#and I love that it doesn’t exist for them it’s so nice and so freeing and I think a large draw for queer people

[megapwnus]

I don’t trust anyone who uses the phrase “female transformers” like……… they don’t have a different biological sex they just use different pronouns and arguably have - in some cases- distinct gender identity. But they’re not “females” …. Nor are any of them “male.”

But also it’s super annoying to have the contrast be “transformers” vs “FEMALE transformers”

I mean. C’mon.

#:| #once again I’m like. what’s with this mammal terminology when applied to she/her transformers #and why. why only them HMMMM #no one talks about he/him transformers like this #tf #tf idw #like ALSO it’s half the fun that they don’t need to worry about biological sex??? like it’s so much less complicated for anode and lug to #just start using she/her pronouns #and it’s not even necessary to distinguish gender separately from that for them #at least not narratively I’m not saying that they maybe don’t have their own complicated feelings #but yeah … I don’t think calling them male or female is helpful at all in fact it feels reductive #and then in terms of GENDER. they are not even employing the same terms or genders as us. the closest equivalent for their generic is like #our non-binary #which is fucking fantastic! #sooooooo callinf them female just. soils all of that and also imposes weird dichotomies and implications that just. don’t exist for them #and I love that it doesn’t exist for them it’s so nice and so freeing and I think a large draw for queer people #so. yeah I get annoyed #maccadam

[thepersonnamedsam]

you already know how much I love gen z driver! could you maybe write something of how would it be if gen z reader’s birthday happened to be during one of the gp’s? how everyone acts and makes it all about her?

happy birthday!

pairing: the genz!driver x '23!grid

summary: it’s the genz!drivers birthday, and it just happens to be the miami gp!

word count: 1.7k

warnings: some swear words and some google translated spanish and dutch :)

note: oh i just love all of your request, especially that one, bc i’m a birthday lover myself! have fun reading it and feel free to request more!! <3

masterlist/ taglist

The first people to congratulate her, were her parents. They called her, in the middle of the night; they forgot that time zones exist. But her heart was full when she picked up the phone at 3AM and both of her parents where singing ‚happy birthday‘ to her. What wasn’t so good, was that she had to be asleep, because it was a Sunday and race day! But it didn’t matter, it was her birthday!

Two hours later, her phone was ringing again, but this time not because someone was wishing her a happy birthday, no, it was her alarm. But today it was okay. 5AM on your birthday doesn’t feel that early, does it now? At least it didn’t for her.

Andy, her personal trainer, knocked on her door at exactly 6.30AM, holding a tiny cupcake with a candle in it. „Happy birthday, y/n!“, his voice cheerful and happy. Her smiled widened and her heart full with love again. „Thank you, Andy.“

„Are you ready for the race?“, Andy asked her. She nodded and closed her hotel door. „I’m excited to see Danny again and Nando and all the other people of course. Oh and definitely Lewis.“, Birthdays were her thing, she always missed them in school, either she had them on a weekend or she was on holiday. So, being surrounded by people who are important to her, was the best present she could’ve gotten.

On the way to the paddock, Andy let her pick out the music, her car playlist was blasting on full volume. Tongue Tied by GROUPLOVE was her favourite song at the moment, that’s why she was singing at the top of her lungs to the lyrics.

„Take me to your best friends house, go around this roundabout, oh yeah“, she looked at Andy as if he would follow the orders of the song.

The music died down, as they arrived at the paddock. Press was already waiting on her, they knew it was her special day and hoped to get some good footage of the birthday-girl. Usually the media annoyed her this early in the morning, but today, nothing could’ve ruined her day. She smiled and waved to the camera, spoke to some press people and had nice conversations with all of them.

The media always tried to find some gossip, especially on the young driver, but not today. They were happy to see her this happy.

As she set foot on the paddock, people were congratulating her. Pads on the back, some strokes on her arm here and there, everyone was nice to her, and who doesn’t enjoy some attention sometimes. Especially if it’s for something you didn’t work for. It was her favourite day of the year, Christmas is second.

„Danny!“, she shrieked as soon as she saw him. She sprinted towards the Australian and jumped into his arms. „I missed you so bad!“ Daniel just laughed and hugged the young driver. „Happy birthday, y/n.“

Her smile was consistent and contagious, every person she smiled at, they just had to smile back. Even Max smiled at her. Well, he always smiled at her, she was one of the persons that could make him smile.

„Max, can you give me a piggyback ride?“, she looked at him with puppy dog eyes and he just couldn’t deny her. „Of course, zus sister.“

As Martin Brundle spotted the two, he motioned to his cameraman to put the focus on them. „And now we see Max Verstappen carrying the birthday girl y/n. It is not rare to see the young driver interact with the different drivers. Let’s wish her a happy birthday“, he talked into the camera. „Hello you two, happy birthday y/n, am I the first to congratulate?“, the older man looked at her with an amusing look on his face. „Martin, as much as I love you, you are hopefully not the first person to wish me a happy birthday“, she looked at him with a serious face.

„Did Max congratulate yet?“, a challenging look on Martins face, he pointed at the camera and said: „Remember, this is a livestream.“, Max‘ cheeks turned a pretty pink colour and y/n gasped. „He did not!“, she gasped. „Max, you didn’t wish me a happy birthday?!“ - „I’m sorry, schat darling. Happy birthday, my dear.“

But how could she hold a grudge against a face that looked like Sid from Ice Age?

Fernando was the next person she saw, and he instantly grinned at her. „Oh Nando, do you know whose special day it is today?“, she singsang to the oldest driver on the grid. „Hmm, let me guess, is it Roscoes?“, he laughed as he saw her shocked face. „How could you, I thought we were friends?“ - „We are, we are, cariño darling. Feliz cumpleaños happy birthday, y/n.“

„How old are you now, 5?“, he laughed at her. „Har har, very funny Nando. How old are you turning this year, 60?“ She was always getting irritated fast. He grabbed her by her hip and pushed her into a side hug of his. „Don’t ever change, cariño.“

„Don’t have a plan for that, who’d change something as fabulous like this“, her hands were pointing to herself. „But on a serious note, Nando, do you know where Lewis is? I’ve been searching for him.“ Fernando only shook his head, he didn’t know where the British driver was. He rubbed over her hair as she left his side to search for her mentor.

„Oh Lewis! Your favourite person is looking for you“, she shouted over the paddock, with no luck. She didn’t even see a trace of Lew, none. But what she did find, was a monegasque driver with the number 16 and a spaniard driving under the number 55. They were arguing over some bullshit, as always, as they spotted her. „y/n! Over here“, Charles shouted over to her and waved his hand. She ran over to them and greeted the older drivers with a side hug. Carlos quickly kissed her head as he wished her a brilliant birthday. Charles even sang the first to lines of the song.

She was a bit embarrassed, but she enjoyed the attention of the two Ferrari drivers. „I love you guys, but have you seen Lewis?“, she smiled at the two as they rolled their eyes. She just wanted to see her favourite person on the paddock. She loved them all equally, but you couldn’t deny that Lewis definitely was her favourite. „I think I saw him at Mercedes, his motorhome“, Charles told her, she totally missed the sarcastic undertone of his and just skipped along to the Mercedes garage.

Before she even set a foot in the motorhome, Toto Wolff approached her and squished her into a hug. „Alles gute zum Geburtstag, liebes! Happy birthday, darling! How are you, so happy to see you“, he whispered into her ear. She loved Toto. „Hi Toto!“, she grinned up at him, „I’m good, thank you. Do you know where Lewis is?“ Toto laughed and pointed to his drivers room. „Thanks!“, she yelled as she took off.

She hasn’t been to her own motorhome, just wandering around the paddock and taking in all the attention from the others. And as she knocked on the door, she knew she’d receive the best attention of them all.

„It’s open“, she heard and busted into the tiny room. „Hello, your favourite human on this planet has arrived and will be gracing your presence from now on!“ She grinned at him and he only laughed and embraced the girl. „I have a present for the birthday girl? do you know where she is“, he joked and turned around to grab her present. „A present? Aw Lewis, you shouldn’t have, you totally should have.“

The present contained some gag gifts, such as a Mercedes hat and shirt, or some shirts with funny pattern on it. But the original present was a necklace. It wasn’t anything special, really. It was a simple silver necklace with a tiny turtle as a pendant. Her eyes were tearing up, so she quickly wiped them away.

„Is this one of the necklaces that makes you a godparent of a sea turtle?“ - „It sure is, have fun with“ he turned the pendant around and looked at the engraving on it „Yertle. He is now your godchild“, he smiled at her and motioned to y/n to turn around, so he could put the necklace on. „Thank you so much, it means a lot“, she hugged him as a thank you. He smiled at her, he adored the young driver and was grateful that he was apart of her journey.

„Thank you, love you Lewis!“, she yelled to him as she sprinted out of the motorhome. She was finally headed to her own garage. They had planned a surprise party for her and Lewis was the distraction. As she reached her motorhome, she didn’t see anyone. „Hello, is it not race day?“, she joked into the dark.

„Happy birthday, y/n!“

She jumped, her heart was racing, but she had a giant smile on her face. Her heart, once again, was full, full with love.

„Ahh, thank you guys!“, she squealed and sprinted into the engineers and mechanics, just like she won a race, which she hasn’t, by the way. She hugged all of them, thanked all and smiled the biggest smile she ever smiled. „I’m so grateful for all of you! And now, let’s win this race!“

She didn’t win, but was one of her best birthdays so far. And the after party was her personal highlight of the day. There was a huge pile of presents, just for her of course.

Lando was the DJ, Max was standing on a table, preparing to do a toast for her and Danny was laughing and pointing his camera at everybody.

The evening was definitely something she’d remember, maybe not Max‘ toast, as it was very embarrassing;

„Dear people, we have gathered here to celebrate not only my win, but also a birthday of some special person. She is not our girlfriend, which we are all happy about, but they’re all jealous of her, y/n! Happy birthday, you beast, come up here!“

The alcohol definitely made it more bearable, but the fact that Pierre had to drag you to Mac spoke for itself.

„Pierre, let me be, go back to your boyfriend“, she spoke harshly to the French man, but he ignored her with a smirk on his face and brought her up to Max.

„Ladys and gents, the birthday girl herself!“

It was one of the better party’s she attended and when she looked at all the posts she’s been tagged, she found one particular that she liked the most.

daniel3.jpg

Liked by yninsta, charles_leclerc and 473’827 others

daniel3.jpg happy birthday to my personal favourite female driver of all time! let’s raise a glass or two, to all the things i’ve lost on you ;)

View all 4638 comments

yninsta i am the only female driver…

landonorris that’s why your his fav

yninsta rude af

daniel3.jpg don’t fight kids

charles_leclerc happy birthday y/n!

carlossainz55 yeah, feliz compleaños to our fav girl

pierregasly liked by pierre gasly

f1girly we love all the drivers in the comments, y/n is definitely the paddock princess

likedbypear oh yes, idk if i want to be her or with her

yninsta be definitely with me, c’mon

neymarjr happy birthday y/n!

°°°

taglist: @ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @missskid , @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23 , @copper-boom , @love4lando , @champomiel , @serenityleah , @iloveyou3000morgan , @angelwithoutmywings , @elleeeee21

#f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #fernando alonso #genz driver #daniel ricciardo #lewis hamilton x reader #lando norris #lando norris x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #max verstappen x reader #pierre gasly x reader #fernando alonso x reader #toto wolff x reader #female driver

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY FOUR

in which you and eddie win the bet.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7k+

→ a/n: oh, holy fuck. holy fucking shit. i have no words, because i know it's not really over yet (we still have an epilogue, friends! don't forget that!) but... i did it. i finished another fic. that's just... insane?

thank you to everyone who has been so very kind and supportive of this fic. i owe you all the world. i'm sure i'll either make a sappy post between now and thursday, or i'll get extra sappy in the a/n on the epilogue, but for now - please know you have all my love. <3

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

24:00 ─────────────── ㅇ 24:00

DINGUS: hey, i facetimed them for last hour’s proof. had to work out when they wanted me to head over and pick her up. 

BIRDIE: both still alive? both still well? 

DINGUS: so it seemed. 

ARGYLE  😎: what a relief! I knew they had it in them

JOHNNY BOY: They still have to last one more hour. 

NANCE: They’ll last the hour. Have a little faith, babe. 

JOHNNY BOY: Still don’t like the fact we’ve just started calling them instead of requesting the photo proof. I mean, how do we not know they’re lying? Did you talk to both of them when YOU called, Nance? 

NANCE: Yes, I told you guys that.

NANCE: Besides, you guys already know that Eddie hates having his picture taken. We’re lucky we ever got picture proof to begin with.

DINGUS: also i JUST facetimed them??? physically saw them?? your lack of trust in me and nance kind of hurts jon

BIRDIE: @NANCE hey can you call ME babe next? 

HOUR TWENTY FOUR – 4:00 PM

“Hey there, love birds. Glad to see you didn’t kill each other.”

Steve. 

You wait for Eddie’s arm to leave you, for him to put space between the two of you, but he doesn’t. He keeps you pressed flush to his side as if the sudden arrival of a friend doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference. 

“Hey, Harrington,” he even casually greets first. 

He’s making no move to get up off the floor. 

Just a little bit longer. Let me sit here and live in this moment a little bit longer.

“Munson,” Steve nods to Eddie before setting his sights on you, “Doll. Nice to see you, kind of glad I’m not having to fish you out of the canals.” 

You feel it — Eddie’s arm tenses behind you ever so slightly at Steve’s nickname. Clearly, it’s still a sore spot for him to work through. 

“I was feeling generous,” Eddie shrugs as if he hadn’t just revealed a flash of jealousy to you. You’re not even sure if he knows that you felt it. But it was there, in the slightest tightening of his grip and the flexing of his bicep behind your shoulder.

“Generous? I think you were feeling friendly,” Steve waves his hand between the two of you, as if he thought he was pointing out the obvious. 

If he thought this was close, he’d faint at the imagery of you on the kitchen counter, Eddie’s face between your legs as he begged for you to let him touch you. 

Just as you had noticed Eddie’s jealousy, he notices the way you suddenly heat up, shifting in your seat ever so slightly. That pull on the corner of his lips tells you all you need to know. You kind of hate how easily the two of you can finally read each other. You kind of love the way he’s looking at you as if he’s thinking the exact same thing. 

“Do I get my free punch now?” you finally speak up, tone flat as you muster a glare in Steve’s direction. You’re forgoing all polite and pretend oblivion. 

Every single one of you here knows what happened. The bare bones of it, at least.

Eddie looks at you curiously, “Excuse me?” 

Steve only grins, holding out his arms as if welcoming you, “Take your best shot.” 

You stand quickly, and Steve even flinches. He clearly had thought it was all a bit, but you were deathly serious. After the night you’d had, you wanted to punch something, anything. 

“Hold on,” Eddie fumbles to follow you as you stand in front of Steve, your eyebrow cocked as you pause, “Hold on, why are you punching Harrington?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. ‘She’d never go for me, why would she go for you?’” you remind him, and fully expect for hurt to flash across his face. Instead, merriment continues to tug on his lips, “That ring a bell?”

“It might,” Eddie drawls, slowing down his movement to stand more casually, no longer in a rush to break up the fight. His eyes flash with something, with some sort of affection as your hand curls into a fist threateningly and you continue to glare daggers at Steve, “‘S cute to see you defending my honor, sweetheart.” 

Your knees almost physically wobble. The nickname that once struck such anger and irritation in you has become your favorite thing, something that can so easily elicit such a physical reaction. Any taunting has dissipated from his tone when he falls from his tongue now. Adoration takes its place.

Steve looks between you two for a second before his face twists up, “God, I think I liked it better when you two hated each other.” 

“Never really hated each other,” Eddie corrects Steve, but his eyes never leave yours. 

“Right, must have slipped my mind.”

One of the questions that had been torturing you has now been answered — Eddie would, in fact, be acting differently around your friends. It’s almost enough that you feel no need to punch Steve.

Almost.

“Where do you want it?” you tear your gaze from Eddie, looking back to Steve now expectantly, “Cheek? Nose? Chin? Jaw?”

Steve’s eyes widen. “My God, have you just been dreaming of this moment for the last hour?”

“I have.” 

Eddie leans back against the wall, still watching and still smirking as he crosses his arms. 

“I know Eddie’s your boyfriend now but-“

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you correct him quickly, but something inside of you twists at saying that.

He wasn’t your boyfriend. You two had just agreed you’d need time apart before even thinking of exploring what this new chapter will bring you two. So why does it feel so wrong? Why do you suddenly feel like a pathetic teenager, desperate to bestow some cheesy title upon her crush? 

Eddie nods when you suddenly look at him, as if he can read your mind, “I’m not her boyfriend. Just… her scary dog.”

Scary dog privilege. And God, does that moment feel light years in the past now. Years ago rather than hours ago. His promise to protect you suddenly rings truer now. If you ever did find yourself in trouble, you knew he’d answer your call. You knew now why his protection only extended to you. You finally, finally understood.

