#not tagging this bc I don’t want to stir anything

[ichabodcranemills]

I’m not a fan of defending screenwriters, as someone who has been part of an audience baited and mocked by a production team who gave reason to the worst parts of the fandom (Loki) or was straight up racist (Sleepy Hollow), so I know writers can fuck up real bad. But also because I was hurt this bad, I’m also not willing to expect the worst when I still haven’t seen it displayed.

All that to say that I get real tired of reading takes like “the TROP showrunners are listening to the incels, cutting off Haladriel and sidelining Galadriel”

Not to say that this might not happen on the coming seasons, but for now, I think the audience has to acknowledge two things that are way more likely than this malicious approach:

1. This show has way too many characters and the writing isn’t the best balancing them all out.

You might think “I don’t like the Numenor (or whatever other) plot, why do we waste time with it”, but the story they want to tell is about THE SECOND AGE, there are many plots and people. Last season gave Galadriel the centre stage, this season focused more on Celebrimbor, that is just the nature of the show’s storytelling.

Could it be better done? Sure! Has Galadriel lost protagonism? No!

2. You guys might have lost focus on a few tolkenian things here.

That said, do I wish they sent Tolkien Estate guidelines out the window and gave us steamy steamy Saurondriel sex? sure. But Sauron is the enemy. It’s consistent with the story they’re telling that there’s a Saurondriel connection throughout all seasons, and it’s only decent of them that said connection remains full of tension and longing, but they WILL NOT end up together. I was pleased with what we’ve been given this season. If you weren’t, that’s okay, but you can’t say that this was due to “listening to incels”, when it’s a natural development of the story. Saurondriel is amazing, but it isn’t endgame material under any realistic light.

Now re: Galadriel, there’s a long way between being less angry and war prone, and becoming a tradwife, useful for nothing more than being pretty in Lothlorien. The first is what we’ve been walking towards this season, and it’s also a tolkien endgame for most of the heroes.

All that said, was I 100% pleased with their treatment of Galadriel this season? No, she should have had more space, a better dialogue on the last episode and all around more consistency, but that doesn’t mean they’re “sidelining her” or “making her into Cate’s Galadriel because this is what the incels want” or whatever is that twitter is saying.

Sometimes a writer is just not as good as you’d hope, not maliciously acting against you.

[stunie]

i just WOKE UP !!?????!!!!!!

2024.07.15 — dinner date with Ume. ♡

(hands up if you know where the reference photo’s froooommmmm!!!! >:3 aju nice.)

[sanakiras]

DISTRACTION

PAIRING — xu minghao x reader

WORD COUNT — 1.5k

SYNOPSIS — you can’t help staring at your best friends’s hands. when he pushes you to tell him why, things in your relationship take a turn.

TAGS — minghao in a suit, explicit sexual content, pure self-indulgence, porn with no plot, fem!reader

NOTE — there’s something sooo attractive about a man having long fingers. also i just have a crush on the8. no i will not elaborate. might delete this later bc i don’t like it. oh well. enjoy :o

lately, whenever being around your best friend, you’ve been... distracted.

for some reason, you’ve always liked it when men have long fingers. obviously the best known reason for that is a lewd one, but for you, it’s more than that. long fingers are hypnotizing to you.

of course it was minghao’s face that drew you in first. plump lips, eyes that could both kill and make you melt under their gaze, a strong jaw, dark hair often slicked back with a pair of sunglasses sitting on top.

then you noticed his figure. minghao is tall — long legs, long arms, long torso. what intrigued you about him was the control he has over it, alongside his flexibility. his movement is always swift, sharp and coordinated. not one to stumble over his own feet.

he became a close friend to you in no-time. within the first months of meeting him, you developed an admiration towards him, and that continued to grow into a crush you feel nothing if not insecure about.

because despite knowing him well, he’s far from an open book.

he’s not once given you the idea that he likes you the same way you like him, and now that he’s become such a good friend of yours, the last thing you’d want is to lose the friendship you’ve built with him.

so you keep it to yourself.

or, well, you try.

his current outfit makes that ridiculously hard. you’ve never seen him in a suit before.

while you weren’t all that excited for the black-tie event hosted by your faculty, just the sight of him has changed your mood like a whole day’s worth of caffeine.

and when he walks over to you, all you can do is admire him. the fabric suits his body like a glove, with several silver rings adorning his fingers and his frequently worn small hoop earrings to match them. the beautifully subtle black eye pencil brings out the colors of his eyes and styled hair.

“you look like a dream,” is the first thing to come out of his mouth when he steps before you, the tone of his voice as gentle as the smile he gives you.

heat rushes to your cheeks. “so do you. never expected to see you in a suit, but you clean up nice.”

he chuckles at your sarcasm. “thank you.”

as he tells you about — whatever it is, you honestly hardly remember a thing of the conversation — you suddenly come to the deafening conclusion that you’re nowhere near as subtle with your glances as you thought you were, which certainly bursts your bubble a bit.

“you keep doing that.” he muses, tilting his head as he looks at you with curiosity.

“what?”

“staring at my hands.”

“i’m not—i don’t stare.”

“what else would you call it? constant-looking?”

“hilarious. really.”

when you don’t say anything else, he purses his lips, hoping to get a little more out of you. you’ve got to give him credits for his determination. “so, what’s so interesting about my hands?”

with a simple shrug of your shoulders, you pretend to be casual, like he didn’t catch you staring at him. “they’re not interesting, just… nice.”

“nice?”

“can’t we just drop this? and by ‘we’ i mean you.”

he chuckles, shaking his head. “we’re friends. you can tell me, i won’t judge.”

“you? not judging anyone? that’d be almost suspicious.”

the retort makes him smile to the point it hurts his jaw. “i won’t judge you.”

a sigh rolls past your lips. “it’s no big deal, i just… like it when people have nice hands.”

“and why’s that?”

“does everything you like need to have a reason?”

"no, i guess not."

a playfulness that stirs doubt in you flashes behind his eyes, and you’re forced to put a halt to the conversation when one of your fellow faculty members walks up to the two of you with a glass of champagne, which you could not be happier with.

all you can do is hope minghao won’t bring up the topic again, the redness in your cheeks betraying you.

unfortunately, he does eventually bring it up again, once he’s gotten you home.

what his exact words were is difficult to remember, but now that he’s pushed you back onto your bed, you can’t find it in you to give a damn.

your brain feels foggy and a thin layer of sweat begins to form on your neck while he uses his hands to unbutton the white dress shirt, his impatience getting the best of him for once.

even though you’re busy pulling your top off, it’s hard to divert your gaze from his hands and chest, which brings him to tilt his head at you. “you’re staring again.”

“if you don’t want me to stare, don’t give me a reason to.”

“oh, so this whole thing is really just my fault?” he taunts, getting so annoyed with the damn buttons on his shirt not working with him that he leaves the bottom half like it already was, only the upper half of his chest peeking through.

once he lays his eyes on your half-naked form, you spot a growing desperation and impatience in his features, which is rare on him.

much to your surprise, he’s eager and quick, refusing to waste a single second. his hands have already pulled you towards him by your thighs before you can even comprehend it.

the thin silver necklace touches your warm skin when he leans down to kiss you, the last thing you’d imagined you’d be doing tonight — and it’s better than you anticipated.

he pries your legs open with a nudge of his knee, and just when you want to look down to his hand on your skin, he pushes two fingers into you, curling it upwards.

your hands immediately fly to his upper arms in response to the sudden intrusion, but it only makes you crave more.

his lips latch onto your cheeks, jaw and neck, placing wet kisses everywhere he can reach while his long fingers move in and out of you.

“just two and you’re already so tight — you can take another one, though, can’t you?”

how sweet of him to pose it as a question, an offer.

you both know damn well he’s gonna keep going either way.

minghao doesn’t know what it is about you that just utterly sets him off. it might be your constant pessimism, your snarky delivery of sarcastic little comments, the way you needlessly tease him all the time — or maybe it’s that whenever he sees you, he wants nothing more for you to get the fuck on top of him, moaning his name.

who knows.

“why don’t you just try me?” you ask rhetorically, accidentally clenching around his digits when he moves them again.

minghao chuckles, baffled that you’ve still got such an attitude, even when you’re at his mercy. he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it, though. “right. maybe i should just do that.”

a third finger prodding into your hole makes you whine the loudest you have so far. he smirks a little when noticing the way you’re fighting so hard to maintain your composure, and the noise of your squelching wetness begins to become embarrassingly loud.

but it isn’t enough for him.

usually, it’s not at all like him to be insatiable or greedy. but all he can think of right now is that he wants more — to be closer with you, deeper.

he feels his own lust in every motion, every thrust of his fingers, every twitch of his cock. it makes him wonder if he’s ever wanted something, no, someone this badly.

his next move goes unnoticed by you since you’ve got your eyes closed and head back, but then you feel it, and it’s like you snap awake, an electric jolt making you jerk forward.

when you look down, he eagerly runs his tongue up and down your pussy, fingers remaining buried inside you.

“oh my god—” you stutter out, hand clutching onto the pillow but quickly moving down to grab his hair.

lost in your own pleasure, you push his head down, the lower half of his face coated in your arousal — fuck, he wants to do this for hours.

he proceeds to curl his fingers again, and he must’ve hit a good spot, because your legs are beginning to tremble, moans shorter and higher-pitched. “fuck, hao, it’s too much, i’m too close—”

“are you?” he rhetorically asks, pushing his digits as deep as possible, sucking on your clit, hollowing his cheeks. even when you try to close your legs, he firmly keeps them open.

your hips buck into his face when you cum, knees shaking, and he presses his thumb on your pussy, which makes your eyes roll back.

propping yourself up on your elbows, you suddenly feel his fingers slowly sliding out of you, and just that feeling alone already turns you on again. he sits across from you, still between your legs, and his fingers are completely coated in the sticky wetness that’s still dripping down your cunt.

he pushes them in his mouth, licking them clean, some of your arousal remaining on his lips.

“please say you’ll let me do that again.”

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: i’m almost shocked at how fast this fic got written?? thanks to anon who indulged my fun little request for a new hockey to write about (inspired by @wyattjohnston ‘s post earlier about how there’s only fics for certain hockeys in the nhl fic tag and also bc i have so much fun writing for new guys in the fic exchanges!!)- how could i resist vancouver’s own prince charming? hope you guys enjoy because i had fun writing! ☺️

word count: 2.7k

tw: single dad!brock, nanny!reader, dirty talk, minor daddy kink, fingering (f receiving), handjob, dirty talk, nipple play

summary: you’re nothing but the nanny for brock’s daughter, until one night all the lines get blurred

Kya snuggles closer to you in her sleep, blonde hair tickling the underside of your chin. Her cheek is pressed up against your collarbone and her little body is hot, making you feel all sweaty where she’s connected to you.

The TV casts the room in a faint blue light, the low volume serving as white noise along with Kya’s little puffed air snores.

You think about moving her to her bed, but she’s so soft and cuddly when she hasn’t been lately and you can’t find it in your heart to get up. Unfortunately, the four-year-old has your heart in a vice-like grip and you’d do anything for her. Including being a human mattress.

So you stay on the couch, stroking her back and humming softly when she stirs briefly. Eventually, the clock ticks over to the eleven o’clock hour and you know it’s only a matter of time before Brock’s home and your shift is over. Not that you have to go very far to get home - your pool house turned bachelorette nanny pad is practically spitting distance from the back door. If you tilted to the left a bit and angled your neck, you’d be able to see the little planter with multicolored flowers that Kya had helped you plant last week.

And by help, you mean crushed a few daisies in her little fists and ate a mouthful of dirt before you could stop her.

A+ nannying for sure.

You’re still thinking about it when a familiar voice startles you from your thoughts.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Brock’s voice rumbles through the dark room, laughter around the edges.

Without thinking, you reply, “just thinking about the handful of dirt I let Kya eat last week.” Then you wince, wondering why Brock’s presence always makes you say the stupidest things.

He laughs fully now, stepping around the couch and dropping into the armchair. He’s in his post-game look - rumpled suit pants and button down with the sleeves rolled up, bare feet with his loafers kicked off in a pile at the front door, and blonde hair darkened from his shower. His palm rasps over the few days’ worth of stubble growing on his chin and his face splits into one of those smiles that makes Twitter (and you) swoon.

“She’s gotta get vitamins and minerals from somewhere, right?” He teases and your cheeks heat.

This.

This is why he makes you say the stupidest things. Because he’s a real-life Prince Charming with the personality to match.

You smile back at him, a reflex. “There are some leftovers in the fridge, if you’re hungry and want to get in your own vitamins and minerals,” you joke back, shifting Kya on your chest when she starts to slip.

Brock shakes his head. “I’m good, thanks. I’ll take Princess Ky upstairs and you can get some rest,” he stands, arms out to grab Kya.

Weirdly, you shift and hold her closer. “It’s, um, I don’t mind. She’s been really snuggly today and it’s nice,” you shrug one shoulder. “She watched a little bit of the first.”

“Yeah?” Brock’s face lights up. He loves it when you bring Kya to games and he gets to wave at her during warmups.

“Mhm,” you smirk, “she was obsessed with Quinn.”

Brock narrows his eyes at you, scrunching his nose in disgust. “Real nice,” he shakes his head, “making fun of the guy that your best friend over there belongs to.”

