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yieldtotemptation · 26 days ago

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ANIMALS ft. Natty

natty x male reader smut

10k words

“All I’m saying is,” Natty starts, like she always does, with more unsolicited advice than you can handle at 2 AM, "for someone that complains so much about not having a sex life, you really don’t do much to fix it."

“And what, oh wise friend of mine, is your recommendation.”

“I don’t know. Get a haircut. Dress better. Try not being a massive pussy?” Natty shrugs. Or at least you think she does. Only so much you can tell over the phone.

You sigh. Bite back the urge to tell her to fuck off. But then, who else would talk you to sleep at this ungodly hour? So instead, you concede the point. “Noted.”

“Or, you know, if it’ll stop you from being such a little bitch,” and now she’s laughing, cackling really, and not once has that ever, ever meant anything good. "You could always just fuck me."

—

Two weeks and twelve hours post-Natty’s incredibly unhelpful suggestion that did absolutely nothing to alleviate you of your insomnia, and you’re back on the phone with her.

Only this time, there's video.

So, yay.

"Help me, please."

It’s a Friday and Natty's begging, again.

Because she knows she can count on you, knows that you’ve long since resigned yourself to your fate as Natty’s on-call ‘fixer’. There for everything from life-changing career decisions to helping her figure out what show to stream next.

And now, apparently, choosing her outfit for tonight.

“Help me, help me, help me, help me.”

God, this woman and her begging. Knowing full well that it’s your kryptonite.

"Okay, okay, okay," you're relenting, much earlier than usual. Mostly because as far as Natty’s petulant requests usually go this one’s a walk in the park. “But don’t you have people for this sort of thing? People who don’t, and I quote, ‘have a dogshit taste in style?’”

“It is dogshit!” Natty calls out, already turned around and leaving you (her phone) on the vanity, facing out to her bedroom and all its hideous pinkness. She disappears from the screen, diving deep into her closet for yet another pair of shorts that will most certainly hug way too close, or a top that dips way too low, or a pair of heels that scream—'hey, I have legs, would you like to spread them?' "But!"

Natty returns to the camera with a leather belt—oh no, that's a leather skirt—in hand; clad in nothing but a casual cotton bra/underwear combination that she’s filling out far too well for your sleep-deprived brain to handle.

She holds up the skirt against her waist for your consideration. Poses. It wouldn't cover a thing. Or maybe that's the point—again, you don't have any fashion sense, whatsoever.

“You’re a man, and I need a man’s opinion because I’m hoping to take one home tonight to fuck my brains out until I forget about this shit-storm of a week. So, you know—help a girl out?”

“As always, you have quite a way with words.”

Natty leans towards the camera, bending down to stare right at you. It makes entirely too much sense that she’s built an entire career around doing just this.

“It’s my third language, asshole.”

The insult lands softer than she likely intended, considering well, you’re a little too distracted to take it. It’s entirely her fault. The angle makes her tits look far too immaculate to pay any attention to her mouth.

Maybe she should consider going out just like this?

Yeah, that’d definitely get her fucked.

But, she frowns before you can make the suggestion, turning on her heels and sashaying back to her closet, leaving you to choke on air at the sight of her ass stretching out her favourite pair of panties. (The white pair with the pretty-pink bows. The one that rides up her ass when she stretches, bends, sneezes—basically any time she’s not standing perfectly still. And even then.)

Anyone else and this whole thing would be weird. Well, weirder than it already is.

See, you and Natty have this thing; this odd, cat and dog relationship that’s been going on since what feels like the dawn of time:

You’ve watched her shamelessly cycle through men faster than a teenager through a box of tissues, leaving a trail of broken hearts and broken cocks in her wake.

While she’s been forced to witness every time you’ve met ‘the one’, only to be there months later to help pick up the pieces when you’re burying your feelings in video games and alcohol and porn, wondering how it all went so wrong.

All this to say that seeing Natty bouncing around in her underwear with that laser-beam of a smile of hers; with all of her soft curves, thick thighs, her ridiculous ass and again, those immaculate fucking tits isn't that unusual.

In fact, it doesn't really do anything for you at all.

(Fucking liar.)

“Here, how about this.” Natty appears from the corner of the screen, having found a top that’s somehow made of even less material than the bra she’s already got on. The gall of her to ask, "Too much or not enough?"

You deadpan. “Does it come in adult sizes too?”

Natty grins, because she can read it right on your stupid face. She looks so, unbearably hot. Without even trying that hard. This bitch. “So just right, then.”

And then she twirls, leaving you to face her back, and before you even have time to blink, Natty’s bra has fallen down her shoulders; and you’re hating how you lean in to look because this damn app has no zoom feature to save your sorry eyesight.

Her fucking tits. Perfect, bouncy. Even through the pixels, even from behind, you can still see the way they spill.

She slips on her chosen top for the evening—a tiny, strappy number—and spins back around to face you in all her Natty glory. By the skin of your teeth, you’re looking away and leaning back, feigning nonchalance and leaving her none the wiser.

You think.

“You know,” Natty says, tilting to one side, hand on hip. Fuck, even that slightest movement makes them bounce. Utterly, utterly obscene. “You should just come tonight.”

You’re saying, “Fuck no,” before she’s even finished her sentence. ‘Coming tonight’ means ‘clubbing’, and ‘clubbing’ means being stuck listening to the shittiest music, surrounded by the worst people in all of Korea, drinking overpriced slop and watching Natty turn down a revolving door of douchebags on the dancefloor.

So, yeah.

If ‘fuck no’s’ were bricks, you’d be building the Great Wall of ‘Fuck No’, big enough for aliens on the other side of the galaxy to see with a fucking telescope and have their first contact with the human race be a giant ‘Fuck No’.

And that’s your polite way of turning her down.

Yet somehow, Natty’s hardly deterred.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Natty sing-songs, shuffling on her tiptoes, shifting her weight from foot to foot, making her entire body jiggle. It’s like she’s intentionally trying to sell you on the idea with every little movement. Make you believe that if you came with her, you’d be able to find someone who comes close to looking half as good as she does in that… whatever-the-fuck that is. Bralette? Crop top? Whatever. Fat chance. "Come on, come, come, come. Be my wingman please!"

You already have your second ‘fuck no’ queued up, but Natty just won’t stop fucking talking.

“Don’t you want to get laid? Don’t you think you need to have fun after what’s-her-name?” Natty continues, pouting at you through the screen.

And there it is, a study in how Natty usually gets her way—jutting out her bottom lip, digging her thumb into the waistband of her panties to expose just a smidge more skin, leaning just right to make her tits look like they’re about to pop out. It’s like she’s got a fucking manual.

“Don’t tell me you’d rather stay at home with Handalf the Grey than come out with me and all my hot friends?”

“You mean having to clean up after all your ‘hot friends’ and their bullshit while you run off to score free drinks?” You retort, recalling all the other times when she managed to entice you out of your self-imposed isolation and into the deafening, sweaty hellhole known as a nightclub.

“Said hot friends that you’re too much of a pussy to hit on, mind you,” Natty chides, and then oh-so-casually decides to drop this nugget: "They all like you, you know, they'd be more than happy to break this dry spell of yours if you just asked. Don’t act like I haven’t seen the way you look at Julie."

You can feel your cheeks reddening. You’re not a teenager. You shouldn’t blush at this shit. But here you are, falling for Natty’s words and their magical abilities to needle at your insecurities and fill your head with thoughts of her friends and all their... well, incredibly positive attributes.

Natty pounces on your lapse in composure and gets closer to the camera, crouches. Drops down so she’s on her heels and all you can see in that tiny window of your phone is the red of her plush, plump lips.

“Come, you pussy—”

“Natty—”

“Do it pussy—”

“Natty, if you think that’s going to work—”

“Pussy, pussy, pussy—”

You’re yelling down the phone: “Fuck, fine!”

Natty’s victory dance is already in full swing before the words have even left your mouth. Bouncing around her room in pure joy at once again having ruined your evening. Dancing in that barely-there outfit, treating you to entirely sinful ripples across her curves and dips, pure sex on a pair of toned legs. Really makes you wonder how the fuck is she not illegal in at least fifty different countries.

You hide your face in your hands, because there it is, the reason you’ve never really been able to deny her:

Her laughter, her energy, her fucking shameless glee whenever she manages to get her way (which, if you’re keeping count, is every single time).

She’s just so frustratingly adorable.

Somewhere in her celebrations, Natty finds exactly what she was looking for. Reaches down to the floor, picking up a belt—no, that’s another skirt—this one even tinier than the first.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she preens, holding it out to the camera (to you), before stepping right into it. She spins around, making it dance around her hips. It does wonders for her thighs. "How do I look?”

You swallow. “Like you’re going to get fucked tonight.”

The glint in Natty’s eyes. Like you’ve just served up the finest compliment on a silver platter. You feel sorry for whatever poor soul crosses her path tonight.

Natty winks. “Here’s to hoping.”

—

Guess what?

Turns out you were right: this is the worst place in the world.

Only, you’re the sole person here that seems to think that.

Hours have passed since you helped Natty look perfectly fuckable and you’re at the bar, trying and failing to get the attention of the bartender. Unfortunately, he, like every other male with a beating heart and a boner seems far more interested in Natty’s little dance routine than his thirsty clientele.

You can’t blame him, really. It’s built in how she moves.

Strobe lights cutting through the air like knives, slicing her into this series of absolutely pornographic snapshots as she dances. And she’s not alone, she has friends—beautiful, all of them, in their own ways. They spin and twirl around her; but Natty’s the sun here, the star that everything orbits.

(You included).

You see it play out—the Natty effect. Men, even women alike gravitate to her, drawn by that magnetic force that is Natty at her very best. Trying to get a dance, maybe whisper a line they stole from some movie in her ear, even dare to reach out to touch or press themselves up against her.

But she’s a black hole, a dark star. Can’t get too close.

One by one, they’re swallowed up by the void of Natty’s disinterest. The shoulders slump, the smiles falter, and the hope in their eyes dies as Natty, with a simple flick of her wrist sends them stumbling back into the crowd, forgotten almost immediately.

And the whole time she’s doing this, she’s got you in her line of sight. A wink here, a smile there, a dance on its own; and all you can do is nod and pretend like you’re okay with all this.

You inhale. Deeply.

Her outfit looks even tinier in person.

You turn away for just a moment, shaking off thoughts of Natty, of her hips and their sway and her winks and her smile; attempting (and failing) to flag down the bartender once more.

This fucking night.

But, when you look back, Natty’s no longer on the dancefloor.

She’s standing next to you. Arms looping around your neck.

“Natty—”

But she’s not listening. Her eyes are darting around the room, searching for something—or someone—that you can’t see. Your stomach clenches, because that look on Natty’s face? That’s not her usual I’m-about-to-make-some-poor-soul-my-bitch look. That’s something else entirely. That’s fear.

“Shut up, I need a favour,” she’s in your ear, yelling over the thrum of the bass that’s rattling your ribcage.

You lean in, bend down to meet her, because, frankly, you’re worried. You’ve never seen Natty like this, wide eyed and shaky. Never seen her be anything but comfortable.

You’ve also never been this close to her. Felt her breath hot against your neck, felt her body press up against you, felt her softness, felt her—

Fuck, you should be asking her what’s wrong, but before you can even do that, the bartender's filling two shot glasses and sliding them over to Natty.

She takes one. You take the other. It tastes lethal.

Natty’s nails dig into the back of your neck, and she looks at you, intense. Words fast and frantic. “Just pretend we’re together, okay? For a bit. Until I can figure this out. Just—just keep playing along, yeah?”

You blink. The room blurs around you. You think you might’ve misheard. “What?”

“Be my boyfriend,” she says, taking a second shot before you can even digest the first. “I need you. There’s some creep and I need you. Now, please?”

You turn immediately, scanning the floor, but the lights and shadows make it near impossible to make out anything other than vague shapes and strobes of colour, let alone pinpoint a face. "Natty, where is he, I can—"

"No, no, no," she cuts you off with a shake of her head. “Focus on me.”

“Wait, why do I have to—”

“Oh, shit there he is—”

And then she’s kissing you.

Ending whatever argument you may have had, because she’s grabbing, pulling you in, and her lips are on yours and oh fuck, she’s really, really kissing you.

It’s a slap to the face, and you need to reel in from the sting. Because you’re already forgetting what you’re doing, forgetting how your limbs work, because Natty’s putting on the performance of a lifetime and you’re having trouble keeping up.

Her hands are in your hair, yours at the small of her back, and she’s pulling you close, squishing against you and the taste of her—sweet like candy and sharp like vodka—filling you all the way up.

Your tongue catches up, flicking against hers, licking inside of her mouth and she’s even convincing you—as if she’s the one that’s always been into the love at first sight bullshit and you’re the non-believer.

And it’s a problem, how right this feels. Because this isn’t what friends do—definitely not Natty and you. But still, you can feel her tension, her need for this to be believable; and you don’t dare to fuck it all up.

So you kiss her back, because that’s what you do for Natty.

You always do what she needs.

You’re about to pull away; this should be enough to have every single person here convinced that you’re hers and she’s yours. But Natty’s already sliding her tongue back in your mouth, pleading, “Keep going,” the moment a gap opens between your lips; and you’re diving back into the kiss without a second thought.

And then you hear it.

A flash of a camera.

A cheer.

A whistle.

Julie, Haneul, Belle—Natty’s friends, staring at you like proud fairy godmothers witnessing their own magic at work.

You break the kiss. You look down at Natty.

She giggles.

You feel like a fucking idiot.

"There is no creep, is there?"

Natty shrugs, looks up at you, and she actually looks—what is this? Shy? Embarrassed?

"There could’ve been," she says, her eyes wide and innocent, a mask. You see through her like you should have when she first wrapped her arms around your neck. Oh sure, like she’s ever been innocent for a second in her entire life.

She’s far too smug for that.

You roll your eyes. You feel like every other idiot that’s ever fallen for a bat of her lashes and a peek at her tits. Hope is a hell of a drug, especially when Natty’s the dealer. And yet, despite yourself, the corner of your mouth quirks up. "You're fucking insane."

“Maybe.” There’s a long pause. She’s staring at your mouth. She presses a finger to your sternum. “But I had to do something.”

It takes a second. What?

What does that mean?

You stare at Natty, lick your lips. Her taste still lingers.

“Ask yourself the same question I’ve been asking myself for months now,” she says, louder this time, her voice cutting through the noise of the club and hitting your ears with a sobering clarity.

You know what she’s going to say—what she’s going to ask before she’s even opened her mouth. You’ve been asking yourself the same thing too.

So, swallow hard, try to ignore the way Natty’s friends have gone quiet. Try to ignore Natty’s hand still resting against your chest, her eyes burning a hole right through you.

“Why haven’t we had sex yet?”

The blood’s rushing to your cheeks; the music's too loud, the lights too bright, and the room's suddenly spinning around you like a carousel.

Fucking embarrassing.

But Natty doesn’t crack a smile. She just looks up at you. Hopeful. Searching you, searching your eyes for an actual answer; and you already know what it is.

“Because, Natty, we’re friends.” You offer up a weak smile, hoping against hope that she’ll buy it.

