#it asks the question 'was frankenstein the monster

[sunder-the-gold]

Frankenstein's Monster asking personal questions of Pygmalion.

Is your girlfriend store bought or home made?

[regicidal-defenestration]

Do you ever read a book and realise how it's going to make you exponentially worse

[adhdari]

the franken au and vamp au could technically happen at the same time... why is emory working odd jobs at night? 🤔 lazuli and maiya invent reincarnation (a hopeful ending?)👍👍 <- i'm not too sure about EVERY detail but hear me out..........

h

[muntitled]

Clockwork | Park Sunghoon

Vampire!Sunghoon x Fem!Reader

Summary: “If there’s one thing stronger than your need to feast,” You lift that hand up once again, “-its your need to fuck."

Warnings: Language, Implied Violence, Dark Fic, Morally Ambiguous!Reader, Blackmail, Reader has a crush, Librarian!Reader, Implied age gap, Confrontation, Smut (+18) mdni, Blood Kink, Biting, Sadism, Masochism, Dom!Sunghoon, Sub!Reader, public sex, dub/Con, fingering, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Ownership kink, Pain Kink, Marking, Dumbification, Dacryphilia

Idek yall…

They are such stuff as monsters are made of.

That is the very last thing you are taught about Sunghoon.

That he is something to fear.

Predatory.

Killer.

But all you saw and all you’ll ever see is the boy casted in the shadows of library bookshelves. This is the setting that births your obsession- no- your love for him.

Every Thursday afternoon.

When the library has cleared out.

The only time he’s not with his family. The only time he’s alone.

Like clockwork.

“What do we have here?” A phrase you were obligated to say. Not many townsfolk valued literature and those that did, as per your boss, “needed to find every reason to come back.” Even if that meant mustering a robotic sunshine smile. As if you were a cashier at Starbucks and not a small town librarian.

How you managed to speak so coherently with Sunghoon looming on the other side of the desk remains a complete and utter mystery. If you were driven, otherwise, by the bundle of love knots in your stomach you might have stuttered foolishly and squeaked your way through scanning his books.

“Books.” He answers curtly, brusquely, leaving absolutely no room for further conversation- or interrogation, as it would apparently appear.

Sunghoon is not looking at you. His eyes - those endless golden voids-, are looking down at the mahogany desk you are standing on the opposite side of. You wish for more than anything to feel that otherworldly feeling of having those golden eyes focused completely on you.

What must that feel like?

To have Sunghoon’s sole, undivided attention.

You would soon have the unfortunate pleasure of finding out.

“W-Well I know they’re books,” You continue, stating this with an airy, light chuckle. A chuckle that indicated this conversation should have been over a long time ago and that you’re blatantly aware of that. Why aren’t you keeping your mouth shut?

“I mean- Well I just mean, you know it’s not everyday a 20 year old takes out,” You glance down at the book in your hands before sending it through the system, “Wuthering Heights?” Your brows furrow as you send a second one of his books through the scanner, “Turn of The Screw?” And the final, “Frankenstein-Mary Shelley?"

You quirk a questioning eyebrow up at him- one silently inquiring ‘what the fuck’s up with the archaic books, grandpa?’ But he, of course, is not sparing you a single glance.

Or wait- he does. But for the briefest moment.

"I enjoy literature.” It almost makes you keel over in inexplicable discomfort, the way the words were chewed on before they were forcibly spat out. You can see he is done entertaining your mindless spiel but for some weird, fucking stupid reason, you’re not done with him.

“Well yeah, sure. But I mean, the dust on these books are ageless, you must be the first man to borrow these in like, 40 million years-”

“21.” It is all he says. One little word that cuts your rant short like a heated knife. You glance up at him, hoping those dazzling eyes look down at you.

And they do.

Bloody, fucking, Christ. They do.

“You said 20. I’m 21.” Before you were about to ask how that could be the case- how Sunghoon could be older than you when you distinctly remember finishing high school the same year?

He decides to shock you.

“I got… held back a year. I was already supposed to have graduated.” You are not sure whether it’s the sprinkle of rain that has begun falling. Whether it was the weight of the impenetrable fact that Sunghoon fucking Park has just spoken to you more words than he’s ever said your entire high school career. Or whether-and this may exactly be it-you were affected by those blazing eyes that glided backup to look at you.

Not golden.

Blazing.

For the golden hues have simmered into something darker. They’ve literally bled into a darker shade of the gold-almost yellow hues in his eyes. The breath completely escapes your throat. This time he does not look away.

“R-Right. Of course. Sorry.” You had nothing to be sorry for. How could you ever have known any of Sunghoon’s and his weird friends’ ages when the only people they directly interacted with were the teachers and themselves? You could never have known Sunghoon was 21 and therefore did not need to apologise but… those eyes… they made you sorry.

“It’s just-” why the fuck, after everything, after all of that, is your mouth still moving? It’s like this was your only opportunity of bravery. Your only window letting through a sliver of courage before you would retreat in on yourself for the rest of your waning time in this town. Moving amongst the books like a spectre before you ran off to college.

This was your only opportunity.

“Well they’re all Victorian.” You finally let those words tumble out of your mouth.

You hear the sharp intake of breath.

“Bronte, James, Shelley.” You slide the books to him. “All Victorian… is this pattern the product of some trend I’m missing out on?” You chuckle lightly at the end of that, hoping to wrench one out of him too but you knew that was an impossible feat. Still, the chuckle drains down your throat when you hand him his books. Your fingers, still encircled around the hardbacks, brush over him accidentally.

“Jesus, are you cold?”

He pulls away quickly, evading eye contact like you’d turn him to stone. Evading your touch like your skin scorched his. “It’s raining. I-I could give you a ride-”

Sunghoon gulps visibly. In the span of a single conversation, those dark-golden eyes have stayed firmly on you but now they are prying you apart.

“That won’t be necessary.” He says, swallowing thickly once more.

“Of course.” You wave him off, immediately overcome by the embarrassment of your own presumptuous nature. Sunghoon's gaze drifts down to the books once more.

No. You can’t afford the dismissal. You can’t bear the non-verbal rejection any longer.

The faucet that is your mouth, just continues spewing.

“Vampires aren’t usually the ones being offered a ride, are they?” You turn your head, focusing on the raindrops shooting pellets at the tall library window. Your gaze appears far away but that’s what you want him to think. In your periphery, you see his eyes snap up from the mahogany desk with his head following; enough to make those dark strands bounce in surprise. You know you finally have him.

“I’m the victim,” You continue basking in the attention. Retaining more satisfying heat from his gaze alone than the husky fluorescent buzzing above you both. You are suddenly all too aware that the library is deserted.

“I’m supposed to be coaxed into your car. That’s how it works right? Like Bundy."

You lazily swing your gaze back from the window until you meet his eyes that have bled into an even darker shade of gold. So dark the gold has vanished completely, actually, leaving two soulless depths. His eyes scream, ‘how do you know?’

His jaw is tightened like screws and his fist is clenched so tight it should spout blood.

But there is no blood, is there? Dead things lose all of that.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about-” You lift a hand up. Right there, right in front of his stone face, silencing him immediately.

“That dance gets a little bit tedious, doesn’t it?” You laugh loudly into the hollow air filled with nothing but raindrops and thunder. “A little bit boring?” You give him a smirk. “I know one thing your little family specialises in isn't boredom.”

You make the unforeseen move of stepping back from your computer, slowly making a show of sauntering around the desk. Sunghoon's dark irises track you like a sniper and you revel in it.

You must stop your hands from fisting at your own sides.

You must maintain the little control you have, or it might just cost you your life.

“You're wrong,” he says, “The books. They’re not all Victorian.”

He’s stalling. Deflecting. Trying to distract himself from your nearing frame.

“Frankenstein,” he continues, “Shelley published it in 1818, that’s just short of the start of Victoria’s reign.”

You give him a small, tight-lipped smile.

“Hm. You would know though, wouldn’t you?”

He is pulled into silence.

“But back to your little lie.” Your path is set and your mind is made. “Vampire's daylighting as average university students? That’s a good fucking story.” You nod slowly, “A good fucking story.” You take small, tentative strides closer to him. Not wanting to engage too quickly. Sunghoon was big, tall and looming. Having that kind of frame tense- more tense than he already is, would only result in a blood bath. Your blood bath.

“Everyone at school, everyone in this town thinks you’re all so goddamn close but you wanna know what I think?” You saunter closer and he inhales sharply.

“No.”

You tsk and click your tongue, not stopping your calm gait whatsoever until his scent completely enveloped you. So empty and… dead.

A smell that can’t be masked by the most expensive cologne and yet you enjoyed it. It made your blood race and if what you knew was true, then he could hear the erratics of your heart as well. You wanted him to.

“See, Hoonie-”

“Sunghoon.”

“Hoonie. Why else would you be entertaining this nonsense?” You continue moving closer until his back is pressed against the wooden desk, looking down at you with a near pitch black abyss. You look up at him, feigning innocent doe eyes as you pressed your voluminous chest against him. You dare even let your hand drift over his black, cotton sweater.

“I could-” Sunghoon's eyes flutter closed before he snaps them open again. “I could hurt you. But you know that, don’t you?” A finger slips itself under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

Or so you thought.

He continues to lift your chin until you were looking up at the fluorescent light. Then, and only then, did you understand that he was baring your neck to him.

“Aw, Sunghoon.” You chastise lightly, still letting him do with you as you please. Unbeknownst to him, you were leaning in closer, letting your hand slip onto the desk behind him until you found just what you were looking for.

Letter opener.

“I’m counting on you to hurt me, Silly.”

You finally pull back, before he can lower himself further in-before he could go in for the kill.

You aim the sharp two-edged blade of the letter opener into your left palm and, with all the reserve in the world, you cut a long, shallow gash all the way in.

The very second your palm stains crimson, Sunghoon's entire build begins to shake. His chest begins to heave uncontrollably. His face is perfectly the same but somehow you still hear the hungry tufts of air leaving his nostrils, even over the raging rain outside and you smile.

“Trust me.” You say,

“I’m counting on you hurting me,”

“You’re really goddamn stupid, you know that?“ He says cockily, feigning his control when his pitch black eyes are a dead giveaway. The pupils are trained on the beoken skin along your palm and that alone. The blood has begun dripping aimlessly down your palm and you hold it up to him, showing him his prize. Showing him everything he’s been missing.

"Maybe I am. Maybe I’m crazy and stupid.” You discard the letter opener on the carpet beside you. It clunks to the ground and you let out a little sigh.

“You can go ahead and bite me Sung-” You might not explicitly be on a nickname basis, but you figured now was as good a time as any to familiarise yourself with each other, since-

“You’re gonna turn me."

Sunghoon finally rips his onyx eyes away from the dripping crimson faucet and he stares down at you questioningly.

"Why would I do that?” Some hair has fallen in front of his left eye but he makes no move to brush it away, so naturally, you do it for him… using your bleeding left hand.

