#or like. poorly pretends to fix something

[ajoure]

How is each character at taking care of kids? We know that Stella is already experienced and white is used to being around the kids in the playcare due to getting children for experiments

*if we're not talking about kids for experiments, but generally*

> Stella is a mother figure for everyone. She loves kids, and kids love her. She knows how to take care of kids and teens, she knows how to also deal with kids with special needs or neurodivergent folks, she knows a bunch of tricks, jokes, knows how to entertain kids and she's loving and caring

> Ritterman. Eh..? He'd be a decent caretaker, but he also can mess up things badly and is rather clumsy when he doesn't know what exactly he should do, but he'd try his best.

"where's the child, Eddie?"

"what child- OH, A CHILD... OOOHHH"

But he'd try to provide all necessities and emotional support if needed. Again, he's trying his best

> Sawyer. He's neutral towards kids, and doesn't like noisy ones, but he'd keep things cool and just ignore them. He's good with tasks and he can provide physical care for kid (like he can help a child to dress up, can cook, can give something idk) but not exactly emotional care.

Also he would probably be the beginning of someone's "excellent student syndrome"

> Leith. He called Playcare kids "shittlings", is this answer enough? XD

Doesn't like kids, but can *poorly* pretend he does. Wouldn't be a great person to take care of a child. He'd also be pretty neglectful.

> White, if you're interested. Well I haven't thought of it much, but he'd be something between Sawyer and Ritterman. Kinda trying his best, but messing things up, he's able to care physically and at least try to care emotionally. And just like Leith, he'd be neglectful, but maybe he'd try to fix his habits to be better. Overall, ehh, not the best caretaker

[froglover7789]

ill say it. i hate hanluke. it just doesnt do it for me. their friendship dynamic is so mych better and hanleia is goated. BUT!!!! the idea of han being torn between gorgeous stunning i-will-eat-you-for-breakfast-and-still-be-hungry leia and cutie patootie get-lost-in-my-baby-blues-before-i-whoop-your-ass luke TICKLES ME THATS SO FUNNY COULD YOU IMAGINE

[veal-exe]

I saw a post earlier, I will not be appending my response to that post to the post itself, but I did want to touch upon it.

The post was about how trans men and transmasculine people afab don't have any media tropes that are, we'll say, problematic for them, the way that the 'funny man in a dress' trope is trans-misogynistic, I wanted to discuss that and lay that claim to rest.

Below I will be discussing some tropes in media that affect trans masculine people afab. Some may be worse than others, some accidental, some maybe on purpose, but I've compiled them because I think it's important to understand that just how the harmful tropes aimed at masculine people afab do exist, they just differ in their execution.

DISCLAIMER: If I have worded anything poorly in this post please tolerate it, English is my fourth language and it can be overwhelming to attempt linguistic perfection or the performance of it for native English Speaker.

EDIT: tumblr really messed my layout and formatting up, sorry for that but I'm not fixing it unless I really need to.

1. “Tomboy Gets a Makeover” = Suddenly She’s Worth Something (AKA: Now She’s Fuckable)

This one’s everywhere. You’ve got a character who’s rough around the edges, usually wears hoodies, maybe doesn’t shave, maybe doesn’t even care what people think. And the story punishes her for that. Until someone (usually a fairy godmother or mean girl turned ally) shoves her into a dress, puts some gloss on her lips, straightens her hair...

and then she’s finally seen as beautiful, desirable, and valid.

The core message? Your masculinity is temporary, and your value doesn’t actually exist until you conform to traditional femininity. You weren’t lovable, datable, or even visible until you softened up and got pretty.

This trope tells young people AFAB:

You're not enough unless you perform femininity

Your gender nonconformity is a flaw to fix

If you're not seen as sexy in the "right" way, you're invisible

And this sticks. Especially for transmascs, who grew up seeing their natural instincts or styles treated like a before picture.

Examples:

The Princess Diaries – Mia goes from “invisible frizzy nerd” to prom-queen level once her hair is flat and her legs are waxed.

A Cinderella Story – Sam’s baggy clothes are treated like a shield for her insecurity, until she shows up in a dress and suddenly earns male attention.

The Breakfast Club – Allison is artsy and weird and quietly masc... until she’s quite literally pink-washed and given a makeover so she can be datable.

She's All That – Laney is cool and self-possessed in her own way, but the movie waits until she’s in a red dress and contacts to take her seriously.

Meteor Garden – Shan Cai’s toughness is tolerable, but she’s still only framed as truly “lovable” after being softened through male attention.

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2. “She Pretended to Be a Boy” = She’s a Lying Snake Whore

When characters AFAB dress or live as boys, it’s almost always framed as deception. Not survival. Not autonomy. Not self-expression. Just trickery. There’s a dramatic “reveal” scene where everyone suddenly feels betrayed, like the character has been scheming the whole time instead of just…

living. Sound familiar?

This isn’t just about fiction. It directly echoes how transmasc people are treated in reality, as liars, as fake men, as threats to those around them just by existing. The idea that someone AFAB could be masculine, or just a guy, is treated like a trap set for unsuspecting cis people.

The underlying message:

You can’t be trusted if you present as masculine

Your gender is a mask, a trick, a crime

If people liked you before, they were duped

it’s the same logic used to justify violence and exclusion towards Transmasculine people AFAB in reality.

Examples:

She’s the Man – Viola pretends to be her brother to play soccer, but it’s all “uh-oh she has boobs�� humor. Her gender presentation is the punchline.

The King’s Affection – She lives as the crown prince and does a damn good job, but the tension constantly hinges on whether she’s tricking people by being there at all. Masculinity is okay only if it’s secret and painful.

Coffee Prince – Go Eun-chan presents as male to get a job, and instead of critiquing the system that forces her to do it, the narrative focuses on her guilt and “the reveal.” Masculinity is tolerated, but never fully respected.

Victor/Victoria – Gender is treated as a clever disguise. The moment someone finds out “the truth,” it’s all shock, betrayal, and drama. Queerness framed as a con.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

3. “It’s Just a Phase” = You’ll Be a Real Girl™️ Eventually

You can be a tomboy for now. Run around, get messy, be loud. It’s even kind of cute! As a little kid who needs to grow up. Then suddenly, your masculinity isn’t just childish! it’s a problem. Something to “grow out of.” Something to fix!

This trope trains audiences to see AFAB masculinity as:

Immature

A quirk of childhood

A stepping stone to real femininity

And what does “real girlhood” mean in this context? Dresses. Lip gloss. Boys. The implication is that your value kicks in when you start performing the kind of femininity that makes you palatable and desirable. You were allowed to be wild for a minute, but only if you clean up nice later.

It reinforces the same tired message: Girlhood = destination, not a choice. Masculinity is just the wrong stop on the way. If you are Transmasculine AFAB, you are a child who should grow up, immature, being treated as much younger than they are is a huge issue with transmasculine people AFAB.

I would like to add that this is also a misogynistic trope, but misogyny intersects with transandrophobia in ways that are valid to talk about.

Examples:

The Parent Trap – Annie and Hallie are opposites, but Hallie (tomboy-coded) only really “settles down” and softens once she’s back with her mom. Her rougher edge is charming but temporary.

Now and Then – Roberta is the tomboy of the group, and her Big Moment of Growth™ comes when she puts on a dress. Not solving childhood trauma. Not emotional healing. The dress.

Boys Over Flowers – Jan-di is scrappy, resilient, athletic! and then she falls for the male lead and gradually loses every bit of that fire. By the end, she’s quiet, deferential, and soft. like that’s her natural arc.

Hi My Sweetheart– Rainie Yang’s character starts out masc-presenting and bold. She’s mocked, corrected, and eventually “fixed” into a soft, pink, cutesy girl. Her makeover isn’t for her. it’s the narrative giving her permission to be “dateable.”

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5. “One of the Boys” But Never Really One of the Boys

She’s tough. She’s cool. She fights. She hangs with the guys. She might even burp. But make no mistake! she’s never actually allowed to be one. This trope gives characters AFAB just enough masculinity to seem "interesting," then punishes them if they go too far with it.

Again, this is also a misogynistic trope, but the intersectionality here is important even in the ones that don't seem obvious, some people will poke fun at me putting Natasha here for example, but if you do that you're misunderstanding my intent and I do not care for it.

I am not saying ANY of these characters are coded transmasculine, I am discussing how masculinity is treated in regards to characters AFAB.

The message is clear: You can borrow masculinity, but don’t get comfortable in it.

These characters:

Get constant reminders that they're different

Are sexualized, softened, or sidelined the moment they get too close to “boyish”

Exist to complement the boys, not compete with them

Examples:

Avengers – Natasha Romanoff is deadly, competent, cool under pressure, but also constantly shoved into the “team mom” or “sexy redhead with feelings” role. Her backstory centers around forced sterilization, and her arc in Age of Ultron literally says she’s a “monster” for not being able to have kids. Tell me again how she’s treated like “one of the guys.”

How to Train Your Dragon – Astrid starts out as the alpha fighter, but as soon as Hiccup grows up, she becomes a background girlfriend with no arc of her own. Her sharp edge gets smoothed into supportiveness.

My Hero Academia – Nearly every tough AFAB character gets undercut. Mirko is badass but exists on the fringes. Jirou gets development, but only as support. Bakugo’s mom is comic relief. Meanwhile, male characters are allowed complex, messy, powerful arcs without ever needing to "soften" for the audience.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“AFAB Character Learns to Embrace Womanhood” = Moral Victory!

You start with a tough, scrappy, masculine-coded person AFAB, maybe she fights, maybe she’s emotionally shut down, maybe she just doesn’t want to be like other girls. It doesn't matter, this is how it ends:

She softens. She submits. She “grows” by becoming a wife, a mom, a love interest, a Real Girl™️.

This isn’t healing. It’s containment. The message is: your rebellion was cute, but it’s time to settle down and accept the role assigned to you.

“Growth” = compliance. “Strength” = giving it up. “Maturity” = pink, dresses, and a baby carriage.

Examples:

The Hunger Games – Katniss Everdeen is trauma-coded, masc-leaning, and uncomfortable with romance or traditional femininity. So what’s her ending? A baby epilogue where she’s in a dress, quietly settled into nuclear family life. Is she happy about it? No, but there's no denying that this is her ending.

Mulan II– In the original, she challenges gender roles and becomes a literal war hero. In the sequel? The plot revolves around her needing to prove she can still be soft, feminine, and wife-material. Her masculinity is not allowed to just exist.

Jojo Rabbit – Rosie (the mother) is framed as the ideal woman: warm, loving, feminine. Meanwhile, Elsa (a girl in hiding) starts out guarded and hard-edged, but only becomes “redeemed” once she softens and embraces traditional femininity.

A Silent Voice / Koe no Katachi – The narrative constantly punishes her for not being “nice enough,” and her arc only begins to shift once she becomes more demure and apologetic. She cannot be both a good person and brash or hotheaded, submit or be branded evil.

Inuyasha – Sango is introduced as a demon-slaying warrior. But her story ends in the most vanilla way possible: marriage, motherhood, and sidelining. She loses her edge completely. I hate the end of Inuyasha so much it is borderline a meme in my circles.

Fruits Basket - Uotani is tall, tomboyish, and used to be in a girl gang. She has strength, history, and depth. And then her “big growth moment”? Realizing she wants to be softer and more ladylike, because femininity is treated as the finish line within the story.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Masculine Presentation” = Joke Costume or Moral Failure

When characters AFAB wear suits, cut their hair short, or pass as masc in any way, media rarely lets it land without a laugh track, or a moral consequence.

Masculine presentation is treated as:

A silly costume

A failed experiment

A sign of monstrosity

Or something to be shamed out of.

The story makes sure you feel embarrassed for them. It invites the audience to laugh, cringe, or judge, because “girl in boy clothes” is still a punchline in mainstream media. Just like 'Boy in girl clothes' is.

And yes, this hurts trans women, but it also absolutely targets butch, GNC, and transmasc folks. Masculinity is marked as wrong on AFAB bodies, funny if temporary, disgusting if permanent.

Examples:

Scooby-Doo – Velma’s masc coding (short hair, flat clothes, practical shoes) constantly becomes the joke. If she dresses even more masc? She’s “mistaken” for a man and ridiculed. Her queerness and presentation are treated like a quirk at best, a problem at worst.

The Suite Life of Zack and Cody – London Tipton wears a single masc outfit and the laugh track explodes. The outfit itself isn’t weird, but the show acts like the sight of her in anything non-feminine is a cosmic-level joke.

Friends – Rachel and Monica wear tuxedos in one episode, and the joke is entirely that it looks “wrong.” Chandler mocks them, the camera lingers on how “awkward” they look.

iCarly – Sam dresses masc semi-regularly, and is constantly mocked for acting “like a guy.” In interviews, actress Jennette McCurdy has said this ongoing joke contributed directly to her eating disorder relapse. This is not harmless.

Matilda - Miss Trunchbull is heavily masc-coded: big build, short hair, no makeup, harsh voice. She’s a literal villain, and her appearance is meant to be scary. Her masculinity is associated directly with her monstrosity.

Aikatsu! – Girls in suits are used as performance shock value. “Omg, a girl in a tuxedo??” is the whole joke.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

IN CLOSING.

These tropes don’t exist in a vacuum.

they shape how people see us, and how we see ourselves.

When characters AFAB exploring masculinity are only ever jokes, villains, phases, or tragedies, it sends a message: You don’t get to be this. You’re only allowed to visit. And when you're done, you better come back “correct.”

But we’re not punchlines. We’re not broken girls. Some of us are boys.

Some of us are neither.

Some of us are just butch as hell and happy about it.

We deserve stories where we aren’t corrected. Where masculinity on AFAB people isn’t a phase, a disguise, or a joke. But our lives, and the truth of them.

[muqingslover]

This question is related to the last ask you posted, but what do you think the lads men most unexpected/unconventional turn-on would be?

Your depiction of Zayne got me thinking, what is that shy man gonna do if mc finds his "weak" spot lol. Cuz yeah, obviously he'd be turned on about his beloved sending him risky pictures BUT the moment mc realises one of his unexpected turn ons that maybe he himself wasn't even aware of? Oh lawd.

[ this one had me thinking for days oh my goodness! Just a heads up, I got carried away with some of these...very carried away.....shhh. ]

Your lips.

Alright, alright, i know it sounds confusing but stick with me here.

I've thrown some of my takes on his kinks around but I didn't want to repeat myself so I spent some time stewing over this.

Eventually I landed on the idea that Zayne would be very particular about sharing anything that touched your lips, especially before an official relationship.

Drinking from the same straw, sharing the same spoon, tasting something you already bit into it— It's an instant way of getting his poor mind to go into overdrive.

He is a very proper and respectful man. He doesn't like to have indecent thoughts about you, but the idea that his lips touched something yours did as well make him all tingly and shy.

Massages.

He loooooves the feeling of your weight pressing down on his hips when you straddle him, though that's not even the tip of the iceberg as to why he is so into this.

Your hands are truly magical when it comes to getting rid of the few knots on his body and the further he relaxes, the further Xavier begins to grow more aware of you.

The comforting weight is slowly causing him to grind against the mattress under him each time you shifted on top of him and the way your hands make their way down his bare spine has him biting the pillow sheets.

Not to mention that the minute your fingernails scratch his scalp in an otherwise affectionate gesture he nearly cums in his pants.