“Scary dog?” Steve squints at Eddie, and his judgmental demeanor has fully returned, “What the fuck does that even mea-“

He doesn’t get to finish the sardonic sentiment. The slap of your palm interrupts him.

“Ow!” he yelps out, head snapping from the force of the hit and hands already coming up defensively. 

Eddie pushes off the wall the moment Steve’s hands are up in the air, “Lay a hand on her in retaliation, Harrington, and I’m breaking your arm.” 

All the joking, cocky demeanor has faded. Like he had said — scary dog privilege. It applies to more than just pricks at the bar.

“I’m not,” Steve grumbles, rubbing at the red imprint now singing his cheek, “Jesus Christ, I said a punch.” 

You fight a smile, “I don’t know how to throw a punch.”

“I can teach you,” Eddie pipes up, now standing beside you, hovering in your orbit. 

“Don’t-“ Steve puts out a warning finger, “-encourage her. I only said you could punch me because I knew you couldn’t throw a punch!” he continues to cradle his face, now pouting at you, “Do you feel better now?” 

You only answer with a triumphant smile. Because your palm is stinging, and you know violence isn’t the answer, but yeah. You do feel a little bit better. 

“I don’t,” Eddie hums. He only has to take one step forward for Steve to back up, throwing out defensive eyes as he narrows his eyes, “Think I deserve to get a slap in, too, Stevie.” 

“Fuck that,” Steve spits, eyes wide with genuine fear that makes you want to giggle, “You do know how to throw a punch. If I’m letting you get a free one in, I deserve twenty four hours notice.” 

“Then consider this your notice.” 

Is this what I had always been missing out on? 

You always knew Eddie was playful with everyone, had witnessed how he joked with friends, but you’d never been included. The thought that this was the new normal makes your heart nearly burst. To be on Eddie’s side finally, to be in his good graces properly, makes you feel as if you belong more than any private movie night with Steve or impromptu dinner date with Robin. More than any night out with Nancy. More than any smoke session with Argyle, and more than any literature debate with Jonathan.

It’s as if Eddie was the missing link. You never felt you belonged, because you’d always ached for your rightful spot at his side, not just amongst the group.

The three of you stand in a makeshift circle and every single one of you smiles. Even Steve, through his slipping pout and swollen cheek, is grinning. 

Suddenly, it’s not quite as heavy as it once felt.

Everything has changed. Leaving now is not leaving forever. 

“I’d pay to see that,” you comment, taking a daring step to bump shoulders with Eddie. His eyes meet yours, his dimples come to life, and suddenly — you’re home, “Think I can get a front row seat to you beating Steve’s ass?” 

Steve starts to protest but Eddie only nods eagerly, “I think that can be arranged.” 

“I am once again reminding you two that I liked your screaming matches more than whatever this,” his hand flails, motioning to the way you two are standing closer to one another than you are him, “whole teaming-up-against-me bit is.”

“We’re not dating,” you’re reiterating as Eddie laughs out, “Stop being a crybaby.” 

You look at one another again. Another foot in the door of your newfound home, another look into your new place to rest your head. It’s as if you’re just now realizing you’ve spent the entire year missing Eddie, even as he was right there in front of you. 

“Well, God save us all when you two are finally dating,” Steve mumbles with a shake of his head.

“If-“ Eddie starts to correct, but you stop him.

It’s not an if when it comes to you two dating, you decide. It’s a when.

“I’ll send a gift basket when the day comes,” you snark. The look that Eddie sends you could heal every wound ever left behind, right then and there. 

You’re home. When Eddie throws his arm around your shoulders and Steve rolls his eyes at you two (affectionately, even if he’d deny it), you know you’re home.

—

But then, you actually do have to go home. 

You try to put it off. The three of you occupy Eddie’s living room for a while, Steve complaining about the way Robin woke him up endlessly throughout the night and how he never did finish that assignment due in his English Literature class. It reminds you that life will continue on; you have to go back to work and school, deal with daily annoyances that should seem bigger than all that’s happened with Eddie tonight, but they don’t. They all seem minuscule now, really. 

“Do we still have to send photo proof?” Eddie asks once Steve’s tirade has waned. You’re sat between the two boys, Steve’s body turned almost completely to face the two of you while you and Eddie slowly sink back into the cushions. 

You’re sure if Steve knew the activities that had taken place on this couch, he would not be sitting so comfortably. If at all.

Steve sighs at the mention of the bet, “You probably should. Jonathan’s been antsy about it the entire time. Me and Nance tried to cover for you guys, lying about calling and stuff but-“

“Why would you lie?” you inquire, uncurling a bit from your overly comfortable position to stop from falling asleep and actually participate in the conversation. 

“Because, unlike the other idiots,” Steve gives a pointed look at you and then Eddie, “We had a hunch about what was going on here. And it’s about time, by the way.” 

You think over his words for a second before you look at Eddie with sudden embarrassment, “Have you- Oh my God, have you been telling Nancy what we’ve been doing?” 

“What?” Eddie sits up straighter, looking just as panicked, “No. No, absolutely not, I-“

“What have you guys been doing?”

Both of you ignore Steve as Eddie continues on.

“-just spoke to her on the phone once or twice. But I didn’t give her any details. Have you been telling Steve what we did?” 

Steve, still being ignored, repeats himself, “What have you guys been doing?” 

“Absolutely not,” you scrunch your nose at the thought of being that honest with Steve. You loved him, truly, but not enough to tell him about those kinds of things, “I’d rather sleep in the canals than tell him.” 

“What have you guys been doing?” 

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up, and he mockingly stabs himself, “Ouch, sweetheart.”

“Not like that,” you backtrack, but more casually as the worry of Steve and Nancy knowing the truth, “I just meant-“

Eddie interrupts with a hand on your knee and a smile on his face, “I know what you meant. I’m just fucking with you. I feel the same way with Nance.” 

“Guys?” Steve grows further impatient, “I- What the fuck did you guys do? Oh my God, is it even safe to sit on this fucking couch right now?” 

“You don’t wanna know,” you say.

“No, it isn’t,” Eddie says. 

It earns him a slap on his stomach as he leans over in laughter at the way Steve launches out of his seat.

“You guys- No. No fucking way,” Steve brushes at the back of his jeans, as if they’re contaminated, “Nope. No way. You’re just fucking with me, Munson.” 

“Am I?” 

Another slap lands on Eddie’s shoulder as he laughs harder. 

“Steve,” you turn to your friend, trying to smile sweetly, “Sit back down.” 

“No.”

“You just said you don’t believe-“ 

“We should get going,” Steve insists through his blush, “You two should take your final picture and we should get going.” 

Eddie finally stops chuckling, leaning back up and against the armrest, his ankle cross in front of your shins as he stretches his legs out and sighs, “God, you should see your face right now, Harrington.” 

Steve’s scowl deepens, “It’s not funny. Take the fucking photo so we can go.” 

You make no move to dig out your phone, because you know. You know once you take this photo, you’ll be leaving, and this will all be over. Once you step foot back into that hallway, time apart begins. Learning how to navigate this new unknown with Eddie begins. It terrifies you, it saddens you, it exhausts you. You hadn’t been prepared for this part of the night.

Even before the confessions, you hadn’t given much thought to the ending of the twenty four hours. You’d assumed it would end in bloodshed and a larger than life fight, probably before the clock even ran out. You’d never assumed it could end in laughing, inside jokes between you and Eddie, in something not only bitter but also sweet. 

“Phone, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers as he leans forward and holds out his hand with the palm up, “Before we traumatize the poor guy any further.” 

“I will wait in the car, I swear to God-“ Steve starts to protest as you finally dig your phone out of your pocket. 

You’re looking down, unable to meet Eddie’s gaze in fear of him picking up on your faint sadness, as you mumble, “Get your panties out of their twist, Steve. Jesus.” 

Eddie snorts at that, right as you pass your phone over. 

Steve doesn’t comment when you willingly tell Eddie the code to unlock your phone, or the way you let him hold it rather than you. He doesn’t comment on the arm that Eddie seems to constantly keep around you now. 

He’s doing it while he can. Cherishing being able to hold you at any capacity before you leave and the distance begins. The time apart you two agreed upon won’t be for forever, but it still kills a buried part of him that had just begun to sprout roots again. A thing made of hope that he planned to tend to this time around. 

“So, how do we wanna do this?” he asks in a strained tone, as if asking that question and throttling you two closer to the finish line physically pains him.

You hope it pains him, selfishly, because it pains you. “No idea.”

“We’ve gotta make it a good one.”

“We do.” 

Eddie suddenly lights up with an idea as his thumb sweeps across your screen, opening your photos’ app and scrolling up to the first picture you two had taken at the beginning of this night. 

“Up for a trip down nostalgia road?” he teases, wiggling his brows as he holds the phone up for you to get a clearer view of the picture.

Eddie, flipping off the camera and scowling. You, hardly smiling with a pathetic thumbs up. 

“Yeah,” you breathe out, nodding slowly. 

It’s unspoken, what happens next. The camera app is opened and Eddie returns your phone to your grasp. The two of you resituate to mimic the photo as closely as possible while Steve fiddles with some of the items on Eddie’s entertainment center. 

You stretch out your arm, put your thumb up into view, blink away any tears burning the back of your eyes. Eddie’s hand has taken position as well. 

You snap the photo before you can think too hard on it. 

“Think that’ll be the winner?” Eddie curiously asks as you immediately bring the phone close to your face, swiping to view the snapshot just taken. And when you do, with the refreshed memory of that first photo, your heart physically aches. 

Almost an identical image. At a quick glance, it’s the same Eddie and the same you from the first one. But the similarities fade the moment you look closer. Eddie isn’t scowling, not genuinely – those damn dimples are even making an appearance as his eyes were squinted up in a valiant effort to fight off the smile he wears now. And your smile, your smile, is no longer half-assed. It’s something real, something full, something even a bit sad. The same face you wear when saying goodbye to an old friend and trying to hold back any tears until their train has long since left the station. You can almost physically see your vines in this photo wrapping around the two of you, clinging so desperately to avoid any separation. Time apart. You’re regretting suggesting that now. 

It’s a cute photo. A photo of two friends, if you could call yourself and Eddie that now. 

“All done?” Steve interrupts the moment, both of you and Eddie only staring at the photo. You take a peak at him out of your peripherals, and you can see it written plainly on his face – he’s feeling all the same emotions as you. Something sad, something nostalgic, something reluctant. “Not to rush the process but… I may or may not have a hot date tonight to get ready for.” 

Eddie tears his gaze from the photo, “A hot date?”

“A hot date,” Steve nods, a boyish grin gracing his lips, “And I’m picking her up in… t-minus…” he pauses, checking his watch, “Three hours.” 

“Smart move. Charm her before I rearrange your face and all.” 

Steve throws his head back in a groan, “You two won’t be letting that go any time soon, will you?” 

“Nope,” you chime in as you swipe to open up the groupchat, not offering Steve a single glance until you’ve sent off the final addition of photo proof to the rest of your friends. You consider adding some sort of sarcastic comment, some well earned bragging and a boisterous told you so, but you don’t. 

It doesn’t feel like you’ve won. Leaving this apartment, this battleground, with all the new bruises and healed wounds you’ve acquired over the span of the twenty four hours doesn’t taste like victory. Really, it tastes like… nothing. 

There’s no victory, no solid ending for you to cling to. It’s simply ending and there’s still thousands of words you have to say to Eddie. You need more time, another twenty four hours, to fill with every single thing you never told him. More casual confessions of honesty, more hours wasted in his bed, more insignificant bickering to partake in. It’s all on your tongue and desperate for attention, and yet, you know you can’t succumb to it. 

You have to go. It’s the last thing you want to do, but you have to. 

Steve checks his phone when it buzzes with the notification of your message you sent and opens his mouth, no doubt about to comment on your lack of words with the message, but you’re already standing. It’s like ripping off a bandaid. You need to get it over with, get out of this apartment before you decide you’d rather sink right into these couch cushions and decay just to ensure you never have to really leave. 

Eddie’s quick to follow. 

“Let’s go,” you say to Steve, grabbing up your bag, not looking at Eddie at the risk of losing all composure. 

Neither boy fights you, following you right up to the front door. Steve leads, opening it back up as reality slams you in the chest. As if there’s an invisible barrier here, and you know that in crossing it, you’ll be leaving a piece of yourself behind in apartment 2C. 

Leaving now is not leaving forever. 

But it sure does feel like it. 

Steve awkwardly looks over your shoulder at Eddie, some silent communication you only see his half of as he shrugs and does a timid wave, turning to leave. 

One foot hangs midair, your toes beginning to push through that barrier, when Eddie grabs you. 

“Hey,” he breathes as he wraps his fingers around your bicep, forcing you to turn to face him. You let him, your body moving to his accord but your eyes still not meeting his, “You good?” 

You take a deep breath in through your nose, “Me? Yeah. Yeah, I’m great. I’m… I’m good.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive?”

“Will you look at me, then?” 

Reluctantly, so very reluctantly, your eyes meet his. Big, brown doe eyes. This close to them, you can see the way they shine to match yours. You both probably look insane to Steve right now, but you don’t care. Between the sleep deprivation and all the emotions you’ve had to experience over the last day, the tears are well earned.

You almost reach out and kiss him. You almost press up onto your toes and put your lips on his, almost pour every emotion you’re feeling in the moment into a far from innocent peck. 

But you don’t.

“We did it,” you croak blandly, “We won the bet.” 

As if the Universe is screaming in agreement, you can hear a chime in the distance signifying the hour. Probably the church you recall passing in the middle of the night when the two of you had ventured off to the parking garage. It almost feels as if it’s mocking you. 

“We did it,” he echoes as his grip on your bicep loosens. You expect him to let it fall back to his side, nearly begging out loud for him to retract his touch from you so you don’t do something stupid like stay.

You swallow down thick emotions, just like molasses, “I guess I’ll see you around, yeah?” 

Time. You two needed time apart. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, as he does the one thing you had somehow hoped he wouldn’t yet yearned for ardently – the hand that had wrapped around your arm now cups your cheek, thumb stroking your skin so softly, you nearly melt in his doorway, “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.” 

It doesn’t taste like victory, yet it doesn’t taste quite like loss. It’s bittersweet. 

You still don’t kiss him. And he doesn’t kiss you, even as his touch against your cheek lingers so heavily before he pulls away. 

You cross the barrier and find you were right. You feel that piece of you tear off and flutter to the ground, and you begin to wonder when you’ll have the chance to come back and reclaim not just it, but Eddie.

—

Steve didn’t speak much on the drive back to your dorm, and you’re sort of grateful. 

If you were a good friend, you’d ask more about his date. You’d get him giddy as he spills the details about this girl and his plans for the night, chastise and tease him all in good fun. You’d be smiling and making plans for coffee tomorrow morning so he could tell you all about how the date went. 

But you’re not a good friend.

You sit in your silence the entire drive, and you pick at your nails, and you selfishly stay focused on Eddie. On all of your own qualms and all your own issues, worrying about what comes next and already feeling your chest tighten the moment you start to think about when see you around will come.

The two of you never discussed that, did you? There was no discussion of just how much time was needed apart. 

Steve shifts the car into park in the west lot, right outside your building, “Alright, stop making your cuticles bleed for two seconds and tell me what’s wrong.” 

Your hands pause exactly as he requests, caught red-handed. “Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Something’s obviously wrong. I told you to go get him – and yet, he’s still not your boyfriend.” 

“It’s complicated,” your voice finally breaks. There’s no tears this time, just confusion and desperation clawing at your throat. 

Because, was it complicated? Was it really?

The last year was what had been complicated. All the pretending and the fights and the tension. All the false beliefs and all the lies overlapping with one another. That was complicated. But this? The feelings you harbored and finally acknowledged for the boy you just left behind? 

That wasn’t really complicated. 

And Steve knows this, you can hear it in his sigh, “I think that’s the issue.” 

“What?” you turn your head towards him, scrunch your brows, even your breathing and try to shoo away the image of Eddie’s wet eyes. 

You wish you would have kissed him. 

“Look, i just think you two keep making things complicated when they should be simple-” 

You didn’t want to hear it. Childish as it might be, you do not want to have to hear this speech. Because you know Steve’s right.

“I’ll see you later, Steve.”

“Wait-”

You don’t wait. You slam the door in his face once you’ve got your footing outside of his car, truly earning your title of bad friend.

Awful. You weren’t just a bad friend, you were an awful friend. 

And yet you can’t think on it, leaving it be until you had the time to properly dwell on how you’d apologize later. All you care about now is getting inside your dorm, moping and being miserable on your own. Your strides are longer and faster than they were even when you’d backtracked to Eddie’s apartment, determined to get behind closed doors and to properly mourn all that had been gained and all that had been lost in the last twenty four hours. 

Twenty four hours ago, you were reluctant to even step foot in Eddie’s apartment. And now, it’s the only place you really want to be. 

Luck refuses to be on your side as you slam into your dorm room, sweaty and tired and just fucking emotional, only to find your roommate there. There will be no dramatic crying, no cinematic scene with your back pressed to the door as you fight back sobs, it seems. 

