#his fingers are so long bruv

[tropes-and-tales]

Dyin' for a Taste

Day 11:  Face Sitting (Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  Idiots in love; pining; smut (oral, f!receiving); 18+ only.

Word Count:  4096

AN:  This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: When I say this is not edited, please know it is NOT EDITED. Full of typos and sloppy typing. Tropes is a fat-fingered old crone.

It starts with a joke.

The 141 is on a covert ops in the mountains.  It’s cold—the sort of cold that burns, that makes the bones ache.  You’re posted up in a perch, your sniper’s rifle at the ready if shit goes south.  The rest of the team is in the square below, waiting for the drop.

“My bollacks are gonna freeze off,” Soap complains over the comms, and you snort at the whining tone in his soft Scottish brogue. 

“Shoulda dressed for the weather,” you reply.  “Ghost probably has a spare balaclava.”

“And cover this handsome face?”

“Won’t be so handsome when your nose turns black from frostbite.”

You hear the tsch noise he makes over the comms, the very Soap, very Scottish noise of dismissal. 

“You’ll have to sit on my face then, hen, and warm me back up,” he says.

You’re rarely stunned into silence—you and the guys are always making off-color jokes—but when you open your mouth to reply, you only gape wordlessly.  The silence over the comms grows, expands, until Gaz—fucking Gaz—chimes in.

“I think she’s into the idea, bruv.”

And you can’t respond to that fast enough either, which leaves another long beat of silence over the comms, which likely seems like enough of an answer.

-----

The mission goes smoothly.  The team splits up as planned to avoid drawing attention.  You don’t see Soap again until a few days later when you regroup at HQ.

You think, perhaps, that he’s forgotten.  Maybe that’d be better.  You and Soap get along well, and sometimes he flirts with you, but he flirts with everyone.  It means nothing. 

And yet…

And yet, it’s Soap.  You might be able to lie to others, but you can’t lie to yourself:  you’ve spent many a lonely night with your thoughts drifting to him.  Turning him over and over in your mind. 

Soap MacTavish.  Handsome, almost unbearably so.  He could be a cocky asshole, be the sort of man who knows he’s hot and be insufferable about it, but he’s gregarious.  Friendly.  He’s a happy-go-lucky sort of man—or as much as someone in the One-Four-One can be.

-----

“Been avoiding me.”

It’s a statement, not a question.  Soap corners you in the mess hall, his blue eyes peering at you without guile.  He looks almost concerned.

“I haven’t,” you reply.  You try to shift past him, but he puts a hand out against the doorway, bars you with his arm.

“You have.”  He peers at you closer, his blue eyes somber.  “What’s wrong?”

“Why would anything be wrong?”

You thought, perhaps, that he’d forgotten…but those somber eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, then smooth out as he schools his expression.

“Maybe you think my offer was wrong,” he says.

“I never said that.”  You duck under his arm, but he lays his hand on your shoulder and stills you again.

“You’ve never said anything about it.”  You don’t look at him, but you hear his gentle snort of laughter.  “Your silence is deafening.”

You feel your face start to heat up because he’s not wrong.  Too much time has passed now to address that moment in the mountains.  You should have said something then, spat out some rejoinder to signal that it meant nothing to you, that it was just another dumb joke between you and Soap.  But something about that dumb joke conjures up the mental image of you and Soap, and your face burns in embarrassment.

So you duck from his light grip on your shoulder and it makes him laugh again, then call out to your retreating form, “the offer still stands, hen.”

-----

A month passes, then another.  You get leave for a few weeks and go someplace warm, a beach with golden sand and soft breezes where you can relax and forget the horrors of what you see every day.

Then you’re back on base, then another mission.  Over and over, the same routine.

Through it all:  Soap MacTavish, the team’s Golden Retriever.  Always with an easy grin on his handsome face, a laugh, a joke.  He teases Ghost, he does a passable impression of Captain Price.  He gives Gaz a hard time about their rival rugby teams, but it’s always good-natured. 

He jokes with you, but that joke—the one about sitting on his face—becomes just a joke between the two of you.  You don’t know if the other men have forgotten it, but Soap only brings it up when you’re alone now.

At the barracks, in the rec room, he’s sprawled out on the couch and half-dozing, half-watching a rugby match.  When you walk past, he notices, sits up.  Beckons you over, tells you to have a seat…then thoughtfully strokes his face with that damned smirk and comically waggling eyebrows.

“You’re a jackass,” you call out as you leave the room, but by now, it makes you laugh…and it lightly stokes that ever-burning flame low in your belly.

-----

Another time, he sidles up to you at the range as you study your targets with their tight formation of bullet holes.  He points out one shot, high in the corner of the paper, off of the concentric circles of the bullseye.

“Missed one,” he says.

You scoff.  “One out of….many.”

He matches your scoff with one of his own.  “Might be losing your edge.”

“I’m not.”  You know he’s winding you up, but that missed shot galls you. 

“Maybe you’re stressed out.”

You set the target down on the wooden railing.  “Maybe you’re stressing me out, MacTavish.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.  His blue eyes light up in glee, and he only gets out the first part of his retort—You know what’s good for de-stressing—before you drop to one knee and start disassembling your sniper rifle, ducking your head and hiding your burning cheeks from him.

“…nothing wrong with it,” he finishes as you shut the rifle’s case, and you realize you’ve missed part of what he’s said.

“There isn’t,” you agree.  You stand up and lean a bit on the courage that sees you through each mission.  You look him square in the eye and add, “but you’re just flirting.”

He gazes back at you, a soft smile on his face, only a little teasing.  “Not just flirting.”

“Sure.”  You roll your eyes.

He makes his Soap-branded tsch sound, then he loops his arm around your shoulders to pull you in close.  He smells like…well, he smells like soap, clean with a hint of something herbal.  It’s nothing he hasn’t done a hundred times—in safe houses after a mission, walking out of a bar on a night out with the team—that companionable way he pulls you against him.

“It makes me sad when you don’t believe me, hen,” he chuckles, and it’s low, right by your ear, his warm breath fanning over you. 

You’re not sure what spurs your next move.  You’re a natural-born sniper; you take the measure of everything around you—the curve of the earth, the speed and direction of the wind—before you squeeze your trigger.  You’re the same with people, cautious and feeling out every angle of their intentions before you make a move.  But you know Soap, and the question around his joke is the only uncertainty.

Something makes you act without much thought.  Your rifle case in your hand, your other hand tucked in your pocket, and Soap’s arm slung around your shoulders…the moment is crystalized, will be an easy memory to recall in the years to come because this is when everything between the two of you changes.

“You know what?” you ask, and you don’t allow him to hazard a guess.  Instead, you gaze at him levelly, straight into those bright blue eyes of his and add, “alright, let’s do this.”

It’s comical, how the smile drops from his face, how his mouth makes a little “oh” of surprise.  His eyes scan your face, quick, like he’s trying to find the joke, trying to find proof you’re just having a laugh at his expense.

“Bonnie,” he starts to say, and his voice has a rough edge to it.  His voice is missing its usual teasing edge, and he pauses to study you.  You don’t know if he realizes it, but the tip of his tongue darts out, licks against his lower lip, like he’s really thinking of it now that it could be a reality.

“Bonnie, are you just…are ye fer real?”  His voice is lower and his accent gets thicker, and it sets a frisson of heat shimmering through your lower belly.

You refuse to blink.  Refuse to look away.  “I’m for real if you are.”

“I was never joking about that.”

“Then I’m not joking either.”  You swing your rifle case towards the barracks, playing at bravery but willing the fluttery feeling in your stomach to calm.  “So let’s go.”

Soap—gregarious, convivial Soap—says nothing else on the walk back.  He keeps his arm around your shoulders, though, and his hand settles against your bicep, rubs you briskly before gently holding you there, like he’s proving to himself that you’re real, that the moment is really happening.

-----

Your nerve wobbles a little when you get back to quarters.  Soap’s nerves must have a similar wobble, because he turns to you and his usual boyish grin is gone, replaced by a grave expression.

“You dinnae have to do this,” he says, “if you don’t want to.”

Part of you wants to back out, chuck him in the arm and say it was just a joke.  You could still back out.  Soap is flirty and gregarious, but hooking up would irrevocably change your easy relationship with him.  It could change the tenor of the team.  And yet…

…don’t you both face death every day?  Don’t you see the absolute worst of humanity?  Don’t your bodies bear the scars of your hard, unrelenting lives—countless scars, visible and invisible both?  Don’t you all operate in your own bubbles of loneliness, sleeping alone night after night but crowded out by the ghosts you all haul around?

Is it too much to ask for even a moment of connection, of not feeling alone?

You gaze back at him.  Sweet Johnny MacTavish.  Handsome but not vain, smart but not aloof, funny without being cruel about his teasing.  Is there anyone you’d rather be with?

“I want to do this,” you tell him, and there’s no hesitation in your tone.  “If you do.  If you really were just joking around, then no harm, Johnny.”

His somber gaze softens at your use of his real name.  “Wasn’t joking at all.”  Then he opens the door to his quarters and turns to you, invites you in with a sweep of his hand, and when you walk past him, he lays his palm on your lower back to guide you.

-----

In truth, you’ve never actually sat on anyone’s face.  It’s one of those funny sex acts that you joke around about but have never gotten around to, like sixty-nine (always seemed more complicated than necessary) or food-play (always seemed too messy). 

Soap, it turns out, has never actually had his face sat on.

And it’s adorable, how he sheepishly runs his hand through the longer stripe of his short-shorn hair and admits as much.

“Figured it cannae be that complicated though,” he says.  He huffs out a breath, and you realize how nervous he must be, and it gives you courage to take charge.

“Kiss me first.  Then we can figure it out from there.”

The tame command makes his face light up and he murmurs, “yes, ma’am” in his brogue, and then he does as you say.

If Soap MacTavish is generally the team’s Golden Retriever, bouncing around with a wagging tail, he kisses with far more finesse.  He cups your face gently, reverently and leans forward, brushes the lightest of kisses against your lips like he’s testing the waters.  Like he’s waiting for you to pull away, and when you don’t, he kisses you again.

It’s awkward at first, but only because you’re both so tentative.  It’s uncharted territory.  He must be aware that you’re crossing a line in doing this, you think, and he must not care either.  But the awkwardness melts away quickly because Soap is a damned good kisser, skilled in how he moves his mouth against yours, his tongue against yours.  One of his hands stays on your face, cupping you gently and steering you, but the other hand touches your waist, your hip, slides around to squeeze your ass gently before returning to the dip of your waist.

He tastes like something warm and spicy, like cinnamon or nutmeg.  Everything about him is warm, really:  the way he cups your face but runs his thumb over your cheekbone, the way his other hand holds you steady as he kisses you.  And the way he looks at you when he breaks the kiss, the almost-shy way he tugs at the hem of your shirt and asks if he can take it off.

He’s warm too—his body, his skin as you bare it with each article of clothing shed.  You strip each other in tandem, and the sight of him leaves you breathless.  He’s like something carved by a Renaissance sculptor, but when you smooth your palms over the dips and swells of his muscles, you find that he’s warm to the touch, wonderfully so, and a wave of lust almost takes you out at the knees by how much you want to feel his body against yours, under you or on top of you, every inch of you pressed against him.

Soap must feel the same way about you—he touches you just as gently as before, almost reverent, but his goddamned eyes practically shine when he looks at you, then groans out, “fuck, but you’re stunning, hen.”

He maneuvers you both towards the bed, and then he stretches out across it, and this is precisely why your sexual repertoire has always been lacking:  when a brutally handsome man is stretched out in front of you like a damned buffet, your mind singularly focuses on one thing, and you rarely remember that there’s other, more adventuresome things you could do.

You’re already turned on.  Ever since the two of you walked back from the range, you’ve been on a low simmer of lust, and the desire has ratcheted up with each kiss, with each little grumbling groan of Soap’s, with each sweep of his big warm hands along your body.

So you’re already turned on, so why sit on his face when his beautiful cock—perfectly sized for you, the ruddy tip already leaking precum—is also an option?

And Soap is no dummy.  He must guess at your internal battle because he says your name softly, pulls your gaze back to his face where he smiles that brilliant Soap-smile at you.

“Alright then?” he asks.  He pats his upper chest.  “You can sit right here, to start.”

It hits you all at once how intimate this is.  Fucking, hooking up—that’s one thing.  But sitting on your teammate’s face feels like you’re taking a further step into the unknown.  Oral sex, to you, is already more intimate than regular ol’ intercourse, but sitting on his face feels…even more intimate.  There’s a lot of trust on both ends:  he has to trust you not to hurt him, not to put too much weight or force on his face or neck.  And you have to trust him too, since you’re basically smothering him you with your pussy, and many men are precious little babies about eating pussy.

“I could just…”  You trail off and gesture vaguely at where his erection strains and bobs against his belly, and Soap snorts before he replies, “we could do both, hen.”

When you don’t say anything, when you don’t move, he adds, “c’mon, sweet girl.  I’m dyin’ for a taste of ye.”

The accent is unfair, you decide.  The accent is not fighting fair.  Soap’s Scottish brogue is charming in the best of times, but his bedroom version is thicker, at a slightly lower register, and it’s entirely unfair.  It easily dismantles the rest of your meager defenses, so you nod and then kneel on the bed.  But when you start to awkwardly clamor on top of him, he stills you for a beat and taps his mouth, says, “give me a kiss first.”

And the kiss is unfair too because it reminds you that it’s just Soap, one of your dearest teammates, a man who often holds your life in his hands and whose life you hold in your own.  His now-familiar taste of spicy warmth on your tongue, and his lips curving in a smile against yours when he whispers, “climb on up, hen  Don’t keep me waitin’ anymore.”

There’s no sexy way to climb on top of him.  Do you just kneel by his chest and throw a leg over him?  Do you straddle him lower and scoot up?  You split the difference, try to straddle him on his lower chest and scoot up, but then his one arm gets pinned.  Any other man?  It might be a deal-breaker being so clumsy, but Soap laughs underneath you—a genuine belly-laugh full of warmth that makes you giggle too.  He wrangles his arm free, then lays both hands on your hips and guides you the rest of the way.

This is unbearable intimate too, being so exposed to his bright blue-eyed gaze. You probably have tons of issues around previous men who didn’t eat pussy, who were grossed out by it, but Soap’s eyes practically glitter black with how blown his pupils are.  His face rarely hides its emotions very well (he’s a shitty poker player), and there’s no disgust in his expression at all.  There’s only desire, naked and apparent.

“Tell me,” he says, and his voice is a low growl that sends that frisson of heat straight to your core.  “Tell me what is working for you, yeah?  Don’t go quiet on me.”

You nod, and you wish you could think of something cool or funny to say, but Soap lifts his head a little and presses a plush, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, where both are splayed in front of him, and before you can even beat yourself up for failing to think of something cool or funny, his mouth is on you in earnest.

Soap, a damned good kisser.  It translates to this, his skilled tongue and lips licking at you, suckling at you, swirling against you before he breaks up the pattern with an outright kiss, then resumes his routine.  He traces the tip of his tongue around the firm bud of your clit, the perfect amount of pressure before he snakes it lower, lapping at the arousal leaking from your entrance.  He’s unabashed about it, groans against your feverish skin, and you love him in this moment—love that he wasn’t joking after all, love that he had led you here, where you sit perched on him while he feasts on your cunt and seems to genuinely enjoy it as he does. 

Any other position, you’d lean down and kiss him, or pull him to you and kiss him.  Now, as he groans against you again, you reach down and run your fingers through the longer stripe in his hair.  He must like that, because he groans a third time, and his grip on your hips spasms tighter.

You remember what he asked of you, so when he purses his lips and suckles against your clit, you gasp out a startled “oh!” but then add, “fuck, Johnny.  Just like t-that.”

“Good?”  It comes out muffled against you, and he pauses his mouth long enough to gaze up at you with a smile.

“So good.”  You shift your hand, cup his stubbled chin slick with your arousal—a gentle movement that makes his smile soften too. 

“Like when you call me Johnny, hen.”  Now he sounds a little shy, like he’s edging close to something beyond a random hookup with face-sitting.

“Keep using your mouth like that and I’ll call you Johnny all the time,” you tease.

“Deal.”  And then he’s on you again, laving your sensitive folds with his tongue, his bit of stubble raising a warm burn against your inner thighs.  His hands on your hips pull you closer, and he encourages the slow, careful rhythm when you start to actually ride his face—a languid back-and-forth, mindful of his need for oxygen, while he eats your pussy with the fervor of a starving man.

Your orgasm approaches faster than you thought; you thought you might have to fake it, since you rarely come from oral alone.  But there’s something about this position.  You feel powerful in a benign way, in charge, but mindful of the man underneath you.  You run your fingers through his hair and Soap preens at the touch, just as he preens when you pant out praise for him, tell him how good you feel. How good he is making you feel.

He must sense it because his grip tightens on your hips, but his tongue moves faster and focuses solely on your clit—teasing with the tip of his tongue, then laving it with the flat of his tongue, then wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

“F-fuck,” you choke out.  “Johnny…fuck…I’m gonna…” but you don’t finish the sentence, you keen out a garble of nonsense as you come.

The heat in your belly pools over, spills over in a brilliant wash that courses through your veins, into your trembling legs and up through your body, makes your vision shimmer and crackle with sparks.  Your heartbeat, your panting breath are loud in your own ears, and you hear Soap groan but he sounds faraway.  He teases your orgasm, prolongs it by licking against you until you grip his hair tighter and hold his head still while you clumsily dismount, then flop gracelessly onto the bed beside him.

You feel boneless.  You feel heavy, sleepy, like you could sink into the mattress and sleep for days.  You close your eyes and feel the bed shift, and Soap disappears for a moment.  You hear running water—he must be cleaning his face, you think—but then the mattress dips again and he’s curling his warm body around yours, wrapping his arms around you as he pulls you to him, then settles the blanket over both of you.

“Good, yeah?”

You laugh.  “Yeah, that was good.  Especially for someone who’s never done it before.”  A beat.  “Give me a moment to catch my breath and then I can help you out.”

Soap chuckles above you, and you feel him press his lips to your forehead before settling again.  “No need.”

“But I—”

“Already came.”

The gears in your head turn slow when you’re sated from sex.  Coming makes you stupid.  “Huh?  When?”

Another chuckle, another kiss to your head.  “When I was eating you, hen.”

You turn your head and try to peer up at him.  He looks comfortable and sleepy too, content and sated.  “Seriously?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Told ye I was dyin’ for a taste.”  He shifts a little, pulls you closer to him.  He tugs the blanket more securely around your shoulders.  “If ye want a second round, I’ll need a few minutes.”

You appraise the situation:  the warm scent of Soap, the feel of his naked body pressed to yours, the warm little cocoon he’s created here in his bed.  Of course you want a second round, but you’re sleepy too, and the thought of sleeping with Soap doesn’t seem nearly as terrifying as it might have seemed before he had his mouth on your pussy.

“Or we could sleep,” you offer.

“Sleep,” he agrees.  “Round two tomorrow.”

The doubts from earlier start to surface in your mind, but they seem tiny and inconsequential when you’re wrapped up in Soap’s arms.  You feel sleep tugging at you—he’s already asleep, you think, breathing deep and even against you—so you chance to brush your lips against the bit of him you can reach and whisper good night to him.

But he’s not quite completely asleep yet because he kisses you back, another press of his lips against your head, and he whispers back, “g’night, hen.”

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Also damn his fingers long as hell - ol salad fingers ass. 'i like rusty spoons' headass

I'm looking at this photo and pretending he's offering me a hug in my time of need

[florencemtrash]

Hummingbird: Chapter Two

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

What if the Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe) version of Miguel’s wife was actually Miles’s AP Art teacher?

Masterlist

Miguel grumbled, furiously trying to rub away the oncoming headache as the newly updated Spider-Gang continued to berate him. Jessica only leaned forward on her motorcycle, smirking at the sight of his towering figure surrounded by teenagers.

Gwen prodded him with a pointed finger, “What the hell, Miguel! I can’t believe you-”

“We trusted you and-”

“So what now you’re just on our side like some-” 

Miles’s palms sparked threateningly, “You were going to let my Dad die!”

“Hold the baby, Migs.” Peter tried in vain to shove a babbling Mayday into his hands, “She’s going to make you feel so much better.”

“You and I are gonna have some serious fisticuffs you turtle-”

“You let the power get to your head like some capitalistic-”

Peni’s robot chittered angrily.

“Ok, ok, OK!” Miguel yelled, “Everyone just QUIET!” Turning on his heels so that his broad shoulders blocked out the skyline, he began to mutter, “Dios mío. ¿Qué estoy haciendo? Estos niños me van a matar. Mierda.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the words that were about to leave his mouth.

“I messed up.” he murmured under his breath.

Hobie propped himself up against his guitar, “Sorry bruv, don’t think I heard you ri-”

“I MESSED UP!” Miguel shouted, throwing his hands up in his air. Everyone except Hobie and Miles took a step back. This was the closest thing to an apology any of them could hope to get, and far more than they were expecting to hear from him. “Now in case you’ve forgotten, we still have an imminent multiversal collapse on our hands!” 

“Very imminent,” Lyla said, floating on her back and propping her holographic feet up on Miguel’s shoulder.

Miles stepped forward in the silence, all eyes on him. 

He still had to tilt his head up to meet Miguel’s eyes, but he didn’t feel small. No. He wasn’t small. He wasn’t weak. He was Spider-Man, and together they were going to fix this.

“I still don’t like you but,” he stuck out his hand, “Welcome to the Spider-Gang, Miguel.” 

>>>

“Lyla, take a scan of the-” Gwen spun out of a wormhole, crashing into his side.

“Sorry!” A web shot out of her wrist, pulling her towards the skylight as Miles flipped across the room in a red and black blur.

“Spot, please!” Miles’s voice bounced around the room, sound waves rippling out from a hundred spots at once, “You don’t have to do this.”

Lyla flickered to life on Miguel’s shoulder, a holographic lollipop sticking out the corner of her mouth, “I’m on it!” 