His ears and neck feel so hot he decides to bury his face in the pillow to keep you from noticing.

He would either flip the tables on you at some point or (try to) go to sleep in hope everything would be fine once he wakes up again.

Gentleness.

That's right. You heard me. This man will crumble at your feet every time you care for him like he's a pretty princess.

I'm not necessarily talking about grand gestures. Simple and natural ones are the most effective. The type that you wouldn't even notice you are doing it.

Slow caresses on his shoulder or hands, checking to see if he's alright while cradling his face, patiently explaining something to him, wiping his face if there was something on it, running your fingers through his hair... ECT.

He has a distinct memory of you being so worried about him when he scrapped his hand during his daily troubles— It was no different than a paper cut to him, but the blood made it seem worse than it actually was and that caused you to immediately fuss.

He watched with such genuine adoration as you tended to his wounds; Your furrowed eyebrows as you focused, the soft concern in your voice when you asked if the disinfectant stung and how could Sylus not pretend that it hurt? Just a little bit. Just enough to hear more of your encouragement that it was almost done and he was doing well.

Trust me, it will lead to him kissing you without warning, seemingly out of nowhere, once it's done and prepare yourself for the best night ever.

(I cut this short like four times and still ended up being long....oh well.)

Helping him with his clothes.

Each time you fix his crooked, poorly tied necktie (which he absolutely hates to wear) or straighten up his collar for him Rafayel is fighting back demons.

This also applies to you helping him actually dress up (or undress) and picking out his outfits without him having to ask.

The sight of you standing in front of him, hands swiftly buttoning up his shirt, has him weak in the knees. It makes him feel as you're truly his partner. That this is the married life the two of you deserved to have eons ago.

Speaking of undressing, this naughty fish will absolutely tease you about unbuckling his belt.

He would take a seat on a nearby chair with a dramatic sigh before he asked for you to help him with his clothes because he was oh so very tired to do it himself.

He leans back against the chair as if it was his own personal throne, knees slack as he spread comfortably and tilts his head to the side to rest it on his hand.

"I have an early morning tomorrow, you know. Won't you finish helping me so we can head to bed?" It sounds innocent enough, rather playful even, but the expression on his face is anything but. Just look at the volume on his pants, he ain't fooling anybody.

Hearing his own name + Whispering.

Last but most definitely not least, everyone's favorite boy.

It doesn't matter what's happening the second you say his name his full attention is on you. It's like a very well trained dog.

He can tell what you're feeling, sometimes even thinking, based on the way you call him alone. It comes with the years of experience of being your best friend.

It however also comes with the perpetual problem that his body reacts so well to your voice that it ends up being a little *too* well.

You may be in the middle of an argument yet the moment you say his name Caleb would be fighting back a boner. upcoming fic sneakpeek—i mean what

Another odd turn on of his is when you whisper something in his ear.

It doesn't really matter what you're saying. The sound of your voice so close to him and the way he can feel your warm breath tickling his skin is enough to have this man crossing his legs and praying his bulge is subtle.

You can imagine the nightmare this was during teen years when the two of you would sneak around grandma's house.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

I think a more charitable interpretation of the statue scene being when Adrien first fell in love with Marinette is that he’s lying.

I think contextually with the way his expression is animated the moment Adrien started to see Marinette differently was when he practiced her confession with her as Chat, but Adrien can’t tell her that. So they picked another scene from the show for him to lie about as a cover.

This isn’t to absolve the show of bad writing. It’s extremely telling that the romantic leads interact so infrequently out of the mask that the statue scene was their go to.

It also doesn’t help that we rarely get any insight into how Adrien thinks. Meaning we only have on screen actions to go on regarding his unreliability as a narrator and as a superhero.

(Post that spawned this ask or possible this one, not 100% sure since both reference that scene)

While this is obviously not what canon was going for, I utterly adore this as a simple fix to the problem. What a lovely idea that could have been perfectly in line with the show's humor. Just have Kagami ask Adrien when he started feeling like this for Marinette, leading him to flashback to:

The Glaciator balcony scene, but oops, can't talk about that one, he was Chat Noir

The Weredad confession and date, but oops, once again, can't discuss that because he was Chat Noir

The Glaciator 2 confession to "Buttercup", but oops, he's once again Chat Noir

Could even throw in an Evillustrator flashback, but once again, he can't talk about that because he was Chat Noir!

Between each flashback we see Kagami getting ever more impatient so Adrien finally just blurts out something about the wax museum based on a poster behind her head and the rest of the episode is him having to pretend that the awkward almost kiss was the moment while Marinette, Luka, and Kagami all look at him like he's nuts. It could have been amazing! You could also do a variation where the flashbacks happen throughout the episode as Adrien remembers his favorite moments with Marinette, but he can never talk about the real memory because it was with the wrong him.

Then again, that would probably eat up the whole 20 minutes, leaving no time for an akuma attack, so it wouldn't work for Miraculous as every episode has to have a fight in it, but that's not an argument against this idea. It's just another argument for why a romance is poorly suited to an episodic formula show that's incredibly strict about being both of those things!

[4ngelrealm]

𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻 𝗶𝘁

george clarke x reader 𝗧𝗘𝗟𝗟 𝗠𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗠𝗘 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗘𝗔𝗡 𝗜𝗧, g. clarke: description of the fic. (angst; hurt/comfort; groveling; established relationship; couple argument; trust issues; struggling with the word 'love')

The locks were changed by the time he got back. George sighed, resting his forehead against the door as his key to your apartment jerked and got stuck in the mismatched lock. He wasn't entirely sure what he was expecting, you hadn't answered his texts for days and with every day he felt you disappear more deeply.

George knew he fucked up. Royally. He knew you, deeply and wholly. He knew of your tendencies to pull away. For you, there was stability in self-destruction. It was easier for you to pull away when you felt shaky foundations because that way, you could watch it all crumble from afar and get out without any scars.

You convinced yourself that it was necessary. That this was the only way to survive, to grow stronger than the people who've hurt you.

George could barely fathom how quickly it had fallen apart. It was with startling ease that you pulled away and he ached in your absence. An accidental brush of bodies in a crowded room and a poorly timed photo had been the catalyst, enough to spook you. He longed to fix it, his tired voice calling for you through the door. George rests his palm against the doorknob, hoping.

"Darling, please." He says, tired and pleading.

You pretend you feel nothing as you always have and pray that you'll begin to believe it. His voice━usually vibrant and giggly━is now frayed at the edges, tearing with each word he speaks and you have to clench every muscle in your body to stop the pang in your chest. George sounds even more exhausted than he did in the voicemails he left, the ones you'd started but hadn't had the heart to finish.

You curl your fists, balling up the fabric of what you were sure was one of George's hoodies, and shut your eyes tight. You shake your head as if he can see you.

"I know how bad it looked, but I promise it wasn't what it looked like." He keeps speaking and your heart clenches. George has always been good at that━being the voice to your quiet. "I need you to believe me, sweet girl, I would never do anything to hurt you. I couldn't sleep those last few nights in Monaco, or on the plane ride back. All I could think about was how I hurt you, even though I didn't mean to. You can ask Bach, I didn't stop talking about you the entire trip. Please don't shut me out before you've even given me a chance to explain. I know you've been hurt and I hate that I've made you feel the same way they made you feel. You don't even have to talk, just please let me in and we can just sit."

The silence is deafening. You feel yourself tense beneath the weight of his words, your mind wrestling with itself. You crave so badly to be able to believe him, to hear him tell you he loves you and believe it. You tiptoe over to the door, resting your palm against the wood, wishing you could feel him on the other side. Your attention is caught when something nudges your foot.

"I got this in Monaco." You bend down and pick it up, gingerly turning it over in your hands. "I know how much you love photobooths and I wanted you there with me so badly."

The pictures are goofy. There's a succession of George posing with different goofy faces, holding up a picture of you on his phone next to his face so that, technically, you're in the pictures too. You swallow, willing the tears to go away.

"The place was crowded. I was only that close to her walking by, but the timing of that picture made it look so much worse." His voice is desperate now, whining and breathy.

Before you can second guess yourself you reach for the door handle and pull it open, meeting the baby blue shine of George's eyes for the first time in what felt like years. His tawny curls were messy, as if he'd been running his hands through his hair over and over, and his eyes were rimmed red.

"You don't know who that girl was?" You ask, forcing the words out. You taste the insecurity on your tongue and want to choke.

George steps closer, unsure and easy, as if he was approaching a wounded animal.

"No fucking clue."

You throw your arms around him, burying your face into his shoulder. George wraps an arm securely around you waist, leading you back into your flat and dropping his bags by the door. He sits the two of you down and lets you collapse into him. George cradles you face as if you are the most precious thing to exist, like he's known nothing kinder than the feel of your skin beneath his.

He lets you fall apart, wiping away the tears. He saw the tenderness beneath your anger. George knew how the pain was consuming you and held you anyways.

He thumbed away the tears and whispered, "I love you." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Please stop leaving. Please let me take care of you."

You pull back, not startled, but careful.

"I'm tough." You say.

He nods. "I know that."

George's hands don't leave you.

"I can take care of myself."

"You have," George agrees easily, pressing a kiss to your hair. "You always will. But now, I will too. I only want anything you're willing to give me."

i acc hate this

taglist: @phantomveb @Ilikewaytoomanythingz

[idkyetxoxo]

Four | Falling Awake | Little Star

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2.7k

Warnings - Domestic abuse, violence, faebane poisoning, angst!!

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This side of Velaris always made my skin crawl. Not because it was ugly—it wasn't. 

No part of Velaris could ever be ugly in my eyes. Even the outskirts, where the city grew quiet and the buildings thinned into shadows, held a strange, desolate kind of beauty. 

But that beauty felt hollow here, like it was only skin-deep. Painted on to hide the rot beneath.

I climbed the five narrow flights of stairs with my heart thudding a slow, sick rhythm in my chest. Each step felt heavier than the last, weighted with everything I hadn't yet said and everything I was finally going to.

Daeron's apartment door stood like a final test at the end of a warpath. I raised my fist and knocked once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five.

He opened it on the fifth knock with a rare, lazy smile adorning his sinisterly beautiful face.

Before I could speak, his arms wrapped around me and his lips found mine, soft, almost tender. But when I didn't kiss him back, he froze and pulled back. 

His eyes narrowed just slightly, lips curling into something less sweet. Something corrupted.

"Still bitter?" he asked, voice light and flippant. He closed the door behind me with a careless flick of his wrist, then sauntered back into his apartment like nothing had changed.

Like he didn't already know I wasn't here for another night of pretending. 

Another night of self-inflicted torture.

I picked my way through the chaos. Discarded shirts and empty bottles. The place reeked of stale smoke and soured dreams. 

I sat opposite him on the fraying fabric armchair, the one with the tear in the cushion he never bothered to fix.

"We need to talk," I announced, though my voice barely passed as more than a whisper, low, raw, frayed at the edges like torn fabric. 

I flexed my fingers in my lap, palms damp, nails digging into my own skin as if pain could keep me tethered to something real, something that wouldn't collapse the moment I spoke the truth aloud.

He didn't even glance up. 

Just reached behind him, the sound of glass clinking against glass ringing through the heavy silence, and poured amber liquid into a chipped, smoke-stained glass. 

He shoved it toward me like an afterthought.

"I don't think we do," he said. "Drink."

I hesitated. My eyes met the glass. That familiar, numbing poison tempting me. I took it, not out of thirst, but desperation. 

For courage. For stillness. For something to dull the tremble that had taken up permanent residence in my bones. The liquor burned its way down my throat, spreading warmth like fire, but it was cold in my stomach. Empty.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, already feeling the pull, slow and foggy, like a blanket too heavy to throw off.

"I can't keep doing this."

The words dropped between us like stones.

He turned, head cocked in amusement like I was a curious little insect he couldn't quite understand. His smile wasn't kind. It was cruel. Dismissive.

"You don't have a choice," he said, voice calm in a way that chilled me to the core. 

He leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting casually on his knees, the way one might watch an animal bleed out.

That look, his calm, his certainty, was gasoline to a flame I had buried for years. 

Rage. Not guilt, not shame, not that loathing I swallowed down every morning just to keep breathing. But real, hot, uncontrollable anger.

"You forget, I am one of the most powerful females in Prythian."

It wasn't a threat. I had never truly threatened him, never even considered it. I had hated myself too much to believe I deserved to wield what pulsed inside me. 

Especially after what happened to my brother. The way I failed him.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes like I was reciting the script of a poorly written play. "Yes, yes. Sister to the most powerful High Lord. Spare me."

My jaw slackened. He'd always pushed me, always belittled, but this... this was new. Like he didn't think I was a person at all anymore. Like I was his, and had always been.

"Where was all that power the last seven years?" he sneered, rising to his feet like a slow-moving shadow. "Oh, right—buried under all that self-pity."

I stood and stepped back instinctively. He advanced.

I raised a hand, palm outward. "Stop." I meant it. My power answered when I meant it.

But nothing came.

Panic coiled like a serpent in my stomach. I hadn't used it in years, yes, but power like mine didn't just vanish.

"Go on," he taunted, arms folded. His smirk deepened, mean and predatory. "Show me how terrifying you are."

I reached inward, desperate and frantic but the well was dry. No heat, no crackle. Just a terrifying, hollow silence.

He moved in, swift and brutal. His fingers tangled in my hair and yanked my head back so hard I cried out, my hands flying to his wrist. He forced my gaze to his, his eyes were wild and gleaming.

"You think I'm stupid?" he hissed. "You think I didn't know this day would come?"

His other hand clamped around my chin, squeezing until my jaw ached. "I knew eventually you'd wake up. That something in your fucked-up head would finally whisper that you deserve better."

He shoved me back into the chair. The wind rushed from my lungs as his weight crushed down on me, immobilising me like prey beneath a predator's paw.

"So," he breathed, face inches from mine. "I took precautions."

I shoved him. Hard. My muscles trembled with effort, but it was enough to loosen his hold just slightly. I scrambled out from under him, stumbling, clutching my skull as nausea swirled.

He struck me. A slap so hard my vision flashed white. I hit the floor before I could even register the pain. And then—then he was on me again.

Fists. Elbows. Rage incarnate.

We crashed to the ground, the wooden boards beneath us groaning. His fists rained down like punishment. Like fury. Like all the years I'd swallowed my voice were owed to him in blood and bone.

"Faebane," he said, panting, sweat beading on his forehead. "Nice little additive to all the alcohol you drink, isn't it?"

I gagged on blood, head lolling. "You've been drugging me?"

He laughed, short and humourless. "How else was I supposed to stop you from snapping your fingers and ending me, hmm?"

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. Everything blurred together, pain, fear, shame.

"You don't get it, do you?" he sneered. "You can't feel it anymore. That numbness? That silence inside you? That's me. That's Faebane, darling."

I called for Rhys.

Not aloud, but in my mind. That ancient, silent tether between us fraying under the strain. I had never dared. Not since the day I had disappeared from their lives and sworn to suffer in silence.

But now?

Please.

It was all I could manage before his hands closed around my throat.

The air vanished. My limbs flailed. My chest heaved with nothing. I kicked, thrashed, panic overtaking everything. And still he held.

"Calling to your precious brother now?" he spat, face twisted with disgust. "Bit late for that, isn't it?"

He squeezed harder. The vein on his temple bulging.

"You've never fought like this before," he snarled. "Why start now? It's exhausting."

