood in front of you

“hot! hot! hot!” he complained

the sand wasn't warm. it was scorching hot with the sun confidently glaring from the skies

“you should've worn your slippers before going out to the sand.” you nagged at him as he patiently waited for you to apply sunscreen all over his face, neck, and arms

at this point, you're already asking yourself if this was a date or if you were just treating his inner child

“go get your slippers in the car.” you said to him

“on it!” mark went back to your car parked behind you

you chuckled, finding his enthusiasm adorable, and walked to the car, applying your sunscreen on the car's side mirror

the noise on the trunk of the car filled with shuffling and displacing of things, mark humming to himself a made-up tune

“where art thou thine slippers?” the lyrics went on, and you giggled

it took a while before mark called you out

“babe?”

“yeah?” you answered, now applying sunscreen on your neck

“i think i forgot to pack my slippers…”

that's why you had an ominous feeling ever since you saw him filling up his things

he prioritized his shovel and sand bucket first, after all

“that's because you're too busy packing your shoveling supplies.” you replied

“sorry.” he apologized, a bit down that he couldn't play peacefully on sand

“just use my slippers.” you suggested, wiping evenly the white cast of the sunscreen on your neck. “i'll be staying in the shade, so i don't really need them.”

mark then ran towards you

stopped, as he stood beside you

and you're startled

you turned to look at him, seeing him smiling ear to ear

“what?” you asked with suspicion

he was saying nothing and had only been looking at you silently with a big smirk on his face for a few seconds already

he then wrapped his arms around your waist and showered kisses all over your face

you giggled at this, gently pushing him away since you had just applied your sunscreen

“i just finished wearing my sunscreen, you dummy!” you complained

but he knew you loved it

because despite you pushing him away,

you were smiling and laughing

he tightened his embrace, pulling you in closer and gave a final peck on your lips, leaving you stunned

and flushed

“i love you, babe. thank you for lending me your slippers.” he grinned

and you chuckled

as you gave him a sweet kiss on his lips

“you silly. now, go heal your inner child.”

© written by CUPOFWYN. 2024.

[b1eedthefreak]

hiii dear! if you can, could you write something with daryl and a hispanic reader who has a very strong accent but never really cared too much about it, but once she hears some people from woodbury making fun of her she just goes really quiet and daryl gets worried?

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Voice

⌇daryl dixon x hispanic!reader

⌇summary: after woodbury moves into the prison, two girls make of reader for her accent when she speaks. daryl’s not having it

⌇warnings: accent shaming, microaggressions,

⌇word count: ~3.4k

a/n i love hispanic reader 🥲 when i was younger in elementary school, people used to make fun me and all the other hispanic kids because our english was very broken. writing this healed something in me i love this request

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You weren’t even trying to listen.

The laundry station behind Cell Block D was tucked away, shaded and quiet, a little pocket of peace where you could dunk your hands in cold water, hum your favorite songs under your breath, and let the scent of sun warmed cotton distract you from the apocalypse.

You weren’t looking for trouble.

But you heard it anyway.

Two women, stragglers from Woodbury, stood just around the corner from the wash buckets. Laughing. Whispering.

“Well, she’s sweet, I guess,” one of them said, voice high and breathy. “But I can never understand what she’s saying. It’s like, I need a damn translator just to ask her to pass the salt.”

You stopped wringing the shirt in your hands.

The other one let out a giggle, quieter but meaner. “It’s like Dora the Explorer but with cleavage.”

That one landed like a stone in your stomach.

“‘I’m goin’ to chursh!’” the first woman said in a voice that wasn’t yours but tried to be, a twisted, cartoonish mimic of your words. “I can’t take her seriously. Not when she talks like she’s got a mouth full of marbles.”

You were frozen in place, hands dripping water onto your shoes.

“Y’know what I bet,” the second one continued with a snort. “Daryl’s only keepin’ her around ‘cause he has one of them accent kink.”

Laughter. Louder this time. Thoughtless. Cruel.

You stood behind the wall for a long time after they left. Just stood there. Heart pounding, throat burning, hands clenched tight around a wet sheet that now felt far too heavy.

You’d always been proud of your voice. You spoke fast when you were excited, let your words dance when you were passionate. You’d never apologized for your accent. Not once.

But in that moment, all you could think about was how those women heard it and how they laughed.

By midday, your voice was gone.

Not physically. Your throat didn’t hurt. Nothing had happened to you.

But your words stayed buried in your chest. You only nodded when people asked questions. Smiled without speaking. Laughed without sound.

It was like something had been switched off.

And Daryl noticed.

You passed him in the hallway that afternoon, he was coming back from the tower, bow slung over his shoulder, a smear of dirt across one cheek, and he slowed down when he saw you.

“Hey,” he said, eyes flicking over your face. “Y’alright?”

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

You didn’t even look at him when you said it.

It wasn’t until later that night that he finally cornered you in your cell.

You were sitting cross legged on the mattress, pretending to read, the pages too still beneath your fingers.

“You been real quiet today,” he said, stepping inside. “Scarin’ the hell outta me.”

You tried to smile. It didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m okay.”

“No, you ain’t.” He crouched in front of you, reaching to gently pull the book out of your hands. “Tell me.”

You looked at him then, really looked. And it nearly broke you.

Because he wasn’t just curious. He was worried. He hurt for you.

And that made the tears come faster than you could stop them.

“I heard them talking,” you whispered. “Those two women from Woodbury. In the laundry room.”

Daryl’s face changed. His whole body stilled. “What’d they say?”

You swallowed hard, but your voice cracked anyway. “They said I sound like Dora. That no one can understand me. That… that you’re only with me because you have an accent kink.”

The words felt like poison in your mouth.

Daryl’s lips parted like he was going to speak, but no sound came. He stared at you, disbelief curling into something sharper. Something angry.

You shook your head, tears slipping past your lashes. “I know it’s stupid. I’ve always loved the way I speak. I never thought it made me less. But now I keep hearing them in my head, and I… I haven’t said more than a sentence all day. I didn’t even realize until you said something.”

“Don’t call that stupid,” he said quickly, firmly. “Ain’t nothin’ stupid about it.”

You sniffled, blinking fast. “I just didn’t think I’d care. But I did. I do.”

Daryl reached up and cupped your jaw, his callused thumb brushing the tear from your cheek with the gentlest touch you’d ever felt.

“Listen to me,” he said, voice low, gravelly, and steady like bedrock. “I love your voice. You hear me?”

You nodded, but he wasn’t finished.

“I love the way it rises when you’re happy. I love that lil’ lilt when you speak Spanish under your breath when you think I ain’t listenin’. I love when you stumble on English words and get mad at ‘em. I love all of it. All of you.”

You leaned into his touch, heart swelling. “Thank you.”

But he was already standing.

“Where you going?”

Daryl’s jaw was tight now, his shoulders tense. “Need to take care of somethin’.”

He found them near the common area, seated by the edge of a dinner table, whispering and giggling like teenagers at a sleepover.

They stopped laughing the second he walked up.

“You think you’re funny?” he said flatly, eyes locked on them.

“Excuse me?” one asked, tilting her head.

“You think it’s funny to talk shit ‘bout someone behind their back? To mock the way she talks?”

The other woman rolled her eyes. “It was just a joke—”

“Yeah?” Daryl stepped in closer, towering over them. “How ‘bout I make a joke outta your fake ass Southern drawl? Or that gawky ass laugh you do when you’re lyin’?”

The room went quiet.

“We didn’t mean anything by it,” one mumbled, uncomfortable now.

“No?” Daryl’s voice dropped, sharp and low. “You think I’m with her for a kink? You think I need a reason to love the smartest, kindest, most beautiful woman in this whole goddamn prison?”

Neither of them answered.

So he leaned in closer,

“Pinches putas.” With a bad accent, but still meant what he said.

Their eyes widened.

