#i swear it will be fun and painless

[steelthroat]

"It doesn't make sense to outsider, it could be perceived as out of character"

WRONG!

It makes sense! Let me just send you the file explaining you how my brain processed this character in the last 8 months through the very simple and humanly attainable process of osmosis and it will make absolutely sense to you :D

[feyhunter78]

Can you please do part two of Pink Pastels? Thank you 🩷

I definitely can!!! I'm honestly such a sucker for dual povs I swear it's like my calling card, so this chapter is in Miguel's pov! Fun fact: the bf in this story is based off my best friend's college boyfriend who showed up high out of his mind to her place of work SEVERAL times (I obvi changed his name though bc I'm a nice person)

Pt 3

Pink Pastels Pt 2

Miguel searches through every database, has Lyla run your face, your name, every detail he can find about you, and yet you only seem to appear here, in this universe where he swoops in right as your universe’s Miguel dies.

No one notices the switch. Not even his coworkers at Alchemax. In fact, they seem to welcome his “new attitude,” and he finds himself with a raise within the first two months.

This universe is quiet, the other him died from a fluke, embarrassingly enough. But it was so random, so unpredictable, that no one questioned “his” survival. So, life goes on as it had before, how he had watched it go on before.

The old woman who lives next door and watches Gabi when he’s “called into work late,” smiles at him, praises him for working so hard for his daughter. Gabi wakes up in the morning to him, her father, like always, eats breakfast, strawberries, blueberries, and honey on her toast, scrambled eggs with cheese, tomatoes, peppers, and a glass of milk. Then he drops her off at school on his way to work.

The monitors beep at him, and he turns back towards them. Finally, it’s found you in his universe, the victim of a plane crash, years before Gabi would even be born. It’s a painless death. You were among those killed on impact. Gone in a moment, but as he watches you here, in this new universe where his daughter is happy and thriving, he realizes just how desperately he wished he would have found you before you ever set foot in that airport.

“She’s pretty.” Lyla says, leaning forward, a teasing smile on her face. “Looks like someone’s got the hots for teacher?”

“No.” He deadpans, though he can’t tear his eyes from you. You’re sitting in a Mexican restaurant giggling into your margarita, another woman—Janey—sits across from you shoveling chips and queso into her mouth, making you laugh even harder.

You’re in that pink dress from earlier. It brightens your skin, hugs your curves but in a modest way, it’s more than appropriate for a teacher to wear, but he’s salivating at the thought of his talons tearing through it and exposing the soft flesh beneath.

Would you cry out for him? Cling to him as he fucks you? You look so pretty in pink, and he wants to go slow, keep you in that color for as long as possible, but he knows himself better than that. The moment he’s able to, he’ll shred the garment, leaving ribbons of fabric in his wake as he bends you over the nearest piece of furniture and slams into you. He wants to feel your warmth around him, hear you begging for him, his name falling from your perfect lips as he gropes your breasts, fangs scraping down your throat, marking you as his.

You laugh again at something the waiter said, and it’s musical, and perfect, you are perfect.

A twinge of jealousy, a foolish thing he knows, but the thought passes through his mind. It should be him making you laugh. He’s studied you now, he knows exactly what makes you laugh, what songs you hum as you prepare your classroom for the day, how you keep colorful Band-Aids in your purse because you just can’t turn off being a teacher, Janey.

And you’re Gabi’s favorite teacher, he wasn’t lying when he told you she talked about you, though he may have added the pretty part. She goes on and on about you, to the point where he almost doesn’t need the cams, he can get every bit of information from his daughter.

“And then, Ms. Y/N told us about her trip to Disney World! She went with her boyfriend, but I don’t know why.” Gabi says, collecting the animal shaped macaroni on her fork. He let her pick dinner, feeling guilty that he didn’t know she’d cried over her lost tooth.

He feels guilty about snapping at you too. He was already worked up, his job, the multiverse, traffic. And last night he forgot all about the Tooth Fairy, so in the morning Gabi was afraid the Tooth Fairy didn’t like her. But you don’t get rewards for losing things once you’ve grown up, and the idea of Gabi going into that pain blindly, having to watch as those she loves disappears around her makes him want to rip his heart from his chest.

“What do you mean Mija?” He asks, his own forkful of mac and cheese halfway to his mouth.

How had he missed you having a boyfriend? Was it serious? Did he treat you well? How easy would it be to make him disappear?

“Well, Ms. Y/N was really happy when she was talking about her trip, but then when she mentioned her boyfriend, she got sad.” Gabi explains, a frown tugging at her lips. “I don’t like him.”

“Yeah?” He prompts her, fighting the urge, to call up Lyla and have her run a search for your boyfriend.

“He came in one time on her birthday, but he was all weird and smelled bad.” Then she got up from the table and mimed stumbling and swaying. “And he walked like this. Ms. Y/N was really mad. Plus, he didn’t even bring her a present.”

Your boyfriend showed up to an elementary school—your place of work on your birthday, drunk, with no gift.

“That’s not nice, when was Ms. Y/N’s birthday?” If he was speaking to anyone but his daughter, he was sure they’d see right through them, but his sweet girl thought nothing of it.

“Last week, I wanted to tell you about it, but you were on your trip, so I told Tia Margo.”

Tia Margo, the old woman next door. He needs to speak with her about letting him know there was a drunk at his daughter’s school. Maybe next time he sees her in the hall, he’ll mention it to her.

“I wish you had told me, then maybe we could’ve gotten her a gift to make up for it.” He says, smiling at her, so she knows he’s not upset.

“I don’t think one gift would make it all better, she’s sad about her boyfriend a lot.” She emphasizes the last word, making the ending sound sharp as she stabs at her food.

“It sounds like he’s a bad boyfriend. Make sure you stay away from boys like him, Mija.” He can’t help but feel protective, even though she’s only six.

He watches as she eats, her hair in a simple braid, a sparkly pink hairband tying it off. “Who did your hair?”

She stops and proudly holds the braid up. “Ms. Y/N, well Emma did it first, but then it fell out when I did a cartwheel, so Ms. Y/N fixed it, and she said I could keep the hairband.”

If he focuses, he can smell the scent of you, mingled with the scent of his home, as if you’re already beside them in your rightful place.

“Maybe we should get her a thank-you gift?” He suggests, his heart warming at the excitement on Gabi’s face.

She is so good, so pure, and sweet. She is nothing like him, and yet she is everything he wished for her to be. He doesn’t know her mother, not in his original universe, but he knows her in this one, watched the other him break down over her leaving. Agony is a cannon event, no interference allowed. He hopes she never returns, that she stays away from his daughter. Doesn’t ruin her with her selfishness.

Just as your boyfriend is ruining you.

He waits until Gabi’s asleep to call out for Lyla. She appears and raises an eyebrow at the way he clutches your hairband.

“She has a boyfriend, find me everything you can on him.”

“I knew you had the hots for her.” Lyla laughs, disappearing before he can dismiss her.

He waits, packs Gabi’s lunch, slips two dollars under her pillow because he’ll be damned if his daughter believes some magical creature doesn’t like her, then cleans the kitchen and his bedroom three times over until finally Lyla returns.

“Okay, boss, you’re gonna want to sit down for this.”

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @aeryns--playground

[hyperactively-me]

ok hear me out, imagine you and king!ghost are in an argument, and princess is smaller than him, so you have to try to hold this behemoth of a man at bay, but when you're angry and fighting with him, he finds it adorable and he just picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, much to your dismay. king ghost just thinks you look so cute when you're flushed and angry, like a feisty little kitten :)

CUTEE. he has those cartoon-y heart eyes when she's angry at him, which makes her even more mad.

(extras)

king!ghost x reader -- upside down warnings: none

You stand before your husband in a grand chamber of the castle. It had been a long day, and you were exhausted. The air crackles with tension as your voices clash in a heated argument. Simon practically looms over you, looking down at you with annoyance, yet a hint of amusement begins to creep onto his face.

"And that's why you can't simply add a knife throwing contest into the royal banquet! It's supposed to be serious!" you exclaim in disbelief.

Simon's amusement deepens, and he raises an eyebrow at your objection. "But, lovie, a knife throwing contest would be a great addition. Imagine how entertaining it would be."

You scoff, incredulous. "Simon, we're talking about dignitaries and nobles. This is not the damn circus! They expect a refined and elegant affair!"

You try to hold your ground, glaring up at him with the defiance he knows very well. Your words are sharp, but they seem to bounce right off his towering figure. As you argue, the more animated you become, the more he finds it...adorable, to say the least.

His stern expression softens, and he can't help but think how cute you look all flushed and angry with a pout on your pretty little lips.

In your growing attempts to maintain some semblance of control, you raise your voice, crossing your arms in a futile attempt to appear more imposing. Simon, however, remains unfazed.

Ignoring your protests, he steps closer, standing tall above you. His hand gently lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Dove," he says, his tone surprisingly calm as his deep voice rumbles through his chest, "you look adorable when you're all worked up."

Your mouth falls agape, and oh boy, he's in for it now. Before you can retort, he swiftly lifts you off your feet, throwing you over his shoulder effortlessly. The sudden change in position leaves you momentarily disoriented.

"SIMON RILEY! YOU PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW!" you demand, squirming in his grip. From this vantage point, all you can do is pout and glare, beating on his back with your fists.

Ignoring your protests and painless smacks, Simon chuckles to himself, his laughter reverberating against your stomach. He fastens his arms tighter around the backs of your thighs, resting dangerously close to your ass.

"I can't believe you find this funny!" you declare, crossing your arms over your chest even whilst hanging upside down. The more you resist, the broader his grin becomes.

As you continue to demand that he puts you down, he smirks playfully and decides to have a bit more fun with the situation.

"Couldn't resist," he teases, patting your ass with his free hand, strolling towards a lavish couch in the corner of the room. "Not my fault that a beautiful woman was yelling at me."

"I swear, if you don't put me down, RIGHT NOW—"

Before you can finish your sentence, with a swift and practiced motion, he unceremoniously 'body slams' you onto the soft cushions, causing an indignant yelp to escape your lips. He has to stifle a laugh when he looks at your now disheveled appearance, the fire in your eyes burning brighter than ever.

You sit up, shooting Simon a glare that could melt steel, but he only leans over, face hovering inches from you as he grins down at you.

"Have I ever told you that your spirit is one of the things I adore most about you?" he asks innocently.

You huff, crossing your arms and attempting to maintain an air of dignity despite your undignified landing onto the couch. Simon, however, seems unfazed by your irritation, his grin only widening as you start to straighten out your hair and clothes.

"Your sense of humor is seriously twisted, Simon," you retort, shooting him another glare as you push hair out of your face. Despite your frustration, a small smirk tugs at the corner of your lips, betraying the fact that has antics had a way of breaking through your annoyance.

He chuckles, taking a seat beside you on the couch. He leans back in his seat, watching you finish straightening yourself out on the couch. "I think I'm charming," Simon says.

You shoot him a look that says "charming is not the word I would use," but there's an undeniable fondness beneath the surface.

"You definitely have an interesting way of lightening the mood," you deadpan.

"But wasn't it effective?" Simon wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer as he leans in to plant a soft kiss on your cheek. "And you have a peculiar way of makin' me fall in love with you more every day."

You scoff, trying to play off the compliment. "Smooth talk isn't going to get you out of trouble, Simon Riley."

He raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Trouble? What trouble? I was just trying to have a bit of fun."

You give him a pointed look, but the warmth of his embrace and the playful glint in his eyes make it difficult to stay mad. "Fun that involves throwing me down on the couch?"

