#fuck my tiny ass room that's too small to have a desk so I have to do everything on the living room couch and do jenga with the pillows

[thatdykepunkslut]

Just when I thought I had calmed down from my laptop breaking irreparably, I just realized it means I can't watch any more horror movies until I get a new one... Going to curl up in a ball and die now ;-;

#I was saving the best ones for last 😭 #fuck my tiny ass room that's too small to have a desk so I have to do everything on the living room couch and do jenga with the pillows #ig it'll be nice to have a working headphone jack again #esp considering my bluetooth speaker lags by half a second unless it's plugged in #punkblogging

[thechaoticplayer]

The Confident Student Council President 🔞

Author's note: had this sitting in my drafts for about 2 weeks... giggling and twirling hair- this didnt come out exactly the way I want it but I guess I'll cope + ratio

Summary: your stupid ahh male friend asks you to get the shoulder pads (that he forgot) for football practice. however, you werent expecting the student council president to be inside, the man you've been crushing on for quite some time now...

Contains: x reader, Dom! Ver Vermillion, him being super demanding and sweet at the same time, this was inspired by his fucking shower stream (I WAS SCREAMING), theres a bit of plot, praise, smut yet again it's not even a surprise anymore

VER VERMILLION was something to admire. In class, he had a sense of authority to him, but never abused the power he was bestowed with. He was very gentle but stern, like an mature older brother. Ver had no problem putting someone in their place, and it put you in awe of him. You quietly watched him from afar. Noticed every tiny detail about him.

Ver's hands. They're so pretty, but with a single gesture, he could make the whole room silent.

Ver's voice. Calm and low, still somehow heard over the ruckus of the classroom. When he raised his voice in the slightest, everyone knew to shut up.

Ver's smile. He was constantly smiling. A soothing smile that put everyone at ease. He could easily charm anyone within a 10 feet radius with his smile alone.

Ver's face. Sometimes an expression of relief, of slight irritation, of slight happiness. You wondered what expression he'd make if you littered his face with kisses. then you quickly shook the idea out of your head, because it was highly unlikely of ever occurring.

Everyone knew who Ver Vermillion was. Hardly anyone knows you, never the less know of your existence. You were content with that, because you could never be someone near as popular as Ver. Besides, you weren't anything much, just another valedictorian who gets asked the answers to questions.

Speaking of which...

A classmate leans over to your desk, where you sit scrawling down notes. "Psst. Hey."

An internal sigh. "Yes?"

He glances at the teacher before looking back at you. "Do you have the answer to number four?"

"Yes. Right here." You point to your sheet and angle it to him, where he stares for a good moment and nods.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Back to being ignored again. Not that you minded.

Your attention shifts back to the council president. He was nearly in every single class you had, which you were grateful for. It was nice to observe him. Not in a creepy way. Thatd be weird.

Ver speaks with a student to his left, a small smile on his face, eyes twinkling mysteriously. You pondered what went on that head of his. He had to deal with students almost all the time. How did he deal with it all? Especially the annoying ones. God, what a pain in the ass.

You didn't realize you were staring at Ver until he glances in your direction, eyes locking for a split second. Fear and embarrassment flash through your body as you jerk your head back down, as if you weren't awkwardly staring at the man not too long ago. This happened frequently, to your dismay. Always staring and always caught. No way to escape the council president.

Did he think you were a freak for doing so? maybe.

You didn't look up the rest of the class period.

With a swing of your bag, you hold the bag on one shoulder, adjusting the strap to your liking. You push in the chair and weave through the stream of people out the classroom. You were on your way to meet with a close friend of yours, the only person you considered a "friend" anyway.

He was doing his football practice today, which you usually always came to. You had nothing else better to do anyway. He contrasted your introverted side, him being such a people pleaser. It wasn't a surprise that others began to ship you two together. But you two were just friends. Nothing more. Besides, you had eyes on someone else. And your friend knew that. Constantly teasing about your red cheeks everytime you were in close proximity with Ver. Each time earned him a "shut up!" And a punch to the shoulder.

A small bzzt vibrates in your pocket. With another series of buzzes to go with it. You paw through the one hundred millions of things in your pockets before pulling out the desired object. Your screen lights up to reveal texts from... well speak of the devil.

Hey uh... ik ur on ur way to my practice, but could you get my shoulder pads for me?

I totally forgot abt them

Hurry up coach is gonna kill me

How the fuck did this kid forget one of the most important things of playing such a violent sport? Space cadet...

You respond with a quick "yea" before scurrying off towards the direction of the boys' locker room. You actually had to shove past a couple of people, which you hated to do because that's being an asshole, but you also didn't want your friend to get yelled at by his strict coach.

You halt at door, furtively searching around the place before just rushing inside. You don't need any speculation on your plate along with huge packets of work. Upon seeing no one, you sneak inside.

Now which locker has his stuff in it? You quickly tap out the question and send it. You look around frantically, the "delicious" scent of sweaty men in the air. God, they need some damn air freshener.

You open each locker and judge from the sport bag which one was his. He wasn't answering, causing the anxiety to rise steadily. You really didn't want to get caught in here.

Deciding to calm yourself, you pause and recollect your thoughts. Clearing your mind, your ears pick up the sound of running water. Confused, you approach the sound. Did one of them forget to turn off the faucet? But it sounded more of a shower on, and as you approached, steam exited out the doorway of which you presumed was the showers.

You scratch your head. Who would be in here? All the boys are already outside. Who the hell would be showering right now anyway? One of these football heads must've left the shower on.

You peek inside, squinting through the steam. That has to be some hot water. You peer through the some to see a lean figure under the shower head. The steam clears a bit and your eyes widen.

Rivulets of water roll down his skin, spiraling down from his chest, down his abs, to his thighs, down his sculpted calves. He raises his arms up to run his fingers through his hair, his back muscles rippling with the motion. His arms aren't extremely muscular, but you could tell he worked out. You only could see him from the back, as your gaze traveled further down, your face felt extremely hot and a hundred million thoughts went through your mind.

Ver Vermillion.

You were... spying on the student council president. in the shower.

Oh god. In the shower. He was so...

Fucking hot.

You skitter back, almost slipping on the tile and banging your head against the changing stalls. A hand pressed to your mouth to keep you from screeching. Emotional moment. very fucking emotional. Suppressing your urge to scream on the top of your lungs because oh my god? Thousand hundred question marks?

You hurry back to the locker area, ramming your shoulder hard into a locker after taking a turn too fast. You hiss in pain, rubbing your shoulder.

"Hello?" Ver's voice calls. You curse yourself. "Is someone there?"

Nope nope. You're Casper.

You run into the other hall of lockers as the sound of water slapping tile approaches. You cease breathing through your fingers, your heart like a jack rabbit in your chest. You press your back into the metal, wishing you could just melt into the locker.

"I know you're in here. I can feel the prescence of a soul."

Sheeeeesh... was there anyway of escaping this? you eye the only exit, the only one you entered through. If you sprinted, would he be able to make out your face? He'd probably wouldn't even recognize your back; you weren't anyone extremely memorable or anything.

"Don't even try to run. I'll catch you," Ver says, voice light. "Might as well show yourself."

You sigh, concluding the fact you could not escape unscathed. You edge closer towards the corner of the wall, peering over to look at Ver.

A hand clutching the towel around his waist, he watches you reveal yourself with a flash of surprise and was that recognition? before it was replaced with a stern look.

"Would you like to tell me what you're doing in the boys' locker room?" Ver questions, seemingly not minding the fact he was practically naked. Way too confident to be okay with the presence of a female in his midst. which was very attractive. But not the point.

Your cheeks burn. "...my friend, who is on the boys' football team, forgot his shoulder pads." You tried not to stare for too long.

You shift your weight from foot to foot as he raises a skeptical brow at you. "Why couldn't he get it himself?"

"He's already on the field," you answer lamely. "Plus his coach... is mean."

Ver walks and pauses in front of you, holding a hand up near your chest. You stare, confused. He seems to be studying something before closing his hand. "You aren't trying to be deceitful. However..."

"Yes?" You swallow, the heat becoming unbearable. You could feel the heat resonate off him. A throbbing ache between your legs cause you to squeeze your legs together.

Ver's eyes darken, the hand now cupping your chin. "I can feel your desire. for me."

Hellllloooooo?

Your breath catches, unusable to look away from his startling gaze. "Uh..."

"You've been watching me. You always seem to be looking out for me without knowing. That small box of mochi, my favorite... that was you, wasn't it? And the line of students trying to ask me questions were suddenly cut in half, stating that their questions were answered by someone else." Ver observes your facial expression and you can't help but break eye contact. "I see."

"I can explain?" You whisper quietly, your skin flaming at his touch.

"You can, and you will. You see, I've been watching you as well. I've caught on to you, so I decided to watch you. Always helping others, without wanting anything back. Willing to do anything to help me because..." Ver pauses. "Why?"

"Because..." you falter. Might as well spit it out, right? You gulp again. "Because..."

His eyes bore into you, and it wasn't helping. Maybe he didn't need to know after all?

"Why don't you show me?"

"...What?"

"Show me why."

You stare at the council president. What exactly was he asking? Then it clicked. Oh. But... you couldn't dare to-

Could you?

Just this once. Life is short, right? and he's so close...

You slowly rise onto your toes, closing the distance between you and Ver. Before your nose touches you stop suddenly, the anxiety and nervousness causing you to halt. What if this was a mistake? what if he didn't want to kiss you? what if this isn't what he meant at all? What if-

A small groan exits his lips as Ver grabs the back of your head and pulls you close until his mouth finds yours. Your eyes widen with a gasp and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth.

You whine softly, letting go of all the worries and throw your arms around him tightly. Ver groans once more, his hands gripping your hips as the hot make-out session continues, inappropriate wet sounds echoing through the room.

You stutter backwards and your back hits the locker and continue, tongues dancing together as Ver tugs on your shirt. You pull away, pulling the shirt over your head, and smash your lips against his once more.

Ver's hands roam all over your torso, sliding up your waist to your back, unclipping your bra but not removing it.

He breathes against your neck, "Is this what you want?"

"Yes," you reply, just as breathless.

"Are you sure?" Ver gazes into your eyes, searching for the affirmative.

You nod, leaning to his face to nip at his bottom lip.

He explodes.

Ver throws the bra away with a low growl, biting your neck and eliciting a quiet moan from you. You unbuckle your own pants, the pants dropping down to the floor as Ver sucks love bites all over your delicate skin. One hand fondling your breast, his thumb lightly skimming your tit and a stammered breath escapes you.

"Your tits are already hard," Ver notes, pinching one of them and making you squeal, flushing horribly. "I wonder if..."

A finger presses itself against your clothed cunt and you whimper, holding onto his shoulders tightly. Ver sighs, rubbing circles on your sensitive area.

"I can feel how soaking wet you are... this whole time, you wanted me this bad?" He chuckles quietly, enjoying the way your legs quiver in anticipation. "I'll show you how much I want you too."

His finger slides underneath your panties and meets your clit. You gasp, biting you lip as the council president works his magic on your wet pussy, his ministrations causing you to whimper. Ver kisses your neck, mumbling praises against your skin.

"You're doing such a good job..." Ver whispers, two fingers inside you now and you moan. He pumps the two in and out quickly, his long fingers almost kissing your g-spot and it makes it harder for you to hold yourself up. "Good girl..."

You whimper louder. "Please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" Ver purrs, somehow increasing speed and your moans increase in volume. "Are you going to cum?"

You nod quickly, the ache growing tenfold. But then he stopped. You open your mouth to ask but when he rips your panties. You squeak in surprise as he hoists you up, your legs instinctively locking around his hips. Ver's towel audibly drops to the floor.

Ver's tip nudges against your hole. He looks at you. "May I?"

"Y-yes," you stammer, burying your face into his neck.

His tip nudges into you, entering completely and bottoms out, groaning. You moan loudly, your walls clenching around his hot cock. He filled you up completely and tears blur your vision slightly. Ver stretched you out deliciously, and he started to thrust in and out.

His nails dig into your hips as he slots his hips up against yours, grunting in your ear and leaving sloppy kisses all over you. Ver kisses you deeply, swallowing your noises as your juices stick between your bodies. You felt extremely warm all over.

His cock drags in and out your walls, pressing against the spot repeatedly. Pleasure racks your body. You rake your nails across his back, toes curled as the council president rams himself into you. The metal door groans against the movement.

"Shit..." Ver mumbles with a small groan. His dick throbs hard inside you as you clench around him. "I'm so close baby, s' close..."

A small whine as the only response you give as you squeeze your legs around him, the only indication of your incoming orgasm. He speeds up, panting hard.

"Cum with me, sweetheart, cum with me," he speaks in one breath.

You nod, lips parted as you lean your head back against the locked. "Yesyesyesyes-"

His seed ribbons inside as your own cum squirts all over his cock, a soft and drawn out moan in your hair as his hips stutter against you. Your legs limp as your chest rises up and down quickly, sweat shining on your skin. It felt awfully sticky down there, but you didn't mind one bit when Ver looked up at you with a soft and affectionate gaze.

He brushes the hair plastered to your forehead away and says softly, "you're so beautiful, you know that?"

"I..." You blush, leaning into his touch. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Let's clean you up." Still inside you, probably because the man didn't want to pull out just quite yet, he carries you to the showers to wash you up.

THE NEXT DAY...

Ver smiles at you from across the room and you wave, blushing hard. The both of you were officially dating after the... well. Burst of sudden confession you two did.

Your friend, however, was extremely awkward around you and Ver. He was constantly avoiding yours and the president's gaze for some odd reason. You have been meaning to ask him, so you lean close to him.

"Hey, you've been acting weird. What's up? Is it because I didn't get your shoulder pads and got in trouble?" You tease with a small smile.

The tips of his ears go red as he stares down at his desk. "About that..." he clears his throat. "I... did try to get them but..."

Realization hits you in the face like a brick wall. Your entire skin takes on a pink hue. "You-"

"Yeahhhh. I should've stayed put honestly..."

"Oh. My. god."

"Not that I care or anything. Go get some girl, I guess."

"Please shut up."

"Sounds like you two were getting into it pretty-"

You punch him. Hard. A yelp of pain satisfies you and Ver looks over at you two, startled. you smile sweetly.

Greatest two days of your life.

#nijisanji #nijisanji en #vtuber #nijien #nijisanji smut #nijisanji x reader #xsoleil smut #xsoleil x reader #xsoleil #ver vermillion smut #ver vermillion x reader #ver vermillion

[hayisins]

cross dressing x genshin + hsr ! ♡

how our darling boys would react to you cross dressing ! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

contains : afab!ftm reader !! MALE terms and pronoun usage !! this one is for all my fellow roseboys ~

featuring : diluc , childe , xiao , gepard , blade , + dr.ratio ! ♡

001 — DILUC

he’s in pure and utter shock at first. he wasn’t expecting to find you in his office at the winery, cutely bent over his desk in such a revealing little maid outfit. while you pretended to fake clean something — he watched you closely.

eventually one of diluc’s hands pressed right against the small of your back, letting out a small grumble as he pushes his hips into your ass. evidence of your little idea working wonders poking into the soft flesh between both your ass cheeks. he’s still silent though — hasn’t spoken yet. turning around you find him flushed bright red, matching his hair beautifully.

“you look so handsome my little firefly . . however — i don’t think i can hold back.”

002 — CHILDE

it was his idea. he proposed such an outfit from you. being the cheeky bastard he is, its no surprise that he begs you to wear a skirt in public so he can mess around with you.

that's exactly how you ended up in the middle of a mall with his hand gently grazing your thighs every now and again. he stands behind you, one hand finding your waist and the other sliding its way up your thigh.

“imagine if all these people knew what you were really up too . . now let’s find a bathroom yeah?”

003 — XIAO

he wasn’t even aware of your plans to do this. xiao was already shy and timid as it was when you dressed in nothing but baggy shirts and tiny shorts, a mini skirt? this was a whole new ball park.

he’s cooking a dish in the kitchen when you spring on him, arms around his waist and gently tickling his neck with your hair until he finally spins to see what attire you have on and his eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

“wow . . you — . . . wow. you are . . so handsome — uh . . dinner? oh it . . can wait i guess.”

004 — GEPARD

a secret fetish of his. one he’d never ever admit. behind his stone wall expressions and his intense work ethic was a man who truly yearned for the kinky and deranged things you came up with.

him being a total virgin you always took the lead. it was you who was currently sat on his lap in a light blue babydoll, grinding your hips down onto his rapidly growing bulge while he tried to keep his moans in his throat. how could he when his beautiful boy looked this amazing?

“y-you . . really don’t have to — aeons, please . . stop teasing !”

005 — BLADE

blade is . . well — he’s different. blade doesn’t give you a change to parade around the new dress you acquired. before you even get to the door he’s on you like a leech, hands slipping under the dress you wore (deliberately might i add) and groping at your hips.

you can quite literally feel how hard he is against your ass, grunts of annoyance seep from him as he attacks your neck in a feverish attempt of claiming you as his.

“such a pretty little doll . . how could you ever go out like this when every inch of your skin is fucking mine?”

006 — DR.RATIO

at first he has no reaction when you come into the room with a new outfit, he doesn’t even seem to look in your direction until he almost can’t resist. he sneaks a look when you’re distracted speaking to someone else, his eyes trailing your entire complexion.

without a word he’s suddenly out of his chair and placing a hand on the small of your back, a silent code you two had developed for needing eachothers attention. that’s how you end up in the bathroom with him, sat in his lap while he rubs his knee inbetween your easily accessible thighs.

“of course you had to be a whore and distract me from my work. tsch, someone ought to teach you a lesson little boy. might as well be the smartest man in the room.”

#axel . genshin #axel . hsr #genshin impact #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #diluc #diluc smut #diluc x reader #childe #childe smut #childe x reader #xiao #xiao smut #xiao x reader #gepard landau #gepard x reader #gepard smut #blade #hsr smut #hsr #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail #blade smut #blade x reader #dr. ratio #dr.ratio smut

[sentientgolfball]

i love soft phantom but how about a scenario of a new ghoul or some other demon species acting predatory towards reader and phantom being all protecting and aggressive!!! 🤭

When I saw this one I knew I had to save it :> consider this Golfball's Halloween special

Tags: nothing too overtly gory, but there's some description of injury, demon Phantom, blood drinking, extremely brief mention of suicide

My requests are open !

Phantom has always been a cheerful ghoul, ever since the day he was summoned. He was always willing to help where it was needed and eager to learn about the strange world of humanity. He was talkative and affectionate, kind and curious. He’s someone you considered a friend with how often he’d swing by to help you where he could. But something has been off lately. 

It started with snide comments and jokes that were a bit too personal. That quickly turned into stealing your things and hiding them where you’d never find them. Bleeding into the shadows just to pop out when you thought you were alone. The worst part was nobody else seemed to notice his change. You tried venting to your friends one night and all you received were confused looks and questions. He only seemed to be treating you like this. You felt crazy. And now here he was sitting on your desk. 

“Come on, is it really that important?” He snatches the paper you were looking over from your hand. His eyes roam over it quickly before a sick grin crosses his face as he tears it up. 

“Phantom what the fuck!” You feel your gut twist at the sight of the contract now in tiny pieces all across the desk. 

His once sickeningly sweet laugh sounds grating to your ears. You look at him only to be met with a horrible Cheshire grin full of fang. 

“What? You said it yourself we couldn’t hang today cause you were busy. Now you’re not busy.” 

You stare incredulously at him, mouth slightly agape “Get out.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Get the fuck out!”

“Aww come on you’ve got nothing to do now.” He purrs 

“No. Now I have more to do! Leave!” 

He shrugs with a chuckle before hopping off your desk and out the door, tail flicking happily as he goes. You dig the heel of your palm into your eyes and let out a frustrated groan. What the hell was up with him? You felt crazy. He’s been like this for weeks. What’s even worse there would be days that he seemed completely normal and you could almost forget how much of a pain in the ass he’s become. He’d flip so often you were beginning to wonder if he needed to go see Omega. You started to loathe seeing him, it was getting exhausting dealing with the whiplash of demeanor. 

A soft knock on the door interrupts your thoughts. Whoever is there waits only a few seconds before slowly opening the creaky door. 

“Hey” a smooth voice calls out “you missed lunch so I thought I’d bring you something small.” 

Your irritation spikes. You actually couldn’t believe him. The audacity of this ghoul. 

“Phantom do you really fucking think a little sandwich is going make me forgive you?” 

You remove your hands from your eyes and glare at him. 

“What?” He asks with genuine confusion, ears drooping. 

You huff and stand, shoving your chair in with a shrill scrape against the floor. You gather the rest of the papers before Phantom has a chance to shred them. You shoulder past him and out the door. You couldn’t be near him anymore. You went to go find somewhere to finish your work without a little demon bothering you. 

You had spent the rest of your day fixing the mess Phantom caused and catching up on what you had to put on pause. You were now alone in your room trying to alleviate the headache that had plagued you for the last few hours. You were laying in bed staring off when you heard a knock at your door. You didn’t answer. You really didn’t care who was on the other side, you didn’t want to deal with it. 

“Please let me in.” A soft whine came as you stayed quiet. 

“Go away Phantom.” 

It was quiet for a long time. You started to settle believing that he actually listened and left you alone. Until you heard a whisper you would’ve missed if it hadn’t been dead quiet. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You rolled over and looked at the door, weighing your options. You had been sick of the way he was acting towards you, but he was your friend. He had been so kind to you much longer than this new asshole side of his. Maybe he was going through something ghoulish that you couldn’t understand? You sigh. If he was coming here to apologize then he at least realized he did something wrong. You’d be willing to forgive if he could mend the tears in your relationship. 

