#but uh. doesn't matter loll

[i3utterflyeffect]

for anyone who's up this late. have an experimental red

[iidrk3i]

☆ ACTIONS OVER WORDS

hq -- tsukishima kei x gn!reader

summary: tsukishima kei doesn't know how to say he's sorry. so instead, he tries apologizing in a different way.

warnings: a bittt angsty but fluff in the end, brief food mentions, tsukki calls reader overbearing, nothing too much :)

word count: 768

there he was, sitting on the couch with his head lolled on the headrest. what had started as a small disagreement between the two of you became a heated argument, which resulted in tsukishima calling you overbearing.

in your defense, you were just reminding your boyfriend to eat his meals everyday. this was the third time this week that you had reminded him, but something about today really ticked him off.

after tsukishima had gotten the last word in, he caught a glimpse of your face before you headed off into your shared bedroom. it was clear that you were upset with him, and you had every right to be. you weren't being overbearing at all. you were just being the kind person that he fell in love with. the person who looked out for everyone that they loved.

tsukishima looked at his phone. 6:43pm. he’s been sitting on the couch for a good 15 minutes trying to think of something to say to you. he wanted to say something sincere, something that would be genuine, but no matter how hard he thought, no matter how long he sat and waited for something to come to him, nothing was coming to mind.

that’s when tsukishima thought of a different tactic.

he had gone online and searched up your favorite take out place, ordering something for the both of you. once the food had arrived, tsukishima finally built up the courage to knock on the bedroom door. when he was met with silence, his hand hovered over the doorknob for a second, ultimately coming to the decision to walk in.

“oi y/n, i- uh.. i ordered takeout for us, if you're hungry," tsukishima stammered, feeling the weight of his words from earlier still heavy on his shoulders. he hesitated for a moment, unsure if you would even want to see him.

inside the dimly lit bedroom, you were seated on the edge of the bed, your back turned towards him. you had been replaying the argument in your mind, questioning whether you were indeed being too pushy. your thoughts were interrupted by his voice, and despite feeling hurt, you couldn't deny the rumbling in your stomach at the mention of food.

you turned slightly to look at him, noticing the takeout bags in his hands. the gesture made your heart melt. tsukishima cleared his throat nervously, taking a small step closer. "i... i know i was out of line earlier. you were just looking out for me," he began, his voice low. "i appreciate that, really. i'm sorry for calling you overbearing."

you remained silent, your gaze fixed on the floor as you processed his words. tsukishima shifted uncomfortably at the doorframe. "can we... can we talk about this?" he asked tentatively, taking another small step forward. "or at least, can we eat together?"

you glanced up at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. despite the hurt feelings, you knew that tsukishima wasn't one to apologize easily. the fact that he had ordered your favorite food showed that he was trying, in his own way, to make amends.

finally, you nodded silently, gesturing towards the bed. tsukishima exhaled quietly in relief, setting the takeout containers down on the bedside table before joining you. for a while, neither of you spoke as you ate, the quietness was comfortable.

after a few minutes, tsukishima broke the silence cautiously. "i mean it, y/n. i shouldn't have said those things. i know you care about me, and i... i care about you too." his voice was hesitant, but genuine.

you looked at him then, meeting his gaze. "i know," you replied softly, your tone was enough for tsukishima to know you were forgiving him. "i just... sometimes i worry, you know?"

he nodded, his expression serious. "i get that. and i promise i'll try to be more mindful. you deserve that."

with those words, all the tension leaves the air. the conversation flowed more easily from there, the both of you gradually finding common ground and understanding. by the time you finished eating, a sense of comfort hung in the air.

as tsukishima gathered up the empty containers, you reached out to touch his arm lightly. "thank you, kei,” you said sincerely, meeting his eyes once more. "for trying."

he smiled faintly, a hint of relief in his expression. "thank you for not giving up on me," he replied, his voice soft.

and with that, the evening unfolded into a quiet understanding between the two of you, strengthening the bond that had drawn you together in the first place.

a/n: this one’s a little messy😓

[zepskies]

I saw somewhere that Dean wouldn’t date a black girl. Which is crazy because his ex was black and they had sex in season 1. Dean for sure definitely likes him a black woman. Hell he likes any type of woman

Hey anon!

Ugh, the way you know racism is still alive and well, even in fandom. 🙄 The idea that he "wouldn't date a black girl" is just plain ridiculous, and it upsets me for many reasons, being a Latina POC myself.

To start, they introduced Cassie Robinson as the one person Dean tried to entrust the "family secret" to --

AKA: the first girl he genuinely loved. A smart, fearless, badass woman not afraid to call out indiscretions and fight for the truth about her father's murder.

As a matter of fact, that entire episode (1x13) was about interracial couples, systematic racism, and breaking the cycle of social segregation, as symbolized through the Cassie x Dean relationship.

As for Dean and Cassie themselves, they had incredible chemistry. ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 To the point where I still think about the song playing during their steamy scene together ("Paradise" by Sharif), and I still use some of the Dean x Cassie gifs for my reader stories:

(And more about your "Dean likes any type of woman" comment below, because I definitely agree.)

They had a beautiful and tragic "weren't meant to be" story, but it doesn't take away from the love they had for each other and being one of the few meaningful, genuine romantic connections Dean had on the show.

"Dean likes any type of woman":

Very much agree! Dean doesn't discriminate, not with race, ethnicity, or body type. We've seen him hit on just about any lovely lady loll, from his love of Busty Asian Beauties, or when he tried to hit on Kali in season 5. 😂

When Donna tells Sam and Dean her husband said she loved chocolate chip cookie dough milkshakes more than him, I believe Dean immediately called him a douchebag, no hesitation. He supported her like this more than once.

And let's not forget this exchange in 9.13, when talking to a victim's loved one who had an affair with a heftier man:

Mala: “What can I say? Sometimes it’s nice to feel a little give.”

Dean *has an epiphany*: “Oh. Yeah, I get that. A little extra cushion for the, uh…” *fist pounding motion* (lmfao)

Hell, I've written an entire series about why Dean would be attracted to, and fall for, a POC plus-sized Latina. It's called the Midnight Espresso series.

All that being said, anyone who says Dean doesn't like or wouldn't date black women, other women of color, or certain body types is projecting their own narrow-minded, prejudiced, and/or potentially bigoted ideals. 🙅🏽‍♀️

[siilvan]

IT'S GIVING JEALOUS-IN DENIAL-GRUMPY-SIMP!MAKAROV I- im crying

oh god i've never seen that first pic, the way he's leaned back and sorta manspreading… good lord i need him in ways disastrous to feminism. till he forgets his tragic past. gonna make him forget he wants to take over the world, save humanity frfr

*ahem* this, uh… i'm not responsible for this drabble, loosely bloodsport-based but more or less just simping, enjoy bestie 🤭

(little bit of suggestiveness BTC, y'all have been hungry for him anyway <3)

ангел – angel (pronounced as written, with a hard 'g' lol)

мое небо/moye nebo – my heaven

he is not a man often annoyed by the "small things" but this, this sight has his blood boiling beneath his skin.

you're standing across the room, about fifteen paces away, chatting with one of his captains. a loyal soldier and a fine field commander, often successful when fulfilling his orders, and makarov's willing to admit: not an unattractive man by most standards. the captain is allowed to walk behind him for a reason, he's pleased with his work.

but, he is just a captain. he holds only a sliver of the power that makarov holds. of the people in the room, he is a mere ant, something that he could crush under his boot in a fit of rage and the only quarrel would be disposing of the body. why are you so interested in him? are you not drawn in to the strength, the pride, the influence that makarov has?

he shifts in his seat, leaning forward and letting his eyes narrow at the sight. your back is to him, but the captain— oh, the captain knows very well what the look makarov sends his way means.

you've encroached on my territory.

makarov doesn't hear the next words quickly stuttered out by the man, but it's shortly after that he nods in farewell and darts out of the room. like a child being scolded; the smile that pulls at the edge of his lips gives away his feeling of cruel satisfaction. no matter how esteemed any of his men may be, he stands alone at the top.

you blink at the door after the captain darts out before visibly shrugging and shaking your head. you turn around, eyes immediately finding his, and some unfamiliar sensation tugs at makarov's heart when he catches the glimmer of familiarity in your gaze.

he shifts again, leaning back into a more relaxed position. with your attention on him once more, he can allow his shoulders to drop, his rigid posture to soften. just keep your eyes on him.