“You look rough,” is all she notes, sparing you a second glance before she returns to whatever she was tasking on at her desk. Her makeup, you think.

Good. Maybe she’ll be heading out, leaving you to suffer alone like you wanted. 

“Yeah,” is all you can answer her as the door clicks shut behind you. 

Rough’s a good way to put it. 

“Think you’ll be here tonight?” she asks, still distracted, “Troy and I are hanging out today – he spent the night here last night, by the way – and if you’re gone again, I was thinking about inviting him back over. Only if you’re cool with it, or already have plans, though. Our RA has this final and I didn’t even have to sneak him in last night-”

She continues on her rambles, never looking your way as you drop your bag onto your bed, and quickly lift yourself to lay right next to it. 

Normal. You were having to go back to fucking normal. Your worries were no longer revolving around Eddie or making it through the next hour, no longer preoccupied with keeping your friends up to date in order to ensure a payout of five hundred dollars – now, you just had to worry about boys named Troy and possible room checks by your RA. Finals to be taken, essays to be finished, shifts to be covered at the diner so you’d have enough cash to go out with your friends next weekend. 

You should be relieved. But it all just feels impossibly heavy. 

Your roommate catches on quickly, and when you only reply to let her know you’ll be here tonight, she stops talking. She focuses on finishing her makeup and gathering her things, hardly even offering you a goodbye as you shift to curl up more comfortably in the center of your mattress. 

You should also know better than what you decide to do next. You can’t help it, though, as you tug your phone out of your pocket and unlock it. You don’t listen to the voice inside your head that screams stop as you click on your photos’ app. Ignore the animal inside that whines as you scroll, and you click on the very first photo of you and Eddie. 

It’s painful, but you have nothing better to do in your solitude. You don’t linger on the first photo too long, still being fresh in your mind, before quickly swiping along. 

The set of matching photos you and Eddie took of one another, black and white socks covering touching toes visible in each one. You nearly laugh at the Darth Vader figurine both of you took turns holding. You nearly cry when you realize you were, in fact, smiling in your photo. A small one, a forced one, but there nonetheless. 

The selfie from the bar, your amaretto sour and Eddie’s whiskey & coke lifted towards the camera. The way both of you had tried to look annoyed, over exaggerated and furrowed brows paired with pouting lips. Your thumb swipes subconsciously over the photo for a second too long, and you’re startled when you realized it was a live photo. The moment after the photo was taken, Eddie’s eyes had moved to look at you. And in that live photo, you watched every ounce of annoyance evaporate. Leaving behind something you recognized now. Leaving behind eyes sparkling with a brief glimpse of adoration. 

There’s something else you better recognize now in the next photo. The picture you’d taken when Eddie had locked himself into his room, only opening up long enough to insist you took the photo, the one that guaranteed you your money. You had been right – there was a flood of regret on his face. You hadn’t imagined it. But you had also been wrong; he was never looking at your own rotted vines and mourning them; he was looking at his own, tethered and shredded, regretting that he had ever taken an axe to them. You don’t press down to see this live photo. You don’t want to witness that door slamming in your face again. 

The two photos taken in his bed. The one in which both your faces are scrunched from the flash, in which you can see the physical wall between you two.  And the one in the dark, where you both wear tired smiles, unaware of the night to come.

The photo on the bike, a helmet mostly covering your blushing cheeks, but not Eddie’s. 

The photo from the parking garage, meant just for you two. 

The photos from Betty’s. You don’t linger on the one of you; you do linger on the one of him. 

Each swipe only makes your heart ache more viciously, painful and sharp reminders of the night you had had. You don’t have to press down on another single photo to witness the live outplay of it – each memory is running through your mind in real time as you retrace your steps of the night. Twenty four hours, twenty four steps. With each photo, you watch yourself grow more relaxed, watch smiles come easier without your awareness and finally pinpoint all the care Eddie had been looking at you with the entire time. 

You notice the lack of photos from the last few hours. You nearly scorn yourself for it, but there had been no time. There was no time for memories frozen in time amongst all that hard honesty and those sacrilegious revelations.

Except there was one more moment in time frozen for you. You’re quick to exit the photo app finally, leaving behind that picture of Eddie with full cheeks only to open up your text messages.

Your text thread with him. Filled to the brim with bad pastry jokes and underlying need. You remember that urgent want to comfort him, to remind him he was enough. To erase all the hurt and all the old scars caused by a life from before your time with him you still hadn’t become fully privy to. 

You’re still rereading the last message, bet you wouldn’t say that to my face, when suddenly a new message appears. 

EDDIE: Make it home okay? 

Space and time. They are the last things you want, that you need from him right now. 

YOU: yep. my roommate just left. 

EDDIE: Is your dorm bed as comfortable as you remember? 

YOU: like sleeping on a cloud. 

You wish you were still in his bed. You wish you were back at the beginning, with him rather than all alone. 

EDDIE: Oh shit, you’re trying to sleep? Sorry

EDDIE: I’ll stop bothering you and leave you to it. Sweet dreams. 

No, you nearly scream at your phone screen, come back and bother me. Bother me for the rest of my days for all I care. 

You’d never sleep another wink if it meant having him. You remember what you told him about starting over, starting fresh. And maybe taking a much needed nap would offer that. Maybe sleeping for more than thirty minutes at a time would be the smart choice, letting you awake with a clearer mind and better intentions.

But you don’t want that. The animal inside still clings to all that has happened. 

Something about that makes you brave.

YOU: i never said that, and you’re not bothering me.

EDDIE: Didn’t you say you wanted a nap earlier?

YOU: that was earlier. i’m wide awake now. 

An internal battle continues to take place. Your mind whispers liar, knowing damn well that if you put down the phone and turned your cheek to bury into your pillow, you’d be out like a light within seconds. 

EDDIE: Ah. I see. 

You fiddle with your thumbs for a second, stomach churning as you try to come up with a response to keep the conversation going. Technically, when you had said the two of you needed time apart after all that had happened, it should have meant interactions like this as well. Texting each other was not offering each other space.

But he’d started it. That was on him.

YOU: do you remember what i said about space? and starting over? 

EDDIE: I do. I’m not very good with giving you space, it seems. 

YOU: well, considering you’re on the other side of town, i’d say we’ve got the physical sense of space down. 

There’s a pause in his replies that causes you to sit up. A falter. You curse him for not having a smartphone as well, for not having the privilege of being notified whether he was just taking his time typing or if he had put the phone down. You really hoped it was the former, practically wished upon every star that that was what was happening. You hoped he was glued to his phone as you were yours. 

Maybe he still had that photo he’d taken a few hours ago, the one you swore you’d heard him take as you dozed off. Maybe he was still staring at it like you had done with all of your photos. 

EDDIE: About that…

You stare at the message, the hidden meaning behind it completely lost on you. 

YOU: About what? 

EDDIE: I’m not home right now. 

Your heart clenches. 

YOU: You’re not?

EDDIE: I’m not. 

YOU: Eddie, where the hell are you right now?

Your mind reels with all the possible choices. He could be at the bar, at the parking garage, at Nancy’s place. He could be anywhere. 

But then he only sends a picture in response, and you know where he is. 

You nearly topple into three other students from how you sprint down the hallway. You don’t even grab your key to your dorm room, skipping the elevators and nearly throwing yourself down the few flights of stairs in haste. You don’t care how your lungs cry out, you don’t care how your thighs burn, you don’t care how your shoulder aches from how roughly you slam open that front door of the building. You don’t care about the strange looks you get on your way out. You don’t care about the odd angle you twisted your ankle in on that last step. 

The only thing you care about is the boy standing there, helmet off and balanced on the seat of his parked motorcycle that he leans on, arms crossed as his eyes light up at the erratic sight of you. 

You don’t even check for any traffic in the parking lot as you make your way to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he calls out once you’re close enough to hear him, “I know we said give it time and shit, but you left, and I just-” 

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. 

When you make it to Eddie, you’re in no business to carry anymore regret with you. This time, you don’t just yearn to kiss him, to wrap your arms around him, to pour out all those emotions you were feeling across tongues. 

You do it. You kiss him, uncaring for all the stares of fellow students. He nearly falls backwards into his bike from the force of you colliding against him, but he’s quick to catch himself as his hands find your waist. 

“You-” you pull back, gasping a bit to start to scold him before his lips follow and interrupt you, “Fucking-” Push and pull. You retreat, and he follows, “Idiot.” 

His hands squeeze around you, tugging you a stumbling step closer so that your chests are flushed against one another.

“I am,” he mumbles against your lip, the tip of his nose grazing over your cheek as he refuses to let anymore distance be put between the two of you, “I am a fucking idiot. I’m sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing.” 

His hands cradle your face and he kisses you this time, reaffirming that he felt everything you had. All those words you hadn’t said, all his own admissions he’d withheld, spill between clashing teeth and eager lips. He takes your breath away, shamelessly, greedily. And you let him. You offer all the air that’s left in your lungs up to him on a silver platter. 

When the two of you finally pull apart, eyes opening wide and foreheads pressing tightly to one another, he’s grinning like a fool. 

“So, I had a better idea than time apart,” he murmurs, “What if we just… start over?” 

“Start over?” you question wearily. 

He nods, “Yeah. Just… Just pretend this last year and all our bullshit didn’t happen. Start fresh. Let me not be a massive dick this time.” 

His hands drop from your face as he takes a step back, taking you in fully. You want to shy under his gaze, but instead you can only melt. His fondness is a warmth like no other, capturing you by the crown of your head and pouring down over you in waves. 

“Okay,” you finally agree, feeling your own cheeks spread and ache in a lovesick smile. Coming home, that’s what this felt like. “Okay, we can start over.” 

“Great,” the homecoming warmth only spreads as he straightens up his posture. A very serious look overcomes his face, laced with determination for a brief second until he relaxes it into a friendly smile, doleful eyes meeting yours as every single flower he had ever planted in your chest blooms like a spring morning. He sticks his hand out, nearly making you snort, “Hi, I’m Eddie.” 

You can’t help it. His front door is open, a warm glow within welcoming you. 

You ignore his hand entirely as you impulsively reach up and interlock your fingers at the nape of his neck, tugging him into you for another kiss. 

He pulls back far too soon for your liking, but his hands have also found their spot against the small of your back, “Do you greet all the new strangers you meet like this?” 

You roll your eyes, “Shut up.” 

He pulls you back in for a chaste peck, and it tastes like home. 

“I like you,” you whisper into the limited space between the two of you, “I mean it. I like you so fucking much, Edward Munson.” 

He grins, cracking your chest wide open with hope, “The feeling’s mutual.”

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#my writing #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #this feels so surreal to post jesus christ #thank you guys genuinely for all the love #i will be making a sappy post before i post the epilogue on thursday #i just #wow #yeah #i did it #again #i finished a fucking fic

[charcoallbaby]

fake marriage

smuttyyyyy ofc so 18+ also a lil toxic

tired asf i’ll do a spelling check tmrw thx for reading!

having a fake marriage was definitely one of the best thing to ever exist especially since i get paid to pretend to love a man who is basically heartless, well to most people he is.

i get to live in a giant penthouse in the city of boston, i get a huge bedroom, with a ensuite plus a balcony, free clothes, mostly everything gets handed to me.

as much i love being in this fake marriage, there are some cons mostly because of matt. i mostly hate hearing him fuck girls in the room next to me, when i can’t do anything like that, he’s very protective of me, he gets jealous very easily, he doesn’t really let me talk to any male being while he’s with me. he punishes me by not paying me that week which doesn’t really effect me, the amount of money i’ve made since this marriage is insane, it would take me months to run through it. but in matt’s eyes he’s somehow “punishing me.”

tonight was a black-tie event for one of his many company’s. he got me a vintage chanel dress from the 90s. it was the most beautiful dress i’ve ever laid my eyes on, i knew the price of the dress would be nothing to him, he just wantedme to look good standing beside him.

“ready?” matt asked while fixing his cufflinks on his wrist. “yeah, i just need to get my heels on.” i grabbed my silver heels from my collection of different types of heels.

“the cars outside y/n.” he looked me up and down. “fuck, can you grab my bag?” i asked slipping myheels on. he rolled his eyes and grabbed my bag off my vanity. “thank you.” i took my small clutch from his hands and made my way to the elevator.

“behave tonight,” matt whispered in my ear before placing his hand around my waist, smiling for the cameras. “i always do.” i say through my teeth. “we’ll see about that love.” he pressed a light kiss to my cheek.

everything is for the cameras and i mean that. the touching, the kissing, theres no contact between us at home. before today i hadn’t spoken to matt in probably 3 days. not that he would talk to me anyway. he only talks to his parents, his 2 brothers, the maids who clean the house(mostly flirting) and the girls he fucks in the guest bedroom, matt would never dare to fuck a girl in his own bed, he’s really weird about that type of thing, he hates when anyone goes into his room well everyone but the maids, as i said he flirts with them a lot, just to make them blush, it boosts his already massive ego. after i come home from picking up some groceries up or going to visit my friends, i hear him making up some story of how he saved an animal or how much money he gives to charity which i know he does. but he hates people, hates them other than the couple people he talks to.

mine and matt’s hands were interlinked as we walked into the building.

“how long have you guys been married?” the older women infront of us asked. i looked up at matt before speaking, “well me and matt have been together 3 years, married for 1,” i gave a fake smile to the women. “that’s just so beautiful!” she chimed. matt gave the women a small smile. “wait!” “what about kids, do you have kids?” matt’s let go of my hand and put the hand i just holding around my waist. i cleared my through before awkwardly laughing. “no, no,” “not as of right now,” i smiled. “maybe soon,” matt finally spoke. “oh really!” she exclaimed. “yes matt really!” i looked up at him, he looked down at me before looking back at the women. “maybe not soon, but in the future.” he licked his lips. “wonderful!” “it was nice talking to your mr and mrs sturniolo, i’m going to find my husband he wanders off!” she laughed. “you too.” matt gave her a straight lined smile. “bye.” i smiled.

me and matt watched her walk away. “fuck,” he took a deep breath. “having kids soon are we?” i turned to him. he moved both his hands around my waist as he looked down at me. “only said that for people to have something to talk about,” i could feel his warm hands through my dress. “it’s crazy how such a cold hearted person can make something up like that,” i teased him. he looked away from me, chuckled before looking back at me again. “you look good.” he licked his teeth. “yeah you too.” i touched his right bicep.

“thank you everyone for coming tonight,” matt awkwardly had his hand in his pocket as he gave a speech. “i would like to thank my team and my wife,” “thanks.” he awkwardly put his drink up in the air before taking a sip.

the room was filled with people loudly clapping.

“what’s wrong?” matt asked as he came down by from the stage. “my feet hurt.” i whined. “y/n baby, i didn’t marry you to whine about your feet come on let’s get a drink.” he put his hand on my back and guided me towards the bar.

“what would you guys like?” the bartender asked. “scotch on the rocks,” “y/n?” matt asked. i looked at the bartender. he smiled at me. i gave him back a small smile. i cleared my throat. “i’ll have a-” “she’ll have a glass of white wine,” matt interrupted me. “alright, that’ll be coming straight up,” he looked at me. “are you trying to piss me off?” he leaned down and whispered into my ear. “no,” i gulped. “you were flirting with that guy,” “matt i just smiled.” “we’re going home, come on.” he grabbed my hand.

the car ride was silent. matt was on his phone making the back of the SUV slightly light up. i looked out the window, mostly trying to notfall asleep.

matt pressed the button for the elevator. he stood there my heels in his hand while looking down at the marbled floor on the lobby floor.

the elevator opened, no one inside. we both walked in. matt pressed the number for our apartment before leaning his head against the wall behind him, closing his eyes. he looked so sexy, his jawline was sharp as fuck, his long hair falling over his eyes and his tie wrapped around his shoulders, he took it off when we got in the car. i pressed the emergency button making the elevator immediately stop. matt’s eyes darted open. he looked at me.

“why’d you stop the elevator y/n?” he groaned. “why are you so overly protective with me matt?” “you know i don’t flirt with guys especially in front of you, you love to make shit up did you see me flirt with that bartender?” “i simply smiled at him as a nice human does,” i crossed my arms. matt rolled his eyes. “what would you like to pretend that i don’t care?” “y/n, you think i care about who you flirt with?” “i actually couldn’t care fucking less, i just you know like to make this marriage look a little bit realistic,” he leaned over and re-pressed over apartment floor button. the elevator began moving again. “this marriage would be a little realistic when i have people over for you to not be fucking some girl,” i looked down at my nails. “what’d say?” “you heard me loud and clear,” the elevator doors opened. “thanks for holding my heels baby.” i grabbed the heels from his hand and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek just to piss him off even more.

i made my way to my room before matt grabbed my arm turning me around. “who do you think you are?” matt asked. i shrugged my shoulders before turning back around. “y/n!” matt yelled, pulling me back and pressing me against the wall beside us. “come on baby, tell me,” matt roughly held my waist. “i’m your wife matt,” i looked up at him. “your my wife y/n and i would like if you actually listened to me when i talked to you,” his grip on my hips became softer. “i’m sorry, i promise i’ll listen better next time daddy,” i batted my eyelashes. his eyes rolled into the back of my head. “i’m going to bed.” he backed away from me. “sweet dreams husband.”

after the little scene matt made, i changed out of my dress and walked into the kitchen to find a snack to eat.

i sat myself down at the kitchen island, a bowl of ice cream in front of me, my phone in my left hand, the spoon in my right. i had been thinking of eating this ice cream all day and now i finallygot a chance.

i was nearly half way through the bowl before shirtless matt walked into the kitchen, he had those plaid pj pants he loved with of course the waist band of his boxers sticking out. i rolled my eyes before focusing back onto the ice cream. i could hear matt open the fridge. i quickly looked at his back. it was so defined, his tattoos making it way hotter that it actually had to be.