You push yourself out of bed and open the door. You stand in the doorframe eyeing his downtrodden posture. He was slouching, ears drooped and eyes wide with his tail wrapped around his leg. Little pricks of guilt began to soften the anger steaming in your mind. 

“I’m sorry” He squeaks again “for everything.” 

“Phantom” you sigh and cross your arms “I don’t know what’s up with you, but it’s really hurt.” 

“I know, I know I’m sorry I just need to exp—“

“I really don’t want an excuse just…fuck.”

“Please let me make it up to you.” 

You consider him for a moment. You really hated the way he’s been acting, but you had a fondness for the sweet little ghoul you once knew. You wanted to believe he could make it up to you. You wanted to have the Phantom you knew back. Maybe you would regret it. Maybe you would come to realize he’s a demon no matter how soft his smile is. Maybe you were just stupid and naive for thinking it could change. But if he’s willing to apologize, willing to admit how fucked he’s been maybe he deserves a second chance. 

“Okay.” 

His ears perk up. 

“Not tonight. I’m still pissed about the paperwork, but if you haven’t flipped out again overnight then maybe we can work something out.” 

“Yes it’ll be different I promise, no more bad Phantom. I’ll make sure he’s gone.” 

“Goodnight Phantom. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow.”

He stays and watches you close the door before departing. You sigh heavily, shoulder slumping before crawling back into your bed. You were exhausted. Everything’s been so exhausting lately. Though, on the bright side it seemed like your headache finally went away.  

After Phantom’s apology everything seemed to go back to normal. Well almost normal. He refused to leave you alone now. Granted he was always a little clingy, but this was a whole new level. He was always hanging around the same area as you even if he wasn’t directly interacting. You honestly didn’t care at this point, you were just glad he seemed like his sweet self again. He even kept his promise. He had begun getting you small little gifts of crystals and flowers and helping you with your tasks around the Ministry. It was nice. About a week of this passed and you felt good, great even. You wanted to do something with him, show him you’re no longer mad at him. With Samhain right around the corner you both decided on having a gigantic movie marathon.

You were waiting for him in your room, everything needed for the night already set up. You were just waiting for him to get out of rehearsal. A knock at your door startled you. You furrow your brow opening it to see who was there. 

“Phantom?” 

“Hey hey we were let out early. Come on, let's get this party started.” He shoulders past you into your room. 

You shrug it off and close the door behind you. He flops onto your bed as you start the first movie. You offer up the snacks you gathered but he declines scrunching his nose in disgust. You get a weird feeling. You try to ignore it though as the movie begins. You settle next to him on your bed, eating since he won’t. Another sinking feeling creeps in when he doesn’t move closer. He’s always been physically affectionate, but now he stays leaning against the wall with a rigid posture. You try to focus on the movie. 

Your phone buzzes after about thirty minutes into the movie. You check it. A text from Phantom. 

I’m on my way! Copia just let us out….please tell me you remembered my candy 

What…? 

You stare at it. The sinking feeling in your stomach twists. You feel nauseous. You try to sneak a glance at the Phantom sitting next to you. He’s staring right at you with a sick grin. You jump out of the bed away from him. 

“Something wrong?” He asks nonchalantly. 

“Who the fuck are you?” 

“That’s a stupid question. I’m Phantom, your favorite ghoul.” That Cheshire grin splits his face. 

“No you’re not. You’re not him. Who are—“ 

“Oh ouch guess my time is up. Or no that’s not right. Your time.” 

The thing wearing Phantom’s face stands from the bed, eyes rolling back joints popping sickeningly. You don’t waste another second. You run out of your room determined to make it to the practice room. Find Phantom. Find Papa and the other ghouls. Find anyone before this thing turned you into prey. As you ran you heard its wicked laugh bounce through the halls, the scraping of claws against polished floor. You didn’t dare spare a glance behind you. You needed to get away from it. You turn sharply at the next corner hoping to either lose it or find somewhere to hide until it was safe to run. 

You dipped into an alcove throwing a hand over your mouth to stifle your breathing, praying to whoever was listening that you'd be safe. Your eyes widen as the creature stalks forward. It still wears the appearance of Phantom but there’s something so unsettlingly wrong about it. He looks thin, too thin. Bones clearly visible through skin that was drawn too tight. Its hair was long, greasy like an oil spill. Everytime it moved you could hear its tendons snap and pop. You could see black ichor under its skin where its veins popped on its neck. 

“Where are you?” Its cracked, layered voice sang out as it stalked down the hall. 

Lucky, it passes right by your hiding spot. You wait just a bit longer for safe measure before ducking out. It’s gone. You move at a brisk pace towards where you knew a pack of ghouls was hanging. You end up slowing down after a while. It still hasn’t caught up to you. Maybe it lost you? Or maybe one of the sentry ghouls caught it? Either way, you felt safe enough to slow. It hadn’t appeared and you were almost to the practice rooms. You were so close. 

You were so close. 

You stop dead in your tracks when you feel a thick substance drip onto your face. You swipe it, seeing a black ichor coating your fingers. 

“Hello” that voice laughs. 

You try to run but it’s faster. It grabs you, claws digging deep into your skin. You feel the blood flow before you see it, but when you do see it you’re suddenly snapped into the reality of the situation. You panic. You freeze. You don’t know what to do. All you can think about is the gory demise that surely awaits you. It drags you forwards and you stumble. When you fall to the floor the thing pounces. You stare in horror at its gaping maw, filled with hundreds of needle-thin teeth. Spit dripped from his mouth coating your face as it leaned in. You flinch when it springs forward and it latches onto your arm biting down hard and sucking the blood from the wound. It burns. It feels like fire is coursing through your veins as its saliva infects you. The imposter Phantom rips its teeth from your arm and grins, licking the excess blood from its mouth with a sick tongue. 

“You know…I was not going to hunt you” it’s cracked voice says “you were feeding me so well. I would have taken from you until you ended your own life, but that vermin that horrid guard dog pushed me away. Starved me.” 

It brings its mouth close to your throat, jaw cracking and popping as flesh rips so it can open its mouth wider than should be possible. You make one last attempt to push it away, but the burning all but consumed your mind. You couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could barely feel. All you could do is watch in paralyzed horror as the beast that wore Phantom’s face prepared to end your life. 

You hear a sharp trill and you close your eyes waiting for the final blow. But it never came. The force of the beast is suddenly knocked off you. You blink your eyes open and you see Phantom. The real Phantom crouched between your broken body and the creature. He growls low in his throat at the thing, tail lashing dangerously. The Phantom you see before you is not one you’ve seen before. It’s definitely him, but something is different. He looks bigger, taller. His horns are long, more sharp. His quintessence pops and cracks haphazardly over his body. His claws look sharper. His eyes are gone, completely black and hollow, swallowed by the void within his very core. His physical form is barely contained as wisps of smoke and stardust curl around him. 

The creature screeches and jumps up, form twisting as it does so. Its joints pop as it grows, thin limbs becoming thinner. It’s leathery skin is stretched so thin you can practically see every ichor filled vein. It still wears Phantom’s face but it looks half melted as it struggles to maintain the appearance. It’s sharp, every ridge and bone visible. It lunges at Phantom. 

He growls and disappears in a puff of smoke before reappearing behind the beast. He rakes his claws down its back, black ichor spilling onto the pristine floors. He warps away again when it turns, landing another blow to its side. He does this again and again, but the beast catches on. The minute he puffs away it spins and catches him when he reappears. It throws Phantom against the wall with horrible force. He lets out a pained wheeze, rolling over trying to gather himself before it’s too late. He’s not fast enough though. The creature sinks its teeth deep into his shoulder and Phantom wails. Its teeth dig in. 

Phantom screams and digs his claws into its head. He sets his jaw and unleashes so much raw quintessence from his body that the hallway is filled with a purple glow. The beast falls limp, sparks jumping from its body. Phantom doesn’t hesitate. He sinks his fangs deep into its throat and pulls and pulls until it’s ripped from its neck. He spits it onto the floor and bends back down, drinking the ichor like blood that pours from the wound of the dead creature. He pulls back when he’s satisfied, swiping his forked tongue over his mouth collecting the remnants. He growls at the body of the beast. 

You scream at the scene, or at least you try to. It comes out more as a whimper as the venom works its way through your system. The moment you do, though, Phantom’s head snaps to your body laying on the floor. Immediately everything about him changes. The quintessence stops rippling over his body, he goes back to his normal size, his form becomes solid again, his eyes return to their normal purple. You see his mouth move but you can’t hear it over the ringing in your ears. You see him run to you before your eyes fall shut. 

When you finally blink open your eyes, you're met with the sterile white of an infirmary room. Everything hurts. You felt slick with sweat and cold. Your head was absolutely pounding as you looked around trying to get your bearings. That’s when you notice a little ball of purple curled up at the foot of your bed. 

“He’s been there all night you know.” 

You whip your head around at the voice before you can stop yourself. You groan feeling like someone took a hammer to the side of your skull. 

“Don’t move so quickly. Your body is still recovering from the venom. You’re lucky I was able to make an antidote.” 

“Thanks Omega.” You wince both from the pain and how that came out a lot more sarcastic than genuine. 

He chuffs “Don’t mention it Sibling, however next time a trickster spirit is within these halls please alert me before another scene is caused.” 

And with that, he walks out. You lay back in the bed and close your eyes against the annoying fluorescent. You replay the night's memories over and over again until you feel a weight shift as Phantom moves from his spot at the foot. A smile ghosts your face as he curls closer to you and mumbles a sleepy “You’re thinking too loud” before he falls back asleep with a purr in his chest. 

#the band ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #phantom ghoul #i hope you like it anon <3 #phantom x reader #the band ghost fic #ghost fic #nameless ghoul #nameless ghoul x reader #golfball writes

[phyrestartr]

Simple Things [3] - Miguel O'hara x Male!Reader

# Mild NSFW, fluff, comfort, flirting, light angst, male!reader, dad!reader, spider!reader, implied depression, mentions of trauma, mentions of past relationships, mentions of manipulation, old men just doing their best, miguel is a sweetheart and a nerd, multi-part drabble collection

[ 1 ] Smoke Break | [ 2 ] We Change Like the Seasons | [ 3 ] Meet the Kids

Notes: Covid is still kicking my ass but I wanted to finish this part off so I can make the reader and Miguel fuck in the next part wahoo \o/

-- Meet The Kids --

A girl walked into the lab. Miguel thought maybe Gwen or another spider had come to ask something of him or to steal one of the cookies from his desk console (wouldn't be the first time), but the lazy scuff of shoes on polished floors sounded too clumsy to be one of his agents. She wasn't wearing a suit either, Miguel realized after sparing a glance over his shoulder; she did, however, sport a day pass on a small wrist. 

"And you are?" Miguel asked before turning back to his screens. He wasn't really in the mood for conversation while he tracked the next anomaly, but he couldn't say he wanted some random kid to be touching his stuff in his lab. 

"I dunno. Who're you?" Ugh. 

The clattering of something hitting the floor made Miguel's eye twitch. He took a breath. "I'm the guy running the show here." He closed screens with gruesome scenes of destruction, hiding them from the prying eyes of the innocent in the room with him. "And I'm the one who's about to call your guardian." 

She scoffed. "My guardian?" 

"Whichever spider dragged you into HQ and let you off your leash with a day pass." Miguel spied her out of the corner of his eye, but didn't have the decency to face her. "Lyla. Scan her." 

"You got it, buddy." 

"Woah, wait–!" The girl gasped as a warm orange light washed over her, flickering across her entirety before vanishing. "Dude." Despite the attitude, her voice trembled faintly. Miguel almost felt bad. But she touched his stuff. Not his fault. 

Lyla whistled and adjusted her sunnies as she leaned into a tiny screen of her own. "Oooh, you're gonna love this, Miguel–" 

"Miguel?" The girl repeated. "Like…the guy Dad talks about?" 

A clairvoyant feeling overwhelmed the spider, probably the same way spidey senses hit the normal spider-people around him. Somehow, he knew who she was, who her dad was before Lyla even said it. 

"Yep, that's (Name)'s kiddo," Lyla chirped. 

Miguel looked at the girl. He really looked at her this time, feeling some sort of stupid with how much she looked like you; her hair was fluffy and unkempt in the same shade yours was, the shape of her nose was like a smaller, cuter version of yours, too. Then there were her eyes. That same hazy hue of uncut gems, a colour of protective dullness that hid something brilliant and effervescent from the outside world. 

"(Name)'s kid," Miguel repeated. Your name felt comfortable on his tongue these days. "Kid, I–what're you doing here? Where's your dad, huh?" 

The girl, very clearly looking around the room to try and spot the elusive Lyla, shrugged. "I 'unno." 

Colour Miguel unimpressed. "Oh, you don't know. Good. Great." He tutted before running a hand through his hair. "Lyla, call the kid's dad–" 

"He's sleeping!" She blurted. "You can't just, like, wake him up; Dad never gets to sleep." Her arms crossed tightly over her chest as her cheeks puffed. "And my name's Isabella, y'know." 

Miguel's dark brow raised in question. "Isabella." Said with a Latin accent. Interesting. Miguel's chest felt tighter. "If your dad's asleep then he probably left you with someone." He looked at her expectantly. 

Isa shrugged again and scuffed her worn soles against the floor. "Mr.Parker didn't notice. He's watching Natalie and Nico and May 'n whatever. So. Yeah." 

Mr.Parker? Oh. "Hm. He babysit you a lot?" God, Miguel should stop asking questions, but curiosity and that damn attention deficit had him by the throat. He turned around and folded his arms over one another, too, before leaning back against the stage console to speak with Isabella properly. 

"Ugh, why are old people so–so freaking annoying? I'm not a baby, I don't need anyone to watch me." Ah. Of course. 

"Oh, wow, ah-huh, yeah. Sure. I'm sure your dad agrees." Her amateur glare wrought a smirk out of him. Would he have argued with Gabi like this? 

Miguel cleared his throat and turned back to the console, reaching for another cookie absent-mindedly. "Look, you can stay here until your father comes to get you, but you have to stop touching things. Got it?" But Isa only grumbled and scuffed her feet again. "Isabella." 

"Uuugh. Fiiine." The girl plopped down into an old rolling chair. Miguel tried not to twitch. He would not snap at a child for breaking his chair, he would not do that. Absolutely not. 

Not even one minute of silence passed before the kid rolled closer to the centre stage Miguel stood at. "Sooo you're, like, my dad's boss or something?" 

"Guess that's the easiest way to put it." Miguel peered at the girl from the corner of his eye. 

"Okay, but what's the hardest way to put it?" Isabella wiggled and sat backwards on the chair, hugging the backrest as she scooted around the lab. "Are yooou…friends?"

Miguel shrugged. "I'd say so." 

"Hmmmm. Are you more than friends?" 

His eye twitched again. "Do you interrogate every adult like this?" 

Isabella huffed. "Uh, he made you cookies. It's sooo not weird to ask if you're, like, a thing." 

"A thing." 

"Like boyfriends–" 

"Santa Muerte, I know what you mean, kid." 

"Okay." Silence fell for all of ten seconds. "I'm just saying–" 

Miguel groaned. "Can you stop talking for five minutes–" 

"--you'd be waaay cooler to have for a step dad than all the people Dad's been dating." 

"Yeah, well, I'm hard to beat." Oh, wow, did he just say that about himself? Christ. Miguel took a deep breath and tried to relax his shoulders with all his might. "That came out wrong. I–look, you need to just–he's dating?" Miguel cringed. It's not that he was interested in you like that, just…he was nosy, that's all. But he was incredibly aware of how that must have sounded to an equally nosy tween. 

Isabella perked up. "Uh, yeah. But everyone he dates ends up being suuuper crazy and weird. Like, it's reaaally bad." 

He shouldn't pry. He really shouldn't. "...Bad how?" Ay, Miguel. 

"Like, they're always super clingy or don't like kids or something. And, like, Nico and Nat had moms who had dads who super hated dad, so they gave him money to make him go away." Isabella nodded matter of factly. "That's what Dad said. He's super sure he's cursed or something. Granny was a bruja y'know." 

Miguel shouldn't be listening to this. He shouldn't be prying into your life through the conduit of a chatty kid. Asking you would be the better option, but this way was so much easier. It felt like he could finally get a grasp of what you'd been through, and maybe catch a glimpse of who you were behind the scenes. 

"Then what about your mom?" Miguel asked, crossing his arms and flicking his gaze back to the monitors. "That didn't happen with her?" 

An offended gasp burst from the young lady. "No! My mom was so not like that. She was Dad's girl!" 

"No kidding." Miguel hummed. He wasn't about to ask what happened to her. Spiderman never had an easy romance, never had an easy life. 

"Yeah! They fought in the war together, and her name's–" 

"Isabella." Your voice cut through the air like winter rain. Miguel almost got chills, and Isa squeaked before hopping off her chair and scrambling on the stage to hide behind Miguel. 

"Oh, look at that. Someone's in trouble," Miguel mumbled, mean smirk quirking the corner of his mouth. 

Isa glared up at Miguel. "Jerk."

"Isabella, quit bothering the boss," You groaned tiredly. Miguel's ears perked as the coo of a little one fluttered through the air. He turned and found you holding the littlest baby in one arm, and a toddler in the other, both incredibly K.Oed.

"M'not bothering him!" She protested. "I'm just hanging out!" 

"Cut the crap, you're probably complaining about school or about my love life or how I wouldn't get you a new phone or some shit." Miguel had to fight back a laugh. He'd never heard you so exasperated nor animated before. "And why the hell did you run off, huh? You had Pete freaking the fuck out." 

"I got bored! I just wanted to go look around!" Isabella pleaded with a puppy-level whine.

"Isa, this place, it's–it's not meant for people without powers. You could get hurt, alright?" You adjusted your grip on the two little ones in your arms. "And the lab is a whole 'nother story, Christ–" 

"It's fine, (Name)," Miguel cut in, turning to you. "She was fine." 

But the worry lines creasing your forehead didn't smooth quite as much as he wanted. "'Ppreciate it, Boss. But, I…" you trailed off, sighing softly. "Yeah. Just. Thanks. I'll, ah, get her out of your hair. Bet you've got work to do." 

Mija, let's go is what Miguel swore he heard come out of your mouth before Isa pouted and ran after you.

Mija. That word brought a world of hurt and comfort to his chest–the coincidence of Spanish on your tongue felt too…perfect, like you'd learned it just to shove it in his face. But Miguel knew better. 

Isabella. 

Mija. 

Your girl, Isa's mother, must have taught you. He liked that, for some reason. The idea of learning something new for a partner. What would you teach him if you were– 

Woah, woah, stop, Miguel. Stop. His ears turned hot. He worried at his bottom lip with fidgety hands before shaking his head free from such dangerous thoughts. 

Focus, he chanted to himself, you've got work to do. 

--

You decided you were sick that day. No, you weren’t really, but the headache chipping away at your skull suggested that, hey, maybe staying home for a day wouldn’t be a bad thing. You could use a break from dragging yourself around New York, searching for the next big scoop, the next tragedy to document and earn a living off of, too. 

So, there you were, in bed, with the tv in the front room playing some sort of movie that you’d heard a thousand times but never learned the name of, while your littlest, newest addition to the family starfished in a laze, his tiny tummy pressed to your broad chest. Your fingers lazily rubbed circles against his little back as he snoozed and drooled on your shirt. Somehow, the giggling and chattering of his sisters didn’t wake him up. Maybe the drumming of your heart, or the safety of a warmth he hadn’t known until now, drowned all of it out. 

He didn’t even stir when his sisters screeched.

You closed your eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. God, please just let it be a spider, please just let it be a spider. You sat up, holding your baby to your chest as you plucked a gun from the side table. You carefully set Nico down into the warmth of where you were laying before stalking to the door and whipping it open, gun poised and ready for–oh. A big spider.

“What the fuck, Miguel,” you hissed, beyond exasperated as you lowered the gun. “Why the–what–I could’ve shot you.” 

Miguel looked beyond bewildered, though some would say entirely bamboozled. He had his hands up like the police had them in his sights, his face was a combination of embarrassed, shocked and annoyed, and his claws had popped out in his flustered panic. His spiderman suit was still on, but he had that white hoodie thrown on top like it’d hide the fact he was spiderman. Hopefully it did. 

“I–” Miguel started.

“Ah-ah.” You cut him off like a dog misbehaving. “Girls?” Their heads popped up from behind the couch and you sighed in relief. “It’s alright, he’s a friend. From work.”

One of your daughters gasped. “It’s the weirdo that’s suuuper into dad!” Isabella cried, jumping out from behind the couch and pointing an accusatory finger at a very unamused-looking Miguel. 

“For the last time, I’m not–”

“You so are!”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are!”

“Yeah!” Natalie joined in, hopping up and down by her sister excitedly and pointing at the man they deemed guilty. “You are, you are!”

Miguel, probably halfway to an early grave, looked to you for help. But you flashed him a tight-lipped smile that said more than words could offer: perish. 

You let the girls hound him while you turned on your heel, heading back into the bedroom to sooth your stirring little boy. The gun found itself back in the drawer, safety on, magazine removed, before you scooped the tiny being into your arms and smooshed up against your chest. Your son quieted and clung to you. You left a kiss on the top of his head to welcome him.

"So," you started as you came back to the scene of the crime, "the hell're you here for, Boss?" You asked, completely unfazed by how the girls had corralled him onto the couch and had his hands in their own, their curious fingers pushing on his tendons and making his claws pop in and out. Honestly, you were pretty tempted to do the same. 