“Y’all need a translator for that? You talk ‘bout her again,” Daryl added, stepping back, “and we ain’t gonna have a conversation next time. Got it?”

He didn’t wait for a response.

When he came back to your cell, your eyes met his instantly.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just walked over, cupped your face again, and kissed you. Long. Slow. Full of things he didn’t have the words for.

You exhaled into him, hands resting against his chest. “Did you…?”

“I did.”

“What’d you say?”

He smirked against your lips. “Called ‘em what they are.”

You blinked. “You really said it?”

“Loud and clear.”

Your laughter filled the room—and this time, it sounded like you.

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[orchidsarchives]

More soft Jason ideas since you deserve it and your wonderful and supper cool Girldad!Jason BRRROOOOOOO Oh my goddddddd ok like- - Jason is the kind of dad who always has music playing in the house, he mindlessly sways and hums along as he makes morning (or night-time) pancakes for you and his little girl. She'll come running up to him, her thick black hair tangled over her face, and pull on his pant leg. He'll sweep her up into his arms, her small head fitting perfectly against his chest as she watches him make breakfast, still somewhat asleep and aloof. He'll start bopping along to the music with her little hands around his neck, filling up the kitchen with shrieks of laughter and he peppers her soft cheeks with kisses. - I feel like you and him would like in a beach house, somewhere away from the city and his old job as Red Hood. Your daughter would bring home buckets of pretty rocks and sea glass that Jason keeps in jars along the living room windowsills. He has to dump some back onto the shore every time he sees her washing the new rocks and shells on the front porch. - After long summer days of playing and wrestling in the waves, you would all curl up for a post-beach nap. Smelling like salt with the prick of the sun settling into your tired bones. Your daughter would fit perfectly between you two. Jasons hand behind his head with his other wrapped firmly around you and his little girl. - Get's his daughter obsessed with reading just as much as he is. Would build her book-shelf after book-self as her collection of story-books and middle grade fairy books expands. - Helps his daughter roast marsh mellows during the beach bonfires you guys have when Roy and his daughter visit. Your daughter and Lian are best friends- playdates once a week kind of thing. - When she's little, he'll always have his daughter on his knee during big family dinners. He let's her eat anything off of his plate, keeping his arm around her as he talks with Dick. - Overall, just- every-time he falls asleep next to you he feels like crying into your shoulder, unable to thank you enough for bringing such a precious perfect bundle of laughter into his life. Huge 'my wife showed me how to love and my daughter showed me how to forgive energy lmao.

I want night time pancakes with Jason and my little baby girl wtf!!! Also, thank you so much for sending this in. I love it and I literally fail to understand how you pull up with the most amazing scenarios every time, I’m actually in love with your writing!! You’re amazing! Anyways lol!! I’m gonna be honest, I don’t want to have biological children but for Jason… I’d do it, no hesitation. He’d be the most amazing girl dad, I love him so so so much.

I’m not sure if people have already said this before but can you imagine him learning how to do your daughter’s hair!! He has a YouTube hair tutorial playing on the TV as your daughter sits in between his legs. He’s got bobby pins in between his teeth and hair ties around his wrist. He’s using a small comb to gently brush through her little curls.

He’s learning how to braid her hair and he’s having some difficulty, but he’s a persistent man, and like he always tells his little girl, practice makes perfect! He will sit there for days, hours upon hours, trying to make the most flawless set of Dutch braids. Once he’s succeeded at his craft, he’ll admire his work and will tell his daughter to go show you his skills. And oh my goodness, how adorable does she look showing off her father’s braiding skills!!

I also saw a quote on Instagram earlier today and it said that “tenderness is in the hands” and I immediately thought of Jason. There is no one with gentler hands than Jason. His fingers may be rough and his knuckles might be permanently bruised from his past, but when he interlocks his hands with his baby girl, they are the most delicate and warmest hands she has ever felt.

He will run his fingers through her hair, as she lays her tiny head against his chest and he’ll read her favourite stories. She’ll take his hands out of her hair and just play with his fingers. Trace little shapes on his palm, measure her small hand against his big, calloused ones. It’ll melt Jason’s heart and he’ll feel like crying. There will be days where he needs to stop reading and take a minute to appreciate the tenderness of the moment, without completely crumbling.

Also, I kind of hate to say it, but it’s so true. Jason would totally try to heal his daddy issues by being the best possible parent.

He’d treat his daughter like an actual princess and not just in terms of materialistic things. He’d be there for her in every circumstance; he’d be the best moral support and the best cheerleader anyone could ask for.

If your daughter plays any sports or plays an instrument, any thing really, he’d always be there to encourage her and comfort her when it started to become tough. He’d attended every game, every practice, every performance. Like I said, the best cheerleader.

Basically long story short, I’d die for soft, girl dad Jason.

[bluesidez]

Gym Rat Miguel Part 14

content warning: mentions of vomit/vomit related terms, more angst

word count: 3.4k (shoutout to the BETAAAA @slushycoookie)

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It was cold.

So cold.

The last thing he remembers was the prickles of the concrete through his pants.

Everything kept replaying in his head as if he were watching it unfold before him again. He still felt the way you pushed him, parts of his body flashing from where you shoved. The expression on your face was scorned and burned into his memory. The corners of your lips were deep, your eyes lost all color, your hands were trembling despite the steady tone in your voice, and you fought to keep the tears from running. It pained him.

He hurt you again and it was all a misunderstanding, again.

How was he so bad at this?

Miguel felt scared as he failed in opening up his constricted throat, but he couldn't stop it.

He kept thinking that maybe you would come back, maybe you were just around the corner waiting, but it feels like it’s been forever since you ran out of his room.

He needs to call you.

He needs to see you.

He needs to be near you.

Why can’t he?

“Miguel.”

A harsh hand shocks his shoulders, shaking him until the pivots and brick of the wall behind him scratch across his skin.

“Hey. Listen to me. Can you hear me?”

A frantic voice reaches the end of his ears, but it sounds far away. Was it his name? Were they talking to him?

It’s still so cold. His feet feel numb and his fingers won’t move.

The voice stops calling him and the hills in the wall are back in their rightful place, digging into his skin.

He wonders if you’re cold too.

The breath is knocked out of him, his eyes focusing on the ground under him. The air comes back into his lungs just as fast, the wind aiding him.

When did it start raining?

“Miguel,” he’s shaken again, but he can look up this time.

Peter squats in front of him with a worried face, orange bucket knocked over by his side.

“Did you just pour that on me?” is all Miguel thinks to say, his voice scratchy and almost gone.

“I panicked, ok? It was either this or the ambulance. It’s so weird to just drag your body back inside. Come on, get up before our RA actually does his job.”

With more strength than Miguel thought he had, Peter yanks him up and supports his weight, counting even steps as he guides him to their dorm room. The blood is slowly flowing back to his fingertips and the difference in temperature makes the hair on his skin rise.

One guy walks past the two of them with a look of curiosity, but the sense to not ask. Miguel starts to register how this looks.

Peter gets the door open fast and drops Miguel on a beanbag.

“You know, I didn’t expect for your party to turn out this wild. However, I also would have expected you to crash out back here. Or there. Or just, not in front of the dorm.”

Miguel’s body slumped and the events of today came crashing back onto him. He laughs, feeling the tears of his face mix with the water dripping from his hair.

He did have a party today and he did fuck up today. Majorly. The heels of his palms dig into his eyes as his body jerks, unable to keep up with his sobbing.

His roommate panics, “Did I say something wrong?”

Through what feels like a torturous hour, Miguel tells Peter what happens.

He was devastated.

It’s like a punch in the gut to repeat the words you said to him. They were like a betrayal, salt to the wound that was the finicky air between you both. He should have done more to communicate with you but instead he was leaving things up for chance.

You didn’t leave room for if’s or maybe’s and he stood there like a bumbling idiot, fighting to have you hear him.

On top of that, today was still his birthday. The party that one of his oldest friends gave to him sucked. A pack of gum would have been a better gift and for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why Xina did this.