Miguel caught himself on the wall, blades screeching on metal as a dozen more spots popped into existence around him. Rain pelted him from all sides, distracting him long enough for the hub of a cop car to fly out and flatten him against the wall. 

The Spot dipped in and out of the ground, basking in the remnants of the Super-Collider and swallowing up bits and pieces of metal and granite in the process. Wormholes had already started to crop up all around New York, threatening the destruction of buildings as cars and trains suddenly found themselves hundreds of feet above the ground.

“It’s a proper mess out here mates,” Hobie’s voice called out from Miguel’s watch, followed by the shattering of glass, “How much longer is this going to take?”

“I just need fifteen more minutes,” Margo said. A crash sounded in the background along with Jessica’s colorful words, “... maybe twenty.” 

“We don’t have twenty minutes,” Miguel grunted, flinging his body across the room. He strung his webs around a battered console, whipping it around and aiming it directly at the Spot. He only chuckled, lifting his hand and opening a portal. The console smashed into Miguel’s back, sending him crashing to the ground.

Lyla pulled the lollipop out of her mouth with an audible pop! “Scan of the room’s complete. You’re in luck! You’ve got about 17 minutes before the structural integrity of the building goes kaput, starting with the northwest corner.” Her finger glitched as she pointed. 

Joder.

“Guys no. I can do this.” Miles said, his voice tight with effort as he continued to jump around the room, whipping metal at the Spot to distract him long enough to swing to safety. He could make the Spot see reason. He had to.

Margo and Jessica scrambled about the control room three stories up, Margo’s virtual reality body glitching from anxiety as she threaded wires together and fumbled around on the computers in the control room. This dimension’s technology was ancient compared to hers and she was finding it hard to make the adjustment. 

“You really think that would work?” She asked Miles. They all stood side by side atop Alchemax, staring down into the remnants of the Super-Collider where the Spot floated around aimlessly in a pool of black ether. Every so often Margo was certain she could see visions of other dimensions poking through the fabric of spacetime - A baseball game, an explosion, a thousand ships cruising past a desert planet.

“He got his powers using the Super Collider,” Miles reasoned, “Absorbed dark matter energy from countless universes. Reverse the process and we might be able to send it all back to their original dimensions.”

“Leaving him powerless.” Hobie finished, shoving his hands into his jacket and nodding, “I like it.” 

“It’ll be a large scale Go-Home-Machine.” Margo murmured, nodding in understanding as the plan fell into place.

“But you gotta let me talk to him first.” Miles narrowed a pointed glare at Miguel. “Let me make him see reason. End this before it even begins.”

“Are you joking? That’s too risky.” Miguel growled out.

“This could kill him!”

“Oh come on, Miguel, give Miles a chance!” Pavitr had to balance on the tip of his toes to sling an arm around Miguel’s shoulders. “He’s Spider-Man! This will be easy for him! Use that charm and compassion and-”

“Fine.” Miguel said, shrugging Pavitr off, “We’ll try it your way.”

The Spot walked forward menacingly, noting with pride how Miles backed away, hands lifted up in front of him, “So now you want to talk?” 

“Listen, Jonathan - it’s Jonathan, right? - We don’t have to do this. I’m sorry I made fun of you before. I’m sorry that I disregarded you after everything you’ve been through. But you have to understand what you’re doing. This is going to destroy everything. Everything. The universe, the multiverse, all of it. You’ve got the power to-”

“There’s no Jonathan anymore, only the Spot. You still think I’m joking don’t you? You still think we’re going to make up after a grand old speech - that you’re going to save me. Well it’s too late for that, kid.” 

He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers, a portal opening to his left. Someone tumbled out wearing a paint stained Brooklyn Visions Academy sweatshirt. 

Miguel’s heart stopped beating. 

He would recognize you anywhere - in any universe.

“Y/n?” he breathed out. 

“Let’s see how good you really are, Spider-Man.” He snapped his fingers again and a portal opened up beneath your feet. The last thing you heard was the Spot's laughter as you began to fall from the sky.

“NO!” Miguel sprang into action, red laser webs flinging out to the walls as he threw himself into the air. 

“Nuh uh.” The Spot shook his finger, throwing a spot at Miguel and portaling him away, “No help! That’s cheating.” 

Miles sprinted up the walls, tracking the small dot of your figure as you flailed about wildly more than two hundred feet up, desperately trying to straighten your arms and slow your fall. The wind carried your screams away.

He dove towards a spot, arms and legs tucked in straight as an arrow after seeing your sprawling form fall past the wormhole, and re-emerged just above you. With a quick flick of the wrist he caught you, throwing out webs wildly towards the neighboring buildings in a desperate bid to slow your fall. The strands held on for as long as they could, slowing your descent before finally snapping from the tension. 

“Hold on!” He yelled over the wind as the last web broke. The voice sounded familiar. 

You both hurtled through the skeleton of a window before landing and rolling onto the floor of the one of Alchemax lab rooms, the faint smell of chlorine and formaldehyde still clinging to the air.

You pushed yourself onto your knees, prepared to kiss the solid ground beneath you.

“Miss Y/l/n?!” Miles’s jaw dropped, eyes as round as dinner plates. 

You perked your head up, momentarily forgetting your near death experience.

“Miles?!” 

“Oh crap,” he cleared his throat, dropping his voice an octave, “Um, who’s Miles?” 

“What the hell are you doing here? Do your parents know about this? Is this why you’ve been skipping classes? Who let you do this without adult supervision?!” You grabbed him by the shoulder, shaking him. He was just a teenager for fuck’s sake!

“Listen, Miss Y/l/n-” Maybe it was because he was so used to unloading his thoughts in front of you that he launched into a half-baked explanation of everything that had happened, “I got bitten by a radioactive spider-” “I met all these Spiderpeople-” “-and he tried to stop me from saving my dad and-” 

Your head was spinning.

“Oh Spidermaaannnnn!” The Spot called out in a sing-song voice. “Where are you hiding, you little insect?” “I gotta go, just-” he held his hands out, “just stay here for now. Don’t move!” And just like that he was gone, leaving you more confused than ever before.

I don’t get paid enough for this. You thought, standing alone amidst the rubble.

Miguel tore through the rooms, sprinting like a madman. The reverse Super Collider was finally up and running and it was only a matter of time before the Spot would realize their plan and go berserk. The ground beneath him shook and groaned in protest as the building’s foundations began to crumble into nothing, eaten away by the dark matter that spilled out of the Spot.

“Y/N!” he roared, kicking down a door so hard it blew off its hinges.

You hopped off the bench. It seemed silly, but as a civilian caught in the middle of a multiverse-ending battle there hadn’t been anything for you to do but sit and wait for Miles to come back.

A Spider-Man variant barreled towards you, all hard cut lines of red and blue with blades protruding to his forearms that glinted in the dim light. You hadn’t made a decision about whether or not to run - whether or not it was even worth it to try - before he had you wrapped up in his arms, burying his face in your shoulder. The mask fell away like tv static to reveal a head of brown waves that smelled faintly of oranges.

“Dios mío, pensé que te perdí.” He murmured, holding you like his life depended on it. 

You stiffened under his touch before awkwardly raising a hand to pat his back. “Umm, hola. ¿Te conozco?”

Miguel froze, feeling the tension in your body. You didn’t… you didn’t know who he was. He’d just… he’d been so terrified that he’d forgotten himself - the situation they were all in. 

He took a step back, spine ram-rod straight as he suppressed the urge to hold you again. This version of you looked… different. Different, but the same. You were missing the faint scar on your temple you’d gotten from a car crash at seventeen. 

“We need to go.” he said, voice tight as he gestured to his back, “Get on and hold on tight. This building’s about to blow.”

You blinked at the sudden change in his tone, taking a moment to process what he’d just asked you. 

“You know Spider-Man?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” He said, clenching his jaw. If you didn’t jump on his back in the next ten seconds he was going to chuck you over his shoulder and start running.

The floor beneath you shifted, the building’s dying breaths echoing through the halls.

Hesitantly you climbed onto his back, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist as he started sprinting towards the broken window.

“Si me dejas caer, nunca te perdonaré,” you said, lips accidentally brushing against the curve of his ear. 

He shivered. “Jamás.” 

You were airborne again, feeling Miguel’s body twist and flex beneath you as he pulled you both towards the ceiling like it was as natural as breathing. When you dared to look towards the ground you gasped. The tangled frame of the Super Collider was whirring to life, crackling with energy and exploding with color as Miles spun his webs, keeping the machine together even as it threatened to rip itself apart. 

From within the cocoon of webs, dark matter, and multiversal energy, you could make out the Spot’s form warping and pulling apart, bits and pieces disappearing into the frenetic portal that the collider had split open.

Miles caught up to you both, matching Miguel’s rhythm as they flicked and swung from their webs.

“Hey again, Miss Y/l/n.” Flick. “I see you’ve met Miguel.” Flick. “I hope he hasn’t been too mean towards you.” He called out.

You felt Miguel grumble with displeasure. 

“He’s the guy that body slammed me into a moving train!” Flick. “But I beat him!” 

“Miguel did WHAT?!” 

“Right, Miss Y/l/n?”

“Listen kid, I already apologized for that.” 

“Yeah right.” Miles had to laugh. The day he heard Miguel say the words “I’m sorry” would be the day the multiverse tore apart, and that day was not today.

You slapped Miguel on the shoulder - it was like hitting stone, “¿Qué coño te pasa? He’s just a teenager!” 

“Cariño, can we please discuss this at a later time?” He gritted his teeth. Something was wrong with the collider. It was getting harder and harder to swing you both upwards, like the force of gravity had tripled. 

You froze. “What did you just call me?” 

Crap.

Miles’s eyes swung back and forth between you two like a pinball machine and the dots finally connected - the alternate universe where Miguel had a family, the way he kept looking at you, the way he’d demanded Miles tell him where you were.

“...Aren’t you his wife?” He asked dumbly.

Miguel’s face went white beneath his mask. Did the temperature go up, or was that just him? His hands felt clammy under his spider-suit.

“I’M HIS WIFE?!” 

The collider screeched beneath them and Miguel barely had time to flick his web out towards the remnant of a walkway before - 

One. 

Two.

Three. 

BOOM! 

The Spot burst out from the cocoon in a tornado of dark matter, sending debris flying backward towards the sucking mouth of the collider. The building walls buckled, drywall ripping out and sailing downward at the whim of the collider’s gravitational force.

“Spider-Man!” He bellowed, his voice grating and animalistic, “I’M GOING TO DESTROY YOU!” 

He might get torn apart and sent to a thousand different dimensions, but if he was going down, he was going to take Spider-Man with him.

“Get her out of here!” Miles yelled over the deafening roar. He pressed his body flat to the wall to keep from falling down into the collider.

“I can’t!” Miguel groaned. His hands had begun to slip down the bright red webbing. You were beginning to lose your grip as well, nails clawing into Miguel’s back.

Your legs gave way first, then your arms. 

“Y/N!” Miguel flicked a laser web out, catching you by your waist. 

“MISS Y/L/N!” 

You gasped, arms and legs splayed out to your sides as you dangled precariously over nothing. Miguel stared down at you, shoulder screaming in pain as he did everything he could to keep you both from getting sucked down. His mask disappeared, letting you see the way his red-brown eyes were blown open. Somewhere from below Miguel heard the Spot scream as he was finally torn to shreds, dark matter traveling back to their respective dimensions, but all he could focus on was you.

“Miguel,” you whispered, too scared to say anything else.

“Miguel?” You called out from the bottom of the stairs. 

Gabriella dribbled the football close, just like her father had taught her, before passing it cleanly between your legs.

“¡Túnel!” 

“¡Y la multitud se vuelve loca!” Miguel whooped, thundering down the stairs and twirling a screaming Gabriella through the air.

You fixed the collar of his sweater, kissing him hesitantly on the lips and smiling at the brightness in his eyes as he held your daughter. 

“I’ll see you at the game later,” You said, smoothing back a strand of your husband’s hair, “I love you.” You murmured, hoping to hear him say it back. It had been so long since he’d said those words to you.

“I’ll see you later.” Miguel promised, kissing you again with a smile so wide you felt his teeth against your lips. 

You knew something wasn’t quite right… he knew you knew… but neither of you could find the words to say anything about it. 

What’s happened? Why have you changed so much so quickly? Why don’t you remember things about me - about Gabriella - anymore? 

You wanted to ask those questions so badly.

But you didn’t ask, and he didn’t answer.

So he left without saying those words… and that was the day he lost you.

He wouldn’t lose you again. He wouldn’t lose you like he’d lost Gabriella.

With a roar he pulled you back to him, wrapping one arm tightly around you. You molded yourself into his side, shutting your eyes just in time for the collider to groan to a halt and then explode.

The noise alone knocked you both back, sound waves rattling your bones and pressing you further against Miguel. Golden light emitted from the collapsing collider, sinking into your skin until it felt like you were burning.

The laser web burned away and Miguel could do nothing more than wrap his body around you as you were both thrown up and through what remained of the roof. You landed on hard pressed glass, pain shooting up your side as you and Miguel tumbled in a flurry of tangled limbs. You rolled to a stop, Miguel bracing his arms so that you wouldn’t get crushed under his bulky frame. His suit glitched, unstable molecules traveling over his skin as it worked to repair any and all damage.

The collider stilled, light dimming as it sighed and breathed its last.

“Are you ok? Are you hurt?” He brushed your hair back, frantically scanning your body for injuries as you caught your breath. 

“I’m ok.” You gasped out, “I’m ok,” You promised, resting your hands against his chest. He felt solid and real beneath your fingertips - the most real thing you’d experienced this entire night. 

Miguel sighed in relief, pressing his forehead against yours and closing his eyes. You closed yours too, letting yourself enjoy this delicate moment of peace and quiet. 

“Woooow, you can really feel the romantic tension between the two of them, can’t you?”

“Shut up, Pavitr.” Gwen hissed.

Miguel’s eyes snapped open, suddenly aware of the audience of Spiderpeople that had congregated on the roof. It was at times like this that he envied the others for their spider-sense. 

He rolled lightly onto his feet, pulling you up with him and keeping one arm loosely wrapped around your waist. You found that you didn’t mind the contact at all. 

Sirens blared from every street corner, the flashing red, white, and blue lights of firefighters, policemen, and EMS overwhelming to the eye. 

Someone was missing. 

“Where’s Miles?!” You said, your heart leaping into your throat.

As if on cue he swung up through the hole in the roof, landing with a wince of pain as his right knee buckled under his weight. Patches of his singed suit were still smoking.

“Are you guys ok? I oof-'' Gwen tackled him in a hug, ripping off her mask in the process. You recognized her immediately from Miles’s drawings, but her hair was longer - wilder - than in the pictures.

“Miles,” her breath stuttered, “Oh my god, I-I thought-” 

He shushed her, rubbing her back as she helped hold him up on his injured leg.

“Hey it’s ok. It’s all good. I’m alright.”

“Aight’ bruv!” Hobie and Pavitr whooped, clapping Miles’s back. 

You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself as the others circled around Miles. Only Miguel stayed close, watching you out of the corner of his eye. 

Had you actually just experienced all of that? Had you lost your mind?

“Miss Y/l/n!” Miles noticed you shivering in the cold in your socks and pajamas. He tugged off his ruined mask, exposing the bruise that was beginning to blossom like a purple flower around his nose, “Are you alright?”

You blinked. Were you alright? You weren’t dead or seriously injured as far as you could tell. 

It is taking all my willpower not to pass out or vomit right now - was what you were thinking.

“I’ve been better,” you answered, uncrossing your arms. You took a deep, stabilizing breath and squared your shoulders. It was bad enough that you’d spent the majority of the evening flung around like a rag doll in front of your favorite student, but to do it in your pajamas? That was just embarrassing. 

“Miles, please tell me you haven’t been running around New York alone with no adult supervision fighting crime this past year.” 

He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his heck. It was like being reprimanded by his own mother, “I mean… I wasn’t always doing it alone.” 

“Yeah! And he had adult supervision - at least for the beginning part of it,” you turned towards the sandy-haired Spider-Man in the pink bathrobe and matching slippers, “I was his mentor and I think I did a pretty good job, wouldn’t you say?” He punched Miles proudly on the arm.

You gawked at him. “Is that… is that a baby strapped to your chest?” 

The baby in question babbled with happiness, chubby fingers reaching out for you. 

Peter grinned, plucking the little girl out from her carrier and mussing up her wild, red curls. “This is Mayday. She’s a wonder isn’t she?” 

He thrust May into your baffled arms where she proceeded to wriggle around like a worm on a hook. 

“You-you brought a baby to a superhero fight?” 

“Sure did! And she did fantastically. Photo time!” He snapped a picture with you and May, adding as a caption “Mayday’s first time saving the multiverse.” “This is going in the scrapbook for sure.” 

“I think… I think I need to go home now.” You said once Mayday was safely crawling around her father’s chest again.

“We should all get out of here.” Miguel said, noting the cop cars beginning to crowd around the perimeter. “Lyla?” 

An orange holographic woman popped to life, hovering in the air between you and Miguel. “You called?” 

You jolted back. Lyla fluttered her fingers in a wave.

“Is it over?” he asked wearily. 

“Hmmmmm,” she flitted around the air, checking holographic screens and typing away on a computer, “Multiverse is holding steady and there’s no sign of the Spot anywhere.” 

“And the super collider?”

Lyla made a poof sound, opening her hands and wiggling her fingers, “Destroyed. No anomalies detected.” 

“Great.” Miguel, tilting his head back and breathing deeply. Lyla blinked out of existence. 

A very pregnant Spiderwoman fiddled around with her watch, opening a portal behind her and her motorbike with only a few quick taps.

Damn, is everyone having kids these days except me? The thought came forth from your muddled brain.

“Let’s get back to HQ everyone. I want full debriefs recorded and uploaded in the next hour.” 

A chorus of protests and half-veiled insults rose up.

A tall, spindly Spider-Man, dressed like a 1920s silent film detective, tipped his hat towards you before calmly adjusting the lapels of his grey coat and stepping into the portal. He was followed by a petite Asian girl driving a robot, and… a pig? You had to blink at that one.

“I hear you teach art.” Hobie said, swinging his guitar onto his back, “That’s ace. Try this out and let me know what you think, yeah?” He tossed you a haphazardly folded zine. The cover screamed out in newsprint letters: THE DECAY OF SOCIETY IN THE FACE OF COMMERCIALIZED ART-MAKING.

“See you around,” he gave a two-fingered salute and stepped back through the portal. 

You immediately felt Miguel’s absence when he brushed past you towards Miles and Gwen. He sized up the two teenagers, grabbed Miles’s wrist, and dropped a watch into his open palm.

“Gwen will teach you how to use it. Don’t make any dumb decisions.” 

“Me?” Miles snorted, “Pfffft. Never.” 

Miguel hesitated before saying, “I’ll see you around… Spider-Man.” 

He was just about to step through the portal himself when you called out his name, voice cracking. He closed his eyes, back tense. 

He didn’t want to turn around. He wanted you to ignore him and let him leave without saying goodbye because… because if he saw you again that just might ruin him. Here was another version of you - another family - that would never be his.

But when you called his name again - this time with more force - he couldn’t deny you. He turned around and stared into your eyes - the eyes of his wife… the eyes of a stranger.

He never had the chance to live a full life with that other version of you. He hadn’t been the one to take you out on the first date, he hadn’t been the one to kiss you at the altar, he hadn’t been there when Gabriella was born. No. All those memories and experiences belonged to someone else, some other version of him that he could never be. But when he looked at you he imagined for one brief moment what it would be like to try it all over again, to be a real husband to you… to be there for you from the start.

“Thank you,” you said, “For saving my life.” 

His lips tightened into a thin, almost angry line, but whether he was angry at you or himself you couldn’t tell. He gave a curt nod, stepped into his dimension, and let the portal close in front of you.

When Gwen and Miles dropped you off at your apartment, the first words out of his mouth were, “Please don’t tell my mom and dad.” 

His phone weighed like a stone in his pocket, filled to the brim with frantic text messages and missed phone calls from Rio and Jefferson.

“Miles… this isn’t-this isn’t safe for you to do. I mean you’re just a teenager.”

“I’m not just a teenager.”  

“Do you even have a driver’s license yet?” Miles shut his mouth, thinking over his next words carefully. 

“Miss Y/l/n, this world needs Spider-Man. You know it needs Spider-Man, And I’m this universe’s Spider-Man. Me. I can’t just let that go.” 

You muttered under your breath. Were you really going to encourage a fifteen year old’s vigilantism? You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed, hating that he was right. The answer was yes - you really were going to encourage your student to be a superhero.

“I won’t say anything to Rio or Jefferson or anyone else. Your secret is safe with me, Miles. I swear it.” 

His shoulders drooped in relief. Without warning Miles wrapped his wiry arms around you in a tight hug, “Thank you so much. You’re the best.” 

“Don’t thank me. I haven’t even done anything yet. In fact I should be thanking you for protecting the multiverse tonight.” You said, a faint smile growing on your lips despite your best efforts. You hugged him back. “If you ever need anything, just let me know. I’m going to guess even superheroes need a little help every now and then.”

“That would be the understatement of the century.” Gwen said, balancing on the balcony railing with all the grace and poise of a ballerina. 

“We should really get going, Miles. It was nice meeting you, Miss Y/l/n.” You nearly had a heart attack when Gwen fell backwards without hesitation, catching herself in a swing from an old lamppost. 

“See you around, Miss Y/l/n,” Miles said and dove after her, adding a flourish in the form of a front flip.

“See you around, Spider-Man.” You said softly, finally escaping into your apartment and sliding the balcony door shut.

<- Previous chapter Next chapter ->

>>>

Sneak peek at Chapter Three (because I want you all to know what I have planned, but I've made this chapter too long):

You awoke with a start, suffocating under the heavy blankets that you’d buried yourself in last night. You’d been dreaming again about the collider. You’d been dreaming about Miguel - this time in a feverish haze that left your mind in a puddle on the floor. 