Miguel pursed his lips and ignored the gremlins on him as he looked at you again, something distant softening his features. 

"I, uh. I heard you were sick," he confessed with a small shrug. "Just thought…y’know." 

You hummed as you rubbed your son's back. "Huh. How'd you find that out?" 

"Peter mentioned it." 

"Pete doesn't know I'm sick." 

"Must've been Jess, then." 

"Jessie doesn't know either." 

Miguel was caught. His ears grew red before his cheeks did, and you smirked. Cute. Way too cute. 

"Lyla told me," Miguel grumbled, finally. 

"Ah. There it is. Not so hard to tell the truth now is it, Miggs?" You said with a Cheshire smile and a wink. "Good to know you've got your confidant spying on me." 

Miguel freed himself from the children and stood up quickly. "It's not--I'm not spying on you, I–you–" Miguel pursed his lips. "I don't need to explain myself." 

That made you laugh. "Relax, tough guy. I don't mind ya swinging by. Or, hm, guess I don't mind ya portal-ing in." Miguel didn't seem to think you were that funny, but thankfully Nico, in his haze of dreams, giggled at the right moment. "Nicky thinks I'm funny. You should take notes."

It didn't take much convincing to get Miguel to stay for dinner. You made him take a shower, though, and leant him some clothes to lounge in while you cooked everything from scratch. From scratch. Miguel couldn't remember the last time he had a home cooked meal. 

"Yeah? That's sad as shit," you remarked nonchalantly as you diced vegetables. "Tell ya what, you make it a habit of coming around, and I'll make sure I make extra for you, yeah? It's important to have that home cooked goodness for your soul 'n what not." 

Miguel felt his chest fill with something fluffy and warm. "Good point." But it wasn't, really. "Guess I'll have to make it a habit." He leaned back against the counter as he watched you prep everything. "Wouldn't want you putting in all that extra effort for nothing."

You twitched a bit of a smile and nodded. "My thoughts exactly." 

You spared a glance at Miguel. He looked calm, at ease, like the threat of the dimensions collapsing wasn't at the forefront of his mind for once. You thought, maybe, this might be the first time in a long time that he had his mind off work. Maybe he was doing that whole human thing and enjoying the present for a change. Jumping to conclusions wasn't really your style, though. 

Crimson eyes flickered, then, gazing towards the crib settled in your bedroom. He must've heard your little man stir. He must've wanted to do something about it, if his sudden shiftiness told you anything. 

"You mind checking on him?" You asked softly, knowing that, maybe, this was a big ask for a man who only had a phantom to tuck in at night. "He's fussy. Likes to be held." 

"You're sure?" The other man asked, brows furrowed in concern. 

"You kidding? If there's any guy I'd trust with my kid, it's you." You fiddled with the wrapper of the packaged chicken meat before ultimately stabbing it with a knife. "Go on. Before he starts crying." 

And Miguel wandered off to the little one. His voice had that sound to it when he spotted him, that kind of gentleness a man unlocked when he felt what it meant to be a father, a protector of a smaller soul. You listened hard for Miguel's smile, and felt your heart throb when you heard, "Hey, mijo. ¿Estas bien?" leave his lips. Your little boy cooed, and Miguel made a noise that sounded so frightfully domestic and dad-like, you thought you might perish on the spot, or fall in love in a second. 

Get it together, get it together. A deep breath steadied your blitzing nerves when Miguel came back to the kitchen, Nico in his arms, smooshed up against his chest. You stole a glance, smiling to yourself when you caught Miguel mooning over the lazy bundle of joy. 

You worked fast, feeling a weird, undeniable desire to talk after you had your army of children fed and sent to bed. Miguel didn’t leave your side, nor did he deign to put Nico down, not through soup and sandwiches, not through 20 questions hosted by Isabella and Natalie, and not through the moments alone where you herded the young ladies off to wash up before getting them to bed for the night. 

“Y’know, you’re gonna spoil that kid,” you said with a smile when you came back to find Miguel on the couch with your son. You sat down by him with a dad-like sigh and peered at the little one snoozing away. “He’s gonna demand you hold him every time you come around.”

Miguel huffed a laugh. “You make it sound like it’s a bad thing.”

“Hey, with arms ‘n pecs like that?” You pat one of Miguel’s impressive biceps to prove a point. “I get where he’s coming from. Lots of free real estate with good foundations.”

“Oh? You want me to hold you too?” Miguel offered, some sort of impish lilt lifting his voice as he looked over at you.

You fought back the urge to swallow. “Sure. If you’re offering.” But Miguel looked a little caught again, a little unsure of how much to tease and how hard to press, so you let him off the hook with a laugh. 

“Man, you really remind me of her.” You rested your head against the couch, maybe a little bit on Miguel’s shoulder, as you watched your boy sleep. “Liliana,” you amended, “Isabella’s mom.” 

Scarlet eyes flickered to you. Seems you caught his attention. “Liliana,” Miguel tested the name on his tongue slowly, thoughtfully. “Isabella’s mom.” And after another pause, he asked, “I guess she’s gone?”

“Gone. Yeah.” You blinked slowly, and let the words rotting in your lungs breach the surface: “I killed her.” Ah, maybe you said that with too much nonchalance, you worried, but Miguel’s low hum seemed to suggest otherwise. 

It felt good. You couldn't stop yourself from talking. “It was an accident, I guess. She was a scientist. Geneticist, I think. Made me into, well, whatever I am now.” You flexed your hand and looked it over, like the blueprints of your design were still hidden under tired skin. “‘Cause, y’know, I was a soldier, she said I was gonna be the next Captain America, but… that doesn’t matter. Anyway, side effects were bad, really bad. I freaked out, then--then, y'know.” You took a breath. “Killed my little girl’s mom.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek as you stared at nothing, sucked back into a daze and a trance you’d long forgotten about. But you remembered the blood, the screaming, the way you and those webs ignited and how the white lab coats all howled and screamed and popped. The scent of roasted flesh should have disgusted you, it should have knocked some sense into you and dragged you out of whatever episode you were having, but instead–

Your stomach growled, and you cleared your throat. 

“Yeah. That was a bad day.” 

“I get it,” Miguel said, and sounded like he meant it. “Guess something like that happened to me.” 

You peered up at him, glimpsing his conflicted, troubled look. 

“Yeah?” Thought Spiderman had a boring, normal story. Because, in totality, you were something more demented than just Spiderman, so your story was more fucked up than the rest. Maybe you were wrong.

“Yeah. I was–my research killed someone when I was trying to make them into, well, Spiderman.” Miguel sighed and shook his head, admonishing himself from the past. “I didn’t want to. I got pressured into it. Drugged when I wanted to quit. It was a mess.

“Tried to rewrite my DNA, and then a colleague shocked that up for me, and I ended up with the claws, the fangs, the–the everything. Slashed his throat by accident, got some other people killed when they tried to help me, killed some baddies when I didn’t mean to.” 

Miguel’s gaze turned to you. “So don’t think you’re alone.” 

“Huh,” you said astutely. “Guess you really meant it when you called us ‘miserable bastards.’”

“Takes one to know one, I guess.” Miguel’s shoulder shifted slightly, easing down so your head could rest more comfortably against him. Your chest swirled with errant embers, but you tried not to think too hard about it. 

“You said I reminded you of her. Of Liliana?” Miguel asked, quiet and tentative. 

You hummed. “Yeah. The good parts.” You smiled (when had that gotten so easy?) and reached over to brush some dark hair from Nico’s tiny forehead. “She was smokin’ hot.” 

“...Huh.”

“Way too smart for her own good,” you continued. “It's always the smart ones that get me, y'know? Anyway, she was sly 'n funny in a mean way, but hey, I like that shit. Maybe I'm a masochist." 

"So," Miguel started, shifting slightly to face you more, "let me get this straight. You think I'm 'smoking hot,' 'too smart for my own good,' and 'funny in a mean way'?" The grin on his face was too much for you to handle. Why did you feel so hot suddenly? Why was he so close suddenly?

"I think that sums it up." 

"Huh. Anyone ever tell you you're an asshole?" 

"Ouch. Okay, what if I throw in 'she was born to be a bangin' mom','' you offered, feeling a long-forgotten rush of excitement as you sat up and leaned in close, so close, your hand coming up to cup the side of his strong neck as you kept talking, "and that she made me feel somethin' for the first time in a long time?" 

You could feel Miguel's breath hitch in his throat as he measured the gap between you two, his eyes flicking down to your lips and back to your eyes in debate. You wanted to close it. With every inch of your being you wanted to take the plunge and crash your lips against his. 

But, with every fibre of your soul, you didn't want to fuck this up. You didn't have words for what this even was, but you cherished it. Sauntering down this line of friendship, of companionship, was better than taking the dive back into that world of icy yearning and wilting roses–this type of love, the platonic sort shared between brothers and men, was meaningful in and of itself. It was good enough.

Wasn't it?

You looked over his face, in disbelief with yourself. "Who am I kidding?" You whispered, letting your hand fall from his neck like a glacier shearing away from its home. 

A small, tired laugh crawled from your chest, and you rubbed your face. "I, uh, think I oughta call it a night. I'm gonna–I gotta tuck Nicky into his crib." And carefully, gently, you scooped up your monkey and whispered quiet thanks into his hair–your little man was the perfect scapegoat. 

What're you thinking? Careful hands pulled up the banana-patterned blanket over Nico's tiny form after you'd set him down in the cozy crib that he loathed so much. You thought it was nice and comfy. Hell, if you could fit, you'd probably snooze in there all day. 

"Good work today, Nicky. I think you made the big guy relax a little, y'know?" Your son cooed sweetly in his sleep, and your spirit lifted just slightly. It almost gave you the strength to go face Miguel after coming onto him so hard. 

Finding the last bit of courage yourself, you gave your boy one last kiss on the noggin and quietly snuck out, closing the door with utmost caution behind you, only to be pressed up against it a moment later, and smothered with a kiss. 

A bolt of lightning kicked your pulse into triple time as you kissed Miguel back. His hands caught you by your hips, and your arms hooked around his shoulders and pulled him in closer. The simple thing was exhilarating. He was exhilarating. The embodiment of strength and resilience, of power and intelligence, was crushing you up against a door and taking the air from your lungs with such ease. 

"Fuck," you gasped when you parted with a wet noise that sounded far too Hollywood. "You're not half bad." 

"You've got a talent for ruining the mood." Miguel scoffed and tilted your chin up. His half-lidded eyes drank you in as soft breaths left his parted lips. You wanted nothing more than to be eaten whole by him (was that weird?). 

"I got a few other talents, too," you purred, voice swirling with velvety dark chocolate. "But that might be too much for an old man like–" 

Your squawked indignantly when he scooped you up and hoisted you over his shoulder like you were nothing but a petulant child. Your hands scrabbled against his back, and a shocked bout of laughter bubbled up from your core as he slapped you on the ass hard. Was this real? Were you seriously getting manhandled and spanked by Miguel O'hara? 

Miguel almost threw you onto the couch, but you guessed the children snoozing in the next room over hampered that decision. 

"If there's one thing I'm never too old for," Miguel murmured lightly, almost condescendingly as he set you down on the couch and got on top of you, "it's sex." 

Your eager hands flitted across his taut muscles, too excited and undecided as to where to land first. "Thought you were too old to sleep around?" 

"I don't sleep around," Miguel corrected, letting you fill in the blanks. 

That helped you relax a little. "Yeah?" 

He looked so conflicted, a little embarrassed, too. But that was becoming more and more common these days, thanks to you. "Yeah." 

You nodded and reached a hand up to his cheek, and he leaned in graciously as a needy cat might. "Okay. Then I don't either." 

Miguel hummed, and turned to mark your palm with a little kiss. "Alright." 

"And maybe…we don't fuck tonight." His sleepy gaze found you again with one dark brow raised, surprised. "I'm, uh, I think I'm down pretty bad for you, Boss. I don't wanna fuck this up." 

And, truth be told, you wanted to give him some respite. Maybe you wanted to give some to yourself, too; Liliana and Dahlia danced through your mind so much these days, no thanks to the burgeoning fondness growing for Miguel. He reminded you of both of them, of Winter and Summer, of snow and flowers. But it wasn't fair, not to you or him, to compare him to the epitome of cold and the apex of warmth. You needed time, too. Time to learn how to compare him to no one.

Miguel smiled, small and sincere. You admired the fine lines crinkling the corners of his eyes. He looked so handsome when he smiled. You wanted him to do it more. Were you enough to make him smile more?

"Yeah. I don't want you to shock this up either," he said, and your brows raised, incredulous. 

"This is what I get for trying to be mature ‘n romantic, huh?” Your fingers drummed against the arms caging you in. You thought about chancing a finger-taser to his ribs, but with those damn claws of his, you were a little too worried about your couch cushions getting demolished.

His handsome smile turned into a punchable smirk. “What? I’m agreeing with you.” 

“Ah-huh, ah-huh, that’s all, hey?” You leaned up and kissed Miguel again, slower and tamer this time, but still burning with want. Ugh. Why did you have to try to be all mature and romantic? “You’re just being a good boy?”

Miguel’s hips twitched at that, and it was your turn to smirk. Oh, how the tables turn. 

“Lay down,” you ordered, sitting up to get out from under him. “Come on.”

“I–what?” He grumbled, looking a little befuddled and frustrated. Cute, cute cute. “Thought we agreed on–”

“Heavy petting’s not off the table, right?” You cut him off. Miguel perked a little bit at the suggestion and did as he was ordered, his hands finding your hips again as you took your turn straddling him. “Luckily for you, I’m an expert at the clothes-on experience.” You winked and Miguel sucked in a breath. 

“Show me.” He ordered, voice deep and gravelly.

And you did.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #atsv imagine #atsv reader insert #male reader insert #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x male reader #miguel x male reader #male!reader #atsv male!reader insert #atsv x reader #atsv x you #miguel x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #phyrestartr

[karlwriting]

How Gojo shows you his love

Featuring - Gojo SFW + NSFW

More characters coming!

Reblog and likes are appreciated:)

Gojo ．◆．◆．

SFW

buys 2 sets of the same dessert so he can give you one. He likes trying new desserts with you. Your fridge is always filled with cakes and kikufuku.

"good things worth sharing angel, tho i am not gonna share you to anyone *winks* " he stuffs more matcha cakes in your fridge.

“Satoru I have gained 3 pounds this month!” You protest to him.

“So what? I love the way you are, i am in love with the concept of you, not your body.” He walks closer to you.

“But if you are that concerned with your weight, we can always do exercise together *smooch*, hard exercise.”

Gojo Only turns off his infinity when he is alone with you. he wants you to be able to feel all of him, guiding your hand from touching his snowy hair, then his bare chest, finally to his firm waist. He pants a little every time your fingertips move closer to his abdomen.

"Holy... Gojo sensei! what happened to you?" Yuji saw there is a bruise on Gojo's left cheeks. Is it possible that the strongest sorcerer got beaten up? "Got beaten up by a cat." Gojo gently rubs his bruise and giggles at how your elbow accidentally hit him cuz you were overstimulated last night.

Gojo becomes a punctual person for you. The higher ups always complained to you of how disrespectful your boyfriend is, cuz he was usually late for meeting. Gojo gets so pissed knowing the higher ups are bothering you because of him. So he shows up to the meeting on time to shut their mouths up.

“I’m going out now angel, i’ll see you tonight.” Gojo kisses your forehead then opens the front door.

“Oh one thing, did the higher ups bother you again?” He asks you before closing the door.

“Nope, cuz you are so punctual for me now.”

Gojo enjoys caging you suddenly just to tease you - on wall, on bed, just whatever he can lay his hands on. This white haired cocky ass even does this in public with NO SHAME. Watching his tiny girlfriend being stuffed in such a small area is way too exciting for him - area made by his arms. You are nowhere to be seen in Gojo’s over 190cm figure.

You secretly made some kikufuku last night to surprise Gojo. As you sneak into his office and put the kikufuku on his desk, you feel someone standing close, caging you on his desk from behind.

“We are in your office! What if Yuji comes in and sees us?”

“But a cute cat just sneaked in to my office~*sees the kikufuku* is it for me? Lord you are too precious… i must have saved the whole universe in my past life.” Gojo says as he nuzzles the crook of your neck. You gently turn around hug him back.

NSFW

Gojo likes to see you get overstimulated before he penetrates you. He usually makes you cum for a few times on his fingers and mouth first. His fingers are so long that he can easily reach your sweetest spot.

His fingers are pumping in and out in a fast and steady pace. The squelch sounds filling all over the room.

“Getting so ready for me angel? Lord… can you see how much juice you are leaking? So fucking good for me baby.”

“Satoru! I can’t take it anymore -!!” Gojo leans down to lick your clit, still pumping his fingers as he sees you are almost there. You can feel his tongue moving in a circular motion, triggering every nerve of yours. He is panting so much that his moist breath is so ticklish. You didn’t take long to reach your 3rd orgasm.

“Such a good girl… but don’t get tired already, gotta make you feel hundred times nicer with something better.” He grinds his rock hard erection to your entrance.

Gojo groans A LOT, praises you A LOT, and kisses you A LOT during sex. Pounding into you in doggy style is always his all time favourite, he enjoys groaning closely behind your ears to give you goosebumps.

You are being caged on bed by Gojo from behind, feeling him pounding into you relentlessly.

“It’s such a waste that my baby doesn’t get to see what i see. Do you know how beautiful you are when i am taking you from behind? Fuck - don’t squeeze me like that” His thrusts are getting rougher and sloppier, dear lord… your man is such a groaner.

“Slow down Satoru…” you are gonna get fucked dumb by this man.

“You feel so incredible, let’s cum together baby? Shit…I’m cumming-” You feel his cock is twitching inside you, and his body is shaking a lot as you both going through the orgasm.

“Baby you wanna squeeze me dry don’t you? You are fucking amazing.” He says as he lies down next to you, pulling you close for a kiss.

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk fluff #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuuta x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo fluff #gojo smut #gojo x you

[icallhimjoey]

In 120 Hours

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: You work as a temp and are offered a very exclusive interview for a very exclusive job. You see, someone needs a personal assistant for a very eventful week, and you happen to be the perfect fit.

CW / disclaimer: 18+, language, rpf, fem!reader

Author’s note: I have girlies helping me out, telling me what LFF is like, telling me what parts of being a PA are realistic - it's amazing! Thank you so much for reaching out, it helps a lot! Here's part two!

Wordcount: 2.5K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“Um, oh my God?”

Your eyes were pulled up towards the high ceilings in Joe’s hallway, peering up the stairs that curled ‘round at the top. Down the hall you could see into the kitchen, and you assumed that the door on the side lead into the living room.

Joe placed your suitcase down at the bottom of the stairs and scratched the back of his neck.

“Yea, I know,” he looked almost guilty for how nice this house was.

“Is this all Stranger Things money?”

Joe bit both his lips into his mouth, made big eyes and didn’t answer. Though, he did, because those eyes spoke volumes. This was all Stranger Things money.

“Holy fuck,”

“Wait ‘til you see upstairs,”

Joe was right. The upstairs was insane, because that’s where the newly redone bathrooms were. They had deep tubs, and shower heads the size of pizzas that stuck out from the ceiling. Joe showed you around, and although you marveled at every room, Joe had been right about the mess and lack of furniture too. Most rooms were empty, just had boxes in, and it kind of looked like no one really lived there at all.

Except for the guest room. Your room.

“I’ve got to stop saying oh my God, but, oh my God?”

It kind of felt like you walked into a very fancy hotel suite. Tall headboard, wide dresser, lush curtains and big doors to an inbuilt wardrobe that Joe walked towards to open.

“Look,”

They’d redone it to have a desk inside. A little office nook, so you could hide all of the work mess by closing the doors before you’d go to bed. The room was large enough to have its own little seating area too, without it looking silly or overcrowded.

On the dresser they’d left you what could only be described as a care-package, except it spanned the whole surface area of it. Packets of crisps laid next to bottles of water, and perfume samples laid next to make-up wipes, and skin care laid next to spare phone chargers.

“If there’s anything else you need, just let me know,” Joe said, and you scoffed at him.

“I think you’ll find it’s the other way around for the next five days,”

“Oh, yea, you’re right,” Joe laughed at himself. He’d never really had someone new as a personal assistant before. Not like this, anyway.

You took another look around, walked around to see the ensuite and sighed.

“Could I not move in permanently? Shit, this is gorgeous,”

Also, Joe was gorgeous. But, you know, you were a professional. Kept the compliments for the inanimate objects rather than, you know, his ass.

“I know,” Joe laughed. “Come see my bedroom, it’s ridiculous compared to this,”

Up another flight of stairs, you stepped into a comically large space that made one of the larger pieces of furniture – his bed – look absolutely tiny.

“What the fuck,”

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Joe scrunched his face, and you would've laughed at it, but the room really eyed kind of... sad.

The space itself? Beautiful.

Pretty much the size of your full flat. But this reached Airbnb levels of bad. Zero personality. No curtains on the windows. One bedside table, on the left. Two big, opened suitcases on the floor with clothes spilling out. Not even proper bedding on the bed. A small skinny table was placed in the middle of the room, and on it stood a flatscreen TV. And Joe had zero cable management. Extension cords, phone charger, laptop charger, the TV cables – it was a jumbled-up mess on the floor and made the place look untidy. 