"let me guess – that excuse of 'i need to clean my knives' was actually meant to mean, 'my commander is glaring daggers at me?'" you ask, crossing the space in a leisurely stroll, far more collected than when you first arrived several weeks ago.

he chuckles, lifting a hand to signal to his soldier standing nearby. "warden, give us some space."

the masked woman's gaze flits between you two, before she responds with a single nod and a clipped "yes, commander." she marches out of the room and the door clicks shut behind her, leaving you standing alone in front of him.

"if he has time to chat, he has time to work." makarov says, his hips briefly lifting as he adjusts his position, head lolling back just slightly to look up at you.

"that's a shitty way to boost morale," you comment, mouth briefly twitching up into a bemused smile nonetheless. "why did you really send him away?"

he dismisses your question, shaking his head. "i suppose i shouldn't be surprised that a woman of your position is observant, should i?"

you smile, again, wider and longer this time. "no, you shouldn't." you mutter.

for a moment, you two are left in that position, locked in a stalemate of neither person wanting to make the next move. observing the other, attempting to read their thoughts through nothing but minimal body language. you shift your weight from one leg to the other, hands clasping in front of yourself as you tilt your head to the side slightly, barely noticeable.

your next move.

makarov says nothing more as he pats his knee, silently giving a command. it's not a question, not a request— there is no uncertainty in the action.

he catches the flash of hesitation that crosses your face, and in reply, he offers his hand. the red light cascading over the room could almost be mistaken for an omen, a sign of what is to come in the distant future as soon as you place your hand in his.

he pulls you forward, gently, urging you to close the distance yourself. take the final leap.

carefully, you step forward and place your legs on either side of his, knees pressing into the plush cushions of the sofa as you let your weight rest on his thighs. your free hand, originally awkwardly sitting at your side, comes to rest on his bicep before lightly skating up to clutch his shoulder, the crisp fabric of his suit soft under your touch.

he draws you closer still, arm moving to circle around your middle, bringing you forward until your chests are flush, your rapidly-beating heart a contrast to his own, thumping steadily as he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing an uncharacteristically chaste kiss against your skin.

"he is not worth your time, ангел." he murmurs, lowering your hand.

"and, you are?" you ask, brows lifting curiously with the question.

"by birth right, i am," he replies quickly, voice low but confident. he isn't hiding the confession, he's reserving it for your ears alone. "no matter how many men may catch your eye for a fleeting moment, no matter how many think they stand in front of me in the queue for your hand, i will always be at the front, even if i must eliminate the competition to do so. i was born superior, i alone am worthy of your grace, мое небо."

a small part of you wants to argue, to tell him no, he has to earn that privilege, but a far larger part of you keens at his words, at his hands on you, gloved fingertips dancing along your spine and digging into the plush of your hip.

"you seem awfully confident for a man silently begging to be touched." you mutter, a sharp exhale escaping you when his hand leaves your hip to slowly slide up your side, thumb trailing along your front and stopping just below the curve of your breast.

he chuckles, dropping to a gravelly whisper as his lips hover mere inches from yours, dark eyes boring into yours and rendering you immobile.

"kiss me, then." he says, unabashed. "please, ангел." he adds after a beat, tongue darting out to wet his lips. the darkness in his gaze gives way to hunger, like a beast eyeing prey, waiting for it to run so he can give chase.

you draw in a breath, metaphorically and physically swallowing down the hesitation that bubbles up again. he has you right where he wants you, caught in his trap, but as his hands push you down, his hips raising again to press right into your clothed core, you find that you suddenly don't care.

you practically fall into his embrace, cupping his jaw and pressing your lips to his, matching the predator in hunger; like a rabbit leaping on a wolf instead. his firm grip becomes almost painful as he tugs you impossibly closer, his hand coming up to the nape of your neck, holding you in place against him.

you should have expected him to take over, to reclaim his spot in control. the most makarov will ever do is share, which alone is an honor, but he will never completely give his control away.

you're falling deeper, watching the light fade as you burrow farther into the earth, further into the pitch blackness that is him. it's hard to care, nigh impossible to think about anything else when you're so far down the rabbit hole.

worry about his touch, his lips, the satisfied rumble in his chest when he practically purrs your name against your lips. everything else can wait.

[nannyan]

DSAF 2 Ramble No. 2!!!

And it is once again about Phone guy's speech because aaaavabhj

This time I wanted to ramble a bit about how sound and music are used in this scene to help build it even more! Obviously the tracks aren't game original but I think they're used really well!

(I might be reaching with some stuff but ahh who cares I just really love this scene so I want to talk about every aspect of it loll)

As the sound of screaming guests and Jimbo's unfortunate circumstances subside you are left in total quietness, as Phone Guy tells you to come with him. But when the scene transitions the Freddy's music doesn't start back up, as it usually would. It's just you and Phone Guy in total silence. And even as he starts speaking to Jack, there is still no sound. Gone are his perpetual "uh" and "um"s. It remains that way for the first lines of his monolog. And this sudden absence of any sound catches your attention and sort of sends the subconscious message of" Hey this is something important, pay attention.".

Only as Phone Guy says that you're a predator, does the music come back on. But it's not any of the usual you'd hear. It's a track you probably haven't heard before in the game and the only way I can describe it is: It creates tension. And this tension keeps building and building, with Phone Guy talking about the Christmas presents that will never be opened because of you. Jack, as he's been kind of doing this whole time during this scene, tries to defend himself, trying to lighten up the situation with his little quips.

But in response the music abruptly stops. There's sort of a release of tension but it also feels like the whole game, not just your boss, is telling you to cut the shit. Look at what you've actually done.

As Phone Guy starts telling you about those 10 parents, of those 5 kids you and Dave murdered, how he's had to lie to them, that he doesn't know what's happened to their children. How he's had to attend their funerals, an ominous piece starts playing in the back, emphasizing more just how serious this situation is. You are a murderer and there are people who now have to suffer because of you.

Finally, as you move towards the end of the conversation, a piano + this droning sound are added into the mix. And this is just the cherry on top.

To me this track creates this feeling of a horrifying realization - the type of situation where something feels wrong, and after mauling over it, your brain finally, slowly, starts realizing exactly what is causing that feeling.

That's what Phone Guy is kind of going through. He asks you if you feel any remorse for what you've done. Even the tiniest bit. He already has an answer in his head but despite everything he wants to hope that maybe, just maybe, there is something good in you.

And the track here isn't so much used for a horrifying realization but more so a horrifying confirmation of his suspicions, because no matter what Jack says, you both know the truth. And from here on out it highlights Phone Guy's growing distain and disgust towards you.