Your cheeks lift in a smile, your arms holding Kya comfortably. “Don’t be jealous of my bond with Ky. Daddy’s still her favorite.”

Something flickers across Brock’s face, there and gone before you can analyze it. He chuckles, says, “I better be since I pay for all those chicken nuggets she inhales like a freaking vacuum,” and excuses himself upstairs to change.

You watch him leave, chewing at your lower lip while you study the curve of his ass in his slacks, feeling awful even as you’re appreciating his form. Kya mumbles in her sleep, nonsense words and a ‘Daddy’ and your name, eyelids twitching as she dreams.

Brock’s back a few minutes later, comfortable in sweats and a threadbare t-shirt. Still barefoot, now he smells like mint toothpaste in addition to the locker room soap. “Sure you don’t want me to take her?” He asks, sitting down on the couch with you, a cushion’s worth of space between your bodies. “Feels like I should let you off the clock and hold my kid now that I’m home.”

“I really don’t mind,” you promise him. “Kya’s…she’s exactly what I want my own daughter to be one day.” You think maybe you’re over sharing, but it’s late and Brock just looks so domestic and comfortable. It’s easy to pretend when he looks like this. His eyes soften as he studies you and the way you’re holding Kya.

“She’s a pretty cool little girl,” he agrees warmly, reaching out to run a hand over her head. His palm

makes her hair staticky, fine strands lifted into the air. You blow at them gently, giggling when they stick to your face even after you try smoothing them back with a hand.

“You know,” he says too casually after a comfortable pause, “she, the other day when you were off, she said that she never wants you to leave.”

A little piece of your heart breaks with his words because you know one day you’ll have to leave. It’s easy right now, nannying for Kya while you get your Master’s, but what happens next year when you’re finished with school and you have to find a real

job.

Your face must show your distress, because Brock coughs slightly and rushes to say, stumbling over his words, “I didn’t mean, she’s four. You know, they say stuff all the time. When you do have to leave, it’ll be okay. She’ll be okay.”

He means well, you know that, but it doesn’t help and to your horror, your nose starts to burn and tears well in your eyes. You don’t really want to cry in front of Brock, not over something that’s at least a year away, but you feel the dam starting to break.

“Um, I do think I’ll head out for the night,” you say quietly, trying to not let your voice crack. You shift Kya in your arms and transfer her to Brock’s, making sure she stays asleep. “She really should be out for the night. So, um, I’ll see you in the morning.”

He takes her easily, arms practiced with adjusting her weight against his chest and her head on his shoulder. You jump up from the couch and wave over your shoulder, heading for the back door, ignoring Brock’s whispered shout of your name.

It’s so silly, to get so emotional about Kya outgrowing her need for a nanny, her need for you. But you’re more attached to Ky and Brock than you’re willing to admit, even to yourself.

Right now, your best option is to play your sad music playlist and cry, just to get it out of your system before getting back to normal in the morning.

The music helps. The crying helps more. The two glasses of wine help the most.

And then there’s a knock on the door, scaring the ever living shit out of you. It’s so late your visitor can only be one person.

“Brock?” His name is a question on your lips when you open the door, your brow furrowed.

“Hi,” he looks upset and your brain works sluggishly to figure out what could be bothering him. “Can I-?”

He gestures a little and you nod, stepping back automatically. “Yeah, of course. It’s your pool house,” you say. “Is Kya asleep?”

He nods, holds up the baby monitor. You can see Kya’s little body sprawled out on her bed and a smile curls your lips - she sleeps like a starfish, arms and legs akimbo. “She’s done for the night,” he replies quietly, setting the monitor on the little table you have next to the door for your keys.

Brock’s been in the pool house before, a million and one times. But this time, the air crackles like it does before a thunderstorm, your nerves on edge.

“What are -“

“I’m sorry.”

You and Brock speak over each other, words getting jumbled in the air. You giggle a little and Brock smiles, his shoulders relaxing.

“I’ll go,” he says, still smiling. His hands run through his hair, the strands flopping over his forehead before getting pushed back into place. “I’m sorry, for what I said. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Oh,” you aren’t expecting the apology and you start to excuse him, “I didn’t -“

“You did,” Brock cuts you off. “Your eyes are all red and I’m so sorry. I just thought, Ky loves you so much, that you’d want to hear what she said about you. I wasn’t thinking about - about you leaving.”

“I’ll have to eventually,” you shrug, the wine dulling the sharper edges of your emotions.

Brock’s jaw works and you wait for him to speak, patient like he’s Kya. A few seconds go by and he scratches at the back of his neck. “I’m not good at - I want you here, as long as you want to be here. I don’t care if Kya is a grown woman with her own kids, I’d want you here.” He pauses and his words sink in, battering at the boundary you’d built around your heart.

“What?” You whisper, hands fluttering at your sides. You suddenly don’t know what to do with them.

“I…I think, no, I am. I am definitely falling for you,” Brock says, tone firm and eyes soft, crinkled at the corners. Those damn blue eyes that have starred in a fantasy or two of yours. He reads your silence as negative, apparently, because he frowns and continues, “if I just made this uncomfortable, we can forget it ever happened.”

“No!” You nearly yelp, Brock’s eyes widening at your sudden increase in volume. “No,” you repeat quieter. “I don’t want to forget this happened. I’m just … surprised. I didn’t think you thought of me as anything but Ky’s nanny.”

His smile is contagious and you’re both grinning like idiots at each other.

“You haven’t been Ky’s nanny in my head for a long time,” he confesses. “Just been hoping you felt the same way.”

“Definitely feel the same way,” you giggle, feeling hysterical.

“Can I -?” He steps forward, into your space, and you nod, knowing what he’s asking. And then all you know is Brock’s mouth on yours, his hands warm on your waist, his hair soft under your fingertips. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, teeth nipping at your bottom lip when you open your mouth. A groan fills the air and you’re not sure if it’s yours or his.

Your chest crushes against Brock’s, bodies flush against each other. His cock is prominent against your thigh, hard and hot through the layers of fabric separating the two of you. For months, you’ve fantasised about this, wondered what it would feel like to get your hands on Brock and it’s better than you ever imagined. Hot and hard, his lips soft against yours, his hands gripping at your ass, dragging you closer and closer. Your hips chase his, involuntarily moving for relief.

“Brock,” you whine his name, surprising yourself with the neediness that colors your tone. He growls against your jaw and lifts you, arms braced under your ass, settling you on the countertop in your tiny kitchenette. He steps into the space created by your spread legs, your thighs at his hips, ankles locked at his lower back.

“Shit, wanted to do this for months,” he mumbles against your skin. His lips mark a hot trail down your neck and over the heated skin of your chest. His hands are down the back of your shorts, kneading at your ass.

His cock presses against your heated core and you moan, loudly and unashamed. Brock’s laugh is clearly delighted and he presses himself against you harder, drawing a strangled moan from your throat.

“Making such pretty noises for me,” he croons, dragging one hand up your side to grope at your breast, rolling your nipple until it’s a stiff peak. “What other noises are you going to make for Daddy?”

“Oh my god,” you keen, arousal flooding your panties. “Brock, oh my god, I need you to touch me.”

“What’s the magic word?” He replies, ducking his head to suck at your nipple over your shirt. The scrape of his teeth and the wet fabric makes you shiver, clit throbbing.

“Please,” you wail, grinding your hips against his.

“Please…?” He trails off and your heart pounds in your chest, pleasure coiling low in your stomach.

You sigh, a shaky exhale. “Please, Daddy, touch me. Please make me come,” you whisper the words in his ear, nipping at his earlobe.

Brock whips your shirt off, tossing the fabric to the floor. You’re not wearing a bra and normally you’d be self-conscious, but Brock’s staring at you like you’re the first woman he’s ever seen and you’ve never felt hotter. “Christ,” he mutters, palming your breasts and kneading them tenderly. “So fucking gorgeous. Just, just fucking stay with me forever, please?”

You nod, agreeing. “Yours, I’m all yours, I promise,” you cradle his face in your hands and kiss him deeply, leaning in as close as you can.

Somehow, his shirt ends up on the floor with yours and your fingers can trace each muscle on his chest and stomach. You drag a nail over his nipple and his skin erupts in goosebumps, so you do it again, skimming your nails over his skin and scratching at his biceps.

“Mark me up,” Brock encourages you, lifting your ass off the counter with one hand so he can tug at your shorts and panties. “Make sure everyone knows I’m yours.”

He’s certainly doing the same, sucking bruises onto your skin. There’s a bite mark over your breast and it feels like his fingers dug bruises into the flesh of your ass.

“Just want you,” you blink away a sudden rush of tears, still in disbelief that this is happening. “Been thinking about you for so long, Brock.”

Your fingers dance down to the waist of his sweats, pushing at them until his cock springs free and you can get a good look at it. It’s just as perfect as his face, thick and long and hard as steel.

“Come on, honey,” his fingers swipe at your clit, making you inhale sharply and arch your back. “Put your hands on me. Touch me.”

You obey, wrapping your hands around his cock and stroking him. Softly at first until Brock grunts and wraps his hand around yours to increase the pressure and speed. “Like that,” he instructs you, leaving his hand in place and using the other to smear your arousal over your clit and inner thighs.

“I don’t have any condoms!” You gasp, Brock’s index finger teasing at your entrance. The thought hits suddenly, annoyingly.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies, kissing the moan from your mouth when he plunges his fingers into your cunt. “I’ll make you feel good just like this.”

Brock’s a man of his word.

He makes you come twice, once on his fingers and one on his tongue. The first time you make a mess of the counter, dripping all over the place. The second time he’s got you laid out on the couch, his stomach splattered with his own come from the handjob you’d given him.

And then he cuddles.

Wipes between your legs with a towel and wraps

you in his arms under a throw blanket. Kisses the crown of your head and tells you all the filthy things he’s thought about doing to you.

“Hey,” you pipe up, amusement bubbling in your chest, “do I get a bonus for every blowjob I provide?”

Brock’s surprised laughter vibrates at your back, shaking your entire body. His arms wrap around your chest and squeeze. “No,” he deadpans, sounding like he’s struggling to hold back his laughter, “but we probably should talk about your job.”

“Tomorrow,” you insist. “I love taking care of Ky. So we’ll work on a transition.”

The transition from Ky’s nanny to Brock’s wife and Ky’s mom takes about six months less than you anticipated.

“Best job promotion ever,” you tease Brock at the altar, Kya practically glued to your side and shouting her excitement when you kiss for the first time as husband and wife.

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ i thought about this plot over and over, and I hesitated publishing it since i don’t want to deviate so much from everything but i said fuck it, so now ere i am, greeting y’all with ‘wassup villain’

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @shuna-boin

⚠️ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⚠️ Mommy issues, mention of death,, profane language, plot progression. Pronouns keep shifting bc Miles thinks you’re a guy. A bit confusing? Anyways, congrats with your debut. I’ve got uh.. A little surprise? Enjoy.

FIC MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

"Park behind the building B, McLaren. I’ll have to deal with a separate matter, for now, call backup."

"Yes, miss."

Ring. Ring.

Your head pivots at the sound of your phone’s ringing, eagerly answering the call without having to look into the ID, knowing a thing or two about a certain someone’s timing.

“What’s going on so early in the morning?” Your father haggardly asks. You could already smell the stench of his morning breath from the car.

“We have trespassers in the Warehouse.” You start. “Two of them, partners. The duo we know as the Prowlers.”

“What?” You hear the morning grogginess laced in his voice. “Who leaked the information?”

“I’ve updated Morrison and he’s currently investigating the black market. I suspect a traitor.”

“Evidence?”

“There’d been no reports of outsiders entering the vicinity. All employees have been given fake addresses and all of their gadgets have been monitored— and so far, no one’s been flagged, so my guess is.. A higher up who’s sold us out.”

There you go.

“… I’ll look into it.” Your father mumbles. “Make sure that nothing is released into the media. The election is coming soon, we don’t want to do anything that’ll stir the public.”

“Understood.”

And the call ends just like that.

You blankly look at the road ahead of you, skin itching from the tightness and texture of your leather coat. Laid before your lap was a flat screen, in it were nine boxes— each playing a variety of scenes brought to you by the hidden cameras. Across every box, two swift figures maneuvered past the rooms with incredible ease. Several workers and scientists were sprawled across the jagged floors, motionless like corpses. You grimaced at the possibility of them being dead, but after seeing the thick gas emanating throughout every crevice of the building, you safely assumed that they were simply knocked out.

The Warehouse housed one of your father's investments; an Oscorp-Alchemax experiment funded by the elites, done underground and tested on prisoners to find some sort of super serum. When the new money folks thrusted themselves into the world of High society, most of the higher elites came to applaud the idea of one man.

Harry Osborn.

As a kid, you grew up aspiring to be like Harry. Always so friendly and approachable to anyone and everyone he’s ever met.

He did it so effortlessly that you recognized his niceness as a talent.

Harry came from second generation money— hailing this scientific empire called Oscorp. Having been brought up by his father, Norman, who was an industrialist, Harry was all things sciencey.

After his father's death, Harry sought out a blueprint of his father's past works, finding a journal containing the records of several hypotheses in regard to a variety of drugs. A sort of instruction to turn into a superhuman being, he claims, that his father had put into mind but never really practiced.