Through this same hour, Miguel can’t stop crying. He can’t stop thinking about you and he wants to tear his heart out.

It’s not until his head hits his pillow that he has serenity, body tired from the day.

He thinks he’s called your number over seventy times. After the tenth call, the line didn’t connect. By the twentieth, there was only one ring and an automated tone.

By the thirtieth call, he’s trying not to freak out. By the fortieth call, he’s checking instagram to reach you there, but of course, you’re nowhere to be found.

By the fiftieth call, he’s sending message after message to the brick wall that is your number. At sixty, he’s considering digging up your school email from last year.

At call seventy-one, he’s wondering if carrier pigeons still exist.

It’s almost noon and Peter threatened to put his phone in a box if he didn’t stop trying to call you. Miguel hasn’t really moved since last night, not because it hurts, but because the warmth of the bed still felt like you were with him.

He hasn’t gotten up to eat or workout which is not the norm. He wasn’t hungry and his limbs felt extremely heavy.

Peter left to go find him something quick and easy, but Miguel isn’t sure if would be able to stomach it.

His phone buzzes, and a small part of him perks up hoping that it’s you.

Gabriel’s picture lights up the screen, a silly photo of him with his crooked goggles on inside of the water. The hope in him dies a little more.

He presses the green button and buries himself further into the sheets.

“What is up! I’m guessing you had a wild night last night since you didn’t call anybody.”

“I-“

“But before you tell me everything, I’ve got to catch you up. First of all, a squirrel stole my Aki-way sandwich. I knew Alvin and his brothers were giving their species a run for their money, but what did he say fuck me for? Then, it’s been a freaky ass club trying to get me to join in on their sexcapades. Dana said I could have eye candy, but the people in there honestly give me the heebie jeebies. Oh! I am now a godfather to several tiny doodles. My roommate’s dog unfortunately went on the prowl.”

Gabriel paused.

“Miguel, what’s wrong? You haven’t given your obligatory one to two sentences to break up my yapping.”

“Break up.”

“What?”

“She. She broke up with me.”

The silence was so long that when Gabriel started laughing, Miguel’s nerves jumped in his skin.

“That is actually so funny, like seriously. You got me,” Gabriel focuses the blurry screen back onto his face. “Are you crying?”

Miguel dropped the phone on his bed and sat up, bringing the collar over his shirt over his eyes and back down.

“Miguel, I thought you were joking. Please tell me you’re joking. This isn’t haha funny.”

“Why would I ever joke about this?” Miguel picked the phone back up, voice raw.

“Well, what happened? I don’t understand! You were so excited to see her yesterday. And- and you guys just had your anniversary.”

“I know that. God, I-I know that.”

“And I’ve never seen you this head-over-heels for anybody, not even for that girl that entertained you for like a week in high school. Did you do something?”

“Gabriel, please let me talk.”

His brother made a face as if milliseconds were too long of a time to think.

“This semester has been tough on both of us and we, no I, haven’t been making time to see her. It’s either studying or class or something else that gets in the way.”

“That’s not enough to warrant a break up. You’re not that shallow and neither is she.”

“She thinks I cheated on her.”

Gabriel sits up and tilts his head with a frown, “Huge bomb to drop out of nowhere. She’s all you can talk about sometimes, as in you can’t think about anything else besides her. And if school is causing you guys to not meet up, when do you have time to cheat?”

“I don’t! Even if I were to be in an alternate world where I’m this sleazy, terrible boyfriend, I wouldn’t have time. I go to the gym, I go to class, I go to the library, I go to my dorm. It’s because Xina is always-“

“Pause,” Gabriel put a hand to the screen. “Stop the fucking music.”

“What.”

“What do you mean Xina?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?”

“Xina. As in the one who kicked me out of your room when we were younger?”

“Yes.”

“As in the one who didn’t give you the time of day for years, but became friendly once you beat her highest test scores.”

“Yes.”

“As in the one who completely flipped the dynamic of your friend group.”

“That’s-“ Miguel falters, but Gabriel keeps going.

“The one who was at our house constantly, especially when she found out that your dad owns the biggest tech company ever.”

“She didn’t-“

“The one who mom conveniently likes.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“The one who’s been pining after you for years.”

“No, she has not. Why do people keep saying that?”

Gabriel barked out a laugh again, harsh. “Miguel, I love you, but you can’t be this much of a dumbass.”

Miguel clicked his teeth as Gabriel continued, over this conversation.

“Do you see the connection I’m making here? Or should I spell it out further. Because it’s so clear to me what’s happening and you don’t even have to finish the story.”

“The story is that my girlfriend just dumped me because she thinks that I’m cheating on her with Xina-“

“But why, Miguel? Why does she think that?”

“I,” he takes a breath and thinks back to what you told him while you were hurt, vulnerable on this same bed. “I have been spending a lot of time with her, but only because we share classes. And because she’s my friend. I don’t want to be with her.”

“Does Xina know that?”

“Of course she knows she’s my friend. I have no reason to not be her friend.”

Gabriel made a noncommittal noise.

“What the fuck does that mean, Gabriel?”

“Don’t get pissed off at me because I’m not gonna coddle you for being an idiot.”

Miguel wanted to end the call, but he knows it’s only going to rile Gabriel up more.

“It’s so blatantly obvious that Xina likes you. Not as a friend, but as someone to date, whether it’s superficial or not. I’m not sure how you went so long without noticing, but here we are. Every time you’re with her, you entertain her, and now that you have, shit, had a girlfriend, she’s realizing that it’s too late.”

The knot that was lodged in his throat earlier was unfurling. Maybe it’ll finally come up, but he’s not sure as what yet.

“I made it clear that I,” the words get gargled in and thrown back out, “had a a girlfriend. And even when I didn’t have one, Xina never gave me exact words-”

“Oh my god, Miguel. She didn’t have to! You’re friendly, you’re considerate, you’re caring, and she’s used that to her advantage. Please, open your eyes.”

It’s not that he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to believe that someone he knew for this long would hurt him in this way.

“She was with me every chance she got. In classes or studying or going to the gym or just relaxing.” Purposefully taking his time.

“Out of everyone I introduced her to, she was only weird to my girlfriend.” When she wasn’t the center of his attention.

“She took my phone-”

“Crazy work, by the way. The phone and the weirdness.” Gabriel chimed in.

“-to silence my notifications, to block my girlfriend’s number. And I didn’t realize it, because I trusted her.”

“And that makes a lot more sense,” Gabriel laid down in his bed, face as stern as his mom’s. “Glad we got here. So what are you going to do now?”

He didn’t even mention what Andrew told him, about how he mistook his friend for something more. Is that how others saw them when they were walking around campus too?

Is this how you felt when you saw his phone?

Miguel sat up and hung his legs over the bed, “I want to puke.”

“Hold it in, big boy. This isn’t a marathon.”

“It feels like it.”

Miguel snatched his phone and went to the bathroom, stomach rolling like converse in a dryer.

“You need to find a way to talk to everyone, especially your girl. You need to explain yourself and the situation,” Gabriel’s voice echoed off the tiles. “You’re good at talking, no matter how long it takes you to realize things.”

He chuckled listening to his brother, sliding to floor. The room was hot and saliva was building on his tongue.

“I don’t think she wants to see me.”

“Maybe give it a week? Try the middle of the week if you can’t wait that long.”

He doesn’t know how he can reach you besides showing up outside of your door or your class. Isn’t that creepy?

Maybe he can catch you in the cafe.

“Gabri?”

“Yeah, Mig?”

The noise from his throat enters the air before his words do. All he sees is the white of the toilet and the fuzzy brown of the hamburger bath mat Peter insisted on buying.

“I didn’t think you were serious!” Gabriel shouts over his gagging.

Nothing was even coming up, just bile and the buildup of his feelings since yesterday.

