#each thing i show you is a piece of my death

[meluiloth]

For @silmarillionepistolary day 7, Remembrance and New Beginnings! Artwork at the bottom.

Night has fallen. The lamps have been turned low, the house cleaned, the bedtime routine completed; all Maglor and Maedhros have left to do is tuck the twins and read them their customary story.

They look so small wrapped in the red wool blankets, like two little birds in a crimson nest. They are quiet, too, waiting patiently for Maglor to ask his routine question: “Now, what story would you like tonight? Or would you rather hear a song?”

“I want the one about the Sun and the Moon!” Elros pipes up, scrunching the blanket in his hands eagerly.

Maglor smiles. “Is that what you want as well, Elrond?”

Elrond, the quieter twin, looks bashfully down before murmuring, “I’d like to see the picture book…”

Maglor shares a confused look with Maedhros. They did not own any picture books. “What do you mean?” Maedhros asks.

Elrond tips his head. “The one in your study,” he says. “It’s got gold string around it and lots of pictures on every page.”

Maedhros frowns. “You know you are forbidden from entering my study,” he reproaches.

Elrond bites his lip. “Yes, I know … I just saw the pictures and thought they were pretty.”

Maglor sees the telltale signs of a lecture in Maedhros’s expression, so he swiftly says, “Perhaps we can excuse it this once, if you promise to ask before you touch our things.”

Both Elrond and Elros nod emphatically, and Maglor leaves the room to search for the ‘picture book’ in his brother’s study, which is packed with volumes, scrolls, and papers. Maglor thinks it will take him forever to find the book Elrond described, if it exists at all, but surprisingly he easily locates it in the first bookshelf: a worn book of red leather, tied with a fading gold ribbon. It is familiar to him, but he cannot recollect why until he brings it back into the twins’ room. Maedhros’s eyes widen when he sees it. “Grandfather’s sketchbook? I thought that was lost ages ago!”

“It was in a box in the back,” Elrond supplies.

Maglor looks down at it, a stab of nostalgia and old grief passing through him. “I thought we never even brought it,” he murmurs.

“Can we read it?” Elros asks, leaning forward curiously.

Maedhros frowns, his reluctance clear. There are many memories neither of them want to relive, the life and death of their grandfather among the most heartbreaking. But many of the memories Finwë recorded in his beloved sketchbook were his happiest, from both his life and the rest of his family’s. And the two young children looking up at Maglor are also Finwë’s family … and he wants to share something of his life that is not just the blood on his hands.

The spine of the book cracks softly as he opens it, and the yellowed paper releases a small puff of dust, but the artwork on the inside is still as lovely and life-filled as the day he penned them.

Maglor explains each piece as he showed it to the twins, and lets them look as long as they like. Even Maedhros sometimes asks him to wait a little longer on certain pages, the heavy, dark look in his eyes brightening when he remembers his childhood in Valinor.

It is well past midnight by the time they reach the last pages, and all of them are surprised to see that they are all in full color, when all the previous pages have been only graphite sketches.

“Who are they?” Elros breathes, tracing his finger delicately over the meticulously painted faces.

Maglor swallows, his throat and his eyes clogged with tears. His brother, too, is at a loss for words.

“It’s them,” Elrond says, looking up at the Fëanorians and then back down at thd drawings. “Maglor and Maedhros are right there … but Maedhros looks different …”

It was true. Maglor and Maedhros, along with all of their brothers - still alive and smiling radiantly - and their parents. On the other pages, their cousins and uncles and aunts, before any of them had suffered the horrors of Morgoth.

“That is us,” Maedhros murmurs. “That was us then. We were so happy..."

“What was it like … then?” Elros ventures.

Maglor smiles. “I will tell you.”

“Tomorrow night,” Maedhros interrupts. “It is very late, and if you are to understand a word we say, you must be well-rested.”

#art #my art #the silmarillion #silmarillion epistolary #finwe's sketchbook #house of finwe #finwe #miriel serinde #feanorians #feanor #nerdanel #maedhros #maglor #celegorm #curufin #amras #amrod #elrond #elros #kidnap fam #my writing #fandom event

[amber-sekio]

One-shot Prompt

Title: And if you can forgive, love will truly live

Fandom: BSD -Bungo Stray Dogs

Ship: Dazai x Reader

Prompt: “'Sorry for showing up like this.’ You sighed, your shoulders relaxing in silent defeat. ‘Come in.’” 

TW: mentions of death (Oda), mentioned bad home life though not explicit

!Gender of reader is not specified!

A/N: I do plan on making a 2nd part where the reader and Dazai talk things out and get in a relationship, not sure when I'll finish it though

The word count for chapter 1 is roughly 2k

Also, this will be posted on my ao3, link on my master list

You had known Dazai for a long time, perhaps not as long as Chuuya has, but that’s beside the point.  

While you had grown up around shady people and been dealing with said shady people’s shady shit pretty much your whole life, courtesy of your shitty, shady parents, you hadn’t actually joined the Port Mafia until you were 17. Two years older than Dazai and Chuuya, but joined the Mafia around roughly the same time Chuuya had.  

With your ability, it didn’t take long for you to begin to climb the ranks. It wasn’t like you were trying to specifically reach the rank of executive, but gradually, you crept closer.  

About a year and a half after you had joined you had made a name for yourself, and that was also about the time you had met Dazai and Chuuya for the first time during a bigger mission.  

You had somehow managed to become something like friends with them on that mission and had become a somewhat regularity to be paired with them on large missions. You were tough enough to handle both their eccentric personalities as well as teasing enough to get along with Dazai and passionate enough to friend Chuuya.  

It was a weird trio you had formed, often being the one to defuse them when they began to bicker. And of course, apologizing when they disturbed the everyday citizens with their fighting when the three of you had time off to just be kids.  

Over time, you had begun to grow closer and fonder of Dazai, being able to relate to him more often than one probably should, but whatever. Sometimes, the two of you would find each other silently sitting at the docks staring off into nothingness, neither of you would talk, just simply get lost in your endless thoughts while enjoying the presence of someone who was similar enough to understand you.   

On one such occasion Dazai had broken the endless silence of the waves below your feet; inviting you to join him to meet with his bar friends. That was when you met Ango and Oda. They were pleasant company and you had found yourself growing attached to them just like you knew Dazai was, though he would’ve probably denied it at the time.  

So, when Dazai disappeared one night with no traces, followed by learning of Oda’s death. You knew.  

That didn’t make it hurt any less of course. Especially with how his sudden departure shed light on your feelings for him.  

While Chuuya presented himself to be finally rid of his presence, you both knew that Dazai leaving had hurt both of you. You had chosen to tell Chuuya Dazai’s reasons for leaving, not wanting the anger of Dazai’s leaving to grow into hatred, besides, Chuuya would’ve pieced it together eventually.  

And like that. Everything continued. The Port Mafia didn’t mourn over its losses. Executive duties called.  

So, when after 4 years of no contact, to say you were surprised at his being in the ADA would be an understatement.   

You hadn’t had the chance to see him yet like Chuuya had but you were there to witness Chuuya’s drunken midnight rant after having invited you over.  

“Oh, trust me, he’s as shitty a mackerel as he always has been. He hasn’t changed a bit.” Chuuya slurred off, grumbling under his breath as he laid his head down on the counter.   

You were both sitting at the kitchen island, a bottle of some expensive wine brand, open and mostly empty now, was on the counter between you.   

You sat with your body facing Chuuya, your head resting in your palm, elbow against the counter.   

“Mhm. He hasn’t changed a bit huh?” You spoke more for the simple sake of speaking, entertaining the drunk man before you. You didn’t need clarification of something you already knew.  

Dazai had always been capable of doing good. He just didn’t care between doing good or bad, it made no difference to him. He’s only working for the light because it’s what Oda wanted. Dazai not changing wasn’t a surprise. So Chuuya’s following words were a little less than expected.  

“Actually…” He paused, slurring off again before clarifying his words, his head remained poised on the counter. “He looked… brighter?” He seemed to question his own words before continuing. “Brighter and healthier. He seemed…” Chuuya trailed off again but not due to his drunken state. He stopped himself from finishing his train of thought.  

“Happier?” You finished for him.  

He didn’t respond.  

After that, you had practically forgotten about Dazai now being in the ADA, too busy with missions and the seemingly never-ending, growing stack of paperwork.  

That was until tonight.   

It had been a grueling past few days, rainy weather, long meetings, missions to assign, missions to report and file, and of course your endless stack of shitty paperwork that had somehow found itself in your home office, taking up even more of your own time which was already short considering your importance to the Mafia.  

After you got home, sometime around the dead-ass crack of dawn, you had only grabbed a cup of coffee, one of the larger mugs you owned, before heading to your office for more work.  

Sometime, while in the middle of reviewing some report, you had fallen asleep, lulled by the endless pitter-patter of rain hitting the window in your office.   

You had slept most of the day away and upon waking, it had already grown dark outside, probably around 9 or 10 at night now, and you were thankful to whatever divine being had granted you a day off today because you would have been so fucking late. You chose to willfully ignore that Mori-san was technically the one who made your schedule. He was a good boss, competent in his decisions, but he was no divine being.  

Stretching in your chair, you could feel the soreness of your muscles from the previous day of work. There was a tightness in your back, worse than it normally was, courtesy of sleeping in your chair.  

A knock sounded on your door, soft when it made its way to your ears but still clear as it cut through the silence of the penthouse you called home.  

You dragged your body to your door, still completely dressed head-to-toe in your typical Mafia outfit with the addition of a few wrinkles, your shoes clacking noisily on the floor.  

“Coming!” You called out before the person waiting behind your door could think to knock again.  

Reaching your door, you work through your security system before opening your door, behind, a man you hadn’t seen for 4 years.  

Your tiredness slipped away from your body as you gasped. Your body now on alert as you stared at him.   

He was dressed in, presumedly, his ADA outfit, light in color. His bandages still covered his neck, probably the rest of his body, but the ones that used to cover his eye were gone. He had clearly gained weight since you had last seen him, though he still lacked a significant amount of meat on his bones someone his age and height should have.  

Chuuya was right, he looked happier. No. That was wrong. He didn’t look happy. He looked… sad? Guilty?  

They weren’t emotions you were familiar with seeing on him. Sure, you had seen both emotions on people in the Mafia during interrogations… but on Dazai? No. He hardly ever even faked them.  

He did look brighter though. Healthier.  

He also looked- no was drenched. His clothes were darkened by the rainwater still pouring outside. Dripping water on the carpeted floor. You could see a few dark spots on the floor down the hall, marking his trail.  

He beat you to a response.  

“Sorry for showing up like this.”   

You sighed, your shoulders relaxing in silent defeat. “Come in.”  

You stepped to the side, letting him in.  

You closed the door behind him as he observed the expensive and modern decorations. It lacked any personality, at least to an untrained eye. If one looked closer, you could make out a knick-knack here or there that didn’t quite fit the rest of the rather drab decorations.  

It lacked vulnerability.  

Your bedroom, though, where only you went into, your interests bled out.  

“I assume your room has more personality than this, no?” Dazai’s tone was off. A half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood.  

“Vulnerability isn’t something Mafia Executives have the luxury to indulge in often.”  

He didn’t respond.  

“You can hang your coat on the rack.” You spoke, staring at his back as he walked into your home. “And take your shoes off.”  

You turned down the hall towards your room, leaving Dazai to settle.  

As you walked you called out to Dazai, not facing him. “I should have some clothes that fit you.” Then as an afterthought, “I want you to take a shower.”  

When you walked back into the living room with some clothes, Dazai had actually listened, his coat was hung up and his shoes were in the genkan, he had also taken off his socks, probably soaked after being out in the rain.   

You walked up to him, handing him the clothes. “Go take a shower. There should be some rolls of bandages in there, though I’m not sure how many I have left.”  

He took the clothes from you silently, then: “Thank you.”  

You looked him in the eyes, trying to discern how much you didn’t know about him anymore. How much you needed to learn about him.  

“Have you eaten?” You spoke calmly, trying to ignore the thoughts and feelings swirling inside you without end.  

“I-…” He hesitated. “No. I haven’t.”  

Without another word, you left him to go take a shower. It was probably a good idea to make something to eat anyway, considering you were currently running off of a single cup of coffee.  

You decided to not bother to cook and instead pulled out two packets of ramen in part because you were still tired as fuck, and you didn’t know if Dazai’s eating habits had changed or not.   

It was better to settle for something simple that he might eat if you were lucky.  

It didn’t take long for the ramen to finish heating up and for you to place it in two bowls so you placed them on the table. You were about to go check on Dazai when he turned the corner into the living room.  

Something was off, he had changed into the clothes you got for him, and his hair was still wet, dripping water off of his soft curls. He seemed… hesitant -nervous? More so than he had been before taking a shower.  

“I made ramen.” You spoke, realizing you had been looking for a bit too long. You gestured to the table with the two bowls full of still steaming ramen.  

“Thank you…” His voice was quiet, low. He clearly wasn’t bothering to hide his hesitancy, or perhaps he was just failing miserably in trying.   

You sat down at one end of the table and busied yourself with eating. You watched him shift over to the seat adjacent to you. 

Your eyes widened in upon noticing. “You’re not wearing your bandages?”  

He shifted in his seat, avoiding your gaze.  

“The hoodie and shorts are soft…”   

The ‘and I trust you’ went unsaid but understood.

Your face softened around the edges.

“Eat.”  

He responded with a nod before picking up his chopsticks.  

Soon enough you had finished your food, and though Dazai only ate half, it was more than you were expecting him to eat. You placed your dishes in the sink to deal with another time before returning to the table, though you remained standing. Dazai had yet to get up.  

“Do you want to watch something? I have a day off so…” You trailed off awkwardly.  

He looked up but he didn’t quite meet your eyes.   

“Sure.”  

The only light currently on was the blue light emitted from the television that was playing some show you were hardly paying any more attention to. After a few episodes, you had shifted from sitting awkwardly on opposite sides of the couch to where Dazai was now practically lying on top of you. He was lying his head on your chest with his face turned towards the screen, invested in whatever show it was that was playing. You had let him pick. You were far more interested in watching as he relaxed into you as you ran your fingers through his now, mostly dry, curls.  

“Tired?” Your voice no more than a whisper.  

“No…” He responded; a hint of a tired whine interlaced in it. A tone his voice always had when he was tired just didn’t want to sleep in lieu of whatever he was currently doing, which at the moment was watching a show while cuddling with someone he hadn’t seen in 4 years.  

“Sure~.” You teased as your nails gently scratched at his scalp.  

He grumbled something softly into your chest.  

You knew how bad, how dangerous your next thought was. It could end badly for both of you, but you couldn’t help when the words slipped from your tongue.   

“Why don’t we go to bed hm?”   

He responded with an unintelligible whine, pressing his face further into your chest, as he wrapped his lanky arms around your back.  

You sighed softly but even if he had clearly put on more weight, he still wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight against you physically speaking. You gathered what remaining strength you had in you as you wrapped your hands around his waist before shifting to a sitting position. Then you secured your arms under him to lift him up in your arms.  

“Come on, you lanky beanpole. Time for bed.”  

The talk could wait for tomorrow, after all, he couldn’t leave with his clothes still in the washer.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #dazai bsd #bsd dazai #minor angst #kinda fluff #at the end at least #and with dazai being willingly vulnerable #dazai x reader #reader x dazai #readers gender not specified #bsd fanfic #bsd chuuya

[morethansky]

***TBB SPOILERS**

Realized I never wrote up my thoughts on "Into the Breach," which was the first episode I've liked since "Extraction"!!! Probably because all I could think about was Echo for 72 hours afterward.

This episode gave me such Rebels vibes, and that's truly the highest compliment I could pay any Star Wars media. I present my case:

There's an objective laid out from the start that is a small but crucial piece of the larger plot. The beginning of the episode presents this problem, and by the end of the episode, that specific problem solved.

Everyone is competent, and every character gets to do something vital to the mission. Whether it's a small thing doesn't matter; it's the fact that if that character wasn't there to do that small thing, the mission might be screwed that matters.

The action is meaningful—it conveys something about the characters while also driving the plot forward—and there's suspense that ratchets up the tension. And then to diffuse it, there's humor, and each joke is funny, but it's not overdone.

Infiltration episodes are such a Star Wars staple, and it's a real shame that TBB hasn't had more of them. They tried to make up for it by putting THREE infiltrations into this episode lmao. The fact that they show one long-term infiltration, one short-term infiltration, and one super short-term infiltration is very clever and makes the writing feel cohesive and dynamic, something this show hasn't always been able to achieve.

Also important, they do both a space/flight mission and a ground mission (two of each, technically), which is something that always helps make an episode feel like it's set in the GFFA and not just, you know *cough* Space!Louisiana. Or Tatooine scene #700.

There's also some nice storytelling going on with the environment—they go from being outside on the cloud city (free) to inside a space station (trapped with enemies), and for Omega, inside a cell (in which she actually enters another cell, visually—her bunk). The wide outdoor shots make the close, indoor shots feel much more claustrophobic, which is exactly the atmosphere these particular indoor settings should be giving off.

Other thoughts and meta:

Daytime Tantiss is a good sign! Forecast: Not death?

Prison Break Omega is just such a good vibe, and this would just be so fucking cool...except we've literally already seen her escape once this season??? And it was already really well done??? This is like the flip side of my complaint that Omega was too helpless in the first season, and it was annoying how she constantly needed to be rescued. Now she's too competent and is always escaping lol. It just really, really cheapens the dramatic effect either escape could've had.