A handful of the higher-ups adored the impressionable idea, one of its primary investors being your father. You never really understood his reasons, but when the drug seemingly began showing fruitful results, your father set you up under Antonne's name to supervise Warehouse 317 after Harry entrusted your family to house the experiment.

So at that moment, you weren't you.

And Miles wasn't Miles.

He didn’t know what he was doing here. But he never bothered to really ask since his Uncle seemed tense all throughout the journey.

When Aaron told him to strap up for a sudden mission, he wasn't expecting a raid— nor was he expecting him to bring him to a hidden laboratory containing all these alien-like fuckeries. From glass beakers to drums filled to the brim with some sort of neon liquid, it all varied in levels of strangeness. Everywhere he looked, he could find the same circular, yellow warning sticker staring right back at him. Behind his digital mask, he skims past the unconscious workers— checking every crevice to see if anyone had escaped the incapacitating agent.

“According to the drive, the stuff are located in the north building.” His uncle’s voice snaps him out of the haze. “I’ll be heading there. I’m sure you can fend for yourself?”

“F’course I can,” Miles answered. “I can knock a bitch or two out with these.” He grinned while unfoldding his claw.

“You kiss your mama with that mouth? Watch yo tongue.”

“Yes, sir.”

Aaron pats his shoulder. “Record the evidence, I’ll go find the blueprints.”

With a single nod, Miles sets off with his mission in mind. When the holographic interface materializes from his wrist-mounted control panel, he activates the scanner with a light tap. The digitalized purple light cascades over the room, gathering physical data with each passing step.

He prided in his cut-edge tech— developed into great usage by his and his uncle’s hands. In a way, it reassured him that he had epically great potential, despite the current crisis going on in the city. But of course, his greatest pride was the fact that you liked the idea of the Prowler. That alone harbored him confidence he never knew he had.

Miles never initially thought of himself as a hero, no matter how much he’s worked to save the lower class of New York. Heroes existed in the confines of comic books and kids’ TV shows. He wasn’t super, and he wasn’t a hero either. The term was black and white. Narcissistic, as you would put it.

But he liked playing along to the idea of being a superhero to you.

He wanted you to gawk and admire his vigilante identity. He wanted you to look at the TV early in the morning with a mug of coffee in your hands, pointing at the screen with a squeal, ‘It’s the Prowler!’

Most of all, he wanted you to know about it eventually.

When he passes by the computers, Miles heads straight for the manila folders, unraveling his gauntlet just to grasp the files better.

[ 11 | 10 | 2020 ]

•[𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝: #𝟷𝟷𝟹𝟸] 𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟻𝟼

𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎. 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜. 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚡𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗.

𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝. 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.

With the slightest jolt of his palm, the paper crumbles, and behind it sat another file. He peers through it diligently, only to find a name signed at the bottom.

And it crumples from the clamp of his fist.

Anthony Primo-Chávez.

The surname, Primo-Chávez, was the household name of the family who owns the Primm Hotel, and a single mention of it alone only reignited the anger he was sparing for the upcoming plans. All of the rage he kept to himself was seeping out the cracks of his still-grieving heart, and the grief remained a permanent scar.

And with a whisper of the wind, the warehouse falls into darkness.

There was this chill crawling up his back, and it haunted him. And in the silence that surrounded him, he calls out for his uncle.

And it echoes, and echoes. No one replies. Only the silence answered to his desperate calls. At that point, all that he could hear was the sound of his own heart beating out of his chest— a sort of morbid reminder that he was still alive. It made him wonder if that was all his father heard when he was trapped beneath the fallen carcass all those years ago. Just like that carcass, in the midst of all that darkness, screams begin to bellow.

Oh. One of the scientists have woken up.

But all Miles could picture was all what could’ve happened that night, when everything fell apart. Did they scream like this? Call out for help like this? Did his father struggle to breathe like this?

A lone light shines above the metal rails— a watch window, large and square, gleaming in this daunt violent that flickered and flickered. There was a figure there, dark, willowy, and invasive in the way it stared.

Unmoving, watching. A gaze that lingered like the chill running down his back.

What did they do in here?

Like a croak, the question bubbles up his throat and releases.

“Who are you?”

Like a growl, the voice changer emits the query a too many tones lower. At that question, the being tilts its head.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Velvety, low, exhausted— and it oozed from the broadcaster mic like a tease. You stared at the Prowler, almost amused by his size. From above, he seemed much tinier, like less of a threat. You feel your breath cascade against the lenses of your gas mask, sweat sticking to the leather of your gloves. There, you see the digitalized magenta and the gleam of his steel claws, as though he meant to intimidate. You stood partially befuddled at the fact that the vigilante everyone revered and loathed was likely a teenager.

“… You don’t know what this place is, don’t you?”

Ｂ　Ｏ　Ｏ　Ｍ.

The wall beside him crumbles into dust.

Miles shields himself from the impact, the cement’s fumes blinding his sights. Upon the activation of his night vision, he searches in behind the violet screen, finding only his uncle emerging from the smoke and debris, rushing with a USB in his hands. Behind him, a flock of guards came rushing in with their ray guns— flames of red bursting into a shower as the man signaled him to run.

Miles casts a quick glance at the window above.

No one’s there.

“ＥＶＡＣＵＡＴＥ ＡＬＬ ＥＭＰＬＯＹＥＥＳ

ＩＭ ＭＥＤＩＡＴＥＬＹ. ＩＭ ＭＥＤＩＡＴＥＬＹ.”

The digital voice commands along with a blaring alarm.

The warehouse that housed this elaborate labyrinth, it continued on and on like a maze. Bland green tiles and white walls, glass screens— like a pattern he immediately grew to dislike. It all went on and on like a fever dream, but Miles’ head was ringing with the sight of the man he saw up the window.

And he lays it all out in his mind, trying to piece it altogether.

Ｂ　Ｏ　Ｏ　Ｍ．

The walls click and collapse, and the floors shake, but Miles doesn’t look back. The sound of the guards’ heavy stomps cease though, eventually replaced with a sort of screech that irked his ears.

It was unfamiliar to him. He’s faced over a hundred bad people, but only the sight of that being unsettled him more than the rest.

“Up ahead!”

He watches as his Uncle heads right out the window with a fall, the shards ricocheting behind him like specs of snow as he throws a carabiner right back at Miles to snatch. His fingers thinly reach for the cord when he’s suddenly assaulted to the ground with a powerful force.

Ｃ　Ｒ　Ａ　Ｓ　Ｈ.

“Agh!” He grumbles in pain, rolling down to the ground. But even then, it wasn’t the pain that made every hair on his limb stand, it was the sound of your heeled boots clicking against the tiles, and the sound of your metal blade scraping against the wall.

“Mornin’, Prowler.”

Exhaustion made the delivery deeper. He senses it in you, and you sense it him. Though he was unaware of what your head was actually filled of, I’ve got a lecture at nine, I still have to do my literature essay, and I want to sleep. Miles wasn’t all that interested at all in what your mind bore. To be fair, from where he was, Miles only saw this figure towering over him with a long knife poking out its sleeve. Some gas mask, and a black leather coat. Even then as you stood above him, he could only watch as you fixed your gloves, pulling farther beneath your sleeve.

“It’s an honor to meet you like this.”

Fwip. With a crisp cut, the cord that connected him to his partner was severed. You throw it out the window along with the metal piece. “I’m not so usually cruel, but you’re trespassing my family’s property—“

“So this is your family’s property.” He stands back up, hands aching to fight. “Primo-Chávez. As I recognized.”

He claws at you, but instead, the metal meets the end of your unsheathed blade with a clink!

“You’re smart.” And when you pull away, he stumbles backward. “Let’s see if that’ll save you.”

Crack! The walls quivered as Miles narrowly avoided the blade aimed for his neck. He raises his gauntlets, lunging right at you with swift punches, to which you countered gracefully with quick blocks. Eventually, he manages to take hold of your shoulders, shoving you back with feet tangled like knots. You lower down and hook your heel over his ankle, pulling with force as he falters.

You crack your neck, pressing your heel over his shoulder to keep him down. “I’ll be honest with you, I think you’re awfully underwhelming.” You lean down to his level, musing yourself in the way he heaved.

“But I can forgive all that.” Your fingers fiddle with the strap of his backpack. “You’re useful in a way—“

With a gauntlet over your neck, he slams you against the wall.

“I ain’t working for nobody,” He churned. “And I definitely won’t be fucking working for people like you.”

“I never said you had to work for me.” You calmly replied despite his grip. “You just have to make better decisions from now on.”

“Fuck you mean by that?”

From the ache your neck bore, you knew it was gonna leave a bruise.

“Aren’t you supposed to be smart?”

He furrows his brows at that statement, holding himself back as he taunts. “… I wonder how your father is going to abandon you once I set this little investment of his on fire.”

Rather than the silence or panic he hoped, Miles heard you laugh.

“Do it.” You playfully suggest. “Do it, and kill all the other interns, employees, and guards in here.” Despite your façade, he could still sense the smirk creeping up your lips. “Then think to yourself, ask yourself; are you any better than my family?”

That alone catches him by surprise.

“… You’ve got a lot to learn.”

“What do you m—“ Before he could even finish off his sentence, a powerful strike ricochets into his stomach, sending him off to the other wall. A loud grunt emanates from his lips, hands gripping the lower of his belly as you set your foot down. “The next time we meet, do promise me that you’ll be much more of a promising opponent. Today was.. Eventless.” Your gaze sets sights on the camera hidden in the corner.

“For now, I’ll have to let someone else do the job.”

As though on cue, you see his partner rush in with the broken cord in his hand. The same broken cord you’d thrown out. Without another word, he lunges at you with lightning speed, and the way you collide with the glass wall sends ripples across the corridor.

“You goddamn son of a bitch.”

“Long time no see.”

Ｃ　Ｒ　Ａ　Ｓ　Ｈ.

And from then on, Miles watches as this figure and his uncle battled amidst the labyrinth. But your words struck him hard, ‘Long time no see’— what did that mean? Did his uncle have a sort of connection to the elites, or has he worked for the upper class before?

With how his punches flew, Miles sensed this sort of undying rage that crackled with the quiver of his Uncle’s fist.

Why did this battle seem so natural? Like the two of them know each other’s moves too well.

“I see you’ve resigned.” You curtly brought up, grunting as he mercilessly charges at you. “And seems like you’ve brought a little something with you.” Upon the mention of Miles, Aaron struck back with a blow, feigning ignorance at your words. Despite your state, you managed to put up a great fight. “Why did you bring him here? He doesn’t seem fit for the job—“

“Stop the small talk, Antonne.”

Antonne.

Anthony Primo-Chávez.

“I’m simply being polite,” You grinned. “It’s been a while, don’t you think so too?”

With that alone, Miles somehow confirmed that the figure was the heir of the hotel in the flesh. The man responsible for the deaths of many— the man responsible for the death of his father. But something felt wrong, like a sense that was gnawing at his guts.

He couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly.

Just of now, Miles realizes that he had no place here, at least, not yet. But he was just as confused as the other guy, why did his uncle bring him here if it was too dangerous?

“Is your sister also a piece of shit like you?”

Sister?

“She’s a little more pacifist than all of us.”

You lie so naturally, it was like second-nature to you— as though it was your second, utterly ridiculous hobby next to scheming. To play the part of Antonne was excruciating enough, but it was enjoyable in a way. You haven’t seen the Prowler for about four years— last seeing him when you were twelve, when he worked for the Fisks until his abrupt resignation. Next thing you and the elite knew, the mercenary who once worked for the high-class was now a vigilante working against them.

No one particularly knew the reason why. You somewhat guessed what it was.

And when the both of you crashed past the danger zone, you knew that the situation was way beyond your grasps from this point on, and the best you could hope for was a perfect gamble.

The man grabs all that he could in his anger, from glass beakers to steel rods, he figures splashing you with whatever thing he could find can help in making you perish from his sights.

You fight back, without the usage of anything else except the blade, only until Aaron repeatedly smashes your head inside a closed-off frozen cage. The two of you fall right in, breaking some sort of container in the process.

“What the fuck?”

Like a flame, it sears your skin— causing you to panic and recklessly pat away at the tar-like substance enveloping you in its sticky embrace. Without even a shriek, it consumes your system entirely, sending you down on your knees.

And the next thing you know, everything else fades into black.

Aaron pulls away, in shock of the dark matter unveiling before him. Immediately, he places a hand over Miles’ eyes, ushering him away.

From afar, they could hear the police sirens coming.

“Let’s— let’s go.” Aaron hurriedly commands.

“Uncle Aaron.”

Miles exhaustively calls out to him.

“Uncle Aaron!”

As his mask unfolds, Miles squints as the sunlight seeping from the tall trees welcomes him, shielding his face with his hands while trudging across the stones to meet his Uncle’s steps. Aaron pauses for a moment, taking only one look back.

“Why’d you bring me there?” Miles directly starts. “I wasn’t strong enough to be there— who was that guy? How- How did you suddenly know about the location of the warehouse, how did— I don’t— I-I have school in three hours, I don’t get why you had to bring me along—“

“That girl you’re seeing,” Aaron intervenes without a waste of breath. “What’s her last name?”

Miles takes a step back, furrowing his brows.

“[L/n].”

Aaron nods. “… It’s the same as the file.”

“What?”

“Bring her to dinner.”