You are a monster.

[absolutelybifurious]

yall this fic is so cute tho like i dunno if its doing what i want but i love it

"Eddie…" "Don't do that, don't say Eddie." "What should I say?" "Dumbass," Eddie says immediately. "You're not a dumbass," Buck says. Eddie's head lolls to the side, dark eyelashes catching the low light of his house and casting faded shadows on his cheek. "I am," Eddie says, "I fucked things up with Shannon, then Ana and Marisol… it's kind of incredible I haven't fucked them up with you." Buck takes in a breath that clatters all the way down his chest. "That's, uh… that's different, though, right?" It comes out colored wrong, like he's asking for permission. Eddie blinks, then shrugs. "I mean, I guess - it doesn't matter, though, I am an equal opportunity relationship fucker-upper."

[howlingday]

Jaune's Secret Weapon

Unknown, even to him...

Salem: ENOUGH! Jaune Arc, as your future queen, I order you to stop being so attractive! You're distracting everyone, including poor Cinder here!

Cinder: (Nods)

Jaune: What? I don't know-

Salem: AHA! I knew you would say that, so I have been exposing Cinder to photos of you so that she is now immune to your sexiness!

Jaune: I have no idea what you're talking about. And what photos?

Salem: I... Uh... (Thinks to secret photo times) It doesn't matter! The point is that Cinder is now immune!

Cinder: (Nods)

Ruby: No, she's not! Not with his secret weapon! (Plays sexy music) Jaune, catch!

Jaune: Huh?

Jaune: (Catches, Holds clockwork-orange) Shit.

Jaune: (Ages into DILF Jaune, Half-naked) Dammit...

Ruby: How 'bout now?!

Weiss: (Panting, Tongue lolling out)

Cinder: (Nosebleed knockout)

Salem: TH-THAT IS SO NOT FAIR!

Jaune: What is even going on?

Weiss: (Holding in a nosebleed) S-So, are you going to take pictures, or is it just me?

Salem: L-Later- I MEAN-! ARGH! GO AWAY!

[delusionally-loveless-by-choice]

Lost in a cornfield..? Pt. 2 (repost)

Scarecrow!Phillip Graves x Lost!Reader

summary: You learn a bit more about Mr. Scarecrow! There's something he wants to show you? What can that be?

warnings: horror aspects coming in later in the chapter >:), mention of blood, likely incorrect depictions/references to wrong periods because I forgot that light bulbs weren't invented until like 1879 (googled it), he kinda turns dark so big contrast to the first part loll

w/c -> 2k

Want to read more? -> Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

IMPORTANT Author's note: Rewritten of the original post, story still the same but probably added more details here and there! :)

Oh, God, what hell is this place? You can’t help the horrified look that sits on your face, it’s paralyzing and a moment of vulnerability. 

One that the scarecrow catches.

He stares at you, watching the realization finally sink into you, and he can’t help the grin that stretches on his face as he watches your expression.

He sighs, clearly amused. “I don’t just protect this ‘field’. In all honesty, this land is strange compared to the one you know.” His tone was matter of factly, “I’m a guardian of sorts, one that is bound to serve it. It’s more work than it sounds, but this job isn’t really my choice, more of a burden and purpose, y'know.” 

“This land.. It’s dangerous.” He makes sure to face you directly as he says this, you can feel the intensity of his tone. 

“There are things in the field that would do anything in its power to take advantage of your vulnerability. It also doesn't help that you’re their favorite meal: human.” He says the last part with an air of amusement; and though he’s looking at you, the way his straw hat is tilted, it hides a clear view of his eyes. 

His response doesn’t help your wariness. 

The scarecrow seems to take note of this. 

He then says, “But I’m not gonna let that happen.”

You nod and exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Well that’s reassuring.” You nervously chuckle. But it’s only slightly reassuring to your instincts that tell you that this field, this place, is more than dangerous.

"Just remember: this place has its creatures, but it has me too." He pauses, then adds: "I've lived here ever since I was a kid, so I know every nook and cranny of the field. Ain't no pest that's gonna sneak past me."

You see something move further within the corn. Graves snaps his fingers, and the plants rustle to block a pathway. "If we head left, we'll get past these critters."

“Did.. did you just control the field..?” You ask bewildered. 

"Yes... The corn is a living, breathing organism. I can influence its growth and motion to an extent. The plants listen to my will." The scarecrow replies simply.

He pauses, and grabs your wrist to make you look at him. "Don't worry. The field is friendly to me--I grew up here, after all."

You look up at him, you finally get a look at eyes. 

They were blue but there was a yellow haze that slightly glowed further reminding you he was far from human. 

Whatever he was, he was terrifyingly beautiful, in the sense that you didn’t know what he was. Perhaps he was just a true eldritch horror. It’s a good thing he’s helping you.

He pulls you along to walk after him.

As you think and walk, you are reminded of his presence by the yellow haze of his eyes glancing toward you. He lazily turns his head away from you.

You can’t help but ask him, “How.. old are you, Scarecrow..?” this curious whisper of yours makes his ears perk.

He takes a minute to respond, as if he was thinking.

“I’ve been around for about… two-hundred and thirty years, or so.” He finally replies. “Thankfully my age and good looks don’t seem to go hand in hand,” he chuckles. 

The scarecrow smiles, then adds: "I'm proud that I've kept this place safe for so long--doing my duty, serving my purpose."

You don’t do much to mask your surprise. 

“Oh, that’s.. a long time..” You muttered.

Both of you walk for a bit, before you decide to speak again. 

“Uh.. so is there ever an end to this field? Or where are we going?” You asked, it wasn’t in an irritated tone but it sounded so.

He let out a short dry chuckle. “Sort of.. the best you're getting for an exit or end here is the house.” 

Finally with a smooth swift gesture with his hand, the corn in front of the both of you opens up.

There then lies a large acre of land, one that wasn’t infested with the corn. Though it was surrounded by the endless crop, in the middle sat a farmhouse.

It looked abandoned. A home that hadn’t taken up well with time.

The white paint was peeling, the wood of the home looked rotten. One storm, and the house is reduced to nothing.

Yet, there the home stood.

As he walked towards it without a second thought, you were gagged. 

Oh fuck, you distastefully think, but if he said it’s “a way out”.. Guess I shouldn’t judge..

“Follow me, this big ol’ thing has too many hidden entrances and exits.. I’ll take you through the safest.” he gestured for you to follow him as he made his way to the back of the farmhouse. 

You politely nod and follow him, trying to mask the faces you make at the house. It's rude afterall to be ungrateful since he was being such a help.

He turns around to face you, walking backwards as he proudly says, “This beauty is the safest place to escape to in the fields.”

You smile at his pride, it's admirable and slightly adorable with that grin he has on. 

Though, as you look at him, your eyes trail down to his left side. On his waist, his flannel shirt adorns a large red stain.

You grab him by the arm and make him stop walking. A worried face plastered on, you ask, “A-Are you bleeding? Oh God..!”

"Huh? Oh, this?" The scarecrow asks, looking down at the stain, he seems unconcerned by your discovery of blood on him. "It's nothing, just old blood. I've been hurt in these fields many times before, and I've made it out alive."

“But this blood, it ain’t mine, darlin’,” he added with a sheepish grin. 

Almost like he’s trying to reassure you. But it seems to do the opposite, until you remember the encounter you two had earlier with that critter, as he calls them. Must’ve belonged to one of them then.

“Oh..” you mumbled. 

He gently pried your hand off of his arm, and started walking again. This time he directly leads you to the entrance he was talking about.