Needless to say, the Batch's driving purpose once again being that they're struggling to rescue Omega is just. I'm tired. If there are going to be two major captures and two major escapes this season, at least one of them needs to be a narrative flip!!! The Batch rescuing her at the front end of the season and Omega escaping herself at the end, or vice versa, would've made it much less repetitive (and stopped cutting the Batch off at the knees in order to show Omega's competency). Omega even gets captured in the same fucking way—she gives herself up in "Plan 99" and "Point of No Return"! Ughhhhh

Okay I swear I actually like this episode lmao, I just. Editor instincts.

Thinking about how Omega left Lula on Pabu and has essentially left Straw!Lula to Eva, and how it shows that she's shed her need for comfort and is now ready to provide that comfort to other children, which is very lovely. But I'm also worried about Lula and Tech's goggles being on Pabu, because there are only three thematic options here: Everyone returns to them (sanctuary), everyone leaves them behind (leaving the past behind), or Omega returns to leave more items, say a bandana or a Firepuncher (memorial). The link between Lula and the goggles is actually not that natural (unless you're a Techwrecker shipper like me :D), so I've been pondering this choice a lot.

The symbolism of everything inside Tantiss being in the shape of the Empire cog and every character within its walls being a cog of the Empire is so heavy handed...and I am here for every moment of it!!!

Truly did not expect Rampart to stick around for so long. He's going to be a main character in the finale at this point?? I like how he's like a Kallus foil here—despite being scapegoated by the literal emperor he's still loyal to the regime and takes such pride in it. A very Jennifer Corbett & Brad Rau–esque character.

The way that when Echo came down the ramp I literally said, "Oh, thank god."

Hunter and Echo doing the clone hand clasp (and not wrist clasp, you'll note) isn't as emotional given that we already know how strong their bond is at this point, but it's still nice to see this visual callback to the Batch respecting Cody so much despite him being a reg that Hunter would use this hand clasp to greet him. It's a great shorthand (ha) for Hunter's feelings, since he is particularly suspicious of outsiders, and Echo is now fully "one of his."

I really love the mirror of the scene when the Batch is in the cell on Kamino and they escape by breaking into the wall—Omega effectively does the same thing here. These are the satisfying kinds of repetition, rather than entire arcs!

Every time I think about the Tech-is-the-mustachioed-doctor theory I giggle. It would just be. So anticlimactic?? But absolutely hilarious.

The costume change is so unnecessary, buuut I'll be first in line to buy the variant figures! Also it's nice to see some canon clone armor painting after writing and reading so many fics about it!!

I really like Hunter sensing Rampart plotting and how it brings his powers even closer to Jedi precognition.

Not too much Crosshunt in this ep, but I like how in both shuttle scenes, Crosshair stands in a position that blocks Rampart from getting to Hunter in the cockpit (while Wrecker blocks Rampart from getting to the exit).

Not particularly significant, but I like the visual detail of Hunter, Echo, and Crosshair bracketing Rampart in a triangle and it looking like they're his bodyguards but them actually forming that position because he's their prisoner.

The way I screamed when Rampart tries to get Echo to say "sir" and he just says, "I don't think so." Echo did not go through everything he's gone through up to this point to take anyone's shit!!! And the way Rampart just takes it and looks down all ashamed is peak comedy to me. Even he sensed that he was treading on dangerous ground there. (Just for a second think about Fives on Umbara and how he refused to take Krell's shit from the very start...)

The commandos being on this space station (that's orbiting Coruscant??) makes me very sad because it kind of foreshadows a dark ending for the Tantiss arc by showing that the commandos are spread all over the galaxy. So even if they rescue all the commandos from Tantiss, it still wouldn't save all the others. In which case, writing wise, it feels way more unlikely for them to save the commandos on Tantiss at all.

Wrecker tapping his foot while scrolling through the comments on his AO3 account is very cute. Also in the last episode the mining foreman was on his datapad like a phone and I thought it was supposed to convey that he was lazy lol but maybe this sort of thing is just going to show up in SW a lot more now haha

The lieutenant demanding to know where the captain is is kind of silly because wasn't he the one to let him go inside?? Why would he be back at his ship? But I love me the Rebels-esque gag of knocking him out on the ship.

Everyone is screaming about Crosshair having faith in Echo getting them through, but I would also like to contribute the fact that Crosshair says, "You can't go alone." A very poetic line of dialogue because being alone in the Techno Union is what the Batch saved Echo from being, and it's what Crosshair chose to be for two and a half seasons of this show. Not wanting to be alone again was also what made him turn against the Empire! We also see this anxiety in the previous episode, where he (in that very ridiculous reveal) admits he doesn't want to go back to Tantiss (and be alone again).

ECHOOOOOO!!!! About fucking time they gave him another action feature!!! I rewatch that opening sequence in "Tipping Point" constantly. And not only that, it's a very character-driven action feature for once!!! We see him showcase what it means to be an ARC trooper and also what it means that he's "part-droid." A test I like to consider when I gauge the quality of action-ensemble media is, Could any other character have done that? In this case, the text is very loudly telling us absolutely not! Also the way he exudes confidence about it ("But I can") is also just. Super hot, 10/10

Tbh the Echo feature felt so out of place for this show that at this point I was suddenly filled with terror that he was about to die. Thank god he did not, but he's still separated from the others by the end, so it's not out of the question for something terrible to happen in hyperspace, and I do not want it!!! But altogether that was a badass third act and a very good episode!

#the bad batch spoilers #tbb spoilers #the bad batch #star wars #amph talks

[sh0rtstories]

#each thing i show you is a piece of my death #gemma files #apex magazine

[oh-no-bummer]

Unexpectedly heartbreaking to read early on Lan and Moiraine

#I am hounted by the lack of them content #by the lack of confrontation they get #that is one thing wot show better fix #if my platonic soulmate and life partner did that I would not be giving them the silent treatment thank you very much #her fake death was silence enough #and now their first meeting #and god they're idiots #they're perfect for each other #i want to see more of their friendship #I would have loved to understand how they became family #just random tidbits of them traveling #the lack of development their relationship suffered #i like to think Lan and Nynaeve get married again and Moiraine's the best man #I need more of them in my life #people please write fic about thier bond #I've seen a few platonic pieces about them and yes #yes exactly #those people get it #sometimes it's just about found family Which is really one person and then their partner by association and the kids you end up adopting #It's about the terrifying ordeal of being known #anyway it's 1:40 in the morning #sorry everyone #wheel of time spoilers #the wheel of time #wot show #wot books #moiraine damodred my beloved #moiraine damodred #lan mandragoran #moiraine x lan

[cutielando]

dating headcannon ~ lando norris

Synopsis: what i imagine dating Lando would be like

Other works: my masterlist

♡♡♡♡♡

you would meet at an after party for one of the Grand Prix

he would immediately take an interest in you as soon as he would see you in the busy club

you would exchange numbers and stay in contact afterwards 

took you on 4 dates before officially asking you to be his girlfriend

would be the sweetest boyfriend ever

you would keep your relationship a secret for a few months to make sure that what you had was the real deal

he was skeptical to introduce you to his fans because of what happened with his ex-girlfriend

but they all ended up loving you to death

they could see how happy you made Lando and how much you loved each other

you often interacted with them on social media, posting more Lando content for them to see and sometimes exposing him

he would spoil you rotten

he had the money to do it, so he bought you every single thing that you would look at for more than 5 seconds

jewelry, shoes, clothes, purses, books, perfumes

it didn’t matter what it was, he would buy it for you

buys you flowers with every occasion 

brings you with him to every Grand Prix that you’re able to attend

loves showing you off to the entire paddock, making sure that everyone knew how beautiful and loved his girlfriend was

Zak would oftentimes have to physically separate you two whenever he would have a meeting and wouldn’t want to separate from you to attend it

you and Jon would 100% be besties, staying in touch on a regular basis

his family loved you, happy to see that someone loved their son as much as they did

you would talk with his sisters and mother on a daily basis, more than he does. Would definitely have a group chat just the 4 of you

he would sometimes get jealous because you would pay more attention to his family, but in reality he was just grateful that you got along with them so well

you loved watching him race, but you also worried like crazy every time he would get into the car

being there with him when he crashed in Las Vegas had been the scariest experience you’d ever had

he reassured you that he would always find his way back to you, no matter what

his lando.jpg account would turn into a fan account dedicated to you

he would always take pictures of you, no matter where you were or what you were doing

lazy days, lazy days, lazy days

you two enjoyed every little moment that you had together, seeing as you didn’t get too much time to relax during race weekends 

would spend the entire day cuddled in bed, watching some crappy movies or just talking about anything and everything for hours on end

you would move with him to Monaco almost after one year of being together, not wanting to be apart or do long-distance anymore

goofy, silly mood all the time in the apartment

he would make it his mission to make you laugh constantly, your laugh being his favorite sound in the whole world

Max would love you, you got along like brother and sister 

you would be a very known face on his Twitch streams and featured in Quadrant videos 

his friends accepted you into the group like you were one of them from the very beginning

the grid would call him a “simp” because he wouldn’t be able to stop talking about you

you and Oscar would be besties, often making fun of him or teaming up to pull a prank on him

the McLaren team loving you like you were part of their team, which essentially you were

they would sometimes ask you to film videos with Lando for content, which you would always happily film because you loved the team and you also loved Lando

goes wild in bed

he spends hours upon hours worshiping every part of your body

very passionate lover, focused on your pleasure and your pleasure alone

you would keep him grounded, being his solace during the hard times

after a bad race, he didn’t need to say anything for you to know that he just needed to be held and coddled

you two loved each other very much, fitting together like two missing pieces from a puzzle

soulmates, all the way

married, children, a house, you would go all the way

happily ever after

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[magnetic-rose]

if you loved episode 3 of tlou you really should listen to the official podcast with troy baker, craig mazin and neil druckmann because there’s SO much! here’s some of my favorite things said on the podcast:

- joel stacking rocks was to show that he missed and mourned tess. in that moment he was saying “i’m sorry, i blew it, i lost you.”

- in the beginning of the episode ellie told joel tess’ death wasn’t her fault but deep down she does feel like it was her fault.

- ellie admires joel because he protected her multiple times and as a child she has a desire for a parental figure to protect her.

- frank realized bill was gay pretty much as soon as he got out of the hole and saw how bill was looking at him. bill’s taking in how handsome frank is and “frank’s brain is incredibly attuned to that.” that’s why frank was smiling.

- frank realized bill was gay fast, but he realized he wanted bill when bill was playing the piano and singing linda ronstadt.

- it took them a while to find long long time by linda ronstadt but they always intended the song for bill to sing to be about a long love that was forever unrequited. “it was very important that the lyrics were someone saying ‘everyone tells me that it’s okay, that love will find me [...],’ no it doesn’t, no it’s not, and the person that i long for from afar - i’m gonna love them basically forever in the most unrequited manner.”

- it was important that frank immediately knew bill’s sexuality because frank SAW bill, because bill had completely buried his sexuality but frank saw through him.

- frank originally was trying to see what he could get out of bill (like a free lunch) but the more time they spent together, the more he went “oh, this is a beautiful person.”

- “there is two ways of loving things. frank wants to love outwards - he is sun, he is light. he wants to make things beautiful around him, he wants to care for bill, he wants to revitalize the streets so it’s not just this mausoleum bill lives in, and he wants to have friends. he wants to share what they have. and bill wants to put an electrified fence around them that is guarded by an additional layer of flame-throwing gas pipes and no one can show up ever because he must protect frank from the world... and as it turns out, both of those loved are required but one of those loves is likely to give you in trouble more than the other.”

- when frank put his finger on the furniture piece and saw how dusty it was, he realized what his purpose could be in bill’s life. bill can protect them, but frank can nurture their home.

- when bill apologizes to frank for growing old fast, it’s because he’s afraid of frank being left alone. “look at this beautiful man and the beautiful things that he does, and what is bill’s contribution? bill doesn’t grow strawberries. bill’s contribution is to keep frank alive. but bill is already afraid that he’s going to fail and that is a fear that joel has because he has that fear through experience [of losing his daughter.]“

- bill and joel understand each other and that they’re purpose is to protect others. they don’t care about their own lives.

- on their last day together, bill decided very early that he was going to die as well.

- the gun that ellie takes belonged to frank.

- that letter bill wrote reminded joel that he failed to protect both sarah and tess. the letter underscores for him that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t protect the people that he cares about. but now he has ellie to protect.

#tlou #the last of us #bill tlou #frank tlou #billfrank #joel miller #ellie williams #tess servopoulos

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter four ⭐︎ Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, mentions of loss, allusions to depression, fear of loss, hurt/comfort. reader calls her sister 'twinkie', mentions of abuse, mentions of sex

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: As Steve shows up on your doorsteps with an apology, you let him see more of just the you he already knows

Word count: 7.6k+

Author's note: shoutout to my co-writer (shut up, you wrote the dialogues and ideas with me, don't say anything) @hellfire--cult

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next Chapter

♡

Breathe in. Breathe out.

His heart was pounding, his body was shaking, his eyes wide, blinking rapidly as he stared at the same exact spot. The dried blood on his hands was starting to make him feel sick. It was Eddie’s blood. He hadn’t cleaned it off yet, he was still in shock, still in pain after what they had all gone through. 

Eddie made it, he was going to be okay, his injuries were bad and he was losing blood, a lot of blood, but he would be okay. And yet, Steve had felt anything but it. 

He almost lost a friend, he almost lost Max, he almost lost… you. 

He was sitting down beside you, though he couldn’t bring himself to look up and face you. You looked so… dead. Your skin lost its color, and the bandage around your head was new, yet there was a blood stain already. The machines were beeping beside you, it was the only sound in the room. 

And then the door opened, only then did he lift his head to look up, expecting it to be your parents or maybe your sister but it was only Nancy. A cup of coffee from the machine outside in her hand, a sad look still resting on her features. 

“Hey,” she whispered as she walked towards him, handing him the cup, “here, I didn’t know what you liked so I just got you a regular coffee.”

They’d been together for over a year and she couldn’t even remember what he liked. Should he even be surprised? No. A small thing like this still managed to hurt him. 

“Thanks, Nance,” he mumbled as he tried to give her a smile. He reached for the cup, ignoring the way it felt when his fingers brushed hers, how his heart had fluttered despite her rejection only a few hours back. 

She cleared her throat and looked away, sitting down at the end of the bed, she looked at you. 

He took a sip of the hot coffee as he leaned back in the chair, he avoided looking at you still, instead he kept his focus on her, the way he always did. There was disbelief, anger and sadness flashing in her eyes as she stared at you. 

“I can’t believe that Jason did that to her,” she whispered, “I knew I saw something in his eyes, I just didn’t think that he was this violent.” 

Steve nodded. 

He too was still in disbelief. 

You survived the night in the upside down, you fought off bats, didn’t even bat an eye when one of them got you good, but Jason, you almost didn’t survive him. And Steve felt so much rage as he sat there and thought of the guy that almost murdered you. 

“Yeah, me neither.”

There are monsters in different dimensions, in dark worlds, ones that do not know of a different way of living, they exist to kill because it is in their nature. But sometimes there are worse monsters, ones that hide behind kind eyes, ones that are raised into a world that should be more humane but because of them, it never will be. This world will always be just as dark as all the other ones that exist in secret. Jason was one of the monsters that got to you. 

This world is a hell just like the ones he and his friends had been dragged into but there’s still kindness left, peace and order. Though, Steve couldn’t help but wonder what this world would have turned into if Vecna had won. 

He would have brought endless war and chaos on this planet and people would have followed, they would have turned against each other so quickly. Everything would have crumbled into pieces. 

Shivers ran down his spine as he thought of what could’ve happened had they not stopped him. You were a part of it all, you helped in stopping him, had you not been at the Creel house, things could’ve gone sideways so easily. 

“Hey,” Steve whispered, clearing his throat. “Thank you… You know, for jumping into the water and saving my ass back there.”

Nancy furrowed her brows, a soft laugh fell from her lips, she looked away from you and turned to face him, shaking her head a little. 

“Everyone did.. And, she did first. She jumped first on the boat and she jumped first into the water, then I followed, then Robin and then Eddie.” 

His eyes widened, flashed with confusion as he tilted his head at her. 

“Huh? Who jumped first?” 

Nancy’s blue eyes were filled with confusion, her bangs fell in front of her eyes as she turned back to you, saying your name. 

You were the first to jump. 

You were the one to go after him first. 

You wanted to save him. 

How could he throw such horrible words at you after what you had done for him? After risking your life to save him? 

He wouldn’t even be able to begin to describe the guilt that kept him up all night. He wanted nothing more than to drive over to your place and apologize, even if he would have to drop to his knees, he would. 

But Max had told him that it was better to wait, to give you the time that you need, so that’s what he did. But he was going crazy, the guilt and the regret were eating at him, making him feel worse and worse with each passing second. 

Going to work that day had been torture as well, he was nervous and restless, he kept bouncing his knee and tapping his pen against the unmarked crossword in front of him. His mind was forcing him to think of you, of the look in your eyes, of the tears and the hurt. He felt so awful, he felt like King Steve again and he is someone he despises, just the way he despises himself, right this second. 

Robin told him to leave before he could even finish his shift, knowing that all he wanted was to set things straight, to make things right with you. 

And here he is now, standing on your porch with a racing heart and sweaty palms. 

He doesn’t know how you will react to seeing him here, but knowing you, he is certain that you will slam the door in his face – he’d deserve it. 

He rang the doorbell once before, but you didn’t open it. He wonders if you saw his car in your driveway already. He rings it again, hoping for you to open, hoping for you to give him a chance so he can… try, try to make it up to you. 

He tugs at his hair, feeling more and more stressed the longer it takes you to open. As he stands there, staring at the wooden door, he realizes that it’s only the second time that he stands here, on your porch, on the doorsteps of a big house, just as big as the one he lives in, if not bigger. The inside of your home is just as much of a mystery to him as you are. 