“I’m turning you down,” Miguel can feel Gabriel grimacing without even looking at him. “You’re really lovesick. What are you going to do when you guys get married?”

His stomach lurched again.

“Will I even make it that far?” An image of you at the alter flashed by, and when he lifts the veil, the look on your eyes as you stood in this bathroom is painted on your face.

You might leave him at the alter. Forget the alter, you might not ever look at him again.

He coughed and heaved over the bowl.

“I hope you don’t do this when you actually talk to her, Miguel.”

“Shut. Up.”

In the brightly lit bathroom laid out on the floor is how Peter found him. By this point, Gabriel was practicing his instrument under the guise of calming Miguel down.

He leans over him with his hands on his hips, “Don’t tell me you got into my Twisted Teas without me.”

Gabriel paused his music to let out a sharp laugh.

“No,” Miguel groaned and put an arm over his head.

“He’s been crashing out for the past forty, almost fifty, minutes,” Gabriel says. “But now that you’re here, I’m gonna clock out. Let me know what you decide to do Miguel.”

Peter holds a bag up and smiles, “How does some warm, yummy potato soup sound?”

Miguel bolts up and gags.

“Not a fan favorite, I see.”

By Sunday, he’s able to get up with heavy eyes do some light walking around the park, the autumn sun a nice change of scenery.

He wonders how you’re faring.

A part of him hopes you’re not like him: sick, exhausted, and aimless. Another part of him, as crazy as it is, wishes for you to yearn for him as much as he’s yearning for you, to feel what he’s feeling, to care as much as he does.

He’s seeing you everywhere.

In the leftover box of cookies left on his desk, he thinks about how much time you could have spent on writing the messages.

In the figure of you both showcasing a night where you looked at him an aura of comfort.

In the brown bear keychain on his backpack that mocks him.

In the stickers on water bottle that he picks at while he walks.

In the lockscreen of you that he took of you as you were laid under him. You were in his hoodie, under his blanket, and staring up at him like he was giving you the world.

Perhaps he hit his head somewhere between Friday to today.

His throat is still throbbing from the crying, from running out after you in the chilled night without his keycard, but his head is clearer.

Now, he’s ready to think about how to approach you.

By Tuesday, everything seems to be blurring together. The only thing that has stayed consistent is the gym.

The gym gives him peace in a way that the right corner of his dorm doesn’t. It doesn’t change, only giving to him what he gives to it.

Maybe that’s what happened with you and him. You’re only giving him the pain that he gave to you.

He doesn’t want to go to class, but he can’t afford to not go.

So he drags himself to the computer lab.

Sitting down, he tries to think about what he wants to say, rolling the words over in his head.

“Miguel!”

Irritated is the first feeling that sits within him and the smell of that nutty sweet vanilla wasn’t helping.

“Dude? All of a sudden you don’t answer your phone?”

“You would know a lot about that, huh?”

Xina laughs and shakes the mouse at her computer, “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t have the patience for you to act like everything is ok.”

“I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about. Did you do some extra partying without me?”

“Xina,” Miguel turned to her, eyes tired. She was wearing another bright set today and the words that Gabriel, Tempest, Lyla, and Winston were telling him echoed through his mind. “What was the point of the ‘party’ you threw for me?”

“You’re upset over that? A simple college party?”

“That’s not what that was. You didn’t throw that for me. So please tell me why you’ve gone so far as to push my girlfriend away?”

“What?” Xina’s face switched like a light. “You must be joking.”

“Xina, I know you went in my phone and blocked her number. Why did you that?”

He’s giving her the floor to answer. To tell the truth.

“Of course this is about her. I, I just can’t”

“You-you can’t what, Xina?” the pitch of his words match her, head shaking incredulously.

“I can’t believe one girl is about to ruin an almost two-decade friendship because she can’t stand the fact that you have friends that are also girls.”

“You’re not serious.”

“No, you,” she points a nail at him, “are not serious. This is so fucked.”

“What’s fucked is that you’re avoiding my question, when all signs lead back to you.”

She stares at him, lips tight, “And you’re sure of it.”

“Who else would it be?” he motions to the space around him, “We’ve been tied at the hip this entire semester.”

“So this is seriously happening. Right here. Of all places.”

“You don’t get it, Xina. All of these years, I was the one who defended you. When everyone told me to leave you alone, I stayed by your side because I knew the real you. This,” he moves his hands up and down, “is not you.”

The face that Xina wears sours. For a second, Miguel wonders if, even in this situation, he was still wrong.

“So why aren’t you fighting for me anymore?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper. “Miguel-”

“I’m not going to fight for someone who is willing to hurt me in this way. I’m not fighting for someone who won’t even give me the truth when I’m begging for it.”

She pats at her cheeks, a useless action to stop the tears that start to hit her sweater. Her eyes find Miguel’s and she searches for something, anything, but his face is still.

“Understood.”

Just as quickly as she came in, she left.

Once again, Miguel was left questioning what he did.

divider by: cafekitsune + adornedwithlight + strangergraphics 🩵

taglist: @ghost-lantern @miguelhugger2099 @emelie-s-h @lake-lili

@obsessed-with-miguels-ass @scaleniusrm @superiorspiderass @lexluvswriting

@flordelalunas @froggygal @vmpz8sauceee @famouscattale @nixinluv02

@jada-of-arcadia @spideykid22 @what-the-jams @julia4today @tojishugetiddies

@samjinxx @sleeklyalisha @the-pan-liquid @prongs-lover @kikaaauu

@urlocallocachica @wanderlustingcastaway @peachey-pie @ch3rry-bl1ss @girl-of-multi-fandoms

@love-kha1 @manlikemilesmyguy @sillysillygoofygoose @monticellohoe @kodzuminx

@lauraolar14 @bruhhvv @m4dyy @farrowroyale @cl3stevu

@ohara-whore @muneca-lemon-steppa @alexa4040 @amelialysm @snails-doodles22

@questionable-behaviour @babygotl01292003 @calig0sto @tatatida @haveclayeveryday

@corpsenightmarebride @earth2fae @maiyart @feegrh32 @darkstarlight82

@ladysimp @sonicbutbutter @relatednative @slowlyshycomputer @nuetralcolorsenthusiast

@maxlinpetersen @beyondstarlight @Madeofstar-dust @leoeloo @just-simpins-blog

@poisamm @thequeenreaders @tinybirdhidedout @aly29a2001 @mimi-sanisanidiot

@snakelore @pigeonmama @darkstalight82 @prettygirleli @koikohib

@jayskookies @xo-zeze @planetxella @thedevax @stressed-cherry

[pankowcrumbs]

Cold War X Eddie Munson

MasterList

Stranger Things and Cast Masterlist

There are a few things in life that are constant: Hawkins will always be cursed, Steve Harrington will never stop running his hands through his hair like he's in a shampoo ad, and Eddie Munson will always find a way to piss me off within five minutes of entering a room.

Today was no exception.

We were all sprawled out at the Harrington house Steve had once again volunteered his painfully suburban living room for a movie night that quickly devolved into chaos. Nancy was perched next to him, her legs tucked under her. Robin had claimed the armchair and was currently nursing a Capri Sun with the intensity of a war general. And Eddie Munson local menace, self-proclaimed rock god, and my personal migraine was lounging across the carpet like he owned the place.

I was on the floor too, cross-legged with a bowl of popcorn that Eddie had already reached into twice without asking.

“Do you ever wash your hands?” I asked, slapping his wrist away the third time.

He grinned, a mouthful of popcorn crunching loudly. “Only when I need to impress someone.”

“So... never then.”

Nancy snorted. Robin muttered something about needing a bucket of bleach. Steve looked vaguely horrified.

“That’s funny,” Eddie said, licking salt from his fingers like a cretin, “coming from someone who dips their fries in ketchup and mayonnaise mixed together.”

I turned slowly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Satan.”

“You’re calling me Satan when you wear fingerless gloves in July?”