“do we have any spare batteries anywhere?” i spoke. matt turned around, opened-water bottle in his hand. “why?” he asked. “for my vibarator,” i popped the spoon into my mouth. matt choked on his water. “do you know?” i asked. he cleared his throat. “yeah, there’s some in the uh-in my office on my desk.” he swallowed. “okay thanks!” i cheekily smiled. matt mumbled something i couldn’t make out before walking back to his room.

i opened matt’s office door to find him sitting on one of the couch’s controller in his hand playing his playstation. hm coincidence.

“sorry i just need to grab those batteries,” i walked past him and looked around his desk. i couldn’t see them. “matt where are they?” i turned around and looked at him. “they should be there,” he said not taking his eyes off the tv. i rolled mine while looking back down at the desk. “matt it’s an empty packet,” i held it up. he finally looked at me.“oh shit yeah- i was just being a nice husband, i already put the batteries in for you there sweetheart,” he flashed me a smile before looking back at the tv. i stomped over right infront of him. “i can’t see the tv princess,” “pause it then,” i bit the inside of my cheek. he paused it, placing the controller beside him. “you went through my stuff?” “you held my viborator!” “yeah, it was a nice one,” he smirked at me. “what the fuck!” “your insane!” i yelled. “eh,” “i’m not that bad love.” he opened his legs, man spreading.

i exhaled. “why would you think that would be a good idea?” i put a hand through my hair. “it was a nice gesture, don’t you think?” he poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. i groaned. “it’s fucking weird!” “your not even my real husband!” “well if this makes you feel any better i did it so it would make the marriage more realistic,” he titled his head at me. “don’t bring that shit back up matt!” i whimpered.

“come on, it’s okay,” matt pulled himself more towards me. he placed his hands on my waist while looking up at me. “matt what are you doing?” i groaned. “it’s okay.” he pressed his warms lips against my stomach. i slowly closed my eyes. his lips stayed on my stomach while he slipped a finger up my shorts and into my underwear. he slid his finger into my soaking core. i let out a moan. he moved his finger inside me. after a few seconds his finger left me. i opened my eyes. his finger in his mouth. “oh fuck, you taste good,” he moaned. “let me eat you out,” he pulled me by the waistband of my shorts towards him making me fall down onto his lap. i quickly felt how hard he was underneath me. “lay there,” he said moving the controller onto the coffee table in front of us. i nodded my head. i layed myself down. matt licked his lips before pulling my shorts and underwear off. he placed himself between my legs. he was quick to slowly suck my clit. i cried out. “all you do is touch yourself y/n, i bet your dying for this,” matt groaned against me. he slipped his tongue into my licking up all my juices like it’s the best thing he’s every tasted. my hands were pulling onto his hair while parting my mouth open in pleasure. “ma-matt!” i cried out. “nearly there baby?” he pulled away from me making his warm breath hit off the pool he was between. “mhm.” i mumbled.

matt gave me one long stride between my folds before pulling away from me. i opened my eyes and whined. i was on the edge of coming. “i wanna fuck you,” matt said feeling his hard on through his pants. “okay-okay.” i breathed out. “not here, in my room.”

matt placed me down onto his bed, his lips softly meeting mine. we’ve kissed before around people but not alone, it felt so much more different this time.

“you on the pill?” he asked pulling his boxers down. i nodded my head. “i’m gonna fuck you without a condom cause to be fair, i don’t really care if i get you pregnant, your my wife after all.”

matt was inside me, not moving. i was trying to adjust his size. “you can do it, i know you can, matt whispered into my ear. “mhm,” i mumbled. he started to move inside me slowly but then started to pick it up. his arm was hovering over me, grabbing the headboard for support “fuckkkkkkk,” he moaned. “y/n, i’m gonna fuck you until the sun rises okay?” he grunted. “y-yeah.” i let out. “such a girl good for me.” he placed a kiss to my lips. his necklace that had a horse pendant was dangling over me, i got him it for his birthday that he claimed to only wear when we have to put our act on but he wears it all time.

i clenched around matt for like the 4th time in the last 2 and half hours.

matt dropped himself down beside me. “it gets better every fucking time y/n i swear.” matt said before sucking a nipple into his mouth. “mhm, i know baby.” i closed my eyes and put a hand through his hair and down his neck.

he popped my nipple out of his mouth before looking up at me. “you wanna order food, we can fuck inbetween don’t worry, i just hungry as fuck when i have sex,” he leaned his chin between the gaps my boobs. “yeah i could eat something i’m starving,” i ran my hand over his cheek. “your choice to pick.” he said before kissing my lips and getting up to throw his pj pants back on. i looked up at him sprawled out on his bed, naked. “am i the only girl you’ve had in this bed?” i asked. “pretty much,” he grabbed his t-shirt from the ground. “i feel special,” i grinned. he jokingly rolled his eyes. “don’t worry, not gonna happen again,” “that’s what you say until you hear me moan your name while my vibartor is between my thighs,” i sat up. “you think of me?” he chuckled. i nodded my head. “my wife actually thinks of me while masturbating, im a lucky man.”

“yeah, no more sex.” i spoke before rolling my eyes.

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #imagine #smut #matt sturniolo smut #pov

[ddarker-dreams]

a little fluff blurb for bladie from my google docs !! reader here is fem.

Blade almost took it personally when you failed to notice him. 

His presence in your room certainly stands out. Everything about him contradicts the soft pastel colors, abundant flora, and cute finishing touches. Nothing in the universe aside from your kitchenette registers. You hum along with the song playing in your ears, waiting for your tea’s timer to go off. 

He walked in when the countdown read five minutes. Presently, it’s at two. 

You’re wearing dangerously short pajama shorts and an old t-shirt, the band’s logo faded out from years in the wash. He’d considered making himself known, but watching you frolic about proved too tempting. You have your back turned toward him, entirely oblivious, stuck in a little world of your own making. 

Creepy as it may be, Blade considers it soothing to stare at you. Therapeutic, even. A way to unwind from the blood-filled jobs that beckon his mara out to play.

A wicked idea forms in his head. Going without you for so much as a day is enough to seriously dampen his mood. Normally, it’s his enemies that reap the consequences. He’ll miss their vitals just enough that they’re left to go into shock and bleed out, rather than a swift, merciful death. What can he say? It’s their fault for existing and cutting into his time with you. That’s on them.

He stalks over, movements akin to a mountain lion that’s located its unsuspecting prey. 

You’re lifting the teabag out a few moments early. He’s close enough to double as your shadow, the corners of his lips twitching upward from anticipation. 

The second your timer goes off, he strikes, large hands settling on either side of your hips. This unexpected contact earns immediate retaliation. You actually squeak, much to his surprise (and amusement). Your response doesn’t end there. From instinct, you twist your torso around, ready to ward off the threat. 

Maybe it’s because you have an object in your hand, or maybe it’s because your subconscious knows you’re in no real danger, but you don’t materialize your weapon. 

Instead, you try thwacking him with your dripping teabag. 

He easily catches your wrist, thwarting your assault. It takes you all of a millisecond to understand the situation. You use your free hand to slowly remove your in-ears. He can’t help it — your pinched-together eyebrows and scrunched-up nose makes him chuckle. This worsens his crimes from your perspective, which you make evident by a non-threatening glare. 

“Nice weapon,” he drawls. 

“Hey, that’s— that’s unfair,” you complain. “I wasn’t expecting an ambush.” 

Blade raises an eyebrow. “Is it an ambush if you expect it?” 

“Yes? No. Maybe. Quit looking at me like that, I didn’t sleep well last night.” 

“Mhm.” 

He plucks the teabag from your grasp and throws it away. Meanwhile, you remain frozen in time, only moving enough to cross your arms over your chest. The wrath you try directing his way is largely ineffective. Your miffed countenance is akin to a bunny scowling. 

“I was looking forward to your return, but I’ve since changed my mind.” 

“Mm.” 

He hoists you up onto the kitchenette’s countertop. The way the soft flesh of your thighs expands against the marble tempts him, but he knows he won’t be getting anything until your faux frustration is appeased. It won’t take much — or long. He just gazes into your pretty eyes, his bandaged hand cupping your face, the pad of his thumb massaging your cheekbone. You melt for him almost immediately. 

“Everything alright?” You ask, your arms finding their place around his neck. 

To Blade, everything’s more than ‘alright,’ because you’re here. Treating him with care he doesn’t deserve, and love he deserves even less. He used to worry he’d taint you, like clear waters turning opaque from filth. However, it’s as Kafka once said, likely pitying his lovelorn self. 

“Shouldn’t you let her decide that for herself?” 

For reasons genuinely beyond his comprehension, you decided he was worth the trouble. 

His gloved hand settles on your thigh. The irony of how he caresses you with the same hand responsible for hundreds, if not thousands of deaths isn't lost on him. Since regaining a semblance of consciousness, that's all he thought he was good for. Bloodshed and slaughter.

He observes how you shudder through lidded eyes.

You don't look at him as if he's a monster. You should, he often thinks, because he is. There's no sugarcoating the truth. He's become everything he once swore to eradicate. Mad, vengeful, immortal. A product of the Abundance's perversion of the lines separating life and death.

And yet, all those centuries, all that suffering led him to you.

You aren't the light at the end of the tunnel — you're light in its entirety.

Blade is greedy when he slots his lips against yours. He's greedy when he pulls you closer, his bandaged hand tilting your head up, allowing him to devour you with ease. Your scent, your taste, your little laugh at how unabashedly eager he is, everything blurs together and threatens to leave him breathless.

How can he pull away when your legs wrap around his waist? When you thread your hands through his hair, reciprocating his ardor like he's worth even an ounce of your affection? He isn't, he's nothing compared to you, a ghost of a man who can't cross over into the afterlife.

Sometimes, he no longer wants to. Not if you're on this side of eternity.

"Well?" You pull back a few inches from him to ask. As pretty as your smile is, he likes your lips best when they're against his. "You gonna answer my question?"

He furrows his eyebrows together and tries kissing you again. Talking about emotions in any context isn't his forte, you both know that. He's always preferred to express himself through actions than words. However, when you deny him the pleasure of your lips a second time, impatience coils inside his chest.

He huffs.

"The best," he deadpans. You roll your eyes yet laugh anyway.

"You almost pout more than I do," you tease. For this infraction, he gives your thigh a pinch, enjoying the feeling of your soft flesh a little too much. "I just worry, y'know? You become such a sourpuss when we're apart for any length of time."

You aren't wrong, but he'll keep that to himself.

“Okay, okay, stop glaring. C’mere.”

You don’t need to tell him twice. He takes you up on your offer the second you’ve finished making it.

Blade might not know how to tell you how much you mean to him, but that doesn’t mean he can show you.

#blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #blade brainrot #my stuff

[charliemwrites]

I had a BRAIN BLAST on the way home today. So!

In the category of Readers Who Get To Do What They Want:

(CW for dark Simon, johnny, and “reader” with unhealthy relationship dynamics, gaslighting - not from who you suspect - and threats of violence)

A pair of identical twins who are basically opposites from birth. Twin 1 is obviously favored by their parents for being the “easy” twin that tries to appease them and keep the peace. Twin 2 a little hellion from birth, they think this kid is basically broken. Try to test for psychopathy but nope, their own kid has just picked up on the accidental favoritism from birth and just seems to dislike their own parents. But they still love their twin.

The twins grow up as complete opposites. Different social circles, hobbies, interests, clothes, attitudes. They’re incredibly close, but twin 2 will (and has) gotten violent on twin 1’s behalf because their parents are raising them to be “well behaved”.

By teen years, twin 2 is being sent to the countryside most summers to be handled by the grandparents. (Jokes on them, farmlife is nice and the grandparents aren’t exactly strict - mostly because twin 2 actually likes them and doesn’t see much need to rebel).

Meanwhile twin 1 is doing summer programs and learning arts, developing this intense aversion to conflict and has trouble standing up for themself. Especially without twin 2 there to lean on.

Come university, their parents insist on twin 1 staying close by for uni, essentially make the choice for them. Twin 2 decides to ship out of the country and plans on breaking off all contact. (Maybe due to some sort of unforgivable drama at the grandparents’ funeral?)

Before leaving, twin 2 gives twin 1 a burner phone with one number programmed in. Promises that if twin 1 ever needs to disappear, to be free of it all, they can call and twin 2 will be there in a heartbeat with bolt cutters for those chains. And then they just sort of… disappear.

Twin 1 doesn’t see them for *years*. Never uses that phone but keeps it.

So twin 1 lives their quaint pre-determined life with their acceptable job and it’s all mostly okay. Not bad at all. Quiet, if lackluster.

And then Simon comes along. Simon, who takes one look at this little angel and decides they have to be his. Theyre too good, too soft, unable to take care of themselves properly in this big scary world. And after all he’s suffered, doesn’t he deserve something sweet to protect? And hell, Johnny could use a kind touch every now and then too.

So he “seduces” twin 1 (aka, the dark!Simon move of just deciding someone is his and acting like it whether they like it or not). Manipulates them into stepping right into their own collar and leash, with him at the other end.

It’s too late by the time Twin 1 realizes what they’ve become - this man’s pretty pet. An agreeable little doll for him and his teammate to play house with. It’s not always bad, but it’s suffocating and scary. They feel trapped; they are.

It takes months until they get enough privacy to dig the old phone out of the place they nearly forgot about it.

Twin 2 picks up on the third ring.

In the intervening years, twin 2 has gotten into all sorts of trouble and mayhem. Become the demon their parents always accused them of being. Has, somehow along the way, joined up with KorTac and gotten all their files scrubbed. “Twin 2” no longer exists to the world at large. Nothing that anyone, even Kate Laswell, could dig up.

They get the call from their twin and break their contract on the spot. Get on a flight within hours. Sneak their twin out of the homey prison they’ve been locked up in.

Take twin 1 to a sunny, public cafe and get the story through their sibling’s nervous stuttering. Gets angrier and angrier with the more they hear, eyes fixated on the thin leather collar around their twin’s throat.

“Please just… I know it’s selfish and I’m sorry, but-”

Twin 2 already has a plan. They have a quiet, cozy cabin with comfortable funds in a rural part of Canada. Twin 1 will go there, rest and recover and be free. Twin 2 will take their place with Simon and Johnny to throw off suspicion and searches.

The scars from living the life they have? No worries. twin 2 will stage a car accident, reopen some of them to make it seem legit. Lie about head trauma to account for any lapses in their twin 1 act.

It’s decided within three hours. Twin 2 sends their sibling off to the airport and sets everything into motion. They’ve been dying to do something like this for years, after all the times their sibling stuck by their side and tried to stick up to them, to no avail.

Twin 2 instantly hates that fucking collar. Lets Simon put it on but not without the most dark look at the wall, thinking of all the ways to break his hands. Fingers twitching by their side.

The boys sit them down to watch scary movies because they always think it’s fun to spook twin 1 and fuck them while they’re all tense and shivery and but twin 2 is just watching, almost bored. Makes a few attempts to fake jump but keeps forgetting because all their focus is on not slamming a hand into someone’s dick for grinding on them.

Pretends to be asleep in the big bed they’ve been herded into when they kick Johnny or Simon off in the middle of the night. Purposefully aims for soft spots and bruises.

They try to act like twin 1 for a bit but the persona is so difficult to keep up when every little condescending comment from Simon or Johnny makes them want to start stabbing. The inside of their mouth is all torn up from biting onto their cheek and running their tongue over their teeth to resists snarling and snapping.

One day they’re going to snap… and it’s going to be so good to see these bastards bleed.

#cod #thoughts™️ #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #twin!reader #twin 2 reader #gaslight gatekeep girlboss #themboss really

[meowzfordayz]

shiny

Author’s Note: sooo this was supposed to be for a college au, secretly dating trope suggestion (as well as for an emergency request for fluff 😅)… but then The H*rny™️ hit 🥴, and uhh, it turned into its own lil thing. 😏

shiny

Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader

Word Count: ~2,200

CW: 18+NSFW, cream!pie, explicit language, Fem!Reader

~faqs~

“Sanemi, don’t you think she’s a little out of your league?”

Obanai’s stern tone does little to soften the reality behind his question, Sanemi once more reminded of why he can only watch—can only yearn—from a safe distance of ten physical feet, five invisible rungs on the social ladder, and one gigantic she-doesn’t-even-know-I-exist problem.