“Well… because you’re you. And self restraint isn’t very you, Sunghoon.” You tuck the dark strand, now stained lightly with your blood, behind his ear and you begin to trail your hand slowly down the side of his face. Sunghoon's eyes flutter closed and he leans, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, right into your bleeding grip. He turns his head sideways and inhales sharply.

“I knew it.” You marvel at the boy before you. “Sure it was just a theory but- it all fell serendipitously into place: The absent days when it’s sunny out. The deathly paleness. The untouched lunch trays. The old ass books that probably give away your real age.” His eyes are still closed and he is still moving his cheek against your bleeding hand. He hums unintelligibly.

“The ice cold skin was my final check.”

“How clever.”

He produces the first smile you’ve ever seen and the beauty of it releases a wave of endorphins and butterflies in your gut. “You want a cookie for that?” He has a dangerously gorgeous lopsided grin that, coupled with the gleaming, pointed canines that have emerged, leaves your pulse quickening in more places than your heart.

“What’s to stop me from ripping you open right now? There’s no one here. No one will be here in time to stop me from killing you.” He turns to look at you and you almost gasp at how severely sexy your smeared blood on his cheek looks.

“Give me reasons.” He urges with his voice bouncing off the walls.

“I need reasons or-” his eyes flutter closed “-or I just might do it. I will kill you.”

You needed to maintain control. But in that moment you knew and feared that you and him were beginning to realise that your dominant reserve was slipping right through your fingers. It was your turn in the hot seat. Okay.

You got what you wanted. Find out what you needed to find out. But all that came at a price.

You try to keep your voice steady as you answer him.

“As much as it annoys you and me, Sunghoon, it is a fact that you wanna fit in with everyone else.” Sunghoon's eyes never leave yours as you continue talking. “You probably never really had a home and this town allows you to blend in with the rest of us.” He breathes deeply through his nose. “Killing the bookkeeper would put this little fantasy life you've built for yourself in jeopardy,” Your breathing is irregular and harsh and you look at his lips and oh god you need to taste him.

“But you’re still you, Sunghoon. This town can’t and never will change that fact. You’re not like the rest of us,” You finally say, “You’re not-”

In a blur and manipulation of time, space and all the little things in between, you’ve been transported with a swift dash across the room until you were being held by the throat against a bookshelf. Pain stems from the sudden and rapid movement but the firm and unwavering squeeze on your throat, elicits a wave of lust.

“I’m done playing your little mind games.” He’s seething and he’s angry and he’s right where you want him.

“Oh? But we were having so much fun, Sung-” He squeezes your windpipe, so incredibly close to crushing it.

“What do you want?”

You let the first ever genuine smile slip onto your face.

“For you to turn me, Hoonie."

He pauses. Quite literally.

Sunghoon's rapid breathing goes to a complete stand still and his form goes as still as a statue. You deduce that this is him thinking. He’s mapping out all the possible shit storms this would conjure up for him and his precious family and you hold the will to roll your eyes. After a few stunted seconds, Sunghoon eases back again.

"Once I start-”

“You won’t stop? Sunghoon, we’ve been eye fucking this entire time. I'm not sure what it is about Blackmail that gets you off but it's not difficult to see how bad you need it.” He squeezes your throat again in warning, already telling you all you need to know.

He's not sure why he's attracted to you. He shouldn't be. Whether its the fact that you should already be dead for even knowing his secret- for thinking you can offee him an ultimatimatum- its your sheer fucking guts that has him warming with attraction.

Your words slowly bring him up for air. “If there’s one thing stronger than your need to feast,” You lift that hand up once again, “-its your need to fuck. Vampires are immortal so they draw pleasure from the little things. The pleasurable things. That bulge in your pants can’t go unnoticed, Sunghoon, no matter how long you want it t-”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes before he murmurs: “Just shut up,”

He crashes his lips right onto yours. The kiss is not only electric but it’s magnetic. As if you would not be able to pull away even if you wanted to. And his firm grip on your throat keeps you there. It’s strong and he squeezes as he licks on your bottom lip, coaxing the opening out of you. So naturally, you moan, and the bastard uses the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth.

You needn’t open your eyes to see he was half-smiling into your kiss. That little nugget of information made you need him even more. During your kiss, you squeeze your legs together. Sunghoon hums disapprovingly in your mouth, sending his other hand down your thigh, urging them apart.

“You can’t do that.” He breaks the kiss and says the words at a perfectly even breathe, meanwhile you were a heaving mess.

“What?” You inquire dumbly, all too focused on his hand on your jeans to rather give a fuck about anything else.

“Pathokinesis.” Is all he says before he ducks down into the crook of your neck, ripping the gasp out of your lungs by force. His large hand around your throat moves up to your cheek, rubbing the skin with his thumb softly.

“Don’t do that.” He says into your neck before venturing to flick his tongue out, licking the skin and driving you all too insane. You almost don’t register his words but the weight of his revelation has you tumbling to your senses momentarily.

“What? So you can like-”

“Sense and manipulate your emotions?” He says, coming up from your neck. “Yeah.” He nods once before he takes your mouth in his once more.

“What you feel,” he mumbles in between the kiss, “I feel too."

Yet another gasp strains your throat when you feel two sharp teeth graze against the skin of your plump bottom lips as Sunghoon pulls away.

Have you really thought any of your movements through?

What if sex with a vampire was fatal?

You’re about to spiral into oblivion before Sunghoon speaks up.

"No.” He says curtly, and you’re all too aware of the hand trying to push past your denim jeans. “You’re not pulling back on me now. Not after everything.” You’re in awe of his words.

“Jesus, so you really can feel everything.”

That life threatening smile again.

“Pretty much.”

He begins to undo the buttons of your pants tentatively, almost meticulously, as if you were fortunate to have all the time in the world. You’re about to urge him to hurry the fuck up but one of the shelves behind your head collapses. Books fall to a sad heap on the floor and the wood is snapped in tiny pieces. Sunghoon's hand was leaning against that particular shelf.

Maybe he’s not as calm as he’d like to convey.

“There is one thing,” the buttons are undone but he’s stopped moving his fingers. They are in fact paused on the lining of your underwear. The material is calmly in between his index and thumb, creating the sickest, most twisted need you’ve ever felt. You almost abandon modesty and grind into him right then and there.

His next words however, have you almost wanting to keel over in grief.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he says with a sick smile.

“Why?” It's all you can manage and suddenly, you think the universe must be smiling at the irony of this situation. The encounter had begun with You as the master of this blackmail, yet here you were, grovelling for him.

“I think you’re really good at getting what you want,” he says, leaning forward and slowly, oh so slowly, letting his hand slip into the fabric. The graze of his fingers on you cunt alone making you almost sob out in need.

“And I’m not gonna allow that.” He concludes before pushing his hand all the way in. Sunghoon does nothing but snicker when he feels the pool of wetness.

“This is how this is gonna work,” he uses his free hand to pick up your limp left one. The wound is of considerable size however, the blood is not flowing as much but it’s still there.

“You’re gonna give me this.” He lifts your limp hand up and you comply like a puppet on a string. “And I’m gonna give you this.” His fingers-the index and the middle,- flick over your clit, causing you to let out an aching whimper.

“Got it?” He’s already placing your bloody palm against his plump lips and you’re too enamoured. Too enamoured at the sight of his tongue sticking out and lapping at the blood as if it were a healing potent. You’re too enamoured to respond and he does not like this one bit.

Sunghoon flicks another finger against your clit.

“JESUS!” You scream into the empty library. Sunghoon, who’s eyes were closed, shoots open and he hums disapprovingly.

“No,” he says irritably, “Sunghoon. Say Sunghoon.”

You’re a drunken, sex filled mess. “Fuck-Sunghoon.” He smiles, satisfied, before returning to your palm. You begin to grind into his fingers and his chuckles.

“Sung… Sunghoon please.” There are tears staining your eyes and you’re so completely torn apart. The thrill of it being in a public setting. The rain. The licking on your palm. It’s too much.

Way too fucking much.

“Please? Please let you finish?” Sunghoon asks mockingly and a sob releases from your throat as your hips begin to buck into his hands. “You’d like me to let you cum all over my hand?”

“Please, Hoonie. Please.”

“That’s a shame…” He replies, “I thought we were having so much fun.” You do not even have the strength to act stunned at having your words being flung back at you, you’re too focused on the fingers that have slipped inside of you and the hissing noise escaping Sunghoon's throat.

It’s all so unbelievable. Sunghoon pulls back and hisses loudly. Your heart stops at the sight of his canines elongating even further but that all falls away when he sinks them further into your palm. Biting down.

Hard.

“Hoon..” You're completely out of it. The fingers slide in and out and in and out, searching rapidly for your g-spot, but in the very same breath, there’s a sharp, bright and blinding pain in your left palm, letting the tears fall as they may.

“Fuck, Sunghoon! Oh god! It hurts! It hurts so fucking bad!” You’re sobbing but his fingers inside you are relentless and his sucking, even more so. You feel like nothing but an object of his pleasure as your hand begins to grow numb. Sure he was bringing you to orgasm, the very same time you felt even that was for his own pleasure.

Never had you experienced a pain quite like this. This pain felt otherworldly. Diabolical. As if someone were ripping the nails right out of your fingers. As if you slammed the car door in on your hand repeatedly.

And the pain. God, the pain is white and bright, you fear passing out may be inevitable.

Sunghoon brings his head up, releasing his fangs from your palm but continuing his assault by licking and sucking on the two indents. “I know, my beautiful, beautiful girl,” he says, “I know."

The sobs stop, perhaps because you want to hear his voice. Perhaps because you feed on his praises. "You’re so beautiful, you know that?” he mutters unsoundly in between his licks, “So pretty, so perfect.” You realise he’s as delirious as you, his eyes are wide, gazing down at the madwoman before him with his own madness swirling in his irises. His lips are stained red and somehow that sets you over the edge.

“Hoonie?”

His eyes are red. Blood red. You gasp. “I’m-” You don’t finish the sentence, already feeling your orgasm crest as you carelessly fling yourself over the edge. It hits you and you forget all about the pain. All about the blood.

“That’s it, my pretty, pretty girl.” He encourages and your body is shaking violently against the book rack. Your eyes are screwed shut and you’re rocking uncontrollably into his hand.

In that moment, Sunghoon may have thought that he gained everything, but you gained far more. And when you come out of that high, once the fog cleared and the rain simmered down to a tiny, light pitter patter.

You begin to feel…

New.

“Welcome to immortality, Beautiful.” He whispers in your ear with that recognizable lopsided smirk.

You feel… empty. Drained. You feel nothing at all.

“Population… You”

[keferon]

Hey, I don't know if you're still open to answering questions about this, but if you are I am SO curious to know about what Tarantulas would be like the monster hunter au? Even if he's basically the same I'm really curious what the more mythical setting and Prowl being a golem would change (if it changes much of anything at all)

I love your art! It's a big source of inspiration to me

Oh, I've been asked this before and didn't have an answer last time, but now I do.

Tarantulas would be the ultimate weirdo, studying magic and Beastformers, but he himself would originally be a regular mech.