Steve knows nothing about you, absolutely nothing and he still opened his mouth and threw words at you that you didn’t deserve – even when you pushed him, even when you were being mean to him, you had never sunk so low just to hurt him, not once. 

After he got all this anger off his chest, you were no longer the girl he saw before, you were someone else, someone vulnerable, someone heartbroken and that hurt even more to think about. 

He gets pulled out of his thoughts when you finally open the door. He snaps his head up and his eyes meet yours for the first time that day. 

He had seen you in a bad state before, after your fight with Jason Carver, after the surgery that saved your life, you looked bad. Your skin was marked with bruises and scars, you had that traumatized look in your eyes that no one dared to even mention. You barely ate or talked for the first few days, whether it was because of the surgery or the trauma that Carver had left you with, you were in a bad, bad state. 

But he had never seen you like this before. 

Not even the sadness from last night was this strong as the one in your eyes now. They are glassy, a mix of anger and hurt swirling in them. Your lips are puffy just like your eyes, from all the crying. Your hair is messy, a big hoodie that doesn’t even seem to belong to you hanging loosely on your form. 

Another pang of guilt hits him at the sight of you. 

You stare at each other for a long moment before you try to slam the door shut again, but he jumps forward, pressing his palm against it, “Blondie, please! I just want to talk!” 

He hears your sniffle, like you’re trying not to cry again. You stop pushing against the door but you don’t pull away either, you don’t let him see you. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he hears you say. 

“I-I just want to apologize, I was an asshole to you and you didn’t deserve it. I messed up.. fuck..” He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling desperate to fix this between you two, “I’m sorry, I’m really fucking sorry, Blondie.” 

“Y-You’re forgiven, now please leave..”

The weakness in your voice makes him feel like the worst person alive, knowing that he is the cause of your suffering, right now. 

How did you feel last night? 

“No,” he begs, shaking his head as though you could see him, “please just let me in, I-I want to talk to you, I want to fix it, please let me fix it.” 

You are silent on the other side of the door, you don’t move, you don’t speak. You hesitate. And it feels like forever that he stands here with a pounding heart, willing you to open the door and let him see you, talk to you. 

Without a word, you open the door and you step aside, crossing your arms over your chest. 

He swallows the lump in his throat, blinking as he takes in the sight of you, once again. 

You stare at him with both impatience and annoyance now, wanting to get this over with quickly, while he wants time – time with you. 

He had never felt such desperation before, especially now that he sees you. 

“There’s nothing to fix, it’s okay, you told me what you–”

He says your name, and he says it so desperately that it shuts you up. 

“I won’t leave until I can properly apologize to you.” 

You blink, your upper lip twitches and you take a moment, staring at him for what feels like forever until you nod. 

“Fine..”

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. 

He takes a deep breath before he steps inside the house he has never been in before, he closes the door behind him and he can’t help but look around, taking in the sight of the big hallway, the wide stairs are on the right side, pictures hang on the wall all the way up to the second floor, there is one that is slightly bigger than the others, and even from afar, he recognizes you – you are no older than twelve in that picture, you wore a wide smile on your face, pigtails that were tied with pink bows at the end, you were wearing a dress and you looked happy in a way he had never seen before. Your big sister was next to you, holding your hand as your parents stood behind you both, the smiles were genuine, even on their faces. 

Only as he stares at the picture, does he realize that he has never actually seen your parents before. 

“Are your parents home?” He asks without looking at you, still questioning 

You hesitate. 

“No… I uh, do you want something to drink?” You ask awkwardly, not knowing what else to say or do.

Steve is too busy staring at the picture, trying to remember your parents, wondering why they didn’t come to visit you at the hospital, only your sister came to see you.

When he looks down at you, away from the picture of the girl that once looked so happy, he now sees a broken one, for the first time, he sees past those glares and cold looks. 

He runs his fingers through his hair. 

“I-I’m sorry… I’m really sorry about all the awful shit I said to you last night, I was angry a-and I let it out on you and you did not deserve this, you really didn’t deserve any of the words I threw at you.” 

You blink, and you press your lips together just like you did before, just like you did last night. 

“It’s okay–”

“No, I said things that I had no clue about and I never wanna do that again. I just, I want to understand you.. I want to get to know you because.. fuck, I’m realizing how much I’m hurting you.”

Your eyes soften and you genuinely look surprised at his words, eyeing him as you stay silent. 

You don’t blame him, he’s not at fault, not entirely. He knows nothing about you or your life, so how could he know that those words would cause so much damage? 

You carry guilt, just like he does. 

You both kept throwing knives at each other, hitting one target after the other but you were both blindfolded to the pain you were causing to each other. 

You shift, pulling at the sleeves of the sweater you are wearing, you close your eyes for one second, taking a deep breath, before you open them again and look up at Steve. 

“What do you want to know?” You ask, surprising him with your words. 

He expected you to be more stubborn than this, but you seem willing to let him get to know you, the real you. 

“Anything you want to give me really.. so… I just want to stop hurting you without me realizing it… I don’t… I need to stop hurting you, Blondie.”

You look at him, really look at him, and you notice that he looks just as bad as you do. His hair is messy – a very unusual sight for him. He has dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept all night and his eyes are filled with guilt.

With a sigh, you tilt your head into the direction of the living room, motioning him to follow. You turn on the lamp on the dresser, making the room appear lighter, it’s gloomy outside and the rain has been falling all morning, it only just stopped. 

“Sit,” you mumble, pointing to the couch, “wait here.” 

He nods at you and sits down, he watches you leave the room again and listens to your footsteps as you make your way upstairs. He looks around, there are fewer pictures around here, though still enough for him to get curious about your parents again. There’s a bouquet of fresh flowers on the small table in front of him – Daisies. A throw blanket lays on the other end of the couch, an open book next to it, were you reading when he got here?

It doesn’t take you long to come back into the room. 

Steve’s brows furrow a little when he sees the shoebox in your hand, you place it in front of him and take a deep breath as you look into his eyes, pointing to the box. 

“Here’s everything you need to know about me.”

His lips part at your words. 

“You can look, I’ll tell you anything you want to know and then we can… move past all of this and go back to the way things were before yesterday.” 

He blinks, noticing how your shoulders slumped a little, you don’t want to go back to the way things were, and neither does he. He enjoys the bickering but not when it means that he is hurting you. 

You break eye contact, and turn around, “I’m gonna get us something to drink, feel free to look..” 

And with that, you leave again and Steve, he stares at the box for a while, feeling like he is about to intrude, despite you telling him to open it, to look inside, he still feels like he is intruding. But his curiosity gets the best of him, he removes the lid carefully and puts it down on the table. 

Polaroid Pictures. 

So many of them. The box is filled, all the way up to the top with pictures of friends and family. The first one that catches his eye is the one of you and Max. He reaches for it, bringing it closer. You are both smiling into the camera, Max is wearing her red sunglasses and you are wearing your heart shaped ones, an ice cream cone in her hand and a can of diet pepsi in yours – he can’t help but smile as he stares at it, you looked so happy. 

The date was written under the picture, with a pink sharpie: May 7th 1985. 

He places the picture down, reaching for the next one. 

This one doesn’t have you on it, only your sister, with a black cat on her lap – Luna, the cat’s name was Luna, he overheard you talking about her to Max. And your sister, he doesn’t remember her actual name, only the nickname you called her when she came to see you at the hospital; Twinkie. He almost laughed at that, the first time he heard it.

The next one is one of you and your dad at the beach, he recognizes him from the picture in the hallway. Both of you were holding surfboards. Your eyes shone with happiness, a bright grin on your face, your dad’s arm was wrapped around your shoulder. In this picture, you looked even happier than in the one from last year. – This one was taken in the summer of 1981, you were only fourteen. 

He flinches a little when you place a soda can in front of him, “here, I found some coke in the fridge, figured you’d prefer that.” 

He raises his brows and then looks at the pepsi you’re holding in your hand. 

“Oh, thanks,” he mumbles, trying to smile. 

You nod at him as you sit down beside him, looking at the picture that he’s holding. 

“We spent the summer in California, my parents had a summer house in Monterey.” 

“Had?”

You nod. 

“Yeah,” you whisper as sadness takes over your features, a sadness he hadn’t seen before. It’s not the kind that he had seen last night. It’s one that reminds him of grief, like the one on Max’s face when she mentions Billy. 

Oh no. 

“My sister sold it last year, I asked her not to but.. for some reason that house gave her more painful memories than this one,” you say as you gesture to the room you sit in, you lean forward, placing your drink on the table as you reach for a picture in the box, “that was.. that was two weeks before they uh.. got into an accident.” 

You hand him a picture but he can’t look at it yet, too busy staring at you and at the way you try to hide the tears in your eyes. 

Steve’s heart aches in his chest, the guilt eating at him like never before. 

“I-I’m so sorry, Blondie,” he whispers as he slowly looks down at the picture, at your parents who both smiled into the camera. That one was also taken in the summer of 1981.

Steve started to feel a little sick as the seconds went by, at each picture that he looked at.

“Twinkie and I took the flight back with our grandparents, we wanted to spend one more week with them in Indianapolis before going back to Hawkins, we didn’t know that this would be the last time we’d ever see them.” 

His heart no longer aches at your words, it breaks for you. He didn’t know this, he never knew anything about you. You lost your parents when you were so young, right before your first year in high school. 

Now he understands why you had always looked so.. lost. 

Why you had been so rude and unapproachable. You pushed people away while you were grieving, you didn’t want anyone to see.

He doesn’t know what to say, no words will give you the comfort that you still clearly need. 

“I-I never knew.”

You chuckle as you look at him, still blinking away those tears, “I didn’t want anyone to know, especially not when it just happened.”

“Why not?”

“I’d forever be the girl that lost her parents, and honestly, I’d rather have the whole school hate me than give me pitiful looks.”

“Of course,” he mumbles, shaking his head at you. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” he shrugs, running his fingers through his messy hair after he puts the picture down, “you’re just so… I don’t know, it’s just.. classic you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, not with anger in your voice but with curiosity. 

“Well, you’d rather have the whole world hate you than let them see you vulnerable.” 

You shake your head at him and his eyes meet yours as he turns back. There is that look in your eyes, the one that reminds him that he doesn’t know anything about you. 

“I let some see.” 

Right. Some. 

He nods and looks away. 

He’s surely not one of those that you let see.

When he reaches for the next picture, he freezes, staring at the two little girls with wide eyes. It’s not hard to figure out who the one next to you is. Strawberry blonde hair, the two front teeth way too big for the small face, she was wearing a cheerleader costume – not knowing that she would’ve become cheer captain years later. Chrissy Cunningham. 

The girl next to you was Chrissy, you were hugging each other from the side, giggling. 

He looks at you, you were wearing a fairy costume, green and pink colors on the dress, and your smile was big. You looked happy. 

He shakes his head a little, not understanding what he sees in front of him. 

He had never seen you and Chrissy around each other, not even once. In fact, he rarely ever saw you around anyone for that matter. Sometimes he saw you talking to Jonathan, something that gave him more of a reason to dislike you back then, he’d throw the word ‘freaks’ at the two of you whenever he passed by you. The memories of that fill him with guilt and regret, he always wishes that he could turn back time and change things, change the way he acted. 

But he never ever saw you even talking to Chrissy.

He slowly turns to face you, holding up the polaroid, “y-you and Chrissy knew each other?”

You only glance at the picture before you look down, “yeah, we were childhood best friends, we grew apart but… we still kept in touch. She’d stay over sometimes.” you explain, not meeting his eyes.

You lost your parents. You lost a friend. 

His words from last night echo in his mind and the guilt crashes over him, harder than before. 

No words appear before him, what can he say that will make you feel better in the slightest? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

But the monsters have gotten to her without her knowing about them.

That’s what Max had told him. Now he understands. Even more so, when a different picture catches his eye, one that shocks him even more than the previous one. 

Only this time, he doesn’t just freeze, he feels a shiver running down his spine and his chest feels weird, all of a sudden. Because the guy in the picture isn’t someone he ever expected you around with. 

He takes it, between his thumb and his forefinger, bringing it closer with a shaky hand. He blinks, like he can’t believe what he is seeing, but it’s real, it’s so very real. No amount of blinking will transform the guy into someone else. It’s unmistakably Billy Hargrove in your collection of polaroids, a collection that reminds you of the people you loved. The box of memories that is frozen in time. 

Billy is sitting on the hood of his car, a cigarette held between his fingers as he snickered at the camera. It was taken back in 1984. 

You were friends with Billy Hargrove? 

He can’t even utter a single word, just reaching for the next picture which is just another one of him. 

Billy was lying on the grass, probably in your backyard, his eyes were barely open but he was smiling into the camera, with a thumbs up in the air. It’s clear that he was drunk when you took that picture. 

He feels your eyes on him, he notices you shifting on the couch as you lean back, still looking at him. He doesn’t turn to face you, not yet. Too curious to find more pictures of Billy, he doesn’t expect the next ones to be more intimate than the ones before. 

He stares at the one of you first, it looks as though you have cried, but you are smiling, and the only thing that covered your body was a blanket, while pushing the camera out of your face. 

And for a moment, Steve can’t help but think how beautiful you look in this picture with your hair all messy, your exposed skin looking so soft and glowy beneath dim lights, and a smile so content. 

But the picture of Billy makes him frown. He was sitting on your bed, shirtless and with a cigarette between his lips, his eyes were red but he was smiling just like you were. 

It’s obvious what happened before these pictures were taken and he can’t shake the weird feeling in his gut, the longer he looks at them. 

Were you and Billy dating? 

Is that why you have been so miserable since last summer? Because he was just another name on the list of people you have lost?

As though you can read his mind, you lean closer to him, reaching for the first picture you ever took of him, the one where he sits on the hood of his car. 

“I ran into Billy at Big Buy’s, well, behind the building. He was smoking a cigarette and he was crying. I hadn’t seen him before, it was the weekend before school started again. I approached him and he obviously tried to scare me off, but… fucker didn’t know who he was talking to,” you chuckle. “He was being rude, like really rude, calling me names and trying to get me to leave, I stepped on his foot and he yelped, literally yelped. I left after that but uh, after that, we just started pestering each other at school and then one day, he showed up here, with a bleeding nose and a busted lip, he didn’t know where else to go.”

Steve watches you, the way your eyes are filled with sadness as you look at the pictures in front of you. 

“It took him a while but eventually, he opened up to me, about his dad and everything.”

He knows about Billy’s dad, about the abuse, the emotional and physical abuse. Max told him all about it. 

“So uh, then that happened,” you murmur, awkwardly, not meeting his eyes as you point to the pictures of the two of you only covered by the sheets. 

“Were you two dating?” He asks, and somehow he feels a knot in his stomach at that question. 

You scrunch your face up at his words, almost in a way that makes him laugh. You shake your head at him. 

“Fuck no. We weren’t even attracted to each other. I just, at that point we were close and I trusted him so uh.. I just wanted to do it with someone that I felt comfortable with and uh, the beer helped too, I guess,” you say with a small smile on your lips.

Steve turns away from you, biting the insides of his cheeks, the knot slowly undoing itself in his belly.

“We never mentioned it again after this, it wasn’t awkward or anything, we were just.. best friends.” 

There is no bitterness in your voice, he notices. You had no feelings for Billy and that for some reason, and that for some reason makes his shoulders relax.

He looks back at you when he feels your eyes on him, your smile has fallen.

“He came to my house… you know.. after he beat you up and he was drugged by Max.”

He raises his eyebrows, pursing his lips. 

“What?”

“I told him that it was wrong, what he did, that you did the right thing, that I told him time and time to lay off Max. Damn, I even slapped him across his head when he broke her skateboard.”

His eyes soften, and his lip twitches. 

“I-I was doing the right thing?”

“You protected Lucas. When I found out how he was treating him I got so mad at him, we got into a fight and I didn’t talk to him for days. I just hated what he did to him and to Max,” you mumble, breaking eye contact when the look in his eyes gets a little too intense for you. You also didn’t like what Billy did to Steve, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Billy he was.. driven by his father’s words and actions. The abuse turned him into that. He was vulnerable with me, but– the anger was still inside of him… bright red.”

As Steve looks back at the pictures, he realizes that he had never seen Billy like this, happy, smiling. He almost looks like a different person. Regret floods through him, he can’t help but wish that he would’ve gotten to know this side of Billy, the one that you knew, maybe things would’ve gone differently if he did, maybe Max wouldn’t have lost her brother. 

“I never saw Hargrove like this.”

“No one did,” you shrug, “only me, sometimes Max. I-I tried to change him and his dumb views but Billy was just.. stubborn and angry.” You shake your head, blinking away the tears that welled up in your eyes, you close them and tilt your head down. “A-And then he pushed me away when he.. when he was possessed.” 

Steve notices the way your voice got so much more shaky than before, how you seem to be on the verge of tears. 

“Max,” he whispers, now understanding why or who the reason was for your friendship. 

“Yeah… Max. We received letters, well, notes from Billy,” you mumble. 

He watches how you bring your hand up to your face, wiping away the tears with the sleeves before you reach for something in the box, a folded piece of paper that you hand to him. 

“He told me to stay away in mine, all messy, but he said that he didn’t hate me, that he could never..”

Steve doesn’t open the note, your words are enough, he doesn’t want to intrude more than he already did, he understands this enough. Billy pushed you away to keep you safe, and he did it with cruel words to keep you away, because he knew that that would work with you. 

Steve is at a loss for words.

“And Max, he called her his sister in hers. She didn’t read the note until a few weeks later though.”

Steve’s eyes widen, and it all clicks in his head. 

Why Max had been suffering as much as she did in those months after Billy’s death, why she seemed more depressed than ever when the summer was over. 