He shrugs, "Alright, maybe I did get a bit carried away. But admit it, you're smiling."

You can't help but finally let a small smile escape despite your efforts to maintain your stern expression.

"Knew it," he says simply.

"That smile doesn't mean you're getting away with body slamming me, Simon."

He chuckles, squeezing you gently. "Fair enough."

With a sigh, you lean into him, unable to stay mad for long.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[madsfrank]

How would the Dead by Daylight Killers(Mastermind, Trickster, and Ghostface) would react to a Survivor! Himbo! Male! Reader that's a bit like Ken from the Barbie movie?

Himbo! Reader is a 6'6 powerhouse of a guy whose heart of gold, cheerful demeanor, and great sense of fashion makes up for his lack of braincells!

He's just so nice to literally everyone, even Killers lol

(you can delete this ask if you want)

'*•.¸♡ SFW II HC 𝕶𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖆 𝕳𝖎𝖒𝖇𝖔! 𝕾𝖚𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖛𝖔𝖗 ♡¸.•*'

-ˏˋDirectoryˊˎ -ˏˋ Masterlist ˊˎ -ˏˋ Mastermind ˊˎ -ˏˋ Trickster ˊˎ -ˏˋGhostface ˊˎ

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖉 ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

………..Chris?

No like seriously this man is going to stare at you and be like “ah my long lost Redfield.” Especially if you’re nice.

Honestly, he’s probably going to maul you more since you remind him so of his beloved friend-zone situationship.

However, if you start giving him fashion advice? He’ll hook you….but you may or may not see him in the next trial with more than just black leathers.

I feel like you would always be the last alive and of you play into his silly mind games, he may let you get hatch. Maybe.

Either way, all your fellow survivors are extremely jealous you’ve somehow managed to survive even sometimes around Wesker.

It may get so bad that wesker will actually discard the real Chris Refield because your too much of a fun toy to play with.

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕿𝖗𝖎𝖈𝖐𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

First of all, who hurt you? Why are you trying to befriend this man?

Secondly, the trickster is hardly nice in any trials. You will be getting some knives launched at you. Advice? Sharpen his blades for him and after each trial to win him over.

Yeah, he’s still gonna kill you. But at least it will be more painless than what the others get.

If you’re really insistent and somehow convince him you want to really befriend him, not just another fan, he may even let you stay in his realm. The little studio apartment that the entity lets him keep.

I swear the man would probably completely change. Instead of the hyper on stage attitude he’s probably be a bit more…chill? How he is with his manager mostly.

You are physically at an advantage against him, he’ll probably admire you for that, which will give you some lenience with him on allowing other survivors into his realm.

Just don’t get too cocky and don’t trash his place either!

Not to mention that every time you go back to the campfire, you are getting some major outfit changes, he’s totally going to force you to dress like he does. Not even an option to say no. If you have any taste, it’s gonna be his.

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕲𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙𝖋𝖆𝖈𝖊 ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

Now this, this is fun.

You’re a powerhouse of a man, yes? Perfect.

Danny is a short king. Ideal.

You are carrying him on your back. In trials. To hunt down other survivors. He does not care.

Ok yes, the other survivors are laughing their asses off but also getting slashed in the throat so who really wins?

This is the fastest friend setup you will ever witness.

Also you’re carrying him bridal style now everywhere. Final.

Not to mention this man is gonna want your help in designing his new costumes. You think there should be hot pink flames on his mask? There should be hot pink flames on his mask. You get the point.

Needless to say you are getting hatch every single trial. Also, any of your closest friends are also getting hatch. Plus, a houseparty at his realm.

Danny is pretty chill ngl, so expect him only to kill you if he wants to show you a new technique he just learned.

“Dude, check this out” and you get gutted, but hey! At least it was pretty cool right? You literally end up giving him pointers while verging on blood loss.

So great, you’ve become the Ghostface’s #1, and you’re never getting rid of him!

[superblysubpar]

modern!steve harrington x fem!reader

We'll Call It Love Masterlist | song inspiration

4.8k words | 18+ NSFW

Warnings: *This is a prequel to my series "We'll Call It Love" linked above | reader drinks wine and loves olives on her pizza | swearing | SMUT (PIV intercourse -wrapped before tapped /oral - both receiving and performing/dirty talk/ass slapping)

A/N: While this is a prequel to the series, I think it's actually kind of fun to read this after the first two parts and before the third, little easter eggs and what not. I hope you enjoy this and thanks for your patience in waiting for this story! 💛

“You’re laate,” you sing into your phone, smiling at Argyle across the bar as he motions to your almost empty glass of wine. Spinning on your barstool as you nod and Robin huffs into the phone. 

“I’m so sorry, but Joe was on a terror today and like yes sir god forbid you have raisins in your trail mix and no I did not watch the barista take the temp of your half caf soy bullshit latte because believe it or not I do actually do real work for this company other than wait on your hand and foot and-”

“Robin!” Laughing into the phone and shaking your head. Your own chest hurts from her lack of ending a sentence. “Take a deep breath. I’m just joking, I already ordered the pizza and…” trailing off as she becomes far too quiet on the other end, “You’re not coming at all, are you?”

Your new friend groans, “I’m so, so, so, sorry. I promise I’m not normally this flakey, but like I cannot afford to lose this job and I have that date tomorrow so if I leave now I may as well go and buy a plot at the cemetery because-”

“Oh my god,” laughing at her dramatic flare, you smile at Argyle as he sets your refilled glass back in front of you. “Stop, you’re fine. I’m more than content to just hang here at the bar. There’s a game tonight, besides, Argyle can keep me company.”

Batting your eyelashes at him, he winks and Robin laughs on the other side of the phone but it quickly turns to another groan. “Please get extra olives on the pizza for me? Dingus hates them and he’s a baby who always gets his way and oh shit,” she whispers into the phone, “Gotta go. Joe is back and asking where his steak is and I forgot to order it. And by forgot I mean he told me he didn’t want steak an hour ago. Please pray for my quick and painless demise. I love you.”

Robin hangs up before you can reply and you slip your phone back into your purse. Leaning onto the counter, you sigh as your chin rests in your palm. “Looks like it’s just you and me tonight, Argyle.”

He tosses a rag over his shoulder and leans against the wall behind him. “Hot date cancel on you?”

Shrugging, he was no stranger to the guys you’d picked up at that very bar in just the few short weeks you’d been coming there. You take a sip of your wine before admitting, “Nah, just Robin. Although, she is very hot.”

He squints, rubbing at his jaw before snapping, “Super talkative lady right? She’s nice, I like her.”

You laugh into your glass as you nod. “That’s the one.” Looking around the fairly quiet bar, you turn back to him with a fake pout on your lips, fluttering your eyelashes dramatically. “Could I persuade you to put the baseball game on?”

He groans, wiping down a glass, “You know Eden’s rule…”

Leaning forward on your elbows, exaggerating your pout as he trails off. He squints before throwing his head back, blowing out a long exhale, “Man, you’re going down with me if she gets mad.”

Snickering into your wine glass because the other owner is quite…particular about the restaurant. Argyle is the exact laid back balance she needs to run the business or she’d never get anyone in the place - there’s a reason it’s named after him. If it were up to Eden, every guest would need to answer a questionnaire about what music taste they have, toppings on pizza, and if they played sports in high school. Any sort of sports paraphernalia on your person would get you on the sidewalk immediately if she had her way. 

Which is why you’ve learned from Argyle that Eden runs the behind the scenes business side of things, and Argyle gets creative freedom on pizzas and drinks, tending to the customers, and earning the tips he rightfully deserves. He was not let loose on decor however. The pizza bar is decked out in nostalgia from the decades, various band’s vinyls covering the walls, black and white photographs of Eden and Argyle in front of their VW Van across the country. Candlesticks with dripping wax and soft lamps lighting the tables, gold and black accented decor, and a strict aesthetic to be met when it came to the music played and what was shown on TV. 

Making a crossing motion over your chest, “I promise your secret is safe with me, nobody in here will be paying attention, anyways.”

He hums, unconvinced, but pops it on. Rolling his eyes at your grin while making a show of muting the TV and putting subtitles on. 

The bar, aside from your seat, is empty, other patrons snuggled into booths behind you. Argyle brings you out your pizza and keeps your cab at a decent level throughout the first several innings, chatting with you as he gets orders done for others. Despite being bummed to not see Robin, you’re a tad excited to have a quiet night to yourself. You enjoy being able to sit at the bar, drink too much wine, eat the kind of pizza you like and-

“Shit.”

A whisper just over your shoulder has you turning, wine glass half suspended to your lips. 

Your eyes greedily take in the man in front of you. From his worn brown leather boots, up dark black jeans that fit him perfectly, to a striped shirt revealing thick chest hair just above the top button. Swallowing harshly when you spot the gold chain nestled there as your gaze climbs higher over the tanned skin of his neck, dotted with freckles and moles. Several pairings of two that lead you to a jaw lined with slight scruff. Your thighs squeeze together on the bar stool when your eyes finally meet his, a hypnotizing and enticing swirl of honey and moss. 

He runs a hand through his disheveled chestnut locks, causal and airy with his tone after he blows his breath out with a nod to your pizza, “I was about to come over here and throw out an incredibly smooth pick up line that I worked on for the last ten minutes,” his thumb hooking over his shoulder to where he must have been before he continues, “But I see you have olives on your pizza. So. Enjoy your horrible dinner choice.”

Your mouth drops open as he slides down two open chairs from you. He smirks into his bottle of beer as he leans back on the stool, eyes on the screen playing the game. 

Hating that you can’t come up with any sort of comeback, you snap your jaw closed and roll your shoulders back, facing the mounted TV screen as well. 

Watching out of the corner of your eye as he leans forward on the bar, eyes dancing across the screen and his fingers twitching on the bottle. His thumbs wear down the paper label as the home team lets two more runs happen. 

Argyle returns with the cardboard pizza box you asked for and he glances at the screen and you lunge forward, finger pointing in his face, “Aha! So you do like baseball!”

He rolls his eyes, shrugging his shoulders, “Yeah, sure, when the Cubs are winning.”

You scoff into your wine glass, “Mm, so never.”

The olive hating man next to you groans, his forehead landing on his arms as his voice is muffled against the bar, “You hate the Cubs too? What is wrong with you?”

Your wine glass hits the bar top a little too harshly and Argyle winces, moving it safely from the edge as you turn to the adorable yet infuriating man next to you, “What is wrong with you?! I was having a perfectly normal night and then you came over here and complained about my dinner and my team preference and-”

“I’m sorry, I saw a pretty girl, alone at a bar, watching baseball and I thought I’d shoot my shot. Excuse me for finding the one girl who not only likes my least favorite food but also hates my team?!”

Rolling your eyes, you narrow them at the TV muttering to Argyle, “Why are the cutest ones always obnoxious?”

Olive man grins, catching his glance out of the corner of your eyes. His tone changes, amusement in it as his perfect teeth gleam in the low light. “You think I’m cute?”

Groaning, you rub at your temple and he keeps going, “Cause, you know, I think you’re still pretty, for what it’s worth. Even if you’re an olive loving Cubs hater.”

He sighs when you turn to face the TV again fully, arms crossing over your chest. Hearing his chair scuff against the dark hardwood beneath it, you’re a little disappointed he gave up so easily. But then, you watch Argyle smile down at the ground as a tapping happens on your shoulder. Rolling your eyes, you practically growl as you turn around to see olive man standing there. “What?”