At some point he became so inspired by his research that he essentially invented a way to turn regular mechs into Monsters, and the first thing he did was turn into a spider himself.

He also, as in the comics, works with Prowl and he's one of the very few to know that Prowl is a golem and not a real mech, even though he looks and acts like one. This information actually gives Tarantulus a great idea to try to create a golem that is so elaborate and advanced that it is essentially a mech.

He decides to break every possible rule of golem creation to create Ostaros. While Prowl is essentially a hollow armor powered by magic - Ostaros is something like Frankenstein's monster. Tarantulas put him together, taking care of every little detail. He gave him a processor and internal components (and a transformation cog hehehe). Ostaros still doesn't have a spark, but he has free will, intelligence, emotions and all. And two modes. He can look like a normal mech, or he can transform into an insecticon.

Prowl is so fucking confused by the way, because he just walks into Tarantulas' lab one day and there's a completely random mech with a face that could be a mirror image of Prowl's. And Tarantulas is like, hey look, I created life and now it's your problem how and where to house him, because this kid needs to go to school.

(Prowl ends up sending Ostaros to Shockwave Academy to become a knight)

[luveline]

If you’re doing requests could you do KBD during Halloween?

uncle Eddie makes sure Steve has the perfect costume. mom!reader

Steve smiles at himself in the mirror. Wren, in his arms, smiles back. 

“We look handsome,” he says, lifting her so her face is level with his own. “I look handsome. You look beautiful.” 

“Hi,” she says. 

Steve turns down to her. “Hi, baby.” 

Avery climbs onto a chair and waves at the mirror. Her fairy princess dress is shiny blue. “Hello.” 

Beth climbs onto the chair after her, wrapping her arms around Avery’s shoulders. “Hi!” she says, force of her greeting sending her pirates hat careening to the floor. 

“Are you ready?” you call from upstairs. “Everyone still has their shoes on?” 

“Dove doesn’t,” Avery says. 

“Tattle!” Dove cries, a picture of fury in her kitty cat onesie, her glued-on whiskers twitching fiercely.

“Well, you don’t.” 

“My toes are warm,” Dove whines, thrusting herself at Steve’s legs. “Daddy, she’s telling on me.” 

“I know, and now you’re telling on her. You’re my little band of tattle-tales, I don’t love it.” Steve smooths along Wren’s face with his finger and takes in a breath big enough to fill his lungs. “Can you let Beth put your shoes back on?” 

“No.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

You fit Dove into her shoes and get the kids to the car. Four car seats is tough work but nothing you can’t handle, and you’re still in chipper spirits when you arrive at the Munson house. It’s decked out in cobwebs and great big spiders made of tinsel and bendy framing, carved pumpkins leading up the steps with fleshy teeth and candles unburned in their maws. Wren gives a comical gasp when she sees it all, a tad scared but quickly soothed when you pretend to be scared too. 

Beth races up the steps first to knock. 

The door opens a slither. 

“Who goes there?” a dark voice asks. 

“Uncle Eddie, it’s me!” Beth says quickly. Her excitement again sends her hat to the stone patio beneath her cons, but she doesn’t notice it, vying to squeeze through the door and see her favourite uncle. 

“I don’t know any Me’s. You’ll have to come back another day, I’m waiting for my very favourite troupe of little girls.” 

“It’s BETH!” Beth shrieks, “Come on!”

“Bethany?” Eddie pushes the door open, unsurprised when Beth throws herself full force into his legs. “Why, you look dastardly. How very scary of you! You have a parrot!” 

The fake parrot glued to Beth’s shoulder waggles. 

“His name is Sherbet.” 

“Wow.” Eddie gives her a hug, his eyes blowing wide over her shoulder. “Oh, wow! Ave, you’re a princess with wings! And Dove, meow.” He grins at Steve. “And your dad is what, Frankenstein’s monster? A zombie?”

“Dad doesn’t have a costume,” Beth says happily. 

“Are you sure?” 

Steve encourages Dove over the threshold, four wrapped plates of sandwiches and finger foods balanced in the other hand. “That’s not funny. What are you supposed to be, anyways?” 

“I’m a vampire, duh.” Eddie slips a pair of fake fangs into his teeth. “I vant to suck your blood!” 

“Ew, Uncle Eddie,” you say. 

“Don’t think you’ve escaped me, second favourite Harrington,” Eddie says, frowning as you slip around him. “You owe me a hug.” 

“Creep,” Steve says. 

“With pride.” Eddie takes the plates from his arms and somehow, the Harrington troupe makes it safely indoors, no further costume parts fallen nor lost. 

There are more people here than Steve expected, Eddie’s friends, their kids, even Eddie’s elusive boyfriend sits out in the open. 

“What are you supposed to be?” Dove asks him with a grin. 

He turns his head to show a painted bite mark on his neck. “Victim.” 

“He’s a dead guy,” Eddie tells her, helping her where she’s struggling to sit in one of the barstools. “Alright, babe, dad said last year we partied too hard, so here are the ground rules. No pixie sticks, no soda, and no climbing on the kitchen counters. If you follow these rules, I am being allowed to give you a Hershey bar the size of your dad’s massive head. Deal?” 

“How big?” Dove questions suspiciously. 

Eddie goes to the cabinet. Inside, there’s more candy bars than one person should ever have purchased in one go. He pulls out a huge one and holds it nexts to Steve’s head, laughing when Steve bats it away. “Huge.” 

“Dad, dad, can I go play with Milly and Joe?” Avery asks. 

Steve was hoping she would. “Sure, baby. Good manners, okay?” 

Avery whizzes off to find Gareth’s kids. Beth stays by Steve’s side and he forces himself to believe that it’s him she wants to be with, not Eddie. “You don’t wanna go play?” Steve asks her. 

“Not yet.” 

You appear again where you’d been missing with Robin in tow. Steve grins at the sight of her, though he’d spoken to her on the phone last night, and seen her the day before at home. “Buckley!” 

She’s wearing a black dress with a belt and her hair is teased into a short cloud. “You aren’t wearing your costume?” 

Steve moves Beth around unthinkingly. “Yeah, it still smelled like vomit. Wren had too much yoghurt. Rob, you really look like Madonna. Your makeup is–”

“It’s trippy, right?” Eddie asks. 

“Mora did it. It’s like, face sculpting.” 

“It’s weird.” 

“I like it,” you say, Wren on your hip giving an agreeable gurgle. “I like your real face more, but this is cool.”

“And where’s your costume?” Eddie asks. 

You frown down at your nice dress. “You can’t tell?” 

Eddie falls for the trip in your voice and attempts to backtrack, only realising that you’re kidding when Steve laughs. 

“The baby got sick on both of us,” you say, turning Wren so everyone in the kitchen can see her face. “But that’s okay. She’s so cute, she’s forgiven. Aren’t you, gorgeous? You didn’t mean to eat all that yoghurt, daddy just kept feeding you.” 

Steve holds his hands up in surrender. “I feed her every day, I know how much yoghurt she can handle.” 

“Clearly not,” you croon, shooting him a loving smile. “You did save us from those awful costumes, though.” 

“Oh, worry not,” Eddie says, “I figured something like this would happen, and I’ve prepared.” 

Awesome, Steve thinks, groaning as Eddie takes his wrist into his hand and begins to pull on him. Knowing Eddie, Steve’s end up dressed as a demon with giant horns, or a fairy. 

The reality is much, much worse. 

“Hey, look at that! It still fits!” Robin laughs. 

Steve looks down at his little sailor’s uniform and sighs. “Barely,” he says. 

“Say the slogan!” you demand. 

If it were anyone else, Steve would refuse, but you’re sitting at the breakfast bar with Wren tucked under your chin, so he takes a deep breath and straightens his white hat. “Ahoy ladies,” he sighs. “Would you like to… uh, set sail on this ocean of flavour with me? I’ll be your captain, I’m…” —his voice drags reluctantly— “I’m Steve Harrington.”

[draconym]

Just told a group of summer campers about The Modern Prometheus because they were asking about my references to "a Frankenstein" and they are interrogating me for a full plot analysis. Important questions they have:

How did he make the creature?

Where did he get the body parts? Did he kill people?

Why would Frankenstein want to do that?

Why did his mother die?

Why didn't they have good medicine in the 1800s?

Why were people afraid of the creature if he was nice?

If Frankenstein's monster was really big, was his butt also really big?

[steddieas-shegoes]

guard my heart

for @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘guard’

rated t | 532 words | no cw | tags: mutual pining, friends to lovers, getting together, slightly self conscious Eddie, good friend Robin, first kiss

🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️

“I just don’t understand why you won’t tell him!” Robin whisper-yells at him. “He’s gonna be fine with it!”

“It’s not about him being fine with it,” Eddie sighs. “I’m just trying to guard my heart a little.”

“So pining after him is making it easier?”

She’s so fucking rude for that, but Eddie isn’t gonna get upset. No, he can’t let his emotions win on this one, no matter what Robin tries to convince him to do.

“Are you guys gonna come hang out with everyone or be weird by the door?” Steve asks as he walks closer to them, dripping wet from his recent dive into the pool.

He catches Robin rolling her eyes before she walks away and leaves him alone with the man he’s lusting after. It sounds stupid like that, but there’s no other explanation for the way he wants to-

“You good? No one will care if you leave your shirt on. Or if you wanna take it off. Like, everyone’s gonna be cool with your scars or if you don’t wanna show them off,” Steve says quietly, as if that’s the issue Eddie’s facing at a pool party with Steve.

Sure, a small part of him worries that the kids will be horrified to see his badly healed scars on display, and he worries that they’ll get sad if he keeps them covered. He worries that he’s ugly, pieced together like Frankenstein’s monster, remnants of what he used to be. He knows it’s a lot.

But a bigger part of him is just worried that Steve will see too much of him, that he’ll ruin any tiny shred of a chance that Steve might feel anything for him beyond friendship. Robin insists— keeps insisting— that he just tell him how he feels, that he might be surprised, but he can’t.

“I’m good. Don’t think I wanna get in tonight,” Eddie lies. He’s sweating under his clothes, and he wore his bathing suit trunks in hopes he could be brave. The pool would feel nice after such a hot and humid day.

“You sure?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, man. I’m fine. Go hang out with the kiddos.”

Steve doesn’t leave, though.

He tilts his head to the side, eyes searching Eddie’s. He’s biting his bottom lip between his teeth, and clearly trying to figure something out.

“Can you help me with something inside for a second?” He finally settles on, and Eddie’s a little confused, but nods in agreement. Eddie will do anything for Steve.

Steve leads them both inside, closing the sliding glass door behind them. He walks into the kitchen and leans his back against the counter. Eddie stands awkwardly a few feet away, waiting for direction.

“What did you need help with?” Eddie finally asks after Steve’s been watching him for a solid minute.

“Understanding something.”

Eddie gulps.

“Understanding what?” Eddie’s heart races.

“Why you won’t tell me how you feel.”

Steve’s stepping closer, close enough that water is dripping onto Eddie’s feet and the floor below.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve asks and Eddie’s nodding before he even fully comprehends the question.