“Is that why you are so close with her? … For Billy?” 

“Yeah,” you whisper, nodding. “She’s like a sister to me, I’d do anything for her.”

And you did. You did and you almost gave your life protecting her. 

“And I almost lost her too.”

Just like everyone else you loved and cared about. 

Steve’s words did more damage than he thought they did, and they echo in his mind, over and over again. 

Don’t you ever ask yourself why you don’t have anyone? Why no one bothers to stick around because I’d be really surprised if someone did. 

The nausea that fills him almost overwhelms him, it almost knocks the breath out of him. He swallows harshly, and he starts to put the polaroids back into the box, blinking as he looks at each and every one of them again. 

His eyes linger on the one of you smiling, the one from the year before. When you found your happiness again when a new friend had stepped into your life. 

Steve couldn’t stand Billy Hargrove, he really couldn’t stand him, but his death was cruel and even he didn’t deserve what happened to him and you didn’t deserve to lose another person you cared about. 

You lost. You lost people, you lost family, you lost friends and you lost your spark, your happiness. And now he understands why you are the way that you are. Why you keep pushing everyone away, you’re scared to lose again, scared to get too close to someone only to watch them being taken away from you. 

As he stares at your smile, he can’t help but frown at the picture in his hand because he will never get to see this. He will never see you like this with him and in this moment, he can’t help but envy those who will. 

“You are right.” His voice sounds small, filled with regret, filled with sadness and hurt.

“Huh?”

“I don’t know what loss is. I– shit. I don’t know if I could have handled it like you did.”

You feel your eyes burning at his words and before you can even try to blink your tears away, one falls from your eye. 

Steve’s eyes soften when he hears your sniffle, he watches the tear roll down your cheek. He moves without thinking, raising his hand up to your face, he catches the tear with his thumb.  

You freeze and your lips part in surprise, his touch giving you butterflies despite what happened yesterday. 

His touch feels so foreign on your skin, yet comforting and warm, like something that you have been craving and longing for since always. You slowly turn to face him and only then, does he realize what he did. 

His cheeks flush red and his eyes fill with embarrassment, he clears his throat and pulls his hand away from your face, not knowing that this makes you feel empty again. 

“I’m sorry too,” you whisper, apologizing to him, for the first time. “Knowing that they’re alive yet still deciding to leave you behind.. that’s not easy either.”

He appreciates your words and his lip twitches, he shrugs, trying to play it off – The pain he always endured by himself and never voiced out, and he won’t start doing it now. It’s done with.

“I have the kids and Robin.”

“Right,” you whisper as you push yourself up, unable to sit here with him any longer, you reach for the box, ignoring the confused look that he gives you, “they take care of you.” 

He noticed the sarcastic tone at that last phrase, but he nodded either way. 

“Okay uh, time to go, Lego head. I need a shower.”

This time, he can’t help but smile at the nickname. 

“Okay, Blondie.”

You lead him back out into the hallway, avoiding the hazel eyes that fill your heart with nothing but sadness and longing. 

You feel your heart pounding, your eyes still burning as you feel yourself nearing the edge of yet another breakdown this day. 

“Hey,” Steve whispers, taking a hold of your arm he pulls you back so he can see your face again. 

“Yeah?” 

Your eyes show him so much and now he can’t help but wonder if these emotions have always been there and he was just too blind to see them or if you only showed them now. 

“I’m really sorry about everything,” he whispers. 

Your lips twitch, though not into a smile. 

“Me too, Steve.”

He keeps holding your arm, ignoring the wish to hold you instead. 

“Are we.. good?” 

His question makes you laugh and you squint your eyes. 

“When have we ever been good?”

He rolls his eyes, though he can’t help but smile. He brings his left hand up, running his fingers through his messy hair.

There is that look in his eyes, the one that shows you that he is thinking about something, deeply. 

“Do I still call you Blondie…?” He asks as he realizes that he had always called you by a name that must have taken you back to a time where you had felt the saddest, the loneliest. You were fifteen when you had bleached your hair and tried out new styles, all the time. He never knew that it was something that you needed to do, to distract yourself from the grief. You had no friends, no one to talk to, no one to be with. You only had that – box dye, makeup and new clothes every week. 

Oh. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, digging your nails into your palm. He knows. 

“I would be mad if you didn’t. It’s weird when you say my name, Harrington.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head a little.

“Yeah yeah, Blondie, keep acting like you don’t like it.”

You smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes and he can see it.”

“I guess we’re still Lego head and Blondie then, huh?” He asks, snorting. 

“Always.”

He licks his lips, nodding. 

“Always,” he chuckles as he lets go of you and walks towards the door, he opens it, but he doesn’t step out, right away. He looks back at you, one more time, “you know, I didn’t mean a single thing that I said to you, last night. And I’ll do anything for you to believe me. B-But, I think that you’re amazing and the people that had the chance to get to know you… the real you were really fucking lucky.” 

He leaves you with those words, closes the door and walks away from you. 

And you stare at the front door for what feels like forever before you finally break into tears. You were pushing away your pain and your sadness but the fight from last night, his presence and his words have made it all so much worse again. 

You bury your face in your hands as you sit down on the stairs, letting tears fall that you haven’t felt in ages but instead of relief, you feel frustration running through you. You didn’t miss this, you didn’t miss this for a single second. 

There is a knock on the front door and it fills you with annoyance when you expect it to be Steve again. 

Wiping your tears with anger, you rip open the door, expecting to see him again but instead it’s Max on your doorstep. Max and Eddie. 

You blink, looking between them, back and forth. 

Max’s blue eyes fill with worry as she looks into your glassy eyes. 

Eddie smiles at you, despite matching the look in her eyes. 

“Hey, you didn’t let me come in yesterday so I assumed that if I brought Red here you would let us in,” he says, still smiling cheekily. “We brought movies and got your favorite snacks,” he points to Max’s backpack.

You don’t know what comes over you, but the kind smile on his face, of the guy that has been trying desperately to be your friend, makes you want to continue crying. You don’t know how, but you keep your tears at bay.

You know that they can see that you were crying, but it brings you comfort to know that neither of them will push you to talk about anything. 

“Hey guys,” you try to put on your best smile as you greet them, you step aside without another word.

Eddie’s smile widens, he bumps his shoulder into Max. 

“Hey,” she smiles, still eying you worriedly, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, placing your hand on her shoulder, “I’m okay.” 

She doesn’t look convinced but she doesn’t push you to talk, she doesn’t ask any more questions either. She just walks straight into the living room. 

“She feels at home, huh?” Eddie chuckles. 

“It’s basically her second home so yeah,” you laugh. 

His brown eyes take you in, his lips twitch but his smile doesn’t fall. He looks like he wants to say something but he doesn’t speak up. 

You both follow Max into the living room, expecting her to be unpacking the snacks but instead she stands there frozen in place as she stares at the box of polaroids.

Your eyes widen and in panic, you rush over to the coffee table, wanting to close the box. 

“S-Shit, I’m sorry–”

“No!” She grabs your hand before you reach for the lid. “I-It’s okay, I’m okay. A-Are you though?” She asks as she looks away from the pictures of Billy. 

Eddie looks between you two, furrowing his brows as he takes a step closer. He looks into the box and his eyes widen instantly. 

“Holy shit, is that–”

“Eddie don’t,” Max warns him.

You shake your head, “no.. no, it’s okay, Max.”

Eddie doesn’t even look at Max or you, he is staring at the picture of her brother, in shock. 

“I-I promise, it’s okay,” you mumble, pinching the bridge of your nose as you feel your heart starting to pound again, “I just.. I need some fresh air, I’ll be right back.” 

You leave the room, rushing out of the house. You sit down on the porch steps, taking a deep breath. The earthy smell that lingers after the rain comforts you a little. 

You knew you wouldn’t get more than a minute to yourself, because only moments later, the door opens. You know that it’s Eddie, you hear the flick of his lighter, and seconds later, the smell of smoke fills the air, mixing with the smell of the after rain. 

You hear his footsteps and then he sits down next to you. Without a word, he offers you the cigarette. You take it, placing it between your lips, you take a drag and blow out the smoke. 

Eddie doesn’t talk, he just wants you to know that he is here because he wants to be, he wants to be your friend but you don’t want to lose him too. 

“I lost a lot of people I cared about, Eddie.. Every single one of them, my parents, Chrissy, Billy.. I almost lost Max and you too,” You trail off, taking another drag before you hand him back the cigarette. “And I can’t lose any more people, Eds.”

He stares at you with his big sad eyes that you can’t bring yourself to look into for longer than two seconds. 

“I feel like I’m fucking cursed or something. Everything that I touch immediately rots. That’s why I just.. I keep pushing you away because I already lost a best friend.. so just please.” 

He sees the way you’re blinking, the way your hands are shaking just like your voice is. He knows what you’re asking of him and he only shakes his head in response, moving closer to you as he feels his own eyes burning. 

You’re his friend, a friend that he doesn’t want to lose either. 

“Nah.. It will take a whole swarm of demobats to rip me away from you. And even then, hey, I will still survive, already did once,” he tries to crack a joke but only makes you tear up even more. 

You finally turn to face him, looking into the kind eyes of your friend before your eyes move down to his neck, to the bandaid that covers his scar. 

“But–”

“No buts. You are not cursed. You are not responsible for anything that happened to those people. It’s okay to feel sad, it’s okay to hurt, it’s okay to love, Darling. Let yourself do it,” he says, smiling as he throws his cigarette on the pavement before he wraps his arms around you, bringing you closer, “and stop pushing me away, please.”

Your bottom lip trembles and the tears flow like a waterfall, you stop fighting it, you stop fighting him and you let him pull you into his arms, closing your eyes as you lay your head on his chest, letting yourself fall into the hug that you so desperately need. 

“Let it out, sweets.”

The soothing tone in his voice makes you cry even harder, your tears seep through his shirt but he doesn’t mind, he rubs your back and holds you. Your heart is crying, your brain is banging, your breaths are cut short thanks to your sobs, but it’s something you needed. And even through all of that, you are feeling so relieved, so light at each sob that rips out of your throat. 

And when you feel Max’s hand in yours, her head on your shoulder as Eddie still holds you, you know that everything will be okay, that you will be okay. You might not need anything else for now… these two people right here are making you feel fuller than you ever felt in the past year.

You won’t lose them. 

You won’t have to live without them. 

They will be more than just a short time. 

♡

tagging friends and mutuals:

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @sherrylyn628 @livosssblog

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #stranger things angst

[hazelfoureyes]

Do you think you could do a male version of the radioapple is the safe word? Or maybe just a gender neutral pronouned story? I adore it so much

of course! I am happy to adapt my stories whenever possible 🥺✨ sometimes I can’t but this one was an easy enough shift! didn’t tag the horny deer cult, this is the same story but with the hardware swapped out. Will tag in new pieces 🙏 warning; I almost exclusively watch femboy gay porn and it shows

The Safeword is RadioApple (Part 1)

(RadioApple x MaleReader)

Part 1 ꒰აMaleReader✧FemaleReader໒꒱ Part 2 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱ Part 3 ꒰აAlastorxLucifer໒꒱ tidbit (cute, not smut) Part 4 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱✨NEW✨ ₊⊹⁀➴ Lucifer wins⟡Alastor Wins

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x Reader, Lucifer x Reader, smut, RadioApple in a sense, male reader, creampie, breath play, rough sex, Alastor is an eternal little shit, soft jazz, hard jazz, Luci calls himself Daddy, 🗣️ READER GETS SPITROASTED, threesome, asshole hulk smashed, half assed blowjob, help I got too horny on main

MINORS DNI BRUH

“Sir.”

Lucifer jumped, whipping around and shoving Alastor’s face away. “You are a living nightmare, fuck!” He hated being snuck up on, as most people do. Adjusting his hat, he looked around the hotel lobby to see if anyone else witnessed his personal jump scare. Charlie and Vaggie were seated nearby, but hadn’t paid them any attention.

“I aim to please! Now,” Alastor gestured to the stairs, “I, unfortunately, need to show you something upstairs.”

“Ha!” Lucifer forced out a laugh, “Ha. Haaa- Not a chance, scarecrow. Find someone else to search for your brain.” He smirked to himself. “Did you hear that Charlie? I made a joke.”

But Charlie was not laughing. She finally turned her focus to them. “Dad, you have to start trying to get along with Alastor.” She looked to Alastor who was nodding along as if he actually cared at all, “He’s trying to spend time with you. Come on, Dad. For me?”

With a pout, he dramatically crossed his arms, “Fine. I’ll play nice, for you. Not for him.” Lucifer glared daggers at Alastor. “Fuck him.”

“Daaad!” She groaned.

“Yeah yeah, I’m going.” 

Alastor let his microphone follow behind Lucifer’s back, an unseen and unfelt safety net so he couldn’t back out. When they approached Alastor’s door, Lucifer put up his hands as if to physically stop the situation from progressing, “There is no way in all of hell I am going in your bedroom.”

Alastor’s eyes rolled, frustrated already with the interaction. “Are you sure about that?” He pushed the door open, using his mic to make contact with the small of Lucifer’s back. He stopped resisting when he finally looked into the room.

He took a step in, willingly, and as he saw you sitting in the center of the bed in just your sleep robe, he let out a quiet, “What the fuck is this?”

Then a louder, “Heeey, kitten…”. The sound of the door locking made his head whip back to Alastor, teeth bared.

“Luci.”

Softened under the sound of his own name from your lips he brought his attention back to the bed.

It was no secret to anyone that you two were fond of each other. It was the little things you did that endeared the fallen angel to you, how you doted on him. Filling his glass at dinner when you noticed it getting close to empty, holding the door for him, keeping eye contact when he went off on some excited tangent.

Everyone was also aware you were Alastor’s person. And Alastor would give you anything you wanted in death; and today you happened to want Luci.

You’d seen the broadcasts of the King of Hell defending his daughter during the last extermination. The power he gave off, even from your screen, brought goosebumps down your arms. So when you found your way to the hotel, you were elated to see Lucifer himself readily available for interactions. Your luck continued, as your father’s love of jazz had been passed down to you and allowed the radio demon to notice your presence among the sea of new residents. Following the sounds of Nat ‘King’ Cole, he found you one evening in your room, and a mutual fondness for music bore a new friend. And then, more. 

Soon enough you were a regular member of the Hazbin Hotel core crew, by way of Alastor.

That’d been some months ago now, and you finally had the courage to ask Alastor for a special favor.

No part of him understood your motivation, but the idea of making the king of hell pussy-whipped to his darling was understanding enough. And, of course, the pleasure of watching you enjoy yourself. While he was capable all his own, he was happy to allow someone else to fill in. Not to mention—- no, actually, definitely mention the fact it would give him a little more power in the tense dynamic between himself and Lucifer.

For Alastor, sharing you physically wasn’t an issue.  Sex was something he did for your pleasure, though he did enjoy the control he held over you in those intimate moments.

Watching you mewl under someone else, knowing he gave the permission, that Lucifer would never have a chance in Hell if The Radio Demon didn't allow it, made his head dizzy with the loss of blood flow. Whatever pleasure Lucifer could give you was pleasure he has granted you both. The idea of someone pining for you but never having a chance unless he says so made him feel powerful.

“I have a request, of sorts.” You tried to keep your smile still, cheeks twitching with pure nerves. The room was lit by only two small lamps on either nightstand and the light coming from the half open bathroom.

Lucifer approached you, making a dramatic point of going past Alastor. The radio demon chuckled, the king of hell scowled. He placed one knee on the end of the bed, trying to forget this was the spot you shared most nights with Alastor. His smile encouraged you to continue.

“You can say no.” You added quickly. 

“Why would I ever do that?” Lucifer continued to smile at you, too sweetly for what you were going to ask.

“Many reasons.” You added quicker. 

“Come on, tell Luci.” He laughed softly at the idea of denying you anything.

You pressed the tips of your index fingers together nervously, “I want you to fuck me.”

He tried to blink but his eyelids only seemed to rise further and further up his face with every attempt.

“You what now?”

His eyes darted to Alastor, who was now crawling onto the bed and settling behind you. 

“It was a fairly straightforward statement, sir.” Alastor’s tone was always teetering on mocking when he addressed Lucifer, “My dear would like you, for some god awful reason, to bed him.”

If this hadn’t been such a shock, Lucifer would have quipped, “Oh because you can’t, you overdressed maitre d’?”

But when he opened his mouth, there was nothing. He just stared at you. Alastor’s long legs and lanky arms came down beside you, behind you. You looked like the enticing light of an angler fish’s lure, sharp teeth shining just over your shoulder. 

“I thought-,” he motioned between the two of you.

You nodded, “Alastor is happy when I’m happy. And right now, I’d be overjoyed to spend an evening taking care of you.”

Oh, why couldn’t you have said it so sweetly the first time? Take care of him? You always did. Every time he felt something lacking he’d find you close behind offering him just the thing.

Whether a smile, or supportive word, or just a sympathetic ear.

Shifting onto your hands and knees, you crawled toward Lucifer. His face was flush, his brows knitted together in some mix of worry and confusion.

“You don’t have to do that, kitten. I don’t need that.” He reached out a hand to touch your cheek but stopped himself; he’d never touched you before. He had gone out of his way to avoid it, because he couldn’t bear what it would do to him. He’d just be hurting himself, he had thought. His hand began to pull away but you reached out with both of yours and took hold of his wrist.

“I don’t have to do anything, ever, Luci,” Alastor’s grin widened as you said it. A hum of approval only he could hear. A silent, ‘That’s my boy.’

“This is about what I want.” You leaned up to rest your cheek in his open palm, “I’ll accept any answer from you.” Your eyes staring up at him promised safety, “So, what do you want?”