He extends his hand, leaning on the bar next to you, “Hi, I’m Steve. While I think your choice in pizza toppings is horrendous, I’m willing to look past this fact and your denial of rooting for an excellent baseball team because you’re super cute and I’d love to buy you a drink, maybe walk you home, could even kiss you goodnight.” He smirks as you look down at his hand, and he raises his eyebrows, waiting.

You laugh, because you can’t help it, there’s just something about him. Call it a cosmic connection, who knows. He’s cute, smooth, and able to make you laugh which is saying a lot considering what you’ve been dealt lately. Slipping your hand into his, you try not to focus on how it engulfs yours or how long his fingers are as you introduce yourself. 

“Very nice to meet you. And, great choice, by the way,” hand still holding yours, he leans forward, his mouth hovering just over your lips. Mint and beer hitting you and making you dizzy as he whispers, “The cutest ones are always the best kissers too.”

That’s how you ended up kissing him in your lobby, up the entire flight of stairs, taking a break to push you against the wall, back arching over the railing as his palms pressed flat to the brick on the side of your head. Breaking apart only when the door at the bottom creaks loudly and rudely interrupts you. Steve’s lips stay on you as you bump and fumble your way to your door, hot and quick gasps for breath against your lips as his fingers dig into your hips. Moaning into your mouth as you yank on the back of his hair a little harshly. 

“Keys,” breathing into him, nipping at his top lip as he pushed you into your door. 

Steve nods and you laugh, pushing on his chest so you can focus. Only spurring him on, his lips find purchase on your neck instead. He smirks into your skin at the little yelp you make at the feeling of his teeth grazing under your ear. Thighs growing sticky from his raspy tone as his nose skims over the shell of your ear, following the curve. “Keys?”

Your back arches, neck extending as his fingers fiddle with the hem of your dress. Eyelashes fluttering and mouth parting as his nose and lips drag down your neck. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, as you laugh breathlessly, “Yeah, you know. Those things that…fuck,” Steve’s mouth is back on your ear, nibbling on your earlobe as his knee slots itself between your legs and you sigh. Fingers dragging down his collar and into his chest hair as you continue, “Unlock doors?”

He hums into your jaw, smiling at the way your hips roll, searching for friction on his thigh and he pulls away, hands on either side of your head again. His eyes sparkle in the low light of your hallway, his lips twitching up on one side before he speaks, “So unlock the door. What’re you waiting on?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes as your fingers pull the keys out of your purse slowly. Batting your eyelashes as you try to gain the upperhand again, “What’s the matter, Steve? Growing a little impatient?”

Steve’s eyes narrow playfully, he brushes a finger across your cheek, tracing it down your jaw. Soft and sweet in contrast to the way you were just making out. He leans in, lips hovering over yours as your eyes slowly fall closed, waiting for another kiss. 

That’s when his hands are on your hips again, rocking you over his thigh and you know you’re leaving a damp spot, whining into the air between your lips at his teasing. You aren’t winning this one, and you don’t really care. 

“God, fuck, I-” your brain is actually short circuiting from the way his nose brushes up yours, at the scruff of his jaw on your skin, his eyes darting down to watch the way you use his thigh shamelessly. 

Steve suddenly removes his leg, eyes growing dark at the pout your lips form, at the needy sigh that comes from your chest and huffs out of your nose. He smiles, voice a whisper and a warm breath across your cheek. Throwing your teasing right back at you, “What’s the matter? Growing impatient?”

Rolling your eyes, you spin, quickly unlocking the door and pushing inside. Steve can’t help himself it seems, hands on you immediately again. Keys and purse thrown somewhere to be dealt with later, he pushes you up against the door, his chest to your back as his nose brushes behind your ear. 

Your fingers search for purchase on the wood, back arching into him as he leaves a trail of kisses on your neck to your shoulder, his hand slowly pulling the zipper of your dress down. 

“Be-bedroom?” you gasp out as he spins you to face him, his eyes roaming over your body. His fingers gliding over the band of your underwear and snapping it, making your thighs push together. 

Steve only nods, lips dragging down your chest and stomach as he drops to his knees, “We’ll get there. Just need to taste you right now.”

“Oh, I…oh,” Your head hits back against the door behind you as his nose drags over your clothed slit. 

His fingers pull your underwear down and yours fall into his hair as his tongue licks a long stripe through you. Steve gently pushes your legs apart further, hooking them over his shoulders as his tongue swirls around your clit. Hands holding your ass, he pulls you closer to his mouth forcefully. Moaning into you as his nose glides through you, parting your lips before his mouth returns to them. Your fingers tug in his hair as you glance down at the way he’s devouring you like a man starved. Pleasantly surprised since most guys don’t even offer to go down on you during a hookup, and they definitely don’t find your clit the way Steve found it. 

His tongue prods at your entrance, teasing it before licking back up to your swollen nerves, sucking the sensitive bead between his lips. Your thighs are already shaking around his head, whines falling from you between curses and his name. 

Steve’s fingers slip through you while his tongue works at your clit under the vacuum of his lips. He pushes one finger into your entrance, squeezing at your hip when you whine. Quick to slip a second digit into you, they swirl easily, curling forward in a motion that makes you moan loudly, hand slapping over your mouth. 

He breaks away, only for a second and shakes his head no. Kissing your thigh quickly and tapping his fingers on your waist, “Come on, don’t be shy now. Wanna hear you.”

Mouth back on your clit, fingers pumping into you at a pace that matches the swirl and flick of his tongue, your hand falls back to his hair, pulling yourself closer to his face desperately. Steve nods into you, pace picking up until you’re whining loudly again. Heat radiates through your body until your thighs are squeezing on the side of his head, releasing over his tongue and fingers as your mouth falls open in a gasp, eyes pinching shut. 

Steve takes everything you’re giving him, slowly pulling his mouth and fingers away from you as yours relax in his hair. The sight between your thighs makes your arousal flutter again already. Stomach filling with warmth at the sight of his pink and glossy lips, rosy cheeks and rumpled hair. 

He smirks at you, shaking his head before sighing dramatically. “God, how can someone who tastes so sweet,” he pulls you closer to him again, kissing your thighs before continuing, “Like olives on her pizza?”

Your laugh bursts out of you, head hitting the door again, “Oh my god, shut up.”

Steve’s fingers flex on your hips, lips dragging across the plush skin of your thigh. Eyes glinting with a dare. “Make me.”

Moving to let your legs fall and do just that, he quickly grips you harder, standing. You yelp, grabbing onto his hair, your head almost hitting the ceiling. He lets your body drag down his, torturously slow like a scene straight out of Dirty Dancing, until his hands are under your butt, legs wrapping around him and your faces are close together. He’s grinning widely, tongue licking over the top row of white gleaming at you, breathless as he asks, “Bedroom?” 

You point wordlessly, swallowing at the way his muscles flex around you and the warmth of his fingertips on your spine. Your lips attack his again as he lays you on the bed. Your arms fall around his neck, pulling him to fall across you. The muscles in his forearms dance on either side of your head as he grinds against you. The denim of his jeans a welcomed friction on your sensitive cunt and you gasp into his mouth. 

It’s a flurry of wet lips over hot skin, clothes thrown to places neither of you care to pay attention to. Bodies sliding together, his swollen tip catching on your clit and you bite down on his lip at the feeling, fingers pressing crescent moons into the tight muscles of his shoulder blades. You roll, landing on top of him and working your way down his body. Lips kissing at every freckle and mole you find along his chest and abs. Nose dragging across his hips, you smile when he shivers underneath you. 

Your tongue licks up his length, tracing the curve of the vein, swirling around the tip. Pulling the mushroom head between your lips, Steve’s hips jerk as your tongue flicks at the pre-cum spilling out of him already. His fingers twist in your comforter, a strangled noise from his throat as your head sinks lower, cheeks hollowing as you take him deeper. You glance up under your fluttering lashes to find him looking down at you, wrecked, eyes wild as his tip hits the back of your throat, spit spilling from your lips around him.

“Fuck, fuck. Condom? Do you have a condom?” He gasps, pulling his hips down, his cock falling from your mouth as you nod to your dresser. 

Steve’s quick to slip it on as you straddle him, fingers dragging through his chest hair. He sits up, arms circling your waist and yanking you down closer, pulling a laugh from you. His teeth nip at your neck, voice raspy as he asks, “What do you want? Tell me what you like.”

Taken aback by his question, your hook ups are rarely able to make you laugh, orgasm, and be attentive. He slides between your folds, letting you hover over him and you pull your lip between your teeth as he sucks a bruise under your ear. 

“This is…is good,” you gasp out as he pushes at your entrance. 

Steve nods, guiding you to sink down onto his length, fingers squeezing at your waist as your mouth parts in a gasp, yours gripping at his shoulders. 

You press your face into his neck, whining as you slip further down, taking him fully and you both groan as you circle your hips. 

“Shit, take me so well, honey, that’s it,” Steve’s babbling, hands roaming up your back as his lips kiss over your chest and neck. 

Your hips circle again, slowly lifting yourself up and sinking back down on him. His nose presses into your cheek, breath huffing along your jaw as he whines your name and you flutter around him. The slow drag of his cock along your walls not enough and too much all at once. 

“Steve, I-” your chest is tight, familiar heat growing rapidly in your stomach and he holds you, pushing you down into the mattress, his weight falling on top of you. 

Steve curses softly, pulling out of you and thrusting back in with a force that makes you both gasp around each other’s lips. It’s a dirty glide, sweat slicked bodies grinding together, moans lost in each other’s mouths. The sound of your hips meeting and your arousal filling your room  drown out the way you practically plead his name. Each thrust into you feels like he’s knocking the air from your lungs and filling them at the same time. Coarse hair hitting your clit with each roll of his hips, his lips hover over yours as you throw your head back into the mattress. Your hands cling to his back, nails scratching down it as each powerful thrust shoots you higher and higher. Your eyelids flutter, you’re pretty sure you’re actually losing oxygen, leaving the atmosphere. 

Steve’s name leaves your lips in a strangled gasp and he pants into your parting mouth, “Yeah? Gonna cum for me baby?”

Nodding, babbling nonsense to him, he nips at your bottom lip as your eyes squeeze shut. Your vision fills with stars, heat filling your belly as your walls clench around him as his thrusts only pick up their pace. 

“Yeah?” His tone is mocking now into your lips, you can feel his smile against them. Your eyelids flutter, you’re whimpering, feeling like you’re on another planet, floating aimlessly through space. His thrusts stop suddenly and he sucks on your bottom lip before asking, “How about another one?”

Before you can comprehend the question, he’s pulling out and flipping you. Your stomach somersaults at the way he handles you so easily, almost lazy in how he can manhandle you. His palm rests against your lower back, your cheek pressed into the pillows. Steve groans as your legs spread for him. His hand comes down on the curve of your ass in a slap, not painfully. He cups it as you jolt forward and he curses under his breath. 

He’s not quick about it, letting his tip drag through you and you shiver. Not pushing in until you’re begging him, “Steve, please…”

Who the hell is this guy? How does he have you begging for a third orgasm?

He slips into you, your strangled cry of relief mixing with his moan. 

“Only cause you asked so nicely, pretty girl.”

Your comforter twists in your fists as his thrusts quickly turn to a brutal pace. Steve’s grip on you is bruising as you arch lower for him, spreading as wide as you can, chest heaving into the mattress. Steve’s lips trail down your spine, the cold metal of his chain dragging with them. 

He falls forward, his chest against your back, hips stuttering as his hand reaches around and rubs fast and messy circles into your clit. Your name leaves his lips against your ear as his thrusts try to match the pace of his fingers. 