“Oh, here we go,” he muttered dramatically, throwing himself backwards onto the rug like a fainting Victorian lady. “Another attack from the Queen of Condescension.”

“Better than being the King of the Unwashed.”

Robin let out a loud “ohh!” as if she were on a playground.

Eddie sat up on his elbows and smirked at me like he was enjoying this which, to be fair, he probably was. Our friendship, if you could even call it that, was less “friendly” and more “a never-ending Cold War with occasional snacks.”

“I’m just saying,” he said, voice maddeningly calm, “you spend an awful lot of time looking at me for someone who claims to hate me.”

I laughed. Loudly. “Please, don’t flatter yourself. I’m looking past you. At the wall. Which is arguably more interesting.”

“The wall doesn’t bite back though,” he said with a wink.

Steve groaned. “Please stop flirting.”

“Who’s flirting?” I asked, offended.

“You are,” Robin said, sipping her drink. “It’s like watching two cats hiss at each other while holding hands.”

I scoffed. “We’re not holding hands.”

“Metaphorically, you are,” Nancy said kindly, as if she were explaining basic grammar to a child.

Eddie gave a smug little shrug. “Metaphorical or not, I’m still winning.”

“In what universe?”

He leaned forward, elbow on knee, eyes locked with mine. “This one. You’ve been playing games for months, sweetheart, but it’s a white flag, and you might as well start waving it right now.”

The room went still.

Robin let out a low whistle. Steve looked like he might actually slide under the sofa to escape the tension.

I raised my eyebrows slowly. “Oh, honey,” I said sweetly. “The only thing I’ll be waving is your decapitated head in front of your weeping uncle.”

Robin choked on her Capri Sun.

“Good Lord,” she muttered, dabbing at her shirt with a napkin.

Nancy was laughing. Steve had his hands over his face like he was trying to block out the visual.

Eddie, to his credit, looked equal parts horrified and impressed. “Bit dark,” he said, voice quieter.

I grinned. “What can I say? You bring out the poet in me.”

There was a beat. A charged, electric moment where we just looked at each other; Me, arms crossed and daring him to say something else, and him, clearly considering his options and wisely choosing silence.

Robin broke it first.

“I swear, if you two don’t kiss by the end of the month, I’m locking you in a cupboard like it’s some kind of cursed Narnia.”

Nancy nodded. “Honestly, I’ll help.”

Steve pointed at me. “You’re both just so loud about your feelings.”

“I don’t have feelings for him!” I snapped.

Eddie raised a brow. “You don’t?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Great! Me neither!”

“Perfect!”

“Fantastic!”

“Why are we yelling?” Steve asked helplessly.

It wasn’t always like this. I mean, yes, Eddie and I had always been… a lot. But it started as mutual annoyance. He was loud, obnoxious, always turning every conversation into a bit, like he couldn’t stand silence. I liked quiet. I liked order. I didn’t like him swaggering into our group like some rock ‘n’ roll tornado and rearranging all the furniture in my mental house.

And yet.

There was that one time we got paired for trivia night at the Hideout. Everyone had low expectations and fair enough, considering Eddie started the game by insisting our team name should be Satan’s Interns. But we’d won. By a lot. And somewhere between bickering about horror films and stealing chips from him, we’d laughed. Genuinely. A lot.

Another time, he’d found me crying behind the arcade after a fight with my mum. No sarcasm, no teasing he’d just sat beside me, quiet for once, and handed me a slightly crumpled sweet from his coat pocket. Told me his uncle always said sugar helped. It hadn’t. But the thought had.

Of course, the next day he was back to calling me “Princess Judgey” and throwing popcorn at my head during movie night.

It was infuriating. It was him.

Back in the present, everyone eventually drifted back into the film. Robin changed the subject. Steve passed around sweets. Nancy asked something about final exams.

But I could feel him watching me.

Eventually, I turned.

“What?”

Eddie was leaning against the side of the couch, head tilted. “You always this quick with threats, or am I special?”

“Definitely not special.”

He chuckled under his breath. “You ever thought about why you hate me so much?”

“Yes. Frequently. I keep a list.”

“I bet you do.”

I looked at him then. Properly. His curls were half-tied back, the rest framing his face like a chaotic halo. His jacket was slung over one shoulder, rings glinting as he fiddled with a stray string from the rug.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

He shrugged. “Maybe I don’t.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Then why do you always act like such an arse?”

He grinned. “Because you rise to it every time. It’s fun.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

“Says the man who stage-dived off a table during karaoke.”

“I was moved by the spirit of Freddie Mercury.”

I smiled in spite of myself.

He leaned in, just slightly. “You know,” he said, voice low, “it wouldn’t kill us to get along.”

“I’m not sure we’re built for it.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But I reckon we could try.”

Our eyes met again. And for a second, the teasing faded. The smirks softened.

Then Robin threw a cushion at our heads.

“Oh my God, will you two just admit you fancy each other already?” she cried.

Nancy giggled. Steve let out a long, suffering groan.

Eddie didn’t move. Just looked at me, grinning. “Well? Do you?”

I lifted my chin. “Not even a little.”

He smirked. “Liar.”

Maybe I was.

Maybe he was too.

But whatever this was whatever we were it was messy, and stupid, and loud.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

[milliesfishes]

she breaks something by accident in front of him and she’s trying to hold back tears as she apologizes profusely and tries to clean it up fast and his heart just hurts in his chest because he knows her head is telling her over and over in that moment that he’ll leave her for something so small

and of course before he can stop her she’s got her hand cut on broken glass and bloody and she’s just crying at that point and apologizing even more because she feels like a burden for getting hurt

oh I fear this one hit too close to home (edit: this did not start as this, but it became very long)

⋆౨ৎbilly when you break something⋆౨ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

The sound of the glass hitting the ground hit your ears before you realized what had happened. There was a brief moment in time when you were frozen, eyes wide as the centers of daisies. It had been completely innocent- you'd been laughing at something he said, sweeping your hand out in an exaggerated motion. And now the moment was broken, all innocence sapped out of the room.

Apologies flooded from your lips, and you dropped to your knees in an instant, reaching for the scattered shards. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

Across from you, Billy was standing up, reaching for you. "Baby-"

Your breath hitched on your tenth apology, and you took in a staggered breath, a few of the larger pieces of the glass gathered in a tiny pile in front of you. Heart pounding, the thoughts running through your mind were frantic, awfully firm and unyielding. He's gonna leave you. You made a mistake. He's gonna hate you now, you don't deserve him.

Stepping around the glass, Billy tried to get to you, and you kept your head down, hair falling around the sides of your face like a curtain. "I'll fix it...I'm sorry, I'll fix it..."

Billy knelt beside you, his hand on your arm, trying to meet your eyes. "Sweetheart, it's-"

A sharp gasp interrupted him. You'd reached for a piece of glass without thinking and now your hand was cut in the space below your thumb. Humiliation flooded your system, and your cheeks burned as hot tears began to cascade down your face, stinging like salt in a wound. Nononononono you made a mistake, you made a mistake-

Breaths uneven, you fell back against the leg of your chair, trying to steady yourself, holding your hand to your chest. Blood was dripping down your finger, and you drew your knees up, looking away from Billy and shutting your eyes as if that would make him disappear. You wanted to redo this moment, to fix everything you'd done.

His hand was gentle on your knee, and you opened your eyes at his touch. Billy's other palm was extended, and he murmured, "Lemme see."

Against your will, you gave him your hand, and he reached up to his neck, unraveling the bandana he wore there. The cloth was pressed to your hand soon after, and he held it there for a moment until he was satisfied, tying it across your knuckles.

The entire time he was tending to you, a bucket of guilt was poured over your head like rain in the springtime. You'd done a bad thing, you'd ruined your evening and here he was, being so kind and sweet just like always. A fresh wave of tears fell down your cheeks in rivers, and his eyes softened.

Billy slid his arm around your waist, tugging at you. "C'mere...c'mere, sweet girl. It's okay. I promise."