How was it possible that a stranger could occupy so much space in your mind? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he’d held you like you were everything and then left without saying goodbye.

Are you thinking about me too? You wondered, opening your eyes in hopes of chasing the memory of him away.

…Maybe you were still dreaming, because the last time you checked you hadn’t fallen asleep under a tree in Central Park. And even if you had, you highly doubted you could have lugged your bed frame with you all the way from Brooklyn.

Oh por el amor de Dios.

Author's note: I hope you guys are enjoying where the story is heading! To those of you who reached out and offered to help with the Spanish - thank you so much! I've been a little overwhelmed by the responses on Tumblr and haven't been good about keeping track of things, but I have a friend who will be helping me out moving forward. I'll be updating the masterlist once the next chapter is scheduled. In the meantime, have a great weekend everyone :)

[angel-of-the-moons]

Hello hello! I would like to request a Hobie fic if that’s okay! If the concept makes you uncomfortable in any way shape or form I completely understand if you delete this or refuse. But I think the idea of Hobie getting baby fever after babysitting Mayday is so sweet. Him envisioning a little you and him running around with both of your features and he just scoops you up in a kiss, and shyly tells you about how he’s been thinking about how he wants a baby with you (I hope that’s not too uncomfortable or weird or strange!! Thank you for reading and I hope you’re having a good day/evening!!)

Ajsljdldnlsnldnldn this ask got me feral™ Ilysm

The Pitter Patter of Little Feet

Soft!Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader

Because I'm tired of repeating myself: HOBIE IS AGED UP IN THIS FIC

TW/CW: Hobie being a secret softie, baby fever, NSFW, oral Fem! Receiving, punk with a heart of gold spray paint, Peter knowing things™, pregnancy mentions, babies, talk of babies, oh, and Mayday's here, too!

All characters stated in NSFW situations in my fics are all aged up or of age.

MINORS DNI: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

"Oi, like this." Hobie laughed at the toddler sitting on his chest, staring down at him as he laid on the carpet of he and his girlfriend's shared flat.

"Ho..." He started.

"Hoooo..." Mayday coo'd.

"Bieeee." He smiled, his mouth spread in a wide grin.

"Beeeeeee!" She squealed, clapping her pudgy little hands.

"Now say it: Hobie."

"Hah-buh." Mayday giggled.

"Ah, close enough ya li'le runt!" Hobie laughed, sitting up so Mayday was laying in his lap, tickling her little rolls on her tummy. "Ya lucky you're so cute, kid!"

Mayday grabbed his shirt and pulled herself up, looking at him with a happy smile, her unruly red-brown hair bobbing.

Hobie sighed as he looked down at her, huffing a small chuckle. "I swear, if I--"

"Had one of your own?" Peter B grinned, leaning on the pillar that was in between the kitchen and living room.

"Uh--" Hobie coughed awkwardly. "I wasn't..."

"Hey, man, I'm not surprised Mayday would make you want one of your own." Peter laughed, walking over and scooping up his young daughter.

"My little girl here seems to give people baby fever! Must be her mom's genes or something! Or maybe... Just that cute little face! Om nom nom!" Peter grinned, pretending to nibble on Mayday's cheeks, earning a loud squeal as she kicks and squirms from her father's affections.

Peter chuckled and tucked her safely into the chest harness, smirking at Hobie as he stood.

"You notice how Jess got pregnant not too long after I asked her to watch Mayday? I mean, it could be a coincidence... Or canon event."

Hobie groaned at his word usage, handing Peter the diaper bag. "Ugh, you sound like the ol' stiff at HQ."

"Hey, just making a joke. I gotta compensate for Miguel's lack of humor somehow."

Hobie shoved his hands in his pockets, sighing as he looked off to the side.

Peter put his hand on the taller man's shoulder. "Seriously... Are you thinking about having a baby?"

"I mean..." Hobie struggled, his jaw tensing. "I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't, but..."

"You're not sure you wanna bring it up with your girl?" Peter supplied, Mayday's tiny hand gripping his fingers.

"I mean, Pete, we're not even hitched." Hobie shrugged.

"Not all couples need to be married before having a runt of their own."

"Yeh, yeh..." Hobie sniffed, trying to sound bored.

"All right, I'm heading out. See ya, Hobie. I owe ya one." Peter grinned.

"That ya do, bruv."

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

When you came home, Hobie was sitting on the settee by the window, strumming idle notes on his guitar, bobbing his head to a tune only he could hear.

You dropped your purse and keys on the dining table next to the door, and slipped off your shoes.

Slowly, you dragged your feet over to the sofa opposite of the settee Hobie was currently perched on.

"You 'right, luv?" Hobie asked, setting the guitar down and walking over to kneel next to the sofa.

"Work sucked." You groaned into the cushions.

Hobie put his hand around the back of your neck and started to massage the tension there with the pads of his fingers, urging a gentle sigh from you as you turned your head to look at him.

"Better?"

"Very much so."

Hobie grinned at you, and barely gave you a moment before picking you up and swinging you in a circle, earning a shriek and laugh from you.

"Hobie! You shit!" You laugh, slipping your arms around his neck as he set you on your feet, looking up at him with those big gorgeous eyes.

"Had to see you laugh, luv." Hobie said, leaning down to bury his face in your neck, breathing into your perfume. "Laughter is the best medicine, as they say."

You sigh and relax into the embrace, a gentle pause in the conversation.

"Where's Mayday? You said you were watching her for Peter, today."

"He came 'n got her." Hobie mumbled.

"...What's wrong?" You ask, reaching up to flick one of his large fluffy dreads.

".... Nothin'."

"Hobie Brown, it is not nothin'." You say suspiciously, pulling back so he looked you in the eyes. "What's on your mind? You can talk to me, babe."

"Yeah, but..." Hobie looked at the carpet in hesitation.

"Hobie..." You prod.

"I..." Hobie suddenly felt a paralyzing feeling seize his gut. He could face Osborne's oppressive regime with a grin, can of paint, and a middle finger straight up... But this? This topic was...

"Sweetheart." You say, touching his cheek.

"Do y' wanna have a baby?" He blurted.

You blink up at him owlishly.

"What?"

"I... Shit." Hobie groaned, separating from you as he marches back and forth, a hand to his head.

"Hobie--"

"Nah, nah, forget I said anything. I just..." He stood, his back to you, his shoulders slumped defeatedly.

"They'd look good, y'know? If we had a kid. Cute. Your eyes, your smile. That giddy li'le laugh o' yours. I just... Dealing with Mayday feels... I d'nno. I just..."

"Hobie... Are you saying you... You want to have a baby? With me?" You ask softly, touching his shoulder.

"Yeah."

You chew the inside of your cheek, thinking.

Fuck it.

"...All right. We can handle it. I make enough money, we have enough room..." You start rattling off stuff, going into planning mode.

Hobie looked at you, his jaw dropped as you started muttering to yourself. It sounded like you were already four steps ahead, planning out budgets, where to get stuff for a baby, working on a schedule that you can juggle with work after the baby is born...

He felt his head catch in his throat as he watched you put your hand to your chin, a gesture you often made when you were putting serious thought into something.

He grinned widely, grabbing you by the waist and practically tackling you onto the sofa.

"Wha--Hobie! I was thinking!" You protest.

"I know." Hobie says, claiming your mouth in a hungry, heated kiss.

The passion of which he moved robbed you of breath. He pulled your hair out of its confines, rubbing his fingers through the silken strands, the healed callouses on his fingertips finding refuge there among the softness.

When he pulled away, he smirked at you, his dark eyes alight with a spark. A spark you knew well.

A spark that meant Hobie was up to no good.

"H-Hobie--" You gulp.

"Ay, you got me all in a sitch here, yeh?" Hobie grinned. "Can't jus' say all that, look at me with those big eyes and not expect me to wanna..."

His other hand went to your jeans, tugging the button out of the loop and pulling the zipper down, his body slipping off the couch to kneel between your legs, tugging the denim down your hips and tossing the fabric onto the coffee table. He didn't bother with your socks.

He smirked with satisfaction when he saw the damp patch in the lace of your panties.

"Been thinkin' about me, luv?" He hummed, looking up at you. "Work have you that stressed? Need a lil' relief?"

His fingers slid up your bare thighs, teasing the edges of the panties that hugged the plush of your thighs, and you shuddered.

"You... Ugh, I don't know what to do with you." You groaned, dropping your head back, sighing at the ceiling.

"Oh, but I know what to do with you." Hobie purred, pushing the damp fabric aside, blowing a cool puff of air over your damp slit.

You shivered. "You little..."

You wished your voice didn't sound so breathy.

"You always do that! Why--" The moment you looked down and met his eyes, his mouth latched straight onto your clit, growling and sending a wave of vibrations that made your toes curl and a shocked mewl tear from your throat as the piercing in his tongue added extra sensations.

One of Hobie's favorite hobbies was to eat you out. He could sit for hours and do it, licking and kissing until you couldn't feel your limbs from how overstimulated you became.

Your taste was probably the only hard "drug" he could ever imagine getting addicted to.

He licked a broad fat stripe up, then down, bringing his thumb to push against your clit as he delved his almost-too-long tongue into your hole, writhing and pressing, rolling and tugging as your muscles attempt to draw him further.

He pulled his tongue out and licked upwards, pushing not one, but two of his fingers inside of you, curling them upwards as his other hand pressed down on the lowest part of your belly in tandem with each crook of his digits and flick of his tongue.

You writhed, hands going to tug at the bushy dreads on his scalp.

"Hobie--fuck!" You cried out, rolling your hips to meet him, your orgasm already beginning to swell, burning low in your belly.

"Go on, luv. Cum f' me." Hobie growled, pressing his piercing up at your clit, his chin already dripping with your juices.

You whine, a hiccup bubbling out of you as he adds a third finger, thrusting them in and out of you at a pace that had the edges of your vision going fuzzy.

"Hobie!" You cry out, arching your back into him as he fucks you with his tongue and hands, pressing down on your skin to make the sensations more intense; your orgasm cresting and shattering your dam of restraint.

You dropped, limp onto the cushions as Hobie sucked his fingers clean, licking his lips and wiping his chin dry, licking up the remainder of your slick that was still on his face.

"Right, luv. Let's get down to business." He chuckled, climbing over on top of you, hastily unbuckling the belt, tugging his torn jeans down his hips, his boxers going along with, revealing how eager he was for you.

"We can get hitched after the baby is born, yeh?"

Pt: 2: Link

[the-kr8tor]

Im all good to put the ideas into multiple asks! I’m so glad u liked my ideas 🥰🥰!!

First one was TTN hobie and reader when they have reunited and they r going on a date after being separated for so long and just spending time together and hanging out

-🕊️ anon

Ly 😘 thank you again for the ttn requests!! ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: no use of Y/N, No specific physical description of the reader, drinking, a bit suggestive, TTN! Hobie, TTN! Reader, set after the epilogue.

Thread the Needle Masterlist

TTN Oneshots Masterlist

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

"My favourite? Piña Colada" you nurse a cranberry vodka in your hand, voice whispering in Hobie's ear so that he can hear you through the loud chatter inside the busy pub.

Your back is resting on the chipping wooden wall of the ancient White Horse pub, body fully turned towards Hobie, your hand comfortably lying on the small of his back. He practically squishes you inside the booth with his arm around your shoulder, fingers absentmindedly kneading over your nape. Legs touching yours, a smile never leaving his lips, half full pint forgotten in front of him.

He would've preferred a much quieter place for your first date back home, but you wanted to visit his old haunts, and you were in a drinking mood. Hobie doesn't seem to care though, as long as you're with him, he's golden. Even if you suggested going to the sewers or God forbid a Mall, he would've said yes in a heartbeat. Because it's you, fresh from L.A. you who haven't finished unpacking yet even though you've been home for three days. He doesn't blame you though, how could you find the time to unpack when you two are busy snogging and reacquainting yourselves.

"Thank fuck" he chuckles. "Thought it would be worse like a can of whatever piss water they 'ave"

You roll your eyes, "Piña Colada is really good. I can make you one if you like"

"Sure, as long as it's not whiskey sour" Hobie mimics an American accent with his last word causing you to laugh out loud above the prattle of the pub.

"Do that again" you poke his side. "Come on"

"Fuck off, that's a one time thing" he hides his smile with his pint.

"You know back in America I had so many pints, it's insane" He raises a brow, knowing you're not much of a drinker. You continue on with your sentence. "Pints of ice cream"

"Is it too late for you to go back? Because I can ask for you–"

Leaning slightly, you kiss the corner of his lips as an apology for your attempt at humour. "I know, horrible joke. I blame the drink"

"Not the company though, right?" He says against your lips, long eyelashes fanning over eyes, looking down at your besotted face.

"Great company, ten out of ten" you press a cranberry filled kiss fully on his lips, lingering for only a moment. In that tiny booth with the squeaky leather cushions, you feel like you and Hobie are the only people in the world. "What do you say we go home." Whispering, you bat your eyelashes at him.

His eyes sparkle in the low light, "And?"

You don't miss his knowing tone so you decide to tease him more. "Or we can go to my office and ask for me to get transferred back to L.A."

"I like your first joke better, too soon, love" Hobie dramatically touches his chest like he's been hurt.

"You did it first!" You finish your drink, hand grabbing your bag from the table.

"And I did it better than you" Hobie takes your coat for you, standing up, reaching to help you out the booth.

Looking up at him, you smile mischievously. "Do an American accent first"

He rolls his eyes, "no" flexing his fingers, he feigns annoyance.

"Please? Just say one thing and I'll get up"

With a huff and a hidden smile, he surrenders. "Whiskey sour" Hobie does his best impression of an American man who's impatient to get his drink from the bartender.

Giggling, you still sit in the booth. "Say 'wassup, dude'"

"Don't push it, love or I'll start calling you bruv again"

Sliding out, you take his outstretched hand. "If you're into that then I'm open to try it." You laugh at your own quip.

"What have they done to my Gromit?" hand in hand, you and Hobie weave through the crowd whilst he guides you with his tender hold.

You snuggle closer to him, avoiding a guy with ten drinks on his tray. "Same Gromit, I promise"

"Love you still even if you weren't" He whispers back with fondness.

[spikezonebby]

https://www.tumblr.com/spikezonebby/766604402550341632/hnnnng-gotta-make-myself-fight-through-this-damn

May I ask specifically for Soundwave doing it to Shockwave?

Oh ho ho let's get that HOLE real talk this thought got away from me a bit so there's some finger sucking and ass play under the cut. That includes fingers, spike, AND rimming bby. Oh yeah and I'm inserting my nullified Shockwave hc in here too but it's nothing explicit, bruv just has no cock or puss. This also escalated into overloading untouched so enjoy!

I think Shockwave should have a thing for Soundwave's face under the mask. Maybe it's jealousy, maybe it's remembering his own face, maybe it's just the fact that Soundwave undoubtedly has some *luscious* dick sucking lips. Whatever it is, once Shockwave convinces him to take off the face mask the full horny comes out.

Brushing his thumb over Soundwave's soft bottom lip, pressing down and watching the protomesh give beneath him. Unlike Shocks, Sounders is pretty expressive beneath the mask. His expression screws up with a pout, he bites the inside of his cheek or the tip of his glossa. Shockwave hates (loves??) it. Soundwave's lips part and Shockwave takes the opportunity to savor the delightful wet warmth around his digits. He tries to picture biolights seated in the joints, protomesh instead of hard metal.

Empurata took more than just his face and his hands, and despite Lord Megatron's generosity (in equal proportion to your use), there were limits. No amount of donor parts would ever feel like his, and so Shockwave had to settle for using the one part of his that handed been destroyed by the Senate.

And Soundwave, despite his reputation for being quiet, knew how to use his tongue.

Soundwave's servos hold his thighs, drawing musical notations across the outside of one as the other slides up and presses along either side of Shocks' aft port. If he focuses, Shockwave can almost feel the pulse of arousal deep in the pit of his belly, right behind his permanently sealed valve cover and spike housing. Nothing was there. Nothing. Just empty slots where they once were. The blue boombox hums-- a rich sound without the mask synthesizer-- and a warm, humid breath brushes along his hole. Quickly followed by the swipe of a glossa, so brief it sends a shiver through his systems that not even shadowplay can supress.

"Stop stalling." He drones, gripping the edge of the table he laid belly-down upon with his good servo.

There was an electric buzz that haunted the air for a moment, the tell-tale sign of Soundwave trying to probe his mind and field. But shadowplay renders the field deaf and the vocalizer numb. He settles instead for pressing his glossa tighter to the iris of synthetic muscle and dutifully working at it.

Shockwave's body doesn't react to the ripples of liquid sin Sound's tongue pours over his sensory net, but he feels them still. Soundwave at least doesn't seem to mind a quiet lover. He loses himself to the moment, probably listening to music within his own mind as his tongue and lips work the purple mech open. Soon fingers join the fray and Shockwave's systems start to throw heat through his vents, hot enough to steam the air and make condensation sit on his plating.

Sounders pulls away, but not without leaving a long trail of solvent dripping down from his port all over the inside of his thighs. Shockwave's hole twitches, and Soundwave just leans in and swirls his tongue over the flushed protometal like it's the sweetest, filthiest treat.

"Stop stalling." Shockwave says again, his vocalizer clipped and his whining vents speaking more for his need. He can't overload from this, but it was close enough.

It takes an utterly embarrassing amount of energy to pull his pedes up beneath him, but he bows his back and tries to turn his helm to look over his shoulder.

He says it again, "Stop stalling." But Soundwave knows he means "Please frag me."

It is a logical enough conclusion.

So Soundwave hums again and takes the purple mech by the hips. There's a shoop-whiiiiiir of his plating retracting, then hefty weight of Sounder's spike sitting so enticingly plapping against his throbbing entrance.

"Stop stall--!?"

And then Soundwave lines himself up, and shoves himself to the hilt in one fell swoop. He's searingly hot, thicker than even Shockwave's digits, and he feels so good.

The quietest huffs escape his vents and Soundwave doesn't wait for him to adjust, he knows how loved and knows he likes it rough. Fingers slide up around his throat, not quite squeezing but it still takes Shockwave aback when the blue mech pulls him up off his front. Pulling his body taut against him, and Shockwave swears he can feel the boombox's massive spike pressing a bulge out against his abdomen.

"Query: Shockwave, cannot overload?"

If he's had a mouth Shockwave was certain he'd be beyond words. The lips in the side of his helm, brushing his audials, makes him shake minutely.

"Affirmative."

"Soundwave: Has an idea."

Before Shockwave can even question him, there's another click. His hand slides up to hold Soundwave's forearm, calculations running in the back of his processor for what the boombox could possibly be thinking. But his answer comes not as words but, vibration.

Soundwave's spike starts vibrating with such sudden, deep haste that Shockwave actually does gasp. It ruins him from his pedes to his processor, so deep he can feel it in his fuel pump. And with a shout his aft quivers around Soundwave, white blinding his vision and then spurts of thick, pink transfluid dumping into his chute. Never before had Shockwave felt so loose, wet, and properly used. His pedes give out, his optic flashes, and electricity crackles all along his body as his first overload in millions of years wrecked his body.

[mariamakeslemons]

Kinktober 2024: Day 22 Deepthroating/ Choking

Warning: Reader is gender neutral, Competitive dick sucking, jokes about cheating at a competition

You, Soap, and Gaz are all kneeling before Ghost, bumping into each other and silently arguing. Price watches in amusement as the three of you glare at each other while Ghost has mentally left this situation.

“Alright, behave,” he scolds, “I already told you the order, so do it.”

“Told you,” Gaz preens, shuffling forward. Soap pouts as you roll your eyes while Gaz fishes Ghost’s cock from his pants. A few pumps get Ghost to half-mast before Gaz leans forward and licks at the filling erection.

Originally, this bet was going to be preformed on Price, until he pointed out that Ghost is the owner of the biggest overall cock of the men. After all, it would be more accurate to see who can take the most dick down their throat by using the biggest cock.

“I should hate this,” Ghost groans as his cock finally reaches full mast.

“It’s free blowjobs,” Price points out, lighting his cigar for a puff. Ghost gives him a glare before groaning as Gaz goes down on him. Gaz goes down enough that he only has to wrap a few fingers around the base to cover his whole cock. Pulling back, Gaz smirks at you and Soap, wiggling his eyebrows in challenge. You scoff as Soap shimmies up to take Ghost’s cock next.

The Scot takes Ghost in his mouth and slides only about halfway down before he starts making a choking noise. You and Gaz yank him off, the competitive looks gone from your faces to be replaced with concern.

“Ah’m fine!” Soap insists, “Ah can dae better than tha’!” You sigh in relief, obviously taking his insistence as him being okay, while Gaz rolls his eyes.

“Y’ sounded like y’ were goin’ t’ spew,” Gaz pointed out. Soap sputters before smacking at him. Of course, Price had watched Ghost nearly fuck into Soap’s mouth at the choke. Of course his Lieutenant wants to be a little sadistic to the masochistic Sargeant. You sigh and sidle up to Ghost, looking up at him curiously. Ghost sighs, but nods. You beam up at him before going down on his cock.

You go about halfway down, pull back a few centimeters, then slide down to press your nose in Ghost’s pubes. Price nearly drops his cigar at the sight as Ghost throws his head back.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell!” Ghost roars as Gaz and Soap gape at you. You manage to keep Ghost down your throat for a few moments, before drawing off his cock with a lick to your lips. Price grits his teeth as his cock fills in his pants, thrown off by you just taking Ghost down your tight throat.

“How? How?! HOW?!” Soap howls, pouting.

“Some people are just better,” you tease, yelping when Soap leaps at you. Gaz rolls his eyes before turning to Ghost.

“I know I didn’t win, but can I suck you off?” he asks.

“Please,” Ghost pleads.

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

“Cheatin’ Bastart!” Johnny howls two mornings later, startling you and making you drop your fork on your plate. He slides into the kitchen with your large dildo, pointing at you angrily, “Yeh feckin’ cheated!”

“There’s no rule on practicing,” you immediately point out while Simon and Price looks at the thick, long dildo flopping in Johnny’s hand.