You’re weightless, body buzzing, vibrating like you’re waiting for take off. Steve’s gasping as shooting stars dance across your closed eyelids. Your walls clench around him, sucking him in and he swears, asking you to cum please. You’re certain the entire galaxy just exploded inside of you as his hips thrust quickly, falter, and slow while your name leaves him in a breathless gasp and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. 

Steve rolls off of you, your chests heaving in tandem as you both stare at your ceiling. 

“That was…” Steve’s hand drags down his cheek, laughing a little. 

“Yeah?” Your lip pulls between your teeth as you try to fight your smile. 

It’s quiet for a second before he clears his throat, voice a whisper, “Yeah.”

Normally, a guy would be out your door by now. They got what they came for, and regardless of if you had a great time, you’re happy to see them go. This feels different, you’re a little hopeful for the first time in awhile. Wondering if you could do all of that again in the very near future. 

“Um…” Steve coughs, voice trailing off as you turn your head. His hand runs through his hair as he squints at your ceiling, lips pursed in thought. Your eyes track the veins and lines of muscle in his arm up to his armpit and shoulder. To the sharp line of his jaw and nose. You feel ridiculous that your thighs already push together from want after all of that. Body heating up with embarrassment, you quickly snap your head back, eyes on your ceiling once more. 

He finally sits up and questions, “Bathroom?”

“Oh. Right. Sorry. Right through there.” You point as you sit up as well. Your fingers cover your lips as you take in the angry red lines from your fingernails that contrast against the tan skin of his back. Head tilting as you watch him stand, smile hiding behind your hand as you watch his butt walk away. 

Steve looks over his shoulder, squinting as his own smile tugs at his lips. He tries to cover himself up and whispers dramatically, “Wow. Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Would if I could,” your laugh escapes you, your grin finally winning as your hand drops and he closes the door. 

Steve finds you dressed in sleep shorts and a band tee, chugging a glass of water in your kitchen a few minutes later. You extend it to him, noticing he’s fully dressed with his shoes in his hand. He takes a sip before setting it down, knuckles tapping on your countertop before blowing out a long breath. 

Your lips twitch as you try to fight the smile that seems to be a permanent feature around him as he looks around frantically, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“Um…I guess…I should…” he trails off, watching you. 

Your arms cross over your chest, barefeet overlapping each other as you nod, “Right, yeah. That was…”

He smirks, nodding as you trail off. “Yeah, it was.”

Steve goes to leave, but spins, licking his lips before rushing out, “Listen. Could we do that again sometime? Maybe I could get your number?”

The cocky and smooth man who you met at the bar, the one who just took you to outer space seems to have disappeared. The blush in his cheeks darkens, lips parted as he seems to hold his breath waiting for your response. 

Nodding, you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear as you try not to grin while acting indifferent. “Sure, yeah.”

An awkward shuffle of him pulling his phone out and you typing your number in before handing it back to him. 

You’re startled when there’s a soft press of his smooth lips against the apple of your cheek. Warm breath hitting your jaw as he whispers, “Have a good night.”

“You…you too.”

Your hand touches where he kissed as he leaves, unsure if you’ve ever been kissed on your cheek like that before. 

Only two minutes later, tucked back in your bed when your phone buzzes. 

You bite your lip as you pull the comforter up over your chin, typing back for it only to buzz with a response immediately.

Laughing as you roll onto your stomach, it flips when you inhale the scent of his cologne that clings to your sheets. It takes a minute for him to respond again, your eyelids growing heavy when the phone buzzes finally.

Huffing into your pillow, the smile that sits there is a welcomed friend as you message him goodnight and save his number in your contacts.  Rocketman seems fitting for an idiot who takes you to outer space three times in one night. 

Even if he does hate olives. 

WCIL taglist: (I just used the series taglist for this, hope that's okay!)

@boomhauer @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3x3

[writeforfandoms]

Welcome to New York 6

Find the series masterlist

Things get better, and you discover a possible way to earn some favor with Miguel. Jess helps. Sort of.

Warnings: Swearing, mention of injuries from last chapter, stress baking, sass all around, Miguel is not quite as mean, he's getting better okay, reader has low self-esteem.

Word count: 1.9k

Eventual Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

Your ankle was not sprained, somehow. Just stressed. By Monday you already felt better. 

The myriad of cuts, on the other hand, had mostly scabbed over, ugly and annoying. 

But you were determined not to let this stop you from working like normal. So you headed up to work bright and early. 

“Hey! You’re here.” Lyla popped up as you were walking through the lobby to the elevator you had to take down one level. “Figured you’d be home today.”

“Nah.” You shook your head, flexing your fingers. “I can work. Not like it’s physically intense, y’know? I’ll be fine.” You shot the AI a grateful smile, tugging your sleeves lower over your palms. 

“Mmkay.” She lowered her glasses to give you a more thorough look. “If you overdo it, I’m calling Peter.”

“Which one?” The question was flippant as you started pulling up holoscreens. 

“All of them.”

You spluttered surprised laughter and shook your head, grinning. “Duly noted. Where did I leave off on Friday?” 

You would have loved it if the day passed quietly. It did not. Peter came in to drag you up to lunch, whining that his wife had Mayday for the day. You had very little pity for him when he tried to show you a dozen pictures on his phone. 

“Peter,” you finally said, gently pushing his phone away from your face (and your food). “I know she’s adorable. But you need to eat and let me eat.” 

“Oh.” He looked briefly crestfallen, then just abashed. “Oops?” 

You snorted at him and shoved his plate closer to him. “Eat your damn lunch and let me finish mine.”

Peter snorted but obeyed, taking a giant bite out of his burger. 

So of course his mouth was still full when you spotted Miguel approaching your table. You swallowed hard, not sure what exactly to do. He still didn’t really like you, and you didn’t want to do anything to make his opinion of you somehow worse. 

Miguel stopped a few steps away, mask up as usual. But you thought he looked at you, just for a moment. “Don’t be late this time,” he grumbled to Peter, one hand on his hip while the other pointed sternly at Peter. 

“Miguel, buddy, when have I ever been late?” Peter grinned, bright and absolutely full of shit. 

“Yesterday,” Miguel deadpanned, and then ignored Peter’s spluttering denials. His head turned again to you, and you swallowed hard, hoping you weren’t about to be in trouble too. But he simply looked for two very long moments before he nodded, no more than an incremental dip of his head. 

And then he was walking away again. 

Huh. That had been… painless, really. Well. 

“Such a killjoy,” Peter grumbled, though you knew he did it more for fun than because he was actually annoyed. The man had a very deep well of patience when he wasn’t stressed. 

“Gee, I wonder why,” you deadpanned, grinning at his affronted splutter. “I’d probably be going nuts if I was trying to corral the lot of you, too.”

“You’re so mean,” Peter groaned, one hand over his heart in a dramatic motion. While you snickered at him, he suddenly switched to a little more serious, eyeing you. “How are you doing? All your cuts?” He made a vague motion to the upper half of his body.

“Okay,” you answered carefully. “Sore and itchy, but there’s not a lot to be done about that. It’s fine, I’ll heal.” 

“Yeah.” Something sad lurked in his gaze. 

“Oi.” You gently kicked his ankle. “I’m fine. Stop worrying. I’m taking it easy, all will be well.” 

Peter huffed softly, shaking his head. “Just make sure you keep an eye on them,” he advised. “Don’t let anything get infected.”

“Peter, you’re a good friend, but if you don’t stop trying to mother me I’m gonna deck you.” You grinned to take the sting out of your words, and were rewarded with more dramatic clasping of heart and even a wrist to the forehead for an extra-dramatic faint. 

The rest of the day was easier, after that. 

“Hey, Lyla?” You paused the current video and leaned back to rub your eyes. It was nearly the end of the day on Wednesday and your eyes hurt, just a bit. “How many anomalies are currently here?”

Lyla appeared in front of you, tipping her glasses down. “Why?” 

“Partially torturing myself with how much work there is to do,” you admitted easily. “And partially curiosity.” 

“At the moment? A few dozen.” Lyla shrugged. “Plenty of work to go, especially since the anomalies haven’t stopped happening.”

You hummed softly, tipping your head back to look up at the ceiling, letting your eyes rest a little. “So I’ve got job security,” you joked. 

Lyla snickered. “If that’s what you wanna call it.” 

You rolled your neck, eyeing the work still to be done. But you were tired, your brain was fried for the day. “Think anyone will notice if I skip out fifteen minutes early?” 

“Nope. Peter might even shove you out the door if he found out.” Lyla smirked at you, amused.

“Thanks, Lyla.” You stretched and waved all the screens down for the night. You’d pick up again tomorrow. 

It wasn’t until you were on the train heading home that you really thought about what it meant to have dozens of anomalies in HQ. That seemed like a bit of a disaster waiting to happen. What if the containment fields failed? What if something attacked HQ? Just seemed like a bad idea, was all. 

But you understood the decision - it was smoother to have everything properly tagged and the information put into the system ahead of time, and then send the anomalies home in batches. The corresponding Spiders probably liked it, even. Kept one (or two or, in one universe, five) villains out of trouble. 

Still. You couldn’t shake the niggling thought that it was a bad idea. 

You ended up baking to get some stress out. Making cookies had always been a good stress relief for you - mixing up the dough by hand, checking the consistency, dumping in as many chocolate chips as you wanted (and always eating a couple from the bag). It was just soothing to you. And delicious. 

It also meant you had almost three dozen cookies to take into work the next day. Early mornings tended to be quiet around HQ - most Spiders were more nocturnal, and many of them went back to their home dimensions to sleep. (Not all of them - Peter had told you about a couple floors entirely dedicated to rooms for Spiders to crash in or keep as their own. Somewhere there was an actual register of the rooms.) 

All of which meant that you arrived early, walked to the mess, set the cookies on a counter with a post-it saying “Eat me!”, and went back to work without seeing a single person. Officially no longer your problem. 

At least until lunch time, when you emerged to get something more substantial than caffeine. 

Jess sat next to you, and you blinked at her. “Afternoon,” you greeted, a little cautiously. You liked Jess fine, but she wasn’t one to really chit chat. 

“Saw you left those cookies this morning.” She kept her voice down. 

“How–oh, the cameras.” You huffed soft laughter at yourself. Duh. “Yeah, I felt like baking last night but I sure don’t need to eat that many cookies.” 

She nodded, looking around briefly, as if checking for eavesdroppers. “I’ve been craving these cookies,” she admitted quietly, patting her tummy. “But I can’t bake for shit and my husband, bless him, isn’t any better.”

“Do you have a recipe?” 

Her grin was quick and warm. “Sure do.”

“Bring it by and I’ll bake up a batch for you,” you agreed easily. “Unless you want, like, hamantaschen, those are delicious but they’re also a two-day process.” 

“Ham–no, not asking. They’re easy, nothing fancy.” 

“Then yeah, sure. No problem.” You shrugged. It really wasn’t a big deal as far as you were concerned. “Once you get me the recipe–” You stopped. She had a piece of paper in hand, waving it gently at you. “...Did you go back home to get a copy of the recipe and then stalk the mess waiting for me?” 

“I really want these cookies.” She waved the recipe again for emphasis.

You snorted. “Yeah, alright, give it.” You took the paper, scanning it quickly. You had almost everything, and it didn’t look too complicated. “I’ll stop on my way home to get a few things and bring these in tomorrow.”

“You’re my new favorite non-Spider.” She looked distinctly smug as she stood, her mission accomplished. “Oh, by the way…?”

“Hm?” You blinked up at her, half of your brain already focused on what you’d need for the cookies.

“Miguel liked them too.” She smirked at you and walked away. 