You moved into him like he was your gravity. Billy held you tight to his chest, leaning his cheek to the top of your head. "Shh, it's okay. It was just an accident, baby."

"I'm sorry-" you choked, voice strung with a high pitch. You were clinging to him like he was a lifeline, his scent and being engulfing you the way it always did. And the fact that he didn't even seem mad made you feel worse.

"You didn't do anything wrong. It's okay," he whispered, kissing the top of your head and letting his lips linger there. "Oh my love...my baby..." Billy shifted you onto his lap, away from the precarious shards of glass still scattered and hidden across the floor.

It was quiet for a minute, except for the sounds of Billy adjusting your legs across his so not a single portion of your skin was touching the ground. He held you for a stretch of time that you didn't bother to count.

When it had been a moment, he began to murmur little questions against your head, and you responded with a nod or a shake.

"Are you tired?" Shake.

He rubbed his thumb soothingly up and down your arm. "D'you wanna get in bed? Just to get cozy?" Nod.

Billy nudged his lips against your hairline, hugging you tight to him. You felt a flood of love and warmth in your chest, replacing the tautness of anxiety that occupied the space before. He isn't mad.

"You know I love you?" he whispered, the tenderness of his tone nearly bringing you to tears again. Billy tilted your chin up, searching your eyes.

In his face you saw something heavenly reflected back. Nobody would call your Billy pure, but his love was. It existed outside whatever wrongs he'd committed, whatever sins stood in need of repentance. The boundless emotion you saw in his eyes was too big to ever be set off course by something like an accident.

He used a hand to smooth your hair, tuck it behind your ear. "I love you so much." Cupping your cheek in his big palm, his lips twitched up a little sadly when you leaned into it. "Now you know?"

You reached up for his wrist, squeezing it. Nod.

[shiyorin]

Okay I’m silly I sent the sanguínus or fulgrim request but then I read your request rules like an idiot, so uh…. Yandere?? Something about being hunted down (lovingly) before never being seen again 🙏🏻🙏🏻 would sell you my organs for either of them

I don't think this is yandere because it feels more like romcom but anyway. Also there is an easter egg here, good luck to whoever finds it I realized that writing yandere, smut, and all that... is such a damn good stress reliever.

#Yandere au. Sanguinius x F!Reader (Reader is Sanguinius' childhood friend ????)

#Don't ask, I just want to cook it.

#Warning: Yandere, dark, a little gore,....

The sands of Baal were unkind. They scoured flesh from bone, polished rock into glassy monuments, and buried the weak beneath dunes. Sanguinius walked among them, wings folded tight against the burning wind, his shadow stretching long and alien across the wastes. The tribes called him angel, but their reverence stank of fear. They knelt as he passed, pressing their faces into the dust, whispering prayers to a being they could not comprehend. All but one.

You moved differently.

You were small where he was vast, dark where he gleamed, your hair braided with shards of obsidian that caught the light like fractured stars. You did not kneel so deeply as the others. Your forehead never quite touched the ground. When the elders chanted hymns to his glory, your lips moved a heartbeat late, your voice a murmur lost beneath the fervor of true believers. He noticed. How could he not? In a world of prostrate forms, your subtle resistance was a flame in the void.

He watched.

At first, it was accidental, a flicker of movement at the edge of his vision as you slipped away from the feast honoring his latest miracle. Later, it became deliberate. He tracked you through the labyrinth of sandstone huts, past the cisterns where women drew water with ropes of braided sinew, to the edge of the settlement where the desert began its endless hunger. You stood there often, arms crossed, staring into the horizon as if waiting for something even the sands could not devour.

Your fear of him was precise. Not the gibbering terror of those who thought him a demon, nor the awestruck paralysis of those who deemed him divine. You feared him as one fears a storm, inevitable, lethal, but natural. It fascinated him. When he approached, you lowered your eyes but not your chin. When he spoke, you answered in syllables sharp enough to draw blood.

"Why do you linger here?"  he asked once, wings mantled to shield you from the sun’s wrath.

"The view, my lord." you said, and said no more.

He learned your rhythms. At dawn, you gathered bitterroot from the fissures where night’s chill still lingered. At midday, you wove baskets from reeds that grew along the salt flats, your fingers dancing in patterns. At dusk, you climbed to the highest ridge and sat with your knees drawn to your chest, watching the sky bleed into darkness. He joined you there, once. You did not flee, but your body coiled like a serpent prepared to strike.

"You grow quickly." you remarked, your gaze on the distant dunes.

"Too quickly?"

You shrugged. "All things here either adapt or die."

He wanted to ask what you saw when you looked at him, angel or aberration, but the words dissolved on his tongue. Instead, he unfurled a wing, just enough to cast a sliver of shade over you. You did not thank him.

The visions came as they always did, in shards of light and screams. He saw you broken on a battlefield that did not yet exist, your throat slit by a blade he would one day wield. He saw you laughing in a garden of roses, your hands stained with nectar. He saw you aging, withering, dying in a bed of threadbare linens while he remained untouched by time.

Eternity, he realized, is a cage.

He began to linger at the edges of your life. When you drew water, he ensured the bucket did not scrape your palms. When you slept, he stands in front of your hut's doo, wings curled against the cold, and listened to the rhythm of your breath. Once, when a sandstorm threatened to peel the flesh from your bones, he carried you to the deepest caves and shielded you with his body until the winds died. You did not tremble. You did not speak. But your eyes, when they met his, held a question he dared not answer.

The tribe whispered. They saw his favor and resented it. Gifts appeared at your threshold, carved bone charms, strings of desert pearls, a cloak lined with the fur of some animals. You left them untouched. When elders pressed you to accept your role as his chosen, you smiled thinly and said nothing.

"You shame us." The elders hissed one night, the words slithering through the hut’s thin walls. "He is a god."

"He is a child." you replied.

Sanguinius, listening in the dark, felt something primal uncoil in his chest.

******

The Angel took you that night.

Not with violence, but with silence. While the tribe slept, he gathered you, sleeping form, parted lips, hands curled into fists even in rest, and carried you into the sky. You woke screaming, your nails carving furrows down his chest. He did not release you.

The desert shrank below you, its horrors reduced to patterns in the sand. You struggled until your strength faded, until your breaths came in ragged sobs, until you pressed your face to his neck and bit down hard. He let you.

When dawn broke, your anger stops, he took you to the highest peak. The air was thin here, the sky a riot of dying stars. You shivered in your thin shift, but refused his cloak.

“Look,” he said, pointing to the horizon where the first ships breached the atmosphere. Fire rained in their wake.

“Our future.” The Angel said.

He cupped your face, his thumb smearing ash across your cheek. “Come with me.”

“To war?”

“To eternity.”

You closed your eyes. As the first ships soared by, he wrapped his wings around you and prayed to a god he did not believe in.

Let you live. Let you hate him. Let you belong to him.

******

The ships came as he knew it would, giants of iron and fire, its hull etched with sigils of eagles and lightning. The strangers called him son, primarch, hope. They offered him stars.

He asked for a single chamber, sealed and windowless, lined with soft things. They obliged.

You raged. You clawed at the walls, at him, at the servants who brought food you refused to eat. You called him tyrant, coward, thief. He absorbed your fury like the desert absorbed blood.

At night, when your screams subsided to whimpers, he slipped into your room and watched you sleep. Sometimes, he brushed the hair from your face. Sometimes, he counted your breaths. Always, he remembered the vision, your body broken, his hands stained, and knew he would raze eternity itself to keep you whole.

You will love me, he told your still form. In time.

The future still haunted him. But now, when he dreamt of chains and blades, he also dreamt of this, your breath against his neck, your weight in his arms, your heartbeat syncing with his.

A different kind of eternity.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

Happy, happy birthday Pandora! <3 I wish you all the health and happiness!