But she shakes her head. “Oh, please. Like that’s ever stopped anyone before. Besides, if you want to put a label on it, call it whatever the fuck you want. I just know what I need. Do you?”

You sigh. She gets closer. And closer.

Until your nose is brushing hers. Until her breath is hot on your face, until your heart is racing so fast you can feel it in your ears. Until her hand is sliding down, down, down, until it’s resting over your pants and oh, oh no, you’re straining.

You gasp. She smirks.

“See? You want it too. And I know you do, because, sweetie, your cock’s practically begging me to pull it out and shove it between my tits right here in front of everyone.”

She just throws it out there, so casually, so bluntly, she might as well be talking about the weather. And maybe, maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just Natty being Natty, but fuck you can’t do anything but stay frozen still.

You’re letting her hand linger. You’re letting her touch you like she’s got every right in the world. You’re letting her because there’s a part of you—the part that’s growing by the second—that wants to see just how far she’ll take this.

“So, what is the real reason, ba-by?”

Because you’re in love with her. You’re in love with her, and you can’t just have casual sex with someone you’re in love with because it will ruin you.

But you don’t say that. Instead, you just tell her: “Timing.”

That makes her laugh. Has her closing what little gap remained between your bodies, until her tits are flush against your chest, and you’re coming to the conclusion that, yes, you did help her pick out the perfect outfit for tonight.

Perfectly, hopelessly, fuckable.

“Well,” she says, and she’s pulling you back down again and shutting you up with yet another kiss. “We’ve got all the time in the world now, don’t we?”

—

You’ve been here before.

Many, many times before.

You installed the showerhead and fixed all the cabinets yourself. Even secured the lock that you’re now unlocking with the digits that you coded.

But somehow, it feels like a first.

First time you’ve kissed her in the back of a car, pushed your hand up her skirt, felt the heat of her against your fingertips. First time you’ve pinned her against the wall of an elevator, made her feel just how desperate you were for her against her thigh, made her promise to be so good for you when you got to her door.

First time being pulled through the threshold, hands at your chest, tearing your shirt off you before you’ve even stepped foot in her apartment. Had her smiling against your mouth, because she’s won, again, and you can’t even bother to argue because you’ve lost to her so many times now that this shouldn’t be so surprising.

What is surprising though is how you’re naked first.

"Terrible, terrible taste." Natty's clicking her tongue as your shoes, your shirt, your pants are scattered along the floor behind you. “We’ll have to fix that.”

And then she’s moving on, hands clawing down your stomach to land at the waistband of your underwear, hooking her thumbs in and yanking down. You’re so obviously hard—you’ve barely made any effort to hide it from her—fuck, you pretty much flagged down the taxi with it.

"Holy fuck," is the first thing out of Natty's mouth when she takes a hold of you, feeling the naked weight of you in her palm. "You’re really not messing around, are you? I was expecting—"

"A sad, lonely little thing," you finish for her, because you've heard it before. "Yeah, you like to mention it a lot."

But Natty’s not laughing now.

She’s just staring. Almost reverently. She decides, her voice a little raspy, tinted with an apprehension that you never knew she was capable of mustering, "I like it. It's... massive."

You lean in, pressing your mouth against hers because if she’s going to say that, you’re going to kiss her, again and again, and there’s a strong possibility you're never going to stop.

She whimpers, gasps into your mouth, says your name for the first time—not some nickname, not a jab or an insult. Just your name, in your ears, like it’s something sacred.

You’re not a saint. You can’t ignore that.

Your cock jumps in her hand, and as if on instinct, she strokes you.

It's slow, purposeful. She's too good at this. Knows the right pressure, where to twist and wind her wrist. How to sweep her thumb over the tip, smear pre-cum over your skin, and this entire time she's staring down at your cock like she's discovered something new.

“This is going to ruin me, isn't it?” she whispers, and you nod, because your voice is lodged in your throat and she’s stealing the air from your lungs. “Going to fit so fucking nicely inside me. Fuck it’s going to stretch me.”

You groan, collapse your weight into Natty, press your lips against the column of her throat.

Both hands now, one underneath, toying with your balls, balancing them in her fingers, and the other doing its best to squeeze, to pump, to make you fall for her with every stroke.

“I can’t wait to ride this,” Natty kisses these words into your cheek, your jaw, leaves these marks all over your collarbone. “I wonder if I can fit it down my throat. God, can you imagine what it’ll look like between my tits?”

And that makes your cock throb.

Because face it, Natty has always had a way of getting into your head; is far too dangerous with her words, and she’s all too willing to abuse this power she has over you to get you do what she wants, which is now, apparently, fucking her senseless.

You let her, let her build and build this pressure, let it coil inside you, tighter and tighter. Until the need to feel her, all of her, is too much to handle.

Until you grab her, take her by the shoulders, push her—not hard, but firmly—against the nearest wall.

You’re not gentle about it, because Natty doesn’t want gentle. She wants rough, she wants passionate, she wants to be fucked and have her cunt worshipped by way of complete ruin.

She’s told you as much.

"That's more like it," Natty bites into your ear, grips your shoulders. She follows your eyes. "Let me guess, my tits?"

So, maybe she has caught you looking once or twice. Either way, you don’t care much for her top anymore, it’s served its purpose. You take a fistful of it and pull, ripping it right off her and tossing it to the floor with everything else that’s kept the two of you from tearing each other apart.

“Better?” Natty poses for you, puts her tits on display—and yeah, you were right all along. Fucking immaculate.

You take a hold of one, palm it; fill your hand with flesh, twinge those dark, plump nipples, because of course you’re going to. You’re going to pinch and squeeze and suck on them. You’re going to mark her like she’s already done to you. Mark them, with your teeth, with your tongue. Fuck, you’re going to make them yours.

But for now, you're just going to slap them, because you want to watch them jiggle up close.

You laugh. Natty does too.

"Much better."

And with that, you’re back on her. Kisses that are sloppy, wet, and filled with all the pent-up want that's been simmering for months. You don’t even know where to begin with Natty, but you start with her mouth. It’s a good place. It’s always a good place with Natty.

Her hand doesn’t stop moving, can’t, won’t. The friction is heaven; you just let her touch you, fuck her hand while you indulge in her tits. Get to know the weight of them, the balance, the softness.

A sigh into your ear as your tongue finally finds her breasts, deep and messy, sliding over her nipple—she’s already so sensitive, just a flick and she’s gasping. You’re not even trying to be precise anymore, not that Natty needs it, not that she needs anything but for you to enjoy yourself against her.

It all makes the room seem smaller, the walls close, surrounding you with the scent—cinnamon and sweat and something else that’s just her.

“See this is why fucking me is such a great idea,” she slurs against your shoulder, hand tightening, stroking you harder, faster.

You mumble an affirmative into her breast. It’s a miracle you can still stand upright.

“Isn’t this so much better than like everything else? Anyone else?” She sighs, breathy, sweet sounds, as she takes you by the wrist, guides your hand southwards.

Fingertips graze her stomach, trace around her belly button and lower; until you’re digging into her skirt and feeling the heat rise off her skin. She’s soaked right through her panties, dripping with it. Another place for your tongue to land.

“We can just be fucking honest with each other,” Natty’s explaining, eyes tearing when your finger pads her clit, pressing down just right. “You already told me all the things you hate. All the things your bitch exes never let you do.” And she smiles, wicked. “Never had the tits to give you.”

Christ.

“And I can get you to fuck me exactly how I want with this big, fucking cock,” Natty finishes. "We’re a perfect fucking match."

It’s at that moment you find the zipper of her skirt, tugging it down, watching it fall to the feet. Leaving Natty to step out of the tiny scrap of fabric she calls her panties; abandoning the sticky mess of cotton.

You take a step back, unlatch your lips from her tits, because you need to see it. Need to finally see her, see your Natty, see the Natty you've never allowed yourself to look at.

So, take your time, drink her in—because the way she’s standing there, the way she’s touching herself now; biting her lip, sighing your name. All but saying, ‘Look all you want, but don’t you dare look away’.

Look at the arch of her neck, the red you’ve left there, that trail you’ve burned down to her tits. Bruised and swollen from your tongue, your kisses, and yet still not marked enough. Follow the curve of her hips; how they flare out from her waist, the plush squish of her ass cheeks against the wall behind her.

You want to kiss her, from the tips of her toes to the top of head; all of her, every part of her, because now she’s going to finally let you.

Because now you're going to fuck her until all she knows is you, going to make her scream your name, going to make her beg for you to fill her with your cock and cum and never ever leave her cunt empty again.

That’s the plan, anyway.

But Natty’s got plans of her own.

“Didn’t you say,” Natty begins, sighing, circling her cunt in a rhythm that you’re dying to recreate. She licks her lips. “That your last ex refused to suck that lovely, magnificent cock of yours?

"Yeah," you stammer, at a loss for breath at just the sight of it all. “And weren’t you trying to find someone to fuck your brains out?”

Natty’s eyes light up; and there's that easy, charming grin that knocks you right off your feet. "You’ve always been such a good listener."

—

Natty's plotting to ruin you.

It's the only possible explanation for the way she's looking at you right now—on her knees, at the foot of her bed, flanked by walls painted an ugly shade of pastel pink and Natty's tits, sandwiching your cock.

You’d imagined it, thought about it when you shouldn’t have been thinking about it. Whenever she brought you to watch her perform, whenever she sent you pictures of her outfit of the day. But your eyes always went there. Straight to Natty’s tits, every time.

You knew they were big.

You’ve felt them, on accident (though they don’t seem like accidents anymore).

But now, to have them enveloping your cock, drowning your shaft in their softness, and to have her, staring at your face with so much fucking excitement as she gives you everything you’ve ever wanted—it’s surreal.

You’re dying to paint them white.

“Looks like you’re already about to fall apart, baby,” she teases, and it’s even worse now that she’s calling you these sweet names, saying them like she’s always wanted to, like she’s finally letting herself. “Couldn’t wait, could you?”

“Fuck, Natty—” you breathe out, your hands finding her hair, tightening, because that’s all you can manage to do when Natty’s in control. Like she’s always been.

“Mmhmm,” she hums, keeping her eyes on you, making sure you’re watching, even as her tongue flicks out to taste you. A slow, taunting lick to make you buck your hips, desperate to feel the suction of her lips. “You must have been dreaming about this, huh?”

You don’t bother lying. She already knows the answer. “Every. Fucking. Night.”

Natty’s smile spreads across her face, and she rewards you with a kiss, pressing her lips down onto the head of your cock; before sliding them lower, eyes fluttering shut with the first taste of you. “Well, what took you so long? All you needed to do was show me your cock and I’d have been happy to do it whenever you want me to. Happy for you to use my tits as your cum rag. You know that, right?”

She moves; and the sight of it alone—Natty’s tits wrapped around your cock, bobbing up and down, hypnotising you with the flicker of her nipples—up and down, up and down. It’s merciless, unrelenting, and she keeps talking, keeps kissing these sweet little words into your cock that makes your hips jerk, trying to fuck her tits faster, harder.

"Look at how perfect you look," Natty keeps going, "how your cock fits so snug."

The sounds she’s tearing from your throat as her tits take you, and she’s barely even started.

“But we can do better, can’t we?”

Her pace picks up, and with it, the tightness of your grip on her hair. She’s pushing the ample mounds together, squeezing, putting her whole body into it, into this new art she’s pioneering. Driving you insane with just her breasts, making you swell between them, throbbing as she works you over.

“So big," she’s panting from just the effort, the bounce, bounce, bounce of it all, "I can feel you getting so much bigger."

Everything’s going too fast, her tits are too soft, her lips on you too hot, and she’s drooling, her spit dripping down onto your cock. You want to tell her to stop, that you can’t take it, but Natty just keeps going.

"Fuck,” Natty mewls, pinching her own nipples, for you, for her. Pinching and rolling them, making them nice and stiff and swollen. “Let me just try and—”

She cranes her head, bends; takes your cock deeper into the warm, wet heat of her mouth. Her tongue darts out licks your cock, gets that sweet spot on the underside, makes you shake underneath her.

Natty holds you there, even as you groan, even as your hips rise; just licks, spits, sucks. Her mouth moving up and down on you, making a mess down your shaft, down her tits. Taking you deeper, deeper, until you’re fucking her face.

She moans around you as your hips buck and you push deep, desperate for it. Her eyes water, her cheeks hollow, and she’s got you. You’re in her mouth and she’s loving it. Loving the power she has over you, loving giving you what she wants, loving how you’re pulling her by the hair, desperate to feed her more of your cock into her throat.

Like your entire relationship has been building up to this moment—to Natty’s tits wrapped around you, her mouth all over you, her eyes on yours, watching as you fuck her face.

"Fuck, Natty," you grunt, your voice barely recognisable. "What the fuck—"

But Natty's just smiling, you’re fucking that smug little smile on her lips, and she’s taunting you. "Come on baby, keep going, keep going."

It’s utterly obscene—the smack of her lips around your cock, her slobbering all over you, her gagging, her moaning around you, looking up at you and asking, “Is that all you’ve got?”

You're so close, so fucking close, and she knows it. Moving her tits faster, faster, and you're about to blow your load all over Natty's pretty face, her chest.

But she keeps talking.

Even as you stuff her cheeks, even as you muffle her, “None of those other skinny bitches could do this, could they, could handle this big, fat cock?”

Even as you force her down, pull her by the hair, “You’ve been so obsessed with my body, so obsessed with my tits, haven’t you?”

Even as her tits slide off you and your cock smacks her across her cheek, “I always saw the way you looked at them, fuck I was showing them off for you, you just took too fucking long to notice.”

She won't stop fucking talking.

You finally snap. "God, are you ever going to stop?"

But Natty just laughs, bats her lashes. Slides her tongue from your base to your tip. "Maybe you should find something to gag me with."

Your hand wraps around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her eyes go wide, to make her mouth pop open. She rolls out her tongue for you, and you know what she expects you to do, what she expects you to fill her mouth with.

But you don’t—instead, you fill it with your kiss.

It's deep, it’s bruising, it’s saying ‘fuck you’ in the sweetest way possible, without uttering a single syllable. Natty laughs against your mouth, a ‘fuck you’ right back with her teeth, biting down on your lower lip. Not breaking skin—not yet—but the promise is there.

Her hand leaves your cock to wrap around your neck, pulling you closer to her, her mouth eager for yours, and you don’t even think twice before you hoist her up, her legs wrapping around your waist. Giggling again—another sound that’s going to be your undoing—before you’re both stumbling back onto her bed.

The mattress dips under the weight of your bodies falling back into it. Natty straddles you, presses her cunt down onto your thighs. So wet you can feel it on your thigh, leaving your skin sticky and stained with her. Your hands move to her hips, dragging her closer, so you can feel the friction grinding against your cock, making you ache.

She breaks your kiss, gasping for air. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide—seeing her pant like this, it’s not even fair. She’s just so fucking beautiful, like a painting you’re afraid to touch because you might smudge it.

You tell her as much.

She blinks. Blushes.

Grins.

“You,” Natty breathes, her hand trailing down your chest, finding your heartbeat, resting there for a beat, two, “are so fucking in love with me.”

You don’t argue because she’s right.