He buried his face in his free hand, opening his fingers to look over you once more. In the shade of the canopied bed, Alastor sat motionless. But Lucifer couldn’t see him, not because of the shadows but because his focus was so purely on you. He had absolute tunnel vision, which happened often when you two would speak. Lucifer made a low sound, coming from somewhere deep in his chest,  hidden beneath all his shame and sense of inadequacy.

Your question was answered as he removed his hat, tossing it to the chaise lounge near the wall. You sat back on your legs and gave him space to remove his coat. Your heart seemed to double its pace, skin practically vibrating. A not-insignificant part of you expected a gentle but firm, “kindly fuck off.”

He seemed to be avoiding eye contact as he pulled his bow tie loose, only returning his knee to the bed when he’d kicked off his boots. Just the shifting of the weight of the bed made your thighs twitch, finally. Alastor leaned backed and watched, Lucifer’s gaze was full of uncertainty as he crawled to you. 

Hilarious. Already worth the price of admission. 

Both on your knees, you leaned up and placed a chaste kiss on Lucifer’s lips. Pulling back, you looked at him and he felt like we’re looking at the sun. Your face was so bright, and warm. What light were you reflecting back at him? Surely not his own. That was long dead. Long buried under bruised wings and lost promises. 

You snaked your fingers into his hair and brought him in for a deeper kiss. When you bit gently on his bottom lip, he shakily opened his mouth. Your grin spread across both of your faces as you pushed your way past his lips.

Lucifer’s tongue was long, and tapered more than you’d expected. It moved, unsure, against yours. Your hands slunk out of his hair and down his chest, sliding until finding the buttons of his vest. 

You felt him gasp into you, and when you began to open his shirt he pulled away, “It’s been… a very long time.”

A scream echoed in your skulll, your own scream, thankfully entirely in your mind. He was so cute. So soft. He looked so worried, you wanted to rip him to pieces with affection. Was that possible? You were going to try.

Your hands fumbled over his belt, the tremble in your fingers making the pants button feel like an aptitude test. Your mouth returned to him, kissing down his cheeks and into the space under his jaw. Finally you could slip your hand down into his pants, and you hissed without thinking.

He was painfully hard, throbbing head pressed into his skin. Your own cock twitched under your robe at the feeling.

Did you do this? Had you gotten the King like this with just a question and a kiss? Tip nearly purple with pressure, you rested your forehead on his collarbone and watched his stomach jump as you wrapped your fingers around it.

Alastor fought back a laugh, tongue nearly cut clean off with the attempt. This was better than he had expected. And he had just the idea to push it over the top.

When your head dipped to swipe your tongue over Lucifer’s cock, you both startled at the sudden sound of music. First you looked to the radio, then to Alastor.

One hand was loosening his bow tie, the other unbuckling his pants. 

“Don’t stop on my accord,” he bit his bottom lip, watching your attention return to Lucifer’s lap. 

Lucifer raised a finger in protest, “I wasn’t aware this was a group activity.”

“The more the merrier.” Alastor whipped his belt off and tossed it to the floor, other hand pulling his member free.

“Three’s a crowd.” 

“Two heads are better than one.” When Alastor lifted your robe away and sunk himself into you, hole soft and ready for him already, you moaned into the blonde hair at the base of Lucifer’s cock.

Your breath over his shaft and now down his balls made his hips buck against you. Your hands gripped at Lucifer’s thighs, trying to get steady enough to return your mouth to his waiting heat. You could smell his arousal, your head dizzy with so many of your senses being assaulted by both men. 

“You okay, kitten?” A concerned hand came to your cheek. 

Your watery, lust clouded eyes met his, “It feels so good, Luci.” His dick jerked. When you finally managed to get him in your mouth his head fell back, legs under him twitching with the need to move along to the bobbing of your head. Lucifer was wider than Alastor, the corners of your mouth burning as you tried to take in as much of him as possible. 

Alastor’s hand raked long nails down your back, a whine ran from your throat and down Lucifer’s shaft.  He moaned in turn, trying to not connect the dots between himself and Alastor.

“I think you may need a little demonstration, from someone more–, “ Alastor leaned down, his face now inches from Lucifer’s. His hand wrapped around your neck, “experienced.” He pulled you up by your throat.

Lucifer watched, your knees no longer touching the bed as Alastor fucked up into you. One hand gripping your throat, one arm holding your body against his. Your face began to redden, and your thighs noticeably clenching as best they could, legs open and feet on either side of Alastor’s body. Your cock hard and bouncing with every thrust. Lucifer winced, you looked pained, he wanted—

“Aa--Alastor,” Your voice was like honey, thick and sweet around Alastor’s name. Lucifer’s face fell flat, how could he have that? What did he need to do to have you say his name in such a debauched way? Why did that gangly sack of bones get all of the fun?

“See? He can handle more than you’d expect.” Alastor grinned, planting a kiss on your neck. You could see Lucifer watching through your wet eyelashes, his cock twitching repeatedly as his hand finally came down to touch himself. 

With the hand not holding onto Alastor’s wrist at your throat, you reached out for Lucifer. “Luci.” 

Alastor let you fall forward. Keeping your hips in the air and knees dangling just above the comforter, he continued his rough pace into your tight heat. Pulling your body on and off of his length with harsh drags he watched you lick from the base to the top of Lucifer’s member. Each thrust from him knocking your chin against it. 

When you popped the head back into your mouth and moaned around it from Alastor’s continued fucking, Lucifer gripped your hair with both hands. Alastor’s own erection jumped in you, the king of hell himself buckling from his dearest’s mouth. He could break him entirely by just pulling you off of Lucifer’s cock and refusing to return you. He was positive Lucifer would cry into his ruined orgasm if he did such a thing.

Tempting.

But, he promised to play along, for you. And he would, at his own terms. 

He pushed aside the thought entirely, instead returning to the task in front of him. Your tongue was pinned down when Lucifer was in your mouth, cock too fat to allow any room for movement. You abandoned trying to suck him off, and changed tactics to lick and kiss the sensitive flesh in your hands. 

Lucifer’s mind was—- he wasn't sure where exactly. His consciousness splintered around you. The feeling of you; your tongue was swirling around him, the first contact he’s had other than himself in literal years. The sound of you; your soft moans and huffs were both audible and physical, the hot breath ghosting over him. The sight of you; head in his lap as he leaned back, your ass in the air and making a satisfying slapping noise every time– 

Alastor. His eyes met Lucifer’s and a wicked grin took hold of his features. Lucifer could practically hear Alastor whisper across your body, ‘Watch this.’ Maybe Alastor had thought it, but he kept it to himself. 

Your hands began pumping Lucifer’s length while your body was slightly dragged away as Alastor backed up and let your knees find some solid ground again. 

Lucifer sat on his legs still, eyes flitting from between your face to the place you and Alastor connected. He could see Alastor disappearing inside you, and every intrusion had you gasping and mewling into the blankets. Your hand was still gently stroking him with outstretched arms, eyes clenched close.

Alastor smirked up at Lucifer, coming down over your back to reach around your body and find your dick, now pulsing under his hand. Immediately, you reacted. Legs squeezing together, hands stilling around your king’s cock. With a bite and lick to your shoulder blade, the radio demon set a bruising pace against you. That warmth in your core was spreading down as you felt him press against your g-spot with every kiss of his hips. 

You choked out his name, a chant Lucifer had never wanted to hear before now. How could you make Alastor’s name sound so delicious? He wrapped his fingers around yours on his dick and began moving with you. Your eyes rolled up to him, a weak smile forming before your orgasm made your face tighten. Alastor knew your body so well, bringing you to orgasm was like playing a well practiced song on the piano. Both required strong and fast fingers and a sense of rhythm. His hands working your shaft, fingers ghosting over your balls and head with every stroke up and down. 

With a few more deeper, shorter moves Alastor stilled, too. Your knees slid down as your hips sank into the bed, your own release sticky and already cooling under you.

Lucifer let your hand go limp, swallowing hard. He wasn’t ignorant to the way Alastor smiled at him as he reclined into the headboard, tucking himself back into his pants. 

“I have complete faith in you, for once.” Alastor teased Lucifer, hand motioning to your still limp body. His smile seemed to dare Lucifer, challenge him, to keep going even with Alastor’s release sitting pretty in you. 

Luci took a deep breath, steadying himself mentally, before pushing the hair from your forehead, “Hey there, kitten. What do ya need?”

With an uncharacteristic hunger in your eyes, you forced your line of sight up to him, “You, Luci.” Visibly shuddering, you sat up and brought your legs towards him, your knees touching each other in an odd display of shyness. Your hand felt at your entrance, Alastor’s seed just beginning to find its way from your relaxed and stretched hole. 

“Is it okay?” You asked, spreading the thick fluid between your fingers in front of Luci. 

Something between a grimace and a pout came over him, it wasn’t his ideal situation but the idea of — just how much he’d slip and slide in and out of your with the added lubrication made him feel feral. He wasn’t stupid, he knew Alastor hoped to ruin you and sour his experience. He decided to not allow it. 

With a kiss to his nose, you wrapped your arms around his neck and lied back. You weren’t sure you were breathing anymore when you felt his scorching head slot up with your entrance. He rubbed the leaking fluid over himself and you with swipes up and down your ass, teasing your entrance with every pass. The difference between his heat and the cooled cum made him shiver in turn. 

As he began to press into you, your body instinctively scooted away. It took both of your hands hooked under his arms to stay still enough for him to make any real headway. 

Luci stopped, your face clearly pained. Your head shook in response, “Please, you just have to keep going. I’ll adjust.” While both of his heads swelled with pride – Alastor’s cock clearly smaller – Luci didn’t notice the wild eyes of the radio demon. 

Alastor brought a hand to his face, red eyes peering between his spread fingers, smile threatening to break at the seams as he watched Lucifer Morningstar fucking his cum into his darling dear. 

 What a pitiful sight. How humiliating.

What would Charlie think of her big bad daddy? What would the other sins say? If they could see their king now, slick and shiny?

Your nails cut into his skin, and you were worried you were tearing slightly. Instead of attempting to thrust his way in, he chose to just continually press. The way your body seemed to be splitting made you second guess your decisions. But when his head finally popped in, your bullied boy cunt got some reprieve. He stopped, taking deep breaths. 

Tears were collecting on your waterline, Luci noticed and leaned on an elbow to wipe them away. His blonde hair was falling forward now, tickling at your forehead. 

You nodded, answering a question he didn’t ask, and he continued to force your walls open to accommodate him. The only sound in the room was the soft instrumental jazz number playing from atop the dresser. Your voice was stuck in your throat, Luci was focusing too hard to form words. Alastor could speak, but the music was just too enjoyable to interrupt. 

Finally, after what could have been two minutes or twenty, you felt Luci bottom out. You had to just lie there for a second, never having felt something so solid in your otherwise soft body. No slight to Alastor, who was perfectly skilled in his abilities. Luci was just—- more than you had expected. 

As he pulled out, you thanked the heavens and hell and the rings within that Alastor had left you so wet and already softened. The first few thrusts were genuinely uncomfortable, the pleasure you felt almost entirely mental, drawn from the reality of who was pulling your insides back and forth. You were so tight around him that he too was almost pained; so much pressure but no way to move enough to get any release.

Slowly, the ring of your entrance relented and Luci could finally move at a normal pace. He would take himself out to his head before slipping back in. Every thrust made your body spread around him, a semi-truck through a field of sunflowers. Your body didn’t stand a chance, and you were grateful he chose gentleness for his entrance.

He leaned back on both hands, using the position to fucked up into you at an angle. He knew very well where to hit to begin gathering your pleasure.

Alastor dropped his head, yours between his legs. His hair made a short curtain, hiding the look he was giving you from Luci. He adores the faces you make when you are happy. Excited. Pleasured. You tried to offer him a smile, but you couldn’t manage it for long. Your eyes would roll back, lips tighten as you focused on the feeling Luci was providing. Focused on the sensations, of being so full, so sticky wet, so wanted. But Alastor was still watching, the sight of Luci blocked from his view as he enjoyed every little twitch of your mouth, every whimper. 

It wasn’t jealousy, it was something more personal that stung Luci. While he couldn’t actually discern the looks you two gave each other, Luci felt very much the odd man out. But, he considered his position. Literally. He was leaning as far from your body as he could. He remembered the way you said Alastor’s name. Alastor had showed him exactly what to do, albeit in his usual obnoxious, showy fashion.

Sitting up, Luci adjusted your legs and slotted himself between them. Alastor leaned back, relinquishing your focus. Both of you looked at Luci though as one of his hands came to enclose your throat.

Alastor was almost impressed. Almost. You brought both hands to wrap around his wrist, glancing to Alastor behind you.

The words came out of Alastor as half warning, half instruction, “If he needs you to stop, he’ll tap two fingers twice on you, wherever he can reach.” Lucifer nodded, eyes not meeting Alastor’s. He kept them on your face, watching for any sign of distress as he tightened his grip. The way your muscles clenched around him earned you a hiss.

He began to move again, the new position causing his stomach to rut against your returning erection as he buried himself in you. More clenching; He tightened his grip more. 

“Are you sure he isn’t hurting?” Luci asked, your eyes closed and nails digging into his wrists.

“Nonsense. Can’t you feel him? Or does he just grip me like that?” The cocky expression made Luci unconsciously clench his fist on your neck. A gentle tap tap snapped him back to you. He loosened up again, his eyes large and apologetic.

You unconsciously tightened your own grip on his dick, grinding up into him for more friction. Your body had finally relaxed, pleasure freely flowing from where you and Luci tangled together. You closed your eyes, the pressure constant on the veins to your head. Blood flow restricted just enough to lower your oxygen levels and raise the nitrogen oxide in your body. It resulted in a dizzying feeling, maybe there was a primal panic that caused your body to feel heightened pleasure. You didn’t feel scared, or in danger. You felt —— ah there it was. You felt weak. You felt docile. You felt like you existed purely to give pleasure and the idea turned you on. In every day life you’d never allow someone to use you, to push you around. You were anything but subservient. That’s why it was so enthralling now. It was so strange a sensation. And to give yourself so fully to the king of hell, the originator of all sin? You groaned, head rolling back. 

Luci watched your head loll, drank in your groans and gasps and felt himself get dizzy too. More. Say his name like you did Alastor’s. Praise how well he fucked you. Reward him. Love him.

He pulled out suddenly, his head leaving you for the first time since it managed to fit in initially. Luci put both hands on your hips and directed you to roll onto your stomach. He pulled your ass up, knees bent. You crawled up enough to rest your forehead on the crook of Alastor’s leg, one lazily outstretched and the other bent under him slightly. Luci wasted no time pushing back in. He leaned over you and pressed his hand into your back, forcing your chest to be slightly crushed into the bed. He pulled out and slammed back into you, tearing a yelp from you as he hit deeper than he had before, stomach lurching into your chest with the impact.

He stopped, unsure, until he felt your hand reach under yourself and rest at the junction of his knee and calf. His other hand came to your right hip, and he used it to keep you from sliding up the bed. Letting his eyes close again, he focused on the feeling of you around him. His crotch and thighs were covered in oil and cum, his balls tight against him. Every drag out of you made his body jerk back into you with need. It felt so good, too good. He needed more. He pressed hard into you, oversized tip of his cock opening parts of you never before reached. He made shorter thrusts now, ensuring he bottomed out every time. It was too deep, too much of a stretch. Your moans slowly devolved into screams, the pleasure mixed with a soft burning. 

You could feel him spreading open your body, soft walls helpless to resist his raging member. The feeling of your silky boy cunt sliding along his cock, your tight hole gripping him, was driving him mad.

You were screaming. Actual, pleasured screams, threatening to alert the entire hotel to your activities. Wails that started shrill and dipped into a gutteral cry filled the room with every thrust of Lucifer’s frenzied hips.

A tiny part of your brain felt embarrassed, a dying animal shrieking into Alastor’s thigh.

An ever shrinking part of Lucifer existed too, the piece of him too preoccupied with your two fingers on his leg to enjoy you. It got smaller and smaller, no longer a blockade to his pleasure, but a safety net allowing him to walk the tightrope of sadism.

The radio’s volume dial rolled, smooth jazz now blaring and drowning out your painfully pleasured cries. Alastor was fine with allowing someone to take care of your needs at his permission but strangers had no business enjoying your sounds.

As Luci became lost in the sensation of your body trying to suck him in whole, his hand on your back began to press down. Your breaths got shorter, it got harder to expand your lungs fully.

Face turned and drooling onto the fabric of Alastor’s pants, you started gasping out his name, “Luci! Nngh Luciiii, Lucifer.”

Your lips dropped his name and it fell like lead into his thoughts. He fought the urge to close his eyes again as he felt his orgasm building. He watched your flushed skin jump beneath every punishing thrust, his name a spell you could now barely whisper, not enough breathe to scream. Your upper body was entirely buried into the mattress. It felt like your back might snap with Luci’s loss of control. You kept your hand on his leg, ever ready to tap out.

The yellow of his eyes turned red, just like the skin of your ass where his hip bones chaffed. “You take me so well, kitten.” He ground out, “Daddy’s gonna cum.”

Alastor’s eyes glowed a blood red from the end of the bed, a wickedly devious grin across his face at the opportunity before him, he looked up at Luci and said with a commanding tone, “Cum.”

Luci was already over that peak when his eyes flew up to catch Alastor’s, it was too late to stop his orgasm. He was helpless to disobey, despite his now desperate desire to never cum again. With a moan, and a hiss, he pressed your body fully into the mattress. Your body now flush, he waited until his cock stopped jerking his long overdue seed into your bruised ass.

Luci lied on top of you even after you were full to the brim with his cum. It was already forcing its way out around his softening cock when he managed to roll off of you and onto his back.