I tried to scream, but nothing came out.

"Fuck you," I choked, barely audible. But I said it. I meant it.

My hands clawed at his arms, my knees bucked up trying to knock him off, my mind screamed louder than my broken voice ever could.

Help me. Please. Please. Help me.

The sound of splintering wood cracked through the haze of blood and terror. The door exploded inward.

I barely registered it, barely processed the rush of cold air or the light spilling into the suffocating dark. My vision was rimmed with red, my throat on fire. 

Everything was pain—until it wasn't. Until they were there.

Arms, familiar, strong, and shaking with barely-contained rage wrenched Daeron off me with a force that rattled the foundation of the apartment. 

And then more arms, these ones gentler, wrapping around me like iron and safety and memory all at once.

I gasped, choking, clawing at the air, my hands still trembling violently as I fought to convince my body I was no longer being crushed, that he wasn't still—

"It's okay," a voice said—Cassian. Steady, low, his voice somehow warm despite the rage he surely had boiling just beneath the surface. "You're safe. I've got you."

I collapsed into him, body slack with little control, as he cradled me like I was something precious. 

My fingers fisted into his leathers as if I could anchor myself to him and never be lost again.

Behind me, voices collided, one a scream of pain and protest, the other cold, emotionless and lethal. Azriel.

I didn't have to look. I knew the sound of that fury. 

The shadowsinger rarely spoke with words when he was angry. He spoke with silence and violence, and Daeron would be feeling both.

"I'm sorry," I rasped, my voice torn and barely recognisable. "I'm so sorry. I didn't listen—I didn't listen—"

Cassian didn't speak. He just held me tighter. I lifted my head enough to see his face and I wished I hadn't.

The Cassian I knew, the laughing, fearless general was gone. What remained was heartbreak incarnate. His jaw clenched, eyes shimmering, lips pressed into a thin line. 

I watched as he took me in, the bruises, the blood, the raw handprint across my throat.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed again. "Please—take me home. Please, Cass. Take me home."

He nodded, already moving, already shifting me into his arms like I weighed nothing at all. But I looked, just once—back.

Azriel stood over Daeron, shadows writhing around him like vipers made of smoke and wrath. 

Daeron was on the ground, gasping, broken. Blood pooled beneath his face. But Azriel wasn't done. His siphons glowed with a blue so bright it was blinding. 

Death incarnate. Vengeance personified.

And yet he hadn't made a sound.

I turned away, the image searing itself into my mind. It would haunt me as much as Daeron had. Because that darkness, that wrath, Azriel didn't let it out unless something in him snapped.

Cassian moved to the window, and then we were in the sky, wind tearing at us as the apartment shrank below. I clung to him, face buried against his chest, the cold wind a balm on my bruises.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Then, softly, I whispered, "What about Az?"

Cassian didn't hesitate. "Az will come when he's done."

His voice was sure. Quiet. But laced with something... ancient. Like he knew, without question, that Azriel wouldn't leave a single bone unbroken. 

That he wouldn't stop until Daeron was a memory buried in blood.

A shiver rippled through me, but it wasn't fear. It was sorrow. That it had come to this. That I had let it come to this.

The wind howled around us as the heart of Velaris came back into view, golden lights winking in the distance like stars, like hope.

But I didn't feel it.

I felt the bruises. I felt the guilt. I felt the way Cassian's hands trembled even as they held me with impossible strength.

And deep, deep inside, I felt the scream still lodged in my throat, the one that had never left, not since the first night Daeron convinced me I was nothing without him.

Home was close. I could see it. But it had never felt so far away.

Rhys was waiting.

The moment Cassian's boots touched the stone outside the House of Wind, Rhys was already there, shoulders rigid, violet eyes ablaze with restrained panic, darkness licking at his heels like it, too, sensed something had broken.

"I was with Feyre, but I heard you—" he started, words tumbling out too fast, but then he saw me.

And everything stopped.

His voice caught, his breath stilled. All that High Lord composure shattered in a single, sharp intake of breath.

"What has he done?" Rhy's voice wasn't raised. It wasn't a question. It was a roar wrapped in velvet, a storm at the edge of collapse.

And I—I broke.

The tears came like a wave crashing through a dam that had been threatening to give for years. 

Seven years. Seven long, punishing, silent years without a single sob, without a single tear shed. But here, now, under that moonlit sky, in front of the family I'd spent so long avoiding.

I broke.

My knees gave out, and before I hit the ground, Rhys had me in his arms.

I didn't care who was watching. I didn't care that I was trembling, weeping, gasping as if grief was pouring straight out of my lungs. I didn't care that my voice came out in raw, shattered pieces of sound that barely resembled language.

He held me like I hadn't been touched in years. Like I hadn't been seen.

He carried me inside with careful, reverent steps, his hands protective and trembling with fury all at once. 

I could feel Cassian close behind, a steady wall of presence, and then the shift of air as another set of wings landed softly.

Azriel.

We entered the warmth of the House, the familiar scent of cedarwood and citrus clinging to its walls, and Rhys placed me on the velvet couch as gently as if I were made of spun glass.

He knelt before me, not as a High Lord, but as a brother. A friend. A male who had once sworn to protect me and, in my silence, hadn't been given the chance.

"I'm here," he whispered, brushing a strand of blood-matted hair from my face. His fingers trembled as they skimmed over the bruises marring my skin. "I'm here now."

I curled into myself, the sobs coming faster. Ugly, painful things that left me heaving. And still, he held me. Still, he stroked my hair with a tenderness that made me ache.

"Why did you let this happen?" His voice cracked, not with accusation, but heartbreak. 

His hands cupped my face, gently tilting it toward him.

"I tried to leave him," I whispered, every word scraped raw from my throat. "I tried, Rhys. He was drugging me—with Faebane—and I couldn't think. I couldn't feel. I hated myself so much I didn't think I deserved—"

Rhys closed his eyes. The darkness radiating off him was near-suffocating, barely restrained. The floor beneath us seemed to hum with it.

"I will kill him," he breathed, not as a threat but a vow. "I will make him regret every breath he's ever taken."

"I just want—just hold me," I croaked.

He didn't need to be asked twice.

His arms wrapped around me, strong and sure. I melted into his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing grounding me like an anchor in a churning sea.

And then I felt it. Felt them.

Cassian standing a few feet away, hands clenched at his sides like he was barely holding himself together. And Azriel, silent, unreadable, cloaked in shadows that pulsed and shifted like they were alive with his wrath.

My gaze found them, blurry and tear-stained.

I reached out. It wasn't dramatic or loud, just a trembling hand, extended in silent invitation.

Cassian was at my side first, sinking to the floor and wrapping an arm around my waist with the kind of care that made fresh tears sting my eyes. 

He pressed a kiss to my temple, then tucked his head against mine like he could shield me from everything, even my own mind.

Azriel came next.

He knelt on the opposite side of me, his siphons still glowing faintly, and I could see it, feel it, in his gaze. He hadn't calmed down. Not even close. He looked at me, and I knew with utter certainty that whatever had been left of Daeron was nothing but ash and ruin.

His shadows twined up my arms, soft as silk, cool as nightfall. I didn't flinch. I welcomed them.

Azriel reached out slowly, carefully, until his gloved hand touched mine, our fingers intertwined. 

His thumb brushed gently over my bruised knuckles, his shadows curling around my wrist like a promise.

I leaned my head against Rhys's chest, Cassian anchoring me on one side, Azriel a quiet constant on the other. Surrounded. Safe.

The world swam at the edges. Blackness curled like smoke in the corners of my vision. My limbs were heavy, my body screaming from within.

Azriel tensed beside me. "We need Madja—"

But I didn't hear the rest.

Everything blurred, the warmth of their bodies, the pressure of their hands, the safety, the grief, the pain. And then—

Darkness took me.

A/n - Glad we could finally be rid of Daeron x

Unfortunately, this doesn't mean there will be peace just yet because I'm mean like that not quite ready for peace!

This chapter is a bit more descriptive with the abuse, but I still kept it somewhat allusive rather than graphic, as I know it can be highly triggering.

It was important for the plot to show that the reason she couldn’t fight back, even if she wanted to, was because he had been drugging her to suppress her powers.

The next part is a little lighter, though, so look forward to that! <3

Little Star tag list - @jaybbygrl @writtenbypavani @fall-winter-heart97 @coeurdeveea @lilg101010 @krazykangaroo712 @moonlitlavenders @lil-lupa @jasmineee05 @pinksnowtiger @yourdarkrose @nerdybee123 @bookwormysblog @thoughtfulcoffeeflower @suspicious-stain-in-spain @anainkandpaper @theflowerswillbloom @queenoffeysand @historygeekqueen @lexi-in-wonderland @tele86 @saamanthaag3 @whydohumansss @xlosttdreamss @bookishwondersworld @plants-w0rld

[s0ulja-g1rl]

Late-Night Drives & Mixtapes

Rodrick Heffley x Fem!Reader | Fluff | 1.2K words

The low rumble of Rodrick’s van was the only sound in the stillness of the night. The neon glow from passing streetlights cast fleeting shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the way his fingers tapped restlessly against the steering wheel. You sat beside him, your legs tucked under you, basking in the comfortable silence that only came with being around him.

It was past midnight, and the world felt softer, slower, as Rodrick drove with no real destination in mind. The cool night air seeped through the cracked windows, carrying the scent of asphalt and pine. Your town always felt different at night—quieter, almost like it belonged to just the two of you.

Rodrick exhaled through his nose, tapping the dashboard with his palm. “Alright, Y/N, serious question,” he said, his voice scratchy from a mix of exhaustion and whatever energy drink he’d chugged before picking you up. “If you had to listen to only one band for the rest of your life—like, no skips, no variety—who would it be?”

You hummed, pretending to give it deep thought. “Löded Diper, obviously.”

Rodrick groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “That doesn’t count. You’re just saying that ‘cause you feel bad for us.”

“Maybe.” You grinned. “But also, I like your music, okay? So sue me.”

He side-eyed you, lips twitching like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. Instead, he flicked on the stereo, and the van filled with the opening chords of a song you didn’t recognize.

“What’s this?” you asked, shifting in your seat as the steady drumbeat kicked in.

Rodrick shrugged, gripping the wheel tighter. “Just a mix. You’ll like it.”

You didn’t miss the way his knuckles flexed, how his knee bounced as if he was waiting for you to say something. His usual cocky attitude was nowhere to be found—just nerves, poorly hidden under the dim glow of the dashboard.

You leaned closer, letting the song wash over you. It was a mix of classic rock and some heavier alternative stuff, but then, a song that was unmistakably different played through the speakers—something softer, melodic, almost sweet.

You turned your head slowly. “Rodrick… did you make this?”

He snorted. “What? A playlist? Yeah, Y/N, that’s not exactly rocket science.”

“No, I mean… for me?”

Rodrick drummed his fingers against the wheel, gaze fixed on the road ahead. “I dunno,” he muttered. “Maybe.”

A warmth spread through your chest, something soft and fluttery. You had known Rodrick for years, and despite his general ‘I don’t care’ attitude, there were always these moments where he’d surprise you—where he’d let that tough exterior slip just enough to show the messy, endearing boy underneath.

“Rodrick,” you pressed, smiling despite yourself. “Did you just make me a mixtape?”

“I didn’t put it on a tape, did I?” He groaned, but you saw the tips of his ears go pink. “Just—ugh, don’t make it weird, okay?”

You let out a small laugh, watching as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was so bad at this—at being soft, at admitting when he did something thoughtful—but that just made it all the more endearing.

“I love it,” you said simply, because you did.

Rodrick peeked at you, and the tension in his shoulders eased, just a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the hum of the engine and the music filling the space between you. The city lights faded as Rodrick turned onto an empty backroad, the kind lined with trees where the only illumination came from the headlights slicing through the dark.

He ran a hand through his already-messy hair. “Alright, your turn. One band for life—not Löded Diper.”

You tapped your chin dramatically. “Hmm… Nickelback.”

Rodrick gasped, swerving the van slightly. “Take that back.”

You cackled, throwing your head back. “Make me.”

Rodrick shot you a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re lucky I don’t pull over and leave your ass on the side of the road.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you challenged, poking his arm. “You’d miss me too much.”

Rodrick rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” But his grip on the wheel tightened, and there was something softer in the way he glanced at you, in the way his lips parted like he wanted to say something else but couldn’t quite figure out how.

The mixtape—his mixtape for you—kept playing, the tracks bleeding into each other, each one carefully picked by him. It was so painfully obvious now, what this was. He hadn’t just thrown together a bunch of songs he liked.

He’d picked songs with meaning. Songs that told you things he didn’t know how to say.

The van rolled to a stop at the edge of a hill that overlooked the town. It was a spot the two of you had come to before, but tonight, it felt different. The lights below twinkled like tiny stars, and for the first time in a while, everything felt… easy.

Rodrick leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms before resting one over the back of yours. He was pretending to be casual about it, but you could feel the warmth of his fingers, just barely brushing your shoulder.

“You wanna know something?” he asked suddenly.

You turned to him, resting your cheek against the seat. “Always.”

Rodrick licked his lips, drumming his fingers absentmindedly against the dashboard. “I, uh… I don’t really do this. Like, the whole, y’know…” He waved a hand vaguely. “Feelings thing.”

“I never would’ve guessed,” you teased.

He shot you a look. “I’m being serious.”

“I know,” you said, a little softer this time. “Go on.”

Rodrick exhaled sharply, like he was bracing himself. “I just—look, I like having you around, okay?” He squirmed, like the words physically pained him. “And not in, like, a ‘you’re cool to hang out with’ way, but in a ‘shit, I think about you all the time and it’s annoying’ way.”

Your heart stuttered, heat creeping up your neck. “Rodrick—”

“Wait, I’m not done,” he interrupted, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before forcing himself to look at you. “I made the dumb mixtape because every time I hear a song I like, I wonder if you’d like it. And I wanna know what you think about it, and—ugh, this is so lame.”

You laughed, but it wasn’t mocking—it was light, breathless, because God, he was a mess, and it was adorable.

“Rodrick.” You reached over, slipping your fingers through his. His breath hitched, and he tensed, but he didn’t pull away.

“…Yeah?”

You squeezed his hand. “I think about you all the time, too.”

Rodrick blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

You grinned. “Yeah, idiot.”

For a second, all he did was stare at you like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Then, with a sudden burst of confidence, he leaned in.

The kiss was quick—just a hesitant brush of lips, warm and a little clumsy—but it made your stomach flip all the same. When he pulled back, his cheeks were red, and he was trying so hard to act cool about it.

“Well,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “That wasn’t terrible.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him back in.

This time, he kissed you properly.

And if the mixtape continued playing softly in the background, with lyrics about love and late-night drives and stupid teenage feelings—well, neither of you were complaining.

[axeoverblade]

Celoso

Earth 1610 Miles x fem! reader

Synopsis! Miles cut ties with you, his best friend of nearly ten years, when he decided to not so kindly tell you the way you felt about him was how he felt about Gwen. Now weeks later when you show up with a new guy, he couldn’t help but feel a covetous pit of envy burrowing deep inside his body.