“Nobody’s out of my league,” Sanemi mutters, glare darkening with his trademark scowl, “She’s just shiny, is all. I’m easily distracted.”

“And that’s why you ignore me whenever she happens to be at the same dining hall as us,” Obanai snorts.

“Fuck-” Sanemi’s fork scrapes across his plate.

Raising an eyebrow, Obanai continues, “And also why you terrified those women away from their table.”

“-off,” fork stabbing loudly at his dry chicken.

“That just happened to be across from where she was sitting.”

“I said-” tearing sloppily into the overcooked meat. 

Mask stretching as Obanai grins, he makes his final push, “And forgot to eat your food after she made eye contact with you.”

Mouth full, words muffled, “-f’ck ‘ff!”

“If nobody’s out of your league, then why don’t you say,”—in a breathy, squeaky voice—“Hi, I’m Sanemi!”

Swallowing his bite in a single motion, “I don’t talk like that,” Sanemi glowers, “Besides, shiny things lose their sparkle the moment you touch them.”

“Whatever man,” Obanai scoffs, “Shiny things also tend to hate crude assholes.”

“I’ll crude your fucking asshole.”

Eyes rolling, Obanai switches gears, “So Mitsuri and I-”

Only to be promptly interrupted, fork waved aggressively in his direction, “Don’t fucking start on your goddamn perfect love life.”

“Perfect?” Obanai huffs, whining now, “Dude, you know how long it took for-”

“If this is supposed to be a roundabout pep talk or offering of love advice,” Sanemi stands, half finished plate in one hand, steel grip around his glass with the other as he tilts his head back to chug the remainder of his lemonade, “Just fucking don’t.”

Waiting in lines isn’t your strong suit, fingernails rapidly tapping your lukewarm plate, droplets of water glistening under the too familiar lighting of the dining hall. You’d already scratched off the faint remains of someone else’s lunch, not bothering to search for a new, cleaner plate — they all had some sort of residue. Lifting your gaze to survey the people ahead of you, you’re immediately hindered by the tall, broad stature of a white haired man, the tension in his back muscles emphasized by the tightness of his moss green shirt. Sighing quietly, you notice his neck twitch, the curve of his biceps discernible as his arms—presumably—cross in front of him.

“Hey,” you say, chatter, clang, and hiss of lunchtime swallowing your attempt to get his attention, “Hellooo.”

Somehow, his biceps flex harder, fabric of his shirt’s armholes stretching to accommodate his strength.

“Um, alright,” you mutter, refocusing on your plate, fingernails returning to their tapping, “Never mind, I guess-”

“If you want, you can cut me.”

You blink, vision flashing to the Beautiful purple eyed man turning around to face you.

“Are they real?” you gush, cheeks warming, eyes squeezing shut before you can process any shame.

“Pardon?” a teasing, incredulous lilt lingers in his voice, “I can see, if that’s what you’re-”

“No, like, are they contacts?”

If it wouldn’t hammer the final nail on your coffin of embarrassment, you’d slap yourself right then and there.

“Open your eyes,” he speaks softer now, “I’m not wearing contacts.”

Eyes opening sheepishly, you stick out your free hand, “Nice to meet you, I apologize, you probably get the eyes thing a lot,” they’re too pretty for you to not.

“I’m Sanemi,” he responds evenly, your hand untouched as his jaw clenches, “Are you going to cut me or not?”

“Or not,” you reply quickly, nose scrunching as you glance away, hand dropping limply, “I can wait.”

“Your incessant tapping suggests otherwise,” he—Sanemi—grunts, “If you’re not gonna cut me, then at least be less annoying to everyone else in line.”

You snort, “Are you usually this combative?” pointedly ignoring his jab.

“Usually, I don’t offer up my spot in line.”

“So does that mean I’m special,” you grin now, eyes glittering at the way his brow furrows, “Or just extra annoying?”

“Extra annoying,” he deadpans, “Definitely extra.”

With a friendly pout, you lapse into silence, shuffling forward an insignificant amount, inwardly cursing whoever poorly planned the university budget to short staff the dining halls.

“Y’know, you look familiar.”

Sanemi shrugs, back turned once more to you, shoulder blades rippling with the motion, “Makes sense.”

“What, am I not original enough for you?” you grumble, cheeks warming again as he whips around to glare at you.

“Why are you talking to me?”

“I don’t know!” you exclaim, “To be nice? To be annoying? Because I’m bored and hangry and this line seems to go on for forever?!”

Lips twitching, he slowly gestures in front of him, still glaring, “Cut me.”

“No!”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Before you can protest, he maneuvers himself behind you, impatience radiating from his body, lean muscles barely grazing your bare arms, goosebumps raising when he crosses his own, the view so much more defined from your new perspective. You’re too busy memorizing his physique to notice his reaction to your careful attention; too busy uttering his name under your breath, committing it to heart, to see the blush creep up his collarbones, his neck, his earlobes; too busy finally getting food to catch him opening, closing, then opening his mouth, a hushed And what’s your name? caught beneath hesitation and loneliness.

“Thanks Sanemi,” you say, waving cheerfully, “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

His response falters in his throat as he watches you leave, gaze swiveling to eventually—reluctantly—make eye contact with Obanai. Good effort! Obanai gives him a thumbs up, just as Sanemi groans lowly, flipping him off.

“Sanemi,” you whisper, fingertips walking warmly across his scars, smooth and sensitive to the touch, his breath catching at the light pressure, “Promise me you were sober.”

Body vibrating with quiet laughter, he catches your hand, lips gentle and wet as he kisses each of your fingertips, “I don’t drink,” eyes flitting over to your haphazardly tossed clothing, “And you?”

“I had one,” you murmur, lifting yourself to roll atop him, straddling his waist, thighs sweaty and soft, heat stirring in his groin at the familiar position, “Way before you arrived.”

“Waited for me, hm?” he chuckles smugly, gripping your hips, kneading into your skin, a strangled hiss tightening his lungs as his cum leaks from your slippery folds to his stomach, “Didn’t think I’d see you at a party like this.”

“And I didn’t think you threw parties,” you quip back, reveling in the filthy squelch of your languid grinding, his rigid abdominals flexing shiny and divine against the bump of your clit, “Till your roommate introduced himself, invited me over,” draping yourself over his chest, tits heavy and warm on his sternum, voice promising and heady in his ear, “I didn’t think I’d be getting fucked tonight.”

“Me neither,” Sanemi rasps, cockhead swollen and smearing precum against the plush of your ass, erect again, “Didn’t think you’d show up on my doorstep,” grasping your jaw to present your neck to his bared teeth, nipping greedily, “Looking so fucking gorgeous, like you were begging for someone to devour you,” tongue swiping flat and messy at the hollow of your throat, his hips bucking upward for friction, “Good thing I found you first, hm? Good thing I got to your pretty mouth, to your beautiful cunt, before some other fuck.”

“Sanemi,” you whimper, tugging your head down slightly, just slightly enough to see the dangerous, hazy glint in his purple stare, “W-wasn’t here to f-fuck anyone.”

“But you did, didn’t you?” he teases lightly, releasing your jaw with a final, tender kiss to your chin, “Had me wrapped around your finger the moment I saw you, laughing with your friends in the dining hall, that incredible smile of yours knotting my stomach,” swallowing thickly, dangerous edge fading as quickly as it surfaced, feather soft confession taking its place, “I must’ve become absolutely insufferable,” snorting amusedly, “If Obanai intervened.”

“I forgot to tell you my name,” you admit sheepishly, beginning your own parade of sloppy, heated kisses across the sheen of his collarbones, exertion from his first orgasm still evident, “Thought I missed my shot,” reaching behind you for his cock, deft thumb circling his tip, grinning at his unabashed moan, “Wondered how I could possibly recover from such an encounter with your mesmerizing hair and brilliant eyes,” winking playfully as you squeeze his cock, earning a halfhearted scowl, “Your gentlemanly gesture of saving me from my hanger.”

“Want to feel you again,” is your only warning, and then he’s bullying his cock between your folds, whining sharply as his tip nudges in, rhythm shallow and wanton, gradually stuffing himself further and further into your honeyed, dripping hole, “Fuck,” he grits out, your ass so perfect and weighted atop him, “You feel so fucking good.”

“Is this all you want?” you ask quietly, question nearly lost in the broadness of his chest, pussy clenching tight and overwhelmed around him.

“This?” he manages to scoff, his exasperated, adoring eyes meeting your unsteady, wide gaze, “‘Course not, I want to get to know you, your favorite color, how you look in the morning, what buttons I can push, when to say I’m sorry,” repetitive, gentle grunts underlying his reassurance as he continues thrusting torturously slow, “I’ve got a devastating crush on you, you idiot, so why the fuck would this be all I want?”

“Well you did just call me an idiot,” you giggle, back arching into his movements, his eyes glimmering at the display of your breasts.

He huffs, “Learn it or hate it, but s’my love language.”

“I’m thoroughly enjoying this love language,” you drawl, grabbing onto his shoulders, sweat trickling shiny and subtle as you readjust yourself, “I guess I could adapt to ~odd pet names too.”

As Sanemi’s pace hastens, second climax coaxed harsh and unrelenting from your body, he slips one hand from your hip to your sex, palm pressing strong and intense on your clit, the most stunning wail tearing feral and needy across his bedroom as you cum on his cock, thighs squeezing the air from his lungs, fingernails digging deeply into his shoulders, neck faintly mottled with the aftermath of his love biting.

Sunlight glows weakly through his blinds, the quiet pulse of your breaths preventing Sanemi from wiggling even an inch, too afraid of shattering the stillness of his dream. Your leg’s slotted comfortable and trusting between his own, fingers pressing soft dots into his chest, a sensation he wishes he could bottle for a rainy day. Thankful for his lack of drinking, and thus, lack of a hangover, his eyes blink closed, basking in the recollection of your unexpected passion, the shine of moonlight on your naked figure, the curve of your smile, hot and welcoming against his mouth.

“So how do I look in the morning?”

Your sleepily murmured question startles him, the uptick in your breathing having gone unnoticed, too deep in his reminiscence. Head tilting to better see you, he smirks fondly, gaze more serene without the exhaustion of the day settled in yet.

“Like you just woke up,” he says nonchalantly, nevertheless breaking into an endeared smile, muscular arm tugging you closer to him, so close you can see the flecks of muted silver in his irises.

“Hm, thank gosh it’s Saturday,” you yawn, limbs stretching in his embrace, toes finding purchase on his ankles, “I definitely did not set an alarm.”

“What dumbass would throw a party on a weekday?”

“Not you,” you retort sweetly, dramatically batting your eyelashes, “You’re not a dumbass.”

“Fuck you,” he mumbles.

“Already?” you wink lazily, “Don’t men have a refractory period or something?”

“I only came once last night,” he nearly pouts, hiding his expression in your sunwarmed hair.

“Right,” you chuckle, tender memories of being carefully wiped clean, and then snuggling into him, promptly passing out, floating contentedly through your vision, “You’re amazing.”

“Amazing enough to do this again?” his voice hardens, somehow moving further from you even as his body doesn’t move.

“Didn’t I already ask you that?” you reply gently.

“Yeah.”

Nose crinkling, you poke at his cheek, humming confidently, “I may not have had a devastating crush on you, but I obviously I like you, idiot.”

“Yeeeah,” he sighs.

“So we’re doing this again,” you remark plainly.

“Good,” he finally grins.

“Good,” you grin.

“Ugh,” he scowls, pretending to push you away, only to quickly pull you back into his embrace, pulse thrumming at the momentary distance.

“You weren’t saying that earlier,” you singsong, lightly tucking a longer strand of his hair behind his ear, cooing at its immediate redness, “You think Obanai heard us?”

“Fuck,” Sanemi grimaces, suddenly dreading his next conversation with his best friend.

“Poor guy,” you laugh, tone laced with mock sympathy, “Probably regrets inviting me.”

Shrugging, Sanemi pecks your forehead, voice gravelly as he mutters, “Nah, fuck him.”

#sanemi shinazugawa #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi x reader #shinazugawa x reader #wind hashira #one shot #college au #demon slayer smut #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer

[lxstfathier]

Cachorrita

Los Vaqueros x Reader

Headcanons

Summary: you got caught in the middle of the narco violence, losing everything. Thankfully, the vaqueros rescued you and decided to adopt you… as a pet.

Warnings: murder/trauma mentions, pet play, collaring, poly relationship (?), slight smut.

A/N: i can’t stop thinking about Ale and Rudy, they’re both so cute and boyfriend shaped and i love them very much 💗 so i got this silly idea in the middle of the night and decided to write it, don’t ask me what the hell is this, just enjoy it. And please remember that english is not my first language. Hope y’all like it :)

♡ Your parents were killed by el sin nombre, and you were kidnapped for a few days with the intention of human trafficking. Luckily, you were rescued by los vaqueros before you ended up being trafficked for real.

♡ It was nice to be free again, but everything you had ever know didn’t exist anymore. Not even your home. You had nowhere to go, and such a naive little girl like you would be an easy target in Las Almas… again. That’s why the vaqueros offered you to stay with them, in their base.

♡ You accepted immediately. They saved your life, and you would trust them with it.

♡ At first, it was weird to live among military men. Seeing them always with a serious look on their faces and yelling orders was quite scary, but soon you got used to it. You got along with everyone, and they all treated you in the nicest way possible, so it wasn’t as bad as you thought.

♡ They even gave you your own little room!

♡ Once you started to get more comfortable, you gained the confidence to get out of your room more often, exploring the base and helping around with the daily tasks, learning the basic things. And it wasn’t long until you grew closer to Alejandro and Rodolfo, following them around any time you could.

♡ Alejandro thinks of you as one of those stray dogs that Rudy used to bring into the base (in a cute way), that’s why they started calling you “Cachorrita”.

♡ You love the nickname, but you loved it even more when they actually started treating you as a puppy, making sure that you’re always happy and taken care of.

♡ One day, they surprise you with a pretty collar. It’s made from the softest and most finest leather, in your favorite color, and it also has a cute heart-shaped tag that says “Cachorrita” and “Propiedad de Los Vaqueros” in the back. Such a sweet gift. It made you teary. You hugged every single one of them as a thank you and then Alejandro put it around your neck <3

♡ It doesn’t matter if they’re all at the base, or just a few soldiers, you always go out to spend time with them. You keep them company, listen to anything they have to say, comfort them, or just snuggle on their lap while they play with your hair. They say often that you’re way better than a therapy dog, but you don’t really think so.

♡ One time you decided it would be a great idea to cook something for them, so you prepared chilaquiles con carne, and they all went insane, saying that it was delicious, better than the bland military food they were used to eat daily. So now you cook for them almost every day, remembering the recipes your mother taught you.

♡ Even though they all agreed to collar you, only Alejandro is allowed to put a leash on you. He doesn’t do it often, just when he has to do a lot of paperwork in his office, taking you with him to keep you at his feet for hours. “Good girl” he says petting your head while you rest your chin on his thigh. “Keep being obedient and i’ll give you a treat when i’m done”. If he gets stressed, he might use that pretty little mouth of yours.

♡ They won’t hesitate to spoil you. You want new clothes? Stuffed animals? Jewelry? The newest iphone? don’t even worry about it, Ale and Rudy will be buying it all for you.

♡ When they go away on missions, they always text you whenever they can, making sure that you’re fine without them. Rudy always gives you one of his credit cards, telling you to use it if you need something. But you have never used it, you have everything you need at the base.

♡ When they come back, the first thing you hear is Alejandro yelling “Dónde está nuestra cachorrita?”, and you’ll come out of your room as fast as you can, running to them to hug them tight, glad that they’re all safe and sound.

♡ Sometimes, when Alejandro or Rodolfo get horny (which is often), they come to you, and you spread your legs for them, happy to please them however they want. Rudy fucks you sweet and slow. Alejandro fucks you fast and rough. But you like it more when they both fuck you at the same time.

♡ When you get your period, they all treat you as if you were dying, giving you everything you want and need. Alejandro makes sure you have pain pills and a hot water bottle to put on your tummy, and Rudy goes to the store to get more pads and your favorite snacks.

♡ When you wake up in the middle of the night because of your constant nightmares, you sneak into Rudy’s room, getting in the bed with him and cuddling up in his chest. “Qué pasa, cachorrita? you got nightmares again?” he asks, half awake, and when you whisper a “si” he just holds you closer, hearing his heart beat until you fall asleep.

♡ They teach you how to use a gun, just in case. But you really hate it. Those things are heavy and loud and scary.

♡ Speaking of things you hate, you also don’t like going outside due to your trauma. But Alejandro and Rudy insist on taking you out at least once a week, going to the local market for some groceries, and you hold Ale’s hand as if your life depended on it, way too scared to let him go. But, if you behave well, they buy you ice cream on the way back.

♡ You’re not a brat, but sometimes you accidentally do something they don’t like. They’re the military after all, highly disciplined men, and you aren’t used to that. If you do something slightly disrespectful or don’t listen to orders, it will result on Rudy or Ale yanking you by the collar, planting a firm smack on your ass. “Don’t do that again, entendido?”.