Her hand slides up your arms, nails dig in and she’s got your wrists, pinning them over your head. You let her. Let her grind herself against your cock, feel the warm, wet heat of her cunt against the tip.

She takes her sweet time, melting herself into you, pressing her tits into your chest, and you can feel her heart racing against yours.

She whispers, “God, I’ve waited so fucking long for this.”

You can’t even form a coherent thought, so you just grunt.

“I’ve dreamt about this so much,” she continues, breathless words sending shivers down your spine. “Your cock, fuck, it’s just as perfect as I imagined. And now, it’s all mine.”

And then she does it—she sinks down onto you, slow and sweet, her pussy taking you in inch by glorious inch. You groan into her shoulder, your eyes shut as Natty’s tight heat surrounds you. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before; sure there’s been others but something about Natty’s cunt is so intense it’s almost painful.

“So tight,” you grit out, the words torn from your chest like they’re made of glass. She just laughs, low, sultry, and starts to move.

It’s a dance, a rhythm that’s been building between the two of you for what feels like an eternity. She’s rocking her hips back and forth in this torturous grind. Fucking you like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do, like she needs to make the most of it. Like you’re going to vanish into thin air the second she lets you go.

“I knew you’d feel this good,” Natty sighs into your neck, already surrendering to your cock. “Fuck, I knew it—why did you keep this from me?”

You can’t answer, not really.

You’re too lost in the feel of her, too consumed by the way she’s moving on top of you. Every inch of her body is pressed against yours, and she’s so warm, so alive, that you can’t think of anything but how Natty’s finally letting you in. How she’s letting you make her whole.

But it’s too much. Natty’s cunt, tight and wet, fucking you so slow it’s a fucking crime. Pinning you down, a butterfly on a board spread out, displayed, unable to do anything but take her sweet, sweet punishment. And she’s whispering it in your ear, grinding down, rolling her hips, “Fuck you. Fuck you for keeping this from me,” with every stroke.

She’s doing it on purpose, you’re sure of it. Driving you crazy, making you beg, making you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life. Your hips jerk up to meet her, trying to speed things up, to get that friction you need, but Natty just pushes down on your shoulders, keeping you in place.

So you tell her, "This is fucking torture."

Natty just smirks, her hips never stilling. "Is it?" she asks, as if this all isn’t intentional. Like she doesn’t have some grand plan to ensure you never forget the things her cunt can do to you. "Do something about it then."

So, you do.

It takes more effort than you’ll ever admit, but you break her grip on your wrists, grab her hips, and flip her over, sending her sprawling onto the bed, face down.

The squeal from her. It’s music.

How her eyes go wide when you treat her like a ragdoll, how her tits juggle and bounce, smacking the mattress. And when you push down into her, slamming your hips into her ass, how she arches back into you, her back bowing like a fucking violin.

“Yes!” She cries, fucking cheers into the mattress, like she’s been waiting for this—for you to have had enough of her shit and take her without asking. “Yes, yes, yes—”

You hover over her, throb inside her. "Is this what you fucking wanted?"

Natty sighs into the bedsheets, urging her hips against you, begging without words, begging for you to do more.

“You want it rough, baby?”

“Yeah,” Natty says, pushing back against you again, nodding immediately. “If you can.”

Still with the provocations, unable to resist pressing at your buttons.

You grab her hair, yank it back so she’s staring at you, force her to look at you. And you fuck her hard. Fuck her like you’ve wanted to since the first time she walked into your life and decided to make it all about her.

You fill her with deep, long strokes, fill the room with the smacks of your hips colliding against her, of your cock thrusting into her cunt again and again.

She claws at the sheets, trying to find purchase, trying to push back against you. But you’re too strong, too desperate.

You pound into her, impale her with your cock, watch her face twist in pleasure, in pain. You’re fucking her like you’re trying to break her, like she asked. Trying to solve her—how hard can she take it, how deep, how fast.

But Natty won’t give you an answer, she just takes it all—every inch, ever pump into her sopping wet cunt. Just grins and takes every bit of your need, your frustration. A bottomless pit of pleasure, begging for more with every whine, every little noise she makes that’s not quite a scream but is so close that it rattles your brain.

And when you finally let go of her hair, Natty’s licking her lips, and without even a care for what it does to you, she coaxes, “You can do better.”

You don’t know how she can talk right now, how she can even think with your cock so deep inside her, but something about the way she says it makes you want to test the limits of her ability to stay coherent.

But first, there’s the problem of her ass.

“Let’s see about that,” you murmur, dragging your hand down her spine, feeling the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, and coming to a stop at her perfectly rounded ass. It’s a masterpiece, a work of art, and you’ve always had a bit of an artist’s soul.

You do what comes naturally.

A spank against Natty’s ass. Hard, hard enough to make her yelp.

Again—another slap, another yelp, louder, better.

You keep fucking her, keep spanking her, keep watching red bloom across her cheeks and Natty squirm underneath you. The whines get louder, her cunt gets wetter, but it’s still not enough to dull that smug look on her face.

“Fuck yes,” Natty gasps, raises her ass, presenting it to you like a trophy for you to claim. “I always knew you had it in you.”

You grab her hips harder, your knuckles white, your hand a blur as it connects with her ass. It’s so explicit, the sound of it in the quiet of Natty’s apartment—each spank echoing through the room like a gunshot.

But Natty just takes it, her body jolting with each hit, her cunt tensing and tightening around you.

“God, don’t fucking stop,” Natty sputters, tears of pained pleasure leaking from the corners of her eyes. “You’re using me so good.”

You lean down, kissing hard against her neck, branding her shoulder. You want her to feel you, to remember you. To not be able to ever feel remotely good again without first thinking of you.

"It's your fucking fault, Natty," you growl into her ear. "You drive me mad."

And she laughs, the sound vibrating through her body and going straight to your cock. "Good," she answers, "Good. Be mad. Be angry."

But you’re beyond that now, beyond the point of no return. All that you know is Natty’s cunt, Natty’s ass, Natty’s moans, and Natty’s grin that you’re aching to wipe off her face.

"Fucking hate me if you want," she’s saying, and she can’t seem to stop, "just don’t stop fucking—ah!”

You nearly stop when you realise you’ve finally done it. Finally left Natty out of breath, lost for words. A fucking miracle, really—the kind that makes you feel like a fucking god.

It doesn’t stop her cunt clenching around you, tight as a vice, because even now, Natty’s got some kind of death grip pussy, and she’s using it to fucking kill you.

You whisper in her ear, “You like that?”

Her only response is a breathy, needy little whine, so you spank her again.

And again.

Her cunt tightens. She’s close, so close. You can feel it.

“You like it when I use you, Natty?”

She nods, her eyes screwed shut, her mouth crying into the mattress, a mess of hair and sweat and utter bliss.

“Say it,” you demand, slapping her ass once more, watching as the pain ripples through her. “Say it.”

And Natty does, because she’s a good little whore, because she’s yours now. “Yes, yes, I like it when you use me, when you fuck me like this, when it’s only about you, your cock, your needs, your pleasure—”

God, it feels good to hear her say it, but you still want more than just words. You want her to fucking scream it.

You make the bed shake, knock the headboard against her wall, it’s a competition of what’s going to break first—the frame or her.

“This cunt. Your cunt. I’m going to use it. Fuck it whenever I want.”

But Natty catches you off guard, because that’s what Natty does best. She opens her eyes, looks right into yours, and suddenly she has her voice again: “Whenever I want. You’re going to fucking move in with me.”

You freeze. Your hand mid-spank. Your cock mid-thrust. It throws you entirely off, because, what the fuck?

"You're going to be my boyfriend now," Natty says, wrenching back control, fucking her ass back into you. Stating not asking, leaving no room for argument. "Move in with me, your place sucks anyway."

"You're out of your fucking mind," you start to protest, but she cuts you off with another squeeze of her cunt around you, and now she’s the one fucking you, her hips rolling back and forth in this maddening, sinful way that has you biting down on your tongue to keep from shouting.

"Move in and just fuck me every day," she says, all light and airy, like it’s already been decided, like moments ago you didn’t have her dead to rights. "Morning to night. It would be so fucking nice."

This is real, you know that for sure. It’s not just something she’s saying to get off, not another way to get under your skin. You know it in her voice, she’s deadly serious and suddenly your mind’s racing.

"Come on," Natty purrs, punctuating each word with a slap of her ass against your waist, "You know you want it, why fucking wait?"

She’s not wrong. It makes too much fucking sense to deny. And yet, part of you still can't believe it. That Natty, the girl who's had countless men at her feet, could have any man at her feet, actually wants you. That Natty is underneath you now, eyes glossed over with need, mouth swollen from your kisses, ass cheeks flushed crimson from your palm.

"I'll take such good care of you, baby," she says, unaware that she’s already completely won, unaware that her cunt already has you bending to her will. "Every day, every night.”

You can't help but nod. You're too consumed in her to do anything else. You just let go of everything. The fears, the doubt, the fucking logic.

And Natty says it, the three words that seal your fate—"I'll love you," she cries out, "I'll fucking love you forever if you just keep giving me this fucking cock."

It's like the world stops, like everything you've ever wanted is right there in front of you, wrapped up in Natty's tight fucking body.

You're so close, so fucking close, that you can almost taste it—the sweet release of your orgasm; giving in to Natty’s unbelievably sensational cunt sleeving your cock, pulsing with each thrust, desperate to milk you dry.

There’s nothing left to do but give Natty wants. Fuck her, hammer into her so hard that you’re going to fuck a Natty-shaped hole into the mattress, fucking shatter her bedframe, and then keep drilling her straight through the floor.

And she’s crying out your name, forgetting about everything that isn’t you, isn’t your cock, isn’t the dream of your cum filling her to the brim and spilling out of her cunt every single day for the rest of your fucking lives.

“Are you close, baby? Are you going to cum for me? Please, give it to me, I need it so bad, I need it now, because I'm about to, about to, about to—"

And then it happens.

Fucking destroys her.

It hits. A crescendo that peaks as you bottom out inside her, shaking her to the core. Her cunt spasms about you, her body rises off the bed as if you’re performing a fucking exorcism, and she screams your name so loud it’s only a matter of time before the neighbours come banging on her door.

"Oh my fucking god you—"

Natty gushes around your cock, juices running down your shaft, your balls, and she’s squirting. Oh god, she’s squirting all over the fucking place.

Natty’s body goes rigid, her back arching so much it’s like she’s trying to fold in half, crying, sputtering these words that don't even make sense—until you realise she's speaking an entirely different fucking language.

Not that it matters, because you can tell what she's saying, read it in her body, in the way she's spurting and making a big fucking mess beneath your bodies. Whatever she’s saying sounds utterly depraved, filthy and so, so good to your ears.

It keeps going and going, until she has enough sense to speak your language again, needing to make sure you hear it when she says—"fucking fill me, baby," she whimpers. "Give me everything, all your fucking cum."

And it’s your turn to be hit—like a fucking freight train.

You're cumming, hard and fast and out of fucking nowhere. Your balls tighten, your cock throbs, and you’re flooding Natty’s cunt.

It’s biological, in every cell of your body—like your entire being is coming undone, and the only thing holding you together is Natty, Natty, Natty.

Her body shaking beneath you, her cunt contracting around your cock as wave after wave of cum fills her up.

She’s so fucking tight, so fucking perfect, that you can feel every pulse of your orgasm, every drop of your cum spurting into her. You're not sure how long it lasts, how much you give her, but it’s enough to make your muscles shake, enough to knock the architecture right out of your limbs.

"So fucking good, so fucking good," Natty coos. "Fucking finally, finally filling me up so good."

Her moans a lullaby, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body with every syllable. You lean down, burying your face in the crook of her neck, your every inhale and exhale ragged as you try to catch your breath. Still twitching inside her, still releasing the last of your cum, and Natty’s just lying there, her body limp, her eyes closed, basking in it all.

"So perfect," she keeps repeating, right up until the very end, “So, so, perfect.”

You collapse on top of her, just lie there shivering together, your face next to hers. She’s got this look on her face, a victorious glow, and you just have to accept it. Yeah, she’s won again, in devastatingly convincing fashion.

For a second, you’re both just that—spent, exhausted, entirely drained. Like you’ve just run a marathon. Or been in a fight. Or both.

Then Natty’s got the nerve to stir, to kiss your cheek with the tenderness of a whisper. Lips softer than you thought possible, given how hard she’s just been fucking you. And that’s it, the moment your body decides it’s had enough of playing dead, enough of lying there like a sack of potatoes.

You roll over, bringing Natty with you, her body curling into yours like she’s been made to fit there. Her head rests on your chest, her legs entwined with yours, and for a moment, you just hold her close.

It feels fucking right.

"Tomorrow," Natty sighs contentedly, her cheek finding home atop your heartbeat.

You blink. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, you're moving in tomorrow." Natty’s deciding for you already, setting the dynamic for the rest of your future. Doing all this with her eyes still shut as she snuggles closer to you. "I'll hire the movers."

You sigh, the weight of the world and Natty's body both feeling surprisingly light. You think about the next few days, the weeks, the years even, with Natty. The idea is so ludicrous, so absurd, that it feels like a fever dream.

But as you hold her, feel her warmth, her unabashed, blatant satisfaction, something inside you shifts. A reframing of the concept of Natty that you hold in your head. The thought of her naked body in your bed, her laughter in your living room, her mess in your kitchen—it doesn’t feel like an intrusion, it feels like home.

"Are you sure?" you ask. A little shaky, a little hopeful.

Natty opens one eye to look at you, a laugh playing on her lips. "Oh, you know I'm going to be the worst fucking roommate ever."

"Yeah, I can see that. But as long as you keep being the best fucking everything else..." Your words trail off into a whisper, your hand tracing idle patterns on her back.

And then she says it again.

"You’re so fucking in love with me."

Natty kisses you hard, deep, her tongue sliding against yours. And you know, you fucking know, that she's right. You are desperately, entirely, so fucking in love with her, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

You laugh, the sound a little desperate, a little wild, and roll her again, pin her down again. A strange feeling rushes through your mind. Like you’re going to be repeating this exact same motion for the next hundred years. And somehow, that doesn’t sound like the worst thought in the world.

Natty squeals, cheers, moans when you settle between her legs.

"Fuck you, Natty."

"Oh, baby," Natty giggles, reaching down between your legs, squeezing you. Once. Twice. Until you're filling her hand once more. "That's what I'm here for."

#kpop smut #natty smut #kiss of life smut #male reader

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loganlermanstanaccount · 1 year ago

Text

Show me where it hurts (part 1)

Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader

(AO3 Mirror), Part 2, Main Masterlist

summary: Miguel's acting weird, and you make it your mission to find out exactly what's going on.

warnings: no warnings for this chap, pg-13, swearing and canon level violence. smut next chapter xoxo

a/n: this is a combination of 2 asks and this post I saw on here a while ago: flirty/ snarky fem reader, Miguel during a ""rut"" (I don't know if it counts as a rut really, but its to do with his animal instincts/DNA) and Lyla playing matchmaker. I had so much fun writing this, enjoy :D

(i wrote this pre seeing spiderverse 2, so i think characterisation is a little off, esp for Lyla, apologies! I'll fix it in my upcoming fics)

edit: I use the term "bichita" which I have been informed can be read not as I intended in Spanish. I'm not a native speaker so I want to apologise in advance. I'm doing more research for my future fics and leaving this up as a testament to my stupidity. Spanish speakers, feel free to correct me / clown my ass in the comments. My bad guys :(

wc: 3.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You think Miguel is avoiding you.