Leaving you to immediately wonder why she’d told you, then wonder if Miguel might like other sweets, then wonder if you could subtly bribe him into liking you with cookies… And then cover your face with a groan because you were not some school girl dammit! You’d outgrown these ridiculous tendencies. 

“Apparently not,” you grumbled to yourself, shaking your head. “Pathetic.” Shaking your head at yourself, you finished your lunch and got back to work, recipe tucked safely away with your things. 

The cookies were easy, after a quick stop on your way home. And then, well, you were already baking, it was almost no extra work to make another batch of cookies, and they’d vanished pretty damn quick… 

Which is how you ended up with nearly six dozen cookies cluttering up the entirety of your kitchen. 

“I need… something,” you sighed to yourself, hands on your hips, a smudge of chocolate on your nose. 

You thought about it as you packed up the cookies to take in the next morning. Why were you going the extra mile, here? Did you actually want Miguel to like you, or did you just want him to not glare at you all the time anymore? 

Probably the latter. Which was fair. You had to work with him, not often, but you did. He was your boss. (At least, you were pretty sure he was.) Nobody liked having a boss that was angry at them all the time. 

Or, you didn’t like it, at least. You wanted him to relax a little around you. You were so far from a threat the mere idea was laughable. 

You just… didn’t want that animosity he’d showed you to be the defining factor of your relationship. 

Huffing to yourself, you finished packing up the cookies. This was fine. Not a big deal. At least you knew your own mind, that was always a good thing. 

You left the extra batch of cookies in the mess the next morning, and then hesitated. You knew where Miguel’s office was. You could just leave some cookies for him, no need to even interact with him. 

Mind made up, you walked towards his lab/office/whatever it was. (Honestly, you’d seen the floating platform once, and thought it was overkill, but that was just you.) 

The lights were all off. Looked like you were in luck. You hopped up onto the platform, currently grounded, and left two cookies on a napkin for him. There. Good enough. 

Jess could come find you for her cookies.

Satisfied, you hopped down again and left, humming quietly to yourself. Time to get to work.

[quartzofcoralcove]

Friend hcs (but he's the other friend lol)

Coraline Au! @stnaf-vn

You have the eeriest feeling whenever you see that little door ever since you moved into the pink palace but you ignore it and push on just doing your best to get comfortable in your new place.

Easier said than done though since strange things keep happening, first with estranged neighbors, lack of money and food, and now this little doll with button eyes that looks exactly like you appears on your doorstep. Well whatever, the doll is harmless enough and while that tiny door you've been ignoring is odd, you can ignore it.

It's so tantalizing though and you're confident that the weird key with a button on it just has to open it... And fortunately, or maybe unfortunately it does. The door opens almost and a tunnel is formed almost like it's alive but you've already gone through the trouble of finding the key so may as well go through the door. You crawl through the tunnel and one you reach the other side you're almost positive that you've gone insane. It's literally just your house... Wait what? You want to think it's your house but the slight aesthetic changes make you less and less certain by the second.

Walking around this place almost feels wrong, you're confident that someone lives here, but that someone isn't yourself and then you see him. It's friend! How relieving... No wait. Your friend doesn't have b..b..buttons. Aren't they lovely, he did them himself, he's your other friend silly. He's so glad you're here, he's been waiting for your sweetheart, this place wasn't the same without you. He even cooked one of your favorite meals for you which, with how your wallet is doing right now is such a gift you don't even question how he knew.

Ok so friend absolutely already stalks you so it's no surprise that your other friend does as well. He's just more sneaky about it and dare I say more diligent. Because by the time your curiosity gets the better of you and you venture through the door, he'll know everything about you, even the miniscule details. Anything to impress you, anything to keep you in awe, anything to make you stay.

He'll constantly lure you away with promises of treasures and treats and games to play and that he'll always love you. He always cooks your favorites and loves to surprise you with handmade gifts just for his sweetheart and of course he knows your size silly~

"Friend" always loves when you visit and always has something fun planned for you to do with him (even if that may include something a little more lewd) because he loves nothing more than spending time with you, you sustain him, and that's not a joke.

Call him dramatic if you want but he's always so serious when he casually mentions that he'll "die without you" and that he wishes he could "keep you forever" but why would you ever want to leave this place anyway.

Be warned though, you shouldn't dangle your freedom over him like a toy because he'll surely grasp it, he mentions it in passing but you can stay here forever if that's what you really want sweetheart.

"You do love it here with me, don't you sweetheart? What if you could stay."

It's almost not a question, almost but he waits to see how you react anyway and of course you agree without hesitation, because you do love it here, and why wouldn't you? It's such an intricate and delicate trap made just for you. So naturally you indulge in his request wondering what it would take for you to stay and you swear those button eyes turn pink.

He says it's easier to show you rather than tell you and presents you gift box. But you're hesitant because what could possibly be in that box that could keep you here with him? Nevertheless you open it, and immediately feel the atmosphere shift. He slinks behind you resting his hands on your shoulders as if to encourage you to follow through as if you agreed already which you definitely haven't.

"For you, my little doll. I'll make sure it's quick and painless of course and you can even pick whatever color you want, although I'd like honored if you chose black to match with me."

You feel like time had stood still. Is he actually discussing sewing buttons in your eyes so casually? Is he insane, why would you ever agree to do something like that?

Your silence says plenty and your other friend understands, it's a big decision so why don't you sleep on it sweetheart, you'll feel better in the morning.

This was honestly so fun to write!! I'm like definitely down to do more if anyone actually cares to read more lol

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

Terms and Conditions Apply

me when i realize i wrote some stuff for whumpril that never saw the light of day

ao3

Prompt: shock

Fandom: Ninjago

Characters: Lloyd

Summary: Lloyd faces what his sudden growth spurt really means for him.

Trigger Warnings: gender dysphoria, mentioned death

577 words

Not for the first time today, Lloyd found himself staring in the mirror. He looked so… different. So this was it then. He was grown, now, and there was no going back. 

No puberty. No hanging out with kids his age — what was his age? Had the tea aged him mentally, too? He didn’t feel any different…

What he did feel was that he still hadn’t gotten used to his new height. Or his weirdly lanky legs. Or his longer arms, or his chest. He’d always pushed off that problem for the future, because it would be years away. But now here the fuck he was (and he was allowed to swear, because he was all grown up now), with no binder, and no other solution. He didn’t want to do it unsafely, but he couldn’t stand looking at himself in this body. 

All he could be thankful for was that his voice didn’t seem to have changed much. Lord knows as a broke homeless kid he wouldn’t have access to hormones. 

No longer homeless, and no longer a kid. Still broke, though. 

Maybe he could get a day job. You know, after he defeated his dad in an epic world-altering battle. 

Oh man, his dad. What would he think? This was just another sign that the inevitable was approaching. He didn’t want to fight his father. He didn’t want to kill him. It wasn’t his fault he was evil. At least he still cared. That was more than could be said about his mom. 

This was all just so much.

He’d accepted growing up, terms and conditions and all, when he’d smashed the tea. But it hadn’t really hit him what that would mean until now. 

No more childhood. No more fun. It wasn’t like he’d had any friends to have fun with anyway. The ninja were all about training. And, sure, Brad was nice, but Lloyd hadn’t been a very likable kid at Darkley’s.

Things were different now. The final battle was approaching so fast. Barely a decade old and already, the fate of the world was weighing on his shoulders. He wasn’t ready to carry it. He didn’t think he ever would be. But he had no choice in the matter. This was his destiny. He’d either save Ninjago or let it burn.

One life for millions, Uncle Wu kept telling him, your father will be mourned, but this is necessary. This is destiny.

He couldn’t kill his dad. He couldn’t kill anything. If he was a lousy villain and an even lousier hero, then what was he? 

What the hell was he?

He wasn’t a child anymore, but he sure as hell wasn’t grown. He was stuck, shoved into a box all of his own. Being a ninja had seemed cool, at first. But he didn’t want this. Not this. It was all too much. 

Angry and desperate, he punched the mirror, the instant shattering stunning him for a moment. And then he broke out into a fit of hysterical laughter. It was all so awful it was funny. A cruel joke by his grandfather. 

Talk about a messy family dynamic, heh.  He couldn’t stop laughing. His knuckles hurt, his stomach hurt, every one of his limbs hurt (having a sudden growth spurt actually wasn’t painless, wouldn’t you know it!). He sunk to the floor, and somewhere along the way his laughs turned into cries, tears dripping down his face as he mourned.

[theancientdarkbeauty]

💚🦈- Blood, Garnet, Scarlet, Wine, Lipstick and Poppy

Alright, first, I’ll do Tera, my Half Life OC. The quick background on her is that she is a biochemical engineer who was testing the Biology Department’s HEV suit when the Resonance Cascade happened, and thus survived by pure accident. Being Australian however, she was able to hold her own against the space Australians. You don’t run into her during the game because the Military slit her throat thinking she was Freeman, but she survived! Barely! With the help of GMan and some science (and morphine from the suit). Anyways, onto the ask game

Blood- what would she do if she saw a stranger’s corpse: originally, pre rescas, depending on the place, she would’ve panicked. Whose body is this, what killed them, am I in danger as well? That kinda stuff. Unless it was like a funeral she accidentally got invited to (she would go to see if she knew anyone there and if she didn’t she would apologies) post ResCas, probably after stasis, legit that would’ve been just par for the course. Unless it had a Headcrab on it. Then she would stab the Headcrab (she hates those things)

Garnet- if they had to kill someone, what method would they choose: the most quick and painless way possible. Not a stranger to mercy kills after the rescas, she has found that shooting someone in the soft part right between the skull and the neck on the back of the head is the least painful and most sure fire way to kill someone, aiming up thru the skull ofc. If she didn’t have a gun on her tho she would snap their neck.

Scarlett- how does she grieve: She used to get real quiet, cuts herself off from people, silently reflect on times she had with the person. However, after the rescas, most all of her friends had already died, and she was in Europe now instead of America or Australia, so she just assumed that her family was dead, so she forced herself to channel the pain and grief into rage, helping her get through her rather extraneous circumstances. She really just needs a hug and a good cry smh

Wine- How does she act when she’s drunk: She’s a happy drunk, but is also a heavyweight. Think of it like Brooklyn 9-9’s “# drink Amy” system. She gets real fun (a little loud) for the first 5 drinks. After 5 shit hits the fan, but she knows her limits. (She gets really competitive at drink 7 is the problem)

Lipstick- What is her love language: she is probably physical affection and quality time. Poor girl didn’t have the time to spend with people to fell fulfilled in a relationship before the rescas, and probably never will again.

Poppy- Does she believe in a god: After meeting up with Gordon after the rescas, he told her about the Nihalinth, and so she believes in some sort of higher being, but not probably the Christian god. She is a woman of science after all.

Time for Jaws! You all know Jaws (hopefully) but if you don’t, they are this crime gremlin I made for Payday. Common traits among all Jaws are: extensive scarring, multiple mental disorders, propensity for explosives. But the main point is just they’re a crime gremlin

Blood- what would they do if they saw a stranger’s corpse: they probably put it there. If it’s a civilian, they’d probably swear a lot because that’s coming out of my paycheck but otherwise they would just leave it there, bc they don’t want their finger prints on the scene

Garnet- if they had to kill someone, what method would they choose: shoot them. Or stab them. They aren’t above murder, they do it often. Chemical weapons are also fun, but they aren’t allowed to use them anymore after the Safehouse accidentally got filled with mustard gas that one time

Scarlet- how do they grieve: violently. Lots of murder, lots of stealing. At the Safehouse, where they can’t lash out violently, they have this thing called a “stab pillow”, it’s a throw pillow they started stabbing when they were mad. Also they have their dogs for emotional support (Rexy and Tatsuya my beloved)

Wine- how do they act when they’re drunk: they mellow out a lot actually! Get really tired, but also usually have enough energy to play like drinking games and stuff. Very much a lightweight.