There are weeds, and junk, and rotten pieces of wood lying around. Then finally, there is a shitty little “door” that looks more like someone tried to board a window up instead of a door.

He unhooks the latch and pries open the door.

A wave of dust and spiderwebs go flying, and inside there lies only darkness. 

“C’mon, let’s head in.. there’s something I wanna show ya..” he says excitedly. 

You watch him duck and make his way in, and it doesn’t take longer than three seconds for you to follow after him in fear of being left behind.

It seems it was a basement of sorts that you entered through. It was dark so it was hard to see, but his blue eyes held that yellow glow that seemed to be all he needed to see.

He walked up some stairs and unlocked a door, one that presumably led to the main level of the farmhouse.

“This way!” he called over to you.

You followed him deeper into the farmhouse.

He was slightly more ahead of you, solely because you were simultaneously looking around at the inside of the farmhouse.

In the main level of the home, there was some light shining from the orange hued sun outside that came in from the boarded up windows. 

The house smelled of wet wood and dust. Not surprising. 

What was slightly surprising was the furniture and general state of the home. The furniture looked so old.. very 1790. If the home was well taken care of maybe the entire place would seem homely.

Instead it felt haunted.

Not innately sinister, but just abandoned. By the owners and time.

You finished looking and turned a corner to find him. 

He stood at another staircase, holding his straw hat. 

This one clearly led to the second story. 

“All done?” he asked with a grin as he set the hat on the railing of the staircase.

“Guess so..” You mumbled and grumbled. “I thought you were taking me out of this place, not deeper into it. This farmhouse is probably dead in the center of this place with all the endless corn surrounding it!” 

“In time,” he quickly says, “right now it’s best that you’re here. The farmhouse,” he pouts his lips in a manner that makes it seem like he’s picking his words wisely, “has its own set of.. securities.”

His eyes make it back to yours, and before you can answer he speaks again. “Now you ready for what I wanna show you?” he asked with a grin. “It’s a big surprise.”

It was charming and alluring; his pearly fangs poking out and dimples on display.

It was enough to make any thoughts, defenses, and protests you had melt away.

You find yourself rolling your eyes and smiling back at him. 

“Alright.. what do you want to show me?” you finally ask with a raised brow.

“Jus’.. follow me.. It ain’t something I show to just anyone..” he says as he turns and starts to make his way up the stairs. “And it’s not just ‘cause I don’t get many visitors.”

As you follow him up the stairs, he walks down a hallway, it’s not very well lit. 

You see the shitty discolored floral wallpaper that was definitely put up later in the owners residency from 1790. Behind the wallpaper you see the cracked walls and rotten wood that somehow surpassed the weird time.

Even in the shitty lighting you make out pictures that are hung up on the wall.

They show a family, a big one, standing in front of this very house when it presumably didn’t look like it currently did. 

Likely they must have been the last known occupants before it turned into whatever it was now.

“Was this your family?” You ask him. 

He only hums, and you take that as all the confirmation you were gonna get.

You tear your eyes away from the wall and see him standing at the last door of the hallway.

It was especially dark, and for some reason you felt your body start to feel like it wanted to run. 

“C’mere, in here.” he says with that same charming grin, it makes you want to trust him even when your body is starting to vibrate with the urge to run.

Slow steps until you’re close enough beside him.

He goes to open the door, and of course it creaks when it opens, it��s an old ass house.

And of course the inside is dark as shit, there’s no electricity, the house is from the near 1800s. Especially since he has no need for light. His glowing yellow glare somehow illuminating to counteract the darkness.

“After you,” his charming southern accent rings like sweet honey, and you walk right into the room.

He of course follows right after you and shuts the door behind him. 

The bit of light that shone from the hallway disappeared. Now encased in darkness you hear his movements along with your breathing.

The sound of the door closing, the consumption of the room in darkness, and the click of the door being locked, cause you to turn around in the now dark to face the direction for which you think he is in.

The darkness doesn’t last, with a snap of his finger candles are set and the room is illuminated in a dim light.

Finally you get a good look at the room.

It’s small, and it smelled putrid.

You saw that the boarded up windows had curtains, but the material wasn’t cloth. It seemed akin to leather but the color was something else..

“What is..” you trailed off as the slow realization creeped in.

It was skin. 

Human skin. 

Your head reeled, you turned and saw that the rest of the room was adorned in furniture that was also made up of patches and pieces of skin stitched together. 

Your eyes wide, they searched desperately around the room but were only met with skin.

It covered every surface. 

The floor, the walls, the furniture. 

It was all human skin.

There were even a few faces stitched into the wall and ceiling, portraits that blended into the wall in a decorative attempt.

Confused teary eyes wildly looked around the room.

You whipped around to find the scarecrow. He stood right where he had been, leaning on the locked door, the same grin plastered on his face.

This time it did nothing to ease you. Instead it felt sinister, taunting.

Your trembling lips try to say something but your voice dies in your throat.

Finally that southern voice you had come to familiarize yourself with spoke, his tone sickeningly sweet and that yellow hue in his eyes burned like the candles that lit the room, “What ya think? Beautiful, right darlin’?.”

[dddomenstarstwst1]

Day 14: Breeding kink — Ace Trappola

Warnings: sub!Ace, dom!gn!reader, mentions of m!preg, calling Ace mommy, reader's sex is unspecified, could be interpreted as a squirting strap, creampie, scratching

a/n: a character is aged-up and depicted as 18+ y/o

"W-wait! Why do you keep on calling me mommy?!" You stop moving your hips, pausing mentally. Fuck, you said it again. Ace crosses his arms, which doesn't threaten you that much.

"Uh... Because it's hot?"

"Hot?! Tsk, and why do ya sound unsure?" You chuckle, when he pouts, sliding your hands down to his hips, grabbing them. You resume your pace, going deeper than before.

"I mean, wouldn't you wanna carry my children? I think you'd be a good mommy." Ace gasps, as you brush against his prostate, looking at you through knitted brows. He shakes his head, "No? Oh, come on! It's true! You'll be such a good mommy for our babies, let me just fill you up to the brim."

Ace's tongue lolls out as soon as those words are out of your mouth. It doesn't matter that he can't possibly give birth to a child, he's simply not in the space to think clearly right now. All Ace could think about was you inside of him, real babies or not, he will gladly take on a role of a mommy.

"Gonna cum inside you, baby!" You leave a trail of kisses down his neck, Ace digs his fingernails in your spine, dragging them down. His legs tremble uncontrollably, while you fill him up, his own semen pooling on his stomach.

Ace brings you down to his level for a kiss, mumbling in between them how he's "going to become the best momma." And you believe him.