Now everything further confused him, what did you have to do with all of this?

“I-I can’t bring her to dinner yet— what do you mean part of the f— we haven’t even gone on a date yet!”

The date set for tomorrow. The trick-or-treating date Miles had always longed for. Aaron tosses his hand upward. “Just make it quick and let me meet her.” He commands in a rush, pacing his steps faster. “We’ve got to get moving before they find us.”

“But— I don’t get it. What does [Y/n] have to do with all of this?"

Aaron stops for a moment, looking up before heaving a long, jagged sigh.

“… I got a file last night. Sent by an anonymous number. Someone managed to take a picture of you and your girl earlier when you were walking her home.”

Hearing this, a bundle of worries begin to churn in Miles’ mind. This whole night enough was messy for him, and he couldn’t understand why things were getting so complicated. Like what Antonne said earlier, it was ingrained into his mind, Aren’t you supposed to be smart?

“Along with the pictures, I got sent a file. [Y/n] [L/n], is..” Aaron consequently looks into his nephew’s eyes, a sort of hesitation imbued in his system. “Somewhat connected to the Primos.”

Miles halts entirely, and over and over, like how he’s always asked for the last hour. “What?”

“I.. I’ll just tell you when we get home.”

It was many years ago, when your mother endowed this habit of sitting you down by her vanity just to comb your hair and fix you up like a doll.

At that time, you were a tiny little girl with tiny little legs that were unable to reach the floor, instead opting to dangle them with light kicks from your seat— thinking you were some kind of mermaid. During those times, you could only spot at least the whole of your head staring right back at you, but rather than yourself, you marveled at the sight of your mother and her clothes.

The colors she wore were patterned in dates. Mauve, pink, white, and sometimes vermilion in special occasions. Those were the days she used to pick out your clothes for you, and whenever you complained about the color being too bright or dull, your mother would claim that she'd know your colors the best.

As you got older, and when you started dressing for yourself, in the colors you liked, and in the sort of mauve and pink that suited you, you watched as your mother would stare at you from afar with an irate frown, and silently, you'd think to yourself.

Even in the way I rebel against you, you still see yourself in me, because when you look at me, you see only a mirror of your younger self grimacing in disgust. You'd come so far to convince yourself that you're at the height of your being, but your daughter and your child-self only sees mediocrity.

…

“Miss?”

A flurry of people. Lots of talking. You despised that.

“Miss, are you awake?”

“[Y/n], wake up this instant!”

And at your father’s instruction, your eyes peel open almost immediately. You’re greeted with the sight of the ceiling, and your skin covered in warmth. You look at yourself, finding bruises all over your arms, still wearing your white dress shirt and formal pants. Silently, you force yourself to sit up despite the ache you felt, wincing as you spot several faces surrounding you. There was your father, pacing back and forth, certainly distressed about something; Antonne, with his arms crossed, sitting by the edge of your bed; some physician, silently standing by the side with her hands clasped together; and Harry Osborn standing alongside her.

“What’s going on in here?” You haphazardly asked.

“You almost died.” Antonne stirs the silence. ���The Warehouse was set on fire, and you were still inside.”

“The warehouse was set on fire!?” You jolt up, only now realizing the dirty looks from your father. “That’s impossible, how could—“

“There were traces of gasoline.” Emerging from the doors, your father approaches you with a sort of chagrin in his glare. “Since you failed to capture or at least slow down the perpetrators, that happened.”

“… You’re placing the blame on me?” You ask, hardly believing your ears.

“We’re not—“ Just as Harry’s about to speak, your father intervenes. “Yes, we are. Because of your incompetence, we lost millions worth of money in damages!”

“Sir, calm down.”

“Father, this is what I’ve been telling you about.” Antonne pinches the bridge of his nose. “She’s sixteen! How could she have possibly fought against a mercenary!?”

“I did better than you.” Poison spewed from your lips, losing all sort of rationality. “This has never happened before. Whenever there was something any of you asked me to do, I did my very best. How could I possibly perform my best when I lacked sleep and I was dependent on coffee!?”

“Your brother is right.”

Hearing that alone was a nightmare.

“Although you’re talented in upkeep and information, you’re too young to fight against an ex-assassin.”

You helplessly scramble off the bed. “Daddy, you’re being unfair.”

Daddy. It’s like you were a ten-year-old fighting for his attention once again. You looked at Antonne, and then your father, shifting in complacency. “I worked for three years, ceaselessly. Even if it meant giving up my weekends and studying so hard that it made my nose bleed. I got the job done, even if no one paid me or thanked me, I still did everything.”

“We’ve lost a lot of resources,” Harry begins. “And we’ve been brought back to square one because of the fire.”

Before Harry could even finish off his explanation, you lift a finger and point at him accusingly. “This is because one of your people decided to leak information—“ In between your rant, Antonne attempts to soothe you. “Had it not been for the fact that you decided to let untrusted people into the faction, we wouldn— stop it, Antonne— we wouldn’t be dealing with this sort of thing. Mother warned you about it, and you brushed off her every warning— STOP IT, ANTONNE!” You finally yelled out. Your brother ceases, lifting his hands off of you after he sees that you’re shaking.

What’s wrong with me?

Why am I being more emotional than usual?

The way the rage consumed you left you in dismay. At a short moment of epiphany, you run your hands across your face and, like a switch, all of your emotions reboot.

“I apologize. I spoke out of line.”

That line alone was chilling.

“I’m sorry, [Y/n].” The tender way Harry called out your name was unfathomable. “I know it’s upsetting that your job is being taken away from you, and you have every right to get upset. However, for your sake and your health, you can pass on these responsibilities to Montrell for now.”

“Montrell’s in London.” You add. “He can’t possibly take over—“

“He’s not in London.” Antonne confesses. You furrowed your brows, shaking your head. “What are you talking about?”

“… It was going to be a surprise but..”

Oh no.

“Oh,” You blankly state, your mind rioting. “I see.”

“It’s an unplanned decision, really,” Your father explains. “Montrell also has no idea that you’ve taken Antonne’s place in taking care of the hotel for the last three years. It’d be better for you, as well, to take a break.”

You wanted to scream, break down, curse at everyone.

“I’m sorry for being too harsh on you, [Y/n].” Harry eases, placing a hand over your shoulder. “However, you have to understand that it’s also for the best.”

“I understand.” Fuck you, and fuck all of you.

“We’ll leave you to rest for now.” Yeah, leave me the fuck alone before I melt the fuck down.

As they step out, all the tension in the room leave along with the squeak of their fine, leather dress shoes. You’re left with the silent physician, whose presence you’d completely forgotten despite the wildness of her dark curls. She shifts uncomfortably, parting her lips to speak, only to find that she didn’t know what to say.

“What is it?” You ask, lowering your voice so as to not intimidate. Prompting to break the silence in her place.

The woman blinks at you, somewhat relieved by your words.

“Can I be direct, Miss?” She sternly asks.

“It’ll be better off that way, frankly.”

She leans a little closer, tugging on the sleeve of your arm. “When you first got here, your body was riddled with cuts, bruises, and broken bones around— oh, can I touch you?”

You squirm. “I’m not a relic.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. Most of the rich people I’ve worked with were usually snobby douches who think their skin shed gold.” She subtly laughs, raising the fabric up higher. “Initially, I believed you were exactly that kind of rich kid, but after seeing what happened, you don’t seem like anything they say.”

You raise a brow. “.. Have we met each other before?”

She looked at you as though you’d just insulted her, her eyes about to pop off her thick-rimmed glasses.

“.. I work at Alchemax. I’m the head of the research team in the particle accelerator project— we’ve spoken many, many times before.”

“.. You’re not my physician?”

Her lips tighten into a line. “I take what I said back. You’re exactly like all those other rich kids.”

“W-well, I’m sorry.” You grumbled. “I work with a hundred different people almost every single day, my mind usually shuts down when I’m at work.”

“Well, your father did just drag me out of the line and forced me to fix you up since they didn’t want to risk calling for a doctor who doesn’t know that you’re parading as your brother.” She spoke so quickly, it made you rethink what she just said three times. “Anyways— I needed to tell you that under my observations, you’ve healed yourself in a supernaturally fast rate that it’s groundbreaking.”

“What?”

“Six hours ago, you had broken bones in here,” She points her fingers at your shoulder. “Here,” Followed by your thigh. “And here.” Then your calf. “But after seeing your little drama session with your father, you were able to move yourself without any sort of pain. Initially, I concluded that you must’ve had some very high pain tolerance, but I noticed that so many of your cuts and bruises have all been healed, and that,” Her fingers trace a line over your neck. “That was red as hell just moments ago. Now, it’s gone.”

Oh, the mark you got from Prowler Jr after he choked the hell out of you.

You liked calling him that. Prowler Jr— a smaller, rustier protégée of the Prowler you grew up with.

“.. I wonder why so.”

There was a wily grin on her face that unsettled you tremendously.

“Well, without your father looking, I ran a test on you.”

“You what?”

Without even a single second to lose, the woman takes out few samples from her bag, laying them all out before you with a couple of handwritten documents.

“Here.” She states so proudly.

You marveled at all that she’s written— unfortunately for you, her handwriting was so messily done that you couldn’t understand a single damn thing.

“… You could get sued for this, you know that?”

“Your father wouldn’t. Unlike his children, he can’t find a replacement for me.”

Your mouth hung in disbelief at what you just heard. Rather than acknowledging the insult, however, she plucks out a print of what you assumed were tiny splotches of black tar on a petri dish.

“What the hell is that?”

“I got that swabbed out of your mouth.”

“Oh fuck, I thought I’d dieted enough for the performance!”

“It’s not sweets, sweetheart.” She answered defeatedly, clearly full of your unsure-weaponized-incompetence. “It’s a mysterious symbiote that we’ve recently caught hold of four months ago, and during your fight with the Prowler, it forged itself into your system.” Her fingers trace down your arm, grasping the center of your wrist while grinning. “And it can make you do this.”

As she squeezes your hand, a black matter ejects from your palm. You jolt away, slapping her hand off as you curse.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?”

“The symbiote.” She casually replies. “Isn’t it amazing?”

It retreats like a slimey being, pushing itself back into your skin as though it’d all been a mere hallucination.

“You mean to tell me there’s some alien slime living inside my body!?”

“Well, yes—“

“GET IT OUT OF ME!”

She winces at the loudness of your voice, moving back an inch away. “That’ll take a while for me to dissect. You have to come to my lab tomorrow if you want me to find a way to pull that away from you.”

“I can’t go tomorrow.” You had a date with Miles, and that alone was reasonable enough to miss anything and everything else. “I-I have practice for the fundraiser on Sunday, and I’m still the hostess, so I have to make sure that the preparations are seamless.”

“… I have a comment, but I’m not sure if you’ll like it since you probably hear it all the time.”

“What? That I’m just like my mother?”

She scrunches her nose. “I was going to say that you’re too young to be acting so old.” The woman turns away, beginning to pack up her things again. “You’re sixteen. You should be going out to parties, creating fake IDs, sneaking out to make out with your boyfriend— whatever other shit girls your age like to do.”

You try your hardest not to react at the last mention, since that was definitely what you just did a few hours before. You begin to rub your hands, the friction warming you up as your shoulders shrug.

“Well, as much as I want to do all that, I’ve got too much to do.”

“You won’t be sixteen forever, Miss.” She tosses the bag over her shoulder. “Take that from me. I’m forty-six, and I’ve went through a lot. I’d give everything to be your age again.”

As you watch her head for the door, you call out to her one last time.

“.. Call me [Y/n]. I don’t like it when people way older than me call me ‘miss’.”

She raised her brows. “Alright then, [Y/n].” Your name rolls off her tongue gently.

“How about you? What do I call you?”

With a hand over the knob, the woman beamed.

“.. I’m Olivia Octavius, but you can call me Liv.”

[under-the-dirt]

Hiii :3 I have another song one-shot idea, but with whatever character you want

I hope you have a good day :3

ok ilysm tytytyty i love getting ur song requests but the very first thing that came to mind the second i began this song was “FANAFAFAFAFFAFAFANFAB FNAF REFRENCE‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️” bc i actually just have a squirrel brain. i’ve been wtaching the lore videos n playthroughs sm i’m so obsessed rn but i also thought of price bc i need more price daddy in my life. he’s so sexy. so, tytyty and a i wish you a very very ily <3

pairing: price x fem!reader

tags: sleeptalking, price is daddy, pet names :3, reader is a sleeptalker, ermrmrmrm a lil smut near the end.. fingering, overstimulation, p in v, unprotected sex (guys pls don’t), ermm UNDER 13 DNIII!!! SHOO CHILDREN!! I WILL BLOCK U!!!

You’ve always struggled to sleep alone. Your therapist had told you it was a trauma response, makes sense. You’d gotten by with large teddy bears and music, but once you became a part of the TaskForce 141 you hadn’t been able to get either.

So, you’d barely been able to sleep. No one really noticed, except for Price. He could see the bags beneath your eyes, he watched you chug energy drinks when you thought people weren’t looking, and after you got hurt due to being unable to move quick enough from pure exhaustion he knew he just had to step in.

You were sitting in your bed, doing unnecessary paperwork, when there was a soft knock on your door and a soothing voice from the other side.