“Yeah, bruv,” Kyle pipes up, “Jus’ because you didn’ think of it doesn’ mean it’s not allowed.” Johnny groans and drops the dildo on the table, away from the food luckily.

“…Why d’y’ have a dildo th’ size o’ m’ cock?” Simon asks.

“Simon,” you intone, “Who doesn’t have a job on your taskforce? Who’s stuck at home with no one around?” He turns his gaze back to his breakfast, his face turning a cute shade of pink.

“I, f’r one, want t’ watch you ride that while suckin’ Simon off,” John pipes in, making you add another thing to try to the mental list.

[majesticwren]

this took me weeks to complete. I am now exhausted. don't come at me, it might be poorly executed. it is 10k of plotless, self-indulging, poly smut and I am not ashamed, thank you, bye. it is a stand-alone one-shot for now but there might be more coming, I am not done with Fletch and Will at the moment I'm afraid. I'm unhinged. edit: it now has a part II and a part III a/n: hi :) me again back at it. I didn't like the first draft of this so I finally went back in and made it a little extra poly/gay with some more chemistry between kyle and will because I needed it. thank you bye 💕

Trigger Warning/s: threesome, smut, poly, unprotected sex (kids, don't follow the fics exaples), everyone is a little bit top and a little bit bottom, a whole lot of consent, chocking, swearing, everyone has a praise kink :)

part II -> | part III -> prequel part I -> | part II -> | part III -> | part IV -> Masterlist

The apartment was now quiet save it for some still playing background music and some low chattering of the last remaining people. The party just ended was to be considered a success, but it had finally died out. However, none of the three remaining seemed to be overly worried about the time or the tidying up just yet.

“One of you should be dancing with me,” Erika teased, only pretending not to be paying any attention to the two boys sitting on the floor just a few feet from her.

“Why?” Kyle stretched his long arms across the edge of the sofa he was leaning on, “The view is so much better from here.” The way he looked at her, with his chin slightly raised, lips bent in a satisfied smile and pale eyes twinkling with a not-so-hidden desire somehow reminded her of something forbidden. A shiver crossed her spine, only prompting Kyle to wink at her. 

That’s how it had been between them forever. Endless flirting. Endless teasing. The way she felt for him always made her feel like she could do anything. He was her home. For him she would have fought the world, heck she would have broken it in half if needed. It was a strong feeling nesting into her chest and stomach, always feeding her with extreme confidence.

“And what about you?” She wondered as her eyes slid on the man sprawled on the carpet next to Kyle. 

His head rested on the sofa as he lazily looked at her. A small, confident but dumb smile crossed his lips. He didn’t seem at all bothered to be looking with interest at someone else’s woman. On the contrary, she would have bet he was intrigued. She dared a cheeky smile, hoping it would be enough to fish his interest. 

“Yeah, Billy,” Kyle started, leaning closer to him, though none of the two lifted their eyes from her, which prompted her to keep dancing under their eyes. “What do you think, mate?”

“I think she is gorgeous, bruv.” Will raised his bottle of beer first to her and then to Kyle, who clinked his bottle with it. “And she knows it all too well,” They both chuckled.

“If you are both so smitten by me, why am I all alone here?”  

Both the guys smiled widely, but it was Kyle who pushed himself forward. “Why don’t you come chill here with us instead?” He even offered her a helping hand.

As soon as he got a hold of her, Kyle pulled her down on his lap. 

The moment she realised she may have just fallen into his carefully woven trap was too late. She thought she was the one trying to tempt and tease them, but she was wrong. She wasn’t the only one fishing, clearly. And now she was in the wolves’ den. Not that she had anything against it, of course.

“You think you are so smart, Fletch?” She wondered crossing her fingers behind his neck and hanging off his shoulders.

His smile grew cocky. “I got you, don’t I?”

“That you do.” She bit her lower lip trying to hide a smile as she grabbed his bottle of beer off his hand, stealing a sip. 

With his now free hands, Kyle loosely wrapped an arm around her waist and with the other he fixed a strand of her hair behind her ear, studying her features with the sweetest look.

Sometimes Erika found herself so used to being by his side she would be immune to his prettiness. Other times his charm hit her so violently it made her stupid. And feral. Somehow, it made her want to smother and bite him. Not violently. Only to nibble on his cheeks, down his jawline, following his neck.

Her mouth was watering.

They looked into each other's eyes for a long couple of seconds. No words needed to be said to express the feelings connecting them. Erika was an open book to him, and Kyle had accepted for a long time to share his heart with her. Sometimes they pretended it didn't matter. Erika was used to replying “whatever” anytime he said he loved her. They brushed their love off like it was a joke. But they both knew it was endgame.

Will, next to them, finished up his beer in one single gulp and then he moved. “Right,” he began, “I better be on my way. Thanks for the party, bruv,” Will landed a heavy hand on Kyle's shoulder, giving him a strong shake, though his attention slipped on Erika, “You lucky bastard.”

His deep hoarse voice and thick British accent brushed on her skin. She felt it just as she felt his eyes burning on her. And she did nothing to stop it.

She liked Will. Always had.

He had been a good friend to her, but especially to Kyle and her brother Mark. Effectively, Will had led them through their leap into pro wrestling and she would have always been grateful to him for making the dream of the two people she cared about the most in the world become reality.

But now it wasn't only polite gratefulness or kindness that pulled her towards him anymore. She wanted his attention. There had been some harmless flirting between Kyle, her and Will for some time now. And it just made her hungrier and hungrier for something she never had before. A real craving she felt in her stomach and under her skin for something prohibited and so damn sweet.

She turned over facing Will, still hanging onto Kyle. Her smile was a tempting curve that only grew when she stole the glance Will was sending at Kyle’s lips. “Why are you leaving so early?” She wondered, purring softly, “We aren't done.” 

“You two might not be-”

“Don’t be a party pooper,” Erika wined, cutting through his words, “Stay a little longer. Do it for me,” she then poked Kyle’s chin, “Kyle gets so upset when you aren’t around. Don’t you baby?”

Will smiled softly, his unfocused eyes jumping from one to the other. “God,” a chuckle cut through his breath, “how do you manage to ever contradict her?”

“I never do.” Explained Kyle simply, “She gets everything she wants.”

“I bet she does,” 

“And I do get upset when you aren’t around,” now it was Kyle who was purring, sending Will a just as tempting look. His free hand dared to venture on Will’s knee as the Aussie synched with Erika’s intentions without needing her to speak a word.

Will held his breath, looking dazed for a moment as he looked at Kyle. However, his hesitation quickly melted away, leaving space for a warmer curiosity.

Will’s mile widened from amused to teasing. “And what do you suggest we do then, loves?” His attention lazily dragged back to Erika.

She had a few ideas in mind. A cheeky smile popped on her face, making her blushing cheeks pop.

“Well,” Erika played with Kyle’s shirt collar, pretending to be distracted and not at all with an end goal to reach. “We could play truth or dare.”

“What, like bloody teenagers?”

She nodded hopefully, “Yeah. It’s still fun.”

Both Will and Kyle exchanged a quick look. There was a silent interaction between the two, to which Kyle simply shrugged, prompting Will to chuckle. “Why don’t you just ask me something you want to know?” He wondered looking back at her. “Or tell me something you’d like me to do. To you or to Kyle.”

The way he looked at her made her stomach tremble even more than his words. 

“Ok,” Erika exchanged a quick complicit look with Kyle, before turning to Will once again, this time she dared to slide a hand on his leg, just above where Kyle rested his. “Do you like me, Will?” Her smile was now a weapon. Erika brushed her hand on Will’s strong thigh and would have stopped anytime if he had hinted at her to do so. But he didn't. 

If her words hadn't been clear, the dark desire sparkling in her eyes should have been hint enough. Will awkwardly hesitated turning over to Kyle. 

In response, Kyle shrugged, “Don't look at me, mate. She asked you a question.” He had a cocky, proud smile printed on his lips as he directed Will’s attention back to her.

Kyle was always her partner in crime. That was what he had signed up for. She was a wild card, always been since the day they met. There was no stopping her when she put her head on something. And he was always ready to support her. No need to keep secrets from him. No need to lie. She had her fill and learned her lesson when she almost lost him for good at the beginning of their relationship and then promised “never again”. And had never once let her down. Kyle was always in her corner, willing to give her anything she wanted. And now they were both looking at what she wanted. What they both wanted. 

“C’mon mate, don't leave the lady hanging,” Kyle continued.

Will’s eyes fell on their hands on his leg first and then he finally seemed to gather enough courage to look back at her. “I do,” a small smile finally broke on his lips. He hadn’t entirely defrosted yet, but he was surely game.

“And,” she gently propped Kyle’s chin so he’d move to face Will, “Do you like my pretty boyfriend, Willy?” She pressed her hungry smile on Kyle’s temple, waiting to see Will’s attention move on the Aussie’s face.

When it did, Erika ate up the way Will studied Kyle’s features. She watched avidly as his big eyes eventually landed on her boyfriend’s full lips. 

“I do,” he finally admitted. Not that it was news to anyone. Kyle still offered a massive victorious smile, blushing ever so sweetly.

 “So, I could dare you to do anything,” Erika looked at both boys biting on her lower lip.

“It all depends on how far you are willing to go, love.” Will teased her following with a quick wink. 

Erika was shaken by a heat wave that crossed her skin, into her flesh, gathering through her body just to nest into her abdomen. What has been a fantasy for years was becoming reality all too quickly.

She licked her lips, “I don’t know,” she didn’t lift her eyes from Will as she slid her hands over Kyle’s chest, playing with his shirt. Black was a colour that suited him so well. Not quite as good as green though. “How does all the way sound to you?”

Will’s attention moved on Kyle. He was serious now. “Are you fine with this, bruv?”

The Aussie met him with a cocky, compliant smirk. He hadn’t lifted his attention from Erika. On the contrary, if possible, his pride and affection seemed only to increase. “She does what she wants, mate. I don’t control her.” His eyes crossed her figure, “But I do enjoy the ride.” Once again, Kyle stretched on the sofa, opening his arms up, implying the freedom she had. “And if the ride involves you, that’s just the cherry.”

This time it was the Brit who blushed. The way Kyle winked at Will, meaning all the things always hidden in between their shameless flirting, made Erika’s chest tremble with anticipation.

Erika's attention slid back to Kyle. She melted into a soft smile. Gratitude and affection poured out of her gaze, right into his. She relaxed, sitting back on his thighs as her hands raised confidently across Kyle's neck and to his face. Erika cupped his cheeks and pulled him closer. Kyle was hanging into her touch and welcomed her kiss with a smile. He slid his big hands distractedly over her thighs, establishing contact but still not caging her into a hug.

This time Will looked at them closely. He was still slightly awkward, but his gaze burned with interest that he didn't bother to hide anymore.

Erika let go of Kyle only to turn back to Will, meeting his focused gaze with a teasing smile. Just because she liked to play under his attention, she licked her lips, tasting Kyle's kiss.

“Kiss me.” She finally said, inviting him to move closer.

Before he even dared to breathe, Will looked back at Kyle to check his reaction, only to find complete relaxation from the Aussie. Kyle was still smiling and just nodded at the Brit, laying back on the edge of the sofa. Now, he was the one watching.

Will was still hesitant in the way he crawled closer to her, though she was ready to catch him. Erika slid a hand on his chest, enjoying pressing her palm against his solid flesh. It was the first time she was directly touching him to feel him and they all seemed to react to it. She moved softly, never breaking eye contact with him, somehow afraid she would scare him away. Erika brushed her palm up to the collar of his tee, her fingers toyed with the feeling of its material for a moment before she decided to keep moving up and around the solid column of his neck. 

Will didn't oppose her. 

He may be frozen into hesitation, with his breath shaking and all, but it didn't mean he didn't want it. She could see it in his eyes.

Erika pulled him closer. Her hand moved to his jaw. “Hey,” she whispered, the closest she had ever been to his lips. Their noses were touching. 

“Hey,” he replied just as softly.

For a second it was only them.

Erika smiled. She tasted his breath on her tongue and shivered in anticipation. Her body ached under the need to be touched, even when Will didn’t seem comfortable enough with that just yet.

She was done waiting. She had decided she needed to take things into her own hands and be the one breaking that last small distance between them. So, she did, sealing it with a kiss. It was soft at first, she wanted to leave him the chance to back off. Will barely reacted as they both took a moment to feel each other's lips. She let them all get acquainted with that new dynamic all the while just enjoying feeling Will’s full lips pressed on hers. 

The desire Erika was feeling was undiscovered ground. There was something ravaging in the idea of wanting a man. Another man. Feeling her interest in Will becoming not so dormant anymore and rising, taking over her. But it wasn’t only about Will. It was also being aware that her own man was watching it happen. She wasn’t alone, Kyle was part of it and the freedom and trust he was offering her made her feel all-powerful. 

Just after a good second into that timid, tepid contact, Will seemed to finally defrost. He inhaled deeply her scent and moved forward, embracing her. He grabbed her side, filling his palm up with the material of her top as he clawed at her soft hip. His fingers dug into her flesh as he pulled her closer. 

To the brush of his tongue over her lips, Erika felt her stomach tremble and she was more than happy to oblige. As soon as their tongues crossed, she released a soft sigh. She crossed her arm around his wide shoulders, curiously sliding her fingers into his curly hair. Will’s flavour went straight to her head, whereas for their kiss, she felt it in her lower abdomen. 

Her other hand stayed firm on Kyle’s chest. She needed to keep solid contact with him, not willing to cut him out. And he seemed of the same idea. His hands were stroking her thighs, he had pushed his fingers under the edge of her skirt and was teasing her following the rhythm of her kiss with Will. Erika’s fingers fiddled with the edge of his shirt, loosening up a button just so she could slide her hand under its soft material and feel Kyle’s hot skin burn directly on her palm.

Will was quick to gain confidence. He caged her into his arms, pushing his other arm around her figure. At first, his fingers only brushed on her chest, studying her skin, then his hand wrapped gently around her neck, holding her. The way his thumb crossed her throat in a soft caress made her quiver. He then pushed his entire hand into her loose hair, grabbing it, and making her bend for him as he deepened his kiss.

Any thought Erika may have had was gone. Her mind was pure, hot vapour and she felt like she was melting away in between the two.

Kyle moved. He was done watching. He pulled himself up and got closer to her, enough to kiss the exposed skin of her shoulder. Feeling him, as if Will knew Kyle’s intentions, he moved to grant Kyle enough space to latch on her neck and rolled an arm around the Aussie, placing an open hand on the back of his neck, venturing his fingers in between his hair. 

Erika released a shameless moan into Will’s mouth, not even trying to hide how turned-on she was. Especially when Kyle pulled on her thighs, inviting her to rub against him. 

Erika broke the kiss with Will and turned to Kyle. Their lips connected in a savage kiss. She whimpered and purred tasting both men on her tongue. And she only wanted more. She was hungry. Violently shaken by a deep, dark desire she had never thought she would have felt. It was coming from deep within like a beast awaken. 

She felt Will close to her ear. His breath was hot against her sensitive skin, rippling on her neck, making her lower abdomen react. The small sigh he released, watching her making out with Kyle slid right through her, giving her goosebumps. 

“Fuck-” he whispered just as Erika slid a hand around his neck, squeezing softly.

Kyle, on the other hand, didn’t seem willing to show her mercy. He pushed her skirt high around her waist, grabbing her ass full into his large palms and guiding her firmly to roll her hips against him, bringing her to directly rub against the bulge in his pants. She was already a mess. Erika whimpered as her body was crossed by pure pleasure, only prompting Kyle to reward her with a moan of his own.

She pushed her free hand under the collar of Kyle’s shirt and across his wide shoulders, where she had no shame digging her nails. 

All too suddenly, Erika broke her kiss with Kyle and gently pushed both men off her, leaving them all breathless. Her hands slid on their chest, both to keep feeling them and to halt them, even if for a moment. She looked at them both, trying to soothe their puzzled looks.

“Are you ok, love?” Will studied her features trying to read an answer on her face. His attention then slid on Kyle, to check if he was ok too.

She nodded. “Yes, more than ok,” she stroked both men tenderly, offering a grateful smile. Her attention then moved on Kyle. “I feel we are going in a certain direction, aren’t we?”

“Too soon?” The Aussie wondered, stroking her legs, this time in an affectionate, encouraging way.

“Oh, well-” Erika chuckled, trying to catch her breath, she looked at him and then back at Will, “Yes. But, it’s good. I like that direction.” 

Both guys smiled bright and proud, just as if they had received a golden star. They looked at each other and, once again, they talked without words. 

“I guess we like that direction too, then.” Explained Kyle, finding confirmation in Will’s nodding. 

“We are talking about shagging, aren’t we? I am not misunderstanding?” Sometimes Will could be so strikingly smart. And sometimes he could be dumb as a rock and still, he’d just as easily win hearts all the same.

Erika rolled her eyes, struggling to hide an amused smirk. “That is such an ugly word, Billy.”

“Is it?” Will smirked, pushing a finger under her chin, making her look at him in the eye. “Is fucking any better.”

A shiver crossed her. “Yeah-” 

Will looked straight into her eyes and she felt like she was getting lost in his gaze. “Is that what you are talking about then? You want to get fucked by both of us?”

Erika tried to suffocate a whimper, which only caused Will to chuckle. Behind his eyes hid all his desire and she seemed to be able to see all the things he wanted to do to her. Another shiver crossed her. 

“I do.” She finally admitted, but before she could get lost in that statement, feeling both men closing on her, Erika held her ground, turning back to Kyle. This time, she needed to have his sole focus. “And I need to know you are with me on this.”

“Baby,” he looked up at her. He was so smitten by her, with his enamoured bright eyes and blushed cheeks, “I’d walk through fire for you. This?” He grabbed Will’s shoulder, giving him a shake, “This is just a fun night to me.”

“Tell me. Tell me you are happy to get into a threesome with me. With us. I need to hear it.” She wanted it desperately, but she had no intention of doing anything that could jeopardize her happiness with Kyle.

Kyle softly cupped his hands around her face, slowly nodding at her. “If this is what you want. And Will is down. Then I am more than fine with it.”

She nodded and then looked up at Will, looking for the same sentiment. “Will?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I mean this is not how I’ve planned my evening to go but I’ll be damn if I let the opportunity go,” he winked jokingly at them both, “I’m in it, loves.”

Erika melted into the widest of smiles and then she leaned in, kissing Kyle first and Will after. Only a quick one before deciding to move. They were done talking for the night.

She got up from the warm cocoon Kyle’s lap offered, holding both the boys’ hands and guiding them up to follow her. She didn’t even bother to fix her skirt or her top. To her, it was just quicker and better to get rid of her clothes entirely. 

Which was precisely what she did. Knowing she had both men’s full attention burning on her back, she decided it was time to give them a show. Erika slowly and sensually started to slip out of her top, moving her body fluidly, like in a slow dance. She then stretched lazily, as if she had just woken up from a nap. Her skirt was next. She let it pool at her feet and stepped over it swaying her hips.

Behind her, she heard Will making a noise so similar to a growl. And Kyle chuckled in response, as the Aussie heavily patted the other on the chest. “You are in for a treat, my friend.”

“No doubt.” 

Erika gave them a quick, cheeky look from over her shoulder, soaking up the worship in their eyes. Being almost entirely naked, save for her revealing panties, was something that made her feel extreme ease under her skin. She liked being naked.

She guided them both into the bedroom and finally faced them with a wide, victorious smile bending her lips. 

She kicked her heels off, finding extreme pleasure in the sudden height difference with Kyle. Will was quite tall too, just not as tall as the Aussie. He slid his hands around her hips, holding her as his fingers toyed with the elastic of her underwear. He looked straight down into her eyes. The pale blue of his irises was as bright as fresh, calm seaside waves. That’s what he felt like to her. Warm like Summer.

Erika pulled him down in a soft kiss and then turned her attention to Will. Kyle was still close enough for her to have her back pressed on his chest.

She wondered what would Will feel like. Would a night be long enough for her to find out what Will made her feel like? She had a suspicion that just like Kyle felt like Summer and fresh, clear seawater, Will would feel like a rainy day in Autumn.

Will’s eyes slid across her body, studying her curves. “You both are fucking breathtaking, loves.” His eyes were dark and glimmering, but what she found most attractive was the pink blushing his cheeks. 

Erika’s smile grew wider. Will’s voice caressed her and nested into her stomach, filling her up with confidence. “Yeah?” She wondered teasingly, sliding her hands across herself. She cupped her breasts, arching her back. Kyle, behind her, sighed in approval. Will’s gaze followed her movements closely. “Like what you see, Ospreay?” She teased.

He raised an eyebrow, “I’d be mad if I didn’t.”

She encouraged him to get closer and then moved her hands to his wide chest looking up at him. He met her with the softest of gazes, his lips bent in an encouraging smile as she felt his eyes crossing her features. “Have you been wanting this for a while, love?” He wondered playing with a lock of her hair, twirling it around his index.

Erika bit down on her lip and nodded. 

“Yeah?” Will pushed on, his hand slid on her face. “With us?”

“Yes,” she whispered, not for timidity but because her breath was short. “I have thought about this moment before.”

“Damn,” Will grinned, exchanging a proud look with Kyle, over her head. When he looked back at her he had a cheeky grin printed on his lips. She knew she was safe, and yet something about the way Will just looked at her made him look somehow dangerous. It gave her a shiver that crossed her from head to toe, only bringing her desire to grow. “Tell us about your fantasy, love.”

She looked at him for a long moment and then raised her eyes to Kyle, who was waiting for her with an encouraging nod. “Go on, we are here for you.”

Erika, for the first time, felt timid. It wasn’t her naked skin making her suddenly aware of being watched and seen, but the idea of revealing something so personal to them made her hesitate and blush. Even under the promise they would have done anything to her heart's desire, she still needed a moment to fight the knot rising in her throat.

They were gonna do it. She was about to give in to her deepest fantasy.