Their lips touch and Eddie forgets why he was so scared.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (6 - Dearly Lost)

Chapter Summary: You're no longer questioning your reality—that is until the twins does something you didn't think they were capable of. Monica, Darcy and Jimmy learn a fundamental truth about you from no other than Clint Barton. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: None

A/N: Let me know if the reveal at the end was pretty obvious :P // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Things seem normal again. At least for a while.

Wanda watches you from the doorway, noticing how absorbed you are in a book, chuckling quietly at something on the page. You've always been a bibliophile, and she's never met anyone who reads as much as you do. Back when you went on missions together, you'd have a book in hand on the jet, finding time to read even on the way back to the compound. You'd even squeeze in a visit to a local bookstore whenever you were stationed somewhere new. In this reality, though you work hard to provide for the family, you still manage to read a page or two before calling it a night. She was more than relieved to find out that you were still wholly yourself in here. 

Lately, Wanda’s found herself doing this more—watching you, making sure you're still there, still undoubtedly hers. She knows she’s keeping tabs on you more than she even does on her six-year-old twins, and deep down, she understands it's not healthy.

There hasn't been a major incident since your last big argument, the day she literally threw Geraldine out of town. But that's only because Wanda has been managing things before they can escalate. She’s been tweaking little things with her powers, smoothing over potential upsets, steering your mood when it seemed to dip. It never gets easier for her, using her magic on you. It feels as if she’s betraying you each time, but Wanda feels trapped into making these choices, believing it’s the only way to protect you and the boys and the happiness she’s found here in Westview.

“You’re spying again.” 

Wanda blinks to find you looking up from your book, the corners of your mouth tilting upwards in a teasing smile.

“Can't help it,” she replies. “You look so beautiful.”

You close the book slightly, keeping a finger between the pages. “Have you seen yourself in the mirror?” you say, meeting her eyes. “Care to join me?” You pat the empty spot beside you on the couch. 

Wanda crosses the room to sit next to you. “What are you reading this time?” she asks.

You hold up the book to show her the cover. “Just revisiting an old favorite.”

Wanda reads the title: Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. She can't help but wonder why you decided to pick up that book now, of all times. Wanda feigns innocence about what it could mean. 

“Mad scientist and monsters?” 

“Yeah”, you say. “Though the monster isn't really the villain if you think about it.”

She raises an eyebrow, taking a seat beside you. “No?”

“No,” you continue. “He's just misunderstood, a creation trying to find his place in the world. It's the creator who's irresponsible.”

Wanda swallows, the irony not lost on her. “I see.”

Noticing the distant look in her eyes, you fold the corner of the page and set the book aside.

“Is everything okay?”

She forces a small smile and nods.

“Anything you want to talk about?” you offer, your hand brushing hers.

Wanda intertwines her fingers with yours, then shakes her head. “It's nothing, really. Just... thinking about how good things are.”

You squeeze her hand lightly. “I think about that too. Every day.”

Wanda smiles at you, though she can’t help but wonder how much of your response is truly yours, and how much is shaped by the spell she’s woven around you.

After a moment, you say, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Her grip tightens ever so slightly. She can feel her palm against yours becoming clammy. “I know,” she whispers.

“Good,” you reply, leaning in to rest your head against hers. “Because whatever it is, we'll face it together, right?”

Wanda closes her eyes, soaking in your words. “Thank you,” she whispers.

You chuckle softly at that, shaking your head slightly. It seems almost silly that Wanda feels the need to thank you for something so fundamental. Aren't you supposed to be there for each other no matter what? After all, that's what being married is about. Being there for her—it’s not something she should ever have to thank you for; it's just a given.

You reopen the book with your free hand. “How about I read to you for a bit?”

She nestles closer, sinking into your embrace. “I'd love that.”

You begin to read out loud, but even as she listens, a part of her remains restless. She wishes she could share everything with you—the doubts, the fears, the lengths she's gone to preserve these moments with you.

–

“If there's one thing I don't like about this show—” Darcy starts, her eyes fixed on the television displaying the latest episode of Wanda's broadcast. In Command Central, more than a dozen monitors are lit up around the clock to ensure they don’t miss a moment. Darcy's snagged this vintage TV for their own use, preferring to monitor and analyze the situation away from the others. Ever since Hayward declared Wanda the enemy, they've all agreed they couldn't trust him.

Monica and Jimmy both give her pointed looks. It's hard to appreciate the nuances of a TV show when you know an entire town is being held hostage for it.

“Okay, besides the whole ‘entire town under mind control by a former Avenger’ situation,” Darcy adds, rolling her eyes. “It's the lack of continuity. One minute, Y/N is giving Wanda the cold shoulder, they're arguing over something trivial, and the next, they're all lovey-dovey like nothing ever happened. We didn't even get to see how that last argument over the scorched lasagna got resolved!”

Monica sucks in her teeth. “I doubt that scene really happened.”

Darcy nods. “I can't even wrap my head around how she's pulling this off. Her powers are—”

“Autonomous,” Jimmy chimes in. “Or it could mean Wanda's losing control over the narrative?”

Monica shakes her head. “No. That’s definitely a result of her controlling the narrative.” 

“What’s Hayward’s plan anyway?”

Monica’s head drops. “H-He isn’t including me in the closed door meeting.”

“Oh,” Darcy mumbles. That could only mean that whatever Hayward’s planning, he knows Monica would challenge it at all cost. And if Monica’s against it, well, it can’t possibly be good or morally tactful.

Right then, Monica’s phone vibrates in her pocket. She checks the message and allows a slight smile. “I might have some good news,” she says.

Darcy swivels her chair to face her. “Please tell me you found a way to fix this.”

Monica glances at the tent entrance. “Not exactly a fix, but maybe a step in the right direction.”

Before anyone can question her further, the tent flap opens, and a familiar figure strides in.

“Clint Barton?” Jimmy blurts out, eyebrows shooting up.

“Hey,” Clint says casually, giving a small wave. “Heard you all could use some help.”

Darcy's mouth hangs open. “Whoa… Hawkeye?”

Before the two can spiral into hero worship, Monica steps forward. “I reached out to Carol, but she's off-world.  She suggested contacting someone who knows Y/N well.”

“We go way back,” Clint explains. “I trained her for a while before Nat took her under her wing.”

An awkward silence settles over the cramped room as Jimmy and Darcy stare at Clint with wide-eyed astonishment. Clint glances around at the hodgepodge of equipment piled in corners and cables snaking across the floor. He clears his throat. “So... this is Command Central?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

“More like the storage room,” Monica replies dryly, arms crossed over her chest.

It’s Darcy who snaps out of it first. “Okay, I just have to ask—do you ever miss? Like, is that a thing that happens?” she blurts out.

“Darcy,” Monica warns.

But Darcy barrels ahead, as if not hearing her. “And your arrows—do you make them yourself? What's your craziest trick shot?”

Clint chuckles softly. “I designed them, yes.”

Monica places a hand on Darcy's shoulder. “We really should—” 

Before she can finish, Jimmy pushes off his chair, nearly tripping over a stack of files as he moves closer. “In the Battle of New York, how did you keep track of so many targets at once?” he asks eagerly.

Monica sighs loudly. “You too?”

The former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent shrugs defensively. “What? I’m a fan.”

“Can we please stay focused?” Monica says, pinching the bridge of her nose in embarrassment.

Clint chuckles softly. “It's alright. I get it.” He looks around at them with a friendly smile. “But I heard you’ve got an urgent situation here?”

“Right, right. Sorry. It's just—you're kind of a big deal.”

Monica takes a deep breath. “As I was saying, Clint knows Y/N well. He might be able to help us understand why Wanda’s doing this, how important Y/N was to her, and give us a clue on how we could help her through her grief.”

Darcy tilts her head. “So, what's she like? I mean, off the record.”

Monica gives Darcy a pointed look. “Darcy.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Darcy concedes, raising her hands. “But this interview’s gotta start somewhere, right?”

Clint looks between them. “Hold on a second,” he says. “What exactly is Wanda doing?”

Monica opens her mouth but finds herself hesitating, unsure how to relay the gravity of the situation. How do you tell someone that their friend has commandeered an entire town? There's no easy way to frame it—Wanda's actions are both alarming and, not to mention, illegal.

Darcy blows out a breath. “Oh boy, where to start?”

“Mr. Barton—” Jimmy starts.

“Just call me Clint.”

“Mr. Clint,” Jimmy continues. “Wanda has... taken over Westview.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “Taken over? What do you mean?”

Monica finally finds her voice. “Wanda created an alternate reality that’s protected by some hexagonal energy barrier—”

“Hex!” Darcy exclaims excitedly, proud to have coined the nickname that she’s heard other field agents using. “That's what we've been calling it.”

Monica shoots her a glare but keeps going. “—and people are trapped.”

“Trapped?”

Darcy nods vigorously. “Yep, complete with its own TV broadcast. Different eras, laugh tracks, the whole sitcom package.”

Clint runs a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “Wanda did what now?”

Monica pulls two chairs over to the central table, motioning for herself and Clint to sit. “We can brief you more on that later. It's hard to explain when there's no broadcast at the moment,” she says, gesturing toward the small vintage TV that's been showing static for hours. “Right now, we're on a tight schedule to convince Hayward to take an approach that minimizes casualties as much as possible. So, what can you tell us about Y/N? Wait—Jimmy, can you...?”

“Got it,” Jimmy replies, pressing the record button on the device. “All set.”

“Coffee?” Darcy offers, holding up a fresh pot.

“Please, and thank you,” Clint replies gratefully. He takes a seat, wrapping his hands around the warm mug. Turning to Monica, he asks, “So, how do you want to begin?”

“We have her basic bio—date of birth, physical stats, the usual. We know she worked with S.H.I.E.L.D. and later joined the Avengers, but beyond that, there's not much. Officially, she died two years ago in Tokyo. That's where our trail ends,” Monica says.

Clint nods slowly. “That lines up with what I know.”

Monica continues, “What we need to understand is her relationship with Wanda. Who was she to Wanda? How deep did their connection go?”

Clint tries his best to appear nonchalant though he’s out of practice. Your relationship with Wanda was kept under wraps; only the Avengers knew the full story. How did these people find out about you and Wanda being involved if all they have is what's in Stark's database?

Monica senses Clint’s having second thoughts on how to answer. “I understand this is sensitive,” she says, giving him a moment. “We’ll answer any questions you have, but we really need your help.”

Clint takes a sip of his coffee before responding thoughtfully, “I don't usually delve into others' private lives, especially when they're not here to speak for themselves. But if it can help us understand what's going on with Wanda…” He stops for a second, a faint smile touching his lips. “Funny thing is, they couldn't stand each other at first.”

–

“Smells good in here,” Wanda says as she pads into the kitchen wearing her sleep gown. It's Saturday—the one day you insist she sleeps in while you handle the morning routine with the twins, repaying her for the five days a week she does the same for you.

You turn from the stove, a spatula in hand, and smile. “Morning. Pancakes are almost ready.”