“I'm sorry but, yes. This is terrible. You can't bring girls up here, not with it looking like this,” you gestured a wild arm around, knowing very well that the comment was edgy. But you were in his bedroom. In his house. Just the two of you. The entire situation was a bit edgy overall to begin with.

“Oh shit, quick, close your eyes,” and like you'd been friends for years, Joe moved both his hands over your face, not touching, but definitely close enough for your eyelashes to tickle his palms if you were to blink and you were reminded that, oh, yea, you were in fact a girl.

It was a short little joke, his hands backed away just as quickly as they'd been shoved into your face, and when your laughter died out, you wondered how long Joe had been living like this.

“When did you move in?” 

Because this looked like Joe was 17 and had just moved out of his parents’ house, priorities being the TV he could now watch from the bed and um, nothing else, really.

“A month ago,”

“You’ve been living like this for a month?” the words were out of you before you realised how offensive they sounded, but they just made Joe laugh.

“Technically, yes. But I’ve only spent the night here maybe... four times?” 

Joe’d been off to The States for a few weeks. Very cool, made him instantly sound more impressive than he already was. He pointed at the suitcases for proof, which honestly didn’t mean anything to you – you’d gone on holiday and left suitcases out for weeks upon returning. But, all right, you’d believe him on his word. 

On your way back down, you asked if Joe needed help furnishing the place, and he said, yes, he absolutely did, but not to worry about it. 

“Are you sure? The things I could do with this place,” your minds-eye was already decorating the spaces that weren’t yours, but God, would this place not look fantastic in soft neutrals with strong black accents all throughout? Warm, but high contrast? Contemporary with some vintage thrown in for the vibes? 

“Be my guest, but please don’t feel obligated, we’ve got a lot going already,” 

And Joe was right, because you checked the time, and realised you had 20 minutes until you’d have to leave for a studio in East London somewhere for a photoshoot for a magazine and Joe had to bring an outfit – or wear one, which was easier – that he could wear after, because it was straight from there to a film screening and even if he wasn’t going to get his picture taken, he was probably going to get his picture taken. 

In Joe’s living room there was one large armchair. And there were two paintings on the floor that leant against the walls they had to be put up on. But that was it. Yes, boxes, they were there too, but there were boxes everywhere. 

His dining room, however, wasn’t a dining room at all, because there was no table to sit at. Instead, there were two clothing racks, the wheelie kind, that had Joe’s good stuff on, and Joe said, “Please, help, I like all of it, but if no one tells me what to wear, I tend to pick the exact things that don’t go together.” 

Men. 

“Can I ask what you would pick? Just to get a gist?” you asked Joe, and he looked, pulled a few things out and you said, “Actually, that’s nice,” but you thought that, actually, Joe would look fucking stunning in just about anything. Or nothing. You'd have him either way. But then Joe pointed at a pair of shoes, and you went, “Maybe not,” and suggested perhaps he could go with the less flashy black boots. He didn’t fight you on it, picked them up and handed them to you.

You thought you'd selected a pair of shoes that weren’t designer, but learned quickly that actually, all of the clothes down here were very much designer. Even the items that absolutely didn't look it. You were staring at an absolute fortune on black velvet hangers and felt stupidly underdressed in your outfit that was one hundred per cent black H&M items that were no longer black, but instead had been washed into a sad state of charcoal grey.

“I promise I have normal stuff too,” it was as if he read your mind.

“Balled up in the suitcases upstairs?” you joked, and Joe was about to reply, but the doorbell interrupted you. You both looked at where the sound came from, and because you were in Joe’s house, you expected him to make his way over to answer the door. But he didn’t, and you realised then that, oh yes, you were an assistant now, and you could open the door to his house like you’d lived there for years. 

Better get used to this fast, bestie, you thought to yourself as you made your way to the door and greeted a delivery driver with two smallish boxes at his feet.

Behind him, you noticed that the car you’d gotten out of a little while ago was still there, driver still in the drivers’ seat, waiting. What a life; huge house, designer clothes, drivers waiting, a personal assistant... a very good personal assistant, mind you. One that admittedly, yes, wanted to stare into Joe's eyes for hours on end if she could, but also was going to furnish his whole house in a few days.

How? No clue. But you didn't have problems - you carried solutions. You were convinced that if you kept telling yourself that, it would somehow be true. And if it wasn't, at least you could fool yourself and feel better about it.

You signed for the delivery and learned quickly that the small boxes were heavy. Of course, they were. Joe called out, “Are those the photos?” and you remembered. You ripped one open to check and were greeted by shiny large photos of Eddie Munson’s face, tongue out, fingers up as horns beside his head. Five thousand of them. “Yep. Which reminds me... until what time do you mind working?”

During the photoshoot, you hung back a little. Afraid to be in the way, because, shit, how many people were actually involved in a fucking photoshoot, Jesus. And half of them looked like they weren't really even doing anything. But then, you kind of belonged to that group a little - girl sat on her phone, tapping her feet to the music, looking up to scan the room every now and then to see if you were needed.

You kept an eye on the time, made sure Joe had water nearby, babysat Joe's phone and his cigarettes, crossed things off the schedule, fiddled with your engagement ring that was no longer an engagement ring, double checked the rest of the day and googled interior design styles to show Joe later. To see what he liked.

You liked that Joe seemed human. Had humour. Eased situations that could've very easily been awkward because, how long had you known each other? And you already had access to pretty much all of him?

You tried imagining what this morning would've been like had it been any other celebrity you'd be working for, and you honestly couldn't think of someone better. Wait, Ryan and Blake, maybe.

When Joe was asked to change outfits, you saw his eyes search the room. He located you, nodded the tiniest of nods to himself, and followed the stylist to the racks of clothing waiting for him.

That almost felt like he was checking to make sure you were still there. As if he needed to be reassured of your presence, and you felt something in your chest that you didn't really like.

Keep him company. He's used to having someone with him.

You made your way over, with no real goal in mind other than to just be a bit closer.

Joe and the stylist were quietly talking, going through several colourful clothing items, and when you stepped into earshot, the stylist smiled at you.

“What do you think, pink, or blue?”

And it was very kind, too kind, almost a bit patronizing, because obviously you had no real say or any influence here, but you still said pink, and then Joe said, “Then pink it is,” and minutes later you were watching Joe pose in a pink suit and it all felt a bit surreal.

He looked so good, so hot.

You were only like, what, five hours into this job? And now you just got to stare at this and be paid for it?

Stupid.

But then it got bad, and it got bad fast. Because after the shoot, you were both sat in the backseat of a car, your car, on the way to a film screening – one Joe was actually excited to see – and you went through the rest of the day together.

Screening first. Drinks in the lobby after. Not quite industry happy hour yet, but important to stick around for a little while none the less. Then you'd fit in dinner somewhere and then, there was the proper networking event. Joe nodded, said yep throughout, said he fancied seafood for dinner, and oh, yes, his fridge at home was empty. You added a Tesco order and delivery to your to do list, and then, whilst stuck in London traffic, asked Joe if he wanted to do the phone interview that needed doing, the number already typed in, ready to go.

“You're asking me if I want to?” Joe challenged. “Or are you telling me I have to?”

Beginners mistake.

The interview was in Joe's schedule. He'd just done the shoot. He had to do the interview now. Joe had his head cocked to the side, looking up at you with raised eyebrows and that smile. Fuck, that smile. It was going to get you in trouble if you weren't careful.

You chuckled in defeat, and Joe was already holding out his hand to take the phone from you as you pressed the green call button.

“No, it's nice you asked, really,” Joe said sarcastically, teasingly, trying to deepen the blush you had going just before they picked up on the other end, “Hey!”

And you made a face at him, mocked anger, shock and sheer frustration because now you couldn't make the snarky comment you wanted to make and as a response. Joe squeezed your knee for a few seconds in recognition.

Just placed his full palm over your knee.

Used his fingers to squeeze into your flesh.

You felt your stomach muscles tense up.

For what?

Joe talked on the phone and squeezed your knee.

For that.

It only lasted a mere second, but then, when Joe had safely made it into the screening and you'd found a coffee place to sit and order Joe some groceries, you still felt his hand there. Firey skin, just tingling away freely under the table.

And you were going to have to sleep at his house?

Oh man.

You checked the time. Did mental math. One hundred and ten and a half hours left, still.

Fuck.

You were so screwed.

---  

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @kiwisa @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @xomunson @sadbitchfangirl @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @eddiemunsonfuxks @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @mybffjoe @harrys-tittie @chaoticgood-munson @jenisnotlost @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @xeddiesbattattsx @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @thefemininemystiquee @hauntingbastille @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-joey @alizztor @thelostmoonofpooosh @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff - (tag list currently full)

#joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn x you #joseph quinn x you #joe quinn fanfic #joseph quinn fanfic #fluff #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #rpf #in 120 hours #part 2

[tainted-liquor]

'Swing By Anytime˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Earth1610!Miles Morales x BlackFem!Personal Seamstress!Reader Ingredients: sugar, kisses, and a lil bit of smiles! TWs: cursing, you being Miles's M.J., Reader being mean as encouragement (you'll see babes trust) W/C: 1.1k? A/N: Purely for the sake of the plot, miles is like 18-20. NOT SMUT!

"Gorgeous! You're so pretty, girl! Alright, the changing room is to the left, you can put it on the hook. It'll be ready for you tomorrow when I finish making all the proper altercations." You squealed in pure joy. Since you had been a fashion major, outfits had just poured out of you like run-off. Of course every now and again there were people who wanted things custom ordered, which made you extremely happy. But you knew who your favorite customer was. And, speaking of your favorite customer, he should be here right now. There was a muffled tiny 'thwip' noise that you would have missed if you weren't straining to hear every individual sound over the beat of 'Shirt' By SZA in your studio.

You sighed with a small smile, walking to your studio's window. "Darling, I keep telling you this, I have a door, just strut through it whenever you want" you giggled as you lifted the window pane, coming face-to-face with the one and only Spider-Man. "Whatcha got for me today, my dear?" you asked as you beckoned him inside the studio, taking a set in front of the many vision boards you had pinned down to your desk. "Hey! sorry, snips, I'll use the door next time. And I brought this design plan, actually." He hummed with a smile that was hidden behind his mask. He had a habit of calling you snips due to always seeing you with some sort of scissors, not that you minded anyway. He walked up to you and handed you a folded-up piece of paper, which had a plethora of sketches for a new Spider-Man suit.

Your eyes widened with joy as you took a scan of the paper. Next to the various drawings, there was one circled design with many notes jotted down next to it with measurements, material, color shades, and substitute color shades. It was the most solid suit plan you had ever seen. You turned the paper around to see more notes, and the smaller parts of the suit enlarged. It was perfect from top to bottom. Everything you needed to know was on paper, which made your job unfathomably easier.

"You know I love you for this, right?" You squealed with a wide grin. "Fuck you! How dare you bring such perfection into my studio!" You joked, giving the Spider a tight hug. He chuckled quietly, muttering, "Had to make it easy for my personal seamstress! C'mon, snips, I'd never do that to you." he added as he gave you a pat on the back. Miles usually came into the studio to fix tears or rips in his suit, get patched up, and then swing back out. But recently, he's been talking about reworking his Spider-Suit. So, like a good 'friend' you offered to help him with his project. Of all your clients, only he had given you such a thorough and precise outfit plan.

He began to recall some of his adventures as his alter-ego, letting his mask hook over his nose as he ate some of your cookies on the ceiling. You listened to his experiences as you plucked each corresponding fabric from the fabric closet, placing them next to each other on the ground. You traced each required pattern with a white chalk pencil, referencing the measurements documented on Miles's paper and keeping seam allowance in mind. "Damn, that's crazy...so what'd you do next, B? You had to web her?" you replied as he raved about some Doc-Oc he caught on his way here. "Yeah, I got her in webs and turned her over to the police. She was dead ass putting up a fight too." He spat as he took the final bite of his cookie.

"That's insane...C'mere I gotta make sure I got this little web design right on your mask," You said as you beckoned him to come down from your ceiling. He zipped down, landing on both of his feet within seconds. You held up the small fabric sheet, allowing him to examine the thin markings where his web design would go. "Nice! Looks amazing. Wouldn't expect anything less from mi Costurera personal!" He exclaimed. You smiled delicately as you continued cutting out the patterns, leaving the spaces he wanted to spray paint on blank.

You spent the next 9 hours talking as you finished his suit and mask. He leaned back on your desk, arms crossed against his chest as you explained color theory, why you were sewing his suit inside out, and why you outlined the pattern with white chalk. It was getting dark outside, and you felt slightly drowsy as you finished the last stitches on his mask. "Alright, love, here you go. I'm pretty sure it's the right size, but put it on when you get time and come back if it's too small." you smiled as you hand him the mask. "Oh, dope! Bet." He says as he suddenly pulls off his mask, releasing his fluffy hair from the tight confines of the spandex. Your eyes widened as you slowly realized Spider-Man had casually taken his mask off in front of me.

You didn't hide that you were staring at his entire face, analyzing his features as soon as the mask came off. He chuckled as he put the other mask on, looking in the mirror on the wall to check out his new mask. "It's perfect! It's exactly like how I wanted, you're a literal angel!" he fanboys as he poses like a dork in my mirror. "How much do I owe you?" He asks as he turns around, fidgeting with the gloves of his suit as he pulled out a wad of money from seemingly nowhere. "Pshh, bitch you look amazing. Just take the suit. It's free." I insisted, leaning back in my chair and placing both feet on my desk.

His eyes narrowed as he advanced to me, grabbed my wrist, and firmly placed the money in my hand. "That was 10 hours of work. I'm NOT taking advantage of your labor." He stated, pulling off his mask purely so he could give me the most serious, slightly-offended look of his life. I nodded slowly as I put the money in my bag cautiously. "Good. Thank you, mi angelita!" He added, pressing a small kiss to my forehead. "C'mon, I'll swing you home. I know your studio closed hours ago" he reasoned as he scooped me up from my chair, throwing me over his shoulder and slipping his new mask back on. "Spidey, c'mon its really no trou-" I began

"Miles." He corrected.

I sighed as I packed up his suit, gently wrapping it in a cute little box and signing it with my infamous signature, "M.J." before wrapping both arms around his neck gently and giving him a small kiss on his temple, mentally preparing myself to swing through half the damn city at inhumane speeds.

Miles's eyes widened at the small detail, turning to look behind him slightly with a small smirk.

"M.J, huh?"

#across the spiderverse #atsv #into the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #miles morales #miles x reader #miles morales headcanons #miles molares #across the spider verse #spiderverse #earth 1610 miles morales x reader

[yourfatherlucifer]

MDNI - sub!Mingi

For the pyeongie brother kingdom

Monarch/King!Male!Reader

BIG DONG READER

I had sat in my quarters at my desk, papers and things alike strewn about on top. I had some affairs I had to attend to for the citizens of mine and my brothers kingdoms, it is a tedious task, it is.

I had grown aggravated, my head in my hands.

I heard a knock on my door, “Come in, please.”

Mingi poked his head in, his eyebrows furrowed into an innocent look, “My King?”

I smiled and pushed away the papers, “Yes, Mingi?”

He slowly approached me with his head downward, the towering man looked so small like this, his shoulders were slumped.

I chuckled and cooed at his behavior, “Come here,” I pat my lap, “come here baby.”

Mingi looked up and smiled, quickly running over, “I missed you.” He had whined as he took his seat on my thigh.

I rubbed his back as he planted his face into my neck, “I missed you too. You’re such a big baby.”

He whined at my words, “Am not..”

I rolled my eyes, “Mingi, you’re practically always in my lap, yes you are.”

He sat up and stared me in my eyes, “Are you questioning my moral loyalty?”

I gripped his chin in my hand, “Seriously? Mingi, don’t smart mouth me. I’m still your king despite being your lover.”

He nodded and shrunk back into a ball, I sighed in frustration. Why did he always depend on me?

I sighed and brought his mouth to mine, entrapping him a kiss, which he happily returned.

His large hand wrapped my neck, pulling me closer to him, he kissed along the corners of my mouth before pulling away, "Sometimes it annoys me I have to share you and your brothers."

I chuckled at his pout, "I'm sorry, my big baby, that's just the way it is." I ran my hand through his fire-y colored hair, giving it a gentle tug.

"Get off on my thigh, Mings."

Mingi groaned before unbuckling his pants and pulling them down. He then tossed his pants across the room. Left in his boxers, he sat back down on my thigh, holding his hardened cock against it. I brought his lips back to mine as he dry humped my thigh.

He whined and moaned, "Fuck.." he cried out. I placed my hand on this thin waist, rubbing up and down.

"That's a good boy, such a good job."

I then snaked my hand around, pulling his boxers down past his asscheeks, poking and prodding at his hole with my index finger. He arched his back towards my chest in response.

"Please! Just fuck me already, my King! I've been such a good boy, your good boy!" tears were beginning to stain his cheeks.

I chuckled, "Awe, my baby is so desperate for my cock, isn't he?"

"Yes! Yes! Please!"

I nodded and removed my finger from him. I stood up and flipped him to bend over my desk. I ran my hand along his spine and yanked down his boxers the rest of the way, "Don't worry, you'll get what you want, dear."

I took handfuls of his asscheeks before giving them a smack, watching them jiggle, "Are you ready baby boy?"

He nodded and pushed his ass towards me, eager and impatient.

I lined up my cock to his hole and slowly pushed in, he cried out from the stretch, "So big!"

"I know, I know, you can handle it." I thrusted my hips against his as he braced his body for the impact, knowing I could be a bit rough.

I gripped his waist before leaning down and kissing along his back, "Such a tiny waist for such a big man."

I stood back up and continued my pace against him, speeding up every now and then. I reached around his body to grab his own dick, pumping it, but careful not to overstimulate him.

He cried out into the wood of the desk, "more please! I'm close!"

I bit down on his neck as I was approaching my own orgasm from behind him, "Where do you want it, baby?"

"Inside, please~" he moaned.

I gripped his waist tighter as I slammed my hips against his to bring me closer.

Mingi moaned so loudly when my cum finally explored the inside of him.

He collapsed against the desk in deep breaths.

"Fuck. My king, that was so good."

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #x reader #x male reader #mingi smut #mingi x male reader smut

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

A Strange Sort of Family

hi, resident evil fandom, i'd like to throw my hat in the ring

look, i don't even really go here, the fandom mold just got into my brain and would not fucking leave. this is my first time writing any of these characters so if they feel a bit rocky, please forgive me. my media analysis brain has been spinning nonstop since we started the resident evil brain rot and ho boy would I love to sink my teeth into a proper horror fic but! i don't know if i'm there yet so i figured i'd start a bit easier for me :)

also--we all know there's no way ethan's just gone from the franchise now, right? like, sure, he's dead, but he died like 30 minutes into re7 and that didn't fucking stop him

ALSO also big shoutout to @dragonsareaqueerthing and @greenninjagal-blog for the encouragement to actaully make the words go :) hopefully i'll be spending more time in this fandom now that I've got that ball rolling

Read on Ao3

Warnings: talk about events of shadows of rose dlc, nothing explicit, bullying

Pairings: implied ethan/mia/chris, but Ethan & Rose is the focus

Word Count: 10,919

You'd think after about 16 years of being treated like a child and the most powerful bioweapon the world has ever seen, you might get used to it.

Nope!

Not even slightly.

Sometimes a family is a molded bioweapon, a traumatized agent, a former bioterrorist, and a series of golden, sparkly words. Sometimes family is decorating your room with your mother, sometimes family is hugging a pillow because your dad isn't here anymore. Sometimes family is training too hard and going out for ice cream, sometimes family is a dinner where your parents won't stop teasing you.

Or, five times Ethan Winters was there for his daughter, and one time Rosemary Winters was there for her father.

1.

You'd think after about 16 years of being treated like a child and the most powerful bioweapon the world has ever seen, you might get used to it.

Nope!

Not even slightly.

Okay, well, maybe slightly, but only in the way she's able to shake off some of the lesser things that would've made her really upset before. She's no longer threatening the lives of the agents that call her Eveline, to her face or behind her back when they think she can't hear them. Even when she really, really wants to. Small victories.

But despite her best efforts, she still returns to the cell block of a room—Chris had been so insistent that it wasn't a cell, but it was all concrete walls and a tiny window and a camera that she knows is in the corner—and curls up on her bed, jamming her headphones in and refusing to engage with the outside world until she could summon up the resolve to impersonate a normal person again.

Today had been no exception.

Rose throws her backpack onto her desk chair and slings her hat over the hook, kicking her shoes off and collapsing face-first onto the bed with a groan. More tests today, always more fucking tests. Didn't they have every inch of her shitty, moldy body cataloged by now? She has half a mind to start making shit up when they ask her the same stupid questions. 'How are you feeling today, Rose?' Oh, you know, just getting stuck with more needles than a fucking porcupine, how do you fucking think I'm feeling? Yeah, no, no homicidal instincts yet, just had one murderous thought the other day when I was imagining mold eating the bitch who called me a charity case. Although I did go to the park after I snuck away from that asshole you have tailing me on Tuesdays to see if I could amass a mushroom army, how was your day?

A small laugh leaves her throat at the thought of the doctor's face if she actually did say that, but then she'd probably have two assholes tailing her until they deemed her 'no longer a risk.' God, they were supposed to be these super highly trained agents, then why the fuck do they suck ass at being subtle?

Turns out, even having mold superpowers means she still has to breathe like a normal person, so she drags her face up from the bed and doesn't even bother to fully get up to inchworm up to the pillows. She mashes her face against the slightly cold surface—honestly, the best part about this prison-cell-ass room was that the air conditioning was always on Arctic, so her pillows were always cold—and grabs her phone, squinting at the notifications.