Lipstick- What is their love language: they are aroace, but with their “family”, it’s quality time. They just like being in the presence of people (they aren’t physically affectionate but very touch starved so think of them like a cat on occasion)

Poppy- do they believe in a god: no. God abandoned them.

Anyways that was for both Jaws and Tera hope everyone is doing good! (Sorry if topics got a little dark both of them come from dark source materials)

[dontcallmebree]

First and Last Lines Tag game

Thanks @voylitscope for tagging! Yours really made me think of how a narrative is framed and how to properly write an effective first and last line. Honestly put some of these works in a new light for me!

(Rules: Post the (first and) final line of your 10 most recently published fics. (Or as many as you have published.) You can either omit multi-chapter WIPs or include the last line of the most recent chapter (or several chapters). Up to you!)

give this love a try (Shrunkyclunks AU)

First: Bucky’s stripped down to his birthday suit, excessively prepped for the taking, and the least turned on he’s ever been in his life. Last: That one’s on him.

if i loved you a little bit longer (Shrunkyclunks AU)

First: Bucky finds him as the reception winds down, guests making the most of their open bar and dance floor before indigo stains the night sky and calls an oncoming dawn. Last: When Bucky kisses him again, it tastes like forgiveness.

if you want my future (Shrunkyclunks AU)

First: Steve’s on the phone with Sam, gushing about the cute guy walking his dog not three feet in front of him—he’s so cute, I swear to—when the subject of his fascination whips around to chirp a bright, “She’s a girl, actually!” Last: Steve thinks he and Bucky will fare just fine.

Birthday Gifts and Gaffes (Modern AU)

First: The hardware store presented many complications to Bucky’s night of errands, not least of which came in the form of Sexy Steve. Last: Still, when Steve offers to show him that leather store selling cuffs and a myriad of other accessories—and to try them out himself after dinner and a round of drinks—Bucky says a swift, unfaltering yes.

last chance streetcar (Modern AU)

First: Maybe it’s the cold snap of the new year, or some misguided need for change now that the clock’s struck twelve, or the fact that it’s past MJ’s bedtime. Last: Feeling Steve’s greedy hands on him, on his neck and his waist and the meat of his thighs, he thinks he might be off to an excellent start.

come on home (Canon Divergence)

First: Death had been painless, there one second and gone the next. Last: He thinks Steve, of all people, must understand perfectly.

A Fortune to Win (Thieves & Conmen AU)

First: The first thing that comes to mind when a beat-up leather wallet unceremoniously falls into his lap is an embarrassing time for an upgrade. Last: For the first time in six months—long, unbearable nights of rudderless planning with no end in sight—he thinks it’s not so far fetched that they might just pull this off.

Monument of Our Memories (Canon Divergence)

First: The first time he sees Bucky, Steve thinks they must be at a med tent. Last: Steve can’t imagine asking for more.

leading the call (Canon Divergence)

First: Sam! Sammy, we took your wings for a ride and— Last: But Sammy, where’d you stash the rest of Thor’s glühwein?

Heavy is the Head (Royalty AU)

First: Bucky never thought death could echo. Last: Bucky gathers the courage worthy of a king and meets Steve Rogers at the threshold of the East Wing, ready for the weight of the crown to settle onto his own head.

Clearly, I need to write shorter sentences. If interested, this was fun! @padfoot-and-the-marauders @dreamsinthewitchouse @turtle-steverogers @its-tortle @dharmasharks

[brucenorris007]

It’s so much worse than I thought.

I didn’t remember all the details.

Roshi wasn’t just traumatized, he’s the first character in the series we meet to have survived an apocalyptic scenario the likes of which only Mirai Trunks has experienced.

Nononono, listen.

Piccolo Daimao terrorized the planet for years after his first fight with Mutaito; only after having isolated himself in intensive training did Roshi’s master develop the Mafūba that finally rid the Earth of the threat at the cost of his life.

Humanity had been pushed to the brink of extinction. Roshi had to bury his master, see to it that Piccolo would never resurface to see the light of day again, and then manually spread word across what pockets of mankind remained that the demons were gone. 

This is in an era that predated the Briefs family, or at least their genius, and Korin’s Senzu beans; no capsules, probably no hovercars or phones, no way to provide proof to anyone that the evil had been vanquished, no magic to heal him, not even a companion to travel the world with as he licked his wounds. He was driven away more than once;

“He’s in league with the monsters! Drive him away; they want us to lower our guard!” “No, no, I swear it’s true, he’s gone!” “GET OUT OF HERE, YOU... YOU TRAITOR!”

People were too afraid to believe at first; even when, after a stretch of peace, they were willing to listen, Roshi still had to bear the weight of helping rebuild under the rueful eyes of orphaned children, of those who missed loved ones who’d been killed and asked Why couldn’t you have saved them?!

One day, Roshi would look back and be glad that anyone had come out of that terrible era with the spirit and strength left to still be angry, but that time only came decades later; in the moment, he has no answer, because he’s still grieving himself.

If the timeline of the events prior to Dragon Ball are to be believed, he’s also in his twenties, thirty at most.

He and Shen are quasi-immortals walking an Earth that’s slow in recovering, decades out from thriving the way it might have prior to Piccolo’s reign. The two of them can’t help but cross paths over the decades; Shen bitter, hateful, Roshi lost and wrestling with himself to preserve the teachings of his master.

They fight; once like Kuririn and Goku, the deterioration of their friendship isn’t quick or painless, but a slow decay; Roshi can’t abide by Shen’s bastardization of martial arts into assassination techniques, Shen can’t help scoffing at Roshi’s sentimentality. Where Roshi’s resentment all flows inward, Shen directs his outward, at the world, deciding in his fury that he has the right to be as hateful and cruel as he deems fit.

They hurt each other, only with words at first; Shen holds too much begrudging respect for Roshi as the only other martial artist that faced Piccolo and survived, Roshi clinging too much to the friendship that once was to do more than disagree with how Shen handles their master’s death.

At times, they manage to even emulate what once was; they pull pranks, raise a mythical beast; for but a small time, their sense of fun overlaps.

That doesn’t last.

No one knows who says what, or which of them breaks that tentative understanding that they wouldn’t come to blows; only that they do, and after that, fighting is the only way they communicate when they run into each other.

And the day eventually comes when they don’t even have that; Roshi realizes, looking at Shen, who has earned the title in seedier, darker circles of Tsuru Sen’nin, has become little better than a hostile stranger that Roshi doesn’t even recognize.

They go out of their way to avoid each other after that; Hell, they’re both respective masters. It’s easy enough to do.

Not that it doesn’t hurt.

That break in their friendship doesn’t happen quickly, though, and Roshi has to watch the world come back together while his spirit is still at sea, still weighed down by his sin of being alive.

He happens upon the sacred land of Korin purely by chance; the natives recognize in him almost immediately his weariness and fatigue of violence and label him a non-threat.

“You have lost much.” “You can tell?” “Anyone with eyes could. Besides, these days, it is rarer to meet anyone who has not lost.”

His unintentional trespass is forgiven, not because the natives are inherently noble, simply because the world is broken and is especially wanting for kindness. Roshi passes perhaps a day or two in their company, perhaps shares his sad story, before he asks about the looming tower.

“It predates anyone alive by centuries; many have tested themselves trying to climb it, but few can claim success.”

Roshi thinks on what more he could’ve done, of the possibility that his master might have survived if only he’d been that much stronger. 

He makes the climb.

What passes between him and the immortal cat no one knows, but he’s a little nearer to whole when he’s through, sturdier, stronger... he’s more prepared this time to venture into the world again. He manages a smile when he parts way with the natives, flies on Kinto’un to find people who might need help and practice his martial arts in the name of defending innocent lives; not quite happy yet purposeful.

That bough breaks anew when those with a more natural lifespan begin to die around him.

Roshi still isn’t well equipped to cope well with death; the realization that, if he continues interacting with the world, he’ll have to witness death even he, whose name has been murmured alongside titles such as the God of Martial Arts, cannot prevent.

Time begins to pass differently for him, then, as he doesn’t stay in one place for too long at a time, keen on avoiding too much attachment to any one place or group of friends. 

It’s around the time that martial arts has experienced enough a resurgence as to be celebrated again in the form of the Tenkaichi Budokai, for the horror that was the war against Piccolo Daimao and his demons to pass into the stuff of bedtime stories and legends, that people tentatively start seeking him out for tutelage. 

And Roshi’s conflicted; on the one hand, does he deserve to call himself a Master as Mutaito was to him? On the other, how better could he honor his master’s legacy than to pass on his own teachings?

Gohan and Ox-King are the ones fortunate enough to break the stalemate in Roshi’s conscience.

The results, decades on, are the last straw that drive him into a life of more or less permanent solitude. Utterly alone with no trace of human interaction or any reason to even use Kinto’un with access to capsules, water he can filter, and entertainment he chose without much thought, the isolation of many decades nonetheless... gets to him. 

Until one, unsuspecting day, his friend Turtle, having gone missing many weeks ago, suddenly reappears with talk of a kind, spiky-haired child...

[cognitiveleague]

Agghhh I finally ordered a dress for my little sister’s wedding, which was fairly painless, and I was like ‘ok cool, she let us pick our own dresses within guidelines and I found one I love, I’m ok with the plan for hair, we have a plan to get my makeup done by the makeup artist’s assistant since I’m not very confident with makeup on account of I wear it like 3 times a year on a strictly when i feel like it would be fun for me to play with basis, I’ve made my peace with pretending like I’m not viscerally uncomfortable with the idea of a stranger interacting with my nails or cuticles long enough to accompany her on a little pre-wedding salon trip that will be fun and relaxing and affirming for her, bridesmaid-ing is going fine’

And somehow the point that’s thrown me is her requirements for the goddamn shoes

Like I’m not… visually the most overtly butch, a lot of the ways I’m GNC tend to be either related to queerness or to gender-coded interests or traits more than to appearance? I like my long pretty hair (even if I like think of my hair like… like long-haired prettyboys or renfaire dudes have long hair I know that it’s perceived as feminine), I like my curvy shape, I like long pretty skirts, I like being a bit of a mom / protective big sister friend

But I like casual and comfortable and low-key and not overly femme about it, I guess? I like my thrift store leather jacket and my super casual tank tops, I tend to prefer men’s deodorant and boxer-briefs and cologne, and like… femme formality and politeness have always come super hard to me, if at all?

And when I do femme-femme, there has to be something to make it relatable to me, I guess? My renfaire clothes are mostly skirts and fitted bodices and fluffy blouses and shifts, but like… it’s dress-up. It’s playing with presentation in a way that isn’t reliant on modern fashion, which has always felt alien and boring to me. It’s something I get to build in my own image, colorful and playful and queer and loud, and that makes it mine, and makes it ok?

But when my sister says the shoes need to be fucking *beige*

I swear to god I feel so dumb about this but I’m honest to god having a minor crisis about having to choose a pair of shoes and spend money on them when the criteria are “formal and femme, without even a bit of color to make you like SOMETHING about them”

Like even fucking. Champagne or rose gold or something I was prepared for, something understated and classy that would look good with the dress color, I get it, but fucking beige??? There is literally zero chance I already have something I can use, and zero chance I can find something that I’ll wear a second time, and I’m too broke to be buying shoes to wear just fucking once and I’m literally so uncomfortable even just trying to look at the options online they all look so uncomfortable and impractical and boring and I actively hate them all

Sometimes I wish I liked my long hair and hippie skirts a little less so I could present in a way that would read as more properly butch to other people and maybe the ones that aren’t generally dicks about queer stuff and therefore beneath my esteem anyway would back the fuck off a little about the compulsory femininity then??