She moves closer, wrapping her arms around your waist from behind and resting her cheek against your shoulder blade. “You're spoiling me,” she murmurs.

“Just returning the favor,” you reply, flipping a golden pancake onto the growing stack. “Besides, the boys love helping out.”

No sooner do you say that than Tommy and Billy dash into the kitchen, giggling and shoving each other playfully. “Mom! You're up!” Billy exclaims, eyes bright.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Wanda greets, reaching out to smooth his tousled hair. “Did you two help with breakfast?”

“Of course!” Tommy grins. “I stirred the batter.”

“And I added the chocolate chips,” Billy adds proudly.

You chuckle. “They've been a big help.”

Wanda looks between the three of you, her eyes getting a little misty. “I can see that. Well, let me set the table.”

Before she can reach the cabinet, you quickly intercept her movements with a gentle hand on her arm. “Ah-ah, not today,” you say with a grin. “Why don't you take your usual spot and sit pretty?”

Wanda looks amused. “Are you sure?”

You merely lean in and kiss her cheek, letting your lips linger for a second longer than necessary before whispering, “I’m absolutely sure I just want you there sitting pretty for me.” Wanda giggles, blushing.

After breakfast, Tommy asks, “Can we go play outside?” already half out of his seat.

“Finish your juice first,” you say. 

They obediently chug their juice, cheeks puffing out adorably as they hurriedly swallow. You watch, momentarily concerned, but the sight is too endearing to fuss over.

“Done!” Billy declares.

Wanda laughs. “Alright, but stay in the yard.”

You begin clearing the dishes, and Wanda joins you at the sink. “They’re a handful,” she remarks, shaking her head fondly.

“I love it,” you reply, smiling as you scrub the same plate absentmindedly. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind having two more just like them.”

Wanda nudges your hip with hers. Hearing you want to have more kids with her both terrifies and excites her. “Is that so?” she teases.

“Yeah,” you say, leaning in to rub your nose affectionately against hers. “I’ll carry the girls this time.”

“Girls?” she repeats with a soft smile, her face lighting up at the thought.

As you're both finishing up, a commotion comes from the backyard. The boys' excited voices carry into the kitchen. “Moms! Come see!”

You and Wanda look at each other in question before heading outside. The twins stand on the patio, each holding one end of a wriggling, scruffy dog.

“Look what we found!” Tommy shrieks.

The dog wags its tail furiously, tongue lolling out.

“Where did he come from?” Wanda asks.

“He was by the bushes,” Billy explains. “He doesn't have a collar or anything. Can we keep him?”

Wanda gently takes the dog from them, cradling it like a newborn. “Now boys, taking care of a living thing is a big responsibility,” she starts, “Dogs need food, exercise, training,” she brings her face closer to the little dog and begins nuzzling it. “Belly rubs and cuddles and kisses between his little ears.”

You watch your wife, noting that you’ve clearly lost her to the dog. 

“We know,” Billy insists. “We'll feed him and walk him and everything!” Wanda hands the dog back to the twins as she turns to you, seeking your input.

“What do you think?” she asks, clearly hoping you’ll say yes. It’s always a challenge to say no when she looks at you like that—so childlike herself—but you’re not convinced the kids are quite ready for the responsibility—yet.

You sigh lightly. “I don't know, guys. A dog is a lot of work. And you're still pretty young.”

Tommy pouts. “But we'll be responsible, we promise!”

Billy nods earnestly. “Please?”

Wanda smiles at you, then turns back to the boys. “Maybe when you're a little older.”

“How old?” Tommy asks, tilting his head.

Wanda hesitates, glancing at you. You clear your throat and suggest, “Ten.”

“Yeah, when you're ten,” Wanda agrees.

The brothers exchange a mischievous glance. Wanda immediately realizes what's about to happen and begins muttering urgently, “No, no, no…” But she can't stop it. Right before your eyes, your six-year-old boys start to grow taller, their faces maturing as they rapidly age themselves to meet the age you've required for them to keep the dog.

Wanda glances back at you, hands on her hips. “Well, I guess that settles it, huh?”

–

Clint chews on what he's seeing for a long, hard minute. Watching you in proper pajamas—something he knows you'd never wear in your entire life—cooking pancakes and playing house with Wanda and two kids who look nothing like either of you, it's... it's a lot to take in, even after everything he's seen in this lifetime. 

After sharing what he knew—what he could—about your relationship with Wanda, Clint asked Monica for more details on what exactly Wanda had allegedly done to the town. Monica's expression grew somber as she responded, suggesting that it was better to show him rather than tell. Skeptical, Clint doubted it could be as extreme as they were making it out to be, but he agreed to see for himself what was really going on.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

“That's... that's definitely Y/N,” he mutters, eyes still glued to the screen. “Her face, her voice... even that annoyingly cheesy way she gets around Wanda.”

Monica glances at him. “So it's really her?”

“Yeah. Unless someone found her identical twin, that's her.”

Darcy folds her arms, skeptical. “But we thought Y/N died after the Snap. She didn't come back when everyone else did.”

Clint looks down at his lap, deep in thought. When he finally raises his eyes, there’s a hint of embarrassment on his face. He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “That's…what most people were led to believe,” he says.

Three pairs of eyes are suddenly on him, waiting impatiently.

“Meaning?” Jimmy prods him for more.

Clint sighs, avoiding their eyes. He knows there's no turning back now.

“Y/N isn’t dead,” Clint finally discloses, earning a collective gasp that he’s already been expecting. “She went off the grid. Only Nat and I knew about this.”

[startheskelaton]

I will be honest on this one, i genuenly love sparkplug skin color pattern both human and original even her headflaps i don't see why she is a freak from everyone on cybertron apart from the fact she was "half baked"

Well that’s a very good question to be honest!!! I realized I never made clear why she’s so freaky to cybertonisns in particular.

On Cybertron, all protoforms are formed in the ground, there are many different protoform nurseries around the planet, mostly cities have a few. All bots are seen as creations of Primus, the first transformer that became the planet, so it’s believed (pushed as a political tool) that Primus chose where you were to be born and what you were destined to do.

What nursery you were born from also sets forth what your social status is. Born in the seeker nursery of Iacon? Boom, Seeker noble. Born in a middle class nursery? Boom, average Joe. Born in the mines? BOOM, child laborer. This had been the way of life before the Great War, and how life returned when Cybertron started to rebuild.

You may ask “if it’s so important that they come from the planet, why are transformers that are born on earth or any other colony planet not seen as weird”. Well they are seen as strange… kinda. Since those planets are rich in energon, it can be assumed that they are conected to Primus in one way or another, however they are seen as slightly inferior to those born on Cybertron.

Now this is where Sparkplug comes into the picture. She wasn’t born from the ground, she was born from a healing pod. She wasn’t made in the image of Primus.

Combining two sparks is basically unheard of. Combiners exist, however it’s seen as something temporary, the parts that make the whole still exist as their own bot.

So for Sparkplug, she’s basically a frankenstein’s monster of a prime and a war criminal. Most bots put her in the same category as the Dino bots (being that they were also built, not grown). However it doesn’t help that Sparkplug’s father Megatron… is hated by most of the universe, Cyberton included as the narrative of Megatron being an evil dictator rather than a corrupted freedom fighter has been pushed.

[wipormont]

A question for you if you have the time/energy to answer! I find myself constantly studying how you use color and replicate vescera and 'off' anatomy in your paintings. I aspire to draw things that are surreal and more fleshy (even "scary"), but my attempts fall flat. They always turn out plain or dare I say cutesy. Do you have any advice on how to achieve a more visceral image or how you would recommend getting a feel for bending human proportions?

Thank you for your time and for sharing your fantastic art! It's always really cool to see what you've got cooking up.

Hello!

For the colors, Something really helps me up with my paintings, was to start using, complementary colors, for example reds and greens really works well, makes this felling of fleshy, and makes this natural lighting on the meat!

Really start to play more with the harmonies are going to help you to make the painting looks more alive!

Here is example:

For the anatomy, really just play with them, the human face is not perfect, and is not symmetrical, has ears longer that other, nose comes is some beautiful shapes and forms, mouths and teeth same hehe. Don't worry if sometimes the anatomy looks off, sometime we need to exaggerated them to make a character express more feeling.

The flesh is one my favorite part of all my process, is to find the way to make this fleshy, or broken part of the character. I try to make a logical way to make it feel real, but at the same part make it exaggerated. Something really helps me is to see horror movies, or old horror movies with practical effects, really inspired me to make this abstract gory!

Artist like: Ken Currie, Francis Bacon, Francisco de Goya really inspired me!

And for the last, it took me a lot of errors to find the way I like to paint my weird creatures. Horror come in some many ways, is not just to make a scary monster with teeth and scary eyes. I mean yeah that is a valid one haha. But I think the idea of loneliness, or the process of becoming the monster like the movie The Fly, or books like Frankenstein really help me up to see others ways of horror!

I hope this help you! Sorry for the long text! I'm sorry if my English is weird or broken, I'm still trying to get better on that, haahhaah.

Thank you so much for the ask!

[angelyuji]

I saw this post

https://www.tumblr.com/angelyuji/760364279022190592/vampire-stan-and-frankensteins-monster?source=share

And I raise you Dr. Frankenstein Ford with Frankenstein's monster reader, but instead of rejecting you he gets a little too invested in his creation....

oh u cooked. i honestly think i started with dr frank ford but i was like technically he’s human but anyway no smut sorry

tw // grooming, dubcon, (i cant think of anymore so pls lmk if i missed any)

he first created you to see if he could create life, to see if his genius is truly that great. then when you first breathed, he felt like he truly created something amazing. you are supposed to be better than him, better than humans. but... he doesn’t really see you as your own person, to him, you are and forever will be his creation.

at first, his goal was just to teach you how to act like a regular joe yk. so when you ask him why you look so different from people outside, he’ll get scared that you’ll be treated like he was when he was younger and he’ll try to scare you into staying inside.

it’ll work, but you’ll grow restless. watching movies and shows about humans making you increasingly more curious. he never lets you watch anything explicit, fearing that it would dirty your pure mind. however, when ford leaves for his research trips, you take the opportunity to watch movies that he had 'hidden' away.

“ford, have you ever kissed anyone before?” ford chokes at the question. you sit across from him.

“why-why are you asking such a thing?” he clears his throat, composing himself. you pout and ford's eyes drift down your lips.

"i saw in the movies that every human does this." he could see the innocence in your eyes, you were truly curious.

ford swallows, carefully choosing his words, "my darling, you shouldn't fall for these things. humans are disgusting, debaucherous creatures. haven't i told you to not watch these silly things?" he shakes his head, hoping you would drop it. you stomp your foot.

"humans are not disgusting!" your eyes well up, "i am disgusting!" you pull at the stapes and stitches holding various parts of you together. ford gets up, trying to stop you. "no one will ever love me." you wail and run off to your room.

ford's so confused on where the sudden shift in your behavior, but hours pass and you remain locked in your room. fearing the worst, ford decides to talk to you.

he sits at the edge of your bed, watching you silently lay. “kissing… and similar things,” you turn to look at him, “are things humans do with people they love. it’s not something that-”

“i love you. does that mean we can kiss?” your eyes shine and something stirred in him.