One of your closest friends, giving you the runaround for months, it seems. Calling the two of you close friends is a little extreme, sure. You've only known O'Hara for two years, and been in love with him for slightly less than that, thank you very much. And yes, he refuses to call you by anything but your last name. And the last time you saw him he wouldn't so much as look at you, but that was besides the point.

"..the point," You tell Lyla, in between exasperated bites of cereal, "... is that aren't elite forces of spiderpeople supposed to, you know, have some spiderpeople kick ass once in a while? And where exactly is our fearless leader? I haven't seen O'Hara's scary ass in weeks, and I'm starting to miss it."

She gives you a look, one that says this isn't what I'm programmed for , but you pointedly ignore it.

"His ass, by the way." You clarify. "I very specifically miss his ass. Remind me to get his routine. I know girls that would kill for…"

"How the fuck did you get in here?" A voice croaks. You turn behind you and see Miguel, not in his suit, but wrapped up in a blanket like he's just woken up. And he looks rough, like a train ran him over on the way here: puffy eyes, splotchy skin, tension kneaded into his brow.

"Wow." Your spoon drops into the milk. "You look like shit.."

He furrows his brow even deeper, if that was possible. " Mierda. You shouldn't be here."

"This isn't quite the welcome party I was expecting, man. I'm the only one to actually turn up to one of your meetings, and this is what I get?"

"I thought I told Lyla to cancel," He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Cancel? Since when do you miss a chance to talk about rules and protocol?"

"I don't have time for this-"

"-and I'm not leaving without a proper explanation. Is everything okay?"

"It's actually way worse now you're here." He deadpans.

"Haha ." You turn to Lyla. "You drop everything to travel halfway across the multiverse and this asshole won't even say thanks."

"Thanks, but this asshole needs you to leave. Now."

This is the most he's spoken to you in forever, and you hate that you like it. You just want his attention, however it comes. If that means dragging this out so maybe he acknowledges you, touches you, looks at you - then so be it. Squinting, you get closer to him. You scan his face for anything to latch onto. You put a hand on his shoulder, still searching.

"You sure you're alright? You know you can tell me if-"

"Si, si." He grits his teeth, looking away. "M'just fine. I'll explain…. later."

"...because I'm your right hand man?" You grin, poking at his brow. "Stop frowning so much Miguel, you're gonna ruin that pretty face of yours."

He flushes, nervous, and swats you away. "-what? N-No. You're not my right hand man and I like my face just the way it is. Now, leave. "

Making your way to the door, you tap your nose teasingly. "You know where to find me!"

When the door closes with a click, you make your way down the corridor, and stop in your tracks when you hear it. It's muffled, but with the strain of your supersenses you can make out Miguel's voice just beyond the wall.

"I just…. don't want her to see me like this… Lyla, it's not happening… I can't tell her…." Tell her what, exactly?

Resolutely, you make up your mind. Miguel O'Hara's got a secret. And before you leave for home, you're gonna do everything in your God given power to wear him down and find out.

~~~

Despite his insistence otherwise, you liked to think of yourself as O'Hara's right hand man - and most of the other spiderpeople thought so too. You were one of the very first he recruited, after crash landing onto your earth like a spiderman-shaped meteor; the two of you were inseparable. Miguel was stubborn and headstrong and thought he was right all the time. Infuriatingly, he was, but that didn't stop you from telling him to get his head out of his own ass when his ego grew too big.

He was different around you, you think. Softer, sometimes. Harsher, other times. He told you what you needed to hear whether you wanted to or not; the result of mutual respect and agonising persistence. Slowly, you had chipped away his hard exterior; the one he built because he thought he needed to push people away. In that regard, you were similar, but this need manifested in you like a weed - an awful, awful compulsion to joke and laugh at your own expense, to keep others at an arm's length. You had spent your whole life picking and pruning away at yourself, looking for perfection. Even after all this, multiverse-hopping and fighting alongside people who were the closest things you had to friends , it wasn't enough. There was still something missing.

Ironically, Miguel had told you something similar the one of the last times you had spoken. You had fucked up a mission, well and truly. In the aftermath, all you can remember is coming back to base, limping on Jessica's arm.

"She's hurt!" She cries out. Lyla materialises and leads you both to the med bay, inspecting any visible wounds. There's a deep laceration, sticky with blood, at the base of your stomach. You shift onto the bed and hiss with pain.

Miguel is quick to follow, face twisted with confusion, pain, sadness. Even in your haze, you feel the tension radiating off of him as he drags over a cart of supplies.

"What happened?" He strains.

"I don't even… it happened so fast. We got ambushed, and all of a sudden I'm on the ground. I wasn't thinking straight and… " She sobs. "...she jumped in front of me. God, she saved my life-"

"-wasn't your fault, Jess." You croak, trying to sit up. "And I'm fine. Just need to walk it off…"

"Sit, bichita," His nickname makes you frown, despite yourself, and you settle back down. "Lyla, what's the damage?"

Your vision goes spotty, and Lyla's voice barely registers. All you can feel is searing pain in your side, but Miguel is warm, oh so warm. You clutch his arms, and force him to look you in the eye.

"M'ready, Miguel." He nods weakly, but you don't think he understands. "I mean it . I can lead, j-just need another chance and I won't let you down… Jess, tell him that I can-"

"It's okay. I believe you. You just need to relax for me, hmm?" He clutches at your hand, tight, and it's like you're the only two people in the world. "You did good. I promise."

Faintly, you nod. You feel a pinch at your arm, and Jessica's there, with an empty vial of something in her hands. The pain washes over you, and you fight to keep your eyes open. In those last few moments of light, you swear you feel a shaky kiss pressed to your temple.

"Sleep, mi bichito amoroso. Sleep."

When you come to, you're still in the medbay, moonlight streaming through. Well, artificial moonlight. Time worked a little differently here, something Miguel explained to you a while ago - God knows what about dilation and quantum interference. It makes you smile now, remembering his frustration as he tried to explain to no avail. You were the only spiderman this side of the multiverse without a degree in quantum tech, you had said with a lopsided smile.

You move to sit, and pain shoots up your side. Groaning, you push through it, determined to get out of this bed and find the others. As if on cue, Miguel walks in, almost leaping towards you.

"You should… mierda ! You should be resting in bed."

You pout as you stumble into his chest. He hooks an arm around you and leads you back. You clamber in, sighing. "M'fine, O'Hara."

"Your guts were halfway out of your body less than 24 hours ago. So stay put, or you might give me another heart attack."

You scoff, incredulous. "You were worried?"

He shrugs. " 'Course I was."

"Why? You know I'm practically indestructible." You give him a shit eating grin, and poke the frown appearing at his brow. He doesn't bat you away like he usually does.

"Famous last words, bichita." He sighs. You can't speak a lick of Spanish, but you know he only calls you that word when you've frustrated him to his limit. So you take it as a win, for now.

He drops into the chair next to you. "How are you feeling?"

"Just peachy, dollface." You wink, and he doesn't so much as groan.

"I'm being serious. You went through something pretty traumatic…"

"You want me to tell you it hurts, so, so bad, daddy? " You pout and flutter your eyelashes mockingly. Miguel shifts in his seat, unable to make eye contact.

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, O'Hara? I feel fine. And in a couple of days, I'll feel even better, and I'll be up and about. I can finish what we started and-"

"-no, absolutely not." He frowns. "A couple of days? I'm sending you home-"

"You can't do that! On whose fucking authority?"

"On the authority of you almost fucking died ! Keeping you safe is our priority right now-"

"God, is this my punishment? This is a low blow, O'Hara. You know how hard I've worked for this: months of surveillance and intel a-and I did everything by the book, just like you told me to." You croak. "I fucked up . I know that, and I feel terrible. Give me a chance to make things right; that's all I'm asking. I can do it, I know it. "

He looks at you for a moment, something heavy in his expression. His face contorted, he strips you down to the bone with just his gaze. His voice is so quiet, you almost miss it.

"....you're still trying to prove yourself, aren't you?"

Honestly, it catches you off guard. You don't even know what the fuck that means, let alone why he said it.

"I don't… I d-don't…?"

"They all love you. Respect you. More than me I think, sometimes." He chuckles at that. "You're good at what you do. The best . What else are you trying to prove? What else do you need ?"

Your throat goes dry. You couldn't speak if you wanted to.

"I'm not punishing you. You made a mistake, but you don't need to be crucified for it. I just want to keep you safe. I can't… we can't lose you."

"Miguel-"

"-this isn't a discussion. And I'm not trying to argue, although I know how much you like to argue." He inches closer, cupping your face gently. You try to move away, blinking back tears. But his hands are steady and he strokes your jaw with so much tenderness you think you hear your heart break. He's pretty, so pretty. You don't deserve him, you think. "There'll be time to fight, bichita. Rest. That's your mission right now."

"C-can't sleep." You breathe. "It hurts."

Miguel pauses, head tilted like he's thinking. He taps your shoulder. "Scoot over."

You do as he says, and he slips into the bed with you. It's a tight fit, but he manages, placing you on his chest with an arm gently around your shoulders. You bury your face in his hoodie, sniffling and hoping he doesn't notice you choking back sobs. Absentmindedly, he settles into a rhythm, gentle breathing and playing with your hair, soothing you softly. He pretends he can't hear the tears.

"M'gonna stay here until you're asleep. For as long as you need."

You nod, unable to speak for fear of breaking down.

~~~

The days after felt like a blur. You woke up to Miguel gone, and an ache in your heart. Jess visits as much as she can, and Ben calls you a couple times, to see if you're okay. Peter B brings Mayday, and she clambers all over your bed, bringing some life into the room. Miguel doesn't visit per se - you hear whispers of him, Lyla visiting in his stead for comprehensive status updates. Once, you wake up in the night to see him on the adjacent chair, head lolling in deep sleep. He looks peaceful, calm - one of the first times you haven't seen his brow furrowed with worry. Of course, he's gone by the morning.

The very last time you saw him, he opened the portal home. It was weird, after everything, but if Miguel felt the same you wouldn't know. Talking at a thousand miles a minute, he alternates between assuring you they'll be fine without you and situation reports from spider people all across the multiverse. Things you'd missed whilst bedbound, asking for advice before you left. He trusted your judgement and the thought warmed your heart, almost making you forget that he completely brushed past the previous nights before.

You still remember the last thing he had said to you, which would've been weeks ago, now.

"...and if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me directly. Not Jess, not Ben, and certainly not Peter B. Call me, and I'll answer, I promise. You need help, you need advice, you just need someone to talk to, then-"

"-I call you. I get it, O'Hara. Will do." He opens the portal, watching as you walk towards it. He can't take his eyes off of you, even though you can't see him. At the last moment you turn, and run towards him. You almost knock him over with a hug. Burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, he hugs you back, ever careful of your injury. Separating, your smile almost knocks him over again. Weakly, he smiles back as you head through the portal, back home.

You're left with that feeling, of his arms around your body - warm, so warm - as you putter about by the switchboard. After careful deliberation (you were really, really bored ) you'd taken to manage the Multi Modal Multiversal Switchboard - as aptly named by Miguel. Everyone else called it the Big Red Phone of course, but he had insisted on calling it by its proper name . Every. Time.

The thought makes you chuckle as you call up Peter B. His icon flashes on the screen in front of you. With a click, he picks up the call, his face materialising holographically in front you. A little hand reaches up and tugs at his ear.

"Ow… ouch … Dad's on the phone, honey."

"Aww! How's my favourite Parker doing?"

"Not bad, actually! MJ just made us probably the best burger this side of New York-"

"-sorry, Peter? Me and May are trying to have a conversation." You hear her giggle in the background. Her gap toothed grin pops into frame and she babbles excitedly. "...yeah, exactly May. That's literally what I said."

"Okay, okay, that's enough." He puts the toddler down and watches her scurry away. "You're feeling better, I see."

"Yeah, back in action. Thought I'd check in."

"All good here." He squints, trying to take in your surroundings. "You're at HQ?"

You hum.

"Could've sworn Lyla cancelled…"

"Yeah, didn't get the memo. But I think something's wrong with O'Hara."

He gives you a weird look. "Uhhh, what makes you think that?"

"He won't even look at me. Was it something I said? Something I did?" Your eyes narrow. "...what do you know, Peter?"

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" He scoffs, a little too quickly, clutching his chest like you've offended him. He's stared down some of the scariest villains around, but the look you give him is truly chilling. "Just… uhhh. You didn't hear this from me."

"Naturally…"

"We tracked 'em down, the guys that ambushed you and Jessica."

"The Sinister Six? From Earth-215?"

"Yeah, but by the time we got there, it was just Kraven and some of his goons. Miguel got there first, and…." He gulps. "He was pissed. Trashed the whole place looking for the rest of 'em. Beat Kraven half to death and we had to pull him off."

"Shit."

"Yeah, it was pretty rough. Never seen him like that before. And just generally? He'd been weirdly quiet, a little grumpy, more aggressive on missions. I don't know what's gotten into him."

"Hmmm. Thanks, Pete."

"No problem, sweetheart. And if the big guy asks… "

"...this didn't come from you, I know." Weakly, you smile. "Say hi to my favourite Parkers, for me."

" 'Course I will. We should celebrate, if you're back officially. Mine and MJ's is always open."

"Good to know. I'll see you around."

He waves goodbye, and the hologram clicks off. Sighing, you try to piece together what you've just heard.

Miguel: acting weird. Well, you knew that already. Aggressive was new. And Lyla? She had canceled, but not for you, for some reason. An honest mistake, perhaps. But Lyla doesn't make mistakes…

You stew for a couple of hours, puttering about the switchboard, twiddling your thumbs. Something's wrong, and for some reason you're afraid to see him. To have him look straight through you, again, when you ask to do the same. Show me where it hurts. Tell me how to make it better.

On the way there, you chew your lip in anticipation. In the corridor, you're outside the door to his place, hand hovering above the door. To knock, to call. In the harsh fluorescent light, you hesitate.

"Lyla?" Nervously, you sink down onto the floor. It's hard to explain, but you don't expect her to actually come; to materialise in front of you.

"How can I assist you?" She says with a ding.

"Uhh… hi. Just wanted to talk." You pause, clicking your tongue. "Can you be honest with me?"

"I can only be honest with you. It is not in my programming to lie, unless specified by my owner."

"Sure. Cool. It's about him, actually. Is Miguel okay?"

She tilts her head, as if processing your request. "Okay is a subjective term. Is Mr O'Hara alive? Yes. Is Mr O'Hara physically well? Yes. By those terms, he is okay ."

Too vague for your own liking. "I guess I meant more… his emotional state. To the best of your knowledge… in your opinion , Lyla: is Miguel okay?"

"...I believe Mr O'Hara is experiencing some emotional turmoil."

You frown. "Oh. Do you know why?"

"Mr O'Hara has instructed me not to disclose that information with you."