MASTERLIST

Genre: angst(? not really), suggestive bits

Warnings: Mature!, foul language, toxic on every end, mentions of cheating

Word count: 2k

Authors commment: unedited and poorly written scrap fic from a while ago but I really liked this piece of it so I’m publishing it. One shot no second part. Enjoy <3

Do not copy! All rights reserved to ©axeoverblade

It had been months since Miles had spoken to you. His parents were concerned. They kept asking where you were, Miles would just sigh and say you had been busy.

I mean it wasn't his fault, he just didn't feel the same way you felt. Why was he being punished for that, for liking Gwen instead of you? Granted, he could’ve been a little nicer in his delivery. Who was he kidding, he could’ve been a hell of a lot nicer, but it was too far gone to change it now.

You just wouldn't get it. You have been his best friend since infancy. With you everything felt familiar, safe even. But with Gwen, he felt alive. Why was that so wrong, why wasn’t he allowed to be happy with who he wanted to be with?

He continued living his life as usual as he could make it. Still saving New York, still being Spiderman, still being Miles, just as life would be if he never met you. The ordinary.

Something that wasn't ordinary, was Gwen visiting. His dads party was happening, and even though he had just gotten into a big fight with his parents, he still wanted to go up and introduce her.

-

It didnt take long for Mrs.Morales to hate Gwen. Rio was furious, I mean the girl had the nerve to call her by her first name! You would never do that. Plus this girl looked old enough to vote.

This was not someone Miles should be hanging out with, especially over you.

So Rio took it upon herself to invite you. She hadn't seen you in a long time anyway, so she missed “the daughter she never had”. Knowing Miles would have to see you and eventually fix whatever happened between the two of you was just a bonus.

…

When you walked through the door to the roof a little while after she sent you that text, Rio squealed with delight.

“Jeff, papi mira! It’s Y/n” she saw a gift in your hand, something Gwen did not bring. “Ah! Y/n Mija! ¡Es muy bueno verte! Cómo está?” “Good Mrs.Morales, thank you for asking. How have you been? Sorry for not visiting, I've been busy.” “nonsense chiquita, I’m so happy you could make it, venir, venir! Come say hi! Everyone has missed you!” You gave a curt nod, preparing yourself for all the questions from the big familia and more importantly, seeing Miles.

Rio paused, seeing a tall, attractive, dark skin boy with dreads behind you, holding your hand. She looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, “Quién es ese” you pretended not to hear her, instead walking next to him behind her as she went further into the party.

After a couple of minutes of reuniting with all of the family, you saw Jeff and gave him his present. He thanked you, “Hey you know the girl Miles is with?” You looked around, still not seeing him. You shook your head no.

Jeff noticed the boy you were with was now holding your waist with one hand, standing next you. He side eyed him questionably. Jeff could’ve sworn you would only let Miles hold you like this, hating intimate acts physical touch from anyone but his son. Who was this guy who had won you over?

“Miles,” Rio paused looking at Gwen, “and uh you too I guess, Guess whos here! Come say hi! ” Rio told miles, pulling him with Gwen following over to whoever his mom wanted him to see. “Whos here mami-” He was cut off by the sight of Y/n talking to his father, and some random-, holding your waist?

He furrowed his eyebrows, who in the hell is that?

“Ay! Y/n look who!” Rio pushed her son forward so you could see him. He looked back displeased at his moms antics before turning to face you. Miles stared at you awkwardly, “Uh, hey.” You nodded at him with pursed lips.

The girl you had seen in all the drawings appeared next to him, no doubt this was girl he liked instead of you.“Uh-Hi! I'm Gwen!” She stuck her hand out, you looked at it before just nodding, causing her to drop her hand embarrassed, “Y/n”.

Rio smirked, happy you didn't like her either.

“So who are you?” Miles asked looking at the guy holding your waist, a little more aggressive in his tone than he needed to be. Miles watched as the guy raised an eyebrow mockingly at Miles. “Dre, nice to meet you”. Dre stuck his hand out, Miles to look him up and down ignoring the gesture. Dre dropped his hand, smirking lousily at Miles' expression.

Miles couldn't help but notice Dre was about an inch taller than him.

He didnt like that.

“Um, so how do you two know each other?” Gwen asked, looking between you and dre.

“I'm her boyfriend”

Miles unconsciously pulled his head into his neck, making the most aggressive stank face known to man. “Since when” he scowled, trying to hide the attitude in his voice. He wasn’t hiding it very well. Dre responded for you, “few weeks ago, why?”.

“huh” miles nodded ignoring the question, clearly annoyed. Dre kissed your shoulder, smirking harder, almost a full blown grin making its way to his face at miles expression. Miles's spider senses involuntarily made him aware of your heartbeat speeding up as you blushed, slightly giggling to yourself.

Miles had no clue why this bothered him so much. I mean he was right next to Gwen, the girl of his dreams. You being with this wannabe Luka Sabbat really shouldn't have bothered him so much. And why was your heart beating so quick from him kissing your shoulder? You didnt actually like this bum for real did you?

Feeling Miles prying eyes, you looked at him skeptically before turning to dre. “Well-uh we better get going before were late. Congrats Captain Morales,” you looked at Jeff and smiled lightly. “Um nice to meet you Gwen,” she nodded, grinning nicely. You turned to Rio “it's always nice to see you Mrs.Morales, contact me if ever need help with anything.” “Yes mija. Thank you for stopping by.” You finally turned to Miles,

“Miles”

“Y/n”

Gwen stared between the two of you confused. What was that?

-

tap! tap! tap!

You groaned at the sound coming from your window. Covering your head with her blanket trying to ignore the noise, you pretended to be asleep.

The taps soon turned to knocks causing you to groan louder “Dre hold on I heard you” you got up begrudgingly leaving the comfort of your bed to open the window.

“-oh, it's you." Opening the glass surprised, you allowed Miles in. Miles stared you up and down, taking note of the fact you were in nothing but a big tee, a big tee he had never seen before.

“Why is he coming to your room through the window?” He questioned, towering over you. “Miles what are you talking about?-”. “You thought it was Dre at your window right? No te hagas la mudo y/n. Why is he coming through your window, especially this late at night.”

“I dont see how that is any of your concern. We havent spoken in weeks and you wanna pretend you care what's going on in my life, on my time? Nah, that's not how that works.” Miles scoffed. “Whos shirt is that y/n- cause I know it's not yours.” “Its Dre’s, but that none of your business-” “What is he? Some rebound?” He laughed sardonically. “I mean there's no way you even really like the dude, you just liked me!” You scoffed, “Not everything is about you miles, this has nothing to do with you, I moved on.” he looked at you “Estás mintiendo”. “Oh yea? What makes you think that huh? Y-you think i'm so stuck on you that i can't move on from- what? Some stupid crush on you? Get over yourself Miles-” “tu latido” he whispered. “What?” “Your heartbeat y/n, I know you're lying ‘cause your heartbeat.” You looked at him blanky, hiding the shock in your face as he stepped closer to you, leaving a small gap between you two.

“I can feel it, Sé tú mi amas.”

He gently grabbed your neck, leaning down to kiss you. Your eyes widened before closing. Embracing the moment, you wrapped your arms around Miles' neck. Your mouth parted slightly, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Feeling your knees buckle, Miles took his free hand and placed it on your backside, effectively stabilizing you. He could sense you, all of you.

Your heart was beating the fastest it ever had. He could feel your chest rising and falling as you struggled to breathe through your nose. Your pheromones were at their strongest. He smirked into the kiss, loving the effect he had on you.

This is wrong. You had a boyfriend, sure only for only about a month but you did still have one. And you were cheating on him with Miles of all people. Your lips shouldn’t have fit together like puzzle pieces, chest rising and falling at the same time with your hearts beating in sync. It was natural, like you were meant for each other.

But he wasn’t yours and you weren’t his.

You knew you should stop. You should end this before it got too far, before it got to a point beyond something an apology could fix.

But if this was so wrong,

¿Por qué se sintió tan bien?

You sat on your bed anxiously, zoned out at staring at the ceiling. It had been two days since the…incident.

Miles' tongue fought for dominance with yours. He guided you over to your bed, hands roaming all over you body needingly. You slightly tripped falling back onto the edge of the mattress, still kissing him passionately as he leaned over you. He stabilized himself putting his knee between your legs, placing his hands on either side of you. Your hands were woven into his curls, slightly pulling on them causing him to groan in the kiss. His tongue won, exploring your mouth as it pleased.

ring! ring! ring!

You pulled away from miles, a string of saliva visibly attaching the two of you as you moved further away. You breathed heavily as you looked at the user ID calling you.

DREBAE<3 is calling!

…

answer-decline

You stared at the phone wide eyed. From your expression Miles knew exactly who had called you. “no respondas eso y/n.” Miles said sternly, so close you could feel his breath tickling your neck. The way he said it seemed less like a statement and more like an ultimatum. You looked up at Miles, your chest rising and falling quickly.

“...Hello baby?” you said as you put it on speaker staring at Miles, still trying to catch your breath. Miles scoffed looking at you, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Hey mami” Miles looked at the phone in your hand with pure disgust. Who did this guy think he was giving you that nickname? Did he even speak spanish? “I need you, real bad” Dre said breathily through the phone, causing your eyes to go wider than they already were. Miles however, became very irritated. Who in the hell did this guy think he was? And why haven’t you hung up the phone yet?

Miles quickly got up, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows. It was clear who your choice was. He scoffed, walking back over to your window . To him it didn’t matter what he said you to a few months ago, that he chose someone else over you. Or the fact you had a boyfriend who had every right to call you.

It was the fact it was only you and him right now, and you didn’t choose him. He suddenly felt the feeling you must’ve experienced when he did this to you. And damn did it hurt.

Miles stared at your figure, an unreadable look in his eye. Going back through your window with one last glance at you, he shut it with a slam. “What was that baby?” Dre asked through the phone.

“uhm.. Just the wind I think.”

©axeoverblade

[revelboo]

i don't really send in asks often because im much more of a lurker than an interactor, but i think its important that you know how much your work is appreciated. like im reading Everything you put out just because your work is that good and im engaged with characters i barely even Know. you've made me love characters i didn't even give a second glance to. ALSO THE MINI FIGURES. you make me crave them so bad. Everything Is Alright tugs so badly at my heart and i Eagerly await every time you update that one, it's so good and so long and definitely worthy if reread after reread

Thank you! I have a lot of fun writing these stories!

Everything Is Alright Pt 134

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• “You realize Starscream is likely to take you sparking our mate without warning poorly,” Megatron adds and Soundwave vents softly. Watching as Soundwave shifts over you and slides a hand under your middle to make you whimper a sleepy protest at being moved. Hates that the soft noise lifts through him. That he likes it. And then Soundwave is mass shifting back, head sagging forward as his hands tremble faintly cupping you. Needing energon. Your head sleepily lifts before you spot him and then just groan, pressing your face against Soundwave’s palm. ‘Always when I’m naked,’ you mutter. Laughing softly, Megatron ignores that you’re not happy to see him. Pretends that it doesn’t bother him. That even though this is his habsuite, he feels like the intruder as Soundwave fixes his plating to hide away his spike and Megatron reaches to nudge your head until you shoot him a sullen look.

• Swallowing a growl and surprised that he even has the urge to growl at Megatron, Soundwave doesn’t pull you away from Megatron’s reach as the warlord smirks at your attempts to slap at his servo. Lazily toying with you. And he knows the Seeker is likely to throw a tantrum as soon as he finds out, but he can’t even bring himself to care if he upsets Starscream after what the mech had done to him and you both. “What happened to not molesting me?” You ask, smacking Megatron when he uses a servo to roll you onto your back. Growling softly, Soundwave moves you away from the warlord and Megatron shoots him a knowing look, but relents.

• Scowling and desperately wanting a shower, you try to draw your legs up against yourself so everything isn’t just on display even if you can feel Soundwave’s slick between your thighs, too used to all three of them not caring about embarrassing you to even muster the energy to care yourself. Much anyway. And eventually, Megatron is probably going to want more than spark bonding from you. “I wonder which of you is going to tell Starscream you’re sparked. Or will you just let him figure it out on his own?” Megatron asks, grinning wickedly like your misery is the funniest thing ever. Sparked? That’s right. Paling, you remember Soundwave asking and you’d pretty much begged him to. Was that what that coaxing feeling was after you fully bonded with him? Star had done something like that when he’d sparked you now that you’re thinking of it. There had been a sense of a question there like when they’d bonded you fully. Like there was a choice before that coaxing pull. Both times you’d given in to that request without a thought. Why can’t any of them ask important things when you’re not a needy mess during sex? “Of course, I could tell him,” Megatron adds. Enjoying this far too much.

• “Don’t you dare,” you hiss, little face reddening and Megatron chuckles. Ferocious little thing even though you have no way to back up the unspoken threat in your voice. And that anger of yours sparks through him. Goes straight to his spike in a flush of need. Reminding him that even though he’s fully bonded to you and carrying your new spark, he’s yet to physically claim you. Smile faltering at that, he clears his vents in a loud huff. “You blurt it out to him and I’ll never forgive you.” Chin lifting, you glare at him and he can’t understand what it is about you that makes your pitiful little threat actually matter to him.

• Star. Not looking forward to his reaction to finding out you’re fully bonded and sparked again, even though he seemed resigned to it happening. It still feels like a betrayal. Shoulders hunching, you look pleadingly up at Soundwave. Because you have to be the one to tell him. Gently. “I need a shower. And I’d kill for coffee,” you whine, not about to have this conversation with Star while Soundwave’s excess trails down your thighs. Head tipping at you, Soundwave just stares, but it’s not like he has a clue what coffee even is. ‘The shower part I can help with,’ Megatron says, gesturing toward his desk and you register the plastic draped shape tucked in a corner there. ‘The Constructicons had a few ideas.’ Watching him curiously as he gets up and reaches to tug the plastic away, you just stare. It’s a dollhouse. A human sized dollhouse. “There’s a working shower?” Because nothing else matters beyond a shower and some semblance of privacy. “I could kiss you,” you add and he hesitates like you’d just said something weird. Offended him somehow. Aliens.

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[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Failing

Summary: Joel made many mistakes. The biggest was leaving you.

Pairing: past Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.3k

Rating: G

Warnings: angst, a lot of inner thoughts, panic attacks, Joel and Ellie do not talk, Joel is a mess, lots of talk about being a failure and not good enough, messy breakup, unplanned pregnancy

A/N: This has been going through my mind since I saw the new pic yesterday. This is really different from everything I write usually, so let me know what you think. And yeah, come yell at me in my inbox

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

part one of invisible string

He knew he should have stayed home tonight.

He could have worked on… something. He could have talked himself into picking up his guitar and pretend everything was okay.

He could pretend that he wasn’t a failure.

He could pretend Ellie was still talking to him.

Instead he was here, the people around him celebrating god knows what, music playing, people dancing and he?

He was hoping to at least get a look at the girl that had become like a daughter to him. The daughter he lost because he lied to her.

Turned out his mother was right, lying was not getting him anywhere. 

He hadn’t talked to her in weeks, not getting more than a fleeting look at her from afar like a creepy stalker.

Tommy was right, he needed to give her time.

But somehow he felt like time was running out. 

Tommy had been right in a lot of things lately. Something Joel was not used to, still having the irresponsible young man in the back of his mind he had been before outbreak.

But Tommy wasn’t that man anymore.

He was a husband, a father, a respected leader of the little community he had helped build.

And Joel was…. He did not feel like he changed much. He was still angry all the time.

Angry at the world.

Angry at the people.

But most of all angry at himself.