“Can I come in, love?” Price’s gravelly voice asks, and you of course let him in. He sits down on your desk chair while you resume your position on your bed. “I’ve noticed something ‘bout you, love.”

“What is it, sir?” You respond dutifully.

“Those bags under yer eyes.. An’ when you ‘s constantly drinkin’ them energy drinks.. They’re bad for you, you know that right?” He explains softly, looking at you with those gentle blue eyes.

“Yeah..”

“Can ye not sleep ‘r somethin’?” He asks, getting to the point.

“Not well, sir.” You reply, albeit ashamed, and he nods.

“Why not?”

“Since I was little I’ve been unable to sleep without someone or something next to me.” You explain, head down.

“Ah.”

“it wasn’t a problem until I got here, and I don’t have a bear. I doubt they’d even allow one.” You chuckle softly, and he hums.

“Could I help?” He questions gently, and from the look on his face it’s completely serious.

“Y-yeah I mean- If you want to..”

He nods, walking to the door and flicking the light off before climbing into your bed beside you.

“Alright, come on sweetheart.” He smiles, watching you lay down and fall asleep, both maintaining enough distance to remain comfortable. That was some of the best sleep you’d gotten since you arrived, and you hoped he’d continue.

He did, the next day, and the next, and every day after that unless he was on a long mission. At some point you’d moved to his room due to his bigger bed and for general convenience. You became more and more comfortable with him as the nights went on, and soon you were cuddled to his chest as you slept, mumbling whatever nonsense was in your mind. He never minded your cute habit, never thinking much of it, until one night you begin saying his name.. Innocently enough for a bit, until a few days later when you began saying his name in full sentences instead of quick mumblings.

“John.. mm.. want you so bad.. need you..” You whisper, and he chuckles. “Mm… love you..”

“What’s that, bunny?” He asks, running his hands along your waist as you continue mumbling.

“Love you, John..”

“Is that so?” He asks with a gentle chuckle, the rumble of which stirs you.

“Hmm? Did you say something?” You ask tiredly, rubbing your eyes and looking up at him.

“What’re ye mumblin’ about?”

“I wasn’t saying anything..”

“Oh really? You were just sayin’ that ye love me.. What’re ye dreamin’ about, bunny?” He purrs, voice getting slightly deeper and causing you to blush.

“Uhm.. nothing..”

“Thas’ all?” He coos, running his hands lower to your hips and teasing the waistband of your shorts.

You blush further. “I- well.. you were in it..”

“Oh was I?”

You nod.

“And what were we doing?”

“uhm..” You hide your face, not wanting to describe the things you did in your dream, when suddenly John’s hand slips beneath your shorts and taps your clit gently.

“Something like this..?” He purrs, rubbing your clit gently through your panties, and you let out a soft moan. He chuckles, sliding your panties to the side to feel the wetness between your folds. “Hmm.. so wet already..” He tsks, running his finger up and down through your folds and removing it, bringing it up to his mouth and licking your juices off. You stare at him, wide eyed, and he chuckles.

He reaches down again, looking at you for permission before slipping your shorts off and panties with it. He inserts two fingers into your cunt without hesitation, and you whimper at the sudden intrusion. He rubs your clit with his thumb as he begins gently pumping his fingers in and out, curling them to hit that spongy spot inside of you that has you moaning and arching your back. He quickly shuts you up by kissing you deeply, tongue exploring your mouth with feverish lust. Using his free hand, he tugs down his sweatpants and boxers, letting his hard cock spring free. You gasp at the feeling of it against your stomach, its pure size a shock, and reach down to stroke it gently. He groans into the kiss, and the sound makes you cum almost instantly without warning. He laughs and pulls his fingers put, running his cock through your folds and rubbing your overstimulated clit.

“God.. so perfect for me, aren’t ye?” He chuckles, slowly pressing the thick tip of his cock into your tight hole, groaning at the feeling of you fluttering around him. “Relax for me, lass.. God.. so tight” He grunts, pushing into you, listening to your moans and whimpers. After finally bottoming out, he stays still to let you adjust, before gently pulling back to thrust into you and slam into your g-spot.

“John.. ohmygod oh.. oh..” You moan and babble, his cock completely turning your brain off as he hits your g-spot over and over. “God- g-gonna- John..”

“You gonna cum? Go on, be a good girl and cum on my cock.” He commands, and you cum instantly, eyes rolling back into your head with a loud moan. He follows soon after, filling your tight pussy with his thick cum. “So good for me.. So good for me..” He praises, pulling put slowly and kissing you gently. He kisses your neck as you fall asleep, and to say that night was the best sleep you’ve ever gotten was an understatement.

that was pretty fun to write, sorry it took so long! i love getting song requests <33333 hope this is good!!!

[vodika-vibes]

hi!! i saw that your requests where open and i wanted to request something for wrecker bc i noticed you don’t have anything for him yet!

i was hoping for a cute fluffy proposal for wrecker x gn reader please?

For Always

Summary: You’ve loved Wrecker since you were a child. Since the day his CT number appeared on your body, written in a messy hand on your collar. Luckily, he’s always felt the same way.

Pairing: TBB Wrecker x GN!Reader

Word Count: 948

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: This is technically a soulmate AU. I had an idea and thought it was cute.

You stir awake at the feel of warm lips pressed against your collar, and you mumble something that might have been a name, if you were a little more awake, but just sounded like several letters strung together in a facsimile of a word.

There’s a low chuckle and you blearily blink up at the man half laying over you, “Morning, cyare.” Wrecker murmurs, his voice a low, and pleasant, rumble to your half asleep ears.

You yawn widely and stretch out across the bed, before you reach up to lightly caress his cheek, before your hand falls to his chest, where your name rests right over his heart. “Morning,” You finally reply with a sleepy smile.

He takes your hands in his and threads your fingers together as he leans over you, “Did I wake you?”

“I was already half awake,” You admit as you shimmy on the soft cotton sheets to press yourself as close to him as you can, “You’re up early, handsome.”

“Mm,” Wrecker hums his agreement, before he slowly lowers his head to press his face against your neck, “Have plans for today.” He finally says, his lips warm against your heated skin.

“Oh?” You squeeze his fingers, “Anything interesting?”

“Not really,” He moves his head so that his nose bumps yours, “Omega wanted me to go shopping with her today, and then lunch with my brothers.”

“Sounds fun,” You reply with a small smile.

“Well, Tech’s been in wedding mode since the day Phee asked him to marry her, so lunch is really us helping him hammer out the last details.” Wrecker admits, he presses a feather light kiss against your lips, “What about you?”

“Phee is looking at dresses today, and she wants me along to help. Since I’m stand in for her family.” You lean up to catch his lips in a heated kiss, which makes him sigh against your lips, “We’re also going to finally find an outfit for me today.”

“You’ll look amazing no matter what you wear.” Wrecker says loyally.

You laugh softly, “Phee tends to agree, she’s been thinking about what she wants me to wear, since they’re getting married on the beach.”

Wrecker finally releases one of your hands, but only so he’s able to trail his fingers down your bare arm, “Do you ever think about it?” He asks, his gaze serious.

“About what?”

“Marriage.”

You watch him, slightly surprised, though the surprise fades as you consider his words. “I’d be lying,” You finally say quietly, “if I said I hadn’t. But I’ve been thinking about it more and more lately.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smile at him adoringly and press your hand against his cheek, “But I don’t need to be married to be happy with you, Wreck. I’ve loved you since the day your CT number appeared on my skin.” You pause, “Well, after I stopped freaking out about it not being a name.”

Wrecker laughs, like he does every time you mention the story of the day your soul-mark appeared. His grin is broad as he presses his forehead against yours, “I’ve been thinking,” He starts.

“Oh?”

“How would you feel about getting married?” Wrecker asks.

“Like right now?” You ask, your voice hushed.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but all of the ceremony feels a bit...excessive.” He admits, “But that’s Tech and Phee. We don’t need anything quite so big, do we?”

You hum thoughtfully as you consider his words, “I’d like to marry you.” You finally say, “But you’re right. The idea of being the center of attention like what Phee wants sounds like a nightmare.”

Wrecker laughs softly, “So we’ll do something different.”

“Like what?”

“I’ll workshop that with my brothers,” Wrecker admits with a grin. He kisses you one more time, “I actually have a ring.”

You blink at him, “You do?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t found it, to be honest.” He says with a shrug, as he sits up and reaches into his bedside table and hands you a little box. You sit up and open the box to look at the ring.

It’s simple, no diamonds or gems on it, but it’s been carefully carved so that it looks like his armor paint is etched into the metal.

You love it.

It’s so...him.

You grin at him, “It’s perfect.” You pull the ring out of the box and ease it on your finger, before you hold your hand out in front of you to examine how it looks on your hand.

Wrecker presses his chin against your shoulder, peering at the ring on your hand thoughtfully, “It looks good on you.” He finally says, his strong arm slides around you and he pulls your hand to his lips, pressing a light kiss on your knuckles just under the ring, “And soon you’ll be properly mine.” He murmurs quietly.

“I’m already properly yours Wreck,” You correct him with an adoring smile, “This will just make it legal.” You turn so you’re facing him properly, a bright smile on your face.

And then you yelp as he all but tackles you backwards, his lips hot against yours. A laugh falls from you, swallowed by his eager lips, and he pulls away and grins down at you, “Mine.” Wrecker murmurs, “All mine. Finally.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, tightly, “And you’re all mine.” You agree.

He grins at you and leans in to pepper kisses all across your face, “I don’t have to be anywhere for a couple of hours.” Wrecker practically purrs against your lips, “How about we celebrate our new engagement?”

His lips attach to a point against your neck, and you whine, “Yes...please.”

[wikiangela]

fuck it friday

tagged by @daffi-990 @giddyupbuck @spotsandsocks

hi!! i'm back lol - well, the craziness at work is done and I'm slowly getting back to writing bc I haven't written in like a week and it's killing me lol (this is gonna sound dramatic but I literally don't feel like myself if I don't write for too long haha) I don't have anything new to share rn, but I figured since it's already december and since some of y'all are sharing Christmas fics, and knowing I likely won't write one this year, I'm gonna shamelessly plug my holiday fake dating fic with 4 Christmases and 6 Christmas chapters actually 😂 (Christmas was a very important time for Buck and Eddie's relationship in this lol) - there's obvi more holidays in this but anyway, here's a snippet of their first Christmas together also, it's been a year since I posted the first chapter and I'm feeling nostalgic lol, this fic is my baby and I love it so much (tho there's so many things I'd change now lol)

[read on Ao3]

___

Turns out, Buck is very much serious about the whole thing, and Christopher finds it hilarious and is eager to play along. Eddie doesn’t have valid arguments not to do it, and it’s not like he doesn’t want to. After another snide comment when talking to his parents, he made his decision. And he already felt this exciting feeling of satisfaction when he told them he’d be bringing someone for Christmas this year – miraculously, Buck and Eddie don’t work on Christmas, and they took an additional day off, so their schedules allow for a three-day trip to Texas. 

So now, it’s Christmas Eve and they’re on their way from the airport to Eddie’s childhood home, and he’s nervous, doubts just starting to seep in. What on earth possessed him to do this? He can’t lie to his family. He can’t pretend to be in love with Buck. What if he really does fall in love with him? What if everything goes to shit? He’s watched enough movies to know it’s a bad idea, but he couldn’t and still can’t bring himself to stop it.

“So.” Eddie says, his voice shaking slightly, as they sit in a cab. “We’re doing this.”

“Yep.” he can hear Buck grin next to him. “Unless you still wanna back out?” he adds quickly. They could still say Buck’s just a friend. No big deal. But Eddie does have this petty desire to stir something up, and this seems perfect. 

“No. It’ll be fine.” he smiles at Buck, and then feels hot when Buck grabs his hand and interlaces their fingers, winking at him. Christopher laughs.

“You’d make a great couple.” he comments. He’s been unusually happy about all of this. He also asked Eddie a few days ago if Eddie loves Buck, which prompted a conversation, but he thinks Chris knows what’s going on now. Eddie doesn’t really know what to think about that.

“Thanks, buddy.” Buck responds excitedly, squeezing Eddie’s hand, and he can’t contain a smile. If not anything else, at least all three of them are going to have a lot of fun.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @diazblunt @911onabc @spagheddiediaz @housewifebuck @gayhoediaz @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @exhuastedpigeon @weewootruck @loserdiaz @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @ladydorian05 @malewifediaz @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @hoodie-buck @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @diazpatcher @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @thewolvesof1998 @lover-of-mine @hippolotamus @disasterbuckdiaz @jamespearce9-1-1

[taones]

If You Can Hold On (2) - A.A, S.K, S.D

rewrite of the second part of the series (first part here and original series on my masterlist) enjoy <3

pairing ~ poly asadaisuga x gn!reader

warnings ~ pining, angst, Daichi sleeps shirtless bc c'mon now, reader is in the pool being sad but no mentions of drowning! not edited bc I'm lazy

Soft murmurs woke you from your restless sleep. After their last conversation, it had obviously been hard for you to get any good rest. The car rolled to a stop inside a motel car park, bathing you and its other occupants in the red sign light. 

“I went in but they only have one room so the four of us will have to share”

The disappointment in Daichi’s tone was palpable, like an arrow through your heart. You guys were best friends, you had obviously shared rooms and beds before. Why would it matter now? Ever since you had known them you had been comfortable sharing beds etc, even after they started dating. The fact it was different now obviously made you think back to the conversation you overheard. Maybe the person they were adding didn’t like you or they thought it would be inappropriate considering they were courting another person. 