"I’m not saying I like you, but if a sea beast ate you, I might cry a little." (that prompt is just so cute ahhh) with Eustass Kid please - fem!reader, sfw

Isn't it a cute prompt anon? I had fun with it! Especially with this firecracker of a Captain! Thank you soooo much for the birthday wishes and I hope you enjoy this! ❤️

Source for pic

Drowning in Flames

Word Count: 1652

Tags: fem!reader; cursing; feelings; love confessions;

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

Summary: You saved Kid from drowning and your thanks involves scrubbing the deck.

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid

|Masterlist|

“Reckless idiot! Stupid moron! Thoughtless imbecile.”

“Oi! I’m still yer Captain! Watch yer filthy mouth before I wash it with soap!”

Water puddles gather around your feet and each step you take makes a sploshing sound. Your eyeliner is running and you blame your freaking idiot captain for it. Okay, not all of it. You could’ve been less stingy and bought the waterproof eyeliner like - clearly - Eustass fucking Kid did. But the rest was his fault.

“I don’t give a shit!” You’re standing up on the deck and he’s sitting down, but you still need to look up to meet his eyes. “You almost drowned you reckless-...” Kid arches his eyebrow and growls. “Captain!” A hiss leaves your lips just as the salt from the water makes contact with a cut from the sword fight you were engaged in before having to save your captain’s ass!

“So did ya!” He shouts, throwing his arms in the air and splashing more water over the deck. 

You could make out the faint sounds of Killer ordering the crew around so you could manoeuvre away from the wreckage of the pirate ship you all had just annihilated.  

“I only almost drowned because you fell in the water like an idiot! A heavy, fat-assed, idiot whom I don’t have the strength to save from fucking drowning!”

“Oi, lass! I will tell ya this one more time,” Kid rises, looking more menacing by the inch, and leans down until his face is right in front of yours. “Ya call me an idiot again and I’ll have to punish ya.”

A mischievous smile curves your lips upwards and you cross your arms over your chest in a clear teasing manner, trying to push your captain further and see where it gets you. “Oh, really, Captain? And what’s the punishment?”

Eustass Kid’s unhinged grin should’ve given you a hint of what’s coming. 

It did not.

-*-

“Fucking Captain. I save his ass  from drowning and I have to scrub the freaking deck. Figures.” You keep muttering between clenched teeth. As soon as the Doc patched you up, Heat handed you a rag, a bucket and a mop, telling you Kid ordered you to leave the deck glistening.

He didn’t even have the decency to tell you himself!

You almost drowned trying to save his heavy ass from the freezing, relentless sea, and this is the thanks you get? 

“Fucking glistening? It’s gonna be fucking perfect! You’re gonna be able to eat off this shit.”

And you mean it too. Even when you crack a third nail by scrubbing too hard.

-*-

Dinner time comes and goes and you are still scrubbing. There are no more nails left to crack or break. Your hands are red and raw and your knees are bruised and have definitely seen better days.

There's a moment when you think you might have reopened that slash in your leg, but it stops bleeding after a while so you shrug it off. You’re not going to be the first one to cave.

When the stars are high up in the sky and the moon is casting its glow on the deck, you fall on your butt, kick the bucket to the side and sigh in satisfaction as your back hits the balustrade. 

“Fucking glistening. Look at that reflection! I can count the stars without looking at the sky.” 

A pained grunt leaves your lips as you start to feel sore and tired, cramped and cranky. A heated battle followed by almost drowning and a thorough scrubbing of the deck does that to you. 

“It just took ya all day, lass.”

Fuck.

“Captain. I hope you’re happy.” You close your eyes and rest your head against the railing, exhaustion seeping in through every bone of your body. You don’t have to open your eyes to feel him settling down near you.

“I’m fucking pissed.”

A moment of silence surrounds you before a chuckle emerges from your lips. It starts as a soft snicker followed by a snort, but soon evolves into something you can’t control and you laugh out loud.

“Glad to be of service.” Kid grunts, clearly not amused. “How’re ya feeling?”

“Like I died. Except not really, because everything hurts.” A groan leaves your lips as Kid places his flesh arm on top of your shoulders and pulls you against his body. 

“Ya did good, lass.”

A stubborn tear prickles behind your eyelids and you bury your head against Kid’s body. The scent of metal, oil and sea makes you want to cry, but you’ll be damned if you do that. 

“You almost drowned!” Your whine is pathetic and desperate. You don’t really care.

“But I didn’t.” He chuckles softly, or as softly as he can.

“Now you’re amused? Seriously?” You remove your head from the crook of his neck, your hand grabbing his shirt as your eyes pin him, anger written all over them. “You almost died! Do I have to spell it out for you?”

You’ve never been so afraid in your life before. Somehow, in the midst of the fight, Kid tripped and fell overboard. He was being so reckless with his attacks that it was bound to happen. Everyone was so busy with their own fights that no one noticed. So, you didn’t even think twice before jumping after him.

Obviously dragging his heavy, unconscious ass out of the water was the most tiresome and dreadful experience of your life.

Not to mention the panic and despair clawing at your chest. The possibility of losing the man you love to the clutches of the unforgiving sea. You only saved him by pure luck and adrenaline, there was no other explanation. 

“Aww, look at ya so worried about me, lass.” His hand grabs your chin as his playful eyes mock your tearful ones.

“Fuck off.” You brush his metal hand away and cross your arms over your chest, staring into the sky to blink away tears. 

“Ya like me. Admit it.”

There's this weird dance between you and Kid: he flirts and you avoid it, turning the conversation to safer topics or actually fleeing the scene; Then when you flirt he avoids you, by being gruff and bossing you around.

You know there are polls running around the crew, betting on when one of you will finally cave and fess up. Some are only about how long until you fuck each other. Others are about who will kill whom first. 

You love him, that’s the truth. 

But you’ll be damned if you’ll admit it.

Crinkling your nose and placing a hand on your chin, you say whimsically: "Well, I’m not saying I like you, but if a sea beast ate you, I might cry a little…” You shrug, avoiding the real topic of the conversation. “That’s the only reason I saved you.”

Kid pins you under his fierce gaze and you shift uncomfortably. It’s like he’s reading into your soul. 

“What?” You add, not sure how to respond to his stare. 

“Yer lying.” He leans forward and the sound that leaves your lips is half-squeak, half-weird-horn-like-sound. 

“The fuck would I lie about?” You squirm again under his gaze and try to move, but his metal arm grabs your chin, keeping you in place, challenging you. 

“Yer lying.” He repeats.

“Fine!” You relent, an urgency in your voice. “I would cry a lot! Happy?”

He leans in again and the distance between you is so small that you can smell rum and chocolate on his breath. 

“Better. Yer still lying. That’s not the only reason ya jumped into the water for me, is it lass?” Each word is a caress against your lips, a promise of something more, a plea to confess. 

Yet you don’t. 

“You're my captain.”

“Not enough.”

“The crew needs you.”

“That’s not it.”

“Killer would be devastated.”

“Try a little harder, lass.”

“Heat-...” He interrupts you with a pinch to your chin and a growl.

“Yer pissing me off again, the truth, lass!”

“Fine!” You yell in his face, your cheeks turning red as your chest heaves with shallow, nervous breaths. “I need you! I would be devastated! I would miss you! I love you!” Inhaling a gasp at the sudden confession, you purse your lips, trying to trap the words inside, but they have already escaped. 

Kid’s shit-eating grin travels through you like a wildfire that burns and destroys everything in its wake. It's powerful, it's raging, it's burning. It speaks to your soul and leaves you in a shaking, trembling mess. 

“Finally, the truth.” His metal hand releases your chin and, for a moment, you think he’s getting up to leave. Your heart skips a beat, thinking about the vulnerability of your words and how he’s going to dismiss them so quickly until…

The cold of his metal hand against your nape does nothing to cool off the heat of his scorching kiss. His lips crash into yours, demanding, hungry and commanding. A little nudge from his flesh arm has you climbing his lap in a desperate embrace as both of you deepen the connection. 