[rosieartsie]

rainbow and overcast for the ask game pretty please!

Thank you for the ask! <3 Rainbow Ooooh my favourite character dynamic to write is when two people love small things about each other, know the little things that no one else knows. I do of course enjoy big overtures of love, but there's just something so... painfully sweet about knowing the small things. Of course, in New Faith it's mentioned in multiple ways how Mercutio knows small things about Vincente-- that he doesn't often swear, doesn't like slang, that he doesn't sleep easily, but he also forms his life around those small things. He knows how to cook eggs the way Vincente likes them even though he likes them different. He likes raspberry jam, but Vincente likes strawberry jam, so he has strawberry jam in his fridge just for him. In TBOB there's tons of instances of this lol, too many to list, but a few examples are that Shifra and Femi both know that if Irastenys is zoned out, or asleep, disturbing him is always going to involve him startling awake. They try their best to make that as painless as possible, but it happens every time, and most of the time, it's pretty funny. One of Dreigas' only tells about whether or not he likes someone, is if he will cook for them-- if he cares for someone, he keeps them fed. And he does this for his Second Ennyn, and for Atsa after a while, but despite how wrought his and Gwyn's marriage seems, he makes sure Gwyn eats every night he's in their chambers without fail. When Irastenys finally comes out of grieving because [redacted], he knows he owes Femi an apology for his absence, for leaving her alone to grieve when they should've been together. Rather than simply apologizing, he apologizes the way people do from Mivior which is where Femi is from. He communicates how contrite he is in a way that is traditional for her, and honors her both by apologizing and by doing so in a way that will literally and metaphorically hit close to home. Setsulin likes sweet wine but Cynevor likes dry wine-- she will make fun of him and call what he likes to drink swill even though it's very good quality and expensive, but she caters to his taste by bringing two bottles when they have time alone, one for him, and one for her. I guess in writing these, I realize I also have a soft spot for food related romantic gestures lol. This is true to me in real life, so it tracks lol. Overcast Hmmm... Well in New Faith the main characters are limited to only two- though I think I've fleshed out Mercutio and Vincente to a degree that sometimes they are both very likeable and sometimes dislikable. Mercutio is helplessly in love and it shows, and he's loyal, but he's cynical and can be rather self serving at times. Vincente is kind and upright and just a good, good man, but on occasion he's quick to anger, can be overtly manipulative, and he's incredibly stubborn. There's a lot to like, and a lot to criticize there. With TBOB's huge cast, I've had the pleasure of having direct feedback about who is very likeable and who isn't lol. Syl is a stand out favourite, and Dreigas also tends to come in high on the list of faves even though he's such a dick lol. I've never heard anyone have a bad thing to say about Femi, which is incredibly flattering.

The characters that have received the most criticism are Argos, who in the beginning could not seem to take a hint from poor Atsa, let alone respect boundaries in the name of having a huge crush, Irastenys-- he is our antagonist, and he's morose, and waspish, and complicated so he's very 'I love to hate him' coded for our little fandom lol and Scythaline-- who I will defend with my teeth, as much as I understand how frustrating people find the trajectory of his part in the story. Scythaline is romantic and naive, his self esteem isn't where it should be and he tells himself a lot of lies to make things he does, things he puts up with, and things he participates in seem okay when they're not. People have found his internal world so frustrating and relatable that for some it has bordered on triggering, particularly when he's in a relationship with Gwyn, who is manipulating him and is mercurial about whether or not he truly cares for Scythaline at all or if he is simply an entertaining past time. At a certain point, one of my exes gave Scythaline the grace I think he deserves by pointing out that he is a victim of that manipulation, and that even in his relationship with Kelradest there are issues, that no one is showing him what a healthy relationship looks like, or helping him navigate these new and complicated feelings. Gwyn is toying with him and Kelradest expects too much of him on accident. So Scythaline I wouldn't say is the most disliked exactly? But he is the most controversial, to be sure.

[forfeitsouls]

what’s peculiar about your soul?

Your soul is... Bleeding

It is bleeding all the time. Sometimes it's a gentle, almost unnoticeable trickle. Other times, it drips from your display and floods onto the carpet. 

It frequently needs to be dealt with- wounds that never seem to heal must be resutured and rebandaged. No one is sure where exactly the blood is coming from... but it does not seem to be of short supply. 

You are screaming. You are in agony. Every twitch sends another rocket of white hot pain through you. 

You assumed life after death would be painless. You assumed incorrectly.

Tagged by: @willowdied​ Tagging: YOU reading this! It’s fun, I swear. I might even do Percy later.

[mackjlee9]

If it's still open, can I ask smut prompts number 43, 65, and 79? The character is Azul from twisted wonderland

Thank you for requesting~ 😊

Smut Prompts; 'Slowly, baby, I'm not going anywhere', 'I know, baby, I know, I'm right here, just breath' & 'I can be good, so good! I swear!'

Warning; azul's first time, ooc!azul, protected sex.

Azul Ashengrotto [Twisted Wonderland]

Please, enjoy the event~

Azul was nervous- damn, he was beyond nervous and scared, but he wanted this. He wants to do this, so he's letting his boyfriend touch his bare skin, kissing his naked body, and observing him with admiration. He had a dark blush on his face, his glasses placed on the nightstand, letting (M/n) look into his beautiful eyes.

Leaning down to kiss him, Azul's moans were muffled by (M/n)'s mouth, his pale arms wrapping around his neck and keeping their bodies pressed together. Azul clung to him, kissing him back messily, his body trembling and shivering from the intimate touch.

Breaking their kiss and smiling at the male under him, (M/n) moved away from his body slightly, reaching his arm to grabbed to things that were very important to have. A bottle of lube, and a condom.

But Azul panicked, thinking (M/n) was gonna make fun of him and leave him, so his grip tightened around him.

"Where are you going?" He asked in a meek voice, (M/n) looked at him and smiled, leaning down to kiss his forehead, gently caressing his hair.

"Slowly, baby, I'm not going anywhere," he spoke softly, "I just had to grab some stuff so it doesn't hurt as much, okay?" Azul nodded, blushing a darker red as he realized his clingy behavior, "You're so cute."

Proceeding to distract Azul with his kisses, (M/n) gently rubbed his lube-coated fingers against his tight entrance, before slowly pushing his finger in. Azul's hands were tangled on his hair, and it was pulled a little at the sudden stinging, burning pain he felt, however, (M/n)'s kisses and touches distracted him again, his whines muffled by his mouth as his insides were being stretched by his fingers.

But even if (M/n) managed to make it as painless as he could, his fingers weren't as thick as his cock, so after putting the condom on, he slowly eased his tip in, hissing when Azul scratched his back or pulled his hair too hard, and he stayed still when his entire length was fully inside him.

Azul's face was pressed against his neck, soft cries and whimpers caused by the pain he was feeling, tears gathering in his eyes as he held tightly onto (M/n).

"It h-hurts, (M/n)..." He mumbled, closing his eyes tightly, "It hurts."

"I know, baby, I know, I'm right here, just breath," (M/n) caressed his hair and held him gently, whispering to him that everything was okay and the pain would go away, but even after a few minutes, Azul kept whining about how painful it was, so (M/n) thought it would be better if they stopped, "Azul, maybe... We can do this another time? Maybe you're not ready to have-"

"No! No, I'm... I'm ready, (M/n) please I... I can be good, so good! I swear!" Unable to deny Azul's desperate pleads, (M/n) took a deep breath and slowly moved his hips back, taking almost half of his cock out before thrusting in again, Azul whined and groaned a few times, before a particularly deep thrust inside him made him gasp, his breath stuck in his throat before a loud, needy moan left his mouth. "M-more, more, that... that felt so good~"

Gritting his teeth, (M/n) placed his hands on either side of Azul's head and started thrusting at a faster pace, making sure to hit the same spot so he could hear Azul's lewd cries of his name coming out of his mouth over and over again.

[jamminvroomvroom]

lipstick on the glass

pg x fem!reader 

read part 2 here!!

yeah okay so pierre is hot and i’m in my sad girl era again, hence the song lol. lemme know what you think (for my ego) <333

inspired by lipstick on the glass by wolf alice (lyrics are italics, bolded and small)

warnings: 18+!! smut, swearing, angst, alcohol, fuckboy pierre vibes ehehe, probs grammatically incorrect french (i do apologise)  3.3k words 

-

it could be exciting

excuse for a change if we don't work the way we were

it had started off as a bit of fun, just as most things that ended in disaster did. your eyes caught his in the paddock a few times over the span of a couple of race weekends, and before you knew it, you were in his motorhome bent over the end of the bed while he fucked you from behind. after a few months, you found yourself wishing that it had been terrible, that there were no sparks, no heat between you both, because then you could have had a clean, painless break. but no, that would have been too easy. 

instead, you had been caught up in what could only be considered a downward spiral. it had started off as lingering touches in the paddock, stolen kisses in dark corners and his hand wandering under your dress in the corner of a club in a new city every week. it was exciting and new and he made you feel so ridiculously good, acting as the perfect stress relief for both of you. but quickly, it turned into a painful, messy clash between your head telling you to run, while your heart wanted you to keep staring into those pretty blue eyes just a moment longer every time they fell upon you. feelings quickly surfaced on your behalf, stupid, ridiculous feelings that made you want to scream into a pillow or melt into an embarrassed puddle on the ground. he didn’t feel the same way, no, not even a little bit. because you quickly realised that you weren’t special. 

the first time you saw him with another woman, you didn’t realise she was there with him. the second time you saw him with another woman, different than the first, you naively turned the other cheek and convinced yourself that he wasn’t doing with them what he was doing with you. by the time a third woman appeared at a race, you were furious and vowed to never let that man into your bed ever again. 

when he’d eventually come to see you, or at least fuck you, the following week at that, he had instantly noticed how cold you were towards him. when you told him pettily that, clearly, he didn’t need you anymore, he had smirked, voice oozing arrogance. 

“there is no need to get so jealous, mon ange. no one compares to you.”

you had been on your back for him embarrassingly quickly after that small amount of convincing from him. 

nothing seems inviting

except the image of your open arms calling back

to me

and so, the cycle began. pierre fucked you and then he went and probably fucked everyone else. you hated yourself for exercising such little self respect, but by the same token, you craved as much of him as you could get. you didn’t think it was love, but it was definitely something, something enough to leave you feeling hurt every time he found the next woman to warm his bed for a night. the sad thing was that you knew his pattern like the back of your hand by this point, so it was a pathetic reality check time and time again when you somehow managed to continually convince yourself that yes, this time would be different. 

now, it’s not like he made it easy for you to move on. it didn’t matter how much you withdrew from him to protect yourself. he was always extremely flirtatious, that wasn’t a shock, but over time, his mannerisms towards you changed slightly. he would brush strands of hair away from your face, grazing your skin so gently as he did; he would call you pretty when you woke up beside him as the sun broke through the curtains of an expensive hotel suite, and would stay beside you just a little bit longer on those mornings. those tiny little gestures were hard to ignore, especially as they became more frequent and intimate. but no matter what, he always left.

and now, here you were sat in yet another hotel room, bored and alone. it was the beginning of the race weekend, late on thursday afternoon, so he should have been back from the track hours ago. all he needed to do was speak to his engineers and do some very minimal media. you couldn’t help yourself from allowing your thoughts to run slightly wild, wondering which dark corner of the paddock he had seduced his latest pick into. or maybe, he had already arrived back to the hotel, invited into someone else’s bed instead of yours. even if you finished off the entire bottle of red wine resting on the table before you, you wouldn’t be able to get the bitter, bitter taste out of your mouth. 

fuck him, you thought, deciding that if he wasn’t going to join you anytime soon, you wouldn’t delay opening the bottle that was just sat there waiting for you while you waited for him. one glass turned into two and two turned into three, and three turned into you picking up your phone and furiously typing out the most direct, albeit slightly dramatic, message you could muster in your tipsy state.  