The way he was feeling now? Alone and lonely?

He had no one but himself to blame for it.

It was moments like these that you came to his mind.

You would know what to do. You would know how to fix this mess that he got himself into. You always did. Until he had pushed you away for good, almost six years ago when he got even more involved in the underground in the Boston QZ.

Meeting and falling in love with you had been the only good thing that had happened to him since the outbreak. You had seen him, the real him.

The broken man that was desperate for… something.

That something seemed to be you.

But like every good that happened to him, he managed to fuck this up too. Not at first, but definitely in the end. 

And he tried. He tried to become a better person. Tried to become the man you deserved, not listening to you when you told him that he did not have to become a better person.

That you fell for him the way he was. With all flaws he thought he had.

But maybe if he had worked on himself he wouldn’t have reacted so poorly when you told him that you were pregnant.

Maybe he wouldn’t have blamed you and you only, taking the easy way out and telling you he would not go through this again.

He should have talked to you, instead of lashing out, should have told you how fucking scared he was about losing another child. About losing you. About raising a child in this fucked up world. About fucking up.

He did so anyway.

He chose to forget about the whole conversation the two of you had after you told him that you were pregnant and that you were intending to keep it from his mind. Or he tried. God, did he try.

But now, deep in the night, when he was laying awake and alone in bed, only the shadows of the night in his company, the words he spat to hurt you creeped back into his mind, not that they had ever been gone.

I don’t love you.

Get rid of it.

Get out of my life.

I never loved you anyway. 

He could still see the way your face crumbled, tears running down your cheeks. 

He broke you that night. And he broke himself. 

He thought about this last argument, this breakup a lot if he was honest with himself.

He never told you, not in words, how much he loved you. He took you for granted. He shouldn’t have been this surprised to learn that you had left the QZ days after he broke you. 

Not a day went by that he wondered what happened to you.

If you were alive.

If you kept the baby.

Would it have your eyes and his hair?

A boy or a girl?

Where they as stubborn as Sarah was?

Did you still love him as much as he still loved you?

Shaking his head he took a sip from the surprisingly good beer someone had offered him when he came here, his eyes wandering through the room, sneaking glances at Ellie who smiled at Dina, deep in conversation with the other girl.

Sucking his bottom lip in, his hand flexing on his side as he tried to find the courage to walk over to Ellie and ask her if they could talk, again, when he heard laughter behind him.

Laughter he heard before, a long time ago.

A laugh he heard in his dreams when his mind allowed him to dream about you instead of the nightmares that plagued him. 

Narrowing his eyes he tried to remember why he was hearing that laugh, why that voice that spoke in low tones now, made his heart flutter, when he saw Tommy walk towards him in a fast pace, his face worried.

“Joel,” he said but Joel wasn’t listening to him.

He was busy preparing for a breakdown that was creeping slowly into his body. 

Joel’s heart seemed to make the connection before his brain did, heart beating widely in his chest as he slowly turned around, his brother’s hand on his shoulder to keep him for turning. He shrugged it off with a grunt, bracing himself to be let down, that he was finally turning insane and imagining you when his eyes landed on you.

Blinking his eyes in disbelief he released a shaky breath when you were still there. 

You were sitting at one of the picnic tables, still as beautiful as he remembered a small smile on your face. A man had his arm wrapped around your back and in your lap sat a girl not older than five who had your eyes and his brown curls.

His heart stopped, he was sure of it.

“She got in yesterday. You were on patrol, I was trying to find you and tell you but….” Joel heard his brother say, but he ignored him.

You were here.

You were here.

And you were alive.

And you had a girl sitting in your lap that was….

His eyes widened when you leaned back and he saw a little boy sitting in the lap of the man next to you that looked like a mini copy of Joel himself.

His chest felt heavy.

Closing his eyes he tried to take deep breaths, but he just couldn’t.

This was too much.

This hurt too much.

This was the happiest he ever was.

“Joel?” he heard his name from his side, Ellie looking down at him worriedly as he pressed his hand against his chest, his eyes watering.

This was the first time she had talked to him in weeks and it might as well be the last time from the way he felt right now.

He was having a panic attack.

But it felt so much worse than it had ever before.

Looking away from Ellie he turned his head back towards you, finding you now looking at him with wide eyes.

“Deep breaths brother,” a strong arm came to pull him up and his frantic eyes found Tommy’s.

“In and out,” he said, trying to calm down his brother. Joel’s hands grabbed his brothers shoulders. Trying to mimic the way he was breathing but couldn’t.

“Joel?” he heard your voice, his head now turning towards you, finding you looking at him worriedly.

Joel shook his head, dark spots at the corner of his eyes.

“You’re here,” was the last thing he whispered before he passed out.

[nina-ya]

Little Red's Desires (Ace x Reader NSFW)

A/N: HIHIHIHI This was a trade originally done for @raddelusionaldive and her oc Harper for a trade in my server!! I had a lot of fun writing this I always love writing for ace!! Pairing: Ace x AFAB reader CW: NSFW MINORS DNI, modern au but like that's barely relevant, car sex, hair pulling (ace gets his pulled), p in v sex, riding, creampie, uh I think that's all! • masterlist • ko-fi • discord server •

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Costume parties- one of the few events where it's acceptable, almost required, to dress up as the most outlandish things and get away with it. The ridiculous, the elaborate, the downright absurd. And naturally, you and Ace had to participate. You would of course show off these outfits at a random house party you were invited to by one of your friends. 

The freckled man had chosen a werewolf costume with faux fur paws, clip on ears, a collar with a little charm dangling from the center, and the fangs- cheap and poorly fitted, but perfectly Ace. His all-black outfit was decorated with touches of gold accents that shined under the dim lights of the party, and the piece de resistance, his coat was merely there to cover his arms, leaving his chest out there for the world to admire. 

Meanwhile, you had opted to match him with a Little Red Riding Hood outfit. Innocence and fierceness all wrapped up in a crimson cloak and a flash of red lipstick. You were adjusting your ensemble when a familiar presence broke you out of your focus. 

When you looked up, there Ace was, already grinning, plastic fangs glinting under the dim lights. Ace had arrived to the party fashionably late, though you knew that he would be held up by his job. However, this knowledge did not stop the smile that graced your face at the sight of him finally making his appearance. He prowled over, eyes fixed on her like you were a prize he had been hunting for hours. 

“Well look at you, Red,” he drawled, leaning close, fangs bared in a shameless grin. “Pretty sure I’m supposed to be the one doing the hunting tonight, but here you are aiming straight for my heart with that outfit.”

You couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped past your lips. “Not my fault the big bad wolf decided to leave his chest out,” you teased, your fingers lightly toying with the fur on his coat. “Makes you an easy target, don’t you think?”

The banter came naturally like it always does when it comes to you two, but tonight the costumes added a layer of intrigue to the whole exchange, bringing out a whole new side of you. Throughout the entire night, you caught him stealing glances at you, finding excuses to always be by your side despite your respective friends pulling you in separate directions. He was just a guy in a werewolf costume yearning for the girl who had chosen to be his Red. 

He caught you later on in the night, approaching you as you sipped a mystery concoction that was sure to give you a hangover the next morning. 

“So, Red Riding Hood, what are you doing around these parts?” His fingers settled under your chin, playfully tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Didn’t anyone tell you there’s a wolf on the loose?”

You raised an eyebrow, scarlet lips curving into a daring smile. “Well, maybe I was looking for trouble.” You poked his chest, finger lingering on his warm skin. “But it seems like I found something… softer.”

Ace chuckled, clearly delighted by the back and forth. “Soft? Alright, I’ll let that side.” He placed his hand dramatically over his heart, pretending to be wounded by your words. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Red.”

“Cute?” You scoffed, “Pretty bold for a guy in cheap fangs.”

His mouth quirked up as he tilted his head, giving you a good, hard look that sent a thrill through her. His fingers traced from your chin down your neck and across your collarbone until they found the edge of your cloak, his thumb tracing along the fabric. “Cheap fangs, maybe. But I make ‘em work, don’t I?”

Ace was way too good at this and you found yourself at a loss for words for the first time that night. In a bid to keep yourself grounded, you glanced down at the drink in his hand and plucked it away, drinking the contents before stacking the now-empty cup under your existing drink. 

“Hey!” He protested, reaching for it, but it was futile as the drink was long gone. “You-Red, you’re ruthless.”

You just laughed, both at the action and the way he almost broke character all over stealing his booze. “Maybe I can be a little dangerous too. Besides, wolves shouldn’t be drinking. They might forget what they’re hunting.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, sending a shiver down your spine. Ace leaned in, lips lightly caressing your ear as he muttered to you, “maybe so. Tell you what, if you’re so dangerous, why don’t you show me?” 

You could swear her heart stopped just for a beat at the proposition, her mind running through all the different scenarios he could possibly be thinking – of course most of them involving much much less clothing. You gnawed at your lip and turned to face him meeting his black eyes as you slid away from him, extending your hand to his, fingers outstretched in an invitation. “Now why would I reveal my tricks so early in the night?” you asked. “Dance with me, and maybe I’ll show you.” 

Without a second thought, Ace slipped his hand into yours as you pulled him close, a grin of satisfaction curving your lips. 

The music thrummed in the background, loud enough to drown out any conversation you were having from curious ears. Ace began to dance with you, spinning you around in a way that had you praying for dear life that your drink didn't spill under the excuse that he just wanted to see the way your dress twirls. You were in their own little world, almost forgetting that you were in a crowded party. 

Every now and then, he’d lean down, whispering nonsense in your ear such as remarks about how he was definitely a much more terrifying wolf than the other guy across the room, or complaining about the itchiness of the fake fur gloves. And you would laugh, the sound sometimes drawing glances from others, but you hardly noticed, not when you were with him. It was nice that you could revel in the silliness of the holiday, the harmless play, and flirt with lines that you may not be able to say on an ordinary day. 

Ace let out a dramatic sigh, his hands settling on your hips as his eyes raked over you. “Guess we’re going to have to start coming to more of these things if it means seeing you like this,” he murmured, almost to himself. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the wolf here is starting to look a little lovesick.” 

He leaned closer, feigning innocence as his fingers traced your side. “Nah, just… captivated is all.” His hand squeezed your side, emphasizing his words. “Can’t blame me, can you?”

You didn’t respond, instead, you slipped a hand up his chest, reaching his neck and playing with the collar that adorned it. You eyed the accessory dangling from the center, tracing your fingers along the ridges until you gripped the charm hanging from the center, making eye contact with Ace once more. Before he could ask what you were doing, you tugged him in, brushing your lips softly over his. Ace’s eyes widened for just a moment before his hands slipped around your waist, pulling you in as he responded by capturing your lips in a slow, searing kiss. You barely heard the delighted whistles of encouragement from the onlookers, and you only broke apart when the playful shout of “get a room!” carried over the music. 

You two pulled apart, slightly breathless, smiling at each other as Ace took initiative and took ahold of your hand, gently tugging you. “Looks like that's our cue, isn't it?” he said, backing up as he started to guide you out of the house.

You slipped out of the crowded room, past all of the laughter and thumping music, into the quiet of a hallway where Ace’s pace quickened, weaving the two of you through the partygoers with you right at his side, laughing as you reached the door. Once outside, Ace pulled you through the cars parked out front until he found his, fumbling in his pocket for his keys until he was able to unlock the door with a beep. The two of you wasted no time. You climbed into the backseat over Ace, settling onto his lap as his hands latched around your waist, gripping tightly. 

It was suffocatingly close in the car, air dense with tension. Each breath seemed to grow shorter as Ace’s hands roamed over your body, trailing up your sides, slipping beneath the edge of your dress, claiming whatever they found. 

“You got the look down,” you murmured, voice low as you leaned in and captured his lips in a deep kiss. You pulled back briefly and adjusted in his lap, feeling him already hard against you, straining against the fabric. “Big bad wolf… but I don't think you’re as scary as you let on,” you said as you rolled your hips against his, pulling a groan from the man. 

Ace’s laugh was a rough, throaty rumble as his fingers tightened their hold on you, pushing you down as he rolled his up into you. “You’re in dangerous territory, Red,” he huffed out.

His hands slid further up your dress with a slow, savoring touch, fingertips dancing along your thighs and up until a hand settled between your legs, fingers pressing into the soaked spot of your panties. His gaze darkened, lips curling into a smug smirk as he slid your panties aside, prodding at the wetness. 

“Eager aren’t you?” he murmured, voice dripping with a rough-edged satisfaction. He removed his fingers and his hand reached for his mouth, taking in the digits and tasting your essence. His fingers popped out of his mouth, and he smirked at the lust-blown look on your face as you witnessed the action. 

Wordlessly, he reached down and fumbled with the buckle of his pants, metal softly clinking as he freed himself from his pants. You looked down and saw the tip glistening with precum, aching to be inside of you. He lifted you up enough to position himself under you, the tip smearing your arousal against him, and he pushed in. deep. The head of his cock pushed through your entrance and he filled you up, stretching you around him and reaching places you didn’t think was possible. 

His hips met yours with a sharp thrust, and he set a punishing pace that left you gasping and scrambling for balance. Ace’s mouth found your neck, his hot breath teasing against the sensitive skin before his teeth scraped down to your shoulder. The strap of your dress slipped down under his rough hands until, with a sharp tug, it gave way, the delicate sound of tearing fabric swallowed by a low and hungry groan. 

Your top slipped, baring one breast to the cool air, and he wasted no time, his mouth latching around your nipple, tongue swirling and teeth nipping at the sensitive bud, pulling a series of breathy moans from your throat. Your back arched, pressing further into him and his other hand gripped your clothed breast, leaving faint impressions of his fingers as he devoured every part of you that he could reach. 

All of the sensations- the suffocating cramped space of the car, the way his cock is deliciously thrusting up into you, his mouth and hand on your breasts- it was almost too much, and you were sent into a spiral, broken gasps and sobs slipping past your lips the longer he went on. 

Confidence fueled by the wild intensity of the moment had your fingers threading through Ace’s hair, pulling back with a harsh tug. His hips faltered for a moment as he moaned out, surrendering as you pushed him back against the worn leather seat, reveling in the way his body just yielded to you. You took the moment to breathe as you looked into his hungry eyes and took over. 

“Fuck-” Ace panted out. “Look’s like I-I’m the prey tonight, hah,” Ace continued in an attempt to tease you. But you silenced him with a sharp glare, muttering a ‘shut up’ as you set your own rhythm, bouncing on his cock in a way that made him let out a breathy groan. 

His hands found your waist, guiding you and helping you find the perfect angle as you rode him, the sound of the car creaking under your movements fills the air alongside your shared gasps. The way he filled you wasn’t enough. There was a hunger growing in you that you needed to satisfy. You gripped his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin as you moved faster, chasing your high with every roll of your hips.

His eyes were glued to your form, drinking in the way you lost yourself in the haze, and the only sounds leaving his lips now were breathy moans and low curses as you inflicted more pleasure upon him.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned out, voice strained. “Keep going, just like that.” 

The urgency in his voice was utterly intoxicating, every syllable that he utters pushing you further into the bliss you craved. You could feel the pleasure building inside of you and you tightened around him, feeling him twitch in response and giving your hips a squeeze.

And then it happened. The dam of pleasure broke, euphoria crashing over you as you surrendered to the waves of ecstasy. You cried out, the sound raw and unfiltered as your body began to quiver, muscles spasming and clenching around him. The rush was all-consuming, a blinding light that left you trembling and gasping for breath. 