"Fair enough. But you don't have to tell me… I could just ask questions?"

She nods. "There is nothing in my programming that prevents me from answering some questions within certain parameters."

"Did I do something? Not just today but… last time I was here. Did I say something to hurt or upset him? Is that why he's acting weird?"

"No." She says blankly. "And yes. I suppose it is… complicated." She gestures around that word.

"I'm a little confused, Lyla."

She sits next to you, on the cool tile. Not that she could feel it, but it feels more intimate - like two friends talking. The extent of Lyla's consciousness, you weren't sure of. Was she alive? To you, she might as well be. Could she think, feel, emote? Maybe, maybe not. You weren't smart enough to understand the nuances of her programming. But you were human enough to see it in her - something glittering beyond the surface.

It could be projection, but you swear her voice is softer. "He has a name for you. When he speaks about you, and to you. I have it logged in my memory database. Do you know what that is?" You shake your head.

Lyla opens up her palm and projects videos and images - little Miguel's popping up in her palm, tinny and gruff voices ringing through the hallway. They say your name, shout your name, whisper it. Some say other things in Spanish. Curse words had always been your assumption, and he had given you no reason to think otherwise. Now, having it played back to you, you hear a tenderness in his voice you would've missed. Words and phrases that come up again and again…

"Bichita." She repeats. "Bichito del amor. Mi bichito amoroso. "

You shake your head, still confounded. "...I don't speak Spanish, Lyla."

"Little bug. Sweetheart. Lovebug. My little lovebug." She clears her throat. "I believe they are terms of endearment."

Steadfast, she directs you towards her palm. Another small Miguel appears, and you think it's him from this morning.

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in, Lyla?"

"I did not let her in. She let herself in using the code you previously gave her, Mr O'Hara."

"Yeah, for emergencies. Fuck. Mi bichita, too smart for her own good."

"...If you are in distress, I believe she would understand, Mr O'Hara."

"I just think it's too much. I don't want her to see me like this."

"According to Alchemax files, previous subjects showing this kind of aggression benefitted from-"

"Lyla, it's not happening, no chance. I can't tell her."

The figure blinks out of her palm. "Mr O'Hara has forbid me from telling you about certain things."

"...but not from showing me." Your eyes meet hers. You give her a watery smile. "Thank you."

With a hint of a smile, she nods and is gone from the corridor. You are left alone, with nothing but your thoughts of little lovebugs rattling around in your brain.

#miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #across the spiderverse #kat_writes😼#this gif is fucking crazy btw

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sunny-knight · 4 days ago

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@forgettable-au FAN ANIMATION ! LOUD NOISE WARNING!

*What was it all for…?

Song: Vishnu <3 by Peter Cat Recording Co.

…okay.

The main inspiration for this…can be summed up with I LOVE HOW SAD THIS CONCEPT IS. BUT i also adore how WEIRD it is.

This whole thing must be pretty weird and creepy for the characters right??? Like- we dont know for certain what EXACTLY is gonna happen, but we know for a fact that Wingdings finds out hes in a game, then kills himself so he can be closer with god-

THATS PRETTY WEIRD 😭😭 also sad but we can ignore that for now

I also experimented a tad with this in working with silence, so timing things at my own pace! It was really hard! I HAD SO MUCH FUN!!!!!!!

But, time for my FAVORITE PART….ANALYSIS!!!

DISCLAIMER: some things stated as fact haven’t been said in the blog/arent canon to the au itself, just my animation/theories/interpretation, cause i’m silly and headcanoning :3

TITLE:

The proper title ive given this is “To You” which means 2 different and very vague things. What happened to you? and sending a message like “this is To You”.

In that case, “you” is whichever version of Papyrus/Wingdings/Gaster you want- Its not exactly clear which version of him means “you” which is kinda the point. The lines blur together sometimes…

But yeah, Gaster/crazy WD sends messages TOO himself so they’re “To You”

CONTEXT

Wingdings has JUST turned himself into Gaster. Ignore how impossible Sans interacting with him in this moment is, and just hear me out on the angst possibilities-

SCENE 1

As Sans approaches the mess- Gaster is encased in shadow, and looks at him. Expression not telling much- just looking blankly. Doesn’t even look like he’s alive… just… moving. Also the eye thats open, is just a slit. because- perspective. BUT I also had fun putting that there and going hehehehe it looks like WD/Papyrus’ eye

Sans approaches, and getting engulfed in the shadow, leaving the light.

His expression here was REALLY fun and REALLY hard to draw. Angry? maybe. stunned and terrified? DEFINITELY.

In this context (that doesn’t have a lot to go off of with the comics, YET) Sans knows that this was all very much intentional. He absolutely does not want to be angry, and is certainly only feeling it subconsciously.

But… he wanted so badly to understand, and enter his brother world. But now, Sans is just… Baffled. Hes like “what the fuck did you do???”

SCENE 2

Gaster continues to look blank. Looking up at Sans as he approaches, encasing him in even more shadow.

Sans’ hand reaches to Gasters face. From Sans’ perspective, his intentions are like checking for a pulse. Not literally ofc cause pulses arent on our face- but like, feeling for him. For a sign that something is there. (It’s also meant to be something motherly/comforting)

But then, Gaster leans into the touch, somewhat reciprocating this wordless “ive got you” gesture. That’s what makes Sans go from Terrified to just purely grief stricken. His brother is still alive. And he loves him.

But this form wont last for long…For universe fixing screw ups reasons :D 👍

SCENE 3

Gaster then opens his eyes, revealing hes even still got eye lights available for him. Thats what just SHATTERS the dam, and Sans embraces him suddenly.

SCENE(S) 4

Then, the “reset” happens, Gaster is gone, and Papyrus appears in place of Wingdings in his bed.

Nothing is boiling to add to a “frozen in terror” feeling!

Now- drawing all of the differences between the past and present rooms. DESTROYED ME. i HAD SO MUCH FUN BUT I ALSO CRIED 😭 There are no thank-you letters to santa, no racecar bed, no silly bone painting, no action figures, just BORING

I also wanted to keep everything monochromatic, so ofc we’ve got black and white for the void/Gaster, blue for Sans, red for Papyrus, and purple for Sans and Papyrus together.

The tape recorder and lab coat are still greyscale though cause Wingdings still has SOME of his stuff lying around. But the tapes are indecipherable, and Papyrus threw out that lab coat the first chance he got. It gave him the absolute worst feeling, worse than anything he’s ever experienced.

Something I also really enjoy is the fact that the dress shirts were still technically Wingdings’ but they’re red for Papyrus. The lab coat is the only real WINGDINGS thing that Papyrus wants absolutely no part in. Some things that were Wingdings’ are now Papyrus’ cause :D👍

in place of the bone painting are just family photos that I also have extra to say about. Someday I wanna make a comic of what happened to those/what I think would happen to em.

One day Papyrus is like “HEY UH- SANS! THESE PHOTOS! I DON’T LIKE LOOKING AT THEM! CAN WE NOT!?” Aka, he doesn’t remember these things happening/these photos being taken… BUT THEYRE PHOTOS OF HIM.

So he just feels really uncomfortable looking at memories he should reasonably remember, but doesn’t at all- and Sans gets that. But he keeps em in his drawer. Then! they hung up the bone thing in place of it cause SILLY!

But the family photos, I still had fun with. From left to right theyre a photo of Semi with the twins, the twins as baby bones, then as slightly older kids, then WDs graduation photo.

CONCLUSION!

This entire thing was so much fun, and I feel i’ve really grown as an artist over the process of experimenting and not being knocked down by annoying setbacks,

Also, as usual, Works In Progress’ plus extra behind the scenes stuff will be posted shortly after this!! YIPPEEE!!! HAPPY NIGHTMARES!!!!!

OHHHH ALSO EXTRA ART!!!

“AREN’T THEY BEAUTIFUL?”

That silly moment when your clone is really weirdly obsessed with stars and enthusiastically holds your eye sockets open to show you them

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billieshrry · 27 days ago

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Every Breath You Take • B.E.

Part 2! Part one here

Summary: idk read part 1 first

Warnings: psycho!billie, murder, violence, no smut but sexual tension

A/n: eh idk how i feel ab this but i might lowkey make this a series cus i love writing psycho!billie its so fun. PLS comment if you would be at all interested in that!!

If nobody is gonna read it I’m not gonna plan out a whole series so either leave a comment or leave an anon or something! Also i like that attention so everyone should comment or leave an anon anyways 😊

It had been 2 weeks after your boyfriend died. 2 weeks of confusion and sadness. 2 weeks of you being horrified of what happened and if you were next. The police found his body in what they said was “the most gruesome and awful” condition. The thought that someone could do this was terrifying to you. You couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that someone could do this to another human. You were grieving.

The only person that seemed to understand was your neighbor, Billie.

When you got the news of his passing, you were outside watering your flowerbed. Immediately you broke down, sobbing loudly in your front lawn. Embarrassing, yes, but you couldn’t help it. Billie happened to be outside working out. It’s like she was always there when you needed her most, you thought. She saw you crumble to the ground and quickly took her headphones off, running across the street to your aid.

“Hey, hey, baby what happened?” You hear her behind you, her hands on your shoulder. Her thumbs rubbed soothing circles into your shoulder blades. You were able to stutter through your cries that the police had contacted you.

You told her your boyfriend had been murdered.

You heard Billie sigh, and then she leaned in to kiss the top of your spine.

“I’m so sorry, angel. Let’s go inside, hm? I’ll make you coffee. You need to relax.”

So you let her bring you inside, let her fix you up a cup of coffee and some snacks, and you both sat on your couch, turning on the news to see if there was anything about the murder. You snuggled up into Billie’s arm, unable to sit alone to watch it.

You couldn’t be alone. You needed her. You needed Billie.

So when the news said there were no leads, and it seemed to be so animalistic that they thought wolves could’ve done it, Billie snuggled you tighter.

She knew she wouldn’t get caught. She’d been pulling this off for years. Why would they get her now? And even if this matched the M.O. from her past murders, she’s in a new state, a new town, and it had been 2 years.

Plus, they always blamed it on the animals in the woods. That’s why she always picked rural places to move to.

So while you used Billie to cope for the next few weeks, you really started to fall for her. She would scratch your back, comforting you when you were sad. You even opened up to her about your personal life. Your family, your job, even how your ex (can you say that now?) boyfriend was abusive.

Of course, Billie knew all of this already. She knew everything about you. But you didn’t need to know that. Instead, she’d hum, stroking your hair and telling you that you can trust her. And you could, because she was really starting to fall for you too. Everything was perfectly falling into place. Finally, she could have you to herself.

“Come over to mine tonight.” Billie said softly, leaving your house one morning after you made her pancakes and hot chocolate. You smiled. You had never been to her house. You didn’t really think anything of it, you didn’t feel like she was hiding anything from you, but you were excited. You finally got to see more of her. It made you happy.

“I’m off work at 6, is that okay?”

She smiles, gently grabbing your face to kiss your forehead.

“I don’t want to wait that long, but I guess I will. Want me to pick you up from work?” You chuckle. How did you get so lucky? The girl was so sweet, she was perfect.

“If you want, but I don’t want you going all tha-”

Billie cuts you off.

“I want. I’ll see you at 6, angel.”

And so you went off to work, and she walked home.

And for the next 7 hours of her day, she did nothing.

She wondered her house way too many times, perfecting each picture frame and candle and dusting off every surface. She wanted you to love it there. She wanted it to be like another home to you. Finally, 5:00 came around. She went to get ready, showering and doing her hair. She changed her clothes, putting on something comfortable but stylish, and got into her car. You texted her the address earlier in the day, but she already knew it.

As she drives towards your work, she stops at a small drive thru coffee shop, getting you a little pick me up. She pulled into your job parking lot at 5:58, parked, and waited patiently. When she sees you come out of the doors, she smiles to herself. Even when you were exhausted, you looked beautiful. As soon as you get in the car, you spot the coffee Billie got you, and you can’t wipe your smile off of your face.

“Thank you Billie, I had a really bad day.”

Billie’s heart clenches.

“Wanna talk while I drive us home? I’m all ears for you.”

And she really was all ears, turning down the music as you rant about some shitty coworker who made your life a living hell. It wasn’t that bad, but after the past few weeks, it was really your final straw. Billie doesn’t say anything, she just listens and nods her head after every few sentences.

“But, it’s okay though, ‘cause now I’m with you!” You say, smiling with your teeth on full display. Billie looks at you, and she feels her heart race.

“I’ll make your day better, sweetheart. Just wait ‘til we get home.”

As soon as you two walk in the door and you set down your purse on her kitchen island, you admire her house. It really is beautiful. It feels so homey; the family photos, pictures of her childhood pets, her and friends on various vacations. You walk around, taking in all of the plants she had scattered around, and all of the color that she used while decorating.

“You like it?” She asks, standing by the table.

“It’s gorgeous. You really have a knack for interior design!”

Billie just chuckles and walks up behind you, gently putting her hands on your waist, resting her chin on your shoulder.

“Wanna get a bit more comfortable?”

You turn around, smiling, and ask for a pair of pajama pants. She comes back with 2 pairs in different colors - one pink and one black - and a tank top for you as well.

“Take your pick. The bathroom to change is down that hallway and to the left.” She points.

You bite your lip, thinking about how she might react if you just changed in front of her. You know it’s not that crazy, I mean friends change in front of each other all the time, but you wanted her to know how you felt. You wanted her to know your body. You wanted her to think you’re sexy.

You wanted her.

As she turned to walk into the kitchen, getting something to drink, you turn your back to her. You start with your shirt, lifting it over your head slowly. You can hear the water coming out of the fridge, so you can’t tell if she’s watching yet. You slide the tank top on, and move to your pants.

You unbutton them, and then lean forward, slowly peeling them down your legs. You hear the water glass hit the counter harshly, making you jump.

“Couldn’t make it to the bathroom?” You hear Billie ask sarcastically.

“Thought you’d wanna see, I’m sorry.” You say shyly, not turning around but instead bending over farther, your ass on plain display in the cutest pair of heart-covered panties.

“Well, I never told you to stop.” She says. You can hear her pull out a barstool, presumably sitting down to watch you.

Billie’s head is spinning. She had no idea how dirty you really were. I mean, she watched you from the window, doing this exact same thing, but now that it was right in front of her? Truly for her? She was going to have an aneurysm.

You pull on the pink pajama pants, slightly jumping to get them over your butt. When you bend back down to pick up your clothes, you feel Billie’s presence behind you. She lightly traces her finger down your spine as you’re bent over in front of her, and you freeze. You feel her crotch connect to your ass. Her finger goes all the way down to the waistband of your underwear, and she toys with it, lifting it so it snaps back down onto your sensitive skin. You jump.

“You’re so pretty.” She whispers. She hears your breath pick up.

“You think so?”

“I know so, baby. Now let’s go watch a movie.” She pats your ass, making you yelp, and you hear her breathe out a laugh at the noise.

If it were up to Billie, she would’ve had you in about 12 positions already. But she wants to take her time with you. She wants to do it right. She needs to.

You both move to the couch, and you snuggle up next to her as she chooses something to watch. When you both decide on a show, you wiggle your head into her neck, and she lightly scratches your back and scalp.