You felt Asahi shift beside you and slammed your eyes shut once again. 

There was no way you were letting them know you were awake. If you had to face them before you fully calmed down, there was no question on if you would end up crying. Also you deeply did not want to give Asahi his hoodie back. There was a lingering feeling in your mind that you would never have an opportunity to steal it again. A sharp twinge of panic rocketed through your stomach at the thought. Of course, there was a chance their new s/o wouldn’t mind, but not many people were comfortable with their partner being that close to someone else. 

“It’s okay” Asahi soothed, “i’ll carry them”

Yeah, like you were going to let that happen. If any one of the three men touched you right now you were sure to burst into tears. Deciding that was the best time to break your facade, you pretended to stir. You hoped the red lights didn’t reflect on the glimmer of tears in your eyes. The cold, wet gravel seeped through the mesh of your shoes as the boys started leading you towards the room. No noise was made apart from the crunches under your feet - small victories, you mused to yourself. You adjusted your bags in your hand so you could grab the room key from Daichi’s hand. It was bronze in colour with a red plastic tag, slightly faded but you were able to make out the number 32 on the front. Locating the room, you were quick to pull away from the rest of the fatigued group, finding it easy to speed away from the sleep-addled men under the guise of dinding some comfort from the rain. Behind you, Daichi held his hand to his chest as if your hasty touch had scalded him. You chewed on your lip slightly, feeling bad at the upset you might have caused. Only hoping he would take it as you being tired, you shifted your gaze to the room door and marched on. 

-

The room itself was painted a gaudy yellow, with a brown patterned carpet that had obviously been unchanged since the motel itself was built. There was a large bed in the middle of the room, big enough for the four of you easily, but your eyes were driven to the sofa to the side of it. It was a loud red, sticking out sorely from the rest of the room. The harsh red was an assault on your retinas. How fitting, you thought to yourself. Scoffing, you laid your bags on the couch, pulling out some shorts and one of Koushi’s t-shirts to sleep in - rushing into the bathroom to change as soon as the other men walked in. 

Thinking you had escaped, you sighed and leant against the door. Only to hear the voices of the three men loud and clear. The thought of escaping out of the tiny bathroom window became suddenly very tempting. 

“I wonder what’s wrong with y/n” Koushi asked, seemingly dismissive.

“I’m sure we’ll find out soon, they don’t hide anything from us” 

You scoffed again under your breath, if only they knew. Still, you couldn;t fault Daichi for comforting his partner. 

“Wait look what I took the other day Suga, it’ll cheer you up”

You heard Azumane pull out his phone and then a resounding ‘aww’ from the grey haired man.

“I wish we could ask them to join us sooner but we have to wait till we’re back huh?” Suga lamented, “wish this trip could be over already” 

Ouch, that one hurt.

He was obviously showing a photo of this mystery person. You really didn’t understand why they hadn’t told you yet. It wasn’t like they could predict your horrible reaction, or that they even knew about your feelings. It made the doubtful pit in your stomach grow and twist, pulling you into a nauseous state. If they really wanted this to be over so soon after it began, there was really no point in you staying. They were obviously preoccupied with this other person - it was like you were never even there to begin with. 

A knock on the bathroom door made you jolt. Reluctantly, you peered at yourself in the dirty mirror and cringed at the sight. There were tear tracks dried onto your skin and your eyes were rimmed with an irritated colour. The sadness couldn’t be more obvious. Hastily, you rinsed your face in the sink, patting it down with your t-shirt. Taking a moment to breath and calm yourself, you turned the door knob. 

Daichi’s concerned face met you on the other side. Well, there goes being inconspicuous. You shot him what you hoped was a reassuring grin and pushed past his shoulder slightly. It was obvious he wanted to say something to you, but he stayed silent. They all watched you hastily grab a blanket off of the end of the bed and reach for the door. Not looking back you called behind you.

“I’ll be right back i just have to, uh, make a call so don’t wait up”

Well done, very convincing, you mused as you shut the door behind you. 

The gravel once again let the damp seep into you. Cold air prickled the skin on your legs while you walked towards your destination. Like all good motels, there was a pool a little bit away from your room, cold and full of rain water from the earlier weather, but it was a welcomed solace from the suffocating presence of the room. It was dimly lit but had no cover, so you assumed nobody would yell at you for using it. The water was surprisingly clear and cold from the earlier rain. Perfect for you to dangle your legs in while you waited there. Rain always calmed you when your thoughts were racing and you assumed the pool would work the same way. Relationships and people might change to you but water, the feeling of it moving over your skin, that would always be the same. 

You thought back to one of your earliest memories with all three of the boys, after you had come to the realisation you were hopelessly in love with all three. It was during first year, towards the end of the summer months, when the leaves had begun to tinge into soft yellows and deep reds. The rain had started pouring that day unexpectedly, breaking through the muggy weather that the last three months had left behind. The icy cold raindrops were a welcome feeling on your heated skin. All three of you had ran from volleyball practice to the courtyard outside, spreading your arms towards the sky like uniform-donned angels - thanking the sky for it’s gift. Of course, you had all got soaked but you smiled even after you had all separated to walk home. 

Simpler times, you thought to yourself sarcastically. The feelings had been so new and exciting at the time, hardly the depressing lingering in the back of your mind as it had been recently. There had come a time in school, you’re not sure when, where you had sort of accepted it would never happen and promptly gave up. Whether this was before or after the three announced their relationship, you had forgotten. Not that it mattered either way. 

Reflections in the water rippled when you dipped your legs into the surface. You stared as your reflection was distorted, mussed about in the small waves. The water settled once again and you were left with the cold, hard truth of the image you had become. Your rimmed eyes and tear tracks seemed to only accentuate the already exhausted look on your face. It was as if you hadn’t slept in weeks. Suga liked describing the sparkle in your eyes when you got excited about something - apparently it reminded him of a snowglobe or something, whatever he had said. You sighed, meeting your own eyes in the water. They were empty of any sparkle. 

You swished your legs around the water again, a weight lifting off your shoulders as your face was contorted once again by the waves. 

A ringtone rang out from next to you and you scrambled to shut it off. Bringing the phone up to your ear, you were met with the soothing (if not minorly monotone) voice of your club manager and best friend. 

“Hello?” you sniffed into the receiver. 

Luckily for you, Kiyoko had escaped your seemingly never ending list of crushes. She had been a fast friend when you had met and, luckily for her, she was currently driving somewhere around the Japanese countryside with her girlfriend. 

The dark-haired girl was also one of the only people in the world that knew your secret. Which was most likely the reason for her phoning. 

“How are you holding up y/n?”

You scoffed. 

“As good as i can i suppose” you joked, shoulders tensing at the lack of response. 

“Okay, i’m doing horribly, i swear they’re doing it on purpose”

She hummed, never one for many words. 

“Did you know they wanted to add another person to their relationship? They won’t talk about it when they think i’m awake but i caught them in the car. They seem so,  so excited and i hate that i can’t just be happy for them”

Gnawing on your lip, you waited for a response.

“Do you need  us to come pick you up?” she questioned, almost hesitantly. 

You stopped and thought about it. Was it the best idea for you to stay? There was a feeling poking at the back of your brain that this trip would go horribly wrong but you weren’t too sure it would be the best idea to leave either. There was no real excuse you could give the boys and you had been planning this for a while. Chewing on your thumbnail, you made a choice. 

“I don’t think you need to get me” you began, “i’ll see how it goes but, uh, be on standby i guess”

A melodic hum rang from down the phone. You weren’t sure what it’s inflection was. 

The call ended quite quickly after that. It was expected, the hour was late and Kiyoko definitely had better things to do than audibly observing her friend having a breakdown. It would be a lie to say you didn’t sound as pathetic as you looked. The rain had started falling again towards the end of your conversation so you had stuffed your phone in your pocket and hugged the worn blanket tighter around your bare arms. 

You had failed to see a shock of cropped, brunette hair disappearing behind your room door.

The cold rain drizzled down your scalp and down your neck, leaving goosebumps in it’s wake. The rain seemed to peel some of the pressure of of your shoulders. It gave you something to focus on so that you didn’t have to think so hard for a while. Quieting the thoughts spinning round your head like whirlpools. Closing your eyes, you laid back on the wet tile and imagined spinning your hands around in the frigid water, creating your own whirlpools. Ones so powerful you could jump right in and they would suck you away from the motel - to wherever you wanted to go. Maybe you could stay underwater for a while, away from everyone. Kiyoko was a strong swimmer, she could bring you food and company. Maybe you could make some less complicated friends with the fish and little crabs that lived on the seafloor. 

When you peeled open your wet eyelids, your reality confronted you like a slap to the face. The motel was still the motel, and the pool's surface remained unchanged. 

“y/n!” yelled a voice from behind you. 

Rolling your eyes, you peered up from between your lashes. Suga had run out of the room, holding one of his partners' jackets above him in a mockery of a shelter from the rain. You would think he would have the sensibility to choose a waterproof one. 

His shoulders were drawn close to his body under his knitted cardigan, silvery brows drawn close to each other. There wasn’t much exchanged between the two of you but the worry on his features was hard to miss. You suppose you did look somewhat like a corpse at the time. Even worse - a cold, damp one. Even now, you looked back up towards the sky and snorted at your own silliness, as if they were even thinking about that. 

-

Asahi looked at the exchange from the winder, choosing to accompany his boyfriend outside when he saw your body twist and return to its previous position. Being one of the more sensibly dressed of your group - he grabbed a parka and headed out next to the shorter man, perching his chin on Suga’s shoulder. 

“I wish i knew what was going on in their head sometimes” Asahi commented from next to Koushi’s ear. 

His voice was soft enough and they were far enough away that you couldn’t hear them. In all fairness, without facing them anyone would have been completely unaware that they were talking. They both observed your sodden state, noticing your eyelids fluttering closed as you slipped off to sleep. 

“I would love to know how on earth they can sleep in this weather” Koushi commented dryly, “they’re going to catch their death because of the damn rain one of these days”

The brunette chuckled, wrapping his arms around his lover’s waist. Asahi had a comforting effect on almost anyone that truly knew him. A real gentle giant, his presence had the ability to both command attention and become a bean of solace for anyone that needed it. It was hard not to feel comfortable around Asahi Azumane. Something his boyfriend could attest to enthusiastically as his shoulders finally withdrew from next to his ears.

“They seemed happier out here in the rain than they have on the entire trip so far”

If he hadn’t been right next to his jaw, there is no way the taller man would’ve heard Koushi’s bitter muttering. And some part of him wished he didn’t, because then he wouldn't have to face the fact that his statement was entirely true. Even now, as you drifted off into sleep, the smile that had been missing the entire trip had somewhat returned to your face. It was refreshing to see but the two men only wished they had been the cause, not a weather pattern. The lines of your body were less harsh, less bunched up into each other. Your limbs hung loose on the tiles and the water instead of coiling and wrapping around each other like fishing line - the desperate attempt to make yourself smaller had not gone unnoticed by your companions. 

Asahi bit his lip. 

“We should get them inside” came the sleep-addled voice of their third and final partner. 

Daichi was dressed the least sensibly of all of them, only wearing a pair of chequered pyjama pants. Of course, as he was leaning in the doorway and not actually outside, there was no need for much else. A flower of guilt had bloomed in the pit of his stomach at overhearing the other two’s conversation. Your behavior had not gone unnoticed by him, but he had initially assumed you were just tired. It was overtly obvious to him now that something was very wrong. 

The three men trudged the small distance to your snoozing figure, not caring much if they got soaked. Daichi sat you up next to the pool as the other two worked on drying your chlorine-coated legs. The coarse fabric of the towels did little to disturb your slumber, only causing your knees to draw up to your chest and a small hum to escape your parted lips. The gaze of the shorter brunette man would probably have burnt holes in your skin had you been awake at the time. However, the contentment of your slumber went undisturbed and you turned your face into his bare chest, snuggling into it. 

part two is up! i've already finished part three so I will hopefully post that tomorrow <3 reblogs and comments are always appreciated, stay sexy!

[daisyful-gvf]

sweet as berries (part 9)

18+

*********************************************************

pairings: josh x reader

tags/warnings: fingering, sex toys, unprotected sex. oral (f), u know just the usual

word count: 2.5k

notes: posting at 3am bc i want to😀 it’s been way too long, i assure you the next chapter will not take this long. also no plot here at all lmfao

********************************************************

-🍓-

Pop

The lollipop Josh had been enjoying for the last ten minutes made a soft sound as he pulled it from his lips.

“How come I’ve never seen you use that?” he asked, pointing with his lollipop to the nightstand you were sorting through. You had the perfect necklace to layer with the one he got you for Christmas, and you knew it was somewhere in the overfilled drawer.

“What?” you asked, trying to understand what he was pointing to.

“That,” he pointed closer to the toy you’d set on your bed along with ten other things as you were trying to make room to look for the necklace, “The rose thing.”

“What about it?” you asked softly, a little flustered. You hadn’t thought anything about getting it out in front of him, but of course he had noticed it.

“How come I’ve never seen it before?” he sucked on the lollipop again.