[moonbcrry]

rockstar!sirius would 100% use your voice as an intro/outro to his song. whether it be a voicemail or just some stupid shit he got you saying on camera

oh dear anon, i love you...

i daydream about this all the time with my singer crushes <3

i have multiple versions for this, so pick your favourite hehe

it's the first time you said "i love you." first months on your relationship, he's recording their latest album and super busy. he opens his phone while on a break to come across a voicemail from you. a silly grin formes on his face which catches james and remus' attention towards him. "oh, hey." he can feel the nervousness on your voice. "how are you? oh — it's a voicemail. silly me." you breath sucks on your teeth with a sniggle as you stop for a second. "i was wondering that — if you like to of course, uhm — do you wanna hang out tonight? ouch!" a crushing voice from the background stops you. "uh, what was i saying? yeah, i heard a lot about this new chinese restaurant, maybe we can try? but i totally understand if you're tired, we don't have to hang out all the time after all. anyway, i hope you're doing well, i love you." the mail ends with the sound of your hand clapping your mouth and sirius' cheeks glow red as the corners of his mouth reaches to his ears. remus tsks, turning to james. "who would know famous sirius black turnes into a big heart-shaped pink mush when he's in love?" (or maybe he hides this voicemail to himself ykwim:))

or it's just a silly conversation between you two, like the time he bought you a gift for your birthday; "woah, sirius. it's huge." "darlin," he chuckles pompously, "we're in public." "i meant the ring, you horrendous idiot!"

or its your giggle. just that. for whole 5 seconds, nothing more. maybe you're laughing at a joke or a flirtatious comment he made about you (no matter how long you were together, he always manages to make you giggle and blush at his flirts.). he doesn't remember it exactly and he doesn't care. he just knows that's his favorite sound in the world and he wants to share it with everyone.

i got excited with this ask loll. i might have some typos, so just lmk if you notice any ^3^

[callsign-marlie]

Prologue. Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV. Part V. Part VI. Part VII. Part VIII. Part IX. Part X.

Table of Contents pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x f!KazanskyOC, Jake "Hangman" Seresin x f!KazanskyOC Story Content Warning: Rate M for mature content (minors DNI!!!) including but not limited to: mentions of drug use/smoking, alcohol consumption, explicit sexual scenarios, angst that will make your head spin and more to add a/n: i was having more difficulty than I'd like to admit with this chapter. It's more of a transition and gives us a look at misha herself (and moose too!!!) next chapter though? hope you're ready for the real fun to begin ;3 x marlie

Part III. Reprisal

It had been at least 10 years since Misha had seen her godfather, but man, was he exactly the same as she remembered! Same stark white smile, same dark hair (albeit streaked with some grays in his sideburns), and the same faint scent of jet fuel on his shirt when she embraced him. His eyes were a bit duller and he had a few more wrinkles than she remembered, but Mav was still Mav, no matter what time had done to him. 

He plopped himself on the step next to Misha, knocking the side of her thigh with his fist. "Running into two people I love in one night. Must be my lucky day!"

"Love you too, Uncle Pete," she smiled truly. "But two people? Who else did you see?"

Maverick was silent, shaking his head. "Just an old flame. It's amazing with 30 years could do."

"You're still hung up on a flame from 30 years ago?" Misha questioned incredulously. "That, shocks me to the core, Mav. No way a person could hold your emotions hostage that long. You've been freer than the wind!"

"Things change," he said, eyes drifting back into the Hard Deck. "Sometimes you don't know what you have until you have it again for the first time in a while. It's like rain after a drought."

Pete's eyes swung back to his niece, ruffling her hair. "Kinda like seeing you. I miss my godbaby, sometimes."

"Uncle Pete, I'm 32," she laughed, shooing him away. "I'm definitly not a baby anymore."

"You'll always be my baby. And you'll always be a responsibility to me."

A comfortable silence fell between the two with the salt of the sea drifting through their nostrils. This, to Misha, was peace. Her uncle, her dog, and the sea with the gust of piano whirling in their ears. Misha could see in her mind an acoustic guitar, a bonfire, mouths wide with laughter, a hand resting on her shoulder...

Had she seen this scene before?

Moose traipsed over in seeing the new guest, sniffing at Pete's knuckles. His tail cautiously wagged twice before recognizing the scent, leaving a lick on Mav's arm. The pilot ruffled the dog's soft fur, a fond smile on his lips. "Hey Moosey, look at you, boy! You're huge!"

"He just turned three," Misha grinned, watching the reunion. "Can you believe it? It feels like yesterday that he got here."

"I can't, I remember you writing an email to me about him. I hope he's been serving you well."

"I don't know what I would have done without Moose," Misha replied, watching her good boy's tongue loll to the side at Maverick's scratches on the bridge of his nose. "He's been a life saver, both literally and figuratively. He alerts people when I'm having episodes and keeps me safe when things spiral out of control. Even on days where I just can't seem to function, Moose is always there ready with some snacks and water to get me through it."

Pete's eyes narrowed at her words. "Episodes? Of what?"

"It's -- uh-- more of a response to my PTSD, I guess? Anxiety attacks, my psych told me, but with pings of memory collection sometimes. I just -- drop, like my body just doesn't want to be awake to recall it in person. All of this information goes past my head at once, but when I come out of it, I can't remember anything. It's frustrating as hell."

"Does this happen often?"

Misha shook her head no. "Last time it happened was about 7 months ago now, in my shower, shockingly enough. It's more like just experiencing deja vu now. I found the right combination of meds to prevent a lot of the memory loss and unconsciousness, but there's always a chance they won't work, which is where Moosey boy comes in."

The dog's ears pricked at the sound of his master saying his name before he collapsed back at Mav's feet to greedily receive more pets.

"I know we're going to be working together on this mission, Mav," Misha started, staring back out to the black glass of the ocean. "And I want you to know I'm going to do my best. I won't make dad regret this."

Mav's face softened at her determination. There's our girl, Ice. "No doubt you will. Speaking of him, how’s he doing? I’ve been meaning to visit since I got in, but he's been all work and no play per normal.” His hand absentmindedly scratched Moose, who was basking in the attention, turning his rear in the pilot's direction.

Misha was quiet for a beat, only offering a stiff nod at the confession. How does she word this? “He’s alright. We... we don’t talk much after… you know,” she trailed, her gaze turning to her grimy sneakers.

Pete's gaze softened at his niece. “We all hit rough spots, kid. Your dad loves you no matter what, that I can assure you.” Mav’s hand went to the side of her neck and he gave a reassuring squeeze. “He never stopped updating me about you. Good, bad and everything in between. I’m so proud of you, Meesh. Seriously. What you did was not easy to do.”

A crooked smile ended up on her lips at the praise. “Yeah, well, it would have been a lot easier if I never took the Oxys in the first place. It was either clean up or I’d be buried in some state prison by now. Or worse.” She didn’t want to imagine what else could have happened. The past was the past and deserves to stay in the past.

Misha had gone quiet for a beat, the sound of the waves crushing further in the distance. “I’m not going back to that, Uncle Pete,” Misha said firmly, her eyes locking with Maverick’s. “I’m going to be better than I ever was. I’m gonna outdo myself in every possible category, even if I can’t fly anymore because of my hearing or my injuries. These guys will be ready for anything.”

Mav’s grin could have lit the sky. He replaced his hand from Moose to her her, running an absentminded finger over a long forgotten scar on top of her hand. “You know, I wasn’t sure what your old man was up to when he told me you were going to be on board with this. But now I know: like me, you’re the butt end of a horribly overplayed joke. Only difference between you and I is that actually Ice believes in you to do the right thing. You still have time for a second chance, Misha. I’ll always be the loose cannon here!”

You’re a loose cannon, chica. I like that in a woman.

A shot of ice pierced her heart, her breath hitching for the briefest of moments. What the– what the hell was that?

“Misha?” Maverick raised a quizzical brow, concern lacing his eyes at her sudden rigor. “You alright?”

“Yeah I just– I have to go back inside, Mav, I’m sorry. Penny’s probably wondering where I am. It was good talking to you, I’ll see you at debriefing.” She stood briskly, jutting around on her toes to leave her uncle in the sand without a second glance. What in the world was that voice? It was thicker, deeper. Familiar? Has she heard it before? 

That was enough coincidences for the night.

Misha had quietly returned to her spot behind the bar, slapping her towel over her shoulder, chuckling to herself in realization filling the next brew.