♡ You love stealing Ale’s military jackets. They’re comfy, oversized and smell like him. But you didn’t expected him to get you your own jacket, embroidered with “cachorrita” on the front and a bright pink armband that says “emotional support”. And you love it, of course, but that doesn’t stop you from stealing his jackets again.

♡ You have an oral fixation, and Rudy thrives off it, letting you bite his arms, lick his neck or have a really messy and heated up kissing session (if he’s not busy). Sometimes he even lets you suck his fingers, but be careful with that one cuz he might want to give you something bigger to suck on.

♡ If any of Los Vaqueros gets hurt on a mission or training, you will take care of them just like they do with you, not leaving their side until they feel better. You can’t stand seeing any of your -new found- family in pain, makes you feel sad :(

♡ When your birthday comes, Alejandro and Rodolfo enter your room early at morning, singing las mañanitas and giving you the gift they got for you. It’s exciting, so you quickly open the box, eager to see what’s inside. Gasping when you finally admire the pretty set of fluffy ears, tail plug, and thigh high socks with paw print, all in your favorite color. “Why don’t you try it on for us, cachorrita?” Alejandro suggests, and you’re more than happy to do so, already feeling a tingle between your legs.

♡ You’re on birth control, obviously, but Rudy and Ale are already thinking about getting you off those stupid pills…

#alejandro vargas smut #rodolfo parra smut #cod smut #alejandro vargas x reader #call of duty fanfic #rodolfo parra x reader

[cxsmicbaby]

something nice - 1

CHAPTER ONE OF A SERIES 

pairing : miguel o’hara x fem!reader

word count: 4.1k

warnings : smut at the end! cursing throughout. enjoy :)

you and hobie play a prank. miguel doesn’t like it, but he can never stay mad at you. 

                                                      𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪

“And then... my uncle died.” 

“Mmhm.” The smell of hot coffee grows stronger. It’s mere inches away.. I just have to suffer through this for a moment longer. 

“And I realized. I’m not even real! I’m just a clone of the real Peter. And that totally destroyed me.”

“Oh wow,” I say, nodding. Ben, or Scarlet Spider, continues to go on about his tragic backstory, somehow still managing to flex his biceps as he begins to well up in tears. 

Finally, the spider in front of me finishes filling their mug and it’s my turn. God, if I had to stand in line with this melodramatic asshole for a second longer I think I would’ve tried to cut my own ears off. He’s still talking as I fill my cup with coffee, but this time I’m not listening. It’s probably some variation of the same things I’ve been through, anyhow. I wonder how Miguel is able to sit through thousands and thousands of these things whenever he recruits a new spider. He’s not a very patient guy. 

Miguel. He walks through the lobby at 5:30am, every morning. I woke up early today so that I would run into him. Not like I said anything to him; I walked past him, smiling, and he just grunted. Just about what I expected. But I still woke up early to see him. I feel a little stupid thinking about it. I’ll probably do it again tomorrow. 

“Yeah, Ben, that really sucks. Maybe you should see a therapist.” I turn and give him a pat on the shoulder, smiling as genuinely as I can. He nods, and wipes his teary eyes. This guy cries way too easily. 

I swing off into the main lobby. Thank god, I can be free. I don’t know what the plan is today, but I’m always up for an adventure. 

“Oi!” I hear, and behind me Hobie is swinging forward, his mask already on. That must mean there’s something happening. Regardless, I’m always happy to see him. He’s probably the only person I really talk to here; other than Miguel. 

“Hey! Got anything for me?” I ask, as we land on a free platform. Hobie pauses for a moment before he starts digging around in his pockets, and pulls out a bag of my favorite snack from his universe; unfortunately, it doesn’t exist anywhere else, so I depend on this not-so-dependable guy to bring them for me. 5/10 times he actually remembers it. 

“What’s with the drink? I thought you hated coffee,” he asks, plopping himself down on the edge of the platform. I do the same, and we watch as the spiders swing and climb all over the place, like a jungle gym. Every time I take a step back from this whole thing like this, it always amazes me. Just a few weeks ago, I was stuck in a universe where I was the only one, and now I’m in a place where everyone is just as corny as me. It’s lovely. 

“I do,” I start, taking a sip of it. I fight the way my lips threaten to purse in disgust. “I needed a pick me up.”

“Ah.” Hobie pulls at a loose thread of his shirt and smiles deviously. “Up all night thinking about Miguel, huh?” 

Hobie is far too observant for my liking. There’s nothing that gets past him, which is great for combat, but not great for me. 

I swallow hard, and shake my head. “No. And you should stop saying shit like that! What if someone overhears? They’ll think something weird is going on.”

“Like?” Here we go. 

“Like. They’ll think I’m in love with him or something. We’re just friends. He’s cool. I’m cool. Everything’s cool.” I sound like an idiot, and I know Hobie thinks the same when I hear him laugh. It’s like I’m a fucking teenager again, gossiping about my crush in the locker-room. I hated high school. 

“Cool, cool. Everything’s cool,” he teases, mocking me. 

We’re both quiet, basking for a moment in the odd sort of peace that comes out of this chaotic place. 

Hobie snickers softly, shaking his head at something that he’s thought of. “Heard some of the others talking bout how Miguel’s pickin’ favorites. Guess who’s the favorite?”

I sigh, and down the rest of the disgusting black liquid. “Whatever. I’m not his, uh. His favorite. He talks down to me like all the rest.” 

Hobie is quiet. That’s rare. When I look over at him he’s just staring down, a weird sort of smile still on his face. His fingers are drumming against the platform. 

“Hey, what’re we gonna do today? Please say you’ve got something fun.” 

That seems to get him, because his head perks up and that teasing expression is replaced by one of excitement. Thank god. If I had to talk about Miguel for another second it would not have ended well—I tend to get a little loose with the things I say the longer I’m forced to talk about them. 

“Something fun, eh? I’ve got something fun. But only if you’re up for it.” 

I smile. “You know I am.” 

Compared to a lot of the others, I’ve been here for a very short time. Still, I’ve learned the ins and outs, the dos and the don’ts. Like, do listen to what the higher ups (and Lyla) say. Don’t make fun of Miguel’s tediously slow entrance on that weird platform thing. Do make friends. Don’t be an ass. And for god’s sake, do not pull any pranks. 

The thing about spider people; we tend not to really listen to rules. 

Hobie and I are perched on a bar above the lobby. We’re trying to figure out the best way to go about things. Me, I think he should take charge, but he seems to think nobody really likes him, so they won’t listen. He thinks they’ll all fall in line with my beguiling feminine charms and do whatever I say. I think that sounds like bullshit, but I don’t really wanna do the other thing, so I agree to it. 

I drop down smack in the middle of a group of spider-people in a conversation. Immediately, I put on the most panicked expression I can muster and start running around frantically. 

“Jessica’s gone into labor! I repeat, Jessica is giving birth at this moment! Help her get back home so she can go to a hospital... or something!” I shout, trying to get as much attention as I possibly can. Of course, everyone loves Jessica, so everyone starts rushing to her aid. None of them actually know where she is, but they just launch into help-mode, as Spiderman does. Soon, the lobby is basically empty. Sometimes, I think about how gullible I must be if I’m really just a variation of this same person. 

“Coast’s clear,” Hobie calls, dropping down from above. “We don’t have a lotta time, gotta make this quick.” 

I frown. “We? But you said all I had to do was get them out!” 

“Yeah, that was a lie.” Hobie shrugs and tosses me a spray can. “Now, you gonna help or not?” 

The idea of getting caught spraying painting the building Miguel has built specifically for us makes me queasy. The idea of being caught doing anything that would make him upset makes me queasy. But if I back out now, then I just made a fool of myself for no reason. I don’t mind looking stupid, but it’s gotta be for a reason. 

I sigh, and reach up to tug my mask over my face in case someone realizes that Jessica is not even here right now, and decides to come back. I mean, not like I would really be hiding much, considering everyone knows what my suit looks like, but there’s no harm in it. 

The moment I pull it down, the room is doused in red light and an alarm starts blaring. Fuck. 

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me, mate,” Hobie groans, tossing his head back in frustration. “That old man did not just sound the alarm ‘cause we’re pulling a goddamn prank. Might as well do as much as we can before the rest of ‘em come back.” 

That does not sound like a good idea. If Miguel is angry enough to turn on the alarm that signifies intruders, he will definitely not like us continuing in spite of his obvious warning. But Hobie’s already swinging up, spraying bright purple in a strangely elegant ribbon across the walls. I start to hear footsteps, but they’re far enough away that I think I have some time. So, despite my better judgement, I follow Hobie, tagging wherever he’s painted with a green design of my own. Gotta admit, it looks pretty dope. That assuages my fears somewhat and I find myself letting go a little, whooping in excitement as I swing around the lobby. 

Then, I hear it again. Footsteps, but I know these very specific footsteps. Heavy, fast, angry. My stomach drops and I land, turning to Hobie to see he’s still painting away. He probably hears it too, he just doesn’t care. I wish I could be as carefree as him. Especially when it came to this sort of thing. 

But I can’t. In fact, once Miguel actually appears in the room, hair slightly disheveled, face twisted up in an almost scary amount of anger, I freeze in place. God, he’s fucking fuming. His eyes sweep the room like we just painted Miguel Sux! in somebody’s blood. And then his gaze lands on me, and I feel myself shiver; in fear, in anticipation, in... something else. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Miguel bellows, and that catches Hobie’s attention. Before he can say anything else, the flake is gone. Typical Hobie. Saving his own ass. I can’t even really be mad at him, because if it weren’t for the annoying way my feet were sticking to the ground I would’ve done the same. 

The alarm shuts off, and the room goes deadly quiet. I’m still staring at him as he approaches me, his chest heaving as he takes deep breaths, probably trying to calm himself down. He needs to see a therapist, I think, but don’t have time to even smile at my own quip before he’s looming right above me. 

“Do you get joy out of causing this type of shit? Out of wasting everyone’s time?” Miguel spits, and I know I’m supposed to be hurt by what he’s saying, but god if I don’t wanna just pounce at him right here, right now. 

So I keep my mouth shut. He doesn’t seem to like that. His fists are clenched tight at his sides as he studies me. 

“You know, if I knew you were gonna be such a fucking nuisance, I would never have brought you here.”

Ouch. That one sort of hurts, so I take off my mask and I look up at him, trying to keep my composure. I frown. “It was just some harmless fun, Miguel. No need to get so mean about it.” 

That was not the right thing to say, apparently, because his eyebrows furrow even deeper. Before he can open his mouth to say something that will probably make me cry, I force a smile and swing up to the wall. 

“And it looks great! Don’t you think this place is too... I don’t know. Sterile? Everyone’s gonna love it.” I hope he can’t hear the way my voice is trembling. When I hear my words echo back to me, I’m relieved to find that I sound quite confident. I’ve always been good at that, faking like I know what I’m doing. I think that’s a Spider-man thing. 

Miguel doesn’t speak. He crosses his arms over his chest and inhales deeply, hanging his head. 

“You are going to clean this shit up. Understood? And when I find that little shit Hobie, I’m gonna tell him the same thing.” 

I think that’s the closest I’ll get to him saying he isn’t really that mad about it, and that’s good enough for me. I swing back down to stand in front of him, and this time when I smile, it’s real. 

“Are you sure? I’m telling you, it looks super—”

Miguel’s eyes narrow and I feel my stomach twist. “Don’t test me.” 

I straighten up and salute him, fighting the urge to run as Miguel’s eyes burn into mine. “Yes, sir!” 

I swear to god, he almost smiles, before he just shakes his head. 

“Don’t do shit like this again. I won’t go so easy on you next time.” 

                                                       𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪

“You don’t let yourself have anything, do you?” 

Miguel pauses. He finds himself looking up at you, despite the desire to remain stoic and focused and uninterested. It’s always hard to do that, with you. 

“What?” he says, his voice slightly biting. He means it to be. He wants to scare you away so you will leave him alone, finally. It’s been mere weeks since you joined them, and in those weeks, you have made it your mission to annoy him more than anyone ever has in his life. It’s like you live to bother him. He should hate it more than he does. 

He should hate your stupid fucking pranks and your dumb, unfunny jokes. But he doesn’t. He knew it was you today, even before he got to the lobby, but for some reason he wasn’t that mad. And then the fact that he wasn’t mad about it made him mad about it, and he was mean to you. He wants to apologize, but that’s not like him. Everything he does or feels when it comes to you is a contradiction to the person he has built himself up as. The whole thing is just so muddled up he’d rather ignore it. 

You sit on a metal box to his left, swinging your legs back and forth as you scrutinize him. Miguel doesn’t like how you always have this knowing look on your face, like you’re waiting for him to discover something you’ve already found out. Frankly, all the Spider-people have that sort of glint in their eyes, but with you it’s different. He bites the inside of his cheek and forces himself not to look away. 

“I mean, you don’t let yourself have anything nice, or fun. The closest you get to letting yourself feel happiness is those empanadas you make me bring you.” 

You smile at him, and he thinks to himself that he wishes you would do it more, but the moment the thought passes he stamps it out with a frown. 

“And even then, you always scowl when you eat them.” You cancel out his grimace with a little laugh that makes Miguel fucking furious.

“You know, it’s not in your best interest to keep talking about this. If causing a useless ruckus is fun to you, then yeah, I don’t fucking do that.” He practically spits it, and swivels his head to focus again on his work. He doesn’t know if he wants you to apologize or if he wants you to just go. Apologize? He’s kidding himself. You would never. 

He can’t help but listen carefully for your movements, wanting to hear if you’ll leave or not. But he hears nothing, and he turns again to see you just sitting there, swinging your feet. Still smiling. 

“What are you still doing here? Don’t you have shit to do?” Miguel asks, narrowing his eyes at you. He notices that his tone lacks the sting he meant it to deliver and chooses to ignore it. 

You boost yourself up from the box and stand. “Not really. Can’t I just stay? I won’t make any noise, promise.” 

Miguel frowns deeply. “That’s impossible.” But he doesn’t tell you to leave. 

You sigh, your body swaying side to side. Miguel thinks its a subconscious thing you do when you’re standing; most people would just be still, but he’s noticed that you cannot possibly remain perfectly in place for more than a few seconds. 

“Yeah, whatever. I’m gonna get some sleep. You should too.” You send him a small wink and turn, walking off toward the exit. You stop briefly, turning to face him with an expression he can’t quite read.

“And, uh. Sorry about today,” you call, and he says nothing. You turn again and he watches you leave. 

Everything has changed since you showed up, and if anything can be taken from his obsession with anomalies, it’s that Miguel hates change. Especially when it seems like there isn’t much changing for anyone but himself. 

It was him that found you. He went on a mission to a universe he had not yet traveled; a rare occasion, because it wasn’t to destroy an anomaly, but because something was telling him to go. It wasn’t like a voice, or even a sense. More like a feeling. There was something there for him to discover and so he went without saying anything, hoping he’d be back before anyone noticed. 

Miguel found you on the roof of a museum. You were sitting on the edge, swinging your feet back and forth, just staring into the streets. You had your mask off, which he remembered thinking was incredibly stupid, seeing as it was still light out. Your suit was nothing to gawk at, nothing too different than the hundreds of others he had seen, but for some reason he knew it was you he was supposed to find. You, he had been called to. For what, he didn’t know.  

You noticed him before he intended you to. When you saw him, you didn’t look shocked, or scared; you looked happy. No one had been happy to see him in a long time. 

“How long you been standing there?” you asked, turning your body to face him. You crossed your legs and watched him approach, staring up at him like he was someone you knew, someone you had been waiting for. 

Miguel was quiet. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. 

“You know, one of us is gonna have to change.” And you laughed hard at your own dumb joke. Your laugh made him uncomfortable, how truly happy it sounded, how real it felt. You seemed like you hadn’t yet experienced the tragic things that came with being a Spiderman. You seemed innocent. Like you needed to be protected. 

And by god, you were beautiful. The suit didn’t leave much to the imagination. 

The thought startled him and he stayed quiet.  

“Your suit is super cool. Kinda cyberpunk.” You stood and you watched him carefully, walking slowly around him in a circle. Miguel’s eyes followed you, his body on guard as if you were going to suddenly lunge at him. 

“Why aren’t you... surprised?” Miguel finally said, his tone accusatory. But you didn’t seem to notice, and if you did you didn’t mind. You stopped in front of him and stuck your hand out, inviting him to shake it. 

“Welcome to Earth-72, Miguel. I’ve been waiting for you.” 

And that’s how he found out about a Dr. Strange, and how you knew about Miguel already; in fact, you were expecting him. The idea made him irrationally angry. Someone like you, obviously flippant and probably reckless, with knowledge about something as dangerous as the multiverse? You were most likely new to your abilities, to the mask. You were too naive and carefree not to be. 

But Miguel was wrong. You had long been bitten, lost your uncle, your sister, your best friend. You just seemed to lack that bitterness that he saw in the others, in himself. You were happy. 

Like most things, that also made Miguel angry. 