“First,” she said pushing both men off her just so she could climb on the bed. For the first time in her life, she found herself wondering if the mattress would have welcomed three people comfortably. “You both are wearing too many clothes.” Erika pointed out kneeling in the centre of the bed, patiently waiting for the two to undress. She bit on her lip, looking at them both. “And I am getting cold.”

Kyle moved first. “We don’t want that,” he kicked off his shoes and finished to undo his shirt, throwing it on the floor. His jeans followed. Since he moved first, her attention followed him and the skin he was uncovering.

She loved the way he moved, but it wasn’t only his confidence and effortlessness that attracted her like a magnet. It was the way his pale skin moved as his muscles stretched and contracted; it was the way his hair fell on his forehead, and it was in the quietness of his steps.

As he moved across the room she followed his body. Her hungry eyes crossed his entire figure. Erika knew his body well. She knew how his skin felt and tasted. She knew exactly what he liked. She knew what made him tick and assert dominance, and what made him whimper and beg. She knew how he liked to be handled but mostly, how he liked to handle her. And she knew how to behave to please him. He was surprising in many aspects and sex was one of those. Kyle was extremely open-minded. He liked to play and experiment and, especially for that reason, they had tried most things in the bedroom. Probably for that specific reason, she was extremely comfortable with him and also never tired of him. There was something about Kyle that kept her wanting, always, no matter how much pleasure he’d bring her in one sitting.

Agile like a cat, Kyle moved fluidly and reached her side. Biting down on his lower lip, he made her raise her face and look at him pushing only the tip of his index under her chin.

She was completely under his spell.

Kyle stole a kiss and then guided her to look back at Will, leaning his head against hers. 

Will stood stiff in the middle of the room, he was observing them closely. His gaze was hooked to them both, as his eyes didn't miss any opportunity to cruise on their bodies. And yet, some form of soft shyness seemed to hit him. 

Erika giggled, taken by surprise and nonetheless attracted to him. His rosy cheeks made her tremble with the desire to conquer him. She raised an encouraging hand, calling him to her. “What's the matter, Will?” She wondered as she gently pulled him to her. He hesitated as he moved closer to them, holding his breath. When he stopped at the foot of the bed, so close to her, he instinctively looked at Kyle, looking for support, not daring to move another inch.

She knew exactly what he was looking for, just as much as she knew how willing Kyle was, by then, to do his best to make everyone feel comfortable and give them all the night of their lives. She felt the Aussie moving behind her, but before he could do or say anything, she took control of the situation back. 

Erika smiled sweetly, like a doll, knowing exactly how to use all her assets to make men tremble. She dared to get as close to Will as possible and tapped his proud chin, making him look at her instead. “Do you need me to help you undress?” Her tone was low and tempting.

As soon as Will’s gaze fell on her, she felt all the weight of his desire hitting her. Her smile widened as her hands cruised across his wide chest. “Hey,” she whispered softly, “It’s ok,” she encouraged him, never breaking eye contact as her fingers hooked on his shirt and pulled it gently up his abdomen, prompting him. 

He finally seemed to defrost and slipped out of his t-shirt in one fluid move. 

When his chest was left bare, Erika looked down. She had seen him like that many times, but she had never been naked in front of him before. Again, her hands moved avidly on his torso, studying the solid edges of his muscles. His skin was warm and surprisingly soft under her touch and the more she touched, the more of his body she desired to explore and not only with her hands. She looked at her own fingers moving across his abdomen, tracing the edges of his abs. She felt her mouth water as the feral need to nibble on the soft skin on his belly intensified.

When her hands moved down to his belt, she looked back up at him. She whipped out a cheeky smile as she toyed with the edge of his jeans, following it around his hips. Will’s gaze hadn’t moved, he was studying her every feature, still not daring to move.

“You know what my fantasy involves, Will?” She wondered pulling a hand back to reach blindly for Kyle, who was ready to take her arm into his hand and guide her palm to his mouth, as he softly kissed her skin. She shivered.

“Tell us,” Will’s coarse voice was low and rumbled right through her stomach and into her lower abdomen. 

“Touch me.” She ordered, guiding one of his hands to her hip. 

Will didn’t need more than that. His other hand followed and as soon as both his big hands solidly caged her waist, Erika released a satisfied sigh. His hands were rough and yet his touch was careful and warm. 

Unable to keep herself at a distance anymore, Erika pushed herself against him and, pulling on his neck, kissed him. 

Will was quick to act. Every trace of timidity left him. His lips were nothing but welcoming, the taste of his tongue on her made Erika’s head spin. He caged her in between his strong arms and didn’t hesitate to grab her ass, solidly feeling her soft flesh with his hand. Holding her like that, he pulled her towards him, making her pressing herself completely against his chest. A satisfied, low growl left him, as he felt her naked skin and breasts against him. 

As sweet as the idea of letting go was, Erika resisted. She abruptly pushed Will away, breaking their kiss and then slipped off his hold only to fall back into Kyle's hug. 

As he welcomed her in his arms, she snuggled on his chest, sitting back on his lap and letting her head fall on his shoulder. Kyle’s arms moved around her hips as his lips cruised her shoulder. He followed up her neck, prompting Erika to turn and catch his lips, pushing a hand into his hair. 

Kyle’s hands moved across her abdomen and, as he reached for her breasts, cupping both of them into his large palms, she arched her back, pushing her chest out and her ass back into his crouch.

She knew Will was watching and it was inebriating.

“You are still dressed, Will.” She teased, looking back at the Brit and whipping a sharp grin. She leaned against Kyle again, from there, she had a good enough view of the other.

Taking it like a challenge, just like she hoped, Will raised his chin and let her watch as he removed his jeans. There weren’t many things able to make her lose her mind, but seeing such a big, strong, successful guy blushing for her was one of those.

His boxers followed and, once he was naked in front of her, Will raised his chin once more, proudly accepting her curious gaze on his exposed body. 

Erika followed his abdomen and had to bite her tongue not to bark seeing his hip dips. She wanted to sink her teeth in them and leave a mark. Her eyes then, with no shame or modesty, followed the dark happy trail under his belly button and fell on his erection. There was nothing to hide anymore, after all. And still, right there and then she found herself still not prepared to see another man in full, beautiful nudity.

“Is this what you wanted, love?” He wondered, wrapping his hand around his cock, massaging it slowly. “Is it as you fantasised?”

Erika couldn’t take her eyes off him and was so taken she didn’t realise her jaw had dropped. He was big. She had always suspected it, but seeing him for the first time made her suddenly feel empty and desperate. 

She released a giggle, pressing her face into Kye’s neck. “You both will be the ruin of me.”

Kyle softly kissed her temple and then cheek, moving to her ear, pushing her to look back at Will with his face. “Wasn’t that what you wanted, baby?”

“I,” Will began climbing on the bed, “want you to tell us exactly what you want us to do to you,” He got closer to them and softly scooped her face into his palms, capturing her eyes, “I want to know how you like to get fucked, love.”

She replied with a small whimper and just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, Kyle traced a hand to her neck, bringing her to look at him. “What are you in the mood for, baby?” 

Her hands raced to both men, as she needed to hold onto them. Her skin was hot and felt tight around her own body as she desperately needed to be touched, bit and licked. Just thinking about it made her abdomen ache. She felt her loins tortured by the heaviness of her desire.

Kyle kissed her and then looked at Will, exchanging a complicit look. His attention still focused on her. “Do you want to lead? Or would you like us to take care of you?”

Erika nodded, her eyes moved from Kyle to Will, nodding again to him. “You take it. The control, take it,” she said looking up at Kyle, giving him permission to do of her like he pleased and decide if and when to let Will do the same.

“Ok, baby,” Kyle whispered softly, rewarding her with another kiss. Then, his grip around her throat became more assertive. He pulled her against his chest, making sure Will had complete view over her.

“Shall we show Will how good you are, pet?” He wondered to her ear, switching from his more affectionate pet name to the one he preferred using when he was going to be dominant. His eyes still pointed at Will, teasing him, studying his reaction. “What do you think?” Kyle continued, softly nibbling at her neck. “I think Will would like to see what a good girl you can be.”

Her eyelids fell heavy on her eyes as she too studied Will reaction, feeling her skin quiver under the intense laser hot focus he had on them. His eyes followed as one of Kyle’s hands moved on her abdomen and down. When the Aussie pushed his hands in between her legs, they both were left breathless. “Shit, pet,” the way he kept gently and devotedly referring to her with her pet name made Erika’s lose her train of thoughts. “Mh,” Kyle smiled proudly, releasing a low moan, “you are so wet. Soaked your panties.”

Erika trembled under the attentive touch of his fingers, trying to move her hips and have more. “Kyle,” she huffed, digging her nails into his forearm. 

“You should have told us you were such a mess,” he still teased, raising his hand to show Will her juices sticking his fingers. “Do you want Will to touch you like this?” He wondered lowering his hand again, not giving her time to reply. This time, when he reached back, he pushed his hand under her panties, pushing his large fingers through her folds, finding her clit with ease. Kyle smiled like a wolf, moving his attention to Will, enjoying seeing the Brit breathless. 

“Do you hear the noises she makes, Willy?” Just to prove a point, the Aussie left space to the squelching noise her pussy made as he toyed with her. Her soft, sweet whimpers followed. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Will was gone, lost under Kyle’s spell just like she was. “She is. You both are.”

Erika trembled under Kyle’s touch. She was already a mess and he had barely started touching her. Kyle had no mercy either, he was determined to give Will a show. “Say it, pet. Tell me.”

The way Will was looking at her made her skin ache. “I do, I do,” she whined, “please,” 

Kyle took her words like an order and let go of her, looking at Will over her shoulder. A smile crossed them both and, after a nod of acknowledgement, Will took over.

He towered over her, his hands quickly tracing down her hips, gripping on her thin underwear. “You won’t need these, will you, love?” He wondered and, as she replied with a whimper, he ripped her panties unapologetically, giggling to himself. As he pushed his hand in between her legs, Erika climbed his figure, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and dragging him down into a kiss. 

Will pushed his rough fingers into her wet folds and welcomed her heat with a low, pleased moan that vibrated through his chest and straight into her belly. He didn’t give her anytime to get used to him, the pace of his strokes was unforgiving. “Do you want to come?”

Erika nodded, rolling her eyes in the back of her skull, already feeling her abdomen heavily contracting as waves of pleasure crossed her. 

“Nah,” Will wrapped his free hand around her throat and squeezed, “that’s not enough, love. Kyle said you’d be a good girl. So tell me. I wanna hear it.”

“Fuck-” She huffed, digging her nails into his shoulder, feeling herself already coming undone. “Make me come. Please Will, please,”

Will smirked. His grin made his lips bend in a dangerous curl. Merciless, Will stopped stroking her only to look down at her, amused. “Already begging?” He looked back at Kyle, “We haven’t even started with you. Are you sure you can take us?”

“I can take anything you guys have to give,”

“Careful, love, we might take you up on that.”

“Such a desperate mess,” Kyle started, dragging himself closer to her. The moment she realised she was squeezed in between them two it was like she breathed new life, and still, air wasn’t was she needed to stay alive anymore. Not as much as she needed them right there and then. Kyle kissed her shoulder, neck, ear, pushing a hand in between her hair and pulling them, making her raise her head forcefully. “So pretty,” he smiled, still looking at her with the upmost devotion.

“She is.” Will agreed, “Keep her steady,” he ordered and proceeded to go back touching her. Again, his touch was hot and skilled and his pace unforgiving. Kyle did as instruct and held her, ready to catch her as Will pushed over the edge. “Yeah, love, c’mon, come for us,” they both watched her in awe as she came. Kyle pushed a thumb into her mouth, trying to suffocate her loud moans, with not much success. As her orgasm shook her, Will pushed two fingers inside of her. She welcomed that invasion eagerly, moving her hips into his palm. 

“Fuck-” he groaned as her walls squeezed his fingers, “so fucking tight.” Will guided her through her high and then let her catch her breath, as both men held her. He then raised his fingers to his mouth, sucking her juices off his digits right under her eyes. Erika gasped, looking at the way the pink tip of his tongue danced on his fingertips. “so fucking delicious.”

Taken by a ravaging desire, Erika pulled herself up, capturing Will’s lips into a kiss. Tasting herself on his tongue made her whine and purr, feeling as she had just marked him. It was something primal, and she wasn’t ashamed of it.

The moment she caught her breath, Erika moved her attention to Kyle. Now distancing herself slightly from Will, she climbed on the other and found a comfortable nest into his lap. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you still have your boxers on.” She dared, pushing her fingers into his hair, only to move them back on his forehead.

Kyle smiled. “Why? Does it bother you, pet?” He teased her, only prompting her to move her hips on him, rubbing herself intentionally on his erection. 

Not satisfied, she then pushed her hand on the trapped bulge of his erection, grinning proudly up at him. He was so hard it made her mouth water. Knowing he wanted her so bad only fed her ego. “Yes,” she purred, massaging him and enjoying seeing how he moved under her spell. Erika watched his shoulder tensing and his Adam’s apple tremble in his throat. “Especially since I’d like to choke on your cock as Will fucks me.”

“Is that your little fantasy?” As Kyle wrapped his long arms around her, Will was the one who moved closer to them now. 

He softly kissed her necked shoulder, as his hands found her hips. He traced her skin all the way up to her neck with his lips and she could feel he was smiling. “Is it, love?”

Erika had to remind herself to breathe and when she did, she almost chocked, trying to regain focus. She nodded, rolling her head back just enough to look up at Will. “Yes. To begin with,”

Will raised his eyebrows and sent an amused look to Kyle, his smile only widened. “Did you hear your little girl? To begin with, that’s impressive.”

Kyle pushed her hair behind her ear, attracting her attention back to him. “She has stamina. Right, pet?”

Erika gaze became sharper. She looked at Kyle first and Will after and then she kissed them both. “You are driving me insane.” She confessed, “I have never craved sex like I am doing right now. Like a fucking animal. So,” Erika gave them both a soft push, only to get them to give her the space to position herself facing Kyle and giving her back to Will. “I want you both to fuck me until I beg you to stop. Until I fucking cry or pass out. Can you do that?” She wondered pointing both her indexes under their chins. “And I am not being a good girl right now,” she continued, lowering herself on all fours. “I am being very, very naughty and I want you to punish me. I want you to either shut me up or make me scream.”

Kyle grabbed her chin, making her look at him, purposely towering above her. With his thumb he pushed her lips open, toying with her, enjoying seeing how she followed his queue and flicked her tongue on his digit. “Heard that, mate?” He didn’d look away but wasn’t talking to her. 

“Loud and clear, bruv,” Will’s hand followed her hips, prompting her ass up. He wrapped one of his strong arms around her hips, pulling her towards him, rubbing himself against her ass. “You want me to fuck you while your boyfriend watches? So fucking dirty.”

“S-shit, Will,” she breathed heavily, “Kyle.” 

Calling for the Aussie only prompted Will to give her a push, bending her forward in front of him. He slid his hands across her thighs, first the outside and then, his fingers teased her, following her most sensitive skin on the inside, encouraging her. She felt his eyes burning on her skin, “Fuck me, you are perfect, love. Spread those legs for me, let me see your little pussy,” his hands moved around her glutes, spreading them and toying with her flesh.

She was blinded by desire by then. Her mind was fogged, everything she could think about was the cold feeling of air hitting her exposed skin and her aching, empty loins waiting to be filled. 

As she arched her back, in an automatic response, Will sighed in approval, rewarding her with a playful slap on her ass. Then, he pushed his heavy cock on her, sliding it on her wet folds, teasing her clit. Erika whimpered, trembling under him. “You want it. Such a bad girl so desperate for this cock, uh? Who would have thought,” He then proceeded to push a finger inside of her, and then a second, “Fuck,” he gasped, “You are even wetter than before.”

“Please, Will-” as she begged him, her hands opened on the mattress, her arms already shaking under the pressure. She licked her lips. 

A hot wave of pleasure crossed her, making her quiver. She released a soft moan, with her chin still in Kyle grab. She looked up at him, silently begging to get what she asked for. 

“What’s that, pet?” He wondered casually, pretending not to know what she wanted. Kyle pulled on her chin, making her bend between them. “You want my dick? What a dirty, dirty slut you are, begging to be filled both ends by two guys.”

In response, she simply nodded, releasing a choked moan, as her focus slid on his boxers. She was ready to drool, only seeing the underline of his cock pressing heavily in the soft material of his boxers.

Kyle let her go with a ruder push, granting her the freedom to do as she pleased and Erika finally reached for him. She took a moment to toy with him, rubbing her hands on his cock and balls from over his boxers. Erika followed his lower abdomen with her tongue until she reached the elastic of his underwear, it may have looked like she had some patience left, but truth was she was done, she couldn’t wait any longer. She eagerly pulled his boxers down his thighs and grabbed his erection with both hands. As she traced his length with her tongue, Erika looked up, making sure Kyle was enjoying the view.

He released a grunt, pushing a hand into her hair, grabbing a handful. His other hand slid around her throat, grabbing at her solidly. “Are you ready, pet?”

As she nodded to him, Kyle’s attention briefly moved to Will signalling to him the same message. “Fuck her,” he ordered. “Give her exactly what she asked. Be rough, she likes it rough, right pet?” Kyle’s attention slid back on her.

Erika nodded, now entirely submissive, “Yes, please. Please, Will, just give it to me,”

Will pushed a hand up her back, following her spine, pushing her down. “Then, put your face on the mattress, love. Give me a minute and then Fletch can fuck your pretty throat, yes?”

She obeyed and as she lowered herself, both men released a pleased sigh. 

Will positioned himself, prompting the tip of his fat cock against her entrance. He teased her a couple of seconds and then, with no warning, grabbing onto her hips, he pushed himself inside of her with one sharp thrust, making sure he hit her as deeply as he possibly could. He ripped a loud moan out of her chest that she suffocated in the mattress, only prompting him to groan in response. He stretched her completely, taking her breath away. They both moaned, as she melted in a victorious smile. 

Will then gave her take a moment to get used to him. As she welcomed his size, squeezing him, Erika almost lost strength, feeling the need to let herself go. She was already seeing stars. She felt him in her belly, so deep inside of her she was sure she had never felt so filled. 

“Good girl,” he rewarded her with a praise, before he started to move, slow at first in and out of her. “Such a good little girl with a good little pussy,”

Erika purred and whimpered, calling his name, as pleasure prevailed over her.

Every one of his pushes made her pleasure grow, bringing her to unashamedly moan for him, as the pressure of a new, rising orgasm nested across her stomach.

Will’s hands were solidly holding onto her hips as he fucked her from behind, guiding her to slide upon his cock. He was holding her so tightly it almost hurt, almost, because her pleasure was much greater, enough for her to forget about discomfort. Plus, she was hoping his clutch would leave bruises on her skin. There was something so profound, so intimate, about being marked during sex, and she loved to have her skin baring the traces of passion. 

There was a pause. Kyle waited patiently, giving her the chance to get used to Will first, before he too moved, pulling on her hair to get her back up. She was ready to welcome him as soon as he did. Keeping her by her hair with one hand and wrapping his other around her throat, helping her balancing herself, Kyle smiled dangerously to her, willing to give her exactly what she had asked for, nodding, as she opened her mouth for him. “Good girl, open wide,”.

Erika leaned in, sliding her tongue across his shaft, from base to tip, enjoying hearing his sigh of approval. She closed her lips around the tip of his cock, sucking on it and playing with it with her tongue, and then she pulled him deeper in the back of her throat. Kyle grabbed on her hair. And Will clutched on the soft edges of her hips, digging his cock deeper inside of her. So much she thought she felt his hit in her stomach.

Erika had never felt so filled up and she loved it. It made her skin shiver and her stomach tremble as pleasure buzzed through her entire being, making her arms and legs shake. She savoured the feeling of both their hands on her, as the warmth of both their bodies seeped through her skin. She was so lost in the pleasure Will was giving her and in the devotion she was determined to show Kyle as he fucked her throat, she didn’t even recognize the waves of an orgasm growing on her. To the point that, when she came, it was a surprise.

“Fuck,” Will grunted, “Yes, love, yes. Come for me. Such a good girl.” As Will praised her, guiding her through her orgasm with unforgiving thrusts, Kyle pulled back, granting her the possibility to voice her pleasure. He scooped her face up, making her look at him. “Are you coming, pet?”

She was only able to roll her eyes, nodding, unable to speak if not for convulsed whimpers.

Will didn’t stop. He kept pounding her trembling flesh. He guided her through her high and then right into overstimulation. Unforgiving and perfect. As her strength left her, he was ready to grab her a moment before she folded on the mattress. Will pulled her up, so her shoulders were pressed against his chest. He held her tight with an arm around her waist and a hand wrapped around her throat. “Oh, we are not done, love.” His whisper sounded so sweet and yet so threatening. She looked up at him, helpless, only able to whimper as her tired flesh was charging up again. She felt like she could break under such pressure. Will’s fingers slid around her jaw, holding her as he nodded proudly. “Go on, love, give me another, I know you have it in you.” He then pulled her chin, turning her towards Kyle, “Let your boyfriend watch you coming on my cock again.” 

Will slid his free hand between her thighs, easily finding her clit that he proceeded to massage, still pounding inside of her, breaking her breath with every hit. 

“Touch yourself, Kyle,” Will instructed, his hungry gaze falling on the Aussie. “I want to see it.”

Erika watched as Kyle gave Will what he wanted without hesitation, wrapping his hand around his cock, he pumped into his palm, letting the Brit curiously and unashamedly watch. Kyle released a small whimper, calling for Will’s name, only prompting the Brit to approve with a grunt.

Erika grabbed on Will’s arm, digging her nails through his skin, doing her best to find something to hold onto as a new wave of pleasure washed over her. This second orgasm was so powerful that it blinded her for a moment. She cried out loud, calling for Will’s name multiple times, as he guided her through her pleasure, this time properly, granting her the chance to catch her breath, indulging her satisfied body, supporting her. He whispered sweet praises into her ear, welcoming her pleasure with pure satisfaction.