The innocent noises you make from that drive her wild, but she knows you’re not doing it on purpose. Your hand rests on her thigh, rubbing circles with your thumb. Billie can’t think straight.

Well, actually, there’s one thing she can think straight about.

How she’s going to kill that bitch of a coworker that ruined your day.

You sigh in contentment, happy with where your life has taken you. You have a sweet, sweet neighbor, who you might fall in love with. Who gets that lucky? You don’t even think she would hurt a fly. You watch her eyebrows twitch as she focuses on the show.

“I really like you, Billie.” You say softly, almost embarrassed. She turns her head and hums, either from not hearing you or because she wants to hear it again.

“I said, I really like you, Billie.” Your giggles soak into her brain, and she smiles.

“I really like you, too. You have no idea how much I would do for you.”

You giggle a little more and Billie squeezes your hip playfully.

“Well, then do it all for me!”

She looks at you, enamored by the glimmer in your eyes. She leans in, your foreheads touching. She can feel your heart beating out of your chest.

“Don’t worry baby, I will.” She whispers out before leaning in, gently capturing your lips in hers. Your brain turns to mush, her pillowy lips encasing yours. Your tongues mingle for just a second before she pulls away, leaving you breathless.

“Now, watch the show.”

So you do, not knowing that 4 days later, the girl driving you wild with a simple kiss would kidnap and murder your coworker so you didn’t deal with her bullying anymore.

You had no idea that Billie would drag her into the same basement, blasting old rap music this time, and carve the heart right out of that little bitch’s chest. She told you she couldn’t see you that night, she had her own work thing to attend with her brother, something about a studio.

It was hard for you to pay attention when the girl talking to you was so beautiful.

And it was hard for Billie to pay attention to your coworker in front of her, because all she could think about was your pretty little body, your bright eyes, and your smile.

But alas, she thought about the ugly whore in front of her long enough to kill her, hide the body, and clean up before she came over to your house late, telling you that she just got home from the studio and couldn’t go another minute without you.

“You’re really the sweetest, Billie. I mean it.”

She smiles.

“Only for you, sweetheart.”

And when the news blasted the story of the missing girl, Billie was the one you ran to. Billie was the one that held you tight, kissing your head and whispering sweet nothings into your ears, telling you everything would be okay. She promised you that you would be okay.

Billie didn’t have to feign sadness, seeing you this sad was heartbreaking for her. She didn’t kill for you so you could be sad. She killed for you so bad people were out of your life.

She only wanted what was best for you! You knew that, you could tell that Billie really cared about you. She always wanted you to be okay, always asked about how you were feeling and how your day went. She was so caring, so passionate toward you.

You really might be falling in love with her.

A week after your coworker was “found dead in the woods, possibly by animals again,” the town went back to normal. You went back to work, with Billie dropping you off and picking you up every day. You thought you’d have to beg her to agree to doing it, but it was a lot easier than you thought. Not only did you just enjoy spending time with her, but you were scared to be alone. You didn’t want to die, not by the hands of animals or a crazy killer on the loose, whatever it was.

Billie agreed, saying it’s for the best if she keeps a watchful eye on you.

So on you two went with your lives, busy with each other and busy with yourselves. Work kept you occupied, unable to think too much about how two people in your life had vanished. And you kept Billie occupied, as she made mental notes of who you talked to, who you liked, and who you didn’t.

Specifically the last one on that list.

#billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish #billieshrry #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #billie x reader #billie eilish smut #billie eilish fandom #billie eilish fic

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towncritte · 2 months ago

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Red Destiny AU Lore Dump

I'm deciding to compile all the lore dumps I did so far on Twitter, into this post.

Stuff is subjected to change in the future, but this post is just to help you guys get bits of the story.

It's still a work in progress AU, and nothing is entirely set in stone but regardless, I do hope this helps.

Here's Dogday's reference sheet and info:

Here is a quick summary of what's going on in this Dimension: The Smiling Critters live in another dimension, which the portal was located in a Toy Factory. The humans entered and started ruling over the place, along with ruling several different towns to have control over the creatures within said dimension.

The story for now mostly focuses on Smiling Valley where the Smiling Critters live.

Due to the humans mostly seeing the Smiling Valley citizens as if they are Zoo Animals or an attraction of sorts, the small town finds it difficult to have supplies and have a tendency to get a shortage.

Most humans visiting aren't aware of the abuse going on done by Scientists that want to study the Critter Citizens as if they are Lab Rats, or the abuse of Soldiers/Guards hungry for a power trip.

That's the summary of the condition of the town so far.

For the most part the story for now will be pretty focused on Dogday and his perspective, as well as the other critters.

Catnap's whereabouts and what he is doing will be a mystery.

I want this AU to feel like an ominous mystery of what's going on.

Here's more lore drop of the pooch:

Declawing Trauma:

Dogday was declawed. Bubba, during Dogday receiving therapy, tried to get as much supplies and knowledge as he can to fix Dogday's hands/paws.

During those 3 years, Dogday couldn't hold things due to how bad the condition of his hands were.

Dogday had to constantly wear bandages and deal with pain for the past 3 years, making his mental recovery difficult, and feeling like a burden to his friends for helping him.

Catnap CONSTANTLY had to reassure Dogday nothing was his fault and would constantly comfort him.

Dogday, despite everything, held onto hope Bubba would restore his claws.

Bubba had to eventually settle for reshaping Dogday's hands to paws so Dogday wouldn't feel so much pain anymore. (He had to use extra bones from Dogday's hands to do this.)

Dogday was depressed about this but overtime did manage to get through therapy without being in so much pain anymore and had to learn to hold things with his newly reshaped paws. (Tho he still has some trauma)

Catnap held a HEAVY grudge against the scientists that hurt Dogday.

These traumatizing events will show how it's affected Day as the story goes.

Dogday does know about The Prototype and what Catnap's been doing. Not fully aware, the Moon is in a cult of sorts hidden outside of town.

Catnap at one point, gave Dogday hope about his claws before he left Smiling Valley as he was called upon by The Prototype:

Catnap wasn't being malicious when he showed them off, he just wanted to give Dogday a reason to support his beliefs. Catnap wasn't declawed, but he was given much deadlier claws.

Speaking of Catnap, here's his beta ref sheet:

In the future, I'll make him a colored reference sheet once I have this AU organized.

Dogday's eyes:

When Day's eyes would be fading back to white, Mini Moon immediately tells Day to go home and sleep. He then administers the red smoke again.

GORE WARNING!

Dogday developing violent tendencies:

At some point, Dogday starts to develop violent urges due to the Plush's manipulation and mind warping.

(Since I DO NOT plan to rip off Dogday's legs EVER! I'm going with this route as a nod to what happened in the game, but its in reverse)

This is so far the lore dump of the AU. I'll look back at this in the future as I continue the story to see how I can tie things together, or what to change or what I like or don't like.

If you don't understand this, it's okay.

Again, this is just a lore dump post to understand the AU so far in it's Work In Progress stage.

And to help me read over stuff and see what I can do with it.

Again, stuff is subjected to change, including designs. So nothing is entirely permanent.

I made the Plush Delivery comic back on Twitter originally as a one off in it's old version. But over time, I liked the concept so much I started forming it into a story and redid Plush Delivery.

I do hope you'll enjoy wherever Red Destiny's story will go.

Who knows what lies ahead for the red path the pooch is following.

" A red destiny awaits you Sunshine….are you ready?" -Catnap

Thank goodness, I'm done writing this all down. xnx

#dogday #smiling critters #smiling critters fanart #catnap #catnap x dogday #poppy playtime #comics #bubba bubbaphant #dogday fanart #smiling critters au #red destiny au #lore dump

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seoulmatez · 5 months ago

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— 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑔𝑒𝑜𝓃 𝓈𝒶𝓂𝓊 ౨ৎ

miya osamu x reader. 0.7k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ papa!osamuﾉ reader is referred to as mom ﾉ repost!

a/n: father's day drabbled #3! kuroo's version and atsumu's version are available to read :3 suna tomorrow!

“dad, odie got mr. stuffins.” at the voice, osamu looks down beside him as he turns off the faucet to the kitchen sink. your daughter stands with her hands held out, her favorite stuffed animal nearly in tatters. the fabric is torn open by the threads, exposing the fluffy stuffing. and the offender is nowhere to be found.

“oh no. how about i hold onto him until mom gets home to patch him up?” osamu leans down to her level after drying off his hands.

“nuh-uh. he needs surgery right away!” the girl thrusts the damaged bear into his chest.

“i know, baby. i just don’t want to ruin your toy.” well, ruin it beyond its already ruined state. despite the stuffed bear already being torn apart, osamu’s sure that if he gets his hands on it, it might just end up looking worse. it’s more than likely that your daughter is already harboring ill feelings for the poor family dog and osamu doesn’t want to be next.

“daaad, you gotta fix him now. please?” she sticks out her bottom lip in a pout, fat tears pooling in her dark eyes. osamu swears he can hear a little sniffle.

how can he say no to that face?

“okay, okay. i’ll see what i can do.”

maybe it wasn’t the best idea for osamu to offer his services so hastily. even after several youtube tutorials, he still isn’t completely confident in his abilities to mend the broken. before now, he’s never had any reason to learn to sew. to make things worse, a whole piece of the fuzzy material is nowhere to be found. at this rate, even if the tutorials were of any help, he still wouldn’t be able to sew mr. stuffins back together.

but he’ll make this work—for her.

that’s how osamu ends up cutting up an old pair of his pajama pants to stitch your daughter’s beloved toy back together. it takes longer than he imagined it would to fit all the stuffing back into the bear and he poked himself with the needle more times than he could count, but, eventually, the task is done. the plushie is in considerably better shape than when it was brought to him, but it’s far from the bear your daughter knew.

after building up the courage to present the new and somewhat improved teddy to your daughter, osamu makes his way back into the living room where the girl sits coloring at the coffee table. upon hearing her father’s footsteps, the girl drops her crayons and runs to his feet. she looks up to him with expectant eyes.

“dad tried his best, but mr. stuffins looks really different,” osamu admits. it probably won’t be much help—the warning, that is, but he wants to prepare her for the very unfamiliar version of her old friend.

she bounces on the balls of her feet, excited for the fated reunion.

“if you don’t like it, i’ll buy you a new one.” he finally pulls the bear from behind his back, presenting it to the little girl. she quickly grabs it, eyes silently taking in all of the changes to her toy. osamu waits for a reaction. he never thought he’d be one to seek his kid’s approval, but today seems to be full of surprises. this moment is more nerve-wracking than any volleyball game he’d played in high school.

“so…” osamu starts, not able to wait any longer. he’s feeling just as impatient as her now. “how’d i do?”

“mr. stuffins is wearing your clothes,” she giggles, running her little fingers over the recognizable flannel patch. the tiny smile on her face and the absence of disappointed cries must be a sign that he’d done something right, but osamu wants to know for sure.

“you like it, then?”

“mhm, i can’t wait to show mom!” she hurries back to her place at the coffee table, surely excited to update mr. stuffins on everything he missed while he was undergoing his operation. thinking better, she stops in her tracks. the girl turns on her heel to make her way back to osamu. she wraps her arms around his leg in a hug, the bear trapped between her body and osamu’s limb.

“thank you, dad!”

he sets a hand on the top of her head, ruffling the strands of hair. “you’re welcome, sweetheart.”

thanks for reading! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: haikyuu #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #osamu fluff #haikyuu fluff #osamu drabble #haikyuu drabbles

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sushis-wild-imagination · 7 months ago

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SVT How they calm you down when you’re crying (All members)

Seventeen Masterlist (more preferences/short fics) Im open to requests! Genre: Fluff fluff, tooth rotting fluff

→Choi Seungcheol

You had been feeling out of sorts for a month now, the doctors could tell you nothing of substance that could change the way you’re feeling other than the fact that it’ll pass, you’ve just got to pull through it.

But the thoughts in your head soon bottled up to anxiety and you couldn’t sit with it anymore. You freaked yourself out too much. You had an full body check up tomorrow, just for a check up to rule out something bigger. The possibility of them finding something fatal worried you to a point where tears streamed down your face without you realising.

You ended up going into the living room where your boyfriend was. Without showing your face or letting him find out you were crying, you climb into his lap. All attempts of sneaking went to vain, he immediately knew something was wrong.

“Are you okay?”

That’s all it took for you to shake and sob out of fear. He looked ready to fight someone. If only he could fight an MRI machine. You somehow tell him you were terrified of this scanning.

He did exactly what you wanted and held you close like a baby, occasionally kissing your head with reassuring words.

→Yoon Jeonghan

You walked home very dejected and sad about your day at work today. You had this wall breaking idea for a campaign, that a senior pretty much stole credit for and you instead got accused of not contributing your ideas to the team.

It was frustrating because you couldn’t call out this senior nor could you defend yourself. Just a shitty shitty day.

You felt like you were holding yourself together until you could get home to let go. All day you were just waiting.

You finally got home and Yoon Jeonghan, your fiance, opens the door. You slowly walk towards him looking tired and frustrated, a hug is all you needed to let go.

“Whats wrong?” He asked softly rubbing the back of your head.

You tell him all that happened, vent out every frustration in tears.

“Do you want to plot a revenge plan? That ought to make you feel better” he says looking the most mischievous looking gremlin he has. It makes you chuckle. He really can fix anything.

→Hong Joshua

‘I regret to inform you that, after careful and thorough consideration’

You slam the laptop close. Why were you so sad, this university is not even your first preference. It’s alright that you didn’t get in, you didn’t even want to go.

But if you don��t even get into your 4th preference school, how do you expect the better schools to accept you? This thought rallied you head for at least 10 minutes, while thoughts of your future education brought tears to your eyes.

You sit blank infront of your desk, feeling horrible looking at this email.

“Hey, I’m making some coffee, do you want-” Joshuas voice fades out when he sees you.

“Is everything alright?”

You shake your head, while he comes over to give you a hug. You hug his torso from your desk chair. You tell him whats wrong and also ask him for some space, he gladly gives you space when he knows you’re not crying anymore.

You sit alone with your thoughts for sometime, the tears had now dried up.

He had come back with some of your favourite flowers and your favourite subway order. He knew your comfort food and you couldn’t be more grateful to Joshua that day.

→Moon JunHui

There was a lingering empty feeling in your apartment and your heart.

You had rescued a kitten a month ago from a dumpster, all injured. You and your boyfriend Jun, decided to take care of it until its better and raise it together. You named her Layla.

Layla was the cutest cat, it pained you that she was abandoned. Many people thinks its okay to adopt an animal and just abandon it whenever it doesn’t suit them, its cruel.

Today you gave Layla up to a shelter to get adopted hopefully by a better family.

The separation only hit you once you got back home. There was no meowing in the background, there were no sounds of little footsteps in the apartment, it was all too quiet.

Before you know it you were crying and jun was right by your side, wiping your tears with the sleeves of his tee shirt.

“Do you want to adopt Layla instead?” He suggests. “We could do it together, we’ll figure something out”

You couldn’t be happier, you hugged Jun through your tears.

→Kwon Hoshi

He was leaving, for the 100th time. Goodbyes are always so tough with him. He was packing his suitcase to go back to his country, again. And who knows when we’ll see each other again.