The sensation of your release pulsed like wildfire, your hole creaming around him, slick and warm. You could feel his breath hitching in his throat, his hands gripping your waist tighter as he guided you through your orgasm. 

“Shit, Red…” he breathed, voice trembling as he felt your walls clench tighter around him, squeezing him like a vice. His thrusts became frantic, each push somehow deeper than the last, and with a final surge of energy, he followed you over the edge, his own release crashing over him as his cock pulsed inside of you, coating your insides with ropes of milky white cum. 

As your highs intertwined, the world outside faded into oblivion. You collapsed against his sweat-slicked body, both of you breathing heavily as you took a moment to recover. You were the first to break the silence as you remembered that you had snuck off from the party, muttering, “you think anyone noticed?” 

Ace let out a sigh, looking down at you with a smirk. “Yeah, they probably noticed,” he replied, placing a kiss on your temple. “We should probably clean up before someone comes knocking at my window saying I'm blocking their car.”

You giggled and nodded, capturing his lips in a chaste kiss before attempting to pull yourself together, despite your chest hanging out due to your ripped dress. That didn’t bother you too much though, rather you were more focused on how your limbs now feel like jelly, courtesy of the man in the wolf costume right beneath you.

What a Happy Halloween indeed. 

[hoiststowline]

message in a bottle

_rb!chase x reader | prologue

An deceiving darkness has fallen outside. A hasty scan of his surroundings leaves something to be desired, unsteady balance heaved to the left as a one-sided fight ensues to remain upright.

Dissolving into a state of unconsciousness was not an ideal solution to his forthwith problem, however, it was the only feasible one that happened to cross his mind at the given moment. It arrived alongside a bitter reminder as well, it was the only one that proved a high success rate, even if abysmal to register that in full now.

His internal systems buzzed with alerts of lurking hazards and unnecessary risks, threatening his very life force if he did not take action effective immediately. At his grumble of disapproval, it all comes and goes in flurries of leaking Energon and severely damaged plating, his systems vying to discover the worst ailment so it can be treated first.

The only thing he begs for is in reference to his transformation cog, wanting it to concede sooner than later. It fights rather intensely against his wishes for the past handful of minutes, practically screams that it's not a good idea, he's making the wrong choice-

Finally, it moves one more time. The stasis lock eventually overrides all other commands, and he collapses into his alt-mode, tucked safely away in that barn he had dragged himself into. 

"...no keys and it's been locked for, ah, since I've had it, practically."

One hand settles on your hip, the other reaching up to cover your mouth as you cough, the years of dust pulling from the rusty sedan and lingering heavily in the air.

Half listening, you force yourself to nod along to the man's lengthy pitch. It becomes apparent rather quickly that you'd never be able to keep up with the maintenance on such a vehicle, knowing somewhere in the back of your mind that the price seemed too good to be true. 

In your survey of the car, one thing that caught your eye immediately was that there was no logo, no indicator of the make or model. The front bumper seemingly taking the brunt of the rust over the years, encasing it's once white and blue paint in a tarnished hue. Your eyebrow raises at the idea that it could be an older law enforcement vehicle, the seemingly odd color combination filtering through enough to warrant the question. 

"So what do you think?" He asks, query effortlessly pulling you from your assessment. 

"It's...great. It needs a lot of work, obviously." You do a double take, swearing that you just saw an interior light flicker. "But, um, I'm willing to take the time to do it."

It was proving increasingly difficult to pretend like you knew what you were talking about. Every word you've said sounded witless, a cringe following your response. It wasn't that you sought out to impress anyone, but in observing the sedan in such a state, you wanted to appear somewhat knowledgeable.

"Great," The salesman clasps his hands together behind his back, not caring an ounce about your poorly hidden weariness. "I've wanted this out of my lot for years. Nobody wanted to even look at it, 'cause of the whole key situation," 

Right. How the hell were you going begin maintenance on the car if you couldn't even get into it?

"I'll tow it for you, to wherever you want if you're nearby." He extends, but it's not out of sincerity. "It gives me the space to sell, and you don't have to break a window." 

What a gentleman, crosses your mind before thanking him softly. With one last look over at the vehicle, you turn to follow him from the garage, ready to sit through a couple of hours of paperwork for a sedan you didn't have the slightest idea how to fix. 

With your chin in your hands, you sit defeated on concrete steps, staring glumly out at the driveway.

The dealer had towed the car to your house, dumping it squarely on the pavement before departing down the dirt road without as much as another word. As if you could back out now, or beg them to take it back in a hasty decision.

You needed this car to work. It was cheap enough that it cut maybe too many corners and now staring at it, you knew you just dug yourself into a deeper hole. 

Swearing under your breath, you move to kick a rock that happened to be within reach. It bounces down the last step, rolling lazily until it comes to a stop right in front of one of the front hubcaps.

Hauling yourself up, you walk down the remaining steps until you're now in front of the sedan, where it's then you see the same light flicker from the interior. 

"So, obviously some wires are crossed." Talking aloud, you move to the driver-side door, tugging the handle lamely. "That gives me some hope that you have a few years left in you." 

On the third pull, the door pops open, headlights clicking on with a muted hiss. You jump backward, startled, but find yourself thrilled by such a small victory.

The whole no key fiasco could be put on the back burner for now, though you would eventually need it to start the damn thing. For today, it was satisfactory that you could now get inside to assess any damages to the interior.

Curious, you slide into the driver's seat, taking in the cabin with dimming faith. The seats were a cracking black leather, the center dash outfitted with dated technology, and just as much dust if not more than the exterior.

"What did I do." Your forehead meets the steering wheel with a gentle thud, about ready to give up before it all began. Maybe you could sell it to a junkyard for spare parts, and use that cash to put towards a car with at the very least a key.

After a short spiral, you blink your eyes open, enthralled by the red emblem that sat on the airbag module. It was unlike anything you had ever seen before, pulling back slightly to run your fingers over it, collecting the dust as you push it away to get a better look. 

A squeak erupts from your throat as the door slams shut, the small screen sitting in the dash blinking to life with scratchy feedback. As if at all at once the car came to life, the engine attempting to turn over with little success, overhead lights wavering wildly.

"What the hell?!" Your hand hastily runs along where the ignition would be, hoping to find a button or key jammed in there, but the ignition switch was expertly sealed off. 

A trembling palm grabs at the door handle, tugging, then yanking on the hilt, but to no avail did it release. "Definitely not crossed wires-"

Your scream is cut short as a voice pushes through the speakers, a choppy and mostly invariable sentence heaving as if it hurt to vocalize them.

"Who...are...you?"

The string of words sounded as if they did not belong to the same person, though in your horrified and delusional state, you take it that the radio is busted, and not that the car is trying to communicate with you. 

"So stupid, why did I-" The seatbelt clicks over your waist, moving on its own to your utmost horror.

Now, you irrationally, but finally conclude that the car is alive, and not in a fun, cool way, but it an 'oh my god, I'm going to die in here' way.

"Okay, okay! I hear you, I hear you loud and clear."

A garbled reply of nothing echoes, and whatever is trying to talk to you, no longer can.

"Um, you asked who I am, I'm y/n," Talking straight out of fear, hopped up on adrenaline, you gasp as the seatbelt winds tighter against your waist. "That didn't answer your question, alright. Uh, you were in a used car lot, I bought you for like three hundred bucks-”

The rearview mirror tilts down to look at you, giving you a disapproving glower even though you are looking at your own expression. 

"I don't understand! I don't-" Tearful eyes move to the windshield, watching as his hood pops open with one fluid motion. "O-okay, I understand that. You want me to fix something in your engine?"

The screen blinks thrice, and your shoulders sag in relief, hoping that that means yes. However, your momentary cheerful mood is dampened by the thought that you likely have zero idea how to rectify the problem that it wants you to.

Terrified, you dare to pose an inquiry: "Do you have an instructions manual?"

The door swings open in response, and the seatbelt retracts, allowing you to exit of your own free will.

Realistically, you could just leave it in your driveway, call a towing company in the morning, and get it sent away forever. That would make the most sense, a reasonable and wise rejoinder to such a shocking discovery.

Yet, the intrigue of the situation got the better of you, thinking it wouldn't hurt to see what was under the hood. Carefully, you push out of the seat, feet hitting the concrete with a dull thud. Keeping somewhat of a distance from the car, you walk around to the front, gingerly leaning forward to stare down at such intricate technology, enough that it makes your head spin. 

"Woah." It's breathless, fingers fumbling as you still can't seem to understand what they want you to understand. "I'm assuming you're trying to get me to fix your...?"

Headlights flicker at your knees, blinking with urgency as your gaze catches a square-shaped object, nearly emitting steam as more jumbled audio noises emit from the cabin.

"Voice box. Of course, you wanna talk so you can probably tell me you're going to kill me," Sighing, you take a step back, grease and oil coating your hands at just the minute touch of the machinery. "Is it okay if I go get a toolbox? It looks like it's pretty damaged, but I might be able to find a temporary solution."

Lights blinking three times once more, you take that wordless proposal as a yes, hesitantly turning before disappearing into the small garage. It takes some fumbling around in the dim light and dying sunlight until you find the tools.

After some struggle is displayed to lug the metal container back to the sedan, you eventually bring it to the ground with a thunk. "Listen, just so you're aware: I don't know what I'm doing at all. So please, don't kill me if I strike a wrong wire. I'm gonna mess around with it until…you can speak, I suppose."

An hour slinks by, then two, and halfway through the third you were still shoulders deep under the hood, covered in whatever had gathered within the gears.

Upon closer inspection, the voice box was heavily rusted but also improperly placed. It took maximum effort to find the right bolts to tighten, then the correct cables to rewire, even hitting it once or twice for good measure.

After some more time had passed, eventually the thing erupts with nonsense, frightening you fleetingly as you pull yourself from the front. 

"It really did take me a hot minute." You wipe your hands with a rag, sparing a glance over your shoulder to the clock hanging inside the garage.

Even though you had been working on a means for it to speak, somehow, you were still not expecting it to talk back in the slightest. 

"Yes."  You scream, the oily cloth almost leaving your grasp. "You did mention repeatedly how you did not know what you were doing." 

It was talking. It crosses your mind that amongst all the ridiculousness, a conversation arises.

"Sorry for the apprehension," You warble, feeling you're treading dangerous waters. "I didn't think that the car I just bought would be talking to me right now."

"It is a reasonable reaction, rest assured." You could tell that the voice box was not completely fixed because some of the words rejoined were hitched and not complete. "I owe you an apology as well. When I awoke from stasis in an unfamiliar place, I did not know if you were friend or foe."

"I still don't know what-who you are." Correcting yourself, not wanting to offend by any stretch. "Are you a friend?"

"Ah, most certainly, y/n." The way your name is spoken sends a chill straight down your spine, rooting you to your spot in the driveway. "My designation is Chase, that is what most call me."

"Chase." You say it with some disquiet as if such an insane situation could have such a simple name. "Well, Chase, since you are clearly some kind of machinery well beyond my scope of knowledge, I don't know entirely what to do with you." 

Chase placidly laughs, and it sounds almost robotic. "Since you repaired my voice box, I could walk you through reparations, if you could be so kind. I am in bad shape, but since I awoke from stasis, I am stable for the time being." 

"What is the end goal?" Moving some hair away from your forehead, you unknowingly leave a streak of dirt there. "I mean, what is the goal in general?"

"It would be best to work on my transformation cog first," You blink slowly at him as if he expected you to understand what that meant. "Then, we can work on all this rust and my internal systems."

"A transformation coil-" You start, but are promptly interrupted. 

"Cog," He corrects.

"Cog." You nod once more as if you knew what you were talking about. "Implies that you transform into something?"

"This is my alternate mode,"  Chase explains simply. "I use my bipedal form most often. It is typically very uncomfortable to remain in alt-mode for extended periods of time."

"Right. Of course." Your hands settle on your hips, shoulders jumping to your ears as his hood slams back into place. 

"Apologies." He mumbles, trying to demonstrate his earnestness. "I understand this is a lot to comprehend, believe me. Be that as it may, you saved me, y/n. I have been sitting in long recharge, rotting in that lot," 

Your nose wrinkles, a heavy feeling perching in your chest. Somewhere, you knew that this was insane, a huge ask and only looking for trouble, however, it was blatantly obvious that he did need help. As astronomical as it may be, you felt as if you were in no position to turn down his plea.

"I don't know if I'll be able to fully help you, Chase." You eventually say, swallowing your rising fears momentarily. "But I'll try. I needed a car, and I guess you're stuck with me just as much as I am stuck with you."

"My mobility functions are in working order." His tires spin once. "As repayment, I will take you wherever you so desire. Many thanks for taking such a task on, I can assure you I will make it as painless as possible."

"That's kind of you," A smile finds its way to your face, unable to stop. "One more question before we get to your transformation cog," 

"Anything. Ask and I will answer to the best of my ability." He replies easily, a lighter, happier hum to his tone.

"You mentioned bipedal form earlier. So who exactly are you?" You move to his door as it opens once more, his center screen lighting as he responds.

"I am an Autobot." The red emblem on the steering wheel alights. "I am Cybertronian, and I was here to learn the inner workings of Earth and protect its inhabitants from Decepticons."

You falter, his rearview mirror turning your way once more. "Kinda like a robot?"

He sighs, but it's half-hearted. "Sure, y/n. Kind of like a robot."

[girlgenius1111]

wrong.

r is dating an older woman. her teammates don't approve. when r and her girlfriend breakup, she hides it from her teammates, determined not to let them know that they were right.

angst + fluff. breakup obviously. protective barca :)

When you'd decided to ignore your teammates feelings about your girlfriend, you didn't imagine it would end as terribly as it did. You chalked it up to them being overprotective, which they were, rather than them being right about her, which they also were. She was 28, and you were 19, and you knew they felt that she was too old for you. You were one of the younger players on the team, which you took as something of a challenge, as if you had to prove your maturity. That wasn't why you were dating someone so much older, but it was certainly a perk. You thought they'd be impressed when they met her, but they were not. They waited until she left to tell you that they thought it was a bad idea, that she was too old for you.

This only really strengthened your resolve to keep seeing her, much to your teammates frustration. They'd all tried to speak to you about it, promising that they just didn't want to see you get hurt or taken advantage of, but you wouldn't hear any of it. You all fell into an unspoken agreement to not discuss your girlfriend, as it was the cause of countless arguments, and they clearly weren't changing your mind. Alexia had finally thrown up her hands, saying that if you wanted to be immature and not listen to them, you were free to do so, but that you shouldn't expect them to be there to fix it when it inevitably ended poorly.

Alexia was just frustrated and worried, and she hadn't really meant it. She thought that was obvious; her and the team had made it clear, she thought, that they were always there for you. No matter what. They'd proven it, time and time again, but Alexia's words rattled around in your brain for days after she said them, and you were unable to pretend they hadn't hurt. Still, you pushed it to the back of your mind, confident that you wouldn't need your teammates, because nothing would go wrong.

-----

Of course, everything did go wrong. You had gone to your girlfriend's apartment to surprise her with dinner after training one day. You were in the kitchen, preparing to start cooking when you heard her key in the door. She was on the phone when she walked in, sitting on the couch and continuing her conversation, and you decided to wait until she was off the phone to announce your presence.