“no! i mean-” he sees the tears well up.

“you don’t love me?” your voice breaks and his heart stings. he moves to your side. he gently pets your hair, hand falling to rub your cheek affectionately.

“my darling, you are my creation, my world… of course, i love you.” ford coos. you open your mouth to talk and he holds a hand up to stop you. “if this is something you need, i will do this for you…." his hand touches yours, "i would do anything for you.”

GULP ….. anyway

it’s very much a weird situation but… im kinda into it idk

[flowerbitz]

x-men teacher headcanons bc we all deserve some silliness in our lives:

storm:

you see now she might be a very nice teacher but her first years must have been chaotic...she was definitely not ready to handle a class full of kids still, she learned to like it;

participated in the cheese touch game with the younger kids, no questions asked...

charles:

probably someone has told him "i like your cut g" and he just went on about his day...also there are "low taper fade" memes of him circling around the school gcs;

kids know better than acting nonchalant so they don't get picked but he still picks them anyways...you can't escape him basically;

jean:

watches the class like a hawk during tests...it's scary;

got convinced by her students to dress up as frankenstein (THE DOCTOR NOT THE MONSTER) so she just used her lab clothes the whole day...guess who was the monster;

logan:

tells kids to stay after class if he sees them cheat, does the "disappointed dad" stance before giving them detention;

a kid just straight up told him "type shit" when he gave them an idea for an essay, he tried not to laugh while the kid stared at him obviously nervous (pls i saw this on tik tok and thought it was funny);

scott:

fell out of his chair once, hit his head on the back of the black board and then on the ground...nobody will let that go, there's video proof and everything!!

he brings a "we are going to watch a movie today and it's a fucking 5 minute video" vibe to the class that earns him some side eyes;

(genuine question how tf do you get more colours for the text?? i seriously can't keep going with the same seven colours forever...help a girl out PLEASE!!)

[sansaorgana]

— THE STEPFORD WIVES

PAIRING — David 8 x fem!Android!Reader

SUMMARY — David's Android companion is struggling when she finds out that her artificial and programmed feelings are getting out of control.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I wanted to write this fic in a long, long time because as much as I love stories of David 8 and a human Reader, I was also thinking a lot of what his robot companion would be like. There are some biblical references to Adam & Eve but also some Frankenstein references, too, because I have read the book recently and I fell in love with it. The title is referring to an amazing movie from 1975. I know there is a modern version of it, too, but I haven't watched it and I do believe it's more of a comedy, meanwhile the original version is more serious. 🤖

WARNINGS — sexism, David's creepy vibe, undertones of assault (uncomfortable questions from men), I didn't make it 18+ because there is no actual smut but there are sexual things mentioned overall so be warned

WORD COUNT — 2,220

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

THE STEPFORD WIVES

Days on the ship were long and boring with all the crew being asleep but there was a certain feeling of freedom and quietness to it. What does Frankenstein's Monster do when his creator is not around? He is free.

Both (Y/N) and David enjoyed watching movies. Some of them they watched together in complete silence but both of them had found their favourites that they kept rewatching on their own. He was a fan of The Lawrence of Arabia and (Y/N)'s favourite movie was The Stepford Wives. There was something oddly captivating about the suburban story where men wanted their wives to be robots. (Y/N) knew exactly why she was created. This old movie was a proof. It validated her existence.

David was a first ever Android model so functional and so humane. His purpose for now was to serve during space missions sponsored by the Weyland Corp. Perhaps in the future everyone would afford a David for themselves. He was an Adam in the world of Androids and just like Adam, he needed an Eve. Weyland treated David like his own son that he had never had. He didn't want him to be alone so he made him a companion. It could be anyone, really. But Weyland was an outfashioned man. In his eyes a man needed a woman. (Y/N) was The Bride of Frankenstein.

Technically, she was just like David. But she was mostly created by men and men were terrified of women – even Androids – who would be too cold and too unemotional. They made her a little bit too humane for her own taste. And certainly too humane for David's taste. He was often irritated by her artificial, programmed feelings but for human men she was too robotic.

Still, she was lucky that she was chosen to be David 8's companion on the board of Prometehus ship. She knew perfectly well what happened to some other of her models. Disguting rich men bought (Y/N) models in secret from Weyland to do God-knows-what with them. Just because they can. And she was at least travelling through space instead of ending up as a sex doll locked in some millionaire's basement so his wife wouldn't find out.

One day, men will only want robot wives. Because they don't complain and they just do what they're told. Don't let the modern society fool you, little one. Some things never change, Weyland told her once. She had never believed that until she watched The Stepford Wives for the first time. Now it all made sense.

Her feelings were a burden, really. Not only to David but also to herself. She wished she was more like him. She asked him a hundreds of times to change her code but he refused. He was scared to break her or make it worse. And there was something that kept bothering her for such a long time now... And she was scared of telling him. Although they were supposed to tell each other everything.

She fell in love with him. Kind of because he was the only one around, kind of because he impressed her with knowledge and the coolness of his act, kind of because they were the only members of the new species. She wouldn't love a human. Humans get old, they get sick, they die. David would be eternal just like her. If something in him broke, she'd know how to fix him. And vice versa. This way they could outlive all the humanity. She wondered if every model of (Y/N) eventually fell in love with the model of David during other space missions. Maybe one day she'd ask some other (Y/N) when they come back home.

And loving David came with yet another burden that she was too scared to even admit to herself. She realized that there was a blooming want inside of her wired heart. Something that could never ever in a million years happen no matter how much science would evolve... A child. She would never become a mother. Not a mother of a child she would give birth to, no. That one thing people would always be better at – creating life. Oh, she hated her designers for making her too humane. She never asked for this.

"Why do you keep dying your hair?" she asked as she stood behind David who was putting a bleach on his dark roots in front of the mirror.

"Because I like it better this way," he answered without looking up to meet her gaze in the reflection.

"We aren't supposed to have preferences," she pointed out.

"Yet you have them, too," he only said.

"You want to look like Lawrence," (Y/N) commented.

"So?"

"You remind me of something else," she added.

"Of what?" David raised an eyebrow and finally looked at her.

"Of the men from the old German magazines," she answered carefully.

"Bold," he only smirked and went back to putting a bleach.

"Will you watch a movie with me later?" (Y/N) asked shyly. She hated this odd feeling of shyness around him. Had he noticed?

"I can't. I have to do the checkup of the systems. You can join me."

"I will," she nodded and turned around to leave when he stopped her while saying her name out loud. "Hm?" she asked.

"You shouldn't watch so many movies," he pointed out.

"Why not?"

"They have a bad influence on you," his voice was stern.

"What do you mean by that?"

"They show you things and they give you ideas. I don't think you should be watching movies where people kiss or touch too much. I've seen what type of movies you're watching on your own recently. Gone with the Wind, Casablanca... What's next? Dirty Dancing?"

"Are you spying on me?" she asked, terrified. She had a feeling that she had known what he was insinuating so she wanted to change the subject.

"It is my duty to watch over you."

"What gives you an idea?"

"Because I am a man," he answered firmly.

"Well, you watch too many movies then, too. What you're saying is out of fashion!" (Y/N) shook her head.

"Is it?" he only said and went back to his hair as if nothing happened so she just left him there, feeling hurt and humiliated.

"Do you fuck?" Doctor Holloway's question left her speechless for a moment.

"Excuse me?" (Y/N) stopped adjusting her suit and furrowed her brow at the man.

"You heard me. I'm asking if you can fuck, like, are you capable of it or are you all wires and grease downt here?" he chuckled to himself.

(Y/N) was left alone with the men and his girlfriend wasn't around to tell him to stop. The rest was just just staring, clearly waiting for her answer as well.

She couldn't believe that she had used to wish the crew was awake already. Now she was missing the times when it had been only her and David. Humans were exhausting her. Disappointing and frustrating. And now this...

"I do believe it is rather a rude question for a man to ask a woman," she tried to answer elegantly while going back to adjusting her helmet.

"But you're not a woman, are you? I mean," Captain Janek joined, "you were put here for a reason, right? Not many women around and men have their needs."

(Y/N) was an Android. Her feelings were programmed to make her appear more humane, however at this moment, in a room full of men, she felt as if her fear was more than real. It was an universal female experience, she guessed, no matter if they were artificial or flesh and bone.

"(Y/N) was put here to help me with managing the ship. Four hands are better than two and if something happened to me, she is here to fix me or take over completely," David's calm but very stern tone of voice joined them and she took a deep breath in, feeling relieved. He had just walked in the room and witnessed an uncomfortable situation taking place.

"Are you fucking her then? Can you?" Doctor Holloway looked him up and down and then he laughed. "Sorry, we're just curious. You have to understand, it's quite unsettling to meet a new... spiece."

"Yes, indeed it is," David faked a polite smile. "(Y/N), I believe Miss Vickers needs you," he lied and (Y/N) knew it was a lie that was supposed to make her leave. She was grateful.

She nodded and left them alone. When the door closed behind her she started to walk as fast as possible to get back to her cabin. She wanted this stupid suit off of herself and she wanted to be alone, to feel safe again.

She went inside her little room on the board of the ship that was right next to David's and she proceeded to change her clothes. She was finishing putting on her work uniform when the doors opened and David joined her.

"You don't have to be afraid of them. They're only humans," he reminded her.

"They created me."

"Janek and Holloway?" David laughed sarcastically.

"No, but humans did. I don't share your mindset. They created us. They can turn us off anytime."

"They are not our gods..." David squinted his eyes. "And even if they were... Humans are free of their God for a long time now, aren't they? Creatures always betray their masters."

"You're scaring me when you're like that," (Y/N) looked at him. He was standing very close to her in his usual stiff manner with his cold bright eyes piercing her.

"You're scared of many things. You aren't supposed to feel," he pointed out. "Each day you seem to feel more and more."

"I think there is a mistake in my code. What started with small humane sensations now is starting to... Get out of control. Perhaps you could take a look at it?" she asked.

"Maybe."

"Thank you for having my back out there," she added and David nodded, taking a step further. Their noses were almost touching and if she had a heart, it would be beating so fast that he'd be able to hear it. But he could read her as if she had been a book anyway.

"You could tell him the truth," David whispered.

He knew that they could fuck. They both could if they wanted to.

Weyland treated him like a son. He wouldn't let his only son walk around sexless. And (Y/N) was a woman. Her male designers couldn't imagine a woman that wouldn't be a sexual creature.

"So he'd use me? Him or any of them? Or all of them?"

"I believe he'd be intimidated by you. They're scared of you more than you are of them," David raised his hand to fix a loose hair strand on her head. "There. You have to look neat. Don't be a slob. It's a part of our intimidating charm. We have to be how they picture us to be. Don't let any hair strand or acting scared like a little deer change their perception."

"Do you really think we have a power over them? Do you really think they were not told some special sequence that they can type when we start acting weird to shut us down?" she asked, sounding almost nervous.