“What?” Penny yelled over the buzz of voices. “What’s so funny?”

Misha blindly slid the beer over to an awaiting hand. She missed the swing of the Hawaiian cotton as he spun on his heel. “I didn’t even light up, Pen. Hoo boy, it's gonna be a long night!”

—

The next morning, bright and early, Misha awoke to a black garment bag crucified on the back of her door. The material was dark and intimidating against the pure white wood grain. Groaning, she hobbled over to peak at a note tagged to the front. A new uniform for a new start. Make me proud. - Papa

She was stony faced while unzipping the fresh pressed and crisp khaki uniform, a badge with ‘Kazansky’ printed in graphite blue across the front. It held no team badge along her left breast. Her lieutenant stars on her lapels were freshly shined, her achievement badges and pins were all neatly aligned in rows. Her dad must have gotten her a new set and hand-placed all of her merits with his slow, arthritic grip. She had pondered where the strips of ribbon came from. After all, her previous set had been haphazardly thrown away in a shoebox deep within her dingy Jacksonville apartment. No way he had retrieved them - had he?

Misha shook her head. The infallible Tom Kazansky would never sink so low to dig through her mess on his hands and knees.

She mindlessly traced the top of the collar, the hard pressed curve strict on her fingertips. Her throat was tight. When was the last time she wore her khaki uniform? She couldn’t recall. With shaking fingers, she pulled it fast off of the hangar. Misha didn’t bother looking in the mirror while she stripped and threw it on at mach speed. Moose had awoken from his slumber and was staring at her quizzically, cocking his head to the side at his master’s hurried movements. 

She faced the pup, opening her arms to him. “Well, how do I look, boy?”

Moose only stared, his ears perked.

“Yeah, I know, bud,” she muttered, attempting to pull her hair into a strict bun without looking. The tight pull on her scalp tugged at the corners of her skin in a familiar tingle. It took her only two attempts and a load of the four year old gel she had found under her vanity to slick it back properly. Finally, she turned to face the mirror, and gasped.

Who the hell was that?

The reflection was gaunt, pale, and had bags under her green eyes. Her face was pock marked with small scars across the tops of her cheeks and forehead. Her cheek was angled by a familiar skin graft along her right jaw that was usually hidden by her hair. A similar dark pink scar followed the bottom of her jaw to her chest and ran crooked beneath her slightly too large uniform. She looked like a scarecrow, patched together by scraps: A monster. This person in the mirror wasn’t familiar. Her stance, her clothes, her appearance, none of it. She was a stranger. 

Her shaking right hand brushed over the top of the scar on her chest and shoulder. It had been so long since she'd seen the wound. She normally used baggy t-shirts and makeup to cover the remains of a forgotten past– of a time she just couldn’t remember. 

Misha had known she was in an accident during her tenure in TOPGUN, but she didn’t remember the details. She recalled flying with the sun too bright in her eyes, she remembered the yelling, the heat, the fucking ringing in her ears, and then a hospital bed with tubes coming from every crevice of her body. No one seemed to ever clarify for her what had happened that fateful day no matter how much she asked. It was “classified” and the information was not to be disclosed since it involved the “destruction of government property on neutral soil”. Misha had left it at that: a gap in her memory. She had tried to move on with her miserable life, scarred and disfigured from an event she couldn’t remember.

God had tested her, and she failed his trials miserably.

Misha tore her gaze away from the mirror, chin tucked to her chest, and trampled down the stairs with leadened feet. Sarah was at her place in the kitchen with Tom sipping coffee at the dinner table reading the daily paper. Both stopped in their tracks at the sight of her.

“Honey…,” Sarah muttered out, her hand gravitating to her mouth at the sight of her oldest. She rushed around the corner to pull Misha into her chest, hot tears dropping to the skin of her daughter’s neck. Misha had let out a gasp of surprise, her hands flailing up, but eventually - unsteadily - let them drop to her side to allow her mother to hug her. Sarah pulled away, her hands cupping Misha’s chin. ”There’s my girl. This is how I remember you. My gorgeous, courageous, feisty girl. You look good in khaki, dovie.”

Misha’s chest swelled at the warmth of her mother’s gaze and her childhood nickname, returning a small, meek smile. She held her hands in her own, stroking at the wrinkles of the top of her fingers. When did she get wrinkles?

“It feels weird to wear my uniform again. I feel like it’s a bit too big for me. It’s heavy! I don’t remember it ever being heavy!” Misha laughed. 

She didn’t see Tom’s grin, or the tear welling at the corner of his eye. That was his girl. There she was. She was small and timid, but seeing her like this proved that she was still alive somewhere in that corpse of a woman that stood in his kitchen. It’s heavy with the weight of your own expectations, my girl he thought to himself. Please, please don’t let it crush you.

—

The debriefing was, well, brief — Admirals Beau “Cyclone” Simpson and Solomon “Warlock” Bates were extremely concise with their explanations. Hotshot and Maverick stood at attention, the younger more strict than the other, while the plans and details were laid out plainly. The premise behind the mission wasn’t difficult to grasp: two miracle shots and one of the hardest evacuation turns that Misha had ever seen written on paper.

She didn’t need to use her statistical prowess to find a hitch.

“Sirs, there’s an extremely high possibility that not everyone will be able to accomplish that turn without failure. You know that, correct?” Misha was stern with her delivery, her eyes straight ahead. Her throat was disobeying her, that familiar tightening of anxiety dripping to her stomach. Moose, now dressed in a camouflage service vest, rested the apex of his skull under the hand at her back as a reassurance. She did not respond to his bumps against her fingers.

“Affirmative. And for some godforsaken reason, Iceman trusts you two with teaching our brightest, most talented fighters to succeed” Cyclone spat out. “Maverick I can understand because of his experience, but his own failed daughter who couldn’t even pass TOPGUN… Who didn’t even keep her wings! ” He shook his head. “In all honesty, Lieutenant Kazanksy, your track record does not impress me in the slightest. In fact, I’m so unimpressed, I actually laughed when your file was placed in my hand.”

Cyclone’s dark eyes targeted Misha. She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t perceive her. She would have rather folded herself in two than be subject to his gaze. Maverick steadied her with just a look. Breathe. Don’t let him get to you.

Hotshot took her breath, grounding her feet to the concrete.

“I’m more worried about you than Maverick causing a ruckus on this operation, even if your feet are firmly planted on the ground.”

“I assure you Sir,” Misha began, “I did my time and learned my lesson well. I have been rehabilitated and have been living clean for three years now. I won’t make the same mistakes. I’m here to crunch numbers, not metal.”

“I heard around the academy that you were an excellent mathematician,” Warlock began, his hands resting under his chin. “Aeronautics and physics, was it?”

“It was– is, Sir.” Misha grinned. She was still too frightened to pull her vision away from behind their heads, but immediately loosened her shoulders at Warlock’s praise. “I graduated at the top of my class as a RIO in Annapolis before dual-certifying as a driver in flight school, Sir.”

“And what made you decide to dual-certify?”

“Button pushing is, well… boring. Sir.”

Maverick attempted to hide his smirk and failed miserably. Warlock gave Misha a gentle smile in defeat. “You really are Ice’s daughter, aren’t you? Even your father, as intelligent as he was, was more privy on flashy acrobatics and shooting than generating routes and button pushing.”