As soon as Will loosened his hold on her, Erika thought she could fall, but Kyle was there to catch her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as Kyle took her away from Will’s arms and laid her on the mattress. He caressed and kissed her sweaty skin, praising her too, granting her the possibility to rest her quivering body for a moment. 

“Are you ok, baby?” Kyle checked on her. 

Erika’s eyelids still felt too heavy for her to open her eyes but she had enough strength to loosely raise a hand to his face and brush be back of her fingers on his cheek, grateful to his sweet attentions. She was only able to nod to his question. And yet a lazy smile crossed her lips.

She was fatigued, out of breath, maybe even tired, but not at all satisfied, besides the fact that her belly still vibrated with the echoes of the deep pleasure Will just gave her. 

Kyle softly kissed her chin and then her lips, to which point she had gained enough focus back to let her fingers wander free into the lose locks of his hair. At the same time, without looking, she raised her other hand to Will and was pleasantly surprised when he took it into both his, lowering himself to softly kiss her knuckles.

“Was it good, love?” Will wondered, laying next to her and daring to deliver a timid kiss on her shoulder.

Erika chuckled, still out of breath from before. Words were still difficult to be formulated. She suspected they had just fucked her brains out, which made her very happy. So, instead of trying to formulate some grateful praises, she turned to him and kissed him.

“That good, uh?” Kyle was ready to make a light joke as he pressed his smile into the crook of her neck, but before he could, Erika moved so quickly she surprised even herself.

“Mh, yes,” She rolled on top of him, grabbing both his wrists and pushing his arms above his head. Then she sat back, straddling him, looking down at him. Her eyes cruised avidly across his body, “But don’t think I am done with you.”

She then looked at Will too, just to make sure her message was clear. She meant every word from before. 

She pushed her index under Will’s raised chin, enjoying seeing how he moved, attracted like a magnet to her, following her as if she had been pulling him up. When he sat back up and was close enough for a kiss, she smiled evilly, pushing him back down on the mattress.

It was clear she had just decided to take control and both men were willing to give her what she wanted. Both acted following her. When she needed them to lead, they were there to handle her, but now, just as easily, they both submitted themselves. It made her feel all-powerful.

Her attention moved back on Kyle. She pushed her hands on his chest and down, across his abdomen, following the solid line of his muscles with her nails, just to tease him. He didn’t dare to move, keeping his wrists crossed above his head as if she had tied him up.

“Now,” she grinned, as her hand slowly traced back to Kyle’s neck. He bent under her, stretching just as she liked, releasing a soft pleasureful sigh. “It’s your turn,” she proudly announced, only bringing Kyle to nod, completely lost in her design. Erika turned to Will, raising her chin, enjoying to be the one towering over them both, now. “Are you going to watch me ride my boyfriend’s cock?” She wondered, knowing there was only one answer to her question, and still enjoying seeing how Will nodded. “Will you touch yourself as I fuck him? Pretending your hand is my little pussy?”

Will released a low hiss, nodding to her words. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Erika’s eyes widened as his words hit her right in the stomach. A shiver crossed her and then became hot pleasure melting into her. Her lips bent into a warm, wide smile as she stretched and purred. “Look at you,” she grabbed Will’s chin, giving him a soft pull, “you already know exactly how I like to be pleased. Good boy.”

Though as soon as she let him go with a push, her attention went back on Kyle and never moved off him. She smiled at him as sweet and as dangerous as poison. She soaked in the devotion in her eyes and rolled her hips above his, willingly rubbing herself on his erection. The shiver that crossed him made her purr once more. 

“You are such a pretty boy,” she praised him, her hands cruising across his torso. Kyle smiled to her letting her do her thing. She followed his arms and bent over him, grabbing his wrists and pushing them down behind his head as she kissed him. 

He only pretended to try and fight her hold and resist her, but she knew if he actually wanted to break free, he could have easily overpowered her. The fact that he let her lead, especially after she had granted him the control, was intoxicating. She always liked to break the rules. Even her own.

“Did you like seeing Will fucking me?” She teased him sliding her nails across his chest, now deeper, making sure to leave marks.

Kyle gulped loudly and then he nodded. “I did.” 

“Do you want me to fuck you, now?”

“I do.” He pushed himself slightly up, only enough to catch her lips in a famished, desperate kiss.

She didn’t wait much longer. Pushing a hand between their bodies she positioned him to her entrance and slid above him, taking every inch of his length. She pulled herself up, pushing on his chest and let her head fall backwards, welcoming his size with a moan. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good.”

She admired him as he welcomed her tight hold with departed lips and glimmering eyes fogged by desire. 

Erika looked over to Will, willingly rolling her hips on Kyle’s cock only to see him mirroring her movement with his hand clutched around his erection. God, those two men, lost in their pleasure, laying underneath her, were gorgeous. The two most beautiful men she had ever laid eyes upon. Both hers in that specific moment.

She stretched letting her head fall backwards, voicing her pleasure. Erika had absolutely no patience or desire to take it easy. She moved her hips up and down Kyle’s cock at a voracious pace and he let her choose the rhythm she more desired, giving her everything she wanted. Understanding her need to get off once more, and being more than supportive about her desires. 

The room filled with their moans. To Erika, it was like something had awaken inside of her. A wild, ravaging desire she had never had before. Something hidden and profound had woken a side of her she didn’t know. And she wondered if she would have ever been able to get back to the person she was and to the life she had.

Erika grabbed Kyle by the neck and squeezed his throat. A satisfied, complicit wide smile crossed her lips as she encouraged him. Pleasure started to build inside of her, firing up her nerves, gathering pressure around her stomach. The more she was given, the more she desired, it was like a sweet curse. And she started to doubt she could really reach full satisfaction.

She gave Kyle a pull, and, like driven by an invisible force, he moved, doing exactly what she wished him to, knowing what she needed. “What is it baby?” He sat up underneath her and caged her in between her arms, now guiding her to ride him, holding her safely. “Are you coming again?”

Erika held solidly onto his shoulders, digging her nails into his back. She suffocated a loud moan into the crook of his neck and then nodded, feeling the intense waves of pleasure mounting inside of her. 

“I need-” her breath was broken by a whimper as her fogged up eyes searched for Will. She reached for him and just as Kyle did before, he too was ready to move for her. 

He was quick to kneel by her side and took her hand into his, letting her palm nest on his chest. “What is it, love?”

“Tell us what you need, baby.”

“Just,” she whispered, “come with me, the both of you.”

Will’s free hand slid on the back of her neck, holding her head up as he pressed his lips on her temple and cheek, bringing her to first kiss him and then let her turn to kiss Kyle.

In the heat of the moment, she let go and came again. This time, as violent as the one before. Blinded by pleasure, her strength leaved her the second her body came undone. Erika abandoned herself between the two men’s arms, crying out their name. 

Both Will and Kyle followed her closely filling her up and marking her skin. 

Erika found herself thinking God, be praised, and had the impression she heard bells tolling, as the two men held her and their pleasure dissipated in the thick, hot air surrounding them. 

It was a funny thought. She wasn’t even religious. An innocent giggle rolled through her chest as both Kyle and Will laid her back on the mattress with care. 

“Good?” Kyle was short breathed and still leaned into her, only bringing her to roll and snuggle against him, rubbing her face against his neck, grateful. “So good.” 

Will, on the other side of her, fixed a pillow under her head and then softly kissed her shoulder. “You are something else, love,” feeling his smile on her skin made her stretch against him and turn, looking for a kiss, “how the fuck am I supposed to get over you two now?”

“Don’t,” Kyle suggested, “Stay.” 

“Yeah?” Will wondered hopeful.

“Check me in a loony bin if I’ll ever refuse you, mate.”

Will exchanged a soft look with Kyle, revealing some sort of gratitude hiding behind his blue eyes. It wasn’t only about stepping into another man’s bed, with his partner. It was much more than that, hidden in plain sight right in between the two boys.

As Will relaxed, Kyle smiled widely and welcomed him with an affectionate, soft slap on the cheek. “Good boy, Billy Goat,” then the Aussie leaned into Erika kissing her softly, “Let’s get you cleaned up, uhm?”

Before he could move away, she held him down making him look back at her. “I love you, Kyle Fletcher.”

“Whatever,” 

[bit-dodgy-innit]

Get a Little Action In

Set in The Shape of Youniverse 

Summary: A standard date night with your boyfriend ends by revealing a side of him you’ve never seen before.

Pairing: Marc x afab!reader (Reader eventually marries the system)

Word Count: 2.7k 

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI!

CW/TW: Minor violence involving a gun, references to Marc’s trauma and emotional distance, relationship angst and insecurities, shower sex, fingering, p in v sex, and a nearly unbearable amount of ~softness~

A/N: Despite the title of this fic being a line from a rather jaunty Elton John song, this came out with mucho feels and romance! It’ll be reflected on the masterlist, but for all you friends following along at home, this takes place in the first year of reader and the boys’ relationship where she only knows about Marc. 

Also special shoutout to darling @romanarose​, this is kind of a leftover, unrequested 500 follower celebration prompt that she inspired me to go ahead and write it!!

It began as a normal date night. You met up with Marc after work, your overnight bag in tow, since the plan was for you two to convene at the restaurant you’d all but harassed him to take you to, and then spend the weekend at his place. 

You didn’t think anything of the neighborhood Casa Fofó was in. Hackney, and the whole of the East End of London in general, had long been gentrified. Which is why, as you two ambled back to the Tube, the man accosting you came as such a surprise. 

“Gimme your wallet. And her purse.” 

Your heart dropped. Yet where you froze, Marc fought. He pivoted right away, moving so swiftly and smoothly his body nearly blurred, instantly disarming the mugger and wrenching the gun –oh my god he had a gun?!-- from his hands. 

Your boyfriend didn’t stop there. Although the mugger clearly admitted he’d been had, backing away with his hands in the hair, Marc advanced on him. 

“Hey…hey! Alright bruv…m’sor–” he didn't get a chance to finish his sentence however. Marc pistol-whipped him, forcing the attacker onto his knees with the weapon. 

Until then, you’d felt as if you were in the midst of an out-of-body experience, simply too stunned to act, reduced to merely watching everything unfold. Something about the image of Marc towering over the mugger got your mental faculties whirring back to life again, and you hollered, “It’s enough! Please…just stop!!” 

Marc turned to look at you, horrified, as if he’d forgotten you were there. You thought he would heed your request, but instead he delivered one final blow to the mugger with the barrel of the gun, so hard that it knocked him out cold. You watched in cold-blooded shock as the assailant’s body collapsed. Meanwhile, Marc calmly ejected the magazine from the weapon, wiped his prints from the gun, and tossed both at the unconscious man’s feet. 

“Holy shit,” you exhaled. Even though you’d spent the entire confrontation just standing there, you were out of breath. 

Marc approached you cautiously. “Honey…”

“Fuck, you really weren’t joking about the combat training, were you?” 

“Yeah. Listen, I’m–”

“I’m gonna to call an Uber,” you announced.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“Well, yeah. We’re going back to your place, right?” 

“If you still want to.” 

“I do…don’t really want to be alone right now,” you confessed. Before Marc could respond, your phone trilled. “The driver’s 2 minutes away from the high street, I picked there because—“

Marc didn’t need you to explain. “Got it.”

He followed you to where you’d set for the car to collect you. All the while, he kept a safe distance, regarding you like a startled animal. 

It fit, didn't it? Marc had been quite the predator just now, and it was both jarring and concerning to see such a casual display of the lethal power your boyfriend could channel. You knew he’d served in the American military, and had even done some work as a mercenary that he wasn’t proud of, but it was one thing being told this information, and quite another to witness it for yourself. 

Even more distressing however, was how attractive you found it. It was one of those frustratingly primal things that your psyche couldn’t override your biological programming on. Your big strong boyfriend had protected you from a threat and as stupefying as the violence was, you hated the part of you that relished he was capable of it, and that he’d chosen you. 

Despite the ride back to Marc’s flat being all but silent, an internal war of reason versus instinct waged in your head. You were grateful that Marc had protected you, angry that he used such excessive force, turned on by the display, then angry at yourself for being turned on….your mind ran in circles. Only when the driver pulled up outside of Marc’s building did you shake yourself out of your thoughts. 

The quiet persisted until you two were within the privacy of your boyfriend’s place. Marc shattered it with, “So what, are you mad at me?” 

“I…I don’t know, actually.”

“You don't know? Because you didn’t say a single word in the car. Usually the silent treatment means you’re angry.” 

“Marc, I didn’t say anything in the car because I didn’t want the driver overhearing us,” you countered, “besides I was trying to figure out how I felt.” 

“Really? Because it’s written all over your face.” 

“Okay, you tell me then,” you challenged him, taking the bait. 

“You’re shocked and disgusted–”

“I’m not disgusted–”

“My mistake. You’re just terrified then, you’re looking at me like you don’t know me.” 

“I’ve never seen that side of you before, okay?” you replied, “It was intense, because usually you’re so contained. You’re the one who said we needed to wait until your contract was up before we started dating, and I know you’ve mentioned the military and the merc stuff before but God, Marc, you turned on a dime! I’m allowed to be a little freaked out.”

“So you are scared of me.”

“I didn’t say that!!” Marc was really riling you up now. “I was also…I don’t know, weirdly comforted that you protected us? Or my inner cavewoman was very pleased by it. I’m not judging you, alright? So why are you now all cross with me?” 

Marc muttered something you couldn't hear. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

“As usual,” you scoffed with a roll of your eyes. Marc had a pesky habit of speaking under his breath to himself, and it never failed to piss you off, since you suspected he was saying something about you. 

“You don’t have to be here, you know,” Marc said, his voice so low and menacing it came out as a growl. “The door is right there!” 

“But I want to be here! I want to talk about this with you! I hate when you do this, you push me away and I haven't even done anything! And okay yes, I am scared. Not of you…I’ve never been attacked like that and it was fucking terrifying and I don’t want to go back to my place alone!” You tamped down on your quivering lip. Marc was not going to see you cry over this. You could handle yourself like an adult. “And you did take it too far actually! You didn’t need to knock the guy unconscious!” 

“I was trying to protect you! The safety was off on the gun!” Marc hollered. 

You didn’t know that. How could you? You’d never so much as touched a gun. 

When you didn’t reply, Marc continued, “You know I’d never lay a hand on you, right? Is that what you’re so worried about? Because I’d never, I’d rip out my own fingernails before I did tha–”

“No, no Marc,” you crossed to him, but he didn’t let you into his space just yet.

“The ride back here…it looked like you were doing the math if you thought I was capable of snapping on you.” 

“I wasn’t,” That was a lie. “It crossed my mind, I’ll be honest, but the thought left as soon as it came. My brain’s been a mile-a-minute, and I think I’m in shock, and I’m angry at myself because I completely froze. Baby, it’s clear you just saved my life just now, but I don’t want you hurting anyone for my sake either.”  

“I’d do anything for you,” Marc admitted quietly. 

You stepped toward him again, and this time, he allowed you to wrap your arms around his torso and lay your cheek against his chest. “I appreciate that, but I don’t want you to have to.”

“You think I push you away?” he asked in a murmur. 

You didn't think it so much as you knew it. But the fact Marc was even somewhat copping to it was major. You could work with that.

 “A bit, yeah. It’s something I’ve noticed,” you tipped your head up to look him in the eyes. “You’ve built some high walls around your heart it seems.” 

Marc bristled under the openness and trust in your gaze. This was hard for him. It occurred to you then that perhaps he was the frightened animal in this scenario. He needed to be approached with caution and compassion, otherwise he’d lash out like he did with the mugger. 

“Yeah. And then you showed up with a sledgehammer,” he added with a small grin. “It scares the shit out of me. I’d rather fight a hundred muggers.” 

You chuckled at his candor. “This doesn’t have to be a fight. At least, I don’t want it to be. Can we promise to give each other the benefit of the doubt going forward?” 

His back muscles under your hands at the suggestion. “I mean, I’ll try but sometimes I–” 

“All I ask is that you try,” you assured him. 

“Okay,” he agreed. 

Both of you stood there quietly, simply reveling in the other’s closeness. The steady rise and fall of Marc’s chest lulled your still-racing mind, and you began to ponder what made Marc construct the walls he had. He’d never mentioned his family to you, though he did share that he’d been married before…whoever had hurt him had left quite the scar. As you continued to ruminate, it dawned on you that his defensiveness about your reaction likely came from his own shame and judgment over how he handled the mugger. Marc expected you to blow up at him for it, he’d nearly craved it. 

Problem was, despite not speaking it aloud yet, you were madly in love with him and weren’t going to give up on this relationship that easily. You could maintain your boundaries and meet Marc with compassion, something he seemed to lack in his life up until now. 

You gently extracted yourself from his grasp. “I’m going to take a shower.” 

“‘Kay,” he whispered. 

Halfway to the bathroom, you turned and tossed a come-hither glance at Marc over your shoulder, “Well, aren’t you coming with?” 

The corners of his lips quirked upwards before he followed suit. Despite the invitation to get naked and wet with you, your boyfriend was nothing but tender. You individually stripped while the water warmed, refraining from touching each other until you were under the spray. Strangely, the fact you hadn’t pounced on one another right away made the act feel more intimate, more domestic, as you were comfortable enough with each other to just be.  

…it didn’t last very long however. Marc offered to wash you, and the sight of him with his wet hair slicked back, his criminally striking bone structure so close, took your breath away. His sure, strong hands, capable of so much violence, delicately soaped the most vulnerable parts of your body, while he dropped gentle kisses on the length of your shoulder. His worship of your skin made you tilt your head back in search of his lips. 

Marc couldn’t deny you much, therefore he met your silent plea, slotting his mouth against yours, his palms tracing up the curves of your hips, then your waist, to their destination of your now-heaving bosom. He cupped your breasts as you traded passionate, desperate kisses. 

His erection bumped against the small of your back and the swell of your ass, and while your boyfriend didn’t seek any friction beyond the involuntary twitch and shudder he’d wring from your slick body against his, you were ready for more. You slithered out of his gasp only to shut off the water and step out of the shower. It was time to take this to the bed. 

After a cursory toweling off, you reconvened atop Marc’s turned down sheets. He coaxed you open with his fingers, his mouth all but devouring the sensitive skin of your neck as he did so. 

You communicated your readiness to take him inside of you with a particularly pitiful keen, and Marc straightened up, guiding you to the edge of the bed to straddle his broad thighs. You captured his lips once more, probing the cavern of his mouth with your tongue, then reached between your still-damp bodies for Marc’s straining cock. 

In an effort to draw out your lovemaking, you merely circled his tip around your entrance, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip at the feel of it. Marc groaned, his grip tightening around your waist, and unable to deny either of you any longer, you sank down on him. 

You let out your own strangled mewl of ecstasy at the feel of becoming one, and draped your arms around your boyfriend’s shoulders for the leverage needed to begin moving on top of him. Barely a word had been exchanged between the two of you since you stepped into the bathroom, tonight you and Marc were communicating with your bodies. Words were not enough, not to mention unnecessary, for what you two were sharing right now. 

While sex with your boyfriend was always stellar, tonight felt different. Instead of using sex to express your attraction, your appreciation for each other, it felt as if the meeting of your bodies were helping you to truly connect and express the depth of your emotion. If you could stay caged inside his bulging biceps forever, your bare skin pressed against his, you would. 

Marc glanced down to where you both were joined, where you writhed on his thick girth, and looked back up at you, his gaze heavy-lidded, blissed out, and oh-so-seductive. His hips began to meet yours. Usually, Marc liked to make a show of his strength in the bedroom, something you unabashedly enjoyed, but his movements were softer than usual. He moved languidly, using his grip on your waist to guide you further, both of you finding the perfect pace and force in which to bring your bodies together. 

“Wanna make you come,” he husked in a rumble that drifted into your ear. 

“Touch me,” you gasped. 

Marc didn’t hesitate, his hand dropped from your left hip to the apex of your legs. He took a quick detour to feel where you were stretched around his manhood, ripping a whimper from your throat, before his finger skirted back up to your clit. He brought you to release with confident, practiced strokes on your bud. 

You buried your face into the juncture of his shoulder and neck while your climax flooded you. All you could say was his name, coming in a fit of ecstasy and litany of “Maaaaarc”. Once the blinding pleasure had somewhat abated, you found the strength to lift your head from his muscled chest and collide your lips together once more. Marc welcomed the liplock, dominating your kisses until he had to break away, his respective peak surging through him. 

You watched him, bewitched, as your lover’s pleasure played across his face, a mix of grunts and groans leaving his lips as you felt his cock pulse inside of you. At last, his eyes focused and met yours, though neither of you knew what to say. You couldn’t think of a single word in the English language that could begin to capture how you felt. 

Marc lifted you carefully, still inside of you, to deposit you amongst the sheets. He gingerly pulled out of your channel, whispering “I’ll get you a towel” before disappearing and emerging from the loo.

His attentions made you feel like glass, not in the way earlier in which you believed he saw you as a fragile object, but rather a treasure to be adored. Your heart swelled at the thought. But after he’d toweled off, tossed it away to be dealt with in the morning, and collected you into his arms, your words, the ones you were so sure of, died on your tongue. 

It was too soon. Well not too soon for most relationships, but too soon for Marc. He needed time and more healing. An errant, reckless part of you wanted to say it anyway, but you couldn’t risk the inevitable devastation if your boyfriend couldn’t return the sentiment, or worse, left you altogether.

Marc surprised you however, when he asked you, “Why didn’t you get angry with me?”

“Because I could tell you wanted me to.”

He let out an amused short at your immediate reply. You burrowed impossibly closer into his side, demanding another kiss from his lips before you both surrendered to sleep. 

A/N: Sometimes Marc and reader just need to have tender, romantic, sexy sex, alright?!?! IS THAT A CRIME?! Working through the asks/fic requests in my inbox as inspiration strikes and time allows, but I’m also *dangerously* close to 1k followers and have a special fic planned for that milestone too! 