You begged him to let you join the Spider Society. You said you had known about it for a while, and you dreamed of being apart of it, of something bigger than yourself. Your words exactly. He was slightly impressed by that, but didn’t show it. In fact, Miguel wanted deeply to say no. But he didn’t, for reasons he’s not quite sure of himself, and that’s how he ended up with a permanent, relentless distraction. He was starting to wish he never brought you back in the first place. 

If you were more like him, he thinks, he probably wouldn’t have this problem. But you’re not. You’re almost the exact opposite. It drives him fucking crazy.

Miguel shook his head, grunting in frustration at his own inability to focus. It seemed even when you weren’t there, he was plagued by the thought of you. 

And think about you he did, for hours on end, sometimes. When he would lie awake in bed, his body aching from the strains of the day. He wouldn’t be able to close his eyes, because the image of you was always waiting for him. Smiling, laughing. Looking up at him with those eyes of yours. He would find himself imagining what it felt like to be close to you. Your skin would be soft, he knew. Your lips would be softer. Your hands, calloused by years of fighting, swinging, winning, losing. How they’d touch him. How they’d hold him. 

How he would touch you. Make you feel good. Make you think about him, just like he thought about you. Make you want him. 

Miguel always lost himself in thoughts like that, and he was usually able to bring himself back to reality. When he got back to his room that night, though, he felt as though he couldn’t push it down. He didn’t let himself have anything nice. And god, did he want something nice. 

The water ran over his taut back, soaking his hair and running down his cheekbones. One hand, splayed against the tile wall, and the other by his side, just inches away from an itch he is fighting not to scratch. His cock is aching. He swears he can see it pulse with every second that passes, every drop of water that lands on his shaft, veins prominent and throbbing. 

Miguel imagines that you’re there with him. That you stand in front of him, and that instead of the wall it’s you he’s touching, your skin slick with water and sweat. That your hands are on his chest, your nails scratching him just the slightest bit, and god, those eyes, staring into his like he’s the only thing that has or ever will matter to you. 

When he finally wraps his hand around his cock, it takes his breath away. 

“Jesus,” he whispers, slowly stroking himself, gripping so tight he’s sure his fingertips are white. It’s not enough. 

Miguel closes his eyes, and immediately he pictures you. He feels almost guilty to think of you this way, on your knees, with your lips wrapped around his dick. But he can’t stop. His breathing grows heavier as he imagines you taking him deep into your throat, gagging on him, your nose brushing against his pelvis. He thinks about what he’d say to you. How he’d tell you how good you were doing, how perfect you were. He grips himself impossibly harder and is unable to stop himself from relentlessly jerking his cock, his hand pushing so hard against the wall he’s afraid it’ll crack. 

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice breathy and deep. More water drips onto his shaft and immediately he thrusts desperately into his own grip, envisioning that it’s you, spitting on him before you take him in your hand, running your tongue over his tip, looking up at him. 

He thinks about what you’d say to him. He knows he would be too big for you. But you’d try to take him all, because that’s what you do. He’s sure your hand wouldn’t even wrap around his entire length. And you would tell him how big he was, how beautiful you thought he was. You’d probably tease him too, about how quickly he’d been reduced to a mess, how eager he was. He’s surprised at how close that thought brings him, and he has to bite his lip to keep from letting out a shameful moan. 

When Miguel comes, he says your name. It’s not loud; it’s more like a plea, a prayer. His body caves in on itself and he shudders with the force of it, his legs trembling ever so slightly as he tries to bring himself back to reality. He stands there for a moment, trying to catch his breath, feeling a little ashamed at how quickly he finished. He hasn’t had the time to do anything like that in so, so long. He hasn’t let himself. 

He washes himself off and gets out of the shower. 

When Miguel lies in bed, he’s haunted by the thought of having to see you tomorrow, knowing what he’s done. And then he grows angry. You did this to him. And you’re not even trying; you’re just there. What a nuisance you are. 

He tries to close his eyes, but he finds himself plagued by you still. 

                                                      𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪

CHAPTER TWO

#miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel x you #miguel x reader #spiderman #spider-man 2099 #spiderverse #smut #miguel smut #spiderman smut #miguel ohara #miguel ohara smut #miguel o'hara smut #peter parker #peter parker smut #marvel #marvel smut #x reader #spiderman x you #spiderman x reader #miguel x fem #fem!reader

[cassieno]

Just a little something about Crowley and Identity, Questions and Journeys. Full text for screenreaders below.

A Gentle Love - Crowley’s Inner Angel

Always an Optimist

Making nebulas, stars, galaxies, imagining gravity and light. He filled millions of pages with his thoughts and ideas. He had a creation.

He had passion. For his work, his future, and his identity. He’s a creator, a thinker, and with the way he looks at his accomplishments also an artist.  

He put the stars in the sky - a Starmaker. “I have worked on this since…well, always.” He did not just make the stars, he himself was made for this. So it is no surprise that at the end of the day, Crowley believes that the universe will look after him. An optimist at heart, even when his skies come crashing down.

Four Letter Words

Good, Nice, Kind, Care, Love

Four letter words to Crowley are words that betray his former identity, betray that he used to be an Angel. Something he doesn’t want to be anymore, or at the very least something he doesn’t want anyone to know he was. After the Rebellion, the War, and the Fall, Crowley knew that he wasn’t who he used to be. Maybe he tried to cling to what he knew, tried to find these distant joys somewhere inside himself. But in the end, and we don’t know when or why, maybe because of Hell’s restrictions, maybe because of a brooding bitterness towards Heaven, he left the Angel he was behind.

Lost, and with no home for the very first time in history, he believed, presumably, that Hell could provide him with new meaning. He had a new name, new clothes, new parts of himself that had scales and a forked tongue, and monstrous voices. He was given a new identity and a new purpose. But even so, the illusion of belonging hadn’t lasted long.

Humanity had been created and within the very first days of their existence, Crowley was confronted with a dilemma. He gave humanity free will, the ability to decide for themselves between good and evil. In Hell’s opinion, he might have done the right thing: Caused trouble. But he wondered, and oh, he never did stop to wonder, to question, if he might have done the good thing. Not the right thing, not the wrong thing: simply the good thing.

It was Crowley’s story repeated in front of his eyes: The awareness of white and black and grey, the consciousness to decide for themselves, led humans to be cast out of the only home they knew. And still, he thought that with this, he might have done the good thing. And it worries him, because Hell, a place he might have believed caught him after his Fall, wouldn’t like it any more than Heaven had liked his inquiries. He always had a mind of his own, a personal moral compass. And he would need to figure out how to follow it wisely.

Outside the walls of Eden, humanity flourished. And he witnessed how humans could disappoint him, but how they could help him, too. When Adam struck the lion to shield Eve, Crowley saw that there was something inside them that was ready to fight for what they loved and treasured. Humanity was on its own side, and he witnessed Heaven and Hell use them like dolls to settle their disputes. It was then that Crowley decided to be on his own side. To go along with Hell as far as he could. And he helped humanity, helped the innocent whenever he dared because maybe he wished that he had accepted the only helping hand that reached out to him in Heaven.

He witnessed the Flood, witnessed the bet about Job, the Crucifixion, the Wars, and the Apocalypse. He moved through it all, in his own ways, and helped from the shadows, stood by himself. And no matter if angel or demon, or nothing or both, one thing carried him to safety, one thing he kept close to his heart, and that was, that no matter what happened, the universe would always look after him.

Peaceful Existence

Crowley may not be the angel Aziraphale once knew, but there is no denying that it is still a part of him. A part he might want to hide away or ignore or forget, but it is there, and he tries to navigate it, tries to find closure. Who he was is as much a part of him as our childhoods are a part of who we are. We might not want to or even be able to remember the abuse, the tears and the heartache, the longing for something we were too young to name. We might try to detach ourselves from it but as we grow and navigate our past, maybe even as we have to move on without any closure, we may find ourselves longing for what little good moments we had.

Crowley might never want to forgive Heaven and God and Hell but maybe he will come to realize that he can feel misplaced, forgotten, and hurt, and still long for the times when things were different. Long for a distance past so far gone that it becomes harder and harder to remember. Maybe he can realize, that accepting the angel he once was, doesn’t mean that he must be happy or grateful for all the horrible and grotesque things that happened to him. He can take what he wants and use it to craft something new and beautiful, something that can grow and heal his inner angel. And he might find that from time to time he can let himself be an angel. He can let himself be all those four letter words, and he can be good without belonging to Heaven.

When he moved on from Heaven to Hell and then to our side, he had found something new. A special feeling of belonging, something he could plunge himself into and fill his identity with. Something peaceful and kind. But when fragile things break, they tend to have sharp edges. And now he is alone once more and by himself. Which proposes the scariest question he ever had to ask: Who is he, all by himself? Without Heaven and Hell and without Aziraphale, what is left of Crowley?

He might find that he is everything he lost before. Heaven, Hell, Aziraphale – all have shaped his identity, and all stay with him even as he finds himself on his own side once more. Crowley contains multitudes, like all of us, and he might never get answers to all his questions, he might never find out who he really is.

Unable to answer his own questions, there will only be more around the corner. But after all, since Crowley never punished anyone for asking questions, why should he punish himself? Maybe this time he doesn’t need answers. He’s an optimist and anyway, the universe will look after him.

After all of us.

#little thoughts #good omens #crowley #essay #analysis #character analysis #aziracrow #anthony j crowley #angel crowley #please be kind i am not used to being vulnerable

[padawansuggest]

Writing a fic where Jango wasn’t a willing progenitor because his family is still alive on Mandalore so Palpy did some fucked up shit to his brain and now the clones exist but one day while visiting home Jaster (who I love writing as force sensitive af) is all ‘my child has something weird in his noggin I’m gonna unravel it’ and now they know who the Sith Lord is and Jango is all ‘well. Now that that’s outta my brain-‘ and wanders off to tell the alphas that they can leave with their vod’e as soon as the Sith Lord is killed and the alphas being paranoid as they are are like ‘okay what do we give you in turn???’ ‘What do you mean this is a freebie’ ‘nothing is free prime, what do you want’ ‘lmao idk just babysit the Jedi they seem kinda stupid a little’ and the clones take that to mean ‘they are stupid and get themselves killed keep them safe’ and Jango doesn’t correct them cause this is hilarious and allows them to dig into the Jedi histories as much as they want only for them to come back all ‘ahh, yes, we see the senate has them in a chokehold and barely better than slaves living in a Diaspora being forced to their Will and their numbers have been steadily declining over the past thousand years. We see. They need help’ and Jango is all ‘…they fucking what???’ Only for the clones to already be fucked off to claim the Jedi as part of their people and no they will not be leaving sure you can try and run but we are here to help you sorta thing and Anakin is very eager for this, they saved all the slaves on Tatooine and saved his mom and stopped him from getting married cause if he gets married without Obi walking him down the aisle his master WILL cry about it and Plo and Shaak are repeating the gai bal manda to anyone they come across and it’s really very annoying and Mace shoved Kenobi at the sternest clones he could find saying ‘this one bites, he’s feral; tame him and win the prize’ and tbh they don’t know what the prize is but that sounds like fun and Obi is very annoyed at all times except when they pull him into their sleepy piles because that’s nice and yea he likes these dudes, they did not tame him tho he still bites he’s still feral at least they tried.

Anyways. Alpha 17 and Cody are the most annoying jerks ever who won’t let him run off into danger without them and Miss Shmi is awesome and disgusted by her son eating live bugs too so we no longer know where Ani gets it from that’s a shame and Mace is grounding anyone who adopts a clone or gets adopted by clones everyone is grounded. The Mandalorian empire is sorta peeking in like ‘wow. Are the Jedi okay??? They look a little annoyed??? But I haven’t heard of any of them getting murdered this week so probably???’ And it’s kinda hilariously adorable. The Mandos didn’t know they needed to worry about the Jedi and they’re super pissed at the Sith for hurting their prince’s brain and so yeah let’s join the clones they look like they’re having fun in the temple?????

#star wars #true mandalorians #jango fett #obi wan kenobi #the Jedi #anakin skywalker #clone wars #the clones #jaster mereel #but in clone wars era #he’s gettin older but he’s still kicking ass to defend his title lol

[phantom-of-the-memes]

And just the parallels these people are drawing, trying to insult me, an Irish person, when I’m talking about freeing Palestine. They’re sooo telling.

All these people demanding Palestinian activists tell them whether or not they “condemn Hamas”, which is just such bullshit and a bad faith question. I highly recommend watching the interview the Palestinian ambassador gave on the bbc, just completely obliterating this question. But yes these people will then turn around to me as soon as I speak on Palestine, and ask “do you condemn the IRA!?!?!”.

Once again asked by people without a shred of knowledge on the history of Ireland or Palestine.

First, on the IRA. The IRA (Irish Republican Army) was formed in 1917 from the members of the Irish Volunteers and the Irish Citizen Army. Notice the key words “volunteers” and “citizen”. It was never an army, just a volunteer resistance force of Irish citizens. They didn’t even have weapons at the start. They would train in the woods holding hurls to substitute guns. It wasn’t until the risings when they received weapons donated by other nations supporting the Irish gaining freedom.

More Irish people (who didn’t have the army training the British forces had) were killed and imprisoned by the British, than they killed the British. Various risings and civil wars continued until the Republic came to be in 1948. The six counties of the North are still of course under British rule.

My point is, people (*cough cough* Americans) who “love” Ireland and are so happy that Ireland gained freedom, then turn around and ask us to “condemn the IRA/ Hamas”…

I’m not even going to go into the fact that the IRA has since splintered off into a million different factions and some of them are involved in organised crime, blah, blah. Because again, “condemning the IRA” for gaining freedom for the republic because of the later actions of SOME of them, is just bad faith!

People looovvvee Ireland and Irish culture and are glad the republic exists and are “sad” for the North, but don’t want to acknowledge that we’ve only come this far by violent resistance! If we could’ve just asked real nice for England to fuck off, in the 700 years they occupied us, we would’ve! Peace talks don’t do shit when one side is a colonising power that doesn’t want to leave the other alone!

And again, it’s assuming that colonisation and apartheid states aren’t violent themselves. In both Palestine and Ireland, our oppressors subjugated and forced us into unimaginable conditions for so fucking long. Then when people try to oppose them, they’re called terrorists?

I mean shit, you Americans even have your 4th of July where you celebrate how you guys violently overthrew the English and gained independence. Do we condemn those soldiers for killing British soldiers? I mean every Independence Day of every country involves form of violent rebellion… that’s how shit gets done.

Hamas is a small resistance group. The IDF is a literal army with actual training and the world’s best weapons provided by the biggest powers of the world. EVEN IF somehow Hamas was a big scary terrorist organisation with military grade weapons, what Israel is doing has nothing to do with Hamas. They are bombing fucking children, hospitals, refugee camps, journalists!! All of which are fucking war crimes.

Israel is flooding social media with propaganda about how the hospitals were “Hamas headquarters”. Taking pictures of a board with the days of the week in Arabic and claiming it’s “Hamas terrorist plans”.

This is what the English depicted us as, and it’s what Israel will depict Palestine as. Of course we’re going to support them.

A great quote from on of my favourite films (Pride, 2014) is: “I don’t believe the papers when they talk about us, why should I believe it when they talk about them?”.

#ireland #irish #free palestine #Palestine

[pictureamoebae]

FOUNDATION - balancing reshade for TS4 by amoebae

The Sims 4 suffers from very strong blue shadows in a lot of worlds, and generally has a blue or teal-green haze cast across the screen. This means things that should be white are blue or teal, greys have a blue tone to them, and shadows look out of place. I've generally tried to counteract this and make things more neutral in most of my presets, but it's annoying to have to do it each time from scratch, and I've never found a really good method that still preserves everything else that happens to be coloured blue.

Until now!

Foundation at its core is a simple multilut that removes the blue/green haze and neutralises shadows and things that should be neutral to begin with. It doesn't alter any other colours or contrast so menus stay usable and clear. The result is a game that looks exactly like the Sims game you know and love, but more balanced.

You can see an album of example screenshots here, including lots of splitscreen comparisons showcasing what the multilut does: https://imgur.com/a/Ic271u1

---

You can use the Foundation multilut alone, you can drop it into a preset you already use, or you can use it to build your own preset around.

- If using the Foundation multilut alone:

while playing the game open the ReShade menu and choose from one of the 5 luts included in the Foundation multilut depending on which looks better for your current world/neighbourhood/season/time of day/weather

- If using the Foundation multilut with an existing preset:

open the ReShade menu and drag the multilut so it's either above or below your current used shaders - if you drag it above them it'll neutralise the blue cast *first* and your other settings will apply afterwards; if you drag it below them it will also neutralise blues in your current settings

- If using the Foundation multilut to build your own preset around:

I recommend keeping the Foundation multilut above any other colour grading shader effects in the load order so that you're working on a properly balanced base

If you want to use the Foundation multilut alone because you like how the game usually looks but just want to banish those obnoxious blues, I've built a full ReShade preset around it if you want something a bit extra.