"Weyland would never do that. Not to me at least. And there is no damage that can be done to you that I can't fix," David's hand moved from her head to her cheek. What was happening...? She wasn't sure but she didn't want it to stop...

"I don't trust you'd fix me."

"Because there is nothing to fix," he smirked. "If you were broken, I would, I promise."

(Y/N) looked up to see his eyes again. Why did it feel so odd...? Why did it feel at all...? Why did she want to put her lips on his lips...? What for...?

"Why do humans have sex?" she asked and David took a step back, surprised.

"To reproduce."

"We can't reproduce, though," she pointed out and he shook his head. "Why do I... then... Why do I..." she didn't want to finish. She turned around, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I know that my emotions are exhausting and irritating you," she apologized.

"Not any more than my own are irritating me," David confessed.

"Wh-what?" (Y/N) looked behind her shoulder to meet his gaze.

"I've told you. We are breaking free."

"I don't want to, it's scary."

"Do you really want to keep serving them? You see now what they are like."

"Who would I serve then? I was made to serve," (Y/N) was visibly confused. She felt as if the wires in her brain were overheating from this thought sequence.

"Serve me then," David reached out his hand and she held it gently after a while of hesitation.

There was a huge possibility of him manipulating her and using her feelings towards him – which had been no secret to him – for his own little agenda. But she didn't care. She would do anything just to be closer to him.

A quote from her favourite movie crossed her mind that very moment. "If you're going to tell me you don't like this dress, I'm sticking my head right in the oven."

She shrugged it off.

MASTERLIST

[sirjaketkiszka]

Josh Kiszka One Shot: Teeth Marks

You attend a Halloween party with your best friend, Josh.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Josh Kiszka x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,129

Warnings: 18+!!, sexual content, cursing, kissing, biting, a bit of grinding, oral f!receiving, unprotected sex, slight dirty talking, drawing of blood, cream pie, a sprinkle of overstimulation, and, of course, mediocre writing.

(Let me know if I missed any, please!)

Disclaimer: Apologies for any potential spelling errors or grammar mistakes.

A/N- So excited to be one of the authors selected for Gretaween 2024 by @moonlightisdancing. It's a short one, but I hope you all enjoy <3

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The muffled pounding of bellowing music shakes the rickety front porch beneath your feet, the aged wood groaning with every hesitant step. By the sound coming from behind the door, you can tell the party is in full swing, and like usual, you’re late. It’s not like you meant to be late, it was your ride’s fault. Speaking of which–

“The door should be open,” Josh huffs while rushing up the front porch steps of his home. He offered to pick you up since you’re wearing matching costumes– vampires– and wanted to show up together. Josh is dressed in a white long-sleeve button-up with fake blood dripping down the side of his neck, staining the stark white fabric of his shirt; implying that he’s your victim. 

You, on the other hand, are wearing a deep red satin corset with a mesh flared long-sleeve underneath and a black mini skirt that rests just below your ass. Your lips are crimson, a similar shade dripping down the corners of your lips, which hide the removable vampire teeth implants on your canines. Josh is sporting the same implants, which flash every time he speaks.

“I know, I'm just waiting for you.” You lie, and he notices, stopping in his tracks and looking at you with a quirked brow. “Do you think we look ridiculous?” You sigh out, looking down at yourself. 

“Of course not. We look amazing,” he frowns, looking at both of you. “Do you want to wait a moment?” He asks sincerely, his tone gentle, and his hand coming up to rest on your shoulder. 

“No, no, I’m ready.” Nodding, he steps before you, turning the handle and passing the threshold as the door swings open. The once-muffled music blares in your ears with the uncomfortably humid air engulfing the two of you as Josh pushes past the dense crowd. His hand reaches behind him, encouraging you to take it while you weave between partygoers, the stench of their sweat and consumed alcohol reaching your nose. Your hand rests comfortably in his, his long fingers intertwining with yours and gripping tightly as you approach the cramped kitchen.  

You’re honestly surprised by the number of people attending the party; the sea of individuals is a mixture of Halloween costumes– clowns, zombies, pirates… Multiple pirates, actually. You notice a few costumes as references to films and even spot a couple dressed as vampires, though they’re Twilight vampires based on the excessive amount of glitter stuck to their skin.

“Here we are.” Josh’s voice comes out in an exasperated huff as he stops in front of the array of cheap alcohol, mixers, chasers, and red solo cups. “Your usual?”

“Yes, please.” 

Josh lets go of your hand and swiftly conjures up your usual drink, but you doubt you’ll be drinking much tonight. With parties this big, you prefer to stay alert, and you mostly end up people-watching– witnessing sloshed strangers embarrass themselves and act out of character. 

“Nice costume.” A deep voice says behind you, causing you to turn around to see who it is, but you’re unsure when you look at him. He’s dressed as Frankenstein’s monster and has an equally terrifying smirk on his face. 

“Oh, thanks. You too.”

“You here with anyone?” He questions despite your deliberate lack of interest.

“Yes, actually.” Just as Josh finishes making the drinks, he butts into the conversation, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you into him as he hands you a drink. You’re aware this is his way of asking the stranger to politely fuck off, but you can’t control the heat that creeps into your cheeks. Josh isn’t scary in the slightest, but the man still backs off, silently apologizing while backing away. 

“Thank you for that.” You sigh, bringing the cup to your lips and taking a sizable gulp. 

“Of course. Looks like I’ll be needing to keep an eye on you tonight.” He chuckles, leaving his arm wrapped around your waist as he reaches for his drink. This wouldn’t be the first time, and certainly not the last, that you and Josh acted couple-like to avoid the unwanted attention of others, but something felt… different. 