Staring at the canopy of the bed, he felt two emotions rise to the surface. First, concern. He turned to you, and you gave a weak thumbs up.

Second, rage.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you? Fuck you.” He looked to Alastor, who was grinning as he pet your head, whispering something to you. 

“Little late for dirty talk, your highness.”

Lucifer growled, but Alastor’s palm pressed against his forehead and pushed him back down to the bed.

“I sleep on the left. I’d prefer you on the right.” he gently moved your head from his lap, “Beside me, my dear. A darling barrier.” Alastor didn’t look at Lucifer, just slid off the bed and walked into the en-suite bathroom. “No outside clothes under the comforter.” Alastor called from the bathroom before the sound of rushing water poured in.

You rolled onto your back, still catching your breath. Body sprawled out on the massive bed like a starfish.

Lucifer turned onto his side, hand caressing your arm. “Are you okay, kitten? I didn’t mean to lose myself like that.” He felt shame, like he had done something terrible. “And— I didn’t help you finish. That’s pretty shitty.”

But it fell away when you smiled back at him, “I feel great. Sore, but great all the same.” You let your fingers clumsily lace with his. “I really like you, Luci. And I don’t need to cum to enjoy myself. You can always try again, ya know?”

Lucifer felt his face grow warm, but couldn’t press you to clarify what exactly that meant before Alastor scooped you up and carried you to the bath.

There was a moment where he was alone, noticing the radio was back to a tolerable volume, the water splashing softly out of view. He felt out of place, like he had accidentally walked into a stranger’s home. He wasn’t sure what to do next, where to go from there when Alastor’s head popped back into the room, annoyed, “Are you coming or not? Those are clean sheets.”

༻Masterlist༺

#lucifer x male reader #alastor x male reader #radioapple x male reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor smut #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader smut #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #alastor x lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer smut #lucifer morningstar

[wellofdean]

Here's what sticks in my craw: why ON EARTH does fanon imagine that Cas has 'self-esteem issues' and experiences his love for Dean as a wet, miserable kind of yearning? What is it about any part of anything that happens on Supernatural makes anyone think that Cas, a cosmic, Eldritch being, a warrior of god, who literally hung the stars and has existed for a bazillion years, is reduced to teenage angst by Dean's pussy?

Like, when Cas says "the one thing I want I know I can't have" why do y'all think it's a piece of Dean's ass? Why does ANYONE think Cas doesn't know Dean loves him? Dean has shown Cas he loves him with literally everything he has again and again and again. Even the way Dean feels like Cas can absorb his anger is Dean showing Cas love and trust. Cas and Dean have chosen each other, forgiven each other, and been the only reliable thing in each others' lives over, and over and over again. Cas fucking knows that Dean loves him. Cas can literally hear Dean's thoughts, and feel his yearning. Cas was only saying the quiet part out loud when he said he loved Dean, because it was already obvious! If there was anyone feeling wet and lovesick, it would be DEAN, if he ever had a break in the battle to fucking feel things, which he did not.

Like, hear me out: what if the one thing Cas knows he can't have is the one thing he knows he signed over to the empty? His happiness, and by extension, Dean's, because he knows Dean loves him? What if Cas is saying: I know I can't have this thing I want for myself: to be the one to MAKE YOU HAPPY, but I can save you, and maybe Cas's belief in Dean is such that he still hopes and believes Dean will find a way to make himself happy if he lives.

After Cas's death, Dean is trying to live for him. Trying to be what Cas believed he was. It's what CANONICALLY gives Dean the strength to defeat Chuck by not killing him! And, after Dean's death, he CANONICALLY goes in search of happy endings. Like... THAT IS EXPLICITLY STATED.

I AM HAVING AN ALL CAPS MOMENT, SO SUE ME.

Guys, Cas is not a wet, yearning baby who needs Dean to say or do ANYTHING to validate his love. HE KNOWS. He is a being of unimaginable age and power. He is not beleaguered by self-esteem issues, or the need to tongue-wrestle Dean. Like, he might WANT TO, but he CANONICALLY does not need to in order to experience a happiness so complete that it puts paid to his deal. His happiness is THAT NOW DEAN ALSO KNOWS, and he can tell Dean why, and show him who he is in the mirror of that love.

Also, he is not dead, he is just on another plane of existence, and neither is Dean. Cas is a profoundly unselfish badass. He is not fucking PINING. He made a play, the best one he had. He is a strategist, and he knows Dean BY HEART.

#spn #spnwin #castiel #angel of the lord #destiel #dean winchester #cas is not a wet yearning baby in a trenchcoat #he is a warrior and a strategist #and he already knows dean's heart #what if love was a strength #not a weakness? #isn't that THE WHOLE POINT?

[leqonsluv3r]

bf!leon kennedy

—ID!leon kennedy x soft!croquette reader, a headcanon list

masterlist taglist

an: i cannot be controlled anymore. i promised i’d make it a series and im delivering slowly but surely. have faith in me lol, im doing my best to get requests out. i have them closed currently just so i can catch up and write them all in a timely manner. enjoy ID!bf leon kennedy in the mean time.

bf!leon kennedy who is getting too old for the soft cream sheets on your bed, he wants to just rip them off and demand something more mature. but he knows you wouldn’t like that. you practically yell at him anytime he tosses one of your stuffed animals too hard off the bed.

bf!leon kennedy who takes you out to dinner, makes sure your happy. he knows he’s not around as much as he should be so he takes the time when he can to treat you special. your his girl, he needs to.

bf!leon kennedy who makes sure your sleeping constantly when your next to him, even when he wakes up from nightmares. your scent of jasmine and laundry detergent makes him at ease, proves that everything is real and he’s really here with you.

bf!leon kennedy who lets you pack him notes in his lunch when he heads to the agency everyday. your cursive hand writing is sloppy but adorable, always writing for him to have a good day and that you love him. he’s just happy he has you to remind him when things get hard.

bf!leon kennedy who lets you press kisses all over him and hug him to death whenever he comes home unscathed from a mission or just a regular day at the agency. he loves when you show your love for him, always making him feel special and good. like all the things he had endured at this point have been worth it.

bf!leon kennedy who takes you shopping on his days off, not happy he has to stand around and hold your bags. but when you try your cute little skirts and dresses on, it makes it a tiny bit worth it. you would look pretty in a paper bag and he would still look at you all the same.

bf!leon kennedy who has your morning and nighttime skincare routine down, he watches you do it every morning and every night, never knowing that so many pieces came with you looking so pretty and gorgeous for him. but anything to make you happy, even if you don’t need all that to be beautiful in his eyes.

bf!leon kennedy who watches you organize your books on your bookshelf, clean up your shared space of your guys shared bedroom. all your little knickknacks and jewelry and frilly clothes. he doesn’t know how you do it, or why you like such a mundane looking room, but if it pleases you, it’s fine with him.

bf!leon kennedy who lets you crawl on-top of him in the early hours of the morning before he goes to work and press kisses everywhere. your lips pressing across his jaw, his cheeks, his neck and his lips. any place your pretty little self can reach, he’s letting you do it. you waking him up like this is another reason why his heart is so enamored with you in the first place.

bf!leon kennedy who helps you when you need to wash all your stuffed animals and sheets, helping you with chores. he likes being domestic with you, it makes him feel like he’s normal, like this is a normal life. like this matters, like his life has purpose with you.

bf!leon kennedy who drives you to the park or to the plant nursery so you can be around nature. he loves how you admire each plant anytime your out like this, the way you care for such things. it makes him happy to see you enjoying such a small part of life, gives him hope.

bf!leon kennedy who celebrates your guys three year anniversary, buying you anything and everything you want. taking you out all day. he cooks for you and makes your favorite dish, he buys you pink roses. he lets you dress in your dress and be all pretty for him.

bf!leon kennedy who eats with you, talking with you like he normally did everyday. but this time it’s different and leon is going to prove just how much he loves you. he slides a box out and watches your face change. you open the box and feel your eyes water when you see a diamond engagement ring.

bf!leon kennedy who watches as you nod rapidly, pretty tears and say yes over and over again. he slips it on your finger and smiles softly at you, watching as you practically hop over the table and hug and kiss him like your life depends on it. you smother him and kisses, tangling your sweet mouth with his.

bf!leon kennedy, who is very proud to not call himself your boyfriend anymore. but your fiancé and he’s proud of that title. of making you so happy and obligating to do that every single day for the rest of his life. he wants you everyday, every night and everywhere in between. he’s found his safe haven in this world, and it’s you. it always will be.

an: thank you for reading, reposting and likes are greatly appreciated. i’m trying to keep my posting schedule up and should have requests open when i’m finished with all the ones in my drafts. thank you guys for being patient with me. i love you all, kisses. xx

#leon kennedy #leon x reader #re2 leon #re4 remake #leon kennedy au #leon kennedy x you #re2 remake #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy re2 #id leon kennedy #re4 leon #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy headcanons #croquette #croquette reader

[punkitt-is-here]

Frequently Asked Questions!

Heyo! I get a TON of asks each day, so I'm making this post so that folks know what's already been asked so my followers don't have to see the same stuff over and over, haha.

Hi! I'm Punkitt! I'm a game developer, artist, editor, director, and a bunch of other stuff! I'm working on an RPG called Astral Guard, a platformer called Susan Taxpayer, and I have a couple more fun projects in my pocket like Happup and Super Mario Death Row.

Why do you have so many hats? Do you know you have that many hats?

ye i like hats. :) free tumblr badges for one pea i like one piece and took as many as i could. free.

Where can I find your art/game development/horsecomix?

Great question! Everything I make that's my own and not a reblog is under "my posts", every bit of art I do is under "my art", any game development I do is under "gamedev", you can find all my MLP art under "mlp, my art" or "horsecomix" for the best stuff. I also have an "animations" tag and a "shitposts" tab. I also properly tag all my asks to be asks and write out the asker's name, so if you don't wanna see those just mute the ask tag.

Do you have a Patreon or a Ko-Fi?

I do have a ko-fi here! I also JUST launched a Patreon, which you can find here :)

What do you use for your art?

I use FireAlpaca and Paint.net for misc. effects!

What are you using to make your games?

I use FireAlpaca do make my assets! Astral Guard, Happup, and any other top-down RPG games I make are all made in RPGMaker 2003. Susan Taxpayer is made in SMBX2 Beta 4, a Mario fangame engine with lua support!

Why are you using a 2-decade-plus engine to make games?

It's fun!

Do you have a sideblog or something for your art?

Not right now! What you see is what you get. I do have a sideblog for Astral Guard though, if you want to follow that game specifically! @astral-guard

Can I make an OC based on your work? ABSOLUTELY!!!!!!! THATS THE COOLEST THING EVER!!!! LET ME KNOW IF YOU DO!!!! I WANNA SEE!!!!

Can I do dubs/redraws of your comics? As long as you credit me! I get a ton of notifs each day, so if you wanna show me (and PLEASE i so do wanna see fun dubs and redraws!!!) tag me or DM me!

Can I use your art as a PFP? Sure! Just credit me somewhere. :D

Are you the one who trapped her coworkers in a room and made them listen to TF2 lore?

Yep! Everyone had a blast actually. :]

Did you make that comic where Fluttershy eats the weed brownie/Rainbow Dash has a male living space/someone has a cutie mark that says they'll kill Ronald Reagan?

Yep! That's me.

Where are you in MLP right now?

Currently just finished Season 7! Haven't watched the movie yet.

Have you watched Equestria Girls?

Yep! Thought it was super cute. I watched up to Rainbow Rocks and plan on watching more.

What's your opinion on MLP so far?

I love it! I think it's cute. I really don't agree that there was some sort of huge quality drop after season 2 or whatever.

What do you think of G5?

Not my style! I don't really like either animation types and it just seems like I'm not in the audience anymore. That's totally chill, but it just doesn't grab me!

Have you watched any other MLP stuff from previous generations?

Nope! But I did see a compilation called Minty Being Autistic for Six Minutes Straight that I loved. she's perfect.

Favorite pony?

Don't got one, I love all the Mane Six a LOT, but I'm particularly fond of Fluttershy, Applejack, and Rarity!

Favorite episode/season?

I'm so bad at picking favorites! But any season past Season 1 I have a blast with because I feel like it's just more my style. I don't have a favorite episode, but the most recent one I can remember LOVING is the one where Starlight bottles up her emotions because it was REALLY funny.

Do you like Pony.mov?

Nope! And stop saying my stuff reminds you of it, it's a lil annoying!

Have you watched the Mentally Advanced Series/Friendship is Witchcraft/Other fandom vids?

Probably not! My interaction with the MLP fandom prior to last year was pretty minimal, so I'm making my way through the show first!

What do you think of Fallout: Equestria?

I think it's super weird but really fun because of that. I've never properly read any of it but it's very fascinating to me.

Are you transgender?

Yep! I go by she/her, I'm a trans woman. Have been for many years, but I only recently came out online!

Are you a lesbian?

Nah, I'm bisexual!

Can I commission you?

Yeah! I only have my commissions available on my Ko-Fi at certain times though, so keep an eye out! I usually announce slots being open at least 12 hours beforehand. Slots are usually first come first serve, but we'll see.

Can I use your art as a Discord emote?

Yeah man i'm not scouring every discord on the planet to find stickers of my work. i think it owns if people take my stuff and make it stupid injoke emotes between friends that makes me very happy.

Can I send you an ask inquiring about gender dysphoria?

I feel like this is beyond my capabilities of advice! I'm actually very comfortable with my body and I have been for many years, so I don't know if I can give any good or helpful advice on that front. Apologies, but there are many resources out there where you can ask about those things if you look for them, like Discord channels!

Favorite Color?

I'm a sucker for blue!

Favorite coffee?

Can't drink coffee, my stomach is cringe.

Favorite tea?

I'm lame and can't drink most tea but I love this one orange-flavored tea a lot. I also LOVE ice tea.

Can I say you're horsegender/punkittgender/a little gender goblin void thing?

Well, I can't stop you, but I'm kind of beyond that phase now! I really am a boring ol' plain she/her girl, and I like it that way. It's not much, but it's honest gender.

What's your favorite game series?

Mother, Kingdom Hearts, Mario, and I USED to say Fallout, but I found out I'm really only a big Fallout New Vegas fan.

Favorite game from those?

Mother 3 is one of my fave games of all time! I love KHII, and I'm tied for SMB3 and SMW. Also Fallout New Vegas fucks hard.

Any other favs?

Bug Fables, SLARPG, and TF2!

Favorite Movie?

Everything Everywhere All At Once, no question.

Oh, are you going to college?

Yep! I'm a film/theater major.

Do you have a YouTube channel?

Yeah! Click right here for it, I stream there and upload footage of my games/animations/my film projects + other stuff.

What is that little orange creature I see?

That's bweenop, my little persona that I use when I'm feeling a little scrunkly.

Do you have a ponysona?

Yep! Her name is Star Magnolia, you can search her on the blog to see art of her.

When will Susan Taxpayer/Astral Guard/etc. be out?

No clue! I take things slow, that's just how I am.

How do you work on so many things at once?

I make small, satisfying amounts of progress! I never try to complete one giant thing all at once, I just like doing small bursts of fun stuff. I got ADHD, so I learn to work with it.

Did you know you look like Weird Al?

Im going to run you over with a clown car watch out

WHY do you work on so many things at once?

Fun! I like learning, I like making cool stuff, and I like showing it to people :)

Do you need any help with your projects?

Potentially! I'll probably put out a post asking for help if I need it.

If you could be a horse, would you?

You kidding me? Several ton beasts with the frailty of a sickly Victorian boy; my clumsy ass would never survive.

Are you some sort of...furry?

yeag

Why do you reblog so much?

Brother I LOVE posting. that's just how it is.

Fav music artists?

It changes literally ALL the time but I will recommend ANYTHING by Vylet Pony, its music is incredible and probably the reason I'm a weird niche microcelebrity now.

Why are you like this?

theater kid + having a lot of fun on the internet makes you a bit silly hehe hoo

SUSAN TAXPAYER QUESTIONS

Is it out? Not yet! But hopefully sometime in the next year. I dunno! I take things at my own pace and keep stuff fun. :)

What are you using to make it? SMBX2! It's a free fangame engine for Mario episodes, but it's incredibly versatile and has a wonderful community, so I decided to make Susan Taxpayer in it.

Is there a demo? You betcha! You can find it right here. I'll also probably put it up on my itch.io.

How do I install it? I made a post here about how to run the SAGE '23 demo!

#FAQ #my posts #punkitt FAQ #announcement

[theabyssal]

Yes, Death is still alive and kicking, and I am as well! 💀

I know this is rather unexpected, especially after the lack of any updates this last year, but I'm back and I owe you all an apology.

Life kicked me in the butt while mocking me that I should still be grateful to live another day. Shit happened and I'm not proud of how I acted. I took a step back from the Abyssal to heal, but I neglected my lovely readers while doing so. I'm not one to openly mope, but I received a lot of concerned asks and I thank every single one of you for still caring about my sorry behind 😊

Now, let's focus on the good part of this whole mess. I've got some news!!

Firstly, The Abyssal went through a considerable rewrite, nothing major but a few passages were added and other pieces were slightly changed. You guys will notice the difference, I hope.

Subscribe to my Patreon if you are interested in the early access, down below are all the release dates and their respective tiers:

Patreon Tier 5 early access: november 1

Patreon Tier 4 early access: november 4

Patreon Tier 3 early access: november 8

Patreon Tier 2 early access: november 12

Patreon Tier 1 early access: november 16

Public release: november 18

PATREON DEMO

Down below you will find some of the changes I made:

Sol is now gender selectable! Now only Wulfric is gender-locked, while the rest of the ROs are all gender-selectable;

Friend!crush Sol (friends to lovers) and Enemy!crush Sol (enemies to lovers). Romancing choices are marked with a 🖤;

Rescue—adopt?—a little kid;

Two interludes were added.