Long distance was going to be the death of you.

“Do you have to go?” You ask again, as if the answer is miraculously going to change.

When he zips up his suitcase and props it up, seeing that is all it took for you to start crying about your goodbye in advance. All he could do was hug you, hold you, kiss you saying that you’ll see each other soon.

He sees some snot from all the crying you’ve been doing and immediately offers his hoodies sleeve to wipe it on, that makes you laugh as you scatter for a tissue. He’s adorable.

He lets you keep this tiger plushie he had got from his country as keepsake. Saying ‘we will see each other again’

You can not sleep without that tiger plushie anymore.

→Jeon Wonwoo

You had an image of adulthood and living alone. A lot of friends around you, partying almost everyday, doing something new all the time, hikes, midnight drives, late night snack runs without having to answer to anyone. This is what you thought living alone meant.

But boy were you so wrong. It’s lonely. You’ve always been a floater with friends and never really had one set of friends you could completely rely on. This picture perfect adulthood you dreamt of, needed good relationships. Relationships you found so hard to make.

Your boyfriend, also your only friend in the city, came over.

You ended up talking to him about how you felt, and subconsciously he suggested a walk. He held your hand through the walk until you felt better. You were grateful.

→Lee Jihoon

You needed to quit that job, everything about it was so toxic, the boss was a narcissist that made horrible jokes. You had mentioned you enjoyed F1 and he decided to quiz you infront of your colleagues on your knowledge of it because what girl can like a sport in the true sense. It was solely to put you down in front of people. everyone laughs along like it was a given that you couldn’t possibly know the sport.

You refused to answer and give in, but you were scared it came off as you not knowing the answer to the question.

You came back home feeling absolutely humiliated in front of your colleagues and it made you feel low to a point where tears had made an entrance.

Your boyfriend, calls you once you get home to check on your day, finds a crying girlfriend on facetime. He offers to cone to you but you decline. He didn’t have to come all the way. He just ended up comforting you with words. No wonder he writes songs. He has a way with sentences and metaphors.

You felt better after talking to him, almost instantly.

→Seo Myungho

You’ve been feeling worried and anxious all day, despite the fact that you’re spending an entire day with the love of your life, Minghao, something ate away at you. You heard news from mom that one of her cousins had passed. He was her age, you couldn’t imagine what it would’ve felt like for her.

You’ve had friends die and natural death at this young of an age had you rattled, you couldn’t help but feel for her.

After half a day of observing you, minghao finally asked you. “Is there something on your mind?”

You explain to him every passing thought you had, even ones that only stayed for a fraction of a second.

Hao held both your hands in his, and reassured you that you’re parents are going to be okay and with you for a long time. He validates your feelings, that’s the most important thing, he never denies that the fear is rational. You loved him for that. He cups your cheek and brushed off the rogue tear that escaped your eye.

He ends up buying the both of you ice cream so you feel better.

→Kim Mingyu

“You’re crying?”

isn’t it sad? You were watching this movie ‘walk to remember’ its about a religious girl who has cancer and a boy falls in love with her as her condition worsens. She eventually dies but they manage to marry before that happens.

You couldn’t help but imagine what it must feel like to be in love with someone knowing its going to shatter your heart into million pieces when it’s their time to leave. And loving someone despite that takes so much courage.

You explain all this to mingyu and he agrees while he passes you a box of tissues he had handy. He tucks your hair behind your ears taking a good look at your crying face.

“How does someone cry so much but you’re still adorable, its unfair” he changes subject and makes you chuckle.

→Lee Dokyeom

Watching a try not to cry video with Dokyeom should not have been a plan at all, but here you were, watching dying dogs have their last day at beach, soliders reuniting with family and little kids being the sweetest.

You were both crying a little, safe to say you both lost. You giggle when you make eye contact with each other. He pulls at his tee shirt to wipe your tears that makes you giggle more.

Everytime you cried, dokyeom made sure you laughed. He’d crack the lamest of jokes or pull a funny face, he was adorable.

→Boo Seungkwan

Seungkwan was in the kitchen making dinner when you found a hand written letter on your vanity. You and Seungkwan were on two different schedules at this point, you barely got to see your boyfriend. It was devastating, but each day you pull through, because you love each other.

The letter said all the sweetest things, reassuring you that the both of you were going strong and you’d find a way to be with each other against all tides. It was a promise he made on paper.

Little did you know, you had dropped some tears on the letter. You held up the letter walking into the kitchen, “I love you for this” you croak out between tears and a tight feeling in your throat.

He comes over to hug you, he rubs your back as he tells you he wouldn’t have done it if he knew it would’ve made you cry. It was tears of happiness.

He pecks your lips and wipes your tears with the back of his palm. “Lets eat something” he says and distracts you with food.

→Choi Vernon

You were checking your grades on your phone next to Vernon who was turning the tv on.

Your head was in his chest while you logged into your student account. You were delighted to see all A’s but one C. It didn’t make sense, you had studied so hard for it. How was the grade so low? Is it wrong? Did you misunderstand questions, it was one of your weaker subjects and you had studied so hard. It was a difficult subject.

Without you realising there were some tears in your eyes. You had given it your best, was your best not good enough? Were you not smart enough for the subject matter? All sorts of self doubt and questions come to mind as you stare at your phone.

He pats your head and says you can do better next time. He’s right, there’s always a next time. What’s an accomplishment if there’s no struggle.

→Lee Chan

You met Chan's friends for the first time tonight and you were nervous. You had decided to stick by Chan's side the whole time and try to be the most extroverted you can possibly be. Being an introvert this was a huge task for you to overcome. You just wanted his friends to like you.

You've always been an outcast in school and there was a deep seated insecurity in you about making new friends or being likeable enough.

His friends were the sweetest people and made you feel included in every conversation and even explained all the inside jokes to you. You were grateful. To your surprise you didn't have to stick to his side the whole night. You sighed of relief because you didn't want to burden Chan like that.

It was a fun party and you almost cried a little by the night ended and you were alone with Chan. It was as if you found your people and your inner child was healed.

"Did you like them?"

You nodded at Chan with your eyes a little wattery, you felt stupid crying about something so trivial. But he understood what it was really about.

———

Im open to requests!

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nuggetpool-hi · 1 day ago

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Guess who watched X-Men origins again

OK SO I got THOUGHTS of this movie but specially Wade's fight style because it's really similar to our current Deadpool's fighting style... so yeah I wanna yap about that hi

WELL FIRST OF wanna talk a lil about Victor, Logan and Wade's different styles... from a mortal's view point I am no expert on this just insane about these movies and I need to write my thoughts or i'll explode

Starting with Victor!! the ultimate kittycat girlypop

I love his kitty self I'm sorry ANYWAY EXAMPLES

youtube

OKAY SO VICTOR. Victor's style is obviously very animalistic but also stylized, he makes the fight a show for himself! He likes to hunt and he tries to always give chase or play around a bit before the kill, just like a cat playing with his food!

AND IF you pay attention to the start of the movie, this game he's got with his target isn't initially how he fought, he kinda developed it as the years went by and the eviler he got the more he played with his food. The first few wars he goes to he's fighting like a human soldier, then you can see him slip up some animal jumps and uses his claws more until at the end he's full on predator chasing his prey (just like when he captures Scott, my god I love that scene he's terryfing)

AND A BIG DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HIM AND LOGAN (that I will also talk about later I guess) is that with this play thing Victor has going on it SHOWS that he THINKS about the stragety when fighting, he's aware of his surroundings and his target's strenghs and weaknesses, he's good at coming up with solutions on the spot (see his fight with John, he can predict where he's going to teleport and catch him) and how to give a good chase without losing WHILE LOGAN WELL, at least in this movie he seems very lost when fighting?? he mostly just launches at his target and attacks, if the target runs away he chases, very animalistic but in a feral-based on instincts way... prolly why he coulnt win agaisnt Victor at first, because he was being blinded by his rage while Victor was quite literally playing with him lmao

ANYWAY LOGAN our favorite traumatized babygirl

and boy does he suffer in this one aughh EXAMPLES

youtube

Now you must be wondering why did I put the bathroom scene, well I feel like it represents Logan's general situation pretty well! (and its silly let me be), hes confused destroying everything and just keeps making it worse every time he tries to fix it.

The thing about Logan in this movie is that he's honestly just- confused and angry from the moment he killed his father, he runs away over and over again from EVERYTHING and he's constantly being manipulated BY EVERYONE!! Poor man has no idea what to do with himself of who he can actually trust but damn he tries, his enviroment is contantly changing and he's trying his best to adapt but he does it in a messy way.

The way he fights and acts in general is animalistic, yes, but more of the "scared dog attacks" kind of way, he's always acting on his instinct that it's mostly led by anger. When he fights he just throws himself and tries to slash whatever he can, he runs he hides and then when he gets the chance to he attacks again.

He constantly has little to no control of the situtation WHICH IS SPECIALLY SEEN pre-adamantium where he keeps losing to Victor because unlike him- he has no plan, he's being manipulated and kept blind of everything ON PURPOUSE which obviouly puts him in a disadvantage so yeah.

AFTER he gets the adamantium you can see his skills strengen with his knowledge, the more he lears about his situation the more focused he is and his fighting it's cleaner, he still moslty just launches himself head first into fights BUT he's not running away, he's able to evaluate his situation and adapt (See his fight with Gambit, he looks at him when running away and then destroys the stair so Gambit can't run away OR with Deadpool where he decides to gain height as a way to create the space needed to evaluate his enemy?? that one might be a lil bit of a stretch tho)

WADE WILSON THE ULTIMATE CUTIE PRINCESS

let's ignore how dirty they did him ok...

OKAY SO SADLY- The bullet scene is pretty much the only scene where we see him fight and it's honestly not enough to tell how his normal style is BUT I WILL SAY his general style is fancy to look at and scarily effective (which is mostly seen with our current Wade but you can see a bit in origins deadpool) he makes a show for everyone to see, which is also his stragedy to make himself even better at combat! He uses a lot of fancy movements and acrobatics that help him AND takes his enemies off-guard, confusing them as where they should attack or what he's going to hit?? anyway-

Comparison time yippieee THIS IS WHAT THIS POST IS SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT LMAO

I did not get side tracked idk what you mean.... and now seeing it over and over I'm realizing not that noticeable.... so it's just not that much to talk about oops

LOOK AT THIS WADE, LOOK AT THE MOVEMENTS HE DOES WITH HIS LEGS!! HIS HANDS??? THIS MAN IS SHOWING OFF he's using all kinds of acrobatics and fancy movements while fighting, he attacks with his hands and dodges using mostly his legs, he's using all he has!! and it's making Logan lose BECAUSE LOGAN CAN'T FOCUS!! specially since he's so "target locked will attack", Wade makes it SO HARD for him to focus on a pose long enough to actually stab him also Logan ain't too good at dodging, I'm guessing it could be because he heals? dunno

now what inmediately came to my mind upon rewatch was THIS scene (maybe because I saw it recently who knows)

THE SETTING IS SO SIMILAR!! Wade is using a lot of fancy movements to get up, dodge and attack all way too fast for Logan to process, once again Logan is looking everywhere confused about where to aim bc this silly red guy it's dancing on his face and he's struggling to keep up JUST LIKE IN ORIGINS except well he IS able to get a hit bahah

Dodges like crazy, jumps over Logan (he did in origins too) just moves a lot between every attack

Actually now that I think about it Wade feels a bit less effective in the car, like yes sure he's putting up a good fight but Logan still feels like he's leading it BECAUSE WADE IS MORE EFFECTIVE WHEN HE HAS MORE SPACE!! he likes to be able to move around and do gimnastics while Logan it's a lot better the closer he gets to his target so omg yeah... ALSO LIKE WADE STILL TRIES TO MOVE AROUND he shoves Logan away from him, he gets out of the car choking logan with a seatbelt and gets to the back, he tries to create space because that's where his speciality WHILE LOGAN keeps trying to get closer to have him in his power, which he gets to do since the car isn't allowing Wade to move as freely as he would want to...

AND YOU CAN SEE HIS FANCY MOVEMENTS WITH FRANCIS TOO he's constantly circuling him, dodging and spinning while Francis is just trying to get a hit, Wade keeps his enemies chasing him when he fight THAT'S the way he controls it and gets it wherever he wants aughh

ANYWAY YEAH I think that's it, don't really know how much sense any of this does since I've been writing it on-and off the whole day lmao it's so messy but yeah feel free to add onto it I'd love to see opinions on this wahoo

Might keep talking about stuff I find interesting in the movies bahah this has been funn

#deadpool and wolverine #wade wilson #logan howlett #deadpool 3 #deadpool #xmen origins #james logan howlett #origins deadpool #x men origins wolverine #Youtube

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kafka-ish · 3 months ago

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I think if Art wasn’t as serious about tennis he’d be such a coworker. Maybe it’d be in between summers at Stanford and it’s your first week there. He’s scheduled to train you, show you the ropes but when you first walk in he thinks you’re just another customer, a really pretty customer that’s got him changing up the script. Hey! How’s it going? What can I do for you? Find everything alright? He’s already thinking of ways he can slip you his number, maybe he’ll write it on your receipt. And he’s typing in his ID to give you his discount, anything until you say, “Actually, I work here.”

Art stops typing. Looks up, completely dumbstruck because you’re too pretty to be selling yourself out for some minimum wage corporation, to be doing any sort of labor. You need to be taken care of; any reason you should step foot in here would be to pick out a new tennis racket for a match you have. But you’re here. You work here. So he cancels out the order and says something about how he’ll get you a t-shirt, stay there.

He’ll take you to the back where the employee bathrooms are. You watch his fingers when he punches the numbers. “It’s like a six,” he says, and you think about that every time you use the code to get in. He waits for you outside the door while you’re changing, wishing he could get a glimpse, wishing he could be on the other side. He gets hard just thinking about it. He thinks about the kind of bra you’re wearing, if you’re wearing one, what you look like underneath the fabric. And he thinks you look so cute in that work-issued uniform even if the collar of your shirt isn’t folded over correctly - it only gives him the urge to reach over and fix it. Sorry, he says when he retracts his hand and sees the look you give him. He doesn’t mean it, not entirely, by the way a smile starts working its way on his face.

Art would give you a tour before you get started. He wants to show you around and he loves that he gets to be the first one to make an impression. Fucking revels in it. But he’s also weighted with the worry of making a good impression so some of his delivery is awkward: this is the stockroom it’s where we get stuff to… stock / we separate brands in sections so if someone asks where adidas is you can point to the three lines back there / managements making us ask everyone if they wanna round up their change but you don’t have to. I just ask anyone who’s paying cash. Or if they’re cute. The system makes you put their email in. He flushes a little because he doesn’t know why he says that last part.

I think Art would be so patient when he’s training you. He would take his time to over-explain everything and he doesn’t realize he comes off sounding like a douche. Telling you what all the buttons mean and asking if you want to come with him when he’s about to stock something just so you can see where it is for next time, obviously. But it’s just an excuse to talk to you!! He doesn’t know how and he figures since you both work there it’s an easy in and you think it’s so adorable that because it’s a slow day he’s pretending to be your first customer, gathering random items, having you scan them, and reminding you to ask if he wants to round up his change for charity.