After a moment he pulls back and you're left panting and dazed, your eyes lost in his, your heart pounding so hard against your chest that you fear it might explode. 

“I love ya too, lass. Don’t ever jump in the sea again without my permission.”

The wildfire that is Kid may burn everything in its path, but the embers left behind don’t fade out. They keep sparking to life, burning bigger, hotter and more dangerously than the previous fires. 

“Not even to save your ass from a sea beast?”

He chuckles before he gets up, settling you over his shoulder, ready to take this somewhere else. 

“Especially not to save my ass from a sea beast. I will never die, lass. Burn that into yer pretty little head, will ya?”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

[ginnysgraffiti]

fingering and cunt licking at the cinema/public place, 18+

&. TIMOTHÉE x yn.

you always kind of wondered what dirty things would cross your boyfriend's mind at times, but you never expected it to go that far.

the salt of the popcorn on his fingertips was fastly mixing with your warm juices and his wrist kept working his way between your legs, his fingers digging into your pussy, his hoarse voice whispering to keep quiet inside your ear.

you were glad it was an action movie and the volume was so loud that sometimes your moans would not be heard, but you couldn't count on it for another good half an hour.

timothée had been silent for most of the night, and your suspicions only increased when he told you you would have to sit on the last row.

why on heart should you sit on the last row when free seats were even in the middle one?

you didn't question it at first, but now you had your answer without asking.

you tried so hard to keep your eyes on the screen or anything better than his hand, but you could only handle so much before your head fell back against your seat, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

his bony hand was pushing your plush thighs open, exposing yourself even more to him. if you dared try to shut your thighs even a tad they’d be pushed right back open.

"a-ah!! tim-" your back suddenly arched off the seat as timothée wasted no time spitting on your clit before wrapping his lips around it now that he had kneeled in front of your open legs, between your seat and the one behind his back.

the position would have felt comfortable if you just weren't inside the cinema and you had to bite your lips to shut up. his tongue immediately caressed your sensitive nub, and it was extremely salty from the popcorn bucket that you found it surprisingly hot. salt, cornmeal and butter.

you noticed he couldn’t decide between roughly sucking on it or moving his tongue side to side so he settled on both. timothée hollowed his cheeks, holding your clit in place while his tongue continued moving with vigor.

at times, it was slowly moving up and down, like he was trying to savor the taste of your essence -not too hard or too fast- just sensual. then, his tongue would again settle on quick, harsh licks.

"keep quiet baby." timothée slurred into your pussy, now sloppily kissing his way down to your dripping hole.

you were pulling his curls so hard that you knew it hurt, but your boyfriend didn’t even bother complaining, his attention focused solely on your soaked center. his long fingers ran slowly up and down your petal soft slit, occasionally applying light pressure to your clit. without warning he plunged two fingers in with a lewd squelching sound following that you only could hear.

on the screen, even if your vision was pretty blurry and not recommendable at the moment, you could tell an action fight was going on.

the volume was at its loudest and you caught the occasion to let your desperate moans out, your chest rising up and down to catch breath and your hips moving against him.

it took a little time to get you used to the stretch of his fingers inside your tight little pussy, because you had never been so tense and nervous before in its process, and you knew it was because it was a damn public place.

"fuck- fuck..." your mouth dropped as he began to move his fingers at a semi-fast pace, digits bumping against that special spot that had your toes curling.

"feel so good, beautiful-" he moaned against your core, and you found yourself smiling a bit.

your hips felt so fucking desperate that you pulled his curls even tighter, not able to keep your hands still for half a second.

the volume was loud again and the cinema sits were basically shaking, and that didn't help at all as your groans and moans came out. they sounded like a plea, and you almost felt like crying.

you weren’t able to give him a verbal warning of the intense orgasm, the only signal being being the clear stream of cum shooting from your pussy each time timothée pulled his fingers out.

"you did so good baby..." he kissed your inner tights, even if the stream of cum had made a mess on both your legs and his fingers.

"you gotta admit that was better than the movie." a mischievous grin ran over his face and you just thanked god no person caught you two.

[ssahotchnerr]

beach days with the family 🥹🥹💕💕💕 I just KNOW aaron would be stressing about Ellie swimming but seeing Jack being such a good but brother and helping her ☹️☹️💝 it literally melts my heart

- 🏎️

🥹💕💕💓

aaron would be stressing about everything omg 😭 you'd have to remind him to calm down and enjoy himself LOL

but sooo much goes into a beach trip, aaron can't help it 😭 first it's packing all the necessities - beach toys, towels, chairs, SUNSCREEN, an umbrella, snacks, drinks in a cooler, etc.. then loading it all up into the car. a lot of the prep happens the night before - beach bags are packed, you lay out all the swimsuits; jack and aaron have matching swim shorts, ellie has the cutest little swimsuit 😭😭😭 so in the morning, you're getting jack and ellie ready as aaron gets the car ready. he plans to leave decently early in the morning too; to get to the beach at a reasonable time, to beat traffic and the crowd (the day you planned to go is a scorcher), to get a good spot.

that's the first order of business - getting that spot. it's close enough to the water that you can easily watch jack, and it's not a long walk if ellie were to fill up a bucket of water for a sandcastle. once the umbrella is up, chairs underneath and towels are laid out, aaron's making sure everyone is lathered generously in sunscreen. jack even has a baseball cap on, ellie has an adorable bucket hat, for that extra layer of protection - no one is getting burnt on aaron's watch, and he makes sure to reapply sunscreen multiple times 😭 the same goes for you!!!! once jack and ellie are protected from the sun, aaron's putting plenty of sunscreen on you himself 😭🥰 in addition!! breaks from the sun are frequent - aaron drags the two of them under the umbrella, making sure they hydrate as well.

jack's just the best big brother 🥹 he teaches ellie how to make a sandcastle, how to jump over waves, how to hunt for shells 🥹 the two of them keep each other busy, which is extremely helpful because then you and aaron can enjoy the sun and do your own thing - reading, sunbathing, whatever. hehe you keep the bau ladies groupchat busy, by sending pics of your beach day 🥹<333 jack and ellie cheesing in front of their sandcastle, ellie wearing aaron's sunglasses which are muchhh too big for her, aaron standing there all 🤨 with his arms crossed, as he watches jack and ellie play in the shallow water 🥰

jack holding ellie's hand as they wade into the water 😭🥺 keeping her close, and so the waves don't knock her over 😭 they're in the water just enough for the little currents to hit their feet, which causes ellie to shriek in excitement every time 😭🥺 and if the waves start to pick up, aaron's joining them immediately (ellie also has a lifejacket/floaties on her arms in she's in the water)

and if ellie wants to go in further, aaron or you are accompanying her🥰 while keeping that watchful eye on jack too. he's bolder when it comes to playing in the ocean, ellie on the other hand, is a bit hesitant. at first even, she has a minor meltdown when she feels the hot sand under her feet, the texture of it different and she has major difficultly walking in it, and absolutely detests the taste of the salt water when it splashes her and gets into her mouth - but she gets used to it rather quickly.

but, just the visual of ellie is hoisted on aaron's side - clinging onto him for dear life - as the waves crash against the two of them 😭😭💓💕💓💕 sobbing. while she's always on the clingier side, it heightens a ton when something's new or she's nervous 🥺<3

aaron's least favorite part of going to the beach though - sand. he just hates that it clings onto everything, there's always more of it to be found. so when it's time to leave, he's profusely shaking the towels, rinsing off the toys in the ocean, getting as much of it off jack and ellie as he possibly can 😭 it's inevitable, he knows, but some gets onto the floor of the car, gets stuck in ellie's car seat, and he gets so troubled by it LOL 😭 that night when you're home, he's in the garage vacuuming it all up right away LOL

but it's worth it 🥹<3 the fun the kids had, spending time together as a family, he'd do it all over again in a heartbeat 💓🥰