Choose to wear a mask or a veil, and pick between many designs of masks for your Death to wear;

Second part of Chapter 2 is focused on world-building, lore, and Éoin's life as a mortician.

Secondly, a list of small things that I added:

Around 15k words were added to chapter one and 12k to chapter two. The demo now has a total of 100k words;

Now the choices that will unlock the madness and fury domain are labeled.

Added time and location to each memory jump to better situate the reader.

Make sure to check the show stats option! I'll be adding details about the characters and the world of Hylaria there with every update.

Much more.

All in all this is it for this month. Any further changes I'll be sure to tell you guys!!

#patreon demo #if update #demo update #the abyssal #if demo #if wip #if game #theabyssal #patreon

[huexuri]

⊹ advantage : dom!kai x fem!reader ⊹

NSFW, MDNI!!

warnings: bsf!kai, roommate!kai, fem!reader, dom!kai, cum denial, slight mention of nipple play, praise, degradation, fingering, size kink (bigger hands, smaller hands)

note: i just couldn't... im supposed to be on a writers block but this fancam of hyuka changed the trajectory of my life. + not proofread so sorry for any mistakes

incorrect key. off tune. forgot to press this key. no, off beat. wrong chord.

your blood's boiling at this point, sitting in your roommate's room and in front of his keyboard; death stare piercing through those dizzying piano keys as if the inanimate object betrayed you.

"when will i get this right? ugh, stupid fingers, stupid me!!!" you clench your fist and begin to collect yourself to play again.

your pinky stretches across the keyboard to play an octave, but your your fingers are trembling over the piano keys. after all the nonstop continuous playing and aggressive slamming of fingers on kai's piano, you can't tell if you feel bad for your fingers or the poor keyboard. you let out an agitated scoff as you're barely pressing on the keys — friction being the only thing keeping your fingers barely on the edge of each key.

for some reason, an octave on the keyboard is way too wide for your fingers to press both keys simultaneously, and to you, that's embarrassing as hell. you stare dreadfully at your short, stumpy fingers that clearly isn't made to play piano. you've always wished you were rachmaninoff or something.

you slam onto kai's keyboard in frustration as you sit in the deafening silence that follows.

until, a twist of his doorknob catches you off guard when you're met with your blue haired roommate, hueningkai, his concerned eyes peering right at the keyboard as the door slowly creaked open.

"um.... everything alright? what are you doing in my room, absolutely wrecking my piano?" kai lets out a nervous chuckle, then his gaze fixates back up at yours as you fume.

"you're home so fast?" you immediately turn off his piano and stand up, cheeks flushed red and the tip of your ears glowing the same red in embarrassment.

"don't be embarrassed or anything, just asking since you have your own keyboard..." kai closes the door behind him and throws his bag onto the floor.

"yours felt better to play, i thought... but maybe i'm just the problem." you sigh, defeated, dropping back onto the chair.

"what is it though?" kai bends to reach your height and turns on the keyboard.

"might sound embarrassing, but can't reach an octave." you show him by stretching your fingers across the keyboard, the pads of your fingers barely pressing the designated keys.

"what do you mean? you can!" his chin points to your fingers.

"well, barely." you scoff again, and you're probably bothering kai with your continuously negative attitude.

"pfft... why are your fingers so short? can't relate.." kai hysterically laughs and plays an octave with barely any effort, his fingers even able to cover 2 keys over an octave.

"flexing much.." you cross your arms and roll your eyes. "i'm so awfully jealous. can't do anything at this point, my hands are like, useless."

"i'm just better!" kai cockily shrugs as he goes on to play a piece full with scales and octaves like it's nothing.

"don't act like you're superior... you just have an advantage of having longer fingers." you look back up at him, sneering.

"wanna give me attitude? well i bet you can't even finger yourself and make it feel good. are your measly fingers shaking already?" kai laughs teasingly, and he's coming back at you with the humor of a 14 year old developing teen.

he's sounding really fucking cocky right now, but even that stupid comment had a tinge of degradation in it and damn... it was kinda hot. no, really hot.

"okay, you help then! yapping as if you can make me feel better, i doubt it." you snap back at him, trying to ignore the heat on your cheeks returning back once again.

"you doubt it? do i have to prove it to you?" kai responds, and you go quiet immediately.

"well?" you sweep imaginary dirt off of your pants as you hurry to walk out of that room. "think about it then." you nervously snap back as a last attempt to return the attitude.

in a blink of an eye, you're gone from the scene, leaving kai in his room, barely processing what just happened, upper teeth digging into his lower lip as your last few words ring in his head. "what do you mean think about it....?" he murmurs.

you probably forgot about that conversation as you woke up, because it didn't occur to you that in the midst of scrolling on tiktok, you'd receive a notification from kai, asking you to go over to his room when he could just come out and ask you. despite the suspicion of it all, you drag yourself from the sofa to his room. what could he possibly want from you at 2pm in the afternoon? you swear if he's going to tell you some stupid ass dad joke you'll actually eat him alive.

"whatcha want?" you enter his room, the coldness of his air conditioned room immediately slamming you in the face, feeling like you're suddenly in antarctica.

kai puts down his headphones and his gaze follows you the more you walk. you look at him, a mix of a concerned and disturbed expression.

"whaaattt?" you giggle.

"about... that thing you said yesterday..." kai hesitantly says as he stands up from his chair, and onto his bed. he taps a spot next to him, indicating for you to sit.

you put down your phone next to his headphones on the table and sit down, clearly confused. "yeah, what about it?"

"i thought about it for a bit after you left. i mean ... if you're being serious...?" kai tries approaching the topic, trying to sound the least like a pervert as possible.

"oh—um," you gulp, and he's on the verge of spitting out apologies for ever bringing it up.

"no, well, uh, i don't see a problem?" you start to rethink your life choices; are you really going to let your boy best friend of years to finger you? just to prove a stupid point in a childish argument?

"i do wanna prove to you, wanna... show you that i'm actually good." he hesitantly blurts out.

"you've never tried, have you?" you laughed at his confidence.

"might sound weird as hell, but i've been watching porn solely for the purpose of knowing how to finger someone. it was supposed to be a stupid joke between my homies, but i think i'm really not that bad. well, i never know until i try, and yesterday when you said that... um, i thought of it as the perfect opportunity. i really do want to make you feel good and prove you wrong." kai rambles, muttering in between his words like a shameful perv.

"calm down," you reassured him. "show me what you've learned."

with a grin, he positions himself to sit on the bed against a wall and invites you to sit in between his legs.

you don't hesitate to do so; sliding your loose dolphin shorts off of you and sitting against him in a way that your back presses against his chest and your legs rest comfortably spread onto his. your hips are tilted so that your clothed pussy is exposed to the cold air of his room.

looking up at him as you fondle with your clothed tits gently, you could see the want in his eyes and his hands would travel to hold your waist from behind and up, under your shirt to grasp at your braless breasts. his bigger hands cupping your breasts really do feel different and way more warm and arousing. his eyes roll back as he flicks his calloused fingers over your delicate buds.

"they're so nice..." kai pants, and you feel an obnoxious bulge grow hard against your plush ass.

"damn, i can feel you already." you subtly grind against him and his lips slightly part to take in a breath that was caught up in his throat once he felt you move against him.

"how do you expect me to not be hard?" kai giggles and his hands start traveling up towards your face to cup it. he lifts your head to twist slightly in his direction, and he kisses you. you can taste the minty gum he always has a habit of chewing every second of the day.

"you're seriously chewing gum at this moment? typical kai .." you scoff and peck at his lips before grabbing his hand towards your core.

his hands move by themselves to start rubbing you over the thin cloth, and you've already soaked his fingers with your slick.

"complaining that i'm hard already but you're already this soaked? i haven't done anything yet..." he rubs you harder, and you squirm beneath him. you can feel his grin against your head.

"w-wasn't complaining, mm.." your back arches away from his chest and your nipples perk up so visibly over that baggy shirt. the sight alone makes him so worked up, he's always had a thing for your plush tits, ass, tummy, everything.

he pushes your panties aside to expose you raw to the cold air and you jolt slightly at that.

"my god, you're drenched. so fucking soaked, more than i thought you were." kai coos as he spreads your slick all over your pussy, applying the perfect amount of pressure on your clit for you to be throwing your head back onto his shoulder as your jaw drops slightly agape.

"don't talk like that, gonna make me wetter." you mutter out, so soft and needy it's almost impossible not to miss. but kai catches it, and he only chuckles under his breath, vibrations traveling through the top of your head, resonating throughout you.

kai plays around with the slick on your pussy, enjoying the moist sounds that it creates as he swirls it and taps it against your folds, almost forgetting that you're almost on the verge of cumming at this point from how he's just flicking around.

"gonna cum, please, let me cum. i've been throbbing since you touched my tits, p-please?" you beg. but kai shows no mercy, and immediately without warning—

"fuck!" you yelp, his middle finger now entirely up you as kai chuckles, unnerved. his single finger feels like two of yours.

"hold it for a bit, can you?" kai lowers his gaze at yours when you look up at him, teary-eyed.

you clutch at his thighs in response.

he slowly thrusts his finger in and out of you. "you're so worked up over my single finger, what if i insert another?"

"no, a-am not,," you deny.

"oh?" kai sneaks another finger up you, filling you completely. "you're so fucking tight, it's cute. so wet and you still manage to be so tight." he whispers, and you whine under him.

you were never ready for when he would thrust in and out of you at an increasing pace, and god knows what you were going to do when he curls both his fingers deep inside you. but oh, he does.

he kisses you on the crown of your head, curling his fingers to prod at the spongy spot inside of you, pulling a cry from your lips as lewd sounds begin to fill the air; loud and wet. his lips capture yours in a kiss as you grasp his other hand, guiding his fingers back where you want them — under your shirt.

"fuck, oh my god,, k-kai.. you..." you murmur uncontrollably as you grip on his thigh with strength you never knew you had.

"oh yeah? am i not better? then why are you squirming against me and moaning my name so loudly? why are your nails digging into my thighs? clenching around me like you don't want me to let go," he teases, his chin resting on the crown of your head, looking down at you with a grin. "huh? huh? fuck, doesn't it feel better? say it!" the pad of his fingers grasp on your breasts as he finger fucks you with speed that feel like the speed of light. you're so dazed in the head you feel high and you don't even know if you're saying the correct words.

"mmfff—fuck, better, better, hnggg~!" your eyebrows furrow as your hips jitter uncontrollably, clit so swollen it's dizzying. you feel intoxicated and your brain is barely processing your surroundings anymore, but as you reach your high, you can't even address that you're going to cum, the only indicator is of your moans becoming louder and breaking more and more.

"what's better? say it properly, hm?" kai continues to tease as his fingers curl up into your gummy walls at indescribable speeds, fingers so skilled you feel like you just passed out.

"you're, aaah—hhngg~ c-can't, say anything,, fuck, fuck—!" you're not even aware of what's rolling off of your tongue anymore. maybe barely, but all your consciousness is probably clouded somewhere above your head. eyes rolling so far back your skull that you start to see stars.

then, it fades white — and you can feel yourself release all over kai's poor fingers and poor bedsheets that will probably smell obnoxiously like you afterwards.

it feels as if your heart is pumping 200 beats per minute and as you come back to your senses, you can feel kai pampering you with kisses all over your head and his signature comforting tummy rubs as he pulls back your panties in its place. the deafening white noise inside your head starts to tone down and it fades to kai, showering you in praises and reassuring words, telling you you did such a good job and so on.

“what a pretty girl… such a good girl for me, handling all this so perfectly.” kai returns to his usual comforting and soft tone.

“i'll finally admit.. you made me feel better than any time i've ever played with myself.” you sigh in defeat, and kai smiles.

“though, that boner beneath me never went away huh?” you turn back, and kai's grin changes almost instantly into a needy one.

“well, if that's the case, i think i deserve your help.” kai states.

“i think so too.” you giggle as you get up from your position to face his achingly hard boner.

the rest of the day was like no other, and at the end of the day… both of you are confident that kai is significantly better at playing the piano than you are. and better at fingering you, obviously.

#xuri writes #hueningkai smut #hueningkai hard thoughts #hueningkai hard hours #hueningkai x y/n #hueningkai x reader #hueningkai scenarios #txt smau #txt smut #txt fic #txt hard thoughts #txt hard hours #txt x reader

[bby-deerling]

Hi!!! Can I request Sanji and Kidd (separate) with a S/O who shows love by making things? For ex. She’d make bracelets or drawings as nothing that comes to mind honestly. If something makes her think of them she would whip it up in no time, she’s always had a knack for crafts! anyways your fics make my day, I love reading them sm! Hope you’re healthy!!

awee nonny, this is so cute! i threw in zoro too bc i looooove him or whatever, i hope that's okay!

one piece men & a s/o who makes them things

ft. zoro, sanji, kid || masterlist

zoro

he isn't very vocal when you give him a gift, but most of the time he simply is at a loss for words. zoro isn't the type to think much about gifts that people give him, but something handmade from you holds a special place in his heart, especially if creating art is related to your dream—to him, it shows dedication, a trait he really admires in you.

will wear any bracelets you give him until they inevitably fall apart from excessive wear and tear or getting accidentally sliced off in battle; at first he simply wears whatever you give him, but after a while he'll gruffly ask you to make the next one black and green.

he's terrible at expressing it, but he enjoys the drawings and paintings you make of him that range from full-fledged pieces to silly doodles. at first, you weren't sure if he was even keeping them, until you find a stack of them at the bottom of his drawer, kept neatly out of harm's way.

sanji

fawns and coos over every scrap of paper and gift you make for him; he loves to show your accomplishments off and brag to anyone who will listen and can't help but ramble on about how talented his lover is with all things crafty.

will wear any piece of jewelry, even if it makes him look absolutely silly. one time you turned a neat looking shell you found on the beach together into a necklace that was far too clunky and large to look good, but he wore it to death anyways, getting emotional every so often as he recalls the memory.

when you redraw his first wanted poster, creating something that both you and he feels is more accurate to his likeness, he falls to a heap on the ground and cries in happiness. the way you capture him, mixed with the care you put into each stroke of your colored pencils melts him into a puddle of lovestruck goo.

kid

one-upping each other with handmade gifts is a not-so-silent competition between you two. he deeply loves and appreciates all of your gifts, in his own clumsy, brutish way, but he can't help but want to return every present you give him with something better.

though he is resolved to knock your socks off and "win" the never-ending competition between you, he also takes it upon himself to help you take your own projects to the next level, even if it sometimes spoils the surprise for him. he teaches you basic metalworking and wire-wrapping to make your handmade jewelry more professional, and has no problem doing some plundering to get his hands on some rare stones for you to use.

some of his favorite times are spent tinkering in his workshop, with him working on a large-scale mechanical engineering project while you diligently make your crafts alongside him. though most of the time you have to yell over to each other to overpower the hum of machinery, spending time hanging out and chatting with you while you both create something worthwhile means the world to him.

#one piece x reader #one piece headcanons #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #eustass kid x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #black leg sanji x reader #eustass kidd x reader #one piece fanfiction

[lazuruspit]

Dog Days Are Over — (m)

pairing: miguel o’hara/afab!reader  content warnings: unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional baggage, established relationship, angst and smut in the form of cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex wc: 3.9k summary: Feeling broken following a particularly perilous mission, you find yourself hanging on by tendrils. Lucky for you, Miguel’s always there to pick your pieces back up. a/n: its come to this..... cant believe its come to this. i was debating posting this on my dc tumblr blog since this is comic centric but... whatever. enjoyyyy

ao3

Miguel’s muscles are tense. Rigid, tight, like a disciplined dancer. He’s hunched over his console, shoulders square and eyebrows taut. His jaw is tense, tongue rounded into the corner of his cheek, hair falling like spun-thread sable over his hooded eyes.

His fingers—dry, jaded, thick—curl around the lip of his instrument panel. His forearm flexes beneath the spandex of his suit, veins popping with the strength in which he grasps the dashboard. He grunts, eyes tired, and speaks without turning.

“I can feel you thinking over there,” Miguel rasps. 

You flush, a little embarrassed to be caught but– not surprised. Miguel’s constantly heedful; a predator perpetually stalking its prey. 

“Sorry,” you hum, resting your shoulder against the metal door of Miguel’s private room, jamming your hands in the pockets of your casualwear.

He slightly turns. “What are you doing, standing there? Come in, don’t act modest.”

Then the thick sensation of soiled cotton balls seems to fill your nose: you're here for a specific reason, and the very thought of letting Miguel in on that secret seems to seize your every thought.

“What is it, mi alma?” Miguel asks, gaze centred on a labyrinth of holograms of different Spider-People in different universes. Despite that, his focus—each of his five heightened senses—are attuned to you. 

So, after blindly sweeping the holograms away, Miguel turns to you, resting himself and his hands against the edge of his console. His body language reads of vulnerability—something he hopes you’ll do for him, as well. He can tell something is off.

You inhale, loiter your eyes across his body, then exhale. It’s rare to see Miguel in casual clothing at headquarters—rarer to others, but not so much to you. 

(Miguel always shows you a different side of him. Both figuratively and literally. You’re the only one he’ll bare himself to, let you see him jaded and threadbare after he was hit a little too hard.)

Miguel tilts his head, his band tee riding over his navel garnished with a brown scruff that disappears into his sweatpants, hanging low on his hips.

He slowly reaches out and traces your cheek. Miguel’s hands are rough—a testament to his decades of Spider-Man discipline—but the whispering caress with which he cups your cheek offsets that fact. He curls his lower lip out, pinches his eyebrows.