“Um,” you laughed, a bit nervous, as you sorted through more items, “I dunno. I don’t really need it recently since you wanna fuck me every time I breathe,” you laughed again, more genuinely.

“Well,” he popped the candy from his mouth and giggled, “You’re not wrong.”

It was quiet for another moment as you rustled through the drawer, before he interrupted the silence:

“Doesn’t mean we couldn’t use it.”

You took in a sharp breath.

“We?”

“Yeah,” he grinned and stretched way across the bed to paw at the back of your thigh playfully.

“Bet you’d like my fingers in you while you use that, hm?”

The heavy, sudden exhale that shuddered from you was undisguisable.

“Ooh,” you could hear the grin in his voice, “She likes that idea.”

“Josh..” you murmured, tucking it into your nightstand, a little embarrassed.

“Can I see it?” he asked, “Never seen one before.”

You rolled your eyes and passed it to him quickly, going back to organizing stuff in the drawer.

He clicked it to life and placed the tip of his pointer finger against it. The sound of it stirred something in you, and your thighs pushed together a bit.

“You like this thing?” he asked, his voice a bit lower.

You just nodded and offered a soft, “Mhm.”

“it’s like…sucking on my finger,” he grinned.

“Kinda the point, babe,” you giggled. He was so sweet sometimes, so lighthearted and curious.

“Can I see it in action?” he asked. His tone wasn’t playful anymore, but rather soft and sincere. You looked over to him, cheeks warm. You swallowed.

“Sometime, yeah. Sure,” you nodded, finally wrapping your fingers around the gold tinted necklace you were searching for.

“No,” he shook his head, “I mean now.”

“Josh,” you breathed, head snapping up to look at him. He looked candy sweet—precious and hopeful.

“Mm? Just show me?” he reached out to touch your thigh again softly. He took the finished lollipop stick from his mouth and set it in a cup on your nightstand.

You swallowed, throat dry. You couldn’t really think of a reason not to, and you weren’t really sure why the thought made you so nervous. The sound of the toy alone had piqued your interest, but the thought was vulnerable.

“I don’t know…”

“Please, sweetheart?” He looked up at you with soft eyes, his thumb rubbing at your thigh, “I’d like to see.”

He had a way of melting you that you could not resist.

“Um,” you nodded, “Yeah, sure.”

He nodded back and offered a gentle smile.

“You nervous, sweet girl? No reason to be nervous,” he smiled wider, “My tongue has been inside you, ya know.”

“Not helping,” you grinned, stripping your underwear off and laying down in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled softly, “Really though. You know you’re safe with me, right?”

You nodded, feeling the genuine care in his voice. He leaned forward and kissed you softly as you settled before him, legs on either side of him.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he said against your lips before he lowered himself down into his stomach.

Your cotton t-shirt laid over the tops of your thighs, hitched just high enough for him to see you. The soft fabric tickled your skin.

“Can I touch you first?” he said, sounding breathless, skirting his fingers over your bare hips.

You’d never turn that down, and so you offered him a small nod as you got comfortable against the down pillows.

He rubbed the pad of his thumb over your clit and then slid it down to coat it in the slick there, before moving it back up.

“There’s no way you’re this wet already,” he grinned, “You like this idea a bit more than you’re letting on, maybe?”

“I dunno,” you giggled and bit your bottom lip, “maybe.”

“Mm,” he hummed and leaned in to suck softly on your clit, leaving it wet with saliva.

He settled, laying propped on one of his arms, your thigh almost on his shoulder between your legs. Grabbing the toy, he turned it over in his hand to inspect it. A bashful smile made its way across his expression.

“Do you turn it on then hold it to you, or hold it then turn it on?” He asked.

You giggled, “Doesn’t really matter. Turn it on first.”

He nodded and pressed the on button, then with intense focus, watched your face as he nestled it over your clit. You couldn’t help the way your stomach rippled, and the soft noise that escaped you. He held iit soft and steady to you as you adjusted with a deep breath.

It was still vulnerable. You tried to relax into the sensation, and you were mostly successful, save for a tinge of heat in your face.

“Good?” he murmured. You nodded, reaching down and placing your hand over his to help him position it just so. He let you move his hand, and finally with a quiet groan, you let go, letting him hold it as you tangled a first into his hair. You watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed, watching you with hooded eyes.

“Do you like this first setting?” he asked softly.

You nodded, “One of the other ones is good too, but,” you sighed, “First one’s nice.”

He nodded and bit his lip, but then after a soft moment of him skirting his free hand up and down your inner thigh, he spoke.

“Let’s try the other ones,” he said with a grin.

He clicked to the next setting, and your legs trembled at the more intense sensation. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as it pulsed through you.

“Don’t be quiet,” he smiled up at you, “C’mon now.”

He waited a moment before clicking it to the next one. The sensation barreled into you, and goosebumps blanketed your body.

“That one?” he asked, eyes looking up caringly. You just nodded, overwhelmed.

His hand tracing over your thigh slipped down, until his fingers nudged at your entrance. Pathetically, you whined and nodded, wordlessly begging for it.

You groaned unexpectedly loud as he sank the two fingers into you, and his head shot up at the noise. His plush lips spread into a smile as he watched your eyes flutter shut. Your abdomen was alight with a warm glow.

“You like that?”he coaxed.

You answered with a moan of his name and a frantic nod.

“You do like that…” he curled his fingers and his mouth parted open, mimicking yours, “Mm. You’re trembling.”

Unable to do much else with the way the pleasure was gripping your body, you nodded and let your lead fall back against the headboard. You watched as he nuzzled his cheek into your inner thigh, impressively working his fingers while holding the toy to you.

“So fuckin’ hot…” he breathed. He pressed a soft kiss to your leg before moving the toy briefly. Before you could pout, he leaned in and licked gently at your clit.

“I know,” he soothed, sensing your sadness over the loss of the toy, “I’ll put it back in a second, sweetheart. I got jealous of this little thing.”

Your heart ached for him, and his care coupled with the need he was summoning in you was a perfectly dizzying sensation.

He sucked softly on your clit, letting the sweet brush of his lips drive you wild, “You’re so swollen,” he murmured, “Ths feel nice?”

Really, you could focus on little else other than chasing an orgasm. The temptation was too near, too close within grasp to care about anything else, or to answer his question.

“Please…” you offered softly, swiping a thumb over his cheekbone endearingly.

He nodded gently and brought the toy back to you, coupling the introduction of it with a curl of his fingers. Your chest punched out another shocked groan, and he smiled wickedly at it. Your stomach tensed in waves, making your body nearly convulse.

“You gonna cum for me?” he sighed, nearly breathless, “I want it bad. I could prolly cum just thinking about it.”

His eyes peered up at you and confirmed his words: desperation danced in the brown of his irises. Even if you didn’t want to fulfill his request–which you very much did–you had no choice. With a strong curl of his fingers and a feather-light kiss to your thigh, you were catapulted to your end.

Violently, the orgasm took hold of you, wracking your body with bliss. The burst of wetness that came from you was involuntary, and you could do nothing but let it take its course as you rode the wave.

“Berry,” he groaned, “Holy fuck.”

You took a heaving breath and centered yourself, looking down at his awestruck face as he withdrew his soaked fingers. Graciously, he pulled the toy off your oversensitive self and clicked it off before tossing it aside.

“Baby, you’ve been holding out on me.” he smiled, “Does this thing always make you do that?”

“Hmm?” You asked, dazed. He held up his glistening hand and wiggled his fingers.

“Sometimes,” you admitted in a sleepy sigh.

“Jesus Christ…” his eyes rolled back before he shook his head, moving to kneel on the bed. As he did, you could see hardly anything besides the hard length of him strained against his sweatpants. In the haze of your orgasm, you wanted nothing more.

“Fuck me,” you sighed, waiting for his eye contact. His head tipped up to do just that, and his eyes locked on yours.

Looking stunned, he breathed out a short, “Yeah?”

You nodded and reached for him, trying to drag him up to you by his shirt.

“Shit,” he sighed, fumbling to shove his pants off and climb over you. He did so successfully, and he met you in a firm kiss. He groaned against your mouth, letting you hear how bad he wanted it. His hips ground against you, rubbing the weight of him against your warmth.

“Oh…” his groan was low and shaky against the shell of your ear.

“Josh, c’mon,” you found yourself impatient, pushing your hips up into him and gripping at his sides, willing him in.

He lined himself up and sank into you in a steady motion. Your thighs clamped around his hips, trying to get him close as your body relaxed to take him. The feeling drew a whimper from the back of your throat.

“Jesus Christ,” he shook his head, then buried it into the crook of your neck, “How’s that, sweetheart? Just what you needed?”

“Fuck, Josh,” the curse escaped you effortlessly. He rolled his hips flush to you, and the feeling sent static sparks through your body.

“Mm, yeah?” He cut himself off with a groan, “How about this?”

You waited, a bit confused, as he leaned up onto his knees, still inside you.

“Josh…” You groaned as he grabbed the toy again, incredibly unprepared for the sensation it would inevitably bring.

“Shh,” he soothed, soft as down feathers, “Just try it for me.”

He rolled his hips again as he turned the toy on the lowest setting and brought it to you. The shock of pleasure made you nearly scream out, and judging by the flush that came to his face, he enjoyed the reaction.

His free hand went to your hip, touching softly, soothing you with a gentle grip. The thrusts in and out of you were incredibly slow, allowing for a pleasant drag. It contrasted wonderfully with the buzz of the toy, which lit your body aflame.

“This okay, Berry?” His voice was so low. He was looking up at your face, checking on you. Although you weren’t so sure—your nerves felt like they were splitting, tiny atom bombs—you nodded for him.

“You just tell me if it’s too much, sweetheart,” he purred, “Doing real good for me.”

His praise shot straight to your brain, and between that and the varying lovely sensations, you couldn’t tell if you were cumming, or if you’d reached the afterlife, or somewhere in between. Your eyes alternated between rolling back in your head, and fixed on the flush of Josh’s cheeks as he watched you unravel.

“God, I love seeing you like this,” his voice trembled as he thrusted slowly, “Your pretty brain doesn’t even know what to do, huh? Feels too good?” His tongue swiped across his bottom lip.

“Josh,” you gripped at the skin of his arm rather than answer him.

“Gonna cum again?” He sighed.

“I think so…” your head thrashed against the pillow as you try to catch your breath, “Just keep...”

“I will,” he fucked into you slowly and released a drawn out, shaky breath, “But i’m gonna cum too.”

You nod, giving him permission to lose it right then. You were already at your limit, and your body couldn’t take much more anyways.

“Fuck, Berry–” he gasped, stuttering his hips and slamming them against you as he let go. You nearly convulsed around him, face scrunched up in an overwhelmed state of bliss as it hit you.

“Fuck,” it was a whimper from you as you came down. You shoved your hands between your legs and pushed the toy away as your stomach twitched from the comedown.

“Oh…” he groaned one last time, pushing against you once more before pulling out, leaving you to drip on the bedding.

“Babe, the sheets,” you lamented, head falling back.

“You already ruined them, baby,” he giggled as he leaned over you, kissing your cheeks repeatedly, “We’ll clean ‘em. S’okay.”

You reached up to grab his cheeks and lead him into a warm kiss. He hummed against your mouth.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he spoke in his husky voice and grinned against the kiss.

“Mmhm,” you giggled, “Thank you for the idea.”

"You liked it, hm?” he nuzzled against your cheek, his voice cocky, “I could probably list off a few more if you give me a minute.”

“Let’s hear ‘em.’

-🍓-

taglist:

@starshine-wagner @dannywagners-chesthair @writingcold @kels-gvf @aconfusedhippie @fearless-wanderer @greenrubbersoul @thehourbeforesunrise @madz-0217 @gretavanbitches @doodle417 @rhythm-of-space @milkgemini @st4rdust-ch0rds @thegardensgate @myownparadise96 @gretavanfleas @josh-iamyour-mama @spark-my-nature @saltydogkiszka @jordierama @sammiejane22 @jakekiszkastaurussuit @jake-kiszkas-smirk @babyhoneygvf @gabyvanfleet @gretavanslut @dannyandthekiszkas @freckled-wonderland @haley1623 @objectsinspvce @sammyfuckingkiszka @why-ami-on-here @kay-jordan @pr41sethemoon @watchingovergvf2

[f1-stuff]

im currently in the sitch where i like so many carlos charles and charlos posts that the suggested posts in my feed are posts that talk about how much charles dislikes carlos, ferrari and charles hate carlos, etc etc… is there anything you do to avoid this?

(love your blog btw!!)

Hi ❤️ the only way I’ve been able to deal with this is to steadily block the blogs that I see posting stuff like that. I also have a couple tags filtered, but people don’t often tag those posts ‘#anti sainz’ or ‘#hate’ or whatever (bc they want to upset people/stir drama).

If you’re like me and you search through the carlos/charles/charlos tags a lot, unfortunately, you’ll still see posts like that. You just have to block people 🤷🏻‍♀️ And hopefully, your tumblr will learn not to suggest that content. If anyone else has advice, feel free to reply!

[running-tweezers]

Rant 🙃

I fucking hate having the triggers I have. They prevent me from enjoying things the way I want to. I hate that my bad experiences in fandom STILL affect me even after ALL the work I’ve done.