One from school saying her group project deadline was coming up…something from some shopping website she'd logged onto out of pure boredom three weeks ago…and a text from Chris.

Rose sits up a little more and opens the text. "Overseas this week…sorry I'll miss the—you fucking dick!"

Of course Chris is working this weekend, of course he's not gonna be fucking here to take her to the cemetery—great, that means another two hours of bus rides until she can actually go see her dad. She swears he does this on purpose sometimes, how often does he actually need to go overseas for 'work?' And it's not like anyone else here would be able to take her, she's learned her fucking lesson about asking them for anything more than more fucking food. Not bothering to stifle her groan, she flops back onto the bed, only for her phone to clatter out of her hand and onto the floor.

Great. Now she has to move again to pick it up.

She decides that moving is actually not what she's going to do right now, letting one arm hang over the edge of the bed, her cheek scrunched awkwardly against the lip of the mattress. She tucks her face against the collar of her jacket and rubs her thumb against the ring on her finger.

"Sorry it's gonna take me longer," she mumbles, "I really wanted to spend longer with you this time."

Her eyes widen when gold sparkling words appear on the floor next to her phone.

it's okay

"What the—" she whips around to look at the door, closed tightly, and jerks back— "how—"

The words are still there. The words are still etched into the floor, right next to her phone. She should check if they're on the camera—no, they can fucking hack into her phone whenever they want, and she doesn't—she can't—if this really is—

Rose swallows the lump in her throat as the words shift and change.

you ok?

"I—what—how are—" she swallows again, camera in the corner of the room, "uh, M-Michael?"

A pause as the words reform: sure

"I mean, I—I know," she says quickly, "I know what—I know what this is, I…I remember, it's just…"

camera, I know

"How is this possible?" she whispers, not daring to move from her haphazard scramble up the bed, "I thought you were—I mean, at the end, when we, uh, did the thing, it seemed like you were…that you were going again."

The words sparkle again as she grips the sleeve of her jacket—his jacket.

apparently i'm bad at it

"Bad at what?"

staying dead

Another laugh chokes its way out of her throat and she reaches out without thinking about it, just to touch the words. They glow a little bit brighter as she touches them and the tips of her fingers glow. Almost as an afterthought, she grabs her phone and shoves it behind her, hopefully muffling the microphone and at the very least, getting its cameras away from her dad.

Her dad. Those are her dad's words, that's her dad, he's here, he's here.

"Are you—is this…are you really here?"

sort of, as the golden words swirl around, part of you

"What do you mean, 'part of me?'"

not a scientist

"You're the only other m—person like me I know, I'm sure it'll be fine." She can almost hear the little huff of laughter as the golden sparkles swirl again. It seems like it's the same as it was when she was in there, with her dad only able to say a few words at a time.

i'm part of the mold, just like you, we're sharing a part right now

"Are you always sharing a part with me?"

i wish i could, and she feels her chest hurt a little bit, takes energy

"I guess that makes sense." Her arm begins to ache from being so stretched out. "I really miss you."

i miss you too sweetie

Fuck, she's 16, she should not be getting this choked up over her dad calling her 'sweetie,' but fuck it, she's a mold person and her dad's dead, she's allowed to sniffle a little when those words glow warmly under her fingers. Some hysterical part of her wonders if he'd be able to give her a tissue or a hanky the way he gave her guns and chem fluid in there, but she scrubs at her nose with her sleeve and decides that it's enough right now that he's here, in her room, still calling her sweetie.

***

2.

She almost recognizes it the second time, a tug in her gut. Given that she's got her hands over her face and is currently doing a fabulous impression of an angry seal, it'd be harder for her to see it. Still, she can't help the dumb smile on her face when she rolls over.

bad day?

"Oh, you know," she mumbles, "just your average day of being a human guinea pig."

ew

She snorts, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle it. "You know I get a look at their notes sometimes? That's what they call you, just your initials."

surprised they're still talking about me

"What do you mean? Of course they're still talking about you, you're the—" she cuts herself off. The golden sparkles swirl.

i'm the what?

"Never mind."

The floorboards wait expectantly, but she twists the ring around her finger, chewing on her lip. After another moment, new words appear.

can i help?

"With what? With the tests?"

with you

Another tug in her gut, this time at the fact that she can't actually remember the last time someone asked after her, not their biggest liability or their most dangerous weapon. She props herself up on the cold pillows—thank you, government AC—and sighs. "I'm just really tired."

i bet

"Like—are they bored? What do they get out of sticking me with the same needle fifty different times? And it's not like they talk to me about anything, they just look at each other and then fake-smile at me and they tell me 'you're doing great,' like I'm supposed to know what that means. And the other people aren't any better! They keep trying to train me how to do a thing but they're not—it's not like they tell me why we're doing something or what I'm supposed to be doing instead, they just tell me I'm wrong and that's it."

that sucks

She huffs. "You have no idea."

After a moment, though, she realizes that might not actually be true. From what little she's actually managed to get Chris to tell her, and what she can learn from Mom, they were both held in BSAA's quarantine for ages before they moved over to Romania. And if Mom knew about Dad's…not-aliveness way before he did, then they must've done some sort of tests on him too.

"Can I ask you something?"

anything

"Did they, um, did they test you too?"

The floorboards stay empty for a minute, but it feels more like he's thinking than it does him avoiding the question. Sure enough, after another moment, words start appearing again.

they did, they didn't tell me anything either, just that i was lucky

"Lucky how?"

to have made it, even when i didn't

"You did, though," she mumbles, fiddling with the ring again, "you—this part of you made it. Chris told me, Mom told me. You…even after you were…gone the first time, you…you came back. The important parts of you, they came back."

and i'm grateful for it, for you

"You're gonna make me cry," she mutters, scrunching up a little tighter.

i love you Rosie

"Shut up." It's empty and they both know it. A few extra sparkles swirl around and she could swear he's laughing. "I love you too."

Sunlight streams in through her tiny window and she finds herself looking at the way the leaves on the tree dapple the shadow across the floor. Part of her dad's words are still glowing. She looks at the nightstand, bare except for her charger and alarm clock, then over at the desk where her school stuff is, then at the dresser. She reaches out and touches the metal bedframe. It's cold underneath her fingers.

what's wrong?

"Nothing." The words remain and she sighs. "I'm just being mopey."

you're allowed to mope

"Someone at school said something today," she says before she can think better of it, and she winces at how young she sounds.

bullies?

"Not really, it wasn't even really about me, I just—it's stupid."

if you're upset it's not stupid

"They were just talking about this thing they got for their room, okay?" Embarrassment makes her curl her fingers into the loose fabric of her jacket. "It's this mirror thing that hooks up to your phone and lets you play music and stuff from there. They were just talking about it and I thought—see, I told you it was stupid."

There's another pause. The breeze rustles the leaves outside. The shadows dance over the walls.

do you want it?

"Not really…I don't like mirrors that much anyway. And it's not like they'd let me just have another thing that connects to the Internet in here." She glances at the alarm clock. "I barely got them to let me get a laptop for school stuff. I don't think they've got a 'Mold Bioweapon Allowance' in their budget."

The silence grows thoughtful. She turns her head to look at the floorboards again, watching the few sparkles there swirl around.

it's your room, they say finally, it should feel like it

Rose scoffs. "What am I supposed to do, walk up and ask them to sponsor a shopping trip?"

why not?

"They're not gonna do that. They're just gonna brush me off again or tell me they're busy."

you've tried?

"I told you, I barely managed to get a laptop, which is something I need to be able to do schoolwork or anything, even have a taste of what being normal is like. And even then I had to argue for like, ages, and I had to get one of my teachers to write an email saying that it's necessary." She swats the white pillowcase, bitterness seeping into her words. "Everything else isn't necessary. They're all about practicality, like I'm just some other expense they have to deal with."

what about Chris? or Mom?

"Chris isn't here. He's always off somewhere doing something or he's here glaring at me like I'm some stupid new recruit that he doesn't want to have to train. And Mom's…I don't want to bother her, you know? She's got her own life now."

she's your mom, come the words almost before she's done speaking, she'd want to know

Rose sighs, sitting up to lean against the headboard. She twists the ring around and around her finger, chewing on her lip. "I don't know. Sometimes it feels like she's…like she doesn't want to know."

Another pause. What her dad had said before, about them sharing a part of the mold—she can feel something in her chest. An emotion that isn't quite hers, something like a deep and exasperated sadness. It's faint, not quite enough to put words there, but she can tell when she needs to look back down at the floor.

she does love you, let her

"Okay. I'll try."

thank you

"Would you come shopping with me?" she asks, even when she knows the answer. "If you could?"

The room gets a little happier as the sparkles swirl around.

i'd spend all day with you

"What did you want to have in your room? When you were my age?"

telescope

"A telescope?" She laughs. "Did you want to be an astronaut?"

astronaut ew

She laughs again and the sunlight seems a little brighter.

***

3.

She meets Mom at a coffee shop near the big bookstore downtown. She's not wearing Dad's jacket—it still feels weird to do, even after Mom's said it's fine—but she has his ring on a necklace under her shirt. Mom waves her over to a table in the corner, nodding to the smoothie already waiting.

"Pineapple mango," she says as Rose sits down, "your favorite."

"Thanks, Mom." She takes a big drink, savoring the weird feeling the pineapple leaves on her tongue. "How're you?"

"I'm okay. Work's been getting busy again recently with the month's end rush." Mom swirls her straw around her coffee. "Did I tell you about this new thing our boss is trying to make us do?"

"No, what?"

"Apparently some young CEO in the area made it big on corporate social media about 'team building exercises,'" and Rose is already groaning in sympathy, "so he sent out this survey this past week about what activity we'd rather do."

"What were the options?"

"This group painting class thing, where we all paint the same picture—"

"Like in kindergarten?"

"Like in kindergarten," Mom agrees, "there's a bar-arcade place that's just opened up on the West Side that does private events, and then there's a good old-fashioned work dinner."

Rose makes a face. "That's it? No, like, crazy obstacle courses, or escape rooms, or anything?"

"We barely had the budget for the normal year-end stuff."

"So what did you vote for?"

"I ended up voting for the painting, actually—"

"What? Mom, that's so lame."

"Hey!" She jokingly flicks a napkin at Rose. "Lamer than the most awkward dinner you can imagine or sitting and drinking for a whole evening?"

"Isn't that what adults do? You sit and drink and talk?"

Mom sighs, shaking her head as they both laugh. "Yeah, well, I figured it might be better if we tried to do something that wasn't just sitting and drinking."

"I guess."

"Besides, I'm still missing something for the bathroom upstairs. Maybe I'll hang up whatever I manage to make there," she adds, winking at Rose.

It's supposed to be a joke at how bad at art she is—really, even Chris looked at her stick figures and struggled to find something nice to say, and Mom just laughed it off—but Rose's smile fades and she shuffles a little in the chair. She drinks more of her smoothie. Dad's words turn over and over in her head.

"Hey, Mom?"

"Mm?"

"Would you…" She fights the urge to reach for the ring. "Would you help me decorate my room?"

Mom's brow furrows. "At my house?"

"N-no, my…my room at the compound. It's stupid, never mind."

"It's not stupid, Rose," Mom says, picking up her coffee, "I'm just—I guess I'm just surprised. Most teens don't really want their parents anywhere near their rooms."

"Yeah, well, forget it."

A car drives by. Despite herself, she reaches for the ring anyway. Something warm pulses in her chest.

"It's just," she manages, "I don't really have anything in there. It's just the military stuff."

Mom's coffee cup hits the table with a thud. "What do you mean you don't have anything in there?"

"I mean, there's just a dresser, a desk, and a bed. And my little side table thing. They didn't really give me any—"

"How much time do you have?"

Rose blinks. "Huh?"

"How much time before you have to get back?" Mom's already getting up and putting the lid back on her coffee. "We're not that far from the big stores and I have my car."

"I, uh, I think I have a few hours, so—" she scrambles up too, reaching to grab Mom's arm— "wait, you're really okay with doing this?"

Mom pauses for a moment, then reaches out and covers Rose's hand with hers. "You're my daughter, Rosie, I'd love to help you decorate your room."

A lump appears in her throat and she swallows it down. "Thank you."

"Come on," Mom grins, "what are you thinking you want?"

"Uh, I was thinking maybe like a whiteboard? That way I could write down stuff that I might forget? Or like—a magnetic one so I could stick stuff to it?" She gets into Mom's car and they start driving. "Or a corkboard—I've seen a lot of people pin like, pictures and stuff to a corkboard on their walls."

"What if you get both? A corkboard to put pictures and cute stuff and then a whiteboard to write on?"

"I also want a lamp. The normal lights just make my head hurt. And they buzz, you know?"

"Oh, I know exactly what you're talking about. It's like the world's most annoying crickets, isn't it?"

"And there's no, like, in between! It's either no light at all or—"

"Or my eyes are being scorched out, that's right."

They pull into the parking lot of the store and get out, still bouncing ideas back and forth. Mom grabs a cart and they head straight for the stationary section and they spend about five minutes talking about the different corkboards and whiteboards. Then Rose decides she wants magnets so she can stick stuff to the whiteboard, then Mom spots a cute set of push pins, and then another mom and daughter walk by with one of those fancy photo printers that print out pictures from your phone like Polaroids, and they just have to get Rose one of those.

As they pick out lamps and wall decor and sheets that actually have some color, she's struck by how normal this is. She's with her mom. They're shopping for stuff for her room. They're freaking out over the pillows that have little penguins on them. She's actually smiling and laughing and she's excited. She can't wait to get back and put all this stuff in her room.

She just…wishes Dad could be here too.

"I think I'd prefer the yellow lampshade, but it's up to you." Mom looks up from the shelf to notice she's gone quiet. "Hey, what's going on?"

"Nothing, nothing," she says quickly, wiping surreptitiously at her face, "…just…I kinda wish Dad was here too."

Mom's fingers stutter on the box and for a moment, she thinks she's going to see those walls go up again, the ones that always go up when she tries to talk about Dad, but then Mom puts the box down and rubs at her wedding ring. She still wears it sometimes. Rose reaches for Dad's, under her shirt.

"I wish he was here too, Rosie," Mom says quietly, "he'd be so proud of you."

Rose swallows, and her eyes catch on a tiny monkey LED lamp further down the shelf. She picks it up. "I think he'd vote for this one, don't you?"

A hint of fond exasperation comes to Mom's face. "God, did I ever tell you what happened when he found out that you loved that little monkey you got when you were still a baby? He tried to buy everything monkey-themed he could find because he thought you might like it."

"Wait, really?"

"I had to get Chris to help me talk him out of buying an entire monkey crib for you."

Rose puts the monkey lamp in the cart. Mom smiles and they keep walking. They end up spending way more than she thought they'd be and sheepishly tries to put some stuff back, but Mom won't hear a word of it and bags everything up.

"Chris can help cover the cost if he's so worried about it," she declares as they pull back up to the meeting spot where the car is supposed to take Rose back to the compound, "anyway, all of this should have been done years ago."

"Thanks, Mom," Rose says, "I had fun."

"We should definitely do it again. I'll help you decorate your college dorm too."

Rose smiles and gets out of the car. It fades a bit when she sees Paul again, leaning against the side of the van with his arms crossed. She turns her back deliberately on him and goes to help Mom get all the bags out of the trunk.

"You're late," Paul says, like he has any right to sound like a smug, condescending asshole.

"By like five minutes. Open the trunk."

"What's all that?"

"Stuff. For my room."

"Well, I—hey!" Paul finally moves when Mom just opens the trunk and starts putting the bags inside.

"You must be the agent Rose told me about," Mom says, her voice saccharine as she dusts off her hands, "is that right, honey?"

"Yeah," she mumbles, "that's him."

"Paul," he says, "Ms. Winters."

"Mia." Mom holds out her hand and he takes it, Rose peering at them from under the brim of her hat. Her eyes widen when Mom yanks Paul closer to her, her smile fading as she hisses in his ear. "Call my daughter Eveline again and I'll break your nose, are we clear?"

Paul jerks in surprise, before turning his head slightly. "Stand down, it's fine, I can handle it."

"You can't afford to make a scene in such a public place," Mom says, her voice still perfectly even, "and Chris won't risk harming me or Rose. So you can start treating my daughter like a person or I can break your nose right now and Chris can clean up your mess."

Rose can't stop her snort as Paul sheepishly walks back to the front of the car and gets in. Mom watches him go before she turns around and says, loud enough for him to hear, "Make sure you send me pictures when you get it the way you want it, okay?"

"I will."

"And if you decide you want anything else, we'll get it next time."

"Thanks, Mom. I love you."

"I love you too, Rosie." She glares once more in Paul's direction before she walks back to her car.

Rose doesn't stop smirking as Paul drives them back to the compound. He slinks off with his tail between his legs after helping her get all her stuff into her room. She can't cover up the camera—and let them know she knows about it—but she can play her music out loud as she decorates, hanging up the little plants they found and pinning a few photos to her new corkboard. It still strikes her how normal all of this is, dancing to her music and putting up all of her new things, finally collapsing onto her now-colorful blankets with a laugh.

She texts a few photos to Mom, who responds with gushing reviews and excited emojis, before she rolls onto her side to look at the floor.

"What do you think?"

The words only take a second to appear.

it's beautiful, sweetie

"You were right," she murmurs, "it was really nice to let Mom take care of me a bit."

i'm glad

"Oh! I forgot to show you the best part!" Rose jumps off the bed and goes over to the far wall, switching on the fairy lights she hung from the ceiling amidst a bunch of fake vines. "Now the camera will just think the glowing is from the lights!"

Golden sparkles swirl beneath the soft glow.

you're so smart

"I mean," she blusters, trying not to show how pleased she is, "I was just tired of lying down to talk to you all the time."

i see, still clever

"Thanks." After a moment, she reaches over and picks up the little monkey lamp and her stuffed monkey, safely hidden beneath her pillows. "Mom told me you wanted to buy a monkey crib for me."

it would go with the onesie

"You got me a monkey onesie?"

mom has pictures

"I'll have to ask her next time." She chews on her lip, running her fingers over the seams of the monkey's ear. "I wish you could've been there."

me too

"Mom threatened to break Paul's nose if he was rude to me again." The light swirls as Dad laughs and she laughs too. "I'd kick him in the nuts too."

that's my girl

***

4.

"Stupid fucking dickhead," she spits as she slams the door, throwing her backpack onto the chair so hard it scrapes across the floor. "Fucking asshole! I'll fucking rip his head off, the fucking bastard!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a tiny sparkle from the floorboards, and she stomps over to the lights, turning them on. Almost immediately, golden words swirl up.

what happened?

"Your buddy Chris fucking happened!" Rose throws herself onto the bed and punches the pillow. "He keeps treating me like I'm some—some fucking gun that only he knows how to fire and I'm fucking sick of it!"

It had been especially bad today, too. Chris apparently woke up and decided yeah, today's the day I'm gonna be a total fucking asshole for no goddamn reason. He started them out sparring, which he never does, he always has them warm up first because it's important not to strain yourself, except apparently not today when she was thrown against the fucking ground three times before she could even open her mouth long enough to say hi.

Or maybe ask what the hell crawled up his ass that morning.

And then he kept fucking looking at her like he was disappointed! Like it was her fault she wasn't expecting to be slammed up against the wall or pinned to the ground by a man fucking three times her size and then grunted at when she winced in pain because that fucking hurt, you asshole! And he kept on saying these stupid little comments that just made her angrier and angrier and then he had the gall to be like hey, you need to get a handle on your emotions like he wasn't pushing every single fucking button he knew she had!

You need to be sharper, he'd said like he had any right to try and be reasonable as he almost dislocated her fucking shoulder, emotions make you sloppy.

Yeah, well, he could try being sharper when he was being bullied for no fucking reason.

And when she'd finally screamed at him that she was done, that she didn't want to fucking do this anymore, he had the fucking audacity, the nerve to scoff and cross his arms and tell her that no, she wasn't done, she was only done when he said she was done. And yeah, she hadn't really made the decision to rush at him after that, her body did that on its own, but he literally just tossed her aside like a fucking doll and then said she wasn't leaving until she could do the fucking stupid thing he wanted her to.

She tried. She really fucking did.

But she couldn't do it.

And Chris kept refusing to help, saying he'd been training her for so long already, that he'd wash her out if she were any other recruit—to which she'd screamed that she wasn't, so why the fuck was he being like this? And he didn't fucking answer! He just told her to try it again and he kept making her angrier and angrier and she could tell Chris was getting angry too which just made hers worse because what fucking right did he have to be mad at her? What the fuck did she do to him?

It ended really badly. She'd gotten so mad she'd thrown herself at him again, not caring about proper technique or what was smart or anything, she just went for him. He grappled her, obviously, and that was supposed to be their tap-out, fight's-over thing, but she hadn't stopped. She'd scratched him and punched him and kicked him even when he growled at her to yield, and when that didn't work, she'd bit him.

Chris fucking wrenched her off of him and threw her across the room and she heard three guns click.

They'd glared at each other, Chris holding his arm like it was a fucking biohazard, and then he'd stalked off without a word while agents forcibly shoved her back to her room.