The only colour grading is the Foundation multilut, but it adds in other 'bells & whistles' shaders like MXAO, RadiantGI, DoF, Adaptive Fog, Depth Haze, SMAA, Sharpening, Deband, and several flavours of Bloom to choose between. You can play the game with just the Foundation multilut enabled, and turn on any of the other effects when you want to take more polished screenshots.

This preset is ideal for someone who likes how TS4 looks but wants a better version of that. It's also ideal for CC creators who want to take nice screenshots of their CC but don't want to alter how it looks in a vanilla game.

---

Ultimately, Foundation is meant to be a tool to help you get the best from your game, whether you just want to play with colours looking how they're meant to, or if you want to build your own preset without having to do battle with the blue shadows and colour casts all the time.

You have two download options:

Just the Foundation multilut (includes the multilut png and the corresponding shader that requires the Prod80 package)

or the Foundation ReShade preset (includes the multilut, the amoe - Foundation.ini preset file, and some additional shaders/textures you'll need)

There are full installation instructions included in both downloads.

DOWNLOAD NOW @ PATREON (free)

---

Find me here:

pictureamoebae @ tumblr

amoebae @ twitter

amoebae @ patreon

amoebae's TS4 screenshots @ flickr

amoebae's cc, builds and ReShade presets in one place @ flickr

amoebae's amoebas discord server

#reshade #reshade for ts4 #ts4 reshade #ts4cc #ts4 cc #s4cc #s4 cc #ts4 lighting mod #the sims 4 #ts4 #sims 4 #s4 #the sims #sims #foundation reshade #my ts4 cc

[hedgehog-moss]

My second pasture down near the torrent is too overgrown to be used as a pasture, and I've been cutting some trees in order to rehabilitate at least half of it, so I can use the grass to make my winter's supply of hay at some point in the future. Some of the logs I cut were really heavy and I could only carry them two at a time at most (and it's uphill) so I finally decided to ask Pirlouit to contribute.

I say “finally” because my donkey is afraid of everything so it was a very long journey to get to this point! When I got him he was almost a feral donkey and at first I could barely approach him, he’d just run away and hide. After a few months of hanging out in his pasture, looking harmless and not bothering him, I was allowed to stroke his nose but only if I was simultaneously offering him treats (progress! he used to stretch out his neck and lips as much as he could to catch my treats while maintaining a prudent distance.) After maybe a year he started consistently walking up to say hi of his own free will when I went into the pasture, but if I had a rope or a halter with me he’d run and hide. It took nearly three years for him to come to me willingly even when he could see I meant to catch him. I kept our outings pleasant, like taking him to a nice spot in the woods to eat brambles while I sat nearby and read and didn’t ask anything of him (beyond basic landscaping services.)

But I have a lot of heavy logs to carry up a steep slope all the way to my woodshed, and the time has finally come for Pirlouit to get a job.

Pirlouit: "Oh no"

There were a lot of preliminary steps here as well, like showing him the bag I meant to use to carry the logs and waiting patiently for Pirlouit and the bag to get acquainted. (Initial reaction: “AAAAAaaaahhhhh a big red bag” evolving into mere distrust then extremely wary nose-poking, then, when bag failed to attack, serene indifference.)

Pirlouit: "I've always loved this bag. Don't know what you're talking about"

I don’t have a girth to keep the bag in place on Pirlouit’s back but with a balanced weight of logs on each side it was quite stable. Pirou grudgingly tolerated having the bag on his back while standing still, but started freaking out when asked to walk with it. Maybe he felt that the logs were heavy cylindrical children who had been entrusted to him and he feared that they would fall down—he refused to walk if I didn’t keep my hand on the bag to stabilise it. The problem is, he also refuses to walk (in general) if I’m walking next to him rather than ahead of him. And I can’t hold on to the bag if I’m not next to him.

Dilemma.

(“He refuses to walk if I do [X] but he also refuses to walk if I do [opposite of X]” is a very donkey-owner problem to have.)

So, I walked ahead of him but at first we literally moved one small step at a time. Eventually when he realised the bag was solidly weighed down and didn’t wobble from side to side or slide off his back, he started walking more trustingly. (We went up the hill in a wide zigzag rather than straight ahead so the bag wouldn’t slide backwards.) At times he seemed to forget about the bag, then suddenly remembered its existence and stopped dead and became anxious again. It was a slow progress across the pasture, but then we crossed the road and reached Pirlouit’s own pasture, and he relaxed a bit.

The llama children were intensely curious as always and I think Pirlouit felt quite flattered. He didn’t stop walking and didn’t freak out once as we walked up to the house; the llamas followed us admiringly and Pirlouit walked confidently as if to say “Look what I can do.”

Since this experiment proved successful I will try to find some sort of girth to attach the bag (would love to have a proper pack saddle but they’re expensive...!) We made a couple more trips the next day—I was wondering how Pirlouit would greet me, because when he doesn’t like something we’ve done he straight-up sulks for a few days and refuses to let me come near. He did that a lot when I was starting to get him used to the halter. But the day after his first log-carrying mission he came to greet me as usual and let me halter him without a fuss, so he didn’t mind being hired to do this.

A round of applause for Sir Pirlouit, a donkey with a job!

#crawling along #in the background of the video you can see my greenhouse's skeleton! #it should have been completed by now but one of the two people who were supposed to help build it got covid #i am a bit cursed with this greenhouse #but there will be a greenhouse post in the future! :)

[thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai]

When did Viktor choreograph Stammi Vicino and did he commission the music?

There are some controversies regarding Viktor's free programme and I took the time to look at them in greater detail and pin them down to the likeliest explanation. (some of the things discussed in this post I've mentioned in a discussion I was involved in recently. The rest of this post builds on that.)

Disclaimer: Please note that this is an analysis of the source material. Popular headcanons that have no basis in canon cannot be part of this discussion. This is getting a bit academic. Please bear with me.

1. Did Viktor commission the music for Stammi Vicino?

In an interview, Mitsurou Kubo called the aria a piece of music that exists in the world of YOI, but when we subject the hints in the anime to a close examination, they contradict her statement, making you wonder which is true.

I mean, there’s this (sorry for the crappy screenshot)

Technically, the YOI creators might just have used footage of this programme because there was no time to animate Viktor skating an entirely different routine, but due to the tight time constraints of 12 episodes that forced the creators to condense the plot to 50% of its initial size, every scene and every image demanded to be filled with meaning. Speaking of time constraints, they could have used a series of pictures that show adult Viktor in different costumes (like those that had been drawn for Yuuri's room), but they didn't do that either, which rules out technical reasons for this choice.

But there’s more.

From a storytelling perspective, it makes no sense to combine these lines with a short scene of Viktor skating Stammi Vicino if it doesn’t apply to this programme. It’s bad storytelling, period. As Viktor’s fan, Yuuri knows which songs Viktor commissioned because skaters love to talk about these things in interviews. Being a skater himself, Yuuri is knowledgeable in all kinds of music genres even if he lets his coach pick the songs for him. Skaters just happen to be exposed to a lot of music.

This scene makes it seem as if Viktor has been commissioning music for his programmes for several seasons at least. While this doesn’t rule out the possibility that he occasionally picked a song that already exists for whichever reason, Stammi Vicino applies to Viktor’s situation at the beginning of the show so neatly that the lyrics must have been tailored to him. The commentator’s words while Viktor is skating his FS furthermore suggest that this programme shows a new and personal side of him. Of course, that could also work for a song that already exists, but how likely is it that such a song 100% matches the vision of a perfectionist? That a genius like Viktor would just roll with that is debatable at least. He’d rather think “Okay, that’s nice. But this verse and that verse don’t match my idea at all. I think I'll call my composer and ask them to write a song for me.”

Stammi Vicino holds unambiguous references to Plato’s Symposium, which the YOI creators have mentioned repeatedly. And while this is neither an argument for or against the song already existing before Viktor even thought about a free programme for the season in question, it seems too coincidental from a storytelling perspective.

To me, all this points to Viktor commissioning Stammi Vicino because taken all facts together, it’s what makes the most sense.

Side note: It’s not entirely uncommon for storytellers to contradict their creation. Sometimes, you forget details, remember them wrong, or didn’t think them through. Or your views simply change. In the case of YOI, we have to factor in the possibility that certain details had to be de-homoed due to protests from parts of the Japanese fandom. The rings that were removed from many official arts that were released during the first year after the show had aired are such an example. In addition, interviews are often heavily edited.

2. When did Viktor choreograph Stammi Vicino?

The first time we see Viktor wearing the Stammi Vicino costume, is right at the beginning of episode 1 at the GPF. While there is no rule against wearing the same costume for different programmes and costumes are expensive, you usually don’t see this in real figure skating. Some figure skaters even get a new costume for the same programme mid-season because matches the purpose better.

The music, the composition and choreography, and costume build the concept of a figure skating programme. The more perfectionist a skater is (and many top skaters actually are), the more specific you can bet they are about the concept. Viktor is a perfectionist who has full authority over his programmes and he can afford having several costumes per programme. Wearing the same costume for several programmes is a breach with his characterisation.

Let’s assume for one moment that Viktor did indeed create Stammi Vicino because of his encounter with Yuuri at the GPF in Sochi. Why would the creators have been so sloppy and put him into the same costume which he wears at Worlds when they even designed costumes the other two GPF winners JJ and Chris?

Does he wear the same costume because he met Yuuri there? Well, Yuuri approached him at the banquet at the end of the competition and only because he was drunk. Before, Yuuri was to awkward to even talk to Viktor and was, in all likelihood, too busy not freaking out, dealing with having bombed his performance, and Vicchan's death. To reflect Viktor's first actual meeting with Yuuri in a programme, thus choosing a costume that resembles the suit he wore that night would make way more sense.

Some skaters change their programme mid-season. Some switch back to an old programme, other skaters create an entirely new programme. Again, a skater like Viktor could afford this and is skilled enough to bend a new routine to his vision in time for the big competitions. (For reference: Russian Nationals are two weeks after the GPF, which leaves a skater competing in both events one week in between. That’s just enough to pitch the idea to his composer and commission a costume.)

Once Nationals are over and done, Viktor could start working on the new programme and show it at Europeans for the first time. That would leave him about one month to bring it to a level that will win him this competition. Yuuri would now have about two months to create a perfect copy. As he his busy graduating and preparing his move back to Japan, it’s debatable whether this is enough time. That’s the only reasonable timeline for such a scenario. However, since Viktor wore the costume before the banquet, this doesn’t seem likely and the show gives us no clear-cut clue why that could be and I’m loath to speculate wildly.

BUT: Viktor can't have created this programme after Sochi because Yuuri explains to Yuuko that he started practising the programme when the competitions ended [for him, the season itself is not yet over]. For Yuuri, the season ended at Japanese Nationals, which happen to be at the same weekend as Russian Nationals.

Long story short: Everything points to Viktor having created Stammi Vicino at the beginning of the season in which he wins his fifth GPF and world title, respectively. And there’s a beauty in this choice because it gives Viktor an agenda beyond his love interest. Well-crafted characters exist outside of their interactions and relationships with the other characters. Giving them things that belong to them alone adds more depth to their personality and turn them into individuals. Viktor had a life before Yuuri and this life was lonely and his (secret) longing for love was an inherent part of it (I’m preparing a follow-up post that examines the lyrics more closely, so forgive me for not going into the details here).

Especially in a show that is limited to 12 episodes and in which every image is filled with meaning, including details that hint at the characters’ past are beyond precious.

Thanks for reading! <3

If you enjoy my meta, please consider checking out my works on AO3 (link in bio)! My YOI canon works all include my meta musings.

#yuri on ice #yuri on ice meta #yoi #yoi meta #my yoi meta #viktor nikiforov #katsuki yuuri #figure skating #anime #stammi vicino

[captain-mj]

I know you'll probably be working on it already, but I'd love to request a chapter 3 for the Love Potion AU~

Chapter 2 was yet another masterpiece and I'd love to see where this goes 🥰

Duet~

Part 1 Part 2

Roach almost combusted when Ghost came back smelling of the soap. And also… Soap. Ghost was intoxicating like this. 

Roach knew he was an elf the moment he stood in front of him. The man was too tall. His accent wrong. But maybe it’s cause Roach wasn’t human himself that he could pick up the differences so easily. 

If it was up to him, he would’ve broken the little love spell that had been put on him, maybe using his own good old fashioned love spell of soft clothing and cologne to draw him in, and kept Ghost for himself. While he was aware that wasn’t a good way to feel, he still felt it. Elves were prized and Roach wanted to take a bite out of him. 

But, then he got to interact with him. And Ghost was… kind. He was blunt and his humor a little too dark. But he also pets dogs and hellhounds alike by scratching behind their ears and calling them sunshine. Kids loved him despite his appearance. 

Ghost was… a ray of sunshine. No… no. He was moon beams. Roach loved the moon. 

He also liked Soap. A little loud. Little boisterous. But hey, Roach could appreciate that in a man. 

They got tons of special treatment and Roach got their company. Maybe he mixed things to enhance romantic feelings into almost all the stuff they got from him. Unlike Roba, he wasn’t using genuine magic, just love attracting stuff. Nothing that would hurt their free will, just… something to make them view him in a better light.

His sharp nails dug into the underside table as his mouth watered. Ghost smelled delicious. There was also quite a bit of jealousy, but if they planned on pulling Roach into it, he could forgive them. 

“Gary.”

Roach perked up and tilted his head.

“The soap. It was… nice.”

Vulnerability. Ghost’s deep voice…

Roach raised his hands and signed. “Helps scarring.” 

Ghost hummed. “Guess it’s obvious I have them huh? Helped with a lot of the tightness.”

Roach nodded excitedly and made him a cup of tea with honey and rosebuds. Ghost lifted his mask and drank. He wanted to invite him in. Promise that he could rid him of the curse that had been inflicted upon him. But love spells were wicked work and there was no way he could convince Ghost it’s for his own good. In his head, he truly loved his abusers. 

Such a sad fate. 

“Stay indoors tonight.” Ghost said softly. “Gonna go hunting for that creature. If I bring it back, maybe we can eat it.” 

Roach shivered and nodded. “I’ll remain inside.” He put his hands down so he could clean the counter. Ghost stayed for a while, not speaking, just existing in his space. 

Soap soon arrived and got his food. They kept glancing at each other and Soap would furiously look away. He looked… embarrassed. 

Roach looked between them and Ghost shrugged. “Nothing for you to worry about, Gary. Johnny hear found out something he shouldn’t and he’ll keep his mouth shut about it.” Even with the mask on, even with his eyes covered, Roach knew that glare was wicked. 

Soap wilted immediately and awkwardly took his drink. Only when Ghost left did he look at Roach. “He’s an elf.”

Oh. Wow. Just coming right out with it. 

Roach stood there, waiting for more for a moment before just signing “and?”

“And… he’s not human.” Soap whispered, looking unsure of himself. “What am I supposed to do?”

Roach just wasn’t seeing the problem here. He tilted his head. 

Soap continued. “He has a love spell on and he doesn’t know. But… he’s an elf. What if I free him and he runs back to his buddies?”

Roach slowly signed. “And that would be a problem, why?”

“Because he’ll tell them what he knows.”

“That the city is here?” Roach signed, hoping the sarcasm would come through. 

“Our tactics. How we train. Everything!!”

Roach frowned. “So… You’re going to let him continue to have no free will so he doesn’t even have the option to go home and possibly betray us?”

Soap frowned. “Well when you say it like that…” He had the good sense to look guilty at least. 

Roach smiled at him. “Ghost is a good person. Not elf. Person. Do you think he deserves this?”

Soap sighed. “No… But I can’t free him. I don’t know how. I don’t know the first thing about…” He glanced around before leaning in. “...magic. How could we break it?”

Roach hesitated. His whole reason for not doing it himself was that he couldn’t get the ingredients. “What if I told you I could do it for you? If we worked together?”

“You know magic?”

“A little. Grandmother was a witch. She taught me a handful of things.” He paused to drink his tea before setting it back down. “Enough I could help, but I could never get everything I need myself…”

Soap nodded. “Of course! We should help him.” There was a faint blush to his cheeks that Roach zeroed in on.

“Did you sleep together?”

“No! Nothing like that! We just… I washed his back?” Soap said it like a question. 

“And then??”

“I asked him if he knew how to break a love spell. He got upset with me about it… Did you know elves purr? Like cats? It’s honestly really soothing.” Soap gushed about Ghost for a few minutes. 

Roach found himself enthralled by the… graphic descriptions of Ghost’s body. Nothing about his face which he found funny. Like he was being chivalrous. 

Soap finally asked him what he’d need from him and Roach wrote out a list of ingredients. Most of them would take several days to get but Soap looked through them and nodded. 

“You’re the best, Gary.”

Roach cringed but nodded. “Don’t call me Gary.”

After Soap was gone, he closed the shop for the day. Another useful thing about having both of them around is he always knew exactly when they’d be going into the woods to hunt for “the beast”. Roach thought that was a rather mean name. He was just hanging out. Never bothered anyone unnecessarily. So he fixed his cellar up and made sure the thing would have plenty of supplies through the night. 

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