“ ¿Qué pasa? ” He asks, tucking a wisp of hair behind your ear. 

He’s gentle, so gentle with you, and you hate it. It makes it so much harder for you to say what you need to. 

Asphalt thickens and settles in your throat. You look away, and flinch at the cold absence of Miguel’s comforting stare. So you chance a glance back, and bite your lip as you study his concerned mien.

“You’re making me a bit nervous,” Miguel mirthlessly chuckles, struggling to fill the pregnant air.

“No, don’t worry,” you hurry, moving to hold Miguel’s cheeks, trace the streamlines of his numerous scars, “last thing I need is you worrying.”

“Well, with a little shit like you, I do a lot of worrying,” Miguel says, crossing his eyes to twirl a strand of hair around a finger, “I’ve already got grey hairs, mierda .”

His words carry no real malice, but still, Miguel’s words are only the shell of a joke. His eyes fog over as he says it. He’s referring to last month's injury: a deep slash running like a scythe of death against your thigh—something that almost was death—if it wasn’t for Hobie swooping in and tackling Earth-95’s Doc Ock to the ground before you bled out.

“Well…” you start, straightening– then wincing, upon being gravely reminded of your fresh wound that stretches and pulls, “you won’t have to worry for a little while… I’ll be out of your hair.”

Miguel’s eyes marginally widen. He pushes himself off the console, blinking a few times.

“Your grey hair,” you belatedly decide to tack on. 

“No,” Miguel shakes his head, brushing past your lame attempt at a joke. His pinched features sober into something a little more soft, and you’re regretful that you won’t get to enjoy it much considering the news you’re about to break to him, “What are you talking about?” 

You inhale sharply. “I’m… I’m going home for a bit, Miggy–”

And that’s the moment panic seizes him. Miguel stands up straight, his sheer body mass and height eclipsing your vision, and places his hands on your waist.

“No, you’re not, what are you–?”

“But I am, Miggy. I’m going home. Just for a little bit, okay?” It’s hard to keep the warble out of your voice. It’s hard to miss it, too.

(It’s not the warble Miguel has come to love. Not the one that billiards past your lips and into the shell of his ear, as his fingers are knuckle-deep nestled inside of you and crooked. It’s not the tight whimper he bullies out of you as he sinks his cock past your cunt’s first ring of muscle. It isn’t one of your kitten moans, when you puckishly curl into Miguel’s arm late at night, resting on his chest as you muse about everything and nothing. This is a new cadence—one he doesn’t like—one like the little cry of anguish that wafted past your lips as Hobie lay dead, a spot that should’ve been yours.) 

“Mi alma…” Miguel peters off.

You clear your throat. “I talked to Jess… well, we talked to each other…” 

Miguel hates where this is going. He also hates that the diablo on his shoulders asks, “why couldn’t she come to me?” instead of being glad you confided in someone at all. He furrows his brows, listening.

“We think– we think it’s best I just go home for a while,” you cough out a bland chuckle, “maybe she just wants me gone—and I can’t blame her—but… I think… I don’t know. Maybe you can give me some of Margo’s tech.”

“... Why not stay here?” Miguel says, with me, he so desperately wants to tack on, but he reminds himself that this isn’t about him. This is about you, and the slow supernova to your eyes. 

(He made the deaths of his fiancée and daughter about him. Miguel’s learned that moving on is finding a new flower to nurture, standing an arms length away to let it bloom.)

“... Okay,” Miguel whispers, “how… how long will you be gone?” 

You shrug, and Miguel’s face pains.

“That’s okay,” he hurries, trying a smile, “as long as you need, mi alma.” 

Miguel steps closer, pulling you into his arms. Strong, protective, warm… you’re inclined to slip into a dream, leave all your problems behind. 

“Just close your eyes,” Miguel whispers, running his fingers through your hair.

You bury your face in Miguel’s chest, choking back a tight, tiny whimper.

“Can’t,” you murmur, “I still see him.” 

Pain physically throttles Miguel’s heart at that. He wishes he could take away your pain, just as you had taken away his, and his breath, and all forms of cognition. But… he doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know how to say the right thing, let alone what the right thing is. So Miguel opts to plant a kiss to the crown of your head, where your unwashed face and brittle hair meet. 

You pull back after that, just scarcely enough to stare into Miguel’s eyes, wishing you could fall into them.

“Miggy…” you breathlessly utter, like a prayer, an olive branch of atonement, “I need…”

Miguel rests his forehead against yours. “What is it that you need? Tell me. Tell me everything.” 

You don’t tell, you show. Timidly. You rake your shaky palms lower, shucking Miguel’s crop top over your hands, placing a kiss to the corner of his jaw.

“Mi alma…” he lightly scolds, catching your wrist within his big palm, “not now.”

“Why not?” You croon, wrapping your arms over Miguel’s shoulders and behind his thick neck.

“We can’t,” he tells himself, more than you, “you’re…”

“Needy–”

“Not thinking straight–” 

“Wet.”

Miguel’s breath hitches. Right in the middle of his throat, it catches, tripping and tumbling out of his mouth as a tight cough. 

"Mierda..."

You lean in close, brushing your lips against his collarbone. “It’s what I need right now, Miggy, won’t you give me what I need?”

Miguel’s lips wrap around your name as he quietly whispers it. “I want to give you everything.” 

“So?” You say, forlorn, “Will you make me feel good?” 

“I’ll do anything,” Miguel whispers. It’s a promise; it’s atonement.

Miguel spins you around with his hands on your hips and bullies you backwards, trapping you against the lip of the console. He slides his palms on either side of your neck, cranes your head up, and plants a smooch to your lips. 

“Mi alma…” he mumbles into the kiss, slotting his thick thigh between your legs. 

Miguel kneads your hips and tugs you down on his leg, flexing it, guiding you back and forth as you grind your pussy over the strong sinews of his muscled thigh. You whine, clutching his shirt, and beg for more, a little sniffle crossing your swollen lips. 

Miguel runs his hands down, fingers biting into the fat of your thighs as he lifts you up, plopping you atop the control panel. From there, he nestles himself between your legs, and shucks your shirt (his shirt) over and around your head, moving to suck your neck. 

You shiver as his fangs graze your pulse point. You dig your fingers into his tousled hair and pull, mired in the sweet cacophony of Miguel’s moans, softened by the way his lips are pressed into your collarbone. He ruts his cock against the supple skin of your inner-thigh, baring his fangs as the cotton of his sweatpants reduces friction. 

Miguel comes up for air just as you sink your fingers beneath the hem of his sweatpants. You drag them down with sparse tugs, revelling at the sight of his cock that strains against the taut fabric of his boxer-briefs as his sweats pool at his feet. 

You sprawl your hand atop his dick and palm him softly, squeezing the fat mass of muscle that tents from his boxer-briefs. You peer up at him, doe eyes pleading, and Miguel sinks to his knees.

He cranes his neck up at you, musing a corporeal prayer to the altar that is your body, and kisses a trail up your flesh. Miguel latches onto your shorts and pulls them down, puckering his mouth before kissing your clothed clit. The excited bud pulses under the plush of Miguel’s lips, swelling, slick as your arousal oozes out of your cunt, sticking to your panties, outlining the barest hint of your soft pussy. 

After the kiss, Miguel shifts upward, and sinks his fangs into the gauzy material of your panties. He hooks it with his teeth, dragging the soiled fabric down your legs and off your ankles before lowering again, kneeling eye-level to the winking of your dewy cunt. You quiver and raise your legs, placing your feet onto the counter, baring your sticky pussy to Miguel, spreading yourself open with careful fingers.

“So pretty, my love,” he mumbles, popping drunken smooches onto the buttery inside of your trembling legs, “ todo mío .”

Miguel paints your thighs in a mosaic of love bites, inching towards the pulsing beat of your cunt as he settles in front of it, unfurls his tongue, and lays it flat against your folds. 

He licks a fat, warm stripe up your slit, growling as you coil your thighs around his full shoulders and thick neck and hasp him closer. You twist a fistful of Miguel’s dark hair between your fingers, pulling him closer, meagrely grinding your sweet clit against his cracked lips and the bump on his nose.

(You always did tell him he lacked vitamin D, needed to eat more oranges. Miguel thought it was fruitless—that you kissing him, having your chapstick smear against his lips, would be ample moisturiser for his dry mouth.

You had to force the serums on him. Miguel gets too caught up in his web of responsibilities and thawed regrets, oftentimes neglecting himself. So you clutch him by the jaw, the rough flesh of his half-sunken cheeks from empanadas in the cafeteria spilling over your fingers, and smooth some of your chapstick onto his lips. It’s cute, he gets nervous; reverting his stare to the ostentatious ceiling of HQ and sticking it there, too shy to meet your gaze as you get too close.)

Miguel pulls away for air, a wash of your precum glistening his chin. He darts his tongue out to clean it up—a fang peeking out in the process—winking under the lustre as it catches the light. You whine at the loss of Miguel’s tongue buried between your folds, inclined to use your web shooter to stick him back in place.

But Miguel’s quicker. “Patience,” he says, placating you with a kiss, letting your taste percolate into your mouth as he cards his tongue past your teeth.

“We’ve got to stretch you open first, don’t we? Hm?”

You loosely nod, breathless.

“That’s right,” he says, “it’s always quite the tight fit.”

Miguel stands between your legs and eclipses your world, readying his thick fingers by running them between your folds, lubing them up.

“Ready for me?” He asks, looking through your eyes and into your soul.

You answer with a kiss—one that says so much more than yes . It’s a barter, where you hand your life over to Miguel, and a promise to find him in every universe. 

Miguel’s lips tilt up in a fickle smile as he sinks a large finger in, followed by another, moving to rest his forehead against yours.

“I hate you,” he whispers, pumping his fingers in-and-out, “for making me weak, making me break my promise.”

(As Miguel’s inflexion weakens, he hides his face in the crook of your neck. It’s obvious what promise he’s talking about: the vow made to the corpses of his child and fiancée. That he wouldn’t move on, that he’d turn black and blue in the name of penance. 

But then you came along; crashing into his world like the luminous death of a star. 

And just like it, albeit destructive, powerful and bright, he couldn’t look away.)

Miguel continues, blindly sweeping at your clit, rolling his jaded thumb over it as he scissors you open.

“I hate you for leaving me,” he finishes, crooking his fingers a little deeper, a little meaner , into the warmth of your pussy. 

“I– I’m not…” you pant, too caught up in Miguel fucking you with his fingers to form a better defence.

“I know,” he nods, his forehead still pressed against yours—a tender blip in the streamline of his fingers’ thrusts, “you’ll come back when you’re better, and things will go back to normal.”

Miguel buries his fingers knuckle-deep, pawing and circling at the sticky walls of your pussy.

He rolls your clit with a deft thumb and latches onto your neck, biting and kissing.

(The nipping is a sign of defiance from Miguel, the reluctance of letting you go, and the kissing… because he’s seen the catatonic look in your eyes. Your face—usually sweet, albeit scarred—leaden with guilt as you broke the news to the Spider-Society.

Guilt doesn’t look good on you, Miguel decided. Only puckish smiles. Only sheepish glances.)

Just your face, moulded into extreme pleasure as your orgasm draws close, eyes squeezed shut and nails digging into his flexing forearm. That’s what looked good on you.

Miguel doesn’t fasten his pace as you tail your orgasm. Just keeps thrusting his fingers, thumb pressing into your clit, lips sweetly trailing your jaw.

He curls them once more, pushing the pads of his fingers deeper, into the squishy-spot inside you that has your jaw slacking, head tipped back, baring your neck, and your orgasm cresting to new heights.  

Miguel’s keenly aware, pouncing onto your pulse-point and licking the sheet of sweat off of your skin as he keeps finger-fucking you, walking you through your orgasm.

“That’s it,” Miguel praised, lending you his broad shoulder as you quivered.

(The two of you have been in this position before—vulnerable, trembling, except those times you were bonding over the rigours of vigilantism and regret and baring the skeleton’s in your closet to each other, not panting from the tremors of your orgasm.)

“More,” you whined, cupping Miguel’s face, acutely aware of the absence of his cheeks—sullen, instead.

Miguel tries a smile and slides his hands under your thighs, picking you up, carrying you over to a low table, setting you down.

He bullies you onto your back and nudges your legs open with his knee, brushing his knuckles over your clit. The bud is still sensitive, so you flinch under Miguel’s touch. 

(A part of you always thought he was bad for you. Miguel was your becoming, but…

he also was your eventual doing.)

“My girl,” he mumbles, “my pretty, pretty girl. Te amo.”

(You ask yourself… why does your response get stuck in your throat?)

Miguel pulls away, only marginally enough to tug down his boxer-briefs. The fabric stretches against his thighs as his cock springs out, softly slapping his navel, red and leaking precum, solid, angry , standing tall.

He holds your gaze as he gives his dick a few jerks, heavy balls lightly bouncing as Miguel steps out of his boxer-briefs, sets your calves atop his shoulders, and cuts his fingers into your thighs.

“Do you need me? As bad as I need you, mi alma?” He asks, and it’s obvious he isn’t just talking about sex.

But you nod, silently because you don’t trust yourself—you don’t think you ever have—and edge yourself closer to the lip of the table, egging Miguel on.

He expels a breathless chuckle, and slips his heavy dick between the fat of your cunt, rubbing himself with your dewy folds.

“ Mierda… ” he grunts, slapping his cock against the velvet of your inner thighs, “you drive me fucking crazy.” 

You smile lazily, wrapping your legs around Miguel’s lithe waist, beseeching him with rolling hips and pleading eyes for him to just fuck you already . 

Miguel smiles as he sinks the fat head of his cock past your tight ring of muscle, his face squeezing into pleasure.    

He keeps going—slowly, filling out your every ridge—until he kisses your pelvis and almost folds you in half. You’ve never felt so full . Miguel makes a home in your tummy, pressing down on your navel as he feels for his cock, feels it pulse and throb in your pussy. 

Miguel pulls his hips away, and you throw your head back as his cock drags along your walls, his fingers toying your clit. He lowers over you, folding you in half and into a press, leaning down to catch you in a kiss. 

This way, Miguel eclipses your entire world. Your lips, your sex, your every inch; he’s your body’s beginning and end.

Miguel slams himself back inside of you and you squeal. It’s jarring—how gravely different Miguel’s fast-paced, desperate thrusts are to the gentle way he holds your face to his, peppering kisses on your cheeks.

He presses so close, as if trying to mould your souls into one. His mutated DNA comes out at this time—like clockwork—and he loses composure, clawing you close, hips snapping into you as he growls into your neck.

His thick brows furrow, full lips tightening, beads of sweat running down his sinewy back that you scrabble at as an outlet for the sharp thrusts Miguel drives into your wet cunt. Your walls flutter around him and you swoon, his hands sneaking under your shirt, running over your pebbled nipples, tweaking them between his jaded fingers. 

“Miggy–” you whine, twisting tufts of his hair in your hands, digging your nails into his muscly shoulders, “I want it all, please. Please give it to me.”

Miguel feels himself tiptoeing the edge of sanity. Yes, a thousand times yes, he’d give you anything you ask. His life, if you wanted it; his heart served on a silver platter; his skin, his bones, his cartilage. 

But Miguel knows what you mean. Because he wants it too. That primal little scratch at the back of his head kindles to life just as Miguel feels his balls tightening. When he feels you clench down on him, back arching, he can tell you’re close too. 

(Miguel knows you well. A little bit more than he’d like to, because he could see the exact day the light left your eyes. How they didn’t light up again upon seeing him. 

And Miguel chose to ignore it.)

He holds you a little closer, weaving his fingers with yours, grunting against your lips. 

Your orgasm washes over you as the sea extends into the sand. It’s all at once cold, blistering, and envelopes you whole, leaving no room for thought of anything else. You squeeze your eyes closed as you gush over Miguel’s cock, panting, rutting your hips up and meeting him halfway as he empties his balls inside of you.

“There we go,” Miguel breathes, pushing his cock into you a few more times until it can’t possibly go any deeper, filling you with his seed, “that’s it.”

You stare at each other as his cock softens inside you. It’s left to marinate a bit, still lightly pulsing, throbbing within your sensitive cunt. Then, Miguel shoves his face into your clavicle, noses your sweaty flesh, and deeply inhales. 

He wants to remember your scent, the last moment you shared before you returned to your universe for however long you needed to be there. 

(Your scent isn’t your usual one, though. Usually it’s sweet. Salty if it’s after training. But today it’s tangy—bitter. Miguel doesn’t like it, but he inhales nonetheless, damned if he’d let you go before committing this moment to memory.)

Miguel pulls away, an unstable smile gracing his lips. He works himself back into his sweatpants and helps you get dressed, nerves coiling in his stomach. 

When you turn to look at him, fully dressed, eyes dark, he gulps.

Miguel walks closer, sets his hands on your waist.

“When will I see you again?” He asks.

“Before you can say the word S-Man .” 

Miguel folds his lips, but nods. 

You look down at the watch secured to your wrist, fighting the scowl that betrays your emotions. It looks like a house arrest brace, and you suppose it's not that far off, either, holding you down in place. Constantly. 

But you key in your Earth and stare as it projects a kaleidoscopic threshold before you, twirling with golds and greens and whites. 

You turn to Miguel and step closer, eyes welling up as you set a palm to his cheek, kissing him. 

(It’s cursory, Miguel thinks. Because you’ll come back one day, finish what you started; finish the kiss, Miguel tells himself.)

You turn around and walk into the egress, a weight lifted off of your shoulders; the weight transferred to Miguel.

The portal closes, and your smell hangs thickly in the air.

With you, you had taken the rest of Miguel’s heart.

And he hasn’t gotten it back.

That was the last time he ever saw you.

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