She's panting by the time she finishes, glaring a hole in the wall right below where the words normally appear. Her hands still tingle from where she'd hit the walls and the pillows. She looks up when she sees the familiar swirl.

you shouldn't have bitten him

The anger surges up her arms and she clenches her fists. "That's all you have to say? No 'I'm sorry he was such a dick, Rose?' 'You didn't deserve that?' You're fucking defending him?"

i didn't say that

"I just told you that your friend, the person you told to watch over me and keep me safe was fucking bullying me for no goddamn reason and the only thing you can say is that I shouldn't have defended myself?" Betrayal steeps vehemence into her words. Her nails bite into her palms. "I'm fucking glad I bit him!"

he's trying to help

"How in the fuck is he trying to help," she cries, "by being as bad as the bullies in school? By treating me like a freak that needs to be kept muzzled and on a leash?"

you did bite him

She picks up one of the pillows and hurls it at the wall. It hits with a pathetic thwap and falls limply to the floor. It only makes her angrier when she sees the words calm down when the lights stop shaking.

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down! You're supposed to be on my side!"

i am

She barks out a humorless laugh and picks up the pillow, throwing it back on the bed. "You're not on my side, you're on his. I don't need you lecturing me too. Just leave me alone."

More golden words swirl as she turns away, throwing herself onto the bed and curling up tightly around her stuffed monkey. She chokes around the lump in her throat and wills herself not to cry. She'd almost cried in front of Chris today already, she won't give either of them the satisfaction of seeing her cry now. She won't, she won't, she won't! It's not fucking fair that Chris did that. It's not fucking fair that he gets to act however the fuck he wants and then she's the only one punished for it. He gets to go all over the fucking world and only see her when it's convenient to him and he gets to be an asshole about it.

Dad's not even alive.

A sob chokes out before she can stop it, and then it's too late. She's blubbering like she's a stupid fucking baby again and she can hear the echoes of their voices in her ears. All alone, poor freak Rose, crying like a baby who doesn't get her way. She's so weird, she's so stupid, she can't do it. She's useless, she's not strong enough. Just go away. No one wants you here. No one wants you. No matter how hard she presses her hands to her ears, they won't fucking shut up!

Maybe she should've fucking kept the purifying crystal. Maybe she should've left with no powers and had a normal fucking life. Maybe she should've just left her dad to—

As soon as the thought threatens to cross her mind, she recoils from it. Guilt and anger war in her gut as she nearly grows sick. How could she fucking think that? After all he'd done to save her, protect her, how could she think about something like that, even if it was in a fit of rage?

A strangled noise escapes her throat and the bruises and injuries from her humiliating 'sparring session' abruptly make themselves known. Her body screams in pain; her shoulders ache, the bruise on her ribs throbs, and her jaw feels like it's about to explode. She has the hysterical impulse to bite herself and she wonders if it would hurt more than everything else. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpses a glow coming from the floorboards now and she curls up tighter, burying her face in the monkey's tummy. Fuck it, she's been called overly emotional and childish enough times already, she may as well throw her tantrum properly.

It's like falling into the Megamycete again; she has no idea how long she lies there, wallowing in her own emotional turmoil. Flashes of the bullies, of Chris's stupid fucking face, of watching herself get tossed around and left behind…even stranger things like massive castles filled with screams and horror, creepy old houses that just feel like tombs, deep water and clanking metal, all filled with whispers of freak, dangerous, stupid child, not good enough. Everything is too loud and too quiet and she just wants it to be over.

When she finally manages to rouse herself from whatever malaise she'd fallen into, the sun has long set. Her clock shows that it's close to 10—that would explain why her stomach is trying to dig a hole in her intestines. The anger fled unknown hours ago, leaving her weary and wrung out. In its absence, she no longer feels like the bioweapon that she's supposed to be, only the scared and lonely child. It's cold. She's hungry.

There's still a soft golden glow coming from over the side of the bed.

Her lip wobbles. She doesn't want to face the consequences of yelling at her dad and throwing a pillow at him, but she can't stop the blooming warmth that he didn't leave. She crawls to the edge of the bed and peeks over.

i'm sorry Rose

She sniffles and rubs her cheek on the sheets. "'M sorry too."

you were right, i should've been on your side

"You're always on my side," she mumbles, "I know you are."

still

She sniffles again and tucks the monkey under her chin. "Why was Chris so mean today? Did I do something wrong?"

i don't think so, sometimes he's just like that

"Why?" She's ignoring how much she sounds like a baby, thank you. "It's not fair."

no it's not sweetie

Rose closes her eyes, basking in the soft glow of her dad's comfort. "Was he ever mean to you when you were training?"

yeah

"What did you do?"

broke his nose once

It startles a laugh out of her. "You what? Wait, what happened?"

he was being an asshole, so i punched him

She giggles again, both at the image of Chris's surprised face with a broken nose and at the fact that her dad got so angry with Chris that he punched him hard enough. A few more golden sparkles surround the words before they change again.

you shouldn't try it though

"Aw," she complains, mostly for show, "but you did it."

do as i say not as i do

She's quiet. After a moment, she lets her arm hang down to touch the words again. They glow gently. "I don't like fighting with you."

me neither

"I'm sorry. I was being a brat."

The words swirl up quicker than she's ever seen.

you were upset at something unfair, not a being a brat

She sniffles again, reaching over to grab a hanky and blow her nose with a sharp honk. She throws it over to the laundry basket and lies back down. The words have changed.

if you need to hear it, i forgive you

"I forgive you too."

rest

She nestles up against the pillows. "Will you stay until I go to sleep?"

of course sweetie, i love you

***

5.

Mostly Rose doesn't dream. She'll close her eyes and open them again and it will be hours later and it's time to get up. Most of the time when she does dream, it's weird half-memories that aren't hers mixed with something she does actually remember. She has dreams of a house with a red chimney being taken apart by little robotic goats, or of a crocodile swimming through a swamp filled with dead crows, or of bugs crawling over test tubes and dirty flasks. Some of them make sense when she digs into the files she's not really supposed to have access to, some of them don't.

On rare, awful occasions, she has nightmares.

She's been curled up and unmoving for who knows how long, desperately trying to feign sleep. The mold in her keeps prickling like there's something else in the room, watching her, just waiting for a sign that she's awake to pounce. Her white-knuckled grip hasn't wavered either. She dares hardly breathe; even though her rational brain knows there's nothing there, there can't be anything there, her entire body is screaming. She can feel the milky sweat beginning to ooze from her palms.

Something creaks.

She goes stiff as a board.

A creak, a groan, a rumble as the air conditioning turns on and she forces herself to relax, cracking open one eye to see that yes, this is just her room, there's nothing to be afraid of here, she's fine.

Her eyes land on the switch to the fairy lights.

The small and whimpering part of her lunges for them, for the warm glow of the light, her dad's words, in lieu of running to her parents' bed to be comforted. The other part hisses that the second she moves, whatever's lurking in the dark will strike. The monkey wheezes as she tightens her grip, staring at the innocuous plastic box hanging against the wall.

With a sudden burst, she launches herself from the bed, slapping the button, and curling back up beneath the safety of the blankets.

Immediately, the soft warm light chases away the worst of the shadows and she can peek over her shoulder to assure herself that yes, nothing is there, she's safe in her room, everything's okay. Golden sparkles are already swirling, a quiet inquisitiveness filling that one empty part in her chest as she lies back down. He's rotated his words so she can read them easily.

what's the matter, sweetie?

"Nightmare," she whispers, more into her pillow than anything else.

i'm sorry

She curls up tighter, trying to pull the blankets up almost over her head. The sweat's almost ruined her monkey—she's going to have to wash it again—and she wipes her hands on the sheet. The absence of it hits the cold air and she shivers, hunching tighter in the covers and sniffling. A sudden and sharp ache sears through her chest and she shudders, harder this time, only the top of her nose peeking out over the comforter. She's so cold. Not in the way where she can pile more blankets on and it'll go away—she could put the whole world on top of her and she would still be cold. This horrible, achy, exhausting cold that seeps into her bones and makes her want to cry.

what can i do?

"You said in your—in your letter," she hiccups, "that you'd hold me when I had nightmares, and—and sing to me until I went back to sleep."

But the words on her wall are just words and words can't hold anybody.

She wants a fucking hug, goddamnit. No one touches her anymore, not unless they're running some stupid test, or sparring, or escorting her roughly down the hallway like some—some prisoner. The last time someone touched her and it wasn't that it was Mom, telling her she'd help decorate her room and that was so long ago, everyone else just—just—

"I want to go home," she sobs and it lands like a dead weight in the still room.

what do you mean?

"I want to go home, I want to go back to that house you showed—showed me when I was in there, where you—where your memories are and I can actually h-hear you and it's warm an'—an' safe, and you love me," she cries, not caring that it's the middle of the night and she's talking to a wall, "no one here loves me. No one loves me, the doctors think I'm some—some experiment that's run too—too long and the agents all think I'm a l-liability and Mom's not here because she gave me up and Chris h-hates me."

he doesn't hate you sweetie

"He does! He does, he does, I can feel it." She hugs her monkey tightly to her chest. "He h-hates me for being the reason you're not—you're not here anymore and he hates me for reminding him that you're dead and he hates me for—for being like this and—and—and—!"

shh…shh…shh…

But he's not here and she can't hear him shushing her and she's all alone in her cold, dark room and she wants to go home.

don't cry, Rosie, it's gonna be okay sweetie

"It's not. 'S not okay."

The wall doesn't move for a moment, then it swirls again.

scoot back, i'm going to try something

Frowning, she does, shuffling awkwardly back until she's on the far side of the bed. The golden light swirls around for another second, before it writes itself on one of the pillows.

hug me

"D—Michael?"

i'm right here sweetie, i love you so much

With trembling fingers, she reaches for the pillow, touching the words with a soft gasp as they glow warmly against her still-slick palms. A sob of disbelief leaves her throat and she bundles it to her chest, burying her face in it. A soft scratching and buzzing fills her ears as more words write themselves across the pillow, but she doesn't pull her face away to read them. Not when this is the closest thing to hugging her dad she's been since she was in the deepest stratum of the Megamycete, crying over his dying body. Not when she's still so cold and the words are so, so warm. She tucks her face into the crook of the pillow's embrace and she cries.

The words don't stop writing themselves over and over and if she focuses hard enough, it almost sounds like her dad is humming.

She falls into a light sleep, not willing to miss a moment of actually being so close to her dad, soothed by his presence. Soon, light has begun to break through the window, the auto timer on the lights long since activated to switch them off. The pillow is all gross from a mixture of drool, snot, and tears, and she sheepishly tries to wipe it away when a small glow comes from underneath.

it's okay

"It's kinda gross."

my privilege, i'm your dad

"Still."

ew, remember?

A watery smile. "Thanks."

i love you so much, i'm so proud of you

"I love you too," she mumbles back, curling her arms around the pillow. Another set of words writes itself and she leans back.

do you really think Chris hates you?

"I don't know. He…he looks at me like he can't sometimes. Or like he's waiting for me to…I don't know, turn crazy or bad or like he's waiting for me to turn into you, almost." She rubs her fingers over the pillowcase. "He used to be nicer."

have you spoken since?

She doesn't need to ask what he's talking about. "No. He's been out of town again. He's supposed to be back, um…"

She leans over to check her phone, eyes widening when she sees the date.

"Uh, today. Shit, I actually think we're supposed to have a training thing today."

Before more words can write themselves, there's a knock on her door. She freezes, phone still in her hand, pillow clutched close.

"Rose?" Fuck. "It's Chris. Can I come in?"

be brave, says the last flutter of words before her dad vanishes, i love you

"…yeah."

Chris opens the door. Rose tugs on her dad's jacket over her pajamas and clutches the pillow in her lap. She doesn't look at him. He moves around a little in the doorway before he shuts it with a click. After a moment, the bed dips and groans under his weight and she sneaks a glance at his arm. Her bite mark is still there.

"Surprised they let you walk around before that healed."

"You didn't even break the skin."

It's probably meant to come off in a way that means she doesn't have to worry about it, but it stings anyway. She turns away again.

A car drives by outside.

"I owe you an apology," Chris says finally, his voice low and gruff, "I shouldn't have been so harsh. I'm sorry."

She doesn't reply, but she shifts to face the window instead of the wall.

"There's been talk of getting you moved to another squad," he continues, and her stomach drops—is Chris leaving too?— "and I thought…if I could prove that you were good with us, that we had it all under control, then they'd drop it. Leave you alone."

At the rustle as he shifts, she glances over at him. His jaw works and his hand twitches on his knee.

"I thought…" He trails off, then scoffs at himself, shaking his head. "I don't know what I thought."

He turns to meet her gaze and her gut clenches at the obvious guilt and remorse she can see there. She swallows.

"You were mean." Her voice comes out a lot smaller than she'd hoped. She swallows and tries again. "I thought you hated me."

"I don't hate you, Rose," he says in a rush, turning to face her, "please don't think that."

"So you're not trying to get rid of me?"

"Shit, Rose, no, I'm not trying to get rid of you. You're—I think Mia'd kill me if I tried, no, I'm just—" he takes a breath— "I'm just trying to keep you safe, okay?"

"Then you should've said something! I would've trained harder if I knew—we could've—I would've done something else, did I do something wrong?"

"No," he insists, shaking his head, "no, you didn't do anything wrong."

Relief begins to pool warily in her chest. Her grip on the pillow loosens and she scoots a little closer. "I'm sorry I bit you."

He shakes his head again. "It's fine. You, uh, you have good bite strength."

"Good bite strength?"

"Yeah. Your contact's really good." He gestures to the bite mark on his arm. "Got all of them in there too."

"Thanks," she says, laughing a little. Chris smiles and it's a bit easier to breathe. She gives herself a shake. "So, what's today? Weapons, sparring, how to punch boulders?"

"Actually, I, uh, thought we'd go get ice cream."

Rose pauses, looking up at him, blinking as if she'd heard wrong. "Ice cream?"

"Weather's gonna get cold soon, the good place around the corner's gonna close." He shrugs. "Been craving it."

"Yeah…yeah, ice cream sounds good."

"Great."

And before she can think too much of it, she throws herself at him and hugs him for all she's worth. She feels him stutter, not quite sure what to do, and then his arms slowly wrap around her, holding her just as tightly. And oh, she's on fire, Chris is big and warm and solid and he's holding her like she's something special and she's gonna fucking cry her eyes out if she stays here a moment longer and she's gonna die if she lets go. Chris lets out a noise of dismay when she sniffles and scoops her up, like she's a little kid again, holding her in his lap and now she's making a mess of his shoulder too.

She could swear she feels Dad smile.

***

+1.

"I'm telling you," Rose says as she lounges on her bed, "you're wrong about the cover. It's actually pretty good."

i like the classics

"Yeah, well, you're old and boring, so that makes sense."

:(

The sight of the old-fashioned emoticon frowny face makes her burst out laughing. "Oh my god, that's so lame. I don't think I've seen someone use that in years."

it's a classic!

"You gotta get with the times!"

totes dope fam

Rose winces at the immense amount of psychic damage those three words dealt, her neck protesting as she almost cringes it out of alignment. "No, D—Michael, just no."

lol

She tosses the pillow playfully at the wall again, laughing when another frowny face appears on both it and the wall. "Aww, okay, I'm sorry, here."

She picks it up and cuddles it and the frowny face turns to a smiley face. Lying back down, grin still on her face, she toys with his ring. It's gotten shinier from all the rubbing, except where she ties the cord around it so she can wear it as a necklace. She turns it this way and that, watching the sunlight glint off of it. As she does, she catches sight of the engraving on the inside.

Always and forever.

"Do you want me to tell Mom and Chris about you?"

The words swirl for a moment.

up to you

She pushes herself to sit up, propped on one elbow. The ring glistens as she slides it back onto her finger, turning it to and fro. "I don't know. It feels bad keeping something like this from them, but I want to be selfish about it too, you know? I kind of like having you all to myself."

it's not selfish

"And what if Chris thinks it's bad?" She twists the ring harder. "What if he tries to take you away from me?"

i won't let that happen

Her shoulders drop a little and she picks up the pillow again, cuddling into it. A few words write themselves across it just so she can feel their warmth and she rubs her cheek against it. "Don't you miss them?"

all the time

A melancholy that isn't hers hangs in her chest and she squeezes the pillow again. "Then should I? They miss you too, you know. I think they'd be happy to, you know, hear from you again."

The words fade and the wall glows again as he thinks. She lets him have his time, rubbing the ring back and forth, listening to the slight rattle it makes as it spins around her too-small finger. When she hears the familiar soft scratch again, she looks up.

they're happy now, i don't want to ruin that

"They're not happy," she can't help but say, "they still miss you."

content, then

"You wouldn't be ruining anything," she argues, "I thought—I thought I'd never get to see you again after I got out of there. The day I heard you again? That was the happiest moment of my life."

mine too sweetie, or my un-life i guess

The words glow brighter as her fingertips glow too. She gets up and lays her hand against the wall, smiling as their powers dance together. "I really think they'd be happy."

A pulse of warmth runs up her arm to her chest as the words shift once more.

when you think the time is right

"I'll tell you, I promise."

i'm so proud of you, Rose, i love you so much

"I love you too."

That time doesn't come on their terms, though, because that would be easy. No, instead it's when she and Chris are over at Mom's house for dinner and Chris asks a question out of nowhere that almost makes her spit all over the table.

"What?" Mom asks as Rose glares a hole in Chris's stupid forehead.

"I said," Chris says like an unrepentant asshole, "who's Michael?"

"Michael?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rose mutters, staring down at her lap.

"I was coming to get you for training last week and you were talking to someone called Michael." Chris takes a bite of steak and talks with his mouth full, like an asshole. "So who is he?"

Mom elbows her, winking. "Someone you like?"

"What? Ew, gross, no!"

Chris and Mom just laugh and Mom elbows her again. "Don't worry, I was your age once too. That's how I reacted when my mom asked me about my crush."

"Michael isn't my crush!"

"Boyfriend, then?"

"No, he's not my—" she covers her face and sighs. "He's not my boyfriend, he's not my crush, he's not someone from school, happy?"

"So who is he?"

Well, fuck it, no time like the present. She pushes back from the table, muttering about using the bathroom. They wait until she's halfway up the stairs to start talking again, their voices low in that way where she knows they're still talking about her, but she pays them no mind as she goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. She braces her hands on either side of the sink and takes a deep breath.

"I'm guessing you heard all that."

The words swirl up right below the mirror.

yeah

"I mean, it's not like we'll get a better opportunity."

probably not

"Are you ready?"

are you?

She rubs at the chip in the linoleum and turns on the cold water, just to make sure there's no milky sweat on her hands. "I'm nervous."

me too

"No matter what happens," she says firmly, "no matter what they do or say, I'm here for you, okay? I've got your back. I love you."

i'm so proud of you, sweetie, i love you too

The words glow cheerfully against the weird tile pattern and she reaches out to touch them. They share a moment before the words fade and she takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders in the mirror and nodding to herself. "Right. Let's do this."

She marches back downstairs and Mom and Chris do a horrible job of pretending not to be nosy and expectant. She sits back down and folds her hands in her lap.

"I'll tell you who Michael is," she begins, "but you have to promise not to tell anyone else."

"I promise, honey," Mom says, miming zipping her lips shut.

"Chris, you promise too."

Chris looks at her for a moment like he's going to disagree, then he winces as Mom kicks him under the table. "I promise too."

"Good." She takes another breath and reaches for the ring around her neck. The second she brings it out from under her shirt, Chris's silverware clatters against the plate and Mom inhales sharply.

"Rose," she says shakily, "where did you get that?"

"Before I said yes to joining you," Rose says, "I met K outside the lab. He told me there might be a way to get rid of my powers for good."

Chris frowns. "K never said anything like that to me, what do you—"

"I'm getting there. He took me to the lab where there was a piece of the Megamycete, and said that—"

"He what?"

"Will you both just listen to me?" The two of them quiet down. "Thank you. So, like I was saying, he took me to see the piece of it and said that there was a purifying crystal that Miranda discovered that could take the mold out of someone. All I had to do was look through the Megamycete's index of consciousness to see if I could find it."

"That's incredibly dangerous, Rose," Mom says quietly, and Chris looks like he's trying to strangle his fork. "Please tell me you didn't—"

"I wanted them gone," she interrupts, looking at her Mom, "they were—I was just a freak with no friends. Someone offered me the chance to be normal, are you telling me you wouldn't have done the same thing if you were a teenager?"

Mom looks at her for a long moment, but she doesn't disagree. Rose squeezes the ring and keeps going.

"It wasn't that easy, obviously. It was…really hard. And really scary. I had to fight my way through these, like, twisted versions of the places in Miranda's village, like that big castle and the creepy doll house, and there were all these versions of me that kept getting killed and tortured, I fought a version of Eveline too—"

"Rose," Chris tries to say but she doesn't let him.

"—but I had help," she continues. "There was something helping me. It helped me figure out where to go, what to do, gave me a gun and taught me how to use it. There were these glowing words that would appear when I needed them most and it…it was like having a guardian angel."

"Michael," Chris says, and she nods.

"Yeah, I called him Michael. He—he kept trying to get me to leave, said that it wasn't safe, but I wanted to find the crystal and so he helped me. And then we found out K wasn't actually K and it was all a trap set by Miranda—"

"It was what?"

Chris is already getting up. "Is she still in there? Do we need to—"

"Sit down, Chris, it's fine, we beat her. She's dead now, like, really, actually dead. She crystalized and turned to dust, I saw it."

His face still looks like he ate a lemon, but Chris sits slowly back down. He exchanges a worried look with Mom and she puts her hand on Rose's shoulder. "You said 'we?'"

"Me and Michael." She looks down at the ring and turns it over in her hand. "Until I found out who he really was."

Mom gasps, a small and shuddery thing. She holds her hand over her mouth and stares at Rose. "Ethan."