“Not today”

“Okay, your total will be—”

“Hold on. You don’t want my email?”

“Well, you said no so…”

“No. Convince me. Really try and convince me.”He wants to know what lengths you’d go for him if this is how you’d happen to meet. So you say, okay it’s for this charity you guys are having.

“Say it’s for homeless animals. They eat that shit up,” Art lets you in on this piece of information like the manipulator he is.

“Is that what you do?”

And Art would make sure to stay near you just in case you need something, always bags the customers’ items so you can focus on the transaction. He loves the way you say his name, how timid you are when you whisper Art when you need help. He imagines that’s how you say it when he’s eating you out.

#coworker!art #college!art #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #challengers

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httpskuzuu · 1 year ago

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Please, Fedya

idk why, but I'm very embarrassed to publish this

Yandere!Fyodor x Reader

English is not my mother tongue, sorry for the mistakes.

tw: kidnapping, yandere, mention of: broken bones, abuse, isolation, bad mental health, punishment and escape attempt (nothing explicit really), stockholm syndrome, fyodor is a general tw

Your life with Fyodor had been good, as good as a life with a kidnapper could be, but you would never admit that out loud, it would be too hard a blow to your dignity.

At first everything was hell, Fyodor was the definition of cruel, it took you months to be able to get out of the 4 walls where he locked you up, in complete darkness. It screwed up your eyesight, your sleep and your overall health, physical and mental. He at least fixed those problems, paid for your eye surgery, gave you vitamin D supplements, helped you by fixing your sleep schedule, etc.

It wasn't so bad, except that not all the issues could be fixed, your mental health was horrible, it still is, you doubted he could fix that.

Before you had all that help Fyodor gave you, you had to change your behavior, you were always a fighter and with Fyodor it would be no exception. The turning point of your behavior was the night you tried to escape. He caught you, as punishment he broke both your legs and your fingers, he also left you in complete isolation, you don't know for how long. Since that punishment, you never disobeyed Fyodor again, not intentionally at least.

As time went by, and when he saw that your meek behavior was not a lie, he began to give you more liberties. One of the most important for you was the freedom to go outside, obviously accompanied by Fyodor.

Also, with that freedom to go out, you realized that Fyodor liked to treat you like a doll. Every time he allowed you to go out he was the one who dressed you, you had no voice or vote in that.

On those outings, you realized that the place you were in was Russia, you didn't know specifically which part. Before arriving in Russia, you had never seen snow in person, so it was beautiful the first time.

Today was one of those days that Fyodor allowed you to go out.

He dressed you in warm clothes and took you to a coffee shop. It was nicer than you thought it would be, not only because you went outside, but because your talks with Fyodor were pleasant.

By the time you left the coffee shop, it was getting dark, but you convinced Fyodor to go to a local bookstore and buy some books. It wasn't for you to read it (you didn't understand Russian and Fyodor had never tried to teach you so you couldn't communicate with others), it was for Fyodor to read it to you, it was an activity that, surprisingly, you enjoyed very much. You left the bookstore with a book of poems whose cover caught your attention.

Walking on your way home you heard high-pitched meowing coming from an alley, you stopped your steps and, consequently, to Fyodor, who was holding your hand.

"What is it, милый?"

"I heard meowing." Your gaze did not move from the alley.

You let go of Fyodor's hand and headed down the alley, Fyodor followed you closely until you reached a cardboard box lying on the ground.

You bent down and opened the box to find an orange furred cat, it was about the size of your hand and very thin. You wondered what kind of horrible person had abandoned such a cat.

You petted it and the cat reacted affectionately, rubbing its head against your hand. You laughed at the action and turned your head to see Fyodor standing behind you, still standing. "Please, Fedya, let's keep him."

Fyodor wasn't a big fan of cats, or animals in general, it wasn't that he hated them, but he preferred not to have pets. But there you were, begging him for an abandoned cat, and, well, you were being on excellent behavior, so he needed to give you a reward, right?

"Okay, but you'll be the one to take care of it." You nodded quickly as you grabbed the cat, pulled him against your chest, and covered him up as best you could with your coat.

The two of you walked out of the alley, you were petting the cat's little head as you smiled. Fyodor just looked at you, appreciating how cute you looked when you were happy. He thought that, perhaps, he could do more things to see that smile of yours more often.

#bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd fyodor #fyodor #fyodor x reader #fyodor x y/n #fyodor x you #yandere fyodor #yandere #yandere bsd #yandere bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungou stray dogs #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd

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lynn-tged-posting · 1 month ago

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tged webtoon ep 163 spoilers and thoughts that are making me procrastinate on like all of my work but its totally fine below the cut

i am so serious i was completely tricked into thinking this would just be a light episode with some ominous foreshadowing but still some answers for how to defeat fate. i thought we'd be in silly haha territory now and that soon we'd reach the end and everything would be wonderful now and they can finally have what they want. I WAS PROVEN WRONG

YOU. YOU TRICKED ME FROM THE GETGO BY SETTING THE MOOD OF THE EP TO BE SILLY OFF THE BAT. YOUR STUPID CUTE HAIR BEING MESSY WHEN U WAKE UP AND THOSE SILLY ASS D*SNEY ANIMALS. YOU YOU YOU YOU RAPHAEL YOU FOOLED ME

it's super cute and funny that his singing and his general demeanor is so fairytale esque that animals and people just love him even though he tried to destroy what they were working on . he looks adorable with messy hair. i wanna see it more. cute and blond. but also. FUCK YOU

like we went from that to this and i was like "oh my god they're gonna have a bonding moment" and i was so so happy i just,, i really thought,,,,

like he looks so pretty here!! and then javier says something so sweet and so javier-brand of affectionate and they're being funny about it and it's so cute and they're all smiley afterward in the reflections of the water so its like "awww stupid fucking idiots being happy at each other without even really knowing it i love them so much" AND THEN.

STUPID FUCKING OMINOUS REFLECTION GOT ME ALL WORRIED. BUT THEN I THOUGHT OF RAPHIE AT THE START AND WENT "nahhh thats just. yknow. the normal foreshadowing at something bigger. they haven't even gotten answers yet. it's fine" oh lynn. oh girl you had no idea.

like they're so close to the truth cmon they wouldnt dump what they need to do to stop fate AND whats going on w javier at the same time right? ha. ha. ha.

ominous panels aside POOR LLOYD,,, OF ALL THE SECRETS HE COULD HAVE CHOSEN,,, he had no idea its not fair </3 we got blushy lloyd as a result i love this panel btw he's very very cute. super duper bug of him. i really like that the artist has been drawing the two of them at this angle a lot recently they look so stupid i like it a lot

ALSO JAVIER DO YOU. HAVE SOMETHING YOU WANT TO SAY. WHY DID HE ASK THAT I. JAVIER U CANT JUST ASK PEOPLE HOW DEE- WHAT THE FUCK

and then we got hit w javier being worried and i was like "man me too buddy, im worried too but im sure itll be oka-"

DEATH FLAG. WHY. WHY DID YOU HAVE TO THINK THAT LLOYD OH GOD. i read this and my worry that was briefly washed away IMMEDIATELY came back . tged is very good at giving me tonal whiplash. i dont think thats a bad thing but also its not good for my health either so. /lh

AND THEN WE GOT HIT WITH THE JEWEL OF TRUTH SECTION AND. AAAAHHH AAAAAAAAHHH the darkness that lloyd is in, he's all alone when he hears this god i . oh god i have so much to say okay

it's kind of hard to go shot by shot with this section because all my thoughts are overlapping with each other but ill try my best???

he's immediately pushed into communication between just him and the jewel and shrouded in a very very isolating darkness. there's so so so much empty space and all my yapping about how much lloyd has been isolating himself for the sake of finally protecting his loved ones kind of comes to a head here. and then we hear the truth...

lloyd is a BUG. the fact that he EXISTS is a problem that has been the catalyst of all the pain and work that he and javier have had to go through, so so early in the story. he's essentially being told that its HIS fault fate is threatening their lives. AND WOW THAT HURTS. how do you cope with being told that?? how do you manage that???

and on TOP of it all, in order to fix it, he has to choose. rid the world of this bug, or let the bug take over. THAT'S SO EVIL

the only way to protect his loved ones is to forfeit his protection over them, giving up his life. and yet the only way for him to continue being there to protect them is to lose the life of the one he absolutely loves most, javier. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT

the moment he hears this he falls to his knees. im so fucking ill IM SICK . THIS IS SICK AND TWISTED!!!!!!!!!!!

some more thoughts on the language and just. inherent despair of this section:

i think the choice of calling lloyd a bug is so so so heartwrenching. i don't know if it's an intentional thing by the writer/adapter or if it's just something they defaulted to since the world is considered a system, but either way it makes me so damn emotional

i'm a computer engineer, so i take some computer science classes too as part of my major, and one of those fun facts that you learn in those classes is that debugging/bugs became common terminology in compsci for a very silly reason. "bugs" as a word to describe error and defects had been present before, but it became conflated with programming due to a team of programmers actually finding a moth, a true to life Bug, interfering with their computer and thus messing with their program.

see, the JoT could have called lloyd anything. an error, a mistake, a problem, hell even a glitch would have worked. but they specifically said bug (and again whether or not thats intentional is up for debate but i will treat it like it is)

and the thing about bugs, the thing that haunts me now, is that without them the rest of the program (theoretically) works fine. if that moth hadnt entered the computer of those programmers, then their code would have been operating smoothly. the system would be chugging along well.

the knight of blood and iron would be functioning just fine.

yeah it'd be sad, yeah javier would have lost everyone, but it would have gone exactly as the program was written. the memory allocated for the class lloyd_frontera would be freed, and the story wouldn't have had to call on it, ever. but lloyd, the bug, the moth, stuck around. errors ensue.

and often, bugs are HUMAN error. it's a problem in a human design, not a natural glitch or mistake. the moth wouldn't have been able to enter that computer if it was built differently. bugs do not appear naturally. and they do not go away until you go back to where the bug appears and FIX IT. lloyd cannot fix the story, he can NEVER achieve the happy ending he's always wanted, because the program will always be bugged because of HIM.

suddenly too, all the little changes that have happened in the story thus far make so much sense. all of those events happening EARLIER than they should have completely tracks.

the choices lloyd made - to defeat neumann, defeat lacona, go to cremo, go to the capital - pushed javier's presence ahead, and i know that's like really really obvious, but coupled with this bug analogy i feel insane because

something that's very common in programming in general are function calls, where on the side you have the function written out all complete, and in your main code you can just say the name of the function. when it compiles, itll know what to refer to when it sees the name in your main code.

something else thats very common is conditionals! y'know, your classic "if (comparison here) then do (this thing here) else (do this thing here)", you might have seen this before (or not, im not sure how well versed tged tumblr is on programming which is why im explaining this)

and u think back to javier being there EARLY and oh. ooohh....

if (javier.location == magentano.event_location(banquet)) {

kyle_betrayal(alicia);

}

this function, this betrayal, was called early. THIS WAS CALLED EARLY because a certain character object, lloyd frontera, changed the state of javier's location way sooner than it should have happened. a bug. a bug. a bug. a bug made the code jump to this conditional. he's been a bug this whole time

and you think to when the glitches on javier first started appearing and oh. oooohhh. the object referred to as javier, disabled the "protagonist" variable on him and passed it onto lloyd. but that won't do, because all these functions for the ENTIRE STORY rely on javier's class object. how can it call on lloyd instead? lloyd should have been freed, aka the memory storing his little array of data, should have been REMOVED. CAUSE HE WAS SUPPOSED TO DIE

theres more examples of this throughout the whole story that maybe ill list another day (as much as im yapping about it, its really not that hard/deep on figuring out where things were called early lol) but yeah yeah yeah. yeah this is so so evil and i cant believe i didnt put two and two together earlier. this analogy is SO EVIL WHY WOULD THEY DO THIS TO ME

apologies for the jargon btw. i have no idea if i explained this right or if anyone else really knows what im talking about but i've been losing it over this for the entire weekend ALKDFJLSDKF

WHATS WORSE IS THAT IVE BEEN CALLING LLOYD A BUG FOR LIKE. ACTUAL MONTHS. I WOULD REFER TO HIM AS A CREATURE AND AS A LITTLE ITTY BITTY BUG AND NOW I FEEL SO SO TERRIBLE BECAUSE HE REALLY WAS A BUG. I MADE A SHITPOST AND EVERYTHING (that ill prolly post later) THAT I HAD NO IDEA WOULD. AGE POORLY SOB SOB SOB

I AM SO SO SORRY LLOYD. I DIDN'T KNOW I DIDN'T KNOW I DIDN'T KNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

sniffle,,, sob,,, anyway,,, thats enough yapping about bugs and programming and lloyd being a bug,,, back to the anguish

the following section is just. god ow ow OW. the shaking linework, the shadows setting in at the top with the dramatic bottom lighting, and the blur on javier as he loses focus and starts truly, truly panicking makes me INSANE. artist you're making me CRAZY!!!

javier truly has no idea either but god dammit he's trying his best to help, but how can lloyd explain this to the man whos completely and utterly loyal to him to the point of sincere devotion? if lloyd tells him, whos to say that javier - the martyr that he is - won't just give up his life for him? god that's so... GOD. GOD GOD GOD WHY AGHHH

AND AGGHHH AGGGHHHH THE FLASHBACKS TO THE P PANELS OF SUHO WORKING SO SO HARD TO REACH THE LIGHT. GOD FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK

ITS DIMMER ITS HARDER TO REACH AND OH MY GOD THE PANEL OF LLOYD REACHING UP EVEN IN HIS PANIC TOWARDS HOPE. THE THOUGHT THAT "ITLL GET BETTER ONE DAY" COMFORTED HIM AND KEPT HIM ALIVE BUT NOW ITS BEING RIPPED FROM HIM I FEEL ILL. EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL

this panel of that light going out . not much words on this i just feel sick to my stomach. why would u do that.

and finally at the end of the chapter we have this incredibly HAUNTING panel of lloyd panicking. the despair here is UNREAL. the lineart is shaken and messy and scribbly, and the focus on his face and his hand gives the panel a very claustrophobic and hard-to-breathe feel and it makes mE SICK!!! IT MAKES ME SICK!!! SICK AND TWISTED!!!! JEWEL OF TRUTH I HATE YOU!!!!!!!

anyway that's all my thoughts for right now . i really really hope they figure out a loophole or something . if they dont im actually gonna keel over and die /j not literally but yknow what i mean

SICK AND TWISTED!!! is my final word on this ep

thanks for joining me in hell ill see yall next week salute emoji

#tged #the greatest estate developer #tged spoilers #the greatest estate designer #lynn misc #lynn yaps #i really really hope people understood all that coding stuff i spewed in the middle of this HAHA #IF NOT PLEASE DONT BE AFRAID TO ASK. I LOVE YAPPING ABOUT STUFF I KNOW!!!#i didnt think id yap abt it that much but well. here we are #i was close to if not completely sobbing when i read this ep and i am extremely scared of whats next #itll be okay though right? no more anguish after this? right? <- trying so hard to cope

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