"No, really, it's fine. She doesn't have to know, and besides, she's just a bit of fun. She's 20, she can't possibly think I'm serious about her."

You felt nauseous. As far as you were aware, you were the only 20 year old she was seeing, which meant she was talking about you. It only got worse from there.

"I definitely prefer you, baby. Her body is nice, obviously, but I could do without her personality. She's young, and annoying, and she doesn't know how to shut up. I don't know how her team tolerates her, honestly, I can't spend more than a couple hours with her unless we're partaking in... other activities, and then her mouth is pretty busy."

You can hear the smirk in her voice, and you swear you can feel your heart fall out of your chest. She was speaking so carelessly about you, so cruelly. You felt used, and suddenly self conscious about everything you'd ever said. Was she right? Did you talk too much? Did the team secretly hate you? It only took you a few seconds to decide that she was probably right. She was older, the age of a lot of your teammates, and it seemed incredibly likely that they felt the same way.

Your embarrassment quickly turned to anger, though, as it often did, and you grabbed the flowers you'd brought her, and marched out into the living room. Her eyes widened, hand dropping the phone, and you threw the flowers in her direction, as well as the key to her apartment she'd given you, before walking right out the door, taking care to slam it behind you.

-----

You thought you were handling it pretty well. You walked right out of her apartment and to your car, driving home. You didn't cry, that would be ridiculous. What was there to cry about? You should have known it would end like this. You couldn't stand the thought of hearing your teammates I told you so's, nor the thought of them sticking to their guns, and not being there for you when you needed them, because they'd warned you. You decided that you wouldn't need them, then, which definitely was not fueled partly by your ex-girlfriend's words about them probably hating you. No, you were fine. Everything was fine.

You woke the next morning sadder than you'd been the night before. The anger had faded, leaving a hole in your chest, where the words you'd overheard were etched permanently. You knew that, in this state, it would take just one person asking if you were okay for you to break, and that was not an option. You would act as normal as possible, no one would suspect anything, and you could cry when you got home, not before.

-----

You wished you didn't have such perceptive teammates. You could have sworn you'd acted normally, completely normally, as you headed into the locker room that morning, joking around with Pina and Ona, and doing your best to keep a smile on your face. It was like the older girls had some internal alarm that went off when you weren't okay, and you felt their eyes flitting over to you throughout the morning gym session.

Still, you held strong, avoiding the girls that were watching you carefully, instead spending time with the younger girls, who were happy to joke around, which keep your mind off things. Your first real test came in the form of Lucy Bronze.

Everyone was walking out to the pitch, when she fell into step with you, slinging an arm over your shoulder.

"How did your surprise dinner go?" She asked. You'd completely forgotten that you'd told Lucy about that. She was one of the only ones who could be civil when talking about your girlfriend, taking the time to ask you about her, even though you knew she held the same opinions as the others.

"Oh. Fine. It was good." You replied shortly, and Lucy couldn't help but be slightly confused when you shrugged out from under her arm, and jogged away. You weren't one to spare details when telling a story, but you had evidently not wanted to talk about it. That wasn't like you.

"What special dinner?" Ingrid asked, coming up on the other side of Lucy as you literally ran away. Mapi was on her other side, also looking curiously at Lucy.

"She was surprising her girlfriend by cooking her dinner last night," Lucy explained and Mapi frowned.

"I don't like that girl." She stated plainly. "She's not good enough for our pequeña."

Ingrid rolled her eyes. "Everyone knows how you feel about her, love, you don't need to remind us every time she's brought up."

Mapi ignored her girlfriend. "She answered strangely, no? Normally she's talktative whenever someone asks about her girl, but she ran away from you." The Spaniard observed, watching as you sprayed water on Pina's head, your smile not quite reaching your eyes.

"Yeah, I guess. You know she hates hearing how much everyone dislikes her girlfriend though, it was probably just that." Lucy dismissed, but Mapi's eyes stay trained on you.

"Hmm."

"María, please don't get involved in that again, you know how upset it makes her when everyone has something to say about her relationship," Ingrid said reproachfully, fully understanding the look in her girlfriend's eyes.

"I am not going to get involved," Mapi defended. "I am just going to see if anyone else has any observations..."

Ingrid sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Don't mention this to Alexia until you're sure something is going on, she'll freak out."

"I won't." Mapi promised, distracted. Ingrid walked away to talk to Frido, and Mapi immediately found Alexia standing with Irene, and marched over.

Ingrid abruptly stopped talking, watching as Mapi seemingly did exactly what she ahd told her not to do.

"What?" Frido asked, following Ingrid's eyes to where Mapi was standing with the captains.

"Mapi's convinced something happened with y/n and her girlfriend, and I told her not to say anything because you know how y/n gets, especially not to Alexia, and look. She's doing exactly what I said not to." Ingrid sighed, exasperated.

"I don't like that girl." Frido said, frowning at the mention of your girlfriend.

Ingrid threw her hands in the air. "No one does! That doesn't mean we have to get all up in y/n's business. The more we push, the less likely she is to listen to us."

"Alright, relax, I agree with you." Frido said. Ingrid glared at Mapi from across the pitch, the Spaniard very obviously avoiding eye contact with her girlfriend. Jona called them over to start a drill, then, and all conversations came to a halt. For now.

-----

You weren't oblivious to the increase of attention on you after talking to Lucy, but you were determined not to acknowledge it. Your teammates were stubborn, though; almost as stubborn as you. You were walking off the pitch at the end of training, towards the locker room, when Alexia and Mapi appeared on either side of you.

"How was your night last night?" Alexia asked innocently, looking at you out of the corner of her eye.

"Fine?" You asked, feigning confusion.

"Do anything fun?" Mapi wondered.

"No." You said, because you weren't sure you could even discuss your ex at this point. Lucy had brought it up before, and you'd barely made it through that brief conversation.

"Really?" Both girls said in unison. You rolled your eyes.

"Yes." You huffed, getting frustrated, and they could tell. Alexia grabbed your wrist, stopping you, and her and Mapi moved to stand in front of you, blocking your path inside.

"Lucy said you did something fun with your girlfriend?" Alexia asked, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Mapi's arms were crossed, and it really felt like you were in trouble.

"Yeah, we had dinner. Can I go now?"

"No, you're being weird. Did something happen?" Mapi said, stepping closer to you.

"Nope," you shook your head stubbornly.

"Pequeña, you seem upset," Alexia reached out a hand to rest on your shoulder, but you moved out of the way.

"I am not upset." Your voice was completely devoid of emotion, and Mapi and Alexia exchanged looks, not used to you acting so stand offish towards them.

"If something happened, you can tell us," Alexia stated, not deterred by your behavior.

"I don't even know why you care, you said you didn't want to hear if something happened." You scoff. Your face is one of anger, but your body language radiates sadness.

"When did I say that? I always want to know whats going on with you."

"Alexia, you told me not to come crying to you if you ended up being right about her." The blonde was speechless, absolutely stunned that you had taken that to heart.

"I wasn't being serious, y/n." She said quietly, somewhat gaining an understanding of why you were being so resistant to them. You remained quiet, gaze fixed on the grass under your feet.

"Seriously, pequeña, if something happened with you and your girl, you can tell us." Mapi cut in. You groaned, running a hand through your hair. You weren't getting out of this, you knew.

"We broke up. You guys were right. Happy?"

"I am so sorry, y/n." Alexia sighed, moving closer as if to pull you into a hug. Instead, you pushed in between her and Mapi, stalking towards the locker room.

"No you aren't. You don't have to pretend you care. You don't want to hear about it, and I don't want to talk about it." You snapped over your shoulder, ignoring the way they followed you, calling your name.

You made it inside the locker room, aggressively throwing your things into your bag, and stomping back out towards the parking lot, completely ignoring the way every member of the team was watching you, concerned. Alexia and Mapi stood in the door, once again blocking your path.

"Y/n, stop," Mapi said. The room was quiet as everyone watched the standoff.

"Move." You said through clenched teeth. You were blinking back tears, and Alexia and Mapi softened at the sight. You took your opportunity, shoving them out of your way, and walking out without a look backwards. This time, the girls didn't follow you out of the room, instead looking like they were at a complete loss for what to do. As you walked down the hall, you heard the unmistakable voice of Ingrid cutting through the silence.

"María, I TOLD you not to bother her." The room erupted into conversation, and you left the building, wiping angrily at the tears falling down your face.

-----

You made it home, showering and fighting the urge to just get in bed and fall into misery. Instead, you focused on de-girlfriend-ing your apartment. There wasn't much, as you'd only been together for a few months, but you'd filled a garbage bag of her stuff, and headed down to the dumpster. You threw the bag out, and it didn't bring as much satisfaction as you'd hoped it would. You walked back to the front door of the building, rather dejected, when a voice called out to you.

"Y/n, you haven't been answering any of my calls," your ex said, jogging to where you stood frozen by the door. "Hey, baby," she continued, wrapping her arms around you and trying to pull you in. You unfroze, shoving her off you.

"Don't touch me." You snarled, backing into the door.

"Don't be like that, you weren't supposed to hear any of what I said."

"Is that supposed to make it better?"

"You're being dramatic, y/n, stop being so sensitive. This is what I was talking about, you won't even have a mature conversation with me about this." The girl standing in front of you was completely unrecognizable, to you at least. You wondered if this was the person all of your teammates had seen.

"There's no conversation to be had. We're done. You are a horrible person, and I never want to see you again."

Her face contorted in anger. "Did your teammates tell you to do this? They're probably just tired of hearing you complain, y/n. They barely put up with you, you aren't going to find anyone other than me that will." She reached forward again, trying to hold onto your arm, and there wasn't any room behind you to back up. Her words felt like a slap to the face.

"Don't touch me," you said again, voice much weaker this time. You couldn't believe what she was saying; it was like she was a completely different person suddenly, yet she still knew you, and knew exactly what to say to hurt you.

"No, you're gonna hear what I have to say," she said, clearly frustrated with you standing up for yourself. Her hand closed around your wrist, and you prepared to pull away, to run, when another voice shouted out from not too far away.

"Get your hands off her," Mapi growled, coming from seemingly nowhere to shove your ex away from you. Her and Alexia stood, shoulder to shoulder, not unlike how they had earlier, glaring at the girl in front of them.

You jumped as a pair of arms wrapped around you, settling when you Ingrid stepped in front of you, bringing you in close to her chest. You clung to her, not really sure why you were so afraid. You knew your ex wouldn't have hurt you, but she really scared you when she'd tried to grab you, and you wanted nothing more than to be as far away from her as possible.

"You do not ever touch her again, understand? Or you will not enjoy what happens to you." Alexia warned, her voice angrier and more threatening than you'd ever heard it.

"Are you okay?" Ingrid asked, drawing your attention away from Alexia. You nodded shakily, gripping tightly onto Ingrid's sweater. She was blocking you from really seeing what was going on, positioned directly between you and your ex. You could still hear her though.

"Whatever," she scoffed. "She's not worth the trouble." Mapi made an angry noise, and Alexia started forward, but Ingrid's voice brought their focus back to you.

"She's not worth it. Let's get pequeña inside." The Norwegian said, shooting both girls a meaningful look. They watched your ex walk away, as you unlocked the front door, and headed towards the elevator. No one spoke as you stepped in, taking it up to your floor. They filed out of the doors after you, still silent, following you to your door.

"You don't have to stay." You said quietly, fiddling with the lock.

"We're staying." Alexia responded firmly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Her and Mapi were still practically radiating anger as they entered your apartment. Ingrid was angry to, you could tell, but she hid it better, focusing instead on getting you a glass of water. She handed it to you, as her and Alexia took seats in your living room. Mapi remained standing, whole body still tense. You sat, in the corner of the couch, bringing your knees up to your chest. Your teammates hated how small you were making yourself, how shaken you seemed.

"Are you okay pequeña?" Alexia asked after a minute, scooting closer to you on the couch.

"Fine." You said. You were fine. She wouldn't have hurt you, you knew that. Everything she said, though, did hurt. It felt like she'd picked out your biggest insecurities, and told you that they were true. You'd been vulnerable with her, more than you'd ever been with anyone else, and she'd used it against you the second she could. You weren't overly eager to share anything else, not right now. This wouldn't fly with your teammates, though, that much you knew. They'd come to apologize, probably, but they wouldn't leave until they were sure, absolutely sure, that you were okay. One word answers weren't going to convince them. "I'm fine, really. She startled me, that's all."

They didn't look convinced. You supposed that was fair; they'd need more than that.

"Seriously, I'm alright. I dodged a bullet, clearly."

"What she said..." Alexia started, but you stopped her, shaking your head.

"I really don't want to talk about it."

"Too bad." Alexia said.

"Ale," Ingrid said, shifting uncomfortably. The blonde ignored her.

"She is completely wrong, pequeña. We don't put up with you, y/n. We love you. We always want to hear what's going on with you, and what you have to say. You know that, don't you?"

You shrugged, really wishing they hadn't heard that part of the conversation.

"Can you tell us what happened with her?" Mapi said softly, finally taking a seat in the chair next to Ingrid. You hesitated, and it becomes very clear to them that you've internalized what they heard your ex say to you. "We want to hear, we want to help."

"I didn't mean what I said before, y/n. That because we warned you about her, we wouldn't be there if things went wrong. You could ignore every piece of advice I ever give you, and I'd still want to be there for you. Every time." Alexia cut in, resting a hand on your knee. You didn't shift away from her this time, which she took to be a good sign.

With a sigh, not meeting any of their eyes, you told them everything. Everything she'd said on the phone about you, the things that made your cheeks burn with humiliation, your stomach twist with anxiety. The words felt like they burned on the way out of your mouth, the fear that your friends would agree with them almost choking you. Of course, they didn't.

You'd barely finished talking when Mapi abruptly rose from her seat, hands clenched in tight fists and walked without a word into the kitchen. You looked after her, confused, but Ingrid just shook her head.

"She's angry, she just needs a minute."

You nodded slowly, trying to wrap your head around the fact that Mapi was so angry on your behalf that she could barely contain her feelings.

You looked to Alexia, her hand still resting on your knee, finding her deep in thought. She cleared her throat before speaking.

"You are right, pequeña, you definitely dodged a bullet. I am so sorry she said those things about you. None of them are true, not even one. You are a wonderful, thoughtful, kind person. You deserve so much better than her."

You nod your head weakly at her reassurance. You weren't convinced, but it made you feel better, if only marginally. Mapi reentered the room again, sitting not in the chair she was in earlier, but squishing herself into Ingrid's chair. It was always interesting to watch them together; wherever one of the struggled, the other picked them up, always, without a second thought. Ingrid scooched over in the chair, face unchanged and still fixed on you, wrapping an arm around her girlfriend and squeezing her shoulder comfortingly. Mapi visibly relaxed once her body was in contact with Ingrid's, like all of her muscles had un-tensed, and some of the anger was pushed out of her body.

That was how a relationship was supposed to be, you thought. You'd never felt more like an idiot in your entire life, yet still, your insecurities swirled around your head, and you felt like you were drowning in them.

"So you don't... you don't think she was right?" You ask in a small voice, peeking at the girls' faces. They all look shattered at your question, like it was causing them physical pain that you thought it possible that they didn't actually care about you, that you believed even a word of what that awful woman had said to you.

"No. She is completely, entirely wrong." Alexia said, sounding like she was pleading with you to believe her.