Chris makes a noise too as Rose nods. "Yeah. It was him the whole time. He…he protected me. From Miranda, from Eveline, from everything."

"He loved you so much, honey," Mom whispers, her eyes growing wet, "he never stopped loving you."

"He showed me our house in Romania," and to her horror, she can feel her voice growing thick too, "with all his memories. I heard his voice, Mom, he—he wrote me a letter, did you know?"

"Yes," Mom says, trying not to sob, clutching her shoulder, "yeah, honey, I know. He cried so much while he was writing it, he wanted you to get old enough to read it with him, oh, Rose…"

She swipes a hand under her nose and turns to Chris, who's doing that big, tough, I'm-too-manly-for-my-emotions-right-now thing and reaches for him too. After a moment, his hand turns and covers hers. He's trembling. "He taught me how to fight, Chris. We—we fought together. He shot the monsters in the face with a shotgun and gave me his power so I could kill Miranda, once and for all."

Chris swallows heavily. "Your dad was…he was one of the best men I've ever known, Rosie. He would be so proud of you." He sniffs. "You said he shot them in the face with a shotgun?"

"Mhm."

"Yeah, that sounds like Ethan, alright." Mom laughs and it sort of sounds like a sob but she and Chris are smiling now, so it's okay. Chris looks back at her and nods a few times. "So you were talking to him, then?"

"Yeah. When you walked by on Tuesday, I think it was…yeah, we were arguing about whether the original Blade Runner was better than 2049." She wrinkles her nose. "He said the original was better but I like the remake."

Chris frowns. "What do you mean, he said—"

The words scrawl over Mom's dining table, illuminating their faces.

i like the classics, that's all

Rose would laugh at the way Chris almost falls out of his chair if his hand and Mom's weren't trembling. She looks at Mom, who stares at the glowing words, and at Chris, who looks like he's about to be sick.

Mom breaks the silence first. "…Ethan?"

The words move, now right next to her forgotten plate.

hi honey

"You're—you're—"

bad at staying dead?

Mom's breath leaves her like she's been punched in the gut. "Oh, Ethan, I—I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry—"

breathe, it's okay

She squeezes Mom's hand as she takes a few shaky breaths. "What—how is this possible?"

rose

"We're both part of the mold," Rose says when Mom looks to her, "he's…he's using my part right now, we're sort of sharing it."

told her i'm not a scientist, figured you'd get it :)

"No one uses those anymore," Mom mumbles and Rose whispers a quiet told you so! as the smiley turns to a frowny for a moment, before the words change again.

i know it's been hard, i'll always love you

"Oh, Ethan," Mom whispers, reaching out to touch the words. She gasps as a flicker of warmth pulses through them and Rose squeezes her hand again. "I miss you."

i miss you too

Another glow flickers up next to Chris, who startles and stares down at the words in shock.

you too

"E-Ethan, I—" he cuts himself off as the words swirl again.

thank you for taking care of my daughter

Chris swallows heavily. "She's incredible, Ethan. You should be proud of her."

always am

"I'm sorry," Chris whispers, and something in Rose's gut clenches at how close to tears he looks too, "if I'd been faster, we could've gotten you out of there, we could've…"

it's okay, Chris, we're all okay

"You're dead."

i died in 2017, doing pretty well considering

"He is really bad at staying dead," Rose adds, "Miranda said so too. You should've seen her, she was so mad at us."

Chris looks like he's having a hard time deciding whether he wants to laugh or cry. The sparkles swirl again.

she's a fighter, she gets that from you too

His free hand jerks and Rose squeezes the one in hers. "You can touch, Chris, he won't bite. That's my thing."

it won't hurt, promise

Chris takes a deep breath and slowly touches the words. His breath leaves him in a rush as they glow warmly under his fingers. Rose smiles as she feels the mold connect all of them there, in that moment, through her and Ethan. Some part of her clicks into place. As if he can feel it too, which he probably can, another set of words appears in front of her.

we're so proud of you, Rosie

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbles as she feels heat rush to her cheeks, "shut up."

no :)

Mom laughs. "We finally have all three of us together again and you want us to not tell you how proud we are of you?"

"They've got a point, Rosie."

"I'll break your nose!"

"No, no," Mom says as Chris squawks, even though she's still smiling, "no breaking Chris's nose."

even if he deserves it

"Hey!"

As they all laugh together, Ethan's words still glowing in the warm, quiet house, Rose sits back in her chair and twists her dad's ring around her finger. Sure, being a mold bioweapon teenager was weird, but if this is the family she gets to have because of it, it can't be all bad.

#dragonbabbles #fic #resident evil #resident evil 7 #resident evil 8 #resident evil biohazard #resident evil village #resident evil shadows of rose #rosemary winters #ethan winters #mia winters #chris redfield

[alilbitlesbian]

Third time's the charm (common denominators) DLC

One of my readers on AO3 asked a description of a room the other day, and then I offered to describe more, and then I wrote too much so,,, here we are?

For anyone who doesn't have the context of my fic; GN!Reader-insert (Dove) is Adam's third wife (made for him ooo) and got stuck In hell during the season finale, this is just a few rooms from that story described in detail.

Story's called "Third time's the charm (common denominators)" and you can find it on ao3.

@alovesongtheywrote here you are! <3

Adam’s office

imma describe it like Dove’s investigating it

The office is pretty barebones, there are no pictures, no personal touches, really, it looks like it could belong to anyone. There’s a grand, bow-front oak desk in the centre of the room, and a few mainly empty bookshelves. 

(Personally, you know exactly why Adam has a bow-front desk, he loves public stuff, and he loves blowjobs, so– Ugh, actually, let’s not think about that right now.)

There’s a desktop computer on the desk, though it’s mounted so it can easily be pushed and pulled around to see over the desk for meetings and such. You round it and open the drawers on the right side, only to find them empty aside from some menial office supplies, a perforator and such.. That, well, that can’t be right, you take a closer look, and–

Yeah, that’s more like it. 

It’s a false bottom, in the hidden compartment of the drawer, there’s a vibrator and three different fleshlights, you vaguely recognize them from when Adam was in this phase and kept leaving the items around the house. He was so obsessed. “Oh! These are made from the moulds of real people, yeah, real human ass! Yeah, this is from a porn star named Chris- Hey hey, don’t look at me like that, bitch, it’s not gay– it’s THE best fucking ass possible, okay, shut the FUCK up!” 

You know far too much about them, he would rant for hours and hours how the insides were made to give different textures, and– Oh, yeah, you recognize that big one, you use a pen to turn it over, it was made to ‘help train stamina’, it worked fine, which was the problem. Ugh, you thought he’d gotten rid of these.

Closing the drawer back up, you move to look at his desk, there’s a shit ton of trash on his desk, next to a pile of files he had to go through- You still have no idea what he does in his office, but you think he doesn’t, either. You recognize one of the beer cans, and huff.

That’s another fleshlight, you recognize it, because he used to keep it in the fridge, until you figured out what it was and made him get rid of it. You think he gave up on the incognito sex toys in different places, but seems he just moved them to his work, gross.

His computer is brand new, there’s several games with anime girls as the icons, one called ‘Yandere simulator’.. What’s that? Eh, whatever, unimportant.

The left drawer has a few personal affects,  a miniature guitaraxe you got him for his birthday once, several pictures of you, him and/or Lyre. And a few of him and Lute, there’s also a collection of pictures he took during an extermination once, with the three of you absolutely drenched in blood.

There’s a dog bed in the corner, sometimes he takes Lyre to work, ‘Liar’ is embroidered onto the front of the bed, and there’s a small basket of different dog toys, and a hook with a spiked dog collar and studded leash hung off of it, right above the bed.

There is a row of dead cacti on the windowsill, you’re pretty sure Emily keeps giving them to him, the one furthest right is still alive, the one furthest left is the most dead one, they seem to all die of different things, though. One is rotting away (it smells), another is dried down to a raisin, one smells overwhelmingly of alcohol.. This one’s got all of it’s spikes cut out? There’s tweezers next to it and a neat pile of the spikes, jesus christ Adam, what? Another has a tiny collection of swords stabbed through it.

Actually tiny, they’re small swords, okay? You have no idea where he got them.

Moving on from that, there’s—Well, the rest of the place is pretty barren, there’s some panties you don’t recognize halfway under a bookshelf, but what else is new? You huff, having found nothing very interesting, and leave the room, noting that there is no lock on the door.

Again, gross, Adam.

Dove’s hotel room

(Before the return with Lute)

“Should we… I don’t know, empty it out?” Charlie’s hand settles on Vaggie’s shoulder, the fallen angel huffs, shoulders falling.

She’s probably been standing, looking into Dove’s old room, for a little too long.

“I don’t want to.” She murmurs lowly, Charlie smiles, but Vaggie looks away.

“Then we won’t.” Her girlfriend assures, Vaggie nods slowly, glancing around the room.

“I’d like to be alone, for a while, if that’s okay.” Charlie nods, pressing a quick kiss against Vaggie’s cheek. Her hands settle on her girlfriend’s shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze before she pulls away.

“Of course, Vaggie, I’ll be downstairs if you need me, okay?” Vaggie nods mutely, and Charlie leaves.

Vaggie squares her shoulders, then enters the room, shutting the door behind her.

Dove’s room is… A mess, really, there’s a bluetooth speaker on the nightstand, it is on, though it chimes every few seconds that it has a low battery. There’s a clock, but it’s several hours behind. The floor is littered with dirty clothes, and there are dishes around the room, though, they are oddly all clean of food residue.

There are cans of.. Mace? On the floor? All empty, it’s not like it’s a few of them either.

Vaggie confiscates the cigarettes she finds.

The bed has a single plush duck at the centre of the pillows. The pillows themselves are more set up like a nest than in a row by the headboard, which Vaggie vaguely remembers is one of Dove’s habits. There are three different TVs around the room, not a single one is fully off, one has a screensaver of ducklings in water for some reason, and another is playing ‘funniest murder videos’, again, blissfully, the volume is down.

Vaggie sighs, and turns off anything electronic she can find, she plugs the speaker into a charger. Then finds all three of the TV remotes and sets them on top of the nightstand (they are all incompatible with the other two TVs, but look exactly the same. Thank you, Dove.)

Looking around the room for anything else that should be dealt with before she.. Well, locks the room up for the foreseeable future, she’s kind of confused by her findings.

Food items, or even sex toys, is what she expects to find, that was a really weird thing with Dove. For some reason, the angel had a thing with keeping sex toys in the worst places possible. Vaggie would assume they were Adam’s if Dove weren’t so adamant they were theirs.

Weird.

But none of that was there, if anything, aside from the weirdly obnoxious TVs, and, for some reason, a mini-fridge, the room was kind of…

Bittersweet.

There was a pet bed under one of the windows, full of a certain cat’s black hair, but much bigger than necessary to be intended for Keekee, distinctly the size of a certain dog. As an extra punch in the gut, there’s a small shopping bag with a few necessities, toys, a collar and leash, and food. There’s a bowl set up to the side, it’s topped off with fresh water for Keekee.

There’s a desk, though it’s been buried under trash–or, well, it’s been buried under.. Stuff, new stuff, the most of it, like Dove has been going on a buying (or shoplifting) spree. There’s also a simple potted plant that blooms with Lilac flowers, Lute distinctly remembers Emily having one that looks like it.

She moves on, passing the walk-in closet, and the bathroom looks oddly untouched aside from some golden stains in the sink. There’s also a towel crumpled on the ground, it too, is covered in bloodstains. It’s long dry, the blood appearing brown and the cloth looks like it’d crunch if Vaggie tried to unfold it.

When did Dove get hurt? She… She can’t really think of a time.

She closes the bathroom door, she’ll ask Charlie to throw away the towel, she was sure Alastor would try to eat it or something, and that was frankly freaky when it’s her parent’s blood.

Continuing down the room, there’s a few leafy red plants in the windowsill that Vaggie thinks used to stand in other places in the hotel. The rest of the surface seems clear, aside from grime, and Vaggie almost passes by, but…

There’s a pile of pictures on the dusty windowsill, packed in a folder from some shop in hell that apparently printed them. The pictures were obviously well-loved, and frequently visited, by the smudged dust around the pile.

Vaggie sits down on the bed with the pictures and sorts through them.

She quickly figures that these are all images that were on Dove’s phone, there are.. A lot of them, she sets them in little piles, a few of the pictures are of Liar, but a lot of them are…

Candids?

She didn’t know a lot of these existed, it was a little odd, really, to see herself like this. It was just.. Domestic moments, most of them. One of her asleep in a pile with a few of the other exorcists and Lute. One of her and the others all drinking, with Dove’s face halfway in the frame in what was intended to be a selfie. 

Also a lot of.. Lute.

A surprising amount, really.

Lute and Dove at a fair, with a seal plush between them (though Lute looked wholly unamused), the two of them with Liar, and many of them just..

Well.

Asleep? Cuddling? A lot of Lute, asleep, curled up in increasingly strange positions or situations. Vaggie had seen Dove take these sometimes, always with the excuse of ‘blackmail’, but…

She’s pretty sure the wing in the one she holds is Dove, Lute’s asleep ontop of Dove’s wing. That on it’s own could be fine but–

There’s a lot like that, a lot that seem oddly intimate, Vaggie shakes her head.

Dove is literally created to love men, and nothing else, Vaggie’s just reading into it too much. Lute never seemed close to them anyway.

She puts the pictures back, and stands, there’s a few loose feathers about, a few are white, but that’s not too strange, sometimes down was lighter than the normal feathers. What is strange is that there is an engraved money clip on the floor, with a few spare hundred dollars in it.

Vaggie hesitates, that’s hell’s currency, not heaven’s. How did Dove even–

She picks it up, reads what’s engraved.

Ah.

What the fuck.

LM.

…Christ, Dove, did you really steal from my father-in-law…?

She sighs, glancing one last time around the room, she unplugs some electronics (not the minifridge) and then locks the room behind her, intent to find Charlie to.. Find a way to return this without (rightfully) pissing off Lucifer.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #reader x hazbin hotel #reader insert #third time's the charm #common denominators

[doctorprofessorsong]

A dramatic re-telling of my SPNDen adventure

So, I was supposed to go to the gold panel, but I had to run to the room for something. The elevator stops on the third floor and the doors open a few inches, close again, open a bit, close. Stop. I'm decidedly stuck.

I calmly (frantically) press every button, nothing happens.

So I call the emergency services with the call button. "Please hold for emergency services. *hold music."

Well fuck. Like a modern person with 12 minutes to get out of the elevator, I send completely normal messages like "HELP. I'M STUCK IN THE ELEVATOR." Nothing goes through.

It occurs to me this is my fault for locking Dean and Cas in an elevator in TBATT.

Someone comes on the line "emergency services how may I help you?"

I inform them I am stuck in the elevator. The operator responds as if I have ordered a value meal and she needs to know what soda I want: "is the power out?"

I confirm that my new prison is well lit. She says OK I'll let them know call if there are further emergencies. Click.

I am like: she didn't even ask me where I was? The doors open again a few inches.

I try pulling them. They stubbornly mock me. I wish Misha Collins, beefcake, was there. I try pacing a bit to see if I can get service. Nothing happens.

Finally, I hear someone walk by. I scream through the crack in the door to go tell the front desk and thankfully they do.

The facilities guy shows up and informs me the fire department is coming. As an added bonus to intermittent opening and closing of the doors, the emergency alarm also goes off sometimes.

I am now not making the beginning of the panel.

The fire department shows up. Finally! I will be free! This is gonna make such a great story in the panel if I'm...nope. they can't get the doors open. But now in addition to the intermittent wail of the alarm, the elevator is shaking as they try to use a tool to pry the doors open.

The doors are as stubborn as Cas, who ignores all my prayers to fly me away. Ass (affectionate). Perhaps I am an abomination.

A firefighter decides to pry the door open from the top. Much shaking ensues. He yells down that the doors are bent.

I joke: so are you saying I live here now?

The firefighter: haha. No. We'll just bring you through the top.

Me: oh nooooooo.

See I am doing great in my new tiny room actually. What I don't enjoy is heights.

And this is high. And small. And actually, I'm good.

The firefighters, unconcerned with the impending hit to my pride (it's as if they are unimpressed with my CLEAR bravery. I'm basically a hero at this point 😅)

They drop a ladder straight down. Understand this ladder is too short. It barely reaches the panel and it's supposed to be angled.

This is definitely how I die. Cool.

I hear the following discussion:

Firefighter 1: you gotta go down

Firefighter 2: oh am I the smallest on the truck

Firefighter 1: yeah. Neither of us are going to fit.

My brain: oh no. What if my ass doesn't fit through the skyhole? I am gonna be like Winnie the Pooh stuck in the cave, getting pushed.

Me (probably).

The firefighter does that cool slide thing they do without touching the rungs.

He has me climb up the ladder. I cannot overstate how much I, and therefore the ladder, is shaking. My buddy firefighter 2, bless him, is like: I'm not gonna let you fall, ma'am.

I get to the top of the ladder and very cooly (complete and total panic) point out (hysterically screech) there is nothing to hold onto.

Firefighter 1 (bless him) says: ma'am, do you want to hold on to me?

I grab his arm so tight the poor man probably has bruises and pull myself out. My ass and I make it...

But not to the J2 panel.

I thank them profusely. Confirm I do not require medical assistance and resolve not to see them again.

I see them a few hours later responding to the fire alarm and medical event.

The Aurora Fire Department is the real MVP of the con.

#spnden

[jamalgripperton46290]

Getting Freaky On a Friday Night (Pico x Boyfriend)

Jamal Gripperton's Masterlist

A/N

•••

It was just another Wednesday afternoon, and Boyfriend was casually scrolling through Tiktok, nothin' special. That is, until he stumbled upon a brand-new tattoo parlor just a few blocks away from where he lived. "Sweet" he thought to himself, after all, he had been wanting a tattoo for a few years now, but he just didn't know where...

So he had the brilliant thought of asking the group chat on suggestions regarding the topic. Here's how it went:

Boyfriend: Hey guys im thinkin of gettin a tattoo in that new tattoo parlor but idk where suggestions?

Carol: Dude what happens if you accidentally put tinfoil in the microwave

Kapi: Get it on ur dick and then you can finally pull some bitches man 💀

Whitty: Carol please tell me u didnt put fucking tinfoil in the goddamn microwave

Garcello's Spirit: R u sure gettin a tattoo is a good idea little man?

Sussus Moogus: Im with kapi on dis one get it on ur tiny ass meat stick lol

Carol: Dude i see a flame in the microwave o shit

Whitty: CAROL WTF

Carol: Dude this is actually pretty sick i can summon daddy dearest or smn now 🍸🔥🔥😈😈😝😝

Kapi: Yeah i dare bf to get it on his tiny dingle dongle

Boyfriend: Fuck you kapi and dw youll be the first to see the tattoo on my double decker deek 💖🥰

And so, a text and throwing on the first t-shirt and grey sweatpants he could find, was all he had to do to set his journey on the quest of getting his 8-inch dick tattooed.

He settled on getting a dragon design to go all around his "MAGNUM DONG" when in reality, it was just a little above average sized, so nothing too special.

As he made his way to this new tattoo parlor, he couldn't help but feel a little scared, because obviously, having a fear of needles was brutal enough, but having a needle inject ink into your dick for who knows how long, was even worse. But Boyfriend was known for being bold and "cool" so he wasn't gonna let fear get the best of him, and he wasn't gonna chicken out on a dare just because he was being a reckless pussy amirite?

He mustered up the courage of opening the door of that darn tattoo parlor and found himself greeting the nice lady at the front desk and initiating in some small talk before sitting down at the waiting area down the small hall.

"Can a "Boyfriend" go to room 3 please?" a random lady scoffed.

This was it, there was no turning back (he kinda wanted to) but Boyfriend and his overly high ego said otherwise.

He slowly opened the door to see a ginger crouching down to pick up something that seemed like a pack of antiseptic wipes. Boyfriend couldn't help but stare at that juicy ass of his just waiting to be fucked (at least that's what he thought)

"Nice ass" Boyfriend blurted out, as he took a seat on the medical chair thingy (We don't know what it's called okay?)

"I beg your pardon?" Pico turned around to see a rather handsome looking shortie sitting at the medical chair thingy (Still don't know what it's called)

"It's got a juicy look to it, but voluptuous is really the word I'm looking for" Boyfriend then proceeded to shoot Pico an innocent wink which made Pico want to take his gun and shoot himself right in the face.

"Umm... I d-dont think I follow" Pico stuttered, as he tried to hide the bright shade of red forming upon his cheeks (the ones on his face, we're not getting to that part just yet)

"You're cute, what's your name?" Boyfriend asked, trying to start a conversation.

"Erm... It's Pico" Pico blurted out, not quite sure why the "Patient" was talking, well, more like flirting with him in the first place.

"E-either way, we gotta get to business" Pico stammered, as he took a seat on his chair, ready to type in this weird and excruciatingly handsome fellow's details on the computer.

"What type of business sugar?" Boyfriend smirked, especially proud of that one, he pulled like it was nothing #cool.

"Are you kidding me right now? I need your details you douche" Pico declared, getting a little impatient with this weird dude that was hot as fuck and also within cock-sucking range mind you.

"Oh... right" Boyfriend said, taking this a little more seriously (Like he was supposed to in the first place)

"I need your name and age" Pico groaned (Not in that way yet, just be patient little chickadees, it's almost here), as he just wanted this to end as soon as possible.