“Is,” Maverick retorted. “Is, Sir. Iceman is still a Fleet Admiral. He’s not dead.” Four pairs of eyes interlocked with each other as the inevitable ‘yet’ lingered in the air.

tag list: @alanadetigy @luckyladycreator2 @alldaysdreamers @blue-aconite

[eremiie]

i’ll take care of u

❥ 1.6k words | nsfw | dom!eren x sub!armin

❥ content: deep throating/face fucking, praising

❥ i was sad and h word so i wrote eremin smut🙄🙄, i think it cured my writers block too— this is self indulgent bye ++ thanks to my bestie coercing me to write this oops

"fuck,"

it was sinful, how lips bruised red formed an 'o' around eren's cock.

those same lips made eren throw his head back, hips lifting from the bed to push more into armin's mouth. "min, fuck, take me more."

he was trying his knuckles going red from how he gripped painfully at the sides of eren's sweats, hair tousled from the grip eren had on his blonde locks. he could only whimper around eren when he tried to push him down his length further, armin gagging and lurching forward from eren's rush of his hips.

armin's mouth was stuffed, he didn't think he could go any further. he felt like he could feel eren in every part of it; his tongue sliding on the underside of eren's cock, vein protruding as it slid against the slick-sopped surface of his tongue. and when eren would push more into the heat of his mouth his tip would brush the ridge of armin’s throat— eren's body jolting at that feeling he craved for. longed for.

and he'd push armin past his limit if he could get it.

armin shoves himself off of eren, heavy pants of breath making his chest heave while he struggles to catch his breath. he's lucky the fingers that tangled between his blonde strands held on so loosely. but even though the annoyance wasn't prevalent in his grip it was in his stare.

it made armin feel small. how eren gave him a grim look. low-lidded, dispirited. if it wasn't for the way eren's jaw was still hung open, pleased at the sight of his precum decorating armin's lips and spit gathering in the crevices, armin would've felt apologetic. would've tried harder to get eren as deep as he wanted to be.

eren would've done that himself anyway, he'd be where he wanted to be.

"armin,"

"'ren, i'm trying." it's the dispirited look that wafts into armin's eyes. he thinks he's doing enough, he wants to be doing enough for eren. but eren was relentless; always wanted more.

"i know you can get deeper than that," eren's grip on armin’s hair tightens, the tension on his scalp heightening and his doe eyes scrunching up from the twinge. "c'mon, push up."

he'll listen, he always listens to eren. always wanting to please him. it was satisfactory for him as well, knowing that it was him that could make eren shudder, knowing that eren would always come to him when he needed to unwind.

so he shuffles forward on blushed knees, his hands placing themselves on eren's thighs, lifting himself a bit until he hovers over eren again.

armin's warm breath fans over eren's tip and he catches it twitch, eren's hips rising so slightly until his head is grazing armin's bottom lip. he'd chuckle if he could— but he doesn't think eren would find it funny. instead, he opens up for his boy, looking up at eren and giving him those sky eyes he can't resist.

eren relaxes under armin, and he groans above him when his hot mouth engulfs his cock again. "yeah," eren sighs, and armin's surprised that he's not shoving him downward, instead, using the slight hold he has on his head to bob armin slowly. "feel so good, my baby boy."

armin relishes in the praise, humming around eren and fluttering his eyes shut as he begins to move on his own. his hair sways in his face with every motion while some pieces clung to the sweat that accumulated on his forehead.

he pulls one of his hands off of eren's thigh, bringing it to the base of his cock to pump what he can't reach while he works at his tip. he comes up before letting his tongue slide against the underside, a small whimper leaving his throat when he catches sight of eren's lip caught between his teeth, laying back with his elbows supporting himself as he watched armin suck him off. not to mention the strain in armin's pants, knees knocking together to try and relieve the stress between his legs.

"here," the bed creaks lightly as eren lifts himself from his elbows. the hand holding him finally let's go, but the breath his hair gets is short-lived. both of eren's palms come to the side of his head while eren shifts his body, legs spreading as far as his sweats would let him. "'gonna fuck that pretty throat good, okay?"

it felt too good to be true. eren was being too gentle, giving armin the brief benefit of the doubt.

it wasn't much of eren asking and more of eren telling. telling armin that he was gonna use him, that he'd be inside his throat until his seed was spilling into it, until he was spluttering for air, grabbing at his neck while his cheeks and nose splotched red.

one of eren's hands travels to the blades of armin's shoulder, pulling him more forward with ease. armin wasn't sure if it was because of how light he was or how strong eren was. that same hand quickly returns to where it was snug in armin's hair. "just breathe." he says it like it's so easy. like it'd prevent armin from choking around him completely if he "just breathed". and although armin wanted to, he refrains from rolling his eyes and lets eren guide him over his leaking cock.

it's fine up until eren's tip hits the back of his throat. armin's nose scrunches up and he instinctively begins to try to come up, but eren's hold doesn't let him. "nuh-uh," armin barely catches the strain of eren's voice as he scolds him. "you got it, baby."

it's the way the nickname rolls off of eren's tongue that makes armin whine and tries to relax his throat. that makes armin attempt to breathe through his nose until he gags again, fingers clawing at the black fleece of eren's sweatpants. he knows his saliva has probably soaked the material— with how impatient eren was to get armin’s lips around him he didn't pull his bottoms out the way enough, spit gathering at the base of his cock and some on the fabric of his sweats.

when armin whines again, eren lets him come up, the blonde gasping as his lungs grasps for the air. he coughs, and even through his troubled state eren still manages to gaze at him in awe.

"shit," eren likes it. he's always liked it messy; tears, spit, cum— whatever he could get on armin would end up on armin, and he'd try his luck at that now too. he'd already had two things checked off, tears rolling down armin's cheeks that armin himself didn't even realize, and spit glossing his chin.

eren reaches to pump himself as he waits, and his thumb caresses the side of armin's head. "doing good, 'min." he tilts his cock towards armin and nudges him forward. "again."

he closes his eyes only for a moment before he opens them back up when armin's lips wrap around him, eyebrows knit and his own lips failing to hold back a moan. "god," he wants— needs to feel armin's throat again. "look at me."

armin doesn't miss a beat, looking up at eren with big blue eyes, his blonde lashes reaching for the ceiling, and eren’s hips stutter. "fuck, fuck," eren can only ignore the way armin gags when he sheathes himself in his throat, ignore the tears spilling over his cheeks and the way he whimpers. "so fuckin' good for me."

it only all adds to the burning pleasure inside eren, it only helps him want to use him more.

and he does until he's spent, both hands holding armin against his pelvis as he draws out a moan and spills hot white in his lover's mouth. he's twitching, his eyes roll back, and his hips continue to slowly roll forward as he finishes releasing in armin.

the hand tangled in armin's hair trembles from pleasure as he comes down, and only draws circles on his scalp until it falters completely.

armin finally pulls away, delicate fingers moving up his chest to his neck as he catches his breath, broken sounds tumbling from him from where he sat on his knees. he lolls his tongue out as if he's ridding himself of the icky sensation on it— or maybe showing eren that he was good for him, pink surface clean from any traces of cum.

he swallowed all that eren gave him, and eren gives a weak smile. "get up baby." eren's palm is open to armin, and armin takes it. standing up on weak knees, he crawls on top of his boyfriend happy to have been enough for him, happy to be able to feel him intimately— hearing his heartbeat and feeling the rise and fall of his chest. "you did so well."

armin doesn't need to respond to the praise for eren to know that he received it. he's too busy getting comfortable on top of eren, taking pride in what he just managed, and enjoying eren's hand stroking his clothed back.

but even though armin's calm and jubilant, eren doesn't fail to feel how hard he was from where he rests on top of him. armin would never try to make it about himself— but no matter how much he'd make it about eren, eren would never neglect him in the end. at the end of the day, there was too much love, too much satisfaction in gratifying one another, and now it was eren's turn.

eren's hand drops to the hem of armin's shirt, warm as it pushes the fabric up with the glide of his hand. a kiss is pressed to the top of armin's head, and armin smiles.