"I just thought she really liked me." You whispered, and it appears Alexia couldn't hold herself back anymore, moving closer and smooshing you into her arms. You cried softly into Alexia's sweatshirt, never having been more grateful in your life for anything, than you were in that moment that she was there, that all of them were there. Your captain wrapped you up safely in her arms, and the strength with which she held you did even more to convince you that she meant what she said; she wanted, more than anything, to be there for you.

"Voy a matar a esa puta." You heard Mapi declare. Alexia hummed in agreement against you.

"You're not going to kill anyone, María." Ingrid dismissed. "Not by yourself, and you'll have to beat me to it."

You looked up in surprise, seeing a satisfied grin on Mapi's face, and a fiery look on Ingrid's. If you ever wondered how 2 seemingly different people made a relationship work, you had your answer. Deep down, Ingrid could be just as protective, just as reckless as Mapi was when it came to people she loved.

You tried to pull away from Alexia, having stopped crying, but her arms only tightened around you.

"No, you are staying right here, where no one can ever make you sad again." Alexia said decisively. You stifle a laugh, but give up your attempts to escape. Your words come out slightly muffled when you speak again.

"Can you guys not tell everyone about what happened? They can know we broke up, but the whole team will just freak out if they know what she said, and I don't want to deal with that."

Ingrid and Alexia easily agree to your request, but Mapi remains silent. Finally, you do pull away from Alexia to stare suspiciously at the defender. Ingrid is tilting away from her girlfriend, an exasperated expression on her face.

"María, what did you do?" You asked. Mapi smiled sheepishly.

"I may have asked Lucy and Mario if they were free later to pay your ex a visit, and I also may have told them what we overheard."

"Mapi," you groaned.

"I didn't know you didn't want people to know! Besides, it will be easier to scare her away from you with more people. Especially those two!" You weren't impressed, but Alexia evidently was, a contemplative expression on her face.

"No, Ale, please don't let this happen," You begged, switching your attention to the normally more cool-headed individual.

"You can't go threaten that girl, no matter how much she deserves it." Alexia said, and Mapi deflated, a frown finding it's way onto her face. You sigh, relieved. "At least not right away. We'll give it a few weeks, until she lets her guard down."

"Alexia!" You yelped, and she simply smiles softly at you.

"No one messes with our pequeña. Ever." Alexia shrugged, relatively unbothered by your slight annoyance.

It wasn't actual frustration, though. You knew they were just joking around. Well everyone except for Mapi; she was definitely being serious. Regardless, it felt good to know they had your back; like further confirmation that they didn't feel at all how your ex had said they did. You should have listened to them from the beginning, but more than that, you should have never listened to your ex, not when everything your teammates did today, and everyday, proved her to be wrong.

-----

[spr1ngpvrinbwunnie]

🤡 Silly & Embarrassing William Afton Headcanons 🤡

(A mix of work-life chaos at Freddy’s, moments of pure foolishness, and things he’d rather die than admit.)

He’s overly theatrical, stubbornly refuses to admit mistakes, and gets himself into ridiculous situations constantly. Most of these moments are immediately buried and never spoken of again—except by Henry, who will never forget.

💀 1. THE TIME HE ALMOST GOT HIS HEAD STUCK IN A SPRINGLOCK SUIT (BUT HENRY SAVED HIM)

He was showing off—being all theatrical about how "perfectly safe" the springlock mechanism was.

Decided to demonstrate it himself to some employees.

Didn’t secure something properly and suddenly felt the suit start to shift.

Panic set in immediately. You know how smug he is? It was gone. He went stiff as a board.

Henry, who was just sipping his coffee, looked up, sighed, and had to calmly walk over and fix the latch before William died in the stupidest way possible.

William, sweating bullets, just brushed it off with a “See? No problem whatsoever.”

The employees were not convinced.

🎤 2. HE CHALLENGED A KID TO A SINGING COMPETITION—AND LOST HORRIBLY

One of the kids at Freddy’s kept mocking his accent and saying he sounded "like an old-timey vampire."

William, offended beyond belief, decided to challenge them to a sing-off.

He cannot sing. Like, at all.

This was a mistake.

The kid destroyed him with a performance of some cheesy 80s song.

He literally just walked off mid-song to pretend it never happened.

🛠️ 3. HE SPENT THREE HOURS TRYING TO FIX A MACHINE, ONLY FOR HENRY TO SOLVE IT IN 10 SECONDS

One time, the prize counter’s ticket dispenser broke.

William, too stubborn to call Henry, decided he would fix it himself.

Three hours later, covered in grease and seething, he still hadn’t figured it out.

Henry walks in, presses a single button, and the machine starts working again.

William stood there in silence.

Henry just patted his shoulder and walked away.

🐰 4. HE TRIED TO WEAR THE SPRINGBONNIE SUIT TO “SCARE” HENRY—BUT HE TRIPPED AND FELL IN IT

Thought it would be hilarious to sneak up behind Henry in the Springbonnie suit and make him jump.

Miscalculated his step and completely wiped out.

Full-body faceplant.

Got stuck in the suit. Henry had to pull him out.

“Not a word of this leaves the room.”

Henry was laughing too hard to respond.

💀 5. HE ONCE MISTOOK A RANDOM EMPLOYEE FOR HENRY AND WENT ON A RANT FOR TEN MINUTES

Stormed into the office, not even looking up, and started going off.

“Henry, I swear, if you installed one more bloody safety protocol, I’m going to—”

Looked up.

Not Henry. Just some poor new employee.

The guy was terrified.

William just cleared his throat, turned around, and walked out.

Never spoke of it again.

🍕 6. HE HAS HORRIBLE LUCK WITH THE PIZZA OVEN—ALMOST SET THE PLACE ON FIRE

Refuses to admit he can’t cook.

Decided to “help out” in the kitchen.

Turned the oven up to max temperature because “it’ll cook faster.”

It did not. It caught fire.

Henry had to come running in with a fire extinguisher.

William just stood there, hands on his hips, looking at the disaster like it wasn’t his fault.

“Perhaps the oven is simply poorly designed.”

🎭 7. HE TRIED TO BE “MYSTERIOUS” AND FELL OFF A CHAIR INSTEAD

Thought it would be dramatic and cool to lean back in a chair while talking.

Overdid it. Chair slipped. Full backflip onto the floor.

Lay there in silence for a minute, contemplating every decision in his life.

Henry just watched. No reaction. Just sipped his coffee.

📣 8. BONUS: THINGS HE’D RATHER DIE THAN ADMIT

He once got a Freddy mask stuck on his head. Had to have an employee pull it off.

He accidentally called Henry “darling” once. Henry never let him live it down.

A kid once beat him at chess in five moves. He was furious.

He walked into a glass door once because he was distracted talking. Pretended like it never happened.

He secretly finds some of the animatronic jingles catchy but refuses to admit it.

He tried to moonwalk once. It didn’t go well.

He once dropped an animatronic endoskeleton on his foot. Spent the whole day limping but refused to acknowledge it.

He has mistaken an animatronic for a person at least once and said “Excuse me” before realizing.

💀 When William Tries (And Fails) to Impress You 💀

(A collection of moments where he attempts to be charming, impressive, or dignified around you… and completely fails.)

🎩 1. THE TIME HE TRIED TO BE SMOOTH AND WALKED INTO A DOOR

William loves making grand entrances.

He was mid-sentence, giving you one of his classic smug little monologues, when—

BAM. Right into the glass door.

He froze.

You stared.

Henry, in the distance, choked on his coffee.

William just slowly turned back to you, completely deadpan.

"…As I was saying."

🍷 2. HE TRIED TO DO THE "COOL WINE SWIRL"—AND SPILLED IT ALL OVER HIMSELF

Took you out to some fancy restaurant, all dressed up, acting like the most refined gentleman alive.

Picked up his wine glass, swirled it dramatically—

And immediately flung red wine all over his own white dress shirt.

Just sat there for a second, blinking.

"…Well. This is an unfortunate turn of events."

You were dying trying not to laugh.

💡 3. HE TRIED TO FIX SOMETHING IN FRONT OF YOU—AND MADE IT WORSE

The lights at Freddy’s flickered weirdly, so he decided to show off his “engineering skills.”

Got up on a chair, started fiddling with wires.

"No need to call a professional, dear, I know exactly what I’m—"

Sparks. Smoke. Entire building loses power.

Silence.

You: "…So should I call Henry now?"

William: "Don’t you dare."

🕶️ 4. HE TRIED TO WINK AT YOU—BUT DID IT SO BADLY IT LOOKED LIKE A TWITCH

This man thinks he’s in some 1950s noir film.

Tried to give you a slow, charming wink.

Failed miserably. One eye shut too hard, and the other didn’t close at all.

You thought he was having a stroke.

"…Are you okay???"

He immediately changed the subject.

🐰 5. HE TRIED TO GIVE YOU A "PET NAME"—BUT IT CAME OUT ALL WRONG

He’s not the type to say cute things easily, so he was testing something out.

"Come here, my little… honey… muffin… sugar…"

He paused. Realized what he just said.

"Forget that just happened."

You immediately latched onto it and started calling him “Muffin” just to torture him.

🎭 6. HE TRIED TO SHOW OFF HIS "ACTING SKILLS"—AND OVERDID IT

Thought it would be romantic to recite poetry to you.

But instead of a charming, smooth delivery, he went full Shakespearean actor mode.

Overly dramatic hand gestures, deep booming voice, the works.

Half the restaurant turned to look.

You were equal parts flattered and horrified.

Henry just sighed from across the room.

🔥 7. HE TRIED TO COOK FOR YOU—AND IT WAS A DISASTER

He wanted to do something “nice” for you.

Decided to cook dinner.

Overestimated his skills.

Pan caught fire.

You walked in on him standing in complete silence, staring at the flames.

"…I can explain."

You took the fire extinguisher.

🔪 8. HE TRIED TO CARVE SOMETHING NICE FOR YOU—AND ALMOST CUT HIS HAND OFF

He has a habit of carving things from wood (because knives = ✨ dramatic ✨).

Thought he’d make something for you—a little rabbit figurine or something.

Misjudged the knife angle.

Almost took off his own fingers.

You: "You good??"

William: "Absolutely. No issues whatsoever. This is fine." (While holding back blood.)

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Notice me||Franco colapinto x male reader

Summary— Franco has fallen hard for his engineer and would do anything for his attention

Word count— 992

A/n— the was another old fic from my old blog that I’m reposting

The Williams garage was alive with chaos, a cacophony of clattering tools, revving engines, and tense voices. Resources were stretched thin, deadlines loomed, and the pressure was suffocating. But amidst the madness, you were a calm, steady presence—a problem solver, a miracle worker, the person who turned scraps into solutions.

Franco Colapinto couldn’t pinpoint the moment he’d started to feel something for you. Maybe it was the first time he saw you single-handedly rebuild a suspension with parts most teams would have deemed useless. Or maybe it was how you muttered to yourself as you worked, so focused and precise it was almost mesmerizing.

At first, it was just admiration. But as the weeks passed, that admiration grew into something deeper, something that made Franco linger in the garage long after he needed to, just for the chance to see you work.

And you? You didn’t notice a thing.

When the team announced they were dropping Logan Sargeant, the garage exploded into whispered conversations and muffled outrage. No one said it outright, but everyone knew it would be a logistical nightmare.

“This is insane,” you muttered under your breath, adjusting the rear suspension of Logan’s soon-to-be-replaced car. “Everything about this setup was designed for him. Switching drivers means adjusting everything—balance, weight distribution, aero—it’s not just a simple swap!”

Franco, who was leaning against a nearby workbench pretending to inspect his helmet, couldn’t resist.

“You’re the only one smart enough to say that out loud,” he said, his voice casual.

You glanced at him, surprised. “You think so?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, moving closer. “You’re the only one who can fix this mess, too.”

The way your lips twitched into a small smile made his chest feel light. He wanted to make you smile like that more often.

But his mood darkened when he overheard a team executive muttering about how your objections to the decision were “causing waves.”

“Are they serious?” Franco whispered to Alex Albon later that day.

“Probably,” Alex replied with a shrug. “Wouldn’t be the first dumb move they’ve made.”

The thought of you being let go—of you no longer being in the garage, sleeves rolled up, completely absorbed in your work—made Franco’s stomach twist.

Franco wasn’t good at subtlety, but he tried anyway. Over the next few weeks, he launched his poorly disguised attempts to get your attention.

Every morning, he brought an extra coffee to the garage. “Oh, this? I accidentally grabbed two,” he’d say, handing it to you. At first, you looked at him suspiciously, but you always took it.

“Thanks,” you’d mutter, sipping it absentmindedly. Franco counted it as a win.

Then there were the questions—questions he didn’t need to ask but asked anyway.

“Hey, Y/N, what’s the optimal tire pressure for these track conditions again?”

You frowned at him. “Franco, you’ve been racing for years. You know that already.”

“Just wanted to hear it from the expert,” he said, flashing a grin.

And then there were the late nights. Franco would linger in the garage, offering to help you with adjustments he barely understood.

“You don’t even know how to use half these tools,” you teased one evening as he handed you a wrench.

“I’m a quick learner,” he said confidently.

He wasn’t. You ended up redoing most of his work, but for some reason, you didn’t seem to mind.

“He’s embarrassing himself,” Alex whispered to Franco one afternoon as they watched you work. Franco had been staring at you for far too long.

“I’m not embarrassing myself,” Franco hissed back.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “You’ve brought him six coffees in three days. Just tell him you like him.”

“And risk ruining everything? Not a chance.”

It was late one night when Franco finally broke. The garage was empty except for the two of you. You were hunched over your laptop, analyzing telemetry data, your brow furrowed in concentration.

Franco paced behind you, trying to gather the courage to say what he’d been holding back for weeks. Finally, he stopped, planting himself in front of your desk.

“Y/N, I need to tell you something.”

You didn’t even look up. “If it’s about the suspension adjustment, I’ve already handled it.”

“No, it’s not about the car.”

You paused, finally glancing up at him. “Franco? What’s wrong?”

“I’m in love with you.”

The words came out in a rush, faster than he’d intended. His face flushed, but he didn’t look away.

You stared at him, stunned. “You’re… what?”

“I’m in love with you,” he repeated, softer this time. “I’ve been trying to show you for weeks, but you’re so completely oblivious! I don’t know what else to do except just say it.”

You blinked, still processing. “You’ve been trying to show me?”

“Yes!” Franco groaned, running a hand through his hair. “The coffee? The questions? Staying late to help you?”

“I thought you were just being nice,” you admitted, a small laugh escaping.

“I was being nice because I like you!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

You stood slowly, crossing the small distance between you. “Well,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips, “if it’s any consolation, I like you too.”

“You—wait, what?” Franco’s jaw dropped.

“I like you,” you repeated, your smile widening. “I just didn’t realize it until now.”

Franco’s expression shifted from shock to pure, unfiltered joy. “You’re serious?”

You nodded. “Completely.”

Without thinking, Franco pulled you into a hug, holding you tight.

“You have no idea how happy you’ve just made me,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your shoulder.

“Well,” you said, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, “I guess that makes two of us.”

From that night on, the garage felt a little brighter, the chaos a little less overwhelming. Franco’s affection was no longer hidden, and while you weren’t the most perceptive when it came to feelings, you were finally starting to notice just how much he cared.

And for Franco, that was everything.