Taglist: @twwcs, @rmoonstoner, @hot-mess-express1, @murdickdocked, @toracainz​, @saahmi @unspokenmoon, @winterbiipp, @avatarofseshat @ilikeoldermenhelp, @losers-club6, @harrys-tittie, @ninebluehearts, @lucianadraven32, @dawnsutopia, @strawberry1042-blog @nikitawolfxo, @weirdo125 @damnzelsoul @missmarmaladeth @welcometostayingawake @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[gigglz]

Sneaky

Ler!Hobie

Lee!Miles

(Strictly PLATONIC!! This is a tickle fic.)

Quick, short fic. I LOVE THEM AAAAH

Miles was told he had to train his stealth a bit, kindly saying he wasn't good at it… at all.

His goal according to Peter B. Parker was to successfully scare at least 5 people. Gwen, Pavitr, Peter B. Parker himself, which would be harder considering he was the one giving him the task, Hobie and Jessica. Miles had already scared 3. Gwen, Pavitr, and Jessica. Even for only 3 people it took around 7 tries, since they were all spiderpeople.

He thought for a second. “Hmm. Maybe i should go for Peter next, but then again that would take the longest. I should probably go for the one that doesn’t know what im doing. Hobie. Yeah! Easy enough.”

He spent a good half an hour trying to find him. Turns out he was in some sort of lab… stealing? Of course.

He crawled on the ceiling, invisible of course. Being extra careful to not make a sound.

Hobie was looking around the lab for random parts he could easily fit in his pockets, humming some tune.

Miles was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“How long ya gonna wait for?” Hobie suddenly spoke, startling Miles.

Miles wasn’t sure he was talking to him, so he stayed quiet.

“Aye, Miles. Im talking to ya.” Hobie chuckled and looked up, straight at Miles.

“Aw, man…” Miles let out a sigh and jumped down. “How did you know i was there?”

Hobie looked at him. “I knew the moment you arrived, you’re not very good at being sneaky ya know.”

Miles let out a groan. “Yeah…“

“Aye cheer up, bruv. No need to be down in the dumps about it.” Hobie smiled.

Miles looked at him confused “what?”

“Anyways what’re ya trying to do?” Hobie asked while putting something in his pocket again.

“Oh its just- wait, no. Im not gonna tell you.” Miles almost slipped up, it would be so much harder to do if Hobie knew.

“Awe c’mon tell me.” Hobie tapped his shoulder with his fist playfully. “Is it top secret?” He joked.

“Yes, yes it is!” Miles exclaimed.

“Well now i want to know even more, c’mon Miles, were mates! You can tell me.” Hobie leaned against a table, now very eager to know.

“No, no. Not telling you, sorry!” Miles turned to walk away, cause he knew he was eventually gonna tell him if he stayed.

“So ya wanna play like that, do ya? Alright.” Hobie shrugged getting up from the table, you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“What does that mean?” Miles stopped, suddenly feeling nervous.

“Oh nothin’… unless you wanna tell me?” Hobie grinned.

“Wha- no. No way, forget it!” Miles waved his hands at him.

“Alright, alright. Go then. Didn’t wanna know anyway.” Hobie turned away, walking back to the table.

Miles sighed, “thank god.” He started walking to the door, he was gonna try again a bit later.

But before he could leave Hobie spoke up, somehow right behind him. “This is how ya sneak up on people.”

Suddenly Miles felt two hands on his sides. “waitwaitWAIT HOBIE- ACK!” Hobie started wiggling his fingers into the younger boys sides.

“Ya wanna tell me now?” Hobie laughed mischievously.

“nohoho AHAH HOBIEHEHE!” Miles yelped as Hobie switched to tickling his ribs. His legs buckled and he fell to the floor, Hobie catching him.

“Woah, mate. Ticklish much?” Hobie put him on the floor, and switched to his sides again to prevent Miles from getting used to the feeling. “Y’know I can keep this up for as long as i need.” Hobie teased.

“Ehehehe Hobihie nahahAHAH” Miles squirmed, weakly trying to fight him back. “STAHAHAP NAHAHAAA”

“So ya wanna tell me yet? Or do i need to keep going?” Hobie chuckled with miles.

“ihim nohohot telling yohoHOU NOHOO” Miles threw his head back and kicked his feet.

“Well if you insist, I’m having fun so i dont plan on stopping any time soon. Hey, yer hips ticklish?” Hobie didnt wait for an asnwer and went for his hips.

Miles SCREAMED. “NAHAA OHO MAHAHAI GAHAHAD HOBIHIE NOHOOH AGHAHA” Miles bucked and shook his head frantically. Trying to pry Hobies hands off of his hips.

“I guess they are, dont try to fight me, only way ill stop is if you tell me!” He pressed his hands into Miles’ hips a little stronger, laughing with him.

“OHOKAY OKAHAHAY JUST STOHOHAHAHA-“ Miles could barely speak, it tickled so bad.

As promised Hobie stopped as soon as Miles told him to. “Alright, spill it. Unless you want to go for round 2? I wouldn’t mind.” He smirked.

“im good, ihim gohohood.” Miles was still giggling.

“So?” Hobie looked at him intrigued.

“Ihits just some stupid task Peter gave me, apparently im not stealthy enough. So i have to scare 5 people, you were one of them.” Miles held his sides, trying to get rid of the ghost tickles.

“Ohoh! So thats what it is! I have to agree with Parker here.” He chuckled.

Miles groaned, he knew Hobie was right.

“Better luck next time, bruv! Just watch your back. Maybe ill be the one sneaking up on you, aye?” He teased Miles as he helped him up to his feet.

Miles chuckled, a little embarrassed.

“Alright, alright. I will.” Miles said as he wiped his shoulder to get a little dust off of it.

“I suggest catching them in an environment where its not so silent, like here.” Hobie pointed around the lab.

“Ah, yeah. You're right.” Miles chuckled.

“Alright go, get Peter first, then come back to me. Always stay alert.” Hobie wiggled his fingers at Miles, chuckling.

Miles cringed a little, shook his head and turned to leave, yeah, no he definitely was gonna go for Peter next.

[sgtjamesrogers]

“Sign here… and there you are, cheers!” 

The receptionist pushed a glasses case towards him across the desk, stowing his receipt and paperwork away in return. Roy looked at the smart-looking leather case with some amount of trepidation, as if it might grow teeth and bite him. 

He’s avoided this for as long as possible; he’s hated his eyesight going on him. It had been one of the first signs of his body giving up on him, and any of the potential solutions had felt too irritating to follow through on. Having to poke his finger into his eyes with contacts, LASIK would have made his night vision even worse, and glasses were a particularly irritating solution while he was an active athlete. 

Of course, being retired as well as seeing how much blurrier road signs continued to get, meant that it would be irresponsible to keep avoiding the issue. Glasses would simply have to do. Roy stowed the case in his jacket pocket with a nod to the receptionist, he wasn’t going to wear them out of the optometrist’s office. He still had a little pride left, after all. 

Roy found Nelson Road a busy hive of activity, and the full-tilt chaos of the season left the car park full to bursting. He felt his dread grow as he parked, but took his new frames out of the case and put them on anyway. No way out but through, after all. He just didn’t want to hear everyone being so kind about them. 

Well. Tartt would probably be less than kind given his proclivity for ‘grandad’ jokes and jabs about his age. The idea that at least one person wouldn’t be painfully positive was almost a relief. 

The first person he encountered was Isaac, who gave him a considering nod as they passed each other on the stairs. 

“Cool frames bruv,” he said over his shoulder, taking the steps two at a time. “They pull the whole look together. S’cool that you’re doing more fashion!” 

Kill me, Roy thought as he descended toward the dressing rooms. It was like a repeat of Phoebe’s gift shirt, with multiple people in the corridor stopping to stare and pretending they hadn’t. Preferably before I get to my desk. 

“Oh!” Nate blurted out as Roy entered the coaching offices. His forehead scrunched with dismay as Roy lifted his eyes to him, like the noise had been an unstoppable reflex at the sight of Roy Kent in glasses. It took everything in him not to turn on his heel and walk out again.

“What?” Roy growled, stalking over to his chair and sitting heavily. 

“They look nice,” Nate said helplessly, gesturing to his face with one hand. “The frame shape suits your face, is that…not what you want to hear?” Roy was staring at his desk, but in his peripheral, he could see Nate cast desperate confused looks at Beard, currently kicked back in his chair reading Wonder Boys by Michael Chabon. 

“You look the same as you always do,” Beard said without looking up. “There. Happy?” 

“Yes,” Roy grumped, and then frowned at the book’s cover. “Can I borrow that after you’re finished?” 

“Ay coaches,” came the voice in the doorway, the low voice and ‘soft a’ pronunciation signaling the arrival of Jamie Tartt. “Colin’s not going to ask so I came instead, everyone’s talking about–” His voice halted like someone had pointed a remote at him and clicked ‘off’. Roy looked up from his desk. 

“Talking about what?” He asked, unable not to sneer through the words. “Come on, let’s fucking hear it. You’ve had to be saving up all sorts of material for a day like today. This must be early Christmas to you.” Then he really looked at Jamie. “Have you already been at cardio?” 

“Mm,” Jamie said, nodding slowly as he stared at Roy. He did look like he’d been on a treadmill, the apples of his cheeks a pinky-red that was creeping towards his ears. “What? Have I been at what?” 

“Cardio,” Roy repeated, voice raising in growing disbelief. He should never have put the glasses on, the second he did the whole world went off like milk curdling in his fridge. Jamie shook his head just as slowly in response. He looked almost dazed. 

“Mm, not cardio. Not since my usual when I got up this morning,” he said, sounding out each word like a step where he couldn’t quite find his footing. He screwed up his mouth afterward, lips working like there were other words he might say that refused to be located. Colin was behind his right shoulder just outside of the office, squinting hard at the back of Jamie’s head. 

Nate reached and felt Jamie’s forehead with the back of his fingertips, his earlier bemused nerves now burnt away with concern. “Are you coming down ill?” 

Jamie jumped like he’d been electrocuted, eyes widening first at Roy, and then at Nate. 

“Ill? No, nah, I’m grand,” he said, a little too loudly. “Picture of health.” He stepped backward out of the office, bumping into Colin and continuing to backpedal. “I think I left my— phone! I left my phone, in the…in the toilets!” He vacated the dressing room so quickly, he might have left a Jamie-shaped cloud of dust hanging in the air, like a Looney Tune. 

Roy shoved his glasses up his forehead, scrubbing with annoyance at his eyes with the backs of his knuckles. The glasses were clearly cursed, there were no two ways about it.

[cheezbites]

Ghost x König Headcanons

✎: there might be more of this ship… stay turned !!

♡Summary: Get a sneak-peek into Ghost and König’s relationship!!

*+:｡.｡<3｡.｡:+*

They take turns doing anything and everything. When it comes to cooking dinner, cleaning, taking care of the house, who’s spooning who, they just know when it’s their turn; it’s like an unspoken rule.

If you were to see them together for even five minutes, you’d definitely think they’re two friends with benefits who comically despise each other. But they’re just naturally the most most loving, flirtatious relationship you’ll ever witness.

König satirically uses Simon’s British slang, mostly just to see his reaction whenever he whips out a ‘bruv’ or ‘innit’ mid convo. There’s a high chance he gets laughed at when he does as it’s just ‘Simon’s thing’.

Their quarrelling would be so silly and stupid, but they’ll always come back stronger than ever. It’s usually König making the first subtle move to talk to Simon again - try getting him to open up. They’re both nonverbal when upset, (mostly Simon). Whenever they’re moody, their lips and throat are sealed shut and they suddenly forget how to coherently express their feelings.

Or they both forget about it, leave it in the past, and move on.

This one time they were both sulking over something, this made the atmosphere increase in weight from how ‘off’ everything felt.

“‘You okay?” König asked, wanting and trying to sound as genuine as possible - be there for who he loves most.

“Mhm.” Simon dryly hummed in response, only focusing his gaze on a wall like an artificial distraction. His replies were always curt and when he’s not feeling it and it’s never disdainful or personal. König knew that.

They ended up snuggling and communicating with one another through cuddles, leading to them eventually talking with one another. They’d wrap their arms around each other as König held Simon close as they fell asleep.

König teaches Simon some German only to laugh at his gruff Manchester accent that makes some words sound off. The taunting always ends in wholesome play fighting and Simon moping in some corner because he always loses the play fights. König laughs at him and tells him atleast he tried his best as he comforted him, still shamelessly laughing.

The only person who they can both be completely vulnerable with is each other. They see their true colours, personalities and through each other in a sense. What they had was exclusive in a way - nobody else has seen this side of them, the good and bad.

The teasing in this relationship is top tier. König wore baggy grey sweatpants as he walked around the house shirtless, leaving Ghost to feel helpless - his gaze would unceasingly divert to König’s evident bulge. I mean… it wouldn’t hurt to steal occasional glances when he wasn’t looking, right?

“Eyes up here, Schatz.” König scoffed, clicking his fingers and redirecting Simon’s gaze to his, like Simon was his disobedient dog.

“Sod off,” Simon replied, clearing his throat to mask his apprehension - all just from grey sweatpants…

There’s a constant battle for dominance, especially when they kiss. Their kisses are so intimate; their tongues clashed like chaotically serene tidal waves, König cupped the back of Simon’s head to hold onto him and pull him in closer. The kissing is so electric and sultry - so deep.

(Bonus points for Simon kissing König to shut him up because he was yapping too much, or vice verca).

König gets an advantage in this so-called ‘dominance field’ because of his height. Don’t get me wrong - Simon still puts him in his place every one in a while.

König was exhausted after a long day, the same day that Simon decided to ‘have a go at him’. He put something on the TV to pass time until Simon came in to scold him for something he wasn’t even paying attention to. König already being sat down may have slightly boosted Simon’s ego - every once in a while he gets to actually look down at König, but all König had to do to shut him up was just stand up - tower over him. He crossed his arms, cockily glared down at him and cleared his throat, indirectly telling him to shush or might have to make him.

None of them ever want to back down. Simon continued glaring up at him whilst trying not to lift his head up to try minimise the height difference, making König scoff at his poor attempt. (Awwhdhdw)

Simon gives König nicknames like ‘mate’ and whatnot, but what they get up to behind closed doors is quite the opposite to what you’d do with your ‘mates’…

The only nice nickname König’s received from Simon is ‘sugar’, which is cute until you know why.

König accidentally dropped some sugar in the kitchen, and Simon just had to be there - earning endless teases from him before it slowly transitioned into a nickname. He admittedly hated it at first, but ‘sugar’ grew onto him.

Simon is constantly being pulled onto König’s lap, and no matter how much he squirms about or glares at him he’s staying there. König never fails to retort with a “You love it, Schatz” and warmly smile at him - heavily opposing Simon’s deadly expression.

Working out in the gym together is so motivating and fun for the both of them. They’re both glistening in sweat - making their thin, white tops turn see through, they have that post-workout rush, and they’re both messily chugging water. They enjoy training each other; especially within the competitive sparring sessions.

Simon was feeling rather ‘cheeky’ this one day, so he made König say his name between each push-up. König was unfamiliar with this ‘training technique’ but Simon guaranteed him it was efficient for… building muscle and whatnot. He started off doing them all quite easily, it went on like this for a few minutes, given that König is literally a tank of a man who’s endured strict training for the military. It slowly transitioned into low, breathless grunts of him saying ‘Simon’ whilst beads of sweat trickled down his body. What a sight for sore eyes… Simon’s eyes, more specifically.

“Is it hot in here or is it just me?” Simon muttered, taking a long sip of his water, still savouring König’s exasperated state in which he was practically moaning his name now.

“Yeah,” König panted, “It kind of is,” he breathlessly grunted his name yet again between another push-up.

It took König a while to catch onto Simon’s game. After they both showered, ate and changed, his little scheme abruptly crossed his mind, making his eyes widen in surprise before chuckling to himself because of how long it took him.

They kiss and fuck like they hate each other but the aftercare is so loving and gentle. They supply one another with infinite blankets and snacks or with a, “you sure you don’t need anything else?” even though they have practically every single snug and cosy necessity in their bedroom. They’re both capable army-men that still deserve affection reassurance every now and then, they’re completely aware of this.

“Was I too harsh?” König asked, his tone mildly exhausted and out of breath.

Simon weakly shook his head in response before leaning in to plant a kiss on his lips.

When it comes to sleeping they’re polar opposites. Simon, a light sleeper who’s as still as a plank and as for König who encompasses his body in his arms like a clingy and loving teddy bear who slightly writhes about in his sleep - but not too much to be a nuisance. The first thing he does when he wakes up being the worried, giant boyfriend that he is instead of saying good morning he asks if Simon got squished in the midst of his sleeping.

*+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+* *+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+* *+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+*

Headcanons of dating… (x f!reader)

Dating Ghost

Dating König

Masterlist

[sardonic-the-writer]

—tangy

SUMMARY | this was supposed to be a simple, relaxing mission. all of that had been thrown out the train window as soon as you saw idiot one and idiot two

PAIRING | tangerine x reader

REQUESTED | no

WARNINGS | spoilers for bullet train, hit men, mentions of murder, guns, ect

WORD COUNT | 1.7k+

AUTHORS NOTE | fell in love with tangerine while watching bullet train. what more is there to it

🍊 MASTERLIST 🍊 NAVIGATION 🍊 RULES 🍊

Confined spaces certainly makes the job easier for you.

You were able to observe everyone simultaneously. Being everywhere all at once. Sitting idily in a corner inconspicuously, sipping on a drink while pretending to read a newspaper. All the while watching as people fidgit with their fingers and mingle amongst nearby passengers. Keeping tabs on who leaves and who enters and how many times they do it.

In fact that's all you had been planning on doing for the next twenty four hours. Enjoying the ambiance of the lovely modern train as you waited for your mark. Probably opting on getting up to lure the target into a bathroom stall, slitting their throat once the lock had been clicked. An easy job by definition, especially for you. Practically a vacation handed to you on a silver platter.

That's why you almost choked on your fizzy drink when they walked in.

You'd never forgot a face. Not once. That's part of the reason you made for such a good hit man. Show you someone's high school picture once, and you'd be able to pick them out in a crowd forty years after it had been taken. And when I say pick them out, I mean with a gun. Preferably from a rooftop. Probably from a rooftop.

So you recognized the leather jacket and blue suit almost immediately. After all how could you forget. Your annoyance for them had been all but solidified in concrete the moment the loud one had shot your leg in Russia, his twin just watching. That cast was a bitch to lug around for half a year, and everytime it thumped against the staricase in your house you cursed the both of them.

Suppressing a groan, your eyes cautiously watched from behind the pages of a comically large larg magazine as Lemon and Tangerine walked down the isle of the train compartment together, facing each other while bickering quite loudly. Or at least doing what you assumed was to be bickering. Knowing them, they probably just used that many curse words in a casual conversation anyway.

"I've told you a thousan' times, bruv." You listed to Lemon slur his words with that thick accent of his, practically spitting fire at his twin. "It's Thomas The Tank Engine. Not Thomas the Train. Get that in ya thick skull."

"Oh well, ex-fucking-scuze me. I didn' know I'd be gettin schooled on a fuckin kids show today, twat." Tangerines eyeroll was all but audible in response. He ignored as fellow passengers swapped offended looks with each other at their language. You'd imagine he'd be flipping them off if he wasn't so busy basically biting his brothers head off.

They were nearly past your booth now and out of the train car, your fingers tightening around the reading material in front of you in anticipation. For a moment you thanked whoever had given the both of them such long legs and speedy strides, happy as long as they were out of sight. Didn't matter that they would still be on the train. As long as they didn't see you, all was well.

So of course they would choose that moment to stop right in front of your fucking seat. The urge to stand up and kick them both in their asses was only increasing. Not that it wasn't already high up there in the first place.

"I don't give a bloody damn when ya smart ass people half the time you bastard. Here me complanin? Nope." Lemon popped the p at the last word, pointing a finger at his companions chest. "But no one, and I mean no one ya cheeky fuck, bad mouths Thomas in front of me."

"Right. And what you gonna do about it, fruit boy. Stick a diesel sticker on me when I ain't lookin?"

"I just might. An don't call me fruit boy. You're the one who came up with those names in the first place 'member?"

Your muscled tensed up in preparation when Tangerine suddenly whipped around to you, dragging Lemons attention along with him. The cool metal of your gun brushed against your fingertips as you slowly reached under the trains table for where it was hidden. Maybe this time you'd have an excuse to shoot them in the legs. Send them a hallmark card in the hospital afterwards. Something cheep and tacky. You were petty like that.

"Hey, mate, mind reminding my buddy here tha' grown ass adults don't watch the cartoon channel and he's due for a visit to the loony bin?"

You just glared at him and his stupid fucking 90's porn stache, frown deepening as you watched recognization well up in his eyes.

"Hang on." Your hand twitched with the urge to rip his tounge out of his mouth as it ran across his bottom lip. "I know you—"

"Oh for fucks sake."

You hopped up, abandoning your cozy little corner in turn for dragging him by the lapel of his now wrinkled suit into the connecting cabin of the train cars. You imagined that if they hadn't been so surprised by an innocent looking samaritan dragging their asses along, you would be sporting two new holes in the side of your head.

"One job! I had one job and the two of you had to muck it all up!" Words hissed out of your mouth like steam from a gas can as you dropped your grip on Tangerine and turned away from him, revealing your own gun nonchalantly. They were both quick to draw their own, stances stiff and confused in contrast to your loose but annoyed one.

"Ay I recognize you now." Lemon looked over at Tangerine, gesturing his gun to you loosely. "Russia. A broken leg. James the train, 'member?"

"Would you stop it with the Thomas the train shit for one fffuckin moment?" He hissed back. "Yeah I remember 'em. But that dosent explain what the hell their doin on this train now does it?"

"Nothing that concerns you." You saved them the trouble of yet another fighting match. "And wait, James the train?"

"Yeah." Lemons eyes brightened slightly while looking at you. As if happy someone was asking him about his interest in the train show without attempting to shit on it. "A James. Impatient but gets shit done. Kinda determined too."

You blinked.

"Okay now I like him." You turned your gun over to Tangerine completely now, the man's eyes widening as he sputtered slightly.