"let me take care of you next."

[frangipanidownunder]

Tiny fic prompt: A kiss between M&S that starts innocently but turns into more, but doesn't begin a relationship for them (can be pre or post millennium, your choice).

Leaving a Mark: fic

Post Field Trip. Thanks for the prompt, gorgeous. This turned out much longer than I anticipated.

Quarantine over, Scully luxuriated in her own bath. She still felt a little weird, light-headed, as though the fungus was still in her system, squeezing reality from her brain cells and replacing it with vague fantasy. In one, she kissed Mulder. Or maybe he kissed her. It didn’t matter much, but the feeling was so intense that she had to stick her face in the freezer compartment to snap back to the now.

Lavender oil permeated the air, an aromatic replacement for the brackish, earthy scent that seemed to be trapped in her nasal memory. She pressed her nose into her shoulder and inhaled. When she lifted her face away, there was a flash of oozing yellow and she blinked back Mulder’s face, so close to hers she could see the diamond flecks in his eyes, the tiny charcoal dots of his whiskers. The mirage faded as quickly as it came. She walked to the kitchen, pulling the ties of her robes tighter, musing about calling Mulder to see if the hallucinations were still lingering for him.

Their minds must have still been connected because he knocked at her door and before she could grasp what was happening, he was leaning against her countertop, brooding in a black leather jacket and dark denim jeans.

“Are you…are you still feeling a little off, Scully?” His fingers drummed on the laminate and she couldn’t extract her gaze from his slender digits. The rhythm he made was hypnotic. She couldn’t think what to say to him, just rubbed at her temple. “Scully? Scully? Are you okay?”

His voice drifted back and forth around her. His hands braced her shoulders and she breathed in his cologne, concentrating on ridding herself of the rotten scent of that cave that filled her nostrils. Gradually, her vision focused. There was his face, as close as in her hallucination, his lips glistening, his broad nose flaring out, his eyes revealing concern for her.

“I’m fine,” she said, but he clearly didn’t believe her. He manoeuvred her round and leant her against the bench. The drawer handle dug into the small of her back. His spot. She opened her mouth to complain but he was no longer in front of her. In her mind, she saw the yellow slime dripping, tasted the salty, sulphurous gunge. She coughed it away.

Then Mulder was back, holding a glass of water for her. “Thank you.” It tasted eggy and she gagged, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. “I think the effects of the hallucinogen might last longer than predicted.”

“I’ve been having very vivid…um…dreams, I guess you’d call them.” He blushed slightly, and looked away.

“I think, as we discovered, that the…uh…hallucinations we shared…came from the deepest recesses of our subconscious and we cannot…uh…read too much into them.” Surely, she didn’t just want to be right all the time? And yes, Mulder wanted aliens to be real, but he was so much more than that. “If your…dreams…are of a…um, sensual, nature…perhaps it’s your brain replaying some of your…um video collection?”

He chuckled. “I’m the psychologist in this team, Scully, and I get it. I do. But they’re not wild porn fantasies. I’d like to think I’m deeper than just my video collection. No, they’ve been…um…dreams that strike closer to home.”

Oh. “I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. I mean, I’ve been imagining…seeing…familiar faces in the brief moments when I’ve been tired or…it’s to be expected. We were subjected to…”

“By familiar faces,” he said, edging closer to her, “do you mean me?” He rubbed at his nose. “Because I’ve been seeing nothing but your face and you and I…are…um…”

The downward tilt of his face caused an opposite and equal reaction in hers and their lips were millimetres apart, his nose skimming her cheek. “Kissing,” she said for him, but the word was pushed directly into his mouth and swallowed.

His hands clasped around her waist, pulling her close enough to feel the zipper of jacket through the fabric of her robe. She knew it would leave a mark, but maybe that would make it real.

His feet knocked against hers as he dipped lower. Her neck and shoulders strained as she reached up towards him. Her mouth opened, seeking more of his warmth, his tongue, his urgency. She couldn’t breathe, his nose pressed against hers, she tapped his chest with the heel of her hand and he sensed her need, because he shifted his face slightly, and she inhaled, clear, clean oxygen. Her breasts rose as she took in air and Mulder moaned, the reverberations sending sparks down her spine. His thumb traced her jawline and his fingers cupped the back of her head, under her hair. The weight of him, leaning over her, tasting her, was almost too much and her legs began to tremble. Again, he sensed her struggle and slowly, painfully, let her go, pressing one last gentle kiss against her. A full stop

“Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?” He was smiling as he muttered the words to her. “Um, that was…wow, okay.”

“Yes. Exactly. Wow. That was…that was,” she touched the bones under her neck, swallowed, aware of the taste of him still. “That was like my…”

“Hallucination? Mine too.” He stepped back, rolled his bottom lip under his teeth. “This can’t be real, Scully. We can’t…we aren’t…Are we still underground? Being digested?”

Her guts turned to ice. “Maybe. But the quarantine? Fourteen days. We’d be dead by now. Wouldn’t we?”

He shrugged. “You’re the doctor. Maybe this is heaven. I mean, that kiss…”

She dipped her head to smile at her feet. It was a pretty good kiss. Surpassed her hopes. “We should call Skinner.”

“Why? So he can feed into our delusions? No. We can’t involve anybody else. This is our problem.”

“Is it a problem?” She was struck by fear again. They shouldn’t have done it. They were partners, for God’s sake.

“No! No…of course not, that’s not what I meant, Scully. I wanted to kiss you. Very much. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, if I’m being honest. And I thought that you did…”

“Yes,” she cut in quickly. “Yes, I do. I did. Very much. But…”

“It’s complicated.” He fiddled with the ends of his jacket, pulling the tag up the zipper. “It was always going to be complicated.”

“The caught in a landslide, no escape from reality type of complicated?”

“I think so,” he chuckled, moving towards the door. “I should get going. I only came here to check on you.”

Yes. He had. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Are you fine?”

He grinned as his hand turned the knob. “I’m very fine, Scully. Very, very fine.”

“And tomorrow?”

His eyebrows rose. “Maybe it’ll be like it never happened?”

“Right.” Is that what she wanted? She didn’t know. 

“But, our subconscious will remember it, so that if we ever find ourselves in the position of kissing once more, we’ll know exactly what to do.”

She nodded. “The position of kissing.”

He dropped a small kiss on her cheek before walking out the door. She listened to his footsteps until they disappeared before heading back into the living room, where she found herself dialling his number, hooking the phone under her ear, eager to hear his voice.

“We’re not still underground, are we Mulder?” she asked him, his engine turning over in the background. “We’re not dead.”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

He was back at the door before she knew what was happening and he took her face in both hands, kissing her deeply, before inching lower and running his tongue under her ear, down the line of her neck, over her hyoid, until he found a sweet spot along her collar bone. There he nipped, nuzzled and sucked until her nipples tightened and her head lolled back.

The mark bloomed dark red, broken capillaries flowering out. She pressed a pad of her finger to it, feeling it warm under her touch as blood pooled there. She was alive. They were alive. She laid back on her bed smiling until she fell asleep.

Tomorrow in her mind, it might be like it never happened, but her skin would tell a different story.