I’ve been working on something kinda big, a recap video of the first season of the Freelancer storyline, with plans to maybe do more if I enjoy it and people like it. I’ve been writing it, coming up with ideas for it, I’ve been really excited.

But then I’m reminded that in order for me to make these recaps, I have to talk about characters and events that are apparently ✨controversial✨ just by existing I guess. I can’t just skip over the fucking Discourse Magnets bc they’re part of the storyline, and it’s making it hard for me to make my haha funny comedy recap video.

And it’s not that I’m even discussing the discourse shit in the video! I’m actively avoiding it actually, just like I actively avoid it everywhere. And it’s never even one “side” or the other of these “controversies” that bothers me. I don’t fucking care. It’s the fact that it exists in the first place. My shitty experiences with shitty fandoms and shitty people (lbr person) have made just the mere existence of fandom discourse triggering to me. And it’s fucking frustrating bc as much as I try to control my experience and block ppl and tags that stir shit I STILL SEE IT. It’s inescapable. And I guess that’s inevitable but it just makes it hard for me to do the things I want to do.

Idk it just feels like every time I take one step forward, I end up two steps back and I can’t do the things I enjoy. But hey, I chose to come back here, and if I want to see literally ANYTHING in fandom I guess I have to deal with it. 🙃

[olliexwrites]

Find The Word!

yoinked this from @dyrewrites (hope you don't mind!)

Rules: Find the words in your WiP, share a line or excerpt.

My words were Fall, Leap, Bright, Blur

I am tagging @bluberimufim, @thescarleteyes, and @cherrybombfangirlwrites, and an OPEN TAG to anyone that wants to do it!!

Your words are: White, Storm, Love, Desk

Using excerpts from A Grove Of Silver Leaves bc DUH

Fall —

Lindenbaum motioned for Lector to place her down on the ground. Once she had positioned herself on her knees, she wrapped her arms around Xin Lan, allowing the struggling youth to bury his face in her shoulder. She didn’t move a muscle, not even when he started crying, muffled sobs falling past his lips. She just stayed there, allowing him to let out the emotions he was feeling. “We have to take him with us.” Lector’s statement was unyielding; he had made up his mind regardless of what anyone else said or did. And he was right.

Leap — (I used a synonym, Jump)

He followed her into the cottage, which was rather unlike him, and shut the door behind him, locking it from the inside in an attempt to reassure the girl. He smiled as he moved to press a button on the side of the hearth, causing a roaring purple flame to jump to life. Despite the fact that it was artificial, it created a comforting warmth nevertheless. She softly sighed as she hung her ivory cloak on one of the hooks on the gray brick wall before moving to sit beside the other on the sofa.

Bright —

“Ah, that. Well, I was examining your blood to make sure everything was alright, but then you started bleeding a lot. It’s almost as if you had excess blood that didn’t quite make its way out normally. I’m just trying to make sure that you don’t die from blood loss.”  His words were serious, but his tone was bright, almost as if he was telling a good joke. This juxtaposition made Lindenbaum feel uneasy, and the arm that wasn’t currently occupied flew to her head. She pressed her hand against her forehead at her growing headache, softly groaning.

Blur — (Synonym used, Haze)

“...ey. Hey.” A tap upon her shoulder stirred Lindenbaum from her haze. She blinked a couple of times and looked over to find that Wistaria was looming over her. Having such a close-up view of the Crimson Witch was such a jarring change of scenery from Seraphina dancing that it took her a few long seconds to adjust to what she was seeing, “You okay?” Wistaria’s tone was lower yet softer than normal. They appeared concerned for her wellbeing, dark brows knit into worried lines. It wasn’t typical of them to wear anything other than a scowl of contempt, so this was such a surprise to see.

[treecakes]

Hi, sorry to do this, but I notice you vent about the TGCF manhua art quite a bit… Which within itself is fine; it’s your blog and your opinion and you don’t have to like it, but…

The main thing is, when you type a post with barely any text and then put most of your thoughts in the tags, it will show up when other people look through the tags…since that’s how the Tumblr search function works.

So for example, if I’m interested in finding posts on various manhua (not solely related to TGCF), I end up having to scroll through quite a few posts of yours where you’re just dissing the TGCF manhua. Which is again fine in it being your opinion, but it makes it a bit harder for people browsing like me who just want to enjoy various manhua and weren’t intending to view multiple negative posts in a row that could lean toward discourse or drama-stirring.

I’m not even that into TGCF or the manhua myself, but I do like different donghua and manhua and it’s just a tad awkward scrolling through an already mostly quiet and empty tag and just coming across multiple posts that seem designed as a personal opinion that is meant to be shared to one’s blog/followers rather than the full public of Tumblr[’s search function] (I realize the tags can feel like a quieter place to communicate your thoughts, and this is true for reblogs, but for original posts, it only draws more eyes to your post if someone’s searching up key words in the search bar).

Plus as mentioned, the manhua tag can be pretty quiet, so it’s just a bit inundated at the moment with the TGCF manhua hate (it’s not just you that does this). And the perpetuation of “not really actual manhua content” is only exacerbated with the fact that manhua in general is such an underrated medium, and the tag is already flooded with people mistagging different manhwa as manhua etc.

That’s why I thought I’d mention it, although usually I wouldn’t try to say anything! Apologies for the long message. You can go back to hating the TGCF manhua now, but I hope you’ll be willing to at least take the tagging stuff into consideration. 😅

yeah i know how the tumblr tagging system works and i decided i don’t like. particularly care. it’s how i post 🤷 also correct me if i’m wrong but i’ve literally made two posts abt this in the last like. week. that’s it. 😭 i don’t go out of my way to make original posts abt this series bc like. it’s not the focus of my blog? and i was just annoyed i kept getting messages and rbs abt it on my silly little poll blog 😭😭 i don’t make a point of clowning on the manhua

[ocdhuacheng]

Hi, sorry to do this, but I notice you vent about the TGCF manhua art quite a bit… Which within itself is fine; it’s your blog and your opinion and you don’t have to like it, but…

The main thing is, when you type a post with barely any text and then put most of your thoughts in the tags, it will show up when other people look through the tags…since that’s how the Tumblr search function works.

So for example, if I’m interested in finding posts on various manhua (not solely related to TGCF), I end up having to scroll through quite a few posts of yours where you’re just dissing the TGCF manhua. Which is again fine in it being your opinion, but it makes it a bit harder for people browsing like me who just want to enjoy various manhua and weren’t intending to view multiple negative posts in a row that could lean toward discourse or drama-stirring.

I’m not even that into TGCF or the manhua myself, but I do like different donghua and manhua and it’s just a tad awkward scrolling through an already mostly quiet and empty tag and just coming across multiple posts that seem designed as a personal opinion that is meant to be shared to one’s blogs/followers rather than the full public of Tumblr[’s search function] (I realize the tags can feel like a quieter place to communicate your thoughts, and this is true for reblogs, but for original posts, it only draws more eyes to your post if someone’s searching up key words in the search bar).

Plus as mentioned, the manhua tag can be pretty quiet, so it’s just a bit inundated at the moment with the TGCF manhua hate (it’s not just you that does this) + the existing spam bots. And the perpetuation of “not really actual manhua content” is only exacerbated with the fact that manhua in general is such an underrated medium, and the tag is already flooded with people mistagging different manhwa as manhua etc.

That’s why I thought I’d mention it, although usually I wouldn’t try to say anything! Apologies for the long message. You can go back to hating the TGCF manhua now, but I hope you’ll be willing to at least take the tagging stuff into consideration. 😅

Yea I know how the search function works the reason why I say manhua in the tags instead of specific things like tgcf or starember is so that it doesn’t show up in the tgcf or starember tags (so no I’m not tryna start discourse or stir drama) I literally didn’t think anyone went into the generic manhua search page lmfao 😂 and I don’t even do this thaaat often I made like 3 posts in the last couple days bc ppl were being annoying about a poll. But like whatever i mean if it bothers you That Much I’ll try to remember to sensor manhua in the tags too skdjdjcjejdjeidjdj

[teecupangel]

From @theconfusedartist’s tags:

#i was debating if desmond should have whipped cream #or anything that needs to be whipped #because doing it manually and without cream of tartar is a form of torture #(speaking from experience) #i honestly don’t want to inflict on him #then I remembered #he’s an assassin #he can take it #lemon juice is also an alternative #for cream of tartar btw #<---teecups tags #omg now im just imagining him getting up and making whipped cream #just so pleased with himself when hes done #he puts it all on his pastries and has a little leftover #then this happens and the last bit of whipped cream spills all over the ground #that day it was desmond who became the most terrifying person in the area #also this entire drabble is so funny! #maria and Altaïr fighting over some delicious sweets #everyone smart just leaving the area whereas anyone foolish getting messed up bc they got in the middle of the fight #desmond becoming the scariest person for a while and closing up shop for the day after losing his whipped cream #lmaooo #this is drabble is gold #i love the baker desmond au

They say the criminal would always come back to the scene of the crime.

And the two criminals did just that.

Maria returned first, an apology already on her lips, only to stop when she saw the smile on Desmond’s face.

For a brief moment, Maria prayed to her god for the souls of both her and that damn Assassin.

Altaïr returned an hour later, wearing freshly cleaned robes that he had obviously gotten from the Rafiq who took a long time just staring at his pomegranate coated (but not blood!) robes before sighing and showing him to one of the rooms in the bureau he could use to change.

Only to freeze when he saw the damn Templar who had sacrificed him to the guards on his knees, holding a bowl on his lap as he…

Continuously stir whatever was in the bowl at such a speed that it used his entire right arm.

“Oh, Altaïr, welcome back.”

Altaïr froze.

Desmond had always greeted him with a cheerful tone that was filled with warmth.

But that greeting…

It was as cheerful as usual with a hint of gentleness to it.

… and was lacking of any warmth at all.

Altaïr stared at Desmond, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the smile on Desmond’s face.

He looked like an angel.

… sent to burn a country with sacred flames.

“Sit.” Desmond ordered in the same sweet tone, like honey that threatened to swallow a small ant.

“I’ll teach you how to make whipping cream.”

And Altaïr…

Altaïr resigned to his fate and closed the door behind him.

‘What if desmond time travels and has to deal with such and such, or turns into an animal, or gets hurt, or-’

What if Desmond time travels and learns how to bake bread!! Huh!!? What about that!! What if he opens a super successful bakery, and solves all the worlds problems with the best fresh baked bread every!!

(This is /j but like. 👏🏻 anons let Desmond have peace challenge👏🏻 (but also don’t cause I love reading all of them I’m just like ‘how did you even come up with this? Sometimes lmao))

Anyway, since we already have a Desmond is a baker in Renaissance Italy idea, here’s Desmond is a baker during the Third Crusades instead:

So in this setup, Desmond would say fuck it and just open a bakery in Acre.

Jerusalem was too much of a hotspot at the moment and Acre had ports which meant there would be new customers that Desmond could lure in with the smell of freshly baked bread. 

And it worked.

Maybe a bit too well because…

Kadar visited while he was out looking for information for his brother’s current target. 

They both stared at one another for a moment and then Desmond just did his usual ‘Welcome! Are you looking for anything specific or would you like to hear today’s recommendations?’ spiel while Kadar just stares at him.

When Kadar went “Altaïr?”, Desmond just gave him his best bartender ‘I’m being respectful but also distant so you’ll still tip me’ smile as he goes, “I’m sorry, we don’t have a bread called ‘Altaïr’.”

Then he showed Kadar the star-shaped pull apart sweet bread he’s just perfected and go “But maybe I can interest you in this pull apart start bread? It’s sweet and fluffy and freshly baked.”

And sweet poor Kadar leaves the bakery with a basket of breads instead because Desmond was good at using both Ezio’s charms and his bartending social skills to get customers to buy more than they should.

Hey.

A man needed to profit to keep the roof over his head while trying to experiment for the upcoming debut of his sugar-free pastries.

The next day, Malik entered the bakery but Desmond was ready.

Desmond had planned for this!

“Welcome!” Desmond greeted, giving Malik his sweetest smile that he knew would completely unnerve Malik.

Desmond weaponized the similarity between him and Altaïr to unnerve Malik to the point that he cannot focus on observing Desmond, distracted by such a sweet smile that looked so disturbing in his eyes because he’s imagining Altaïr doing such an expression and it was horror beyond Malik’s wildest imagination. 

Okay.

Desmond was exaggerating but that got Malik to not ask too many invasive questions and leave the bakery after purchasing two baskets worth of bread so Desmond was going to consider that a mission successful.

And then…

His greatest adversary entered his little quaint bakery.

And Desmond was ready for him.

“Welcome!” Desmond greeted happily, “Are you looking for anything specific or would you like to see today’s recommendations?”

Altaïr simply stared at him.

But that didn’t matter.

Desmond held all the cards.

Because he knew one of Altaïr’s greatest weakness…

Altaïr secretly loved sweets.

“Today’s a special day!” Desmond clapped his hands in practiced joy that wasn’t over the top, “Today’s the debut of our dessert line! Here.”

Desmond took out a tray of sweet deserts, glistening in either honey or fruit jams. 

“Would you like a taste?” Desmond asked with the sweetness of the snake that tempted Eve to take a bite.

And Altaïr…

Altaïr left the bakery with a basket filled with desserts and pastries, quietly sinking into the shadows before anyone could see him and ask for one of the forbidden sweets he had acquired.