"What?!"

You shrugged with an unbothered and downward turn of your lips. "He complimented me. Plus he wasn't the one who shot me in the leg."

"Come-fucken-on that was not a fucken compliment!!"

"I dunno bruv." Lemon shrugged, mirroring your earlier action. "It kinda was."

"Yeah, alright I definitely like you now."

"Oh come off it you bitch! Help me out here or I'll fuckin kill you before they shoot me!" Tangerine spat. You listened as Lemon snickered.

"Hey. I'm good at readin people wha' can I say. And they certainly aren't lookin to shoot any of us right now. That's not a very Jamss thing of them ta do." You sent Lemon a kind thank you—to which he returned it with a your welcome. Tangerine was left alone to seethe in anger.

"Stop that before you blow a gasket." You made a face, referring to the way Tangerines jaw clenched as if he were attempting to chew glass. "Your brother here, Lemon, is right. I don't really feel like carrying your lifeless body across this train right now. I just want to get my damn job done and then go see a cherry tree grove or something."

He grumbled whilst Lemon preened at your recognization of his correct assumption.

"Besides. I'd hate to shoot you in the face and ruin your best asset. Would really ruin my day more than it already has been." A loose sigh made it past your lips. "Fucking up shit is more your style anyways."

You could tell Tangerine was struggling with being of the receiving end of such a blatant compliment and insult on the same time—practically picking through his brain for a measurable response. Either way he was about to run his mouth, and you'd wasted enough time on the job already.

"If I see either of you pass by through my train car again, it better just be that: passing through. Anything else and I am not afraid to end up leaving a few people with ringing ears. Capishe?" The gun in your hands was nodded at strictly, the not so hidden threat being left out in the open for all to interpret.

"Loud and clear mate." Lemon grinned.

"Good. Now scram."

"Hold on love—"

"Call me love again, and I rip that mustache off and shove it straight up that ass of yours. Now ta-ra, or whatever pricks like you say." You were already leaving, so sadly you didn't get to see the look on Tangerines face as you walked off, really just wanting to finish that drink you'd left behind now. Although you wouldn't complain if you were to find something a bit stronger than soda. Especially after that.

The twins waited until you were out of the connecting room before either of them went to speak.

"You know." Lemon clamped a hand down on Tangerines arm with a toothy grin. "If I didn' know any better bruv, I would say tha' you have a thing for them. Not everyday you get a compliment on your ugly mug."

"Must have hit your head boarding. And get ya fucken greasy bitch ass hand off me." He snarled, swatting his brothers hand off his shoulder. "They just threatened to kill me for fucks sake. And I them!"

"I dunno. They seemed like they're a little partial to oranges themself."

"It's tangerines idiot! Tangerines!"

"Whatever. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

[cthulhusstepmom]

Simon has been engaging in what he likes to call "exposure therapy"; in essence he'll go to Soap's room, usually when he's there, and stare at the snake until he feels his lips start to burn and twist. When he's feeling particularly brave he'll go sit on the bathroom floor and stare down the cobra, False cobra he reminds himself. That one is usually better, it's smaller and objectively otherworldly. It's hard to justify having a panic attack over a purple snake half as long as his arm. He's been getting better, the burning turns to a subtle itch to a barely noticeable twitch. It took five hours of sitting in cold tile to get even the slightest reaction last time, watching Hugo cruise around his enclosure while Johnny slept soundly in the other room. Hour six and he does something stupid.

He knows the falsie can't hurt him, no worse than a bee sting if he lets it chew him up, he read. He'd seen Soap handle him, seen the love in his eyes as he looked at him. He doesn't really realize he's done it until he hears the click of the glass door hitting home. And now Simon is frozen watching the snake come forward to investigate him, can feel the flicks of its tongue flicking over his gooseflesh. His lungs start burning, watching the snake flare out its neck hovering above his palm. His scales are wet from where he'd been swimming as he inches carefully onto Ghost's arm. The texture brings him back to the present, incredibly smooth and pleasantly warm to the touch from the warm water. Ghost shakes his head and looks down. Hugo is exploring his lap at a leisurely pace, poking his head into the folds of material in his sweats. Eventually he finds the stretched out pocket and in a flash he dives in and curls himself up as pleased as punch. After that, his exposure therapy takes a different turn and, with Soap's permission, he even takes Hugo to the break room in the dead of night to meet the goldfish (safely on the outside of the glass of course).

One day Soap approaches him with a pleased hop in his step and announces that he found someone for Hugo. Ghost isn't upset. He's not. He knows how Johnny's operation works, Hugo was never going to be a permanent resident...but it just feels so soon.

Soap gives him the details and a week later they've set a meeting in the parking lot of the local Tesco's. Hugo is leisurely curling through Ghost's fingers, distracting him from the exposed feeling of just a black medical mask, as Johnny watches with a small smile on his face that's slowly disappearing as the time crawls past fifteen minutes late. At half an hour late a loud car peels into the lot with a screech, making a beeline toward their borrowed pickup and pulling to a stop far far too close to Johnny for Simon's comfort.

The kid that gets out of the car is tall and lanky with dusty blond hair that's seen more gel than shampoo in the past several weeks. He's young, younger than Simon had expected and from the contemplative frown on Johnny's face younger than he expected too. He's early twenties, 24 at the oldest. He also reeks of cigarette smoke, not that Ghost himself is the perfect role model for lung health but he's not chain-smoked like that since he was a teenager with something to prove.

"Ay sup bruv! Sorry I'm late traffic's a fucking bitch." The kid claps a hand on Soap's back. "Where is it?" Soap is opening his mouth to answer but he's cut off by the next outburst. "Fuck mate you're holding it? That's fucking ballsy, mad respect! Big lad like you, probably take a while before it offed you though yeah?"

The urge to put a bullet through this cocky little wankstain is a loud chant in the back of his mind.

"Not worse than a bee sting." He growls under his breath.

"S' a Cobra innit?" The kid snarks.

"False Water Cobra." Soap corrects and Ghost can hear the click of his teeth as he spits out the words.

"...still venomous though right? Your post said it was venomous."

A pregnant pause fills the air as Soap and Ghost make eye contact. Silent communication flies between them, a language learned in a landscape of fire and death. The slightest twitch, a shallow nod.

"We're done here." Ghost snarls as let's Hugo slither into his pocket, crossing his arms.

"Oi! I dunno what you think you're doing freakshow but I'm not leaving without my fucking snake." The kid reaches ominously into his pocket.

The little shit makes it a single step forward before a heavy hand clamps down on his trapezius.

"Ah dinnae think yeh understand. We're done, aye?"

Ghost feels a grin twitching on his lips as he watches pain twist up the youth's pointed features, watching Soap twist him around and shove him into his car with little more complaint than a pained yelp.

When they're back on base Ghost lets out a small breath of relief when Hugo is safely returned to his palaudarium.

Laying with Johnny curled up on his chest later that night he feels more than he hears a small laugh.

"Yer attached to him now."

He heaves a great long-suffering sigh.

"Less of a brat than you are, made it easy."

His Johnny laughs loud and clear and if his brain is turning with plans of rearranging his room and researching plants then that's between him and god...for now.

[awingedinsect]

-Flood me like Atlantic-

Chapter 9

Word count: 2k

Warnings: slight past trauma, cursing, the briefest of allusions to SH again, III is mean but he’s getting softer. I swear.

“Are you really okay?”

His eyes peeled off the keyboard, growing instantly unfocused as she opened the door and stared at him. He sat crossed-legged on the bed, the slats of the window shades casting him in stripes.

“What?” His fingers fidgeted with the loops of a big, prominent white bow stuck on the corner of the instrument. His sleeves fell to his wrists. “Of course I am.”

She stood silently for too long, brows knit. His heart struck up a quicker beat.

“You know, you don’t have to lie to me.” She said. “I want you to talk to me. I’m your mom, for god's sake.”

“I’m fine, I swear.” He said, trying to look assuring. “Just tuning this thing, right now.”

His eyes met the carpet at her feet. She was thinking about it too, he knows. He’d memorized the crimson trail on it, now faded a dark meaningless brown that even his sisters eyes follow sometimes.

Even his sisters.

He swallowed, lashes fluttering. “…I’m gonna take her to the beach.”

“Sure you don’t wanna come?” II’s eyes wander back to him one last time as he stands in the doorway, IV holding it open with a set of keys in his hand. He waits patiently as Vessel shoves his hands in the front of his hoodie, swaying casually on his bare feet. “It’s gonna be a good time, and I know Matt would love to meet ya!” He grins, a laugh in his eyes. “Pretty sure he thinks we’re making you up.”

II has brought his friend Matthew up a couple times now. An old friend from school, now playing drums in his own garage band. The three of them were gonna go bowling today, and of course both II and IV had asked him to come along. But he politely refused. Today is the day he’s gonna take the bandage off of his forehead, and maybe talk to III about the upcoming gig, since he’s still not positive he’s even involved. Though by the end of the conversation he might need a couple new bandaids.

“I guess he’ll have to keep wondering.” Vessel says, a soft smile on his lips. He truly does love the drummer, and he hopes he’s not too disappointed. “I’m not really feeling it today, man. But next time for sure.”

“Well, try and have a nice day around here.” II says, taking a step further out the door and nodding over Vessels shoulder into the house. “You got mister grumpy pants all to yourself, bruv.”

Vessels not sure whether the look II and IV share is sympathetic, amused, or just generally deeper than he understands. But they both have stupid smiles that make him wish he was in the know.

But instead of questions they finally step outside, crunching down the gravel path as he waves them off.

He locks the door behind them.

It’s not what he was expecting.

He holds his bangs up off of his forehead, dropping the cloth into the sink and turning his face slowly in the overhead light.

To be fair, this isn’t the first time he’s taken it off. He’s been showering and waking up to it on the floor beside the sofa, making him wonder just how much he tosses and turns these days. But he always puts it back on before the mirror can beckon him.

There’s something that terrifies him about the whole thing. About the gap in his memories of that night, in which the damn thing must have been carved into him in the first place. The voice in his head feels like it hums from behind the simple scrap of cloth. And the idea of his reflection also being part of the same nightmare in his head would truly prove that, whatever this is, it’s something that won’t leave him.

His shaking fingers graze the raised flesh, following a perfect line that crosses and knits with a few others. He’d say it was a burn, if he didn’t so clearly remember the blood dripping into his eyes. He doesn’t know what it means or what it says, but the meaning is clear;

Mine.

It means that he is owned.

Swiping the hair back into his face, he gives himself a final inspection. You can barely tell it’s there now, and there’s a definite relief at the sight of an otherwise regular bloke in the mirror. With the last few weeks, the dodging his reflection and the ever growing estrangement from his own body, he’d almost forgotten he’s not a monster.

He looks nice.

He almost looks good.

“Alright then,” he says, brushing some lint of his hoodie and picking a dead flake off his lips. “Alright then.”

He treads quietly toward the door at the end of the hallway. There’s not a sound in the house, apart from the faint shuffle of his jeans and a distant flicker that he can’t place. He’s almost scared to breathe wrong, so he really doesn’t at all.

His knuckles rap three quick taps on the door.

His tongue presses the roof of his mouth, mindlessly preparing a “thhh” after he’s met with nothing but silence for a few seconds. But when his weight shifts on the floorboards in what must be the most obnoxious noises known to bassist he hears a quiet “bloody hell” on the other side, followed by a “come in.”

He turns the knob, almost embarrassed by his timidity. Why the fuck is he so nervous? He’s been carried completely naked and unconscious by this guy, he’s been poked and prodded and felt his hot breath on his tear-stained cheeks. he’s been punched in the eye hard enough to floor him and he’s made stupid fucking sounds while quite literally being bathed. So why in god’s name is standing like an 6’4” shadow in the same man’s doorway about the most awkward thing he’s ever been through?

“Um… hello.”

III’s bedroom is about exactly what he expected. On the smaller side, eclectic piles of knickknacks, clothes and colorful decorations all around, not to mention enough incense to knock a person out. There’s a record player spinning lazily by the window, the needle scratching the middle of the vinyl like it’s been forgotten for hours. And on the floor- crossed-legged with his back to the door -is III, hair sprawled all over his head like it hasn’t seen a brush in days.

“What are you doing?” Vessel asks, shoulders getting less tense as he stands curiosity drinking up the sight. He stares at III’s closed eyes in the floor-length mirror.

“Shhh.”

“Meditating?”

“Shhhh.”

“Why would you tell me to come in if it’s a bad time?”

A distressed groan comes out of III and he turns his head, spindly body twisting around to lock him in a glare. “You need something, blud?”

Vessel looks at his feet for a minute, gathering his thoughts. III’s face is bathed in the colors of the several stained glass ornaments in the window, sifting through his long lashes and glowing in his stern eyes. There’s a few candles flickering around the room.

Instead of answering, Vessel decides to just walk in and sit down on the bed. Not something III was expecting, proven as he twists around and straightens fully to eye him. Vessel pulls his feet up onto the bedspread, sitting like an obnoxious cat while still retaining a bit of uncertainty. And it gets just the right reaction out of III.

“I wanted to ask about the gig. II told me one’s coming up and I… was curious about my role.”

III’s eyes are boring into him relentlessly. But again, it feels like a challenge over anything else. Vessel stays put, meeting the stare. A hard swallow tugs on his throat.

“You hoping we’ll let ya sing?”

Vessel’s face flushes, and he can’t help but break the eye contact for a second. He dismisses it by picking at a loose thread in his jeans. “Well I’ve got an extremely flexible schedule. And I’ve been singing with you all, now, for a bit.” He says, offering an awkward sort of smile. “I thought maybe… I was official.”

“Official.” III rolls the word around his mouth, tasting it for a second out of courtesy. But it’s obviously a bit sour. “You think you’re number one all the sudden, blud?”

That’s definitely not what he said. That’s definitely not what he insinuated. God, having a conversation with this man is insufferable. And here he was trying to be polite.

“Well I have been pouring my heart and ass into performing for you guys these last few weeks, crazy to think it wasn’t just for shits and gigs, right?”

III stands up to his full height at that, casting a long shadow down the bed that makes Vessel question his choice of words. “You’ve been fuckin crashing here, you twat.” He bites. “Hiding from the cops on my fuckin sofa and havin fun with a borrowed mic in the meanwhile. You’re welcome, by the fuckin way.” He rests his fist on a sharp hip, throwing a gesture of Vessel’s head. “Looks like you're good as new, now. Ready to go home.”

Oh, hell no. None of that. Vessel’s mouth twists in a scowl, since he’s not sure how else to react to that slew of shit. His throat tightens.

Home.

“First of all, the fun I’ve been having with you guys could of got me enough money by now to call that goddam motel home for another fucking month, if I wasn’t up here singing for the damn squirrels. Second I didn’t ask for any of this shit, I didn’t ask for the fire or these new scars, or any of the things you’ve blamed me for. I’m just fucking tired, man.” The knot in his throat is no idle threat anymore, and he goes quiet, staring up at those deep, frozen eyes. “…Why do you hate me?”

III is silent for a long moment. His lips form a thin line, hair shadowing his features as he bows his head and contemplates something. Most likely, just how he’ll murder him.

He steps closer. And then he fucking shoves him in the chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. He thuds back on the springy mattress, arms falling at his sides and gripping the quilt awkwardly as III towers over him like a goddam predator.

“You’re a bloody good singer.” He says, watching Vessel’s mouth fall open with some short breathes. “The boys like you.”

Each word seems carefully chosen; a gift he only has half a mind to give. The bassist sighs long and hard out his nose.

“You can get up there with us on one fucking condition.” He says. “Cover your fucking face. You might say your innocent, but until I get a whole story and some proof out of your ass, none of us fucking know you. Understand?”

Vessel nods against the bed, something serious in his face now. He doesn’t want to be seen.

“I need a keyboard.” He says, moving on impressively fast from the demand. There’s simply something atrociously fitting about the idea of a mask.

“And there’ll probably be one, too.” III says. “Just make a half decent sound either way.” He moves towards the door now, lifting a weight off of Vessel, who props up on his elbows and watches as he leaves.

“Don’t fuck up.” III says, locking him in one last stare. “Anything.”

He doesn’t have to mention II or IV to make his point. It’s clear as day, and so is Vessel’s resolve to prove that yes, he can be trusted. He can be liked. It doesn’t matter if he’s wearing a mask or not; he wants to be authentic and knowable. Something he’s not sure he’s ever been before.

Besides, the mask will cover up the scar.

It’ll keep the voice inside.

He’s suddenly left alone in the bedroom, unsure of what to do. The record player keeps scratching and the candles keep flickering, and slowly he gets up, wandering to the window. He picks the needle up gingerly, setting it on the rim of the vinyl.

The static is such a familiar sound.

“Clock strikes, upon the hour, and the sun begins to fade…”

[chloeangelic]

😭Why am I crying in the club rn?😭

Listed by author in alphabetical order cause I'm an organized bitch, here are the fics that made me Sit And Think™️ (or cry) in 2023, or

✨ my top 5 gut wrenching authors selection ✨

featuring @atinylittlepain @cherubispunk @macfrog @netherfeildren and @5oh5 🤍🤍🤍

Everyone knows I love angst, I love terrible gut wrenching pain and suffering and then I love it when my tears are drying on my cheeks and they fuck nasty, hell yeah 😎

So if you're like me, here are some recommendations!!

💙 @atinylittlepain

Deliver Me From Nowhere

Read the whole thing in one night and cried repeatedly during. I had it looming in the back of my mind for weeks but didn't feel like I was in the right headspace until I suddenly was, and it hit differently. I love Dolores, I love Joel, I love how he sees her, their dynamic, the exploration of her emotions and headspace, her body language. Fantastic. Want to cry just thinking about it so I'm gonna STOP.

June

Sat and stared at the wall for a long time after this one, then worked up the courage to post TMWH which I seriously don't think I would've had the guts to post had it not been for June. I love how it handles a sensitive, painful, and very real subject, I love that it doesn't paint Joel as a fixer or savior but rather a realistic, kind partner. Again, his understanding of her and how he makes space for her is something I appreciate so much in DMFN and June.

💗 @cherubispunk

Cherub

This one is an excruciating Sit And Think - I didn't cry but I sat there paralyzed for 48 hrs with a thousand yard stare, just thinking intensely about it, after my second read through. Two chapters and I'm already messed tf up over it!! I read them in the middle of the night and then during the day and I have never been this messed up over something labeled PWP before. The passion, the ominous vibes, Cherub being so soft and Joel having this strange dark vibe... I literally just thought about it constantly for two days and I still can't fully put my finger on why. It just slithered into my brain and I still think about it often and go back to read bits and pieces like a little treat.

💚 @macfrog

All Three Dogs

Max posted this on my most depressed day of 2023 so like fuck you ??? I'm sorry like this is phenomenally written and stunning but like what the fuck is wrong with u i'm not even giving u any more compliments on this one bruv sorry you made me like a DBF series and that's a mortal sin so YOU'RE DONE !!! Fucking dead mackerel eyes speak into the mic bitch chicago sunroof 1 after magna carta i am not crazy squat cobbler jesus christ marie lookin ass

Sweet Child O' Mine - particularly pt ii

This one is so cute and yet it hurts so much. It's so real, the MC is so... I don't even know what to say, she's so on her own and she seems so kind and selfless and it just hurts to think about her cause you can feel her love for her child and for Joel and ugh. She tries so hard to be the best person she can be for everyone and it's one of those situations where nobody is doing anything wrong and yet everyone either is already hurt or gonna get hurt, and I think it's that oscillation between love and hurt that really gets me. I also read this in the middle of the night and all I had to say in my RB was like "thanks for making me cry asshole" (I'm known for my profound commentary).

💜 @netherfeildren

Fear of God - particularly the epilogue

Fear of God is my all-time fav Joel series, the best Joel characterization I've come across and it generally set the tone for my taste in fic. It was the second series I started reading on here when I came back to Tumblr, and it's the first piece of writing that has ever truly moved me. His character arc is absolutely INSANE !! I made the mistake of reading the epilogue while listening to Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish, and for months I couldn't listen to it without crying. The day before my graduation, I kept listening to it on repeat in some strange form of self-torture and I had to explain to my bf why I was sobbing. Try to explain all of FoG in a coherent way through tears, I dare u ! I can't say much without spoiling but basically when I think back on getting into fanfic, FoG is what marks the beginning for me and I will never ever forget this piece of writing ever in my life. (Shoutout to when I got caught getting a nut off to one of the FoG extras - I can't really talk about the series without mentioning that)

The Cassandra Complex - particularly ch I, ch IV, and ch VIII

I didn't give much of a fuck about Din before TCC cause i saw him as like a taller hotter R2D2 and now here I am... Eating my words like a ration pack. I have to do a big girthy throbbing TCC reblog cause I have a lot to say about my fav series in the world but basically I can't read ch 4 without crying and even though this is a Star Wars fic and it makes no sense for me to relate to it the most out of anything on Vic's ML, sith girly is the most relatable MC thanks to her constantly feeling haunted by her past, feeling like she's hiding, feeling unworthy, torpedoing herself, and seeing so much beauty in others but struggling to see it in herself. I'll save the rest of my thoughts for the big RB but basically I've even cried at the fucking SMUT in this series like I'm on another planet when I read it (haha get it?? cause Star Wars??)

🧡 @5oh5

From Eden

Staring At The Wall Saturdays again - I hate how much I see my younger self in little sunflower girlie, I hate that I recognize how trapped she feels in her marriage. It's such an accurate portrayal of feeling chained to a man who doesn't deserve you, and of how guilty you feel for not even acting on feelings for someone else yet but just recognizing within yourself that you deserve better, like that pain of accepting that you're not treated right and that visceral feeling of unfairness that comes with being in the wrong relationship. The guilt you feel for even just thinking it, you know? And having to recognize how you've been treated. Ugh. Also this Joel is... His mannerisms are... I.... I'll be right back-

And now, for the most important award ever. The winner of

🏆Biggest Chloe Tear Jerker 2023🏆 is...

🎉 @netherfeildren 🎉 and this is her 24/7