“don’t bother coming up here. i don’t need you and you clearly don’t want me.”

-

after that night, slightly embarrassed by the text message you’d sent, you avoided him until he made it impossible. you didn’t know why he was suddenly putting in so much effort with you when he barely had before. he went out of his way in the paddock to see you, to be near you. any free time he had would be spent looking for you and it was getting rather irritating. you managed to ignore him and his piercing gaze for a good few weeks but he was starting to distract you from your job and that was your final straw. 

“what the fuck do you want from me?” you slammed your office door shut, wincing as you really didn’t need anyone noticing him there when really he should have been down at his garage. 

“why did you end it?” he challenged, finally asking you what he’d wanted to for a month. 

“why do you care?” 

“because i miss you.” 

“why? can’t find anyone else to fuck these days?” you scoffed, trying to ignore the way your heart rate spiked. 

“it’s not about that.” he narrowed his eyes. 

“then what’s it about? pierre, i swear to god, if you tell me i’m not like the other girls…” you rolled your eyes. 

“i care about you.” 

“yeah, me and every other girl that you look at for more than five seconds. listen, it’s fine, it’s done. i’m sure you’ll have no trouble replacing me.” you bit back, trying your hardest to resist melting into a puddle on the floor.

you walked away from him, rounding your desk so that there was a physical barrier in-between you, but clearly you had underestimated him, as he instantly followed. here we go again, you thought, willpower simply vanishing as he invaded your space and pushed you against the wall. 

“silly girl, when will you learn? i don’t want to replace you.”

and then he was kissing you. he never just kissed you, there was always more to it, but he made no move to get you spread out on your desk for him. he kissed you slowly and passionately, meaningfully, as if he was trying to convince you of his words. when he pulled away, you were breathless, confused and perhaps even slightly lovestruck, your eyes soft and wide, lips parted as you caught your breath. he smiled. smiled. where was the all-knowing asshole smirk that he wore so beautifully? where was the pierre you knew? 

“later, ma chérie.” he told you, fingers stroking your jaw one last time, before he was gone. the sun was going down and the race would be starting very soon. as per usual, he had more important places to be. 

you were torn between being in total awe of the moment that had just passed and being furious with yourself. what the hell had just happened?he never spoke to you that way, never kissed you like that. but was that seriously all it took for him to worm his way back in? you let out a frustrated sigh and collapsed into your chair. you couldn’t win. he’d left you with the promise of later but what did that even really mean when it came to pierre? 

my body does deceive me

just as did yours

though we're fighting different wars

in our ways

but there's no pleasure in resisting

so go ahead and kiss me

 -

pierre was true to word. he did find you later. you were leaving the paddock, one of the last people at the track after what had been a stressful race, and were planning on just calling a taxi to take you back to your hotel, but lo and behold, he seemed to materialise before you. he offered you a ride, not without a suggestive wink, of course, and it seemed like a perfectly reasonable offer to take him up on. 

twenty minutes later, you were on his mattress. 

i take you back

yeah, i know it seems surprising when there’s lipstick still on the glass

“you think i don’t want you?” pierre mumbled against your collarbone between littering your skin with marks. you couldn’t exactly think straight with one of his hands creeping underneath your shirt and one of his legs slotted between yours, applying pressure to where you ached for him. your inability to answer his question made him laugh at you and the state you were in. you opened your mouth to try and respond but you were instantly stopped in your tracks as his lips moved over that spot on your neck that he knew so well, and his hand found the band of your bra, tantalisingly grazing your skin as he fiddled with the clasp. 

he quickly undid the flimsy material, not even bothering to remove your shirt, just letting the lace hang across your chest. he trailed his hand across your ribs, leaving goosebumps in his wake. you arched into him, desperate to get impossibly closer, a gasp slipping from your lips. his lips travelled down your neck and made their way across your chest until he reached the top button of your blouse. the hand that wasn’t underneath your shirt moved to undo your buttons, one by one, open mouthed kisses placed on your cleavage as he exposed more of your flushed skin. soon enough, your blouse was on the floor, followed very quickly by the white lace of your bra, pierre barely making an attempt at appreciating the piece of lingerie that you knew he loved.

your eyes rolled back when he traced his tongue around your nipple, fingers teasing the other one. he was taking his time, slowly working his tongue across your chest until he had you squirming, chasing the friction you needed between your legs. his thigh was creating a delicious pressure but the ache you felt was growing stronger and stronger. he pulled away from your chest, staring down at you, glistening lips pulled into a devious smirk. his eyes moved slowly over your entire body until they were fixed upon where you were bucking your hips into his thigh. 

“is that what you want, chérie?”

suddenly, the room spun for a second as he flipped you both over. he situated himself against the headboard, beckoning you towards him. you were so fucked out already that you obeyed immediately, moving to straddle his lap, only to be met with a tut. 

“no. you’re going to sit that pretty little pussy on my thigh and you’re going to ride it until i consider letting you cum.” 

you just nodded along, almost pathetically. you took your place on his jean clad thigh, skirt riding up as you did, the only thing left covering you being the skimpy white lace of your panties that matched the discarded bra. you began to roll your hips, tentatively at first, until he rolled his eyes impatiently, grabbing your hips and forcing you backwards and forwards. you let out a moan, feeling how soaked you were against the lace of your underwear. once again, his eyes were fixed upon where you moved against him, until he caught you staring at him. from that moment, he kept them firmly on yours.

his tongue slipped out of his mouth, swiping across his bottom lip as he shamelessly watched you get off, tugging it between his teeth. you were shaking, skin already glistening under the dim lighting, while you chased after your release. as good as it felt, it wasn’t quite enough, and you reached up to tweak your nipple, only basking in the relief for a second before you felt pierre slap your hand away, surging forwards to capture it in his mouth. 

his sudden movement sent vibrations through your body, and the sensation of his teeth grazing across your chest had you shivering. his arms were wrapped around you now, aiding in your grinding and keeping you arched into him. 

“pierre, please, fuck, i’m so close.” 

“fucking hold it.” 

“fuck, please.”

and then you were pressed into the mattress once again, dizzy from his sudden urge to change positions and flip you over. he held your jaw in his hand, forcing you to look at him, you eyes wide, lip quivering from your ruined orgasm. 

“i told you to hold it. are you questioning me, mon amour? hmm?” 

“no, no, i’m sorry, sorry, pierre, please.” you weren’t even sure what you were saying, you just wanted him to touch you, and hoped that your needy whining would speed the process along. 

he moved to unbutton his jeans, removing the fabric that was now covered in you. his boxers quickly ended up on the growing pile of clothes on his floor, and he was hovering over you once more. slowly, he spread you open for him, marvelling at the way you looked against the crisp white bed linen beneath you. he situated himself between your thighs, one of his calloused hands splaying across your hip, squeezing the soft skin, fingers skimming your waist if he dared to let them wander further. he slowly teased his fingertips across the lace detail of your panties, before frantically pulling them down your shaking legs, as if he couldn’t wait another second. the other hand dipped between your thighs, ghosting over where you were throbbing for him.

pierre teased two of his fingers through your folds, dipping them inside of you, reaching your clit with his thumb and rubbing lazy circles into it. you bucked your hips into his hand, expecting him to push you down further into the mattress, but your movements only seemed to spur him on, smirking down at you as he sped up his fingers. you were writhing, grinding helplessly onto his digits, balancing on the cusp of falling apart. he knew, perfectly well, that you were dangerously close once again, smirking sadistically as he slowly pulled his fingers away from your wetness, running his tongue across where you’d soaked him. 

you whined desperately, body shaking as his touch left you once more. you were ready to do just about anything for your release, ready to get on your knees, or beg, or maybe even both, but he didn’t give you the chance. 

“how bad do you want me?” you would never forget that damn smirk on his face. 

“so bad, pierre, so fucking bad. please.” you were sure you’d said ‘please’ more times tonight than you had in your entire life. 

“soaked for me. will you be good, chérie?” he stroked some stray hairs away from your face as he spoke, eyes locked on yours and nothing else, hypnotising you with those mesmerising shades of blue. 

you realised in that moment that you were in way too fucking deep. 

“i’ll be so good for you, so good.” 

and then he was dragging himself through your folds, unable to stop himself from groaning at your wetness as it coated his cock. slowly, he pushed into you, stilling teasingly as he bottomed out. his weight rested against you deliciously, your legs climbing to wrap around his waist and time seemed to stop for a second. you stared up at him, completely at his mercy, and realised that this had to be the last time. 

“so good to me, chérie.” he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as your heart rate skyrocketed.

you reached up, threading your fingers through his hair to pull him down to you, lips messily clashing with his as the chain of his cold necklace trailed soothingly across your heated skin. he began to rock his hips against yours, slow, languid movements sending shockwaves through your entire body. it felt so good that you almost willed yourself to believe that your heart wouldn’t ache by about midday tomorrow. you detached your lips, fingers still tugging at his strands as his head fell into the crook of your neck, furthering his assault on the already sensitive skin. 

he sped up his hips, fucking you into the mattress, covering your body with his, the contact that you shared overwhelming you in the best way. you just couldn’t ever escape him, no matter how hard you tried. his touch, smell, taste. the way he looked down at you when you were underneath him, whenever he let his smile steal the place of that tormenting smirk, the way you always felt his eyes upon you no matter the place or the person he’d chosen to replace your company with.  

he moved relentlessly now, catapulting you to a long awaited release that made you scream, your back arch and your vision succumb to nothing by white. 

as much as you would have loved to believe that it was real, you couldn’t ignore the fact that you were clearly nothing more to him than an insurance policy. you were the confirmation that in any situation, someones legs would be open for him at the end of a long, hard race weekend. so, after staring at the ceiling while he fell asleep and mustering every single shred of willpower you had, you slipped out of his bed, staring blankly at his favourite lingerie that rested carelessly in a heap on the carpet. you stared at it again, back in the safe confinement of your hotel room while you cried over nights  that meant everything to you and absolutely nothing to him. 

the full moon rising 

but it’s me who makes myself mad

-

when pierre woke up in his bed, he reached out for you blindly, hit by the realisation that he was alone. and not just in the bed. every trace of you was gone. your phone wasn’t on the nightstand, your perfume didn’t linger in the air and there was no white lace decorating his bedroom floor. suddenly tortured by a confusing pang in his chest, right around where his heart sat, he couldn’t help but wonder if you ever felt like that when you woke up cold, without his arms around you. 

as much as it frustrated him in the most beautiful of ways, there was not a person in the world that pierre wanted beside him more than he wanted you. the never-ending queue of people that he’d used to try and get you out of his head did absolutely nothing to ease the agony of longing for you. 

you’d already ended things with him once, and his empty bed was a declaration that you’d done it again. pierre had to accept, once and for all, that all the nights you’d shared clearly meant nothing to you. 

you know nothing would’ve needed deciding

had you just simply asked

- 

part 2? perhaps.

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