"Oh yeah, my name's Dick and I'm 19, single and ready to mingle honey" Boyfriend obviously joked, as he let out a chuckle.

"Ha, Dick, surely that explains a lot" Pico rolled his eyes and fixated them on the computer.

"Just pulling on your balls bae, my name's Boyfriend" The shorter of the two said.

"Dude, that's like somehow worse, it can't get any worse than this" Pico let out a laugh at the thought that this hottie had so much potential, and yet, his name was simply "Boyfriend", how pathetic.

"Okay, where do you want the tattoo huh?" Pico asked rather eagerly.

"Um, this is gonna sound a bit weird alright? But it's a dare, so like, I'm obviously doing it..." 

"I'm gonna tattoo my super awesome man pole, magnum dong, I mean, my chode, cock, dick, meat stick-" Boyfriend was cut off mid-sentence.

"Stop, just stop. WHAT THE FUCK?!" Pico panicked at the thought of having to hold his dick while measuring, tattooing it, and all that jazz, he needed someone to pinch him right then and there, or else he really would bring out that gun and shoot himself.

"I would say you're rather excited though, aren't you sugar?" Boyfriend smirked, while also being super proud of that one, he was practically on flirting fire #doublecool

"You wish, you fucking dick" Pico mumbled, knowing damn well that Boyfriend was in fact correct, and he was just waiting for Boyfriend to stick his "Super awesome man pole, magnum dong, I mean, chode, cock, dick, meat stick" up his scrawny little hole (His words not mine)

"I don't even think that's even legal dude, lemme ask my manager" Pico scoffed rather disgusted.

And so Pico did the awkward task of asking his manager if it was in fact legal to tattoo someone's dick. And much to his demise, it was, but they would have to dispose of the tools that came in contact with his "Super awesome man pole, magnum dong, I mean, chode, cock, dick, meat stick" for obvious hygiene reasons and sanitary measures.

"Somehow in fucking hell, it fucking is legal and allowed in here" Pico growled as he spoke to Boyfriend.

"Fuck yes! It's gonna be epic dude!" Boyfriend cheered, breaking out of his flirtatious character towards Pico.

"Whatever, get on the medical bed thingy" (I don't know what the fuck it's called so y'all are just gonna have to deal with it m'kay? Thnx <3)

And so, Boyfriend eventually did, taking his baggy, blue jeans and boxers off for Pico to "Inspect" the soon-to-be tattooed area.

"If you don't mind me saying, I expected it to be bigger than this" Pico giggled as he shot Boyfriend a somewhat of an intimidating look that screamed 'Dude wtf like ew'.

"Like yours is any bigger hon" Boyfriend scoffed, rolling his eyes at Pico

Pico eventually measured it and broke into a fit of laughter.

"Eight inches? Really? I know mine's at least ten dude" Pico teased.

"Please, don't lie to yourself sugar, but if you want..." Boyfriend eventually came to a halt and trailed off.

"If I want, what?" Pico wondered.

"I could measure yours just to be sure it is in fact "Ten inches" like you said it was" Boyfriend smirked as he said so, but of course, no homo though...

Fuck it man, yes homo, Boyfriend was already getting hard at the feeling of Pico's cold fingertips touching his "Super awesome man pole, magnum dong, I mean, chode, cock, dick, meat stick" and he wanted nothing more than to fuck this ginger's voluptuous and juicy ass.

"F-fuck... y-yes please" Pico moaned at just the sight of his rather average "Super awesome man pole, magnum dong, I mean, chode, cock, dick, meat stick" but it was quite thick in size, and that was enough to make Pico's friend downstairs want to rise from the dead (iykyk)

The two passionately smashed their lips together and felt nothing but a strong wave of lust wash over them. A part of Pico was saying that sex at a fucking tattoo parlor wasn't exactly the best idea. But fuck it, buttfuck it, because Pico was just desperate, he longed for the touch of Boyfriend and wanted nothing other than him.

A simple kiss soon turned into a heated makeout sesh - suckin face if you may. Tongue and everything it was filled with passion, lust, affection and pure love. Kissing in a tattoo parlor with some hot hunka meat you just met, super cliche right? But cha live in the moment ma dudes. 

A few minutes later, Pico grabbed Boyfriend's man pole as Boyfriend squirmed in the medical chair thingy and met with Boyfriend's black world-consuming orbs earning a small whimper from Boyfriend. Slowly, he started licking Boyfriend's tip which was already leaking out in pre-cum while Boyfriend was squirming under Pico's strong, cold grip. He trailed his tongue down Boyfriend's length as Boyfriend let out small moans and groans of pleasure.

All of a sudden, Pico took him all in with a yelp from Boyfriend. Bobbing his head up and down and dragging his tongue around his width, licking, sucking and kissing all over Boyfriend's chode. Boyfriend was rolling his hips unable to contain the immense pleasure bubbling up inside him like a simmering stew on high heat.

Pico couldn't help but smirk at how out of control he made Boyfriend feel. Serves him right for earlier. "Where's the 'Mr. tough guy' at?" Pico asked slyly. "You miss him?" Boyfriend managed to blurt out. "Not necessarily " Pico mumbled.

"I'm gonna I-" Boyfriend moaned out. "I know babe let it out " Pico murmured. "Fuuuucccckkkkkk-" Boyfriend spoke barely over a whisper, warm liquid filled Pico's mouth and he obvs swallowed it all.

"Wanna 69?" Boyfriend asked coyly.  "Uh yeah... s-sure " Pico stuttered getting nervous in the presence of Boyfriend's flirtatious side again. As soon as Pico replied, he smacked his juicy, voluptuous, curvaceous, busty, opulent, well-proportioned, luscious ass. Pico moaned at the action and not noticing Boyfriend had moved.

Without warning, he went all in taking him whole. Pico might have had small dick energy, but he was the exact opposite when it came to times like these. Hot, wet and loud were the words to describe the tattoo parlor room, both of their moans bouncing of the room's walls as they sucked each other off. Pico suddenly stopped which made Boyfriend supa confused, so confused, he didn't even notice Pico behind him until he felt all of his dingle in his ass.

"F-fuck Pico-" Boyfriend blurted, as Pico slowly rolled his hips. "What babe c'mon use your words" Pico groaned seductively in Boyfriend's ear as he picked up the speed. "F-fuck you feel s-so good" Boyfriend splattered "I know babe" Pico admitted. His thrusts getting harder and faster, their skin clapping together getting louder and more pleasingly painful.

"I can't take it anymore P-pico" Boyfriend said as he gasped for air. "Yes you can baby, I know you can" Pico replied reassuringly. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK PICO" Boyfriend screamed as he was screaming without the s (iykyk). Pico finished after him with a loud, deep groan. "It's my turn now Pico, get on all fours before I make you" Boyfriend whispered in his ear slightly nibbling on his ear lobe. 

Pico fought against letting out a moan and slowly went on all fours. "If you ain't gonna do it yourself  *smack* I'm gon do it myself". He flipped Pico over and went all in. Plunging in and out of Pico's asshole, Boyfriend was goin at full speed and wasn't holding back at all. And holy shit, Pico would be lying if he said Boyfriemd was mediocre. Pico's soft moans and Boyfriend's deep groans filled the room and were the only thing to be heard within a mile's radius.

Apart from their skin clapping and the squeaking of the medical bed thing. "You like it baby?  Does my Magnum Dong feel good penetrating your ass?" Boyfriend whispered seductively. He only got a moan in response "I need words Pico" Boyfriend whispered. "Yes fucking, hell yes!" Pico moaned out. "Good" Boyfriend muttered under his breath. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. fuck, fuuuuuccccckkkkkk" Boyfriend groaned as he released his load.

"Sit down Pico "Boyfriend spoke. The second Pico sat down, Boyfriend got on his knees and got to work. Sucking every part and gagging anything and everything Boyfriend could do he did until they were both out of breath.

Soon later, Pico did Boyfriend's tattoo and got it 4 free! 

He should really thank Kapi sometime.

•••

A/N

Word count: 2203 words

Haiiiii partay peoples! Omfgggg this chapter was super fun to write and we both died multiple times throughout the whole process of writing and editing this chapter. Btw Beezy wrote the first half (Up until da smashing their lips togetha part lmao) and ofc Jamal wrote the bottom half (The makeout sesh all the way to the end) and they tried their best, so why not follow em? Hope you guys liked reading this as much as we loved writin it <3 Stay tuned ma dudes the chapters get even better y'all.

-BeezyBee and Jamal Gripperton

#pico fnf #bf fnf #smut

[eclecticrecap]

Unfortunately, I think the right of passage of my life is to just accept the fact I will constantly be stuck in horrible decisions to choose from, such as:

My grandmother's house, a small home, only three bedrooms, one my father used (he snores too much that my mother cannot stand to sleep next to him) before he later could live inside the service/wifi forsaken home in the countryside to flourish and replenish a sense of humanity unlike his grubby handed children, whilst working for a pharmacy chain. The other room, was used by my mother, my brother having to sleep in that room because the second guest bed was just so small and my brother was afraid to sleep alone don't you DARE bully him (He won't technically see it but idk it wouldnt sit well on my conscious) And me? Well usually I'd share the master bed with my grandmother up until fated 2020 when I picked up the permanent curse of floor sleeping, you think I would be capable at that time of touching the second floor, even? Let alone a bed? Whilst the OCD brain termites had forsaken my bodily autonomy? I had free will, and permission to sleep on the floor.

But here's another problem, my grandmother's house doesn't particularly have a workspace friendly spot besides her own things, not many easy places to put my drawing tablet and pc without having to uncomfortably sit, so all I really had was the dining room's sewing table, I don't know why the sewing table was so desk-able and serving cunt with that tablecloth ontop of it, (during 2020 I got glitter stuck on it and then one tiny blot of ink.....whoops) BUT NOT ONLY THAT ITS RIGHT NEXT TO THE FUCKING KITCHEN, so I kinda had to settle for just not having a good place to be in Discord voice calls, for a 16yo chronically online during covid time that is a personal nightmare.

And let me tell you it would make me scratch my skin in anxiety and frustration when one day I had been on my pc and smelled the MOST DISGUSTING FUCKING STENCH OF A COUNTERTOP POLISH EVER HOLY SHIT I WENT INTO A SPIRAL OF ANXIETY, I DIDN"T KNOW WHAT TO DO, WHERE TO GO, THE BRAIN TERMITES FORBID ME THE STAIRS, FORBID ME TO SIT AMONGST THE CHAIRS AND COUCHES OF THE LIVING ROOM, HELL, EVEN THE FUCKING BACKYARD.

So I strong-armed through it, she was polishing her countertop for at least 30 minutes, not sure why it took 30 minutes, I arguably was already anxious to be there because she constantly would accuse me of scratching her stove when there wasn't anything noticeable on her stove, one time I placed a knife on there for 5 seconds to get something and the blade didnt even touch the stove and she started getting real mad and said "It's nothing like how it used to look" or something like that when THERE WAS BARELY ANY VISIBLE SCRATCHES ON THIS STOVETOP, I WAS SENT INTO A PANIC I COULDN"T EVNENNb FUCKOJGHN OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MY GFOOOOOODDDD

Now, you know how I had dyed my hair a bit during this year? Well when I said I fully bleached my hair, I didn't mention the fact the lower layer of my full head of hair, was dyed red, now, remember the mention of my OCD preventing me from properly showering? Because the brain termites told me using the showers would result in terrible things happening to me? (I genuinely don't know how the fuck I didn't stink if I recall there were some moments I ended up sponge bathing in one of the bathrooms because there's no damn way, it was SUMMER in arizona.)

Well, that resulted in me not spending time to wash my hair, and if you ever dyed your hair (respectively, look at you, I highly doubt theres someone reading this who hasn't, I don't mind being proven wrong.) well, red hair, is messy, and the red dye SOMEHOW WAS TURNING MY SHIRT'S TAG PINK???????? AND WHENEVER I SCRATCFHED MY CRUSTY ASS SCALP, PINK WOULD BECOME MY FINGERTIPS, UNDERNEATH MY NAILS. AND I GUESS BY TOUCHING THE COUNTERTOP...THE FUCKING COUNTERTOP OR ANYTHING I FUCKING TOUCHED TURNED FUCKING PINK???????????????????????????

So you can imagine later in october, when I dyed it dark blue, I would probably run into this same problem, I wanted to wash it in the kitchen sink, since my family often uses sinks to wash hair because WE ARE FREAKS I DONT CARE WHAT IM TOLD I GET IT ITS WEIRD. But I wanted to wait until i could have assistance for it, I believe it was because I didn't know what shampoo to use, and alot of the times I just, crusty teen shit I sucked at washing my own hair.

But my grandmother randomly started thinking I was going to shower, however, I didn't say I was going to shower, now maybe its because I was afraid to use the shower, but even then I was still sponge-bathing to at least keep some form of hygiene, but I had a feeling it was more because of my hair because she didn't give a shit if I was in public spaces, and for her, the person who will openly tell you if she thinks you look too uggo for idk.. a walmart? And I previously was obviously discussing the hair dye transfer problem, so I had decided beforehand to just, wash my hair in the sink, like weird family tradition.

Now this was I believe the day after I dyed it blue, I had to leave the house, and we were supposed to leave the house soon. But suddenly she tells me she would not take me to the store unless my hair was washed, so I was a little anxious, because the brain termites were telling me showers were bad, but I felt like explaining it would make me get laughed at, despite how real those intrusive thoughts feel to someone with OCD, and I didn't predict us being stuck at this house for well... the entire year. It was normal for us to wash hair in the kitchen sink, it's metal, it's been done for years, but she didn't want to wait until I had help with washing my hair in said sink so that was arguably not fun. Thank fuck I'm medicated??????? idk

At least nothing in her house turned blue.

#granny i beg you im siirtyy #BLUE HAIR AND PRONOUNS>??

[daddycest-hub]

The first time the Walker men met Y/N was when Stella brought him home for Thanksgiving.

It was hatred at first sight.

Stella had been babbling about how great and sweet and romantic and hot he was for the past few months, looking to get them riled up for a good fucking later. But, unlike her other "boyfriends", she hadn't dumped him after a week. No, she kept him on. She even let him have sex with her "only to keep me entertained" she said. "It's not my fault you guys don't visit more."

So, yeah, they hated him. They put up with it for the holiday, especially since Stella was staying the night and all three of them had a chance to thoroughly remind her who she belonged to. It was with great satisfaction that they watched her cancel her plans with him for the next day because she couldn't move.

The week after she went back, Cordell decided to pay a special visit to his darling girl. Later that night, she sent him a video of Y/N eating his cum out of her pussy and enjoying it. "See why I like him now?"

Cordell watched that video on loop for the rest of the night after sending it off to Liam and August. He jerked himself off to Y/N's little noises and long tongue at work; his sheets were soaked by the time he fell asleep from exhaustion. It would seem their girl had brought them a gift, rather than a problem.

They instructed Stella to send more videos of Y/N. She sent them new files daily. Y/N eating her out. Y/N flexing his muscles. Y/N bending over and showing off his ass. Y/N handling his pitifully small cock. She didn't let them miss a moment.

Then the wet dreams/fantasies started.

August liked to imagine pinning Y/N, the dreamy, strong jock, down to a mattress and kissing him senseless. He wanted to plunder Y/N's mouth with his own and make him beg for more. He imagined Y/N, held down by August's strength, struggling against his hold and begging for mercy as August kissed and bit every inch of his body (all except his pitiful cock). August would get himself worked up and then cum on Y/N's chest and abs and leave him messy while he left the room, the door unlocked for later.

Liam had power fantasies about the young man. He pictured himself calling Y/N into his office for a "talk" and locking the door behind them. Then he would push Y/N to his knees and shove his cock down that pretty boy's throat. Gripping his hair, Liam would forcefully thrust in and out of his mouth, fucking his face until he was crying for Liam to stop. And he would, just to cum on Y/N's face. Then he would bend Y/N over his desk, rip his pants down, and force his spit-slicked cock into his tight, juicy ass. That one was enough to get Liam to cum untouched in his own pants.

Cordell's were more...advanced.

His favorite fantasy was him and Y/N on a dusty backroad. He would turn on his lights and sirens and tell Y/N to pull over. Something about a broken tail light (or a flat tire or a random speed check, etc.). He'd have a small packet of cocaine on him and tell Y/N to get out of the car. "Routine search, you understand." And Y/N would let him, because he's a dumb jock with a small cock and smaller brains.

He'd "find" the cocaine and tell Y/N he needed to do a personal search. "Put your hands on the hood." Y/N would protest but what could he do against a ranger? Nothing, that's what.

Cordell would start simple, a basic pat down search. Then he would "find" another bag in Y/N's jacket and pants, requiring a more thorough search. On go the handcuffs, forcing Y/N to stay still despite his protests that he never had those bags on him. Cordell would ignore him, of course, pulling his jacket and shirt up his arms, baring his back and torso to the cool night air. Then, Cordell would pull down his pants and underwear. Can't be too careful.

He would pull Y/N's hips out to get better access to his tiny cock and balls, reaching around to squeeze and stroke them. "You know how crafty criminals are". He'd smirk seeing Y/N's pitiful pecker get hard, still stupidly small, and "search" him until he came on Cordell's hand. He'd wipe the cum off on Y/N's back and turn his attention elsewhere.

He'd open up Y/N's juciy ass cheeks, squeezing them good as he got a look at his little rosebud. "One last check" he'd say, shoving two of his fingers in dry, pretending not to hear Y/N's cries. He'd "feel" more inside of Y/N and unbuckle his pants. Then he'd slowly slide his cock into Y/N to "complete my inspection". He'd fuck Y/N hard, enjoying the soft little cries that came from his little fucktoy. Then he'd reach around and feel that Y/N was hard again and keep fucking him until he came untouched.

After that, Cordell would cum deep inside him. "Thanks for the fuck" he'd say. "Keep this between us and I'll forget about the drug charges." He'd keep Y/N in the handcuffs until he agreed to not tell a soul. Then he'd step back and stroke his cock while he watched Y/N pull himself back together and get back into his car.

When Stella told them Y/N proposed to her a few years later, they agreed to the marriage. They did need their backup cumdump after all.

[kendal111]

wow

why has trying to find a place this summer been such a fucking shitshow?????

im running out of time damnit, can i really survive another semester in this fucking room?

ok wow heres all the places i looked at so far:

1: the 1br in University Villa

stand alone

ground floor

old appliances

next to main road noise

5to the SoA

next to construction

lanai faced no where

parking included

laundry on site

1 year lease

1200 plus electric

backed out because the street noise would be loud. was next to a unit that watched TV loudly 24/7 plus the quality of everything was "ok". honestly if i had just commited to this one, i wouldnt be dealing with all of this rn. maybe id still be dating whats her face. kept having dreams of the traffic noise though. it wouldve been too loud. trust me. but super convenient for school. plus whats her face thought i could do better, i agreed.

5/10

2: studio in Holiday Village

stand alone

18th floor

excellent view of town

noise?

lanai

new appliances

no parking included

in a sketchy area

in the middle of town

1 year lease

150 additional for parking next door

1300 ult included

lost my deposit cuz i backed out. i backed out because i didnt want to deal with parking in that area. and pay that much extra for a spot with no parking or deal with homeless people in the area. oh my god this one was the worst because i lost money. shouldve commited to this one instead. she litterally dumped me a week before moving in then i pussied out and terminated the lease while sacrificing my deposit. would she had come back if she saw how awesome my studio was? who cares shes fucking tinder guys as i speak.

7/10 if it had parking on site

4/10 cuz parking situation

3: studio on Wilhelmenia

tiny and dirty

month to month lease

seperate entrance

had potential

owners off site

street parking questionable

outdoor eating area

995 ult included

backed out because it was too small for my desk. I realized i could get a smaller desk and it was too late. honestly this was the fucking one. it was perfect. tiny and dirty but those were fixable. it had everything i needed. my own shower, my own full size fridge, a closet, a bed, month to month lease, owners off site, close to school, affordable, seperate entrance. i backed out because i was fucking tired that day. wasnt thinking straight. plus i got scared because i lost a deposit so soon. i regret not taking this one. i think i got weirded out by the "no drinking no drugs" rule

honestly this was the one.

8/10

4: studio near KCC

month to month lease

right next to owner

everything nice

spacious

street parking questionable

1500 ult included except AC

loud as fuck with the main road noise 50 ft from the house. i backed out because i realize the owner is one wall away, and the noise from the main road wouldve drove me crazy. the interior was decent.

5/10

5: studio in Manoa

detatched

owner off island

newly renovated

5 minute drive to school

super cute

super private

relatively quiet and spacious

on a connecting road

no w/d on site

1 year lease

street parking available

1350 ult included

honestly this was the nicest place i saw out of all of them. I applied but haven't heard back. the only thing i dont like about this place is no w/d and the 1 year lease. its also a little expensive but sooo cute. if i sign a lease i cant leave this island next year

8/10

6: room in Manoa

chill 420 friendly roommate couple

dog and cat

5 minutes from school

nice ass location on a hill in a mini forest.

shortcut to cemetary for views

just a room but room has two windows for airflow

guests are OK

sometimes they have guests over

they work from home

nice house

shower and bath in hallway. share shower

900 plus ultilities (83 dollars) so

1000 total

probably the coolest potential roomates i met, but with roomates comes with living with people and that whole deal. id live here if i were trying to make new friends and meet new people. and its month to month so no pressure, can leave the island next year

6/10

wow whats her face really fucked me up mentally..

i was doing so well in march.

cant believe its aleady august.

2022 was the worst year of my life.

atleast we had fun in may.