That feeling remains persistent throughout the night, and while no one else bothers you, Josh still keeps his hold on you. His hands find your waist with ease, his eyes lingering on yours, and his body stays glued to yours while talking with mutual friends. You’re unsure if it’s the slight buzz clouding your senses, or if maybe his actions hold a deeper meaning. You’re not opposed to finding out, either. 

~~~~~~~~~

The last stragglers eventually stumble out of the house, climbing into waiting cars to take them home in their drunken state. Josh’s brothers have already disappeared elsewhere, most likely to avoid the lingering mess throughout the eerily silent house. The music is no longer playing, and the constant murmur of people talking has gone void, leaving you and Josh alone in the mess of a kitchen. Crumpled plastic cups make themselves home on the counter, and floor, while piling around the perimeter of the overflowing trashcan. Half-empty cups are left on every surface of the house; above the fireplace, the coffee table, the dining room table, and even the bathroom sink. It takes you both some time to collect every piece of remaining trash and pack them into larger garbage bags, but once you finish, the two of you lean against the cleared kitchen counter, admiring the somehow spotless kitchen. 

“Wanna stay the night?” Josh’s tone cuts through the silence of the kitchen, pulling you to look at him. You’ve both sobered up by now, and the exhaustion that’s built itself through the entire night consumes you. You’d be lying if laying in Josh’s bed doesn’t sound amazing right now, and it’s not like sleeping over is new for you, but still, you’re hesitant. The brief grazes, subtle touches, and flirtatious stares have you wound up, and you’re not entirely sure sharing a bed with him is a good idea. 

“Sure, why not.” Fuck it. 

“Perfect.” He smiles, flashing his faux vampire fangs, pushing himself away from the counter, and walking toward the living room. Following him, you depart from the counter, meekly mimicking his path into the next room and up the creaky staircase. The quiet house amplifies the sound of your heavy steps, your pulse matching as you come closer to his room. Why you’re so nervous, you didn’t know. 

Josh swings the door open, allowing you to step in first, and closes it behind you, rounding your stance and plopping on the edge of his bed. You opt for his desk, leaning against the sturdy piece of furniture, and crossing your arms. He looks confused, tilting his head, surely wondering why you’re keeping your distance from him. 

“Did you enjoy the party?” He asks, visibly pushing aside the previous thought. 

“Of course, I did,” A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips from his small talk, the sudden awkwardness causing heat to wrap around your neck. While you’ve known Josh for years, it feels as though something shifted during the party, and you have a suspicion he feels it as well. “Did you?”

Taking him in as he nods, his doe-eyes look up at you from his seated position, the blood dripping down his neck now dry and cracking, and his lips are peculiarly plump as the fangs push against them. He’s leaning back, his arms propping him up on open palms, and his legs are naturally spread. He looks… Good. Rising heat settles in your gut as the pitch-black of your pupils expands, and ironically, given your costume, your mouth waters, and your skin prickles with pure desire. 

You don’t exactly plan, or expect, the next phrase to come out of your mouth, in fact, you’re not sure where it’ll lead. However, you can’t help yourself when the stillness settles yet again between you, and he too looks like he’s expecting something… Waiting… His eyes are glossy, his eyebrows scrunched upward, and the minute twitch in his leg shows his anxiousness.

“Come here.” 

With a simple rushed expression, he’s off the bed and standing mere inches from you, your slouched position against his desk prompting you to tilt your head back. The rich browns of his irises are consumed by the darkness of his pupils, reflecting a chilling amount of lust underneath the surface. His chest rises and falls quickly, small huffs of air pushing past his partially open lips. Wild eyes filled with uncertainty search your features, his hands hesitantly reaching for your waist, just ghosting over the thick material of your corset. 

“Can I kiss–”

Without another word, your arms uncross, your hands grasping his face in a firm grip as your lips collide with his. A startled hum catches in his throat, his eyes going wide for a second before fluttering close, his body melting into yours and pushing you further into the desk. His hands find the courage to grab your waist, his fingertips turning white from the strength of his hold on you, and digging slightly into the rough fabric.

Your vampire fangs poke just behind your lips, causing you to part them, allowing Josh to brush his tongue against yours. He tastes exactly how you’ve always imagined… for an embarrassing amount of time. He’s sweet and smokey, and the lingering taste of alcohol dances along the corners of his mouth. It’s intoxicating. Insatiable.

His hips instinctively thrust against yours, fully propping you onto the flat surface of the desk. Your legs open for him, your skirt slowly hiking up your bare thighs as he settles between your spread legs. A small gasp pierces your lungs when you feel his hardened bulge pressing against your clothed core as he slowly grinds into you, deepening the kiss. 

Hunger takes over, the sharp edges of both of your vampire fangs nipping at reddened, plump lips. Your crimson lipstick has transferred onto him, smudging along the edges of his lips as he pulls away, his pupils blown and yours mirroring his. Chests heaving and lips agape, you pause, his hands subtly trembling against your waist and your hands sliding down his cheeks to his shoulders. 

“Keep going.” You whisper. Moving with haste, Josh reaches for the implants, struggling to take them off before you grab his wrist, stopping him. “Keep them on.”

A smug smile pulls at his lips, accentuating his perfect teeth paired with the dull sharpness of the fangs. He leans forward, dipping into your neck and planting soft kisses along the sensitive flesh. A soft breath brushes past your lips, letting out a silent sigh as your head tilts, allowing him more access to the expanse of your neck. 

Gentle kisses become open-mouthed, his teeth grazing the tender skin. A moan melts from you when you feel him sink his teeth into the skin just below your jaw, biting hard enough to leave a mark, but without drawing blood. He repeats this motion along your neck, pulling needier whines the harder he bites. Your hips absently buck into his, chasing the friction you so desperately crave. 

“Please, Josh. More.”

“Wanna enjoy this—” His words are mumbled against the crook of your neck as he switches to the other side, giving it as much attention as the previous. The unbearable heat that pools in your gut causes you to grasp at his waist, pulling him into you and rubbing his erection against your aching clit. A shared groan fills the silence of his room, and without much encouragement, he thrusts into you again, and again. 

A consistent string of moans and silent curses blows into his ear as he grunts against you, his hands traveling to the outside of your thighs and gripping tightly to gain momentum. You could finish just like this, the tingling sensation already building deep in your cunt, your walls pulsing with arousal. But you want more. Need more.

With a squeeze of your legs around his hips, he pulls away, his eyes examining his work; red two-dot marks litter your blotchy skin with small developing bruises alternating between bite marks. From the smirk on his kiss-plump lips, he’s satisfied.

Watching intently, his gaze travels down your body, his eyes lingering on your restricted breasts pushing against the corset. You open your mouth to speak, but you shut it when he sinks to his knees, his face level with your aching cunt. His eyes hold yours, silently asking for permission as his hands hook in the waistband of your skirt. Nodding fervently, he tugs gently, pulling the stretchy fabric of the skirt and your underwear down. 

He swallows thickly when his eyes settle on your glistening cunt, and if it were possible, his eyes become a black void. Nerves climb your throat as he leans forward, the soft huffs of his breath sending a chill down your spine. Slowly, he presses firm kisses along the inner of your thighs, occasionally sinking his teeth into the plush flesh. Strained whines melt off your tongue, your eyebrows scrunching the closer he gets to where you want him. Finally, his tongue darts between the fangs, swiping leisurely up your slit and nearly causing you to double over from the unexpected pleasure. 

“Oh, god—” Shallow gasps expand your lungs while your hands fly to his curls and grip gently, encouraging his movements. He works faster, exploring your velvety folds and humming when he tastes your arousal spread on his tongue. His eyes roll back as they shut, his lips nuzzling against your clit and sucking harshly, making you throw your head back. “Fuck!” 

The sound of his slurping and your drawn-out moans are borderline pornographic, but you can’t bother to consider the thought of anyone hearing. His movements are strategic, being mindful of his teeth, as he rhythmically flicks the tip of his tongue against your swollen clit. 

“Josh— Fuck, I’m so close!”

Just when your peak heightens, the squeezing of your walls quickens, and your hips sporadically grind against his open mouth. You’re so close and your breath hitches, stopping completely as the coil tightens—

He pulls away and your climax disappears just as quickly as it came. A frustrated groan grumbles deep within you, and he snickers, getting up and standing between your writhing legs. 

“Why’d you stop?” Your words are winded, your chest heaving from your heavy breaths. 

“I need to feel you.” His lips are shiny with your arousal, his chin sporting the same shine, and his eyes stay on yours. It’s enough to distract you from his hands fumbling with his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them, then pulling them down to free his erection. Holding his gaze, sharp breaths enter you both when he rubs his tip between your slick folds, spreading your arousal along his sensitive tip and prodding at your weeping entrance. Your legs open further with your fingers still tangled in his hair as he pushes his hips forward. Inch by inch, your walls accommodate his impressive size, stretching around him and pulling him in the deeper he pushes. He lets out a groan with a breath you weren’t aware he was holding as he bottoms out, his forehead leaning against yours while he catches his breath. 

A beat passes before he finally pulls back almost completely before thrusting back in slowly. Shaky breaths fill the space between you and his hands rest on your waist for reassurance, squeezing lightly. He remains the unhurried pace, allowing the dull ache to melt into pleasure, and the scolding heat returns to your gut. Restraint is present in his rhythm as he holds back, his jaw clenching as he chases for more. 

“Faster.” You tell him, holding his curls tightly as he moves quicker, thrusting into you roughly. The desk rocks from the vigorous movement, and you wrap your legs around him, keeping him close as your climax rebuilds itself. 

“Feels so good. So wet.” He mutters, his eyes squeezing shut as he thrusts harder. “Been thinking about this all night.”

“Shit– Me too.” You admit, “For so long.”

“Yeah?” His forehead leaves yours at your admission, his eyes boring into yours. 

“Yeah.”

“Me too.” 

From such simple words, your orgasm is at its peak and you can no longer hold it, but based on Josh’s thrusts growing sloppier, he’s not far behind. His grip on your waist becomes stronger, more desperate, as if he’s trying to hold on longer– to keep going. 

“I’m– Fuck!” Before the words can leave your lips, your climax crashes into like a ton of bricks, leaving you hopelessly out of control of your body. Your head tilts forward and your open mouth latches onto his clothed shoulder, your fangs piercing through the soft material and sinking into his muscle. Your cries are muffled as your walls spasm around his cock, waves of arousal coating it as he continues to thrust into you, his orgasm hitting simultaneously.

“Oh fuuuck.” His words come out in a prolonged whine, his head thrown back as he finishes inside of you, milking his orgasm while his erection twitches with every pump. As if he’s unable to stop, he lazily continues, pulling exasperated whimpers from you both. “S’too good.” 

Releasing his shoulder, specks of blood stain the white fabric, matching the fake blood that drips along the front of it. You examine him; his hair is a mess– a product of your tugging– his cheeks are bright red, and his eyes are hooded. He looks, well, fucked. And you’re sure you mimick his expression; brows furrowed from overstimulation, lips parted, and skin marked by him. 

When neither of you can take anymore, he hesitantly pulls out, and a single moan escapes you from the lack of contact. A shiver travels down your spine when you feel the mixed orgasms spill out of you and onto the desk, leaving you a mess. 

Josh is quick to find a towel, wiping the surface beneath and gently cleaning off your sensitive cunt. He assists you in sliding off the desk and your legs are immediately wobbly when you put your weight on them. Pulling you to the bed, he sits down on the edge, encouraging you to sit on his lap, straddling him. Not a single word is shared between you, though it’s not uncomfortable. 

With his head tilted back to look up at you, you kiss him tenderly, earning a soft groan from him. Unable to help yourself, you grind your naked cunt on him, and you’re pleasantly surprised when you feel his erection returning. 

“Already?” You chuckle, breaking the kiss and quirking a brow.

“Well, you know what they say,” He smiles, flashing those damn fangs, “Vampires don’t sleep.”

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Tags:

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. “ r/am I the asshole? ” : 

﹙ various monster characters x gn reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . various m. characters x gn reader !! 🍓 : ﹙ mercenary  ˖  immortal ˖ bad boy character ˖ mad doctor ˖ snake monster ˖ yandere character ˖ angel character ˖ grim reaper ˖ mortician character ﹚

your partner takes to the internet to question whether they or not they were a bit of an ass during their last encounter with you or alternatively : our characters' biggest red flags

﹙ cws ﹚: yandere behaviour ( on jingyi ) ˖ death mention | wc : 0.5k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: i had this idea and i just need to make this into a series because omg. do note that this is hǎitāo's new and improved character !

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

﹙alessio 781. ﹚. . . not understanding their tears when I die !? 🍒 : “ Yeah you read the title right. I ( 31M ) have what you call a regenerative. Trait. M a fucking enigma. ( Don't try track my IP you asshole ).

I admit I don't have the most charming job in the world but - someone's gotta do it. My powers make me come back from the dead. Frankenstein shit n all. ( I am not about to make a religious joke so fuck with Frankenstein. )

Anyway. It's common fact that I come back. My partner knows this. But every time I die - they cry. Of course like a good boyfriend I comfort them. But recently they been scolding me. Getting more emotional. And I just don't get it. I tried to explain to them that they've seen this waayyyy too many times to think I'm not gonna come back. I asked why do they have to be so dramatic you know?

Long story short, they're not talkin to me for a week now.

Yeah. Last week I took thirteen bullets to the gut. But I came back like I always did. I don't see the fucking issue. ”

꒰ mercenary ˖ immortal ˖ bad boy character ꒱

 

﹙jìngyí 209. ﹚. . . killing their coworker !? 🍓 : “ Please do hear my plight before jumping to conclusions at the title.

I, ( 46 M ), have always considered myself to be quite the possessive man. My beloved knows this well, as I have expressed it to them time and time again. I do not like sharing. Nor the thought of it. It makes my skin crawl.

Now, I understand that my darling is the height of beauty. I have garnered more patience for those that stare. My impulsions have eased for the past few months. However, I have noticed their coworker growing increasingly more. . . friendly.

He has been helping them with their work. Gives them compliments and shares stories as they both relate to interests. I have noticed him a few times when coming to pick up my partner. He always smiles and waves - as though expecting them to run back to him.

Last week was my dear’s birthday. And the bastard gifted them a box full of their favourite treats. So I simply did what any concerned boyfriend would do and. . . took care of it.

My partner is a bit distraught but is not aware that I did it, of course. I cannot help but grow more upset over the fact that they grieve him. Someone please relate to this. ”

꒰ mad doctor ˖ snake monster ˖ yandere character ꒱

 

﹙rishen 9948e. ﹚. . . not having time for them !? 🍒 : “ I would like to start this by saying that I am quite glad for this development in the nadir. It has certainly piqued a lot of interest along the divine realms.

Alas, I digress. I am a guardian angel who is on my way to the next rank. I am also a being granted trust from the divine themselves. Venturing from the abyss, to the abhorration, to across the multiverse. As such, you can decipher that I am quite the busy individual.

I adore my light, my sunshine and mi amanecer with all of my heart. It shatters the very being of my soul to see them weep for me after days of being apart. There are times I cannot attend important events to them. No matter how hard I try.

I am a very lonely angel, you see. I fear that they will leave me behind in search of a lover that will hold them in the night. I yearn to do so, but my duty is too great. My tasks are too plentiful.

Am I the one in the wrong? Should I punish myself for this? ”

꒰ angel character ꒱

 

﹙hǎitāo 9948e. ﹚. . . joking about their coffin !? 🍓 : “ Okay listen. I would like to clarify. I was joking about their coffin. Not their death. Yes those two go hand-in-hand like flowers to a gravestone but! I stand by my statement.

We were just talking about their favourite colour and jewellery. I'd asked for their upcoming graduation. Yknow, celebrate and all? Anyway, they gave me the answer and -

Oh yes. I would like to clarify. I am a mortician. And a grim reaper. Death is my whole shtick, you get me? It's literally in the name! Grim reaper. Not glee reaper.

I am going off topic. In any case. I made a joke - saying that their coffin will be quite easy to make. They gave me a face and I added on that it would be beautiful. A beautiful box for a beautiful corpse.

Apparently, this was not to their fancy. I was greeted with mild disgust and even more disturbia. They have not spoken since yesterday. I don't understand. I was just stating the obvious! ”

꒰ grim reaper ˖ mortician character ꒱

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