#One if not my favourite fanfiction

[joethehoeee]

Week three of keenswimmers2023

Prompt: Childhood friend/Mysterious Stranger.

Obviously picture 2 so it's Mysterious Stranger.

Aaaannnd a fanart for Trollhunter!Strickler fanfic chapter one from @toodrasticallydumb.

Link for the chapter.

Pictures:

And without text:

Context:

Strickler got a little bit abused (not just a little bit) by Bular and straight after that he got hit by a car because this silly avocado thought it was a good Idea to walk in the middle of the street AT NIGHT. (He was messed up and didn’t know what he was doing)

He wakes up in the hospital and wants to stand up immediately but then he meets the stubborn Doctor Lake who dosen't let him do what he wants. (He dosen't know that he will marry that women-)

She holds his shoulder and puts him in place wich made him uncomfortable because he doesn't like being touched. At first she is waaayyy to mesmerized to notice but after a few seconds she pulls her hand away.

And-

NOPE. If you want to know more then...

GO AND READ IT!!!

It deserves the attention. The author is really good at writting. They're funny, nice style and most importantly good at ✨️trauma✨️

Pls, it's so damn good. Read it. Go. NOW.

Anyways-

Here are close ups:

My boy is uncomfortable but he dosen't know that he will kiss and do the forehead touch with her infront of his students-

And infront of another teacher-

They have no shame-

But they (especially him) have a lot of trauma.

Uhm...I talk to much-

[mintcakeart]

more Lyendecker Eddie inspired by The Shire is NOT on Fire by @kissesforcas on AO3

alt version and ref under the cut

[stvharrngton]

kinktober: day eight

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, size difference kink, unprotected p in v, dirty talk

word count: 0.6k

taglist: @inkluvs @dukesmebby @sweetbabygirlsworld @kennedy-brooke @gvf23 @wheel-of-hyperfixation @mooonyweasley @steveshairspray

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

Steve’s gaze was fixated on where you two were connected. His hands gripping your thighs so they stayed wide apart, his thick cock fucking in and out of your pussy.

His hair had flopped against his forehead, his jaw slack and his mouth hanging agape as Steve breathed out quiet groans at the sight before him. He watched as his cock disappeared inside of you, how your pussy swallowed him up about half way, not able to bury himself in fully.

Steve was in awe, he always was when you two got like this. Eyes fixated on you, how different in size the two of you were. Steve was big and broad, all large shoulders and long legs. Big hands with a firm grip. A man who found it easy to manhandle a girl like you.

You often found his eyes darting to where his large hand held your thigh in his car whilst you were driving wherever, glancing down at where your fingers interlocked when you held hands. Obsessed with how small your hands looked around his thick cock, even more so with how big it looked sliding in and out of your tiny hole.

“Don’t think I’ll be able to take it all, Stevie,” you’d tell him, with your cheeks hot and your lips kiss bitten, “you’re so big.” You’d whine, knowing you were craving the sweet sting the stretch of him would bring.

But Steve would eat it up every damn time. Chuckling at your admission, scoffing at your innocence. “Oh, come on, pretty girl,” he’d say to you, his hands rubbing up and down the soft flesh of your thighs, “I know you can, you can take it, right? Take every inch of my fat cock in that sweet little pussy of yours.”

And so you’d bite your lip at his words, take a breath and swallow the lump in your throat as you watched through heavy eyes as Steve pumped his cock one, two times. Before he allowed himself to sink into you, he’d lean over you, press his lips to yours softly in a sweet kiss, before whispering in your ear,

“Gonna fuck you nice and deep, honey,” his fingers would always find your clit, rubbing soft, gentle circles on the nerve, “gonna stretch out this wet little hole so fuckin’ wide, ‘m gonna sink all the way in until you can feel me in your fuckin’ guts. Fill you up nice and good until you’re screaming my name.”

You’d be too caught up in Steve’s words to notice when he pushes the tip past your entrance, your wet walls sucking him in. You’d both groan out loudly at the stretch, at the feel of being wrapped around one another. Your walls clenching around Steve’s pulsing cock.

And that’s where you found yourself now, your bodies shining with a thin sheen of sweat, fingers digging into exposed flesh. The deep roll of Steve’s hips sent you into a frenzy, your fingers coming to play with your tits, to roll your nipples between your finger and thumb.

You cried out the boy’s name, your back arching all pretty. Steve hummed as his eyes flitted up to yours for a moment, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Doing so well, sweet girl,” he cooed, his thrusts becoming quicker and harder as he built his rhythm, “taking my cock so fucking good.”

“Oh, Steve,” you whined, “you’re so big, can feel you all the way up here.” You stuttered out, taking one of his hands that was planted firmly on your thigh and moving it to your stomach.

Your words went straight to Steve’s ego, and his cock. His hips snapping into you, his thick cock fucking in and out of your sopping hole like no other. You were soon both melting into one another, filthy words and obnoxious moans and groans the only noise in the room.

[bunnyreaper]

welder!ghost au

After taking so many welding lessons from Simon and developing a crush, you decide to make him a little something to show your appreciation.

(f!reader, simon is a fucking weirdo, jealousy)

As soon as you'd set your mind to the idea, it wouldn't leave you.

Just like everything to do with Simon, it's buried its way into your brain and taken up residence there, gnawing away until you decide to do something about it.

How you're going to do it is something different, though. There's no way in hell you could get away with making something secret in Simon's workshop, right under his nose like that. That man is far too observant to let something like that slip by, and the surprise is part of the fun.

You want to show him everything you've learned from him, every moment that you've hung off of his every word and listened to everything he has to say, every time you've watched him work and absorbed his expertise.

You settle on a bracelet, braided stainless steel, each step made by your loving hands. Hopefully, he'll wear it, and hopefully, you can guess his wrist size properly--fucking massive isn't exactly a precise measurement.

It should take too long, not with everything he's taught you, and you can be back to working in his shop again instead of the one across the city with the guys he doesn't like. You wouldn't go there under any other circumstances, were the situation not desperate. And when you get there, you understand Simon's judgement completely, not that you ever doubted it to begin with. The guys are creepy, and they stare, as well as make comments that are misogynistic, flirtatious, or an outrageous mix of both.

You're on high alert almost the entire time you work, but you try to push it out of your mind in favour of making everything perfect for Simon. Each weld, each sand, each polish, has to be perfect for him because anything else would be doing his tutelage a disservice. You've seen the disappointed looks he's given some members of the classes when his mask is flipped up, but you'd never been on the receiving end--always so eager to please and impress. That won't change now. You won't allow it.

You braid the steel wire with a drill and a vice, cut the pieces you need, sand the ends and get to work on welding them together. It's delicate work, and your mind only slightly drifts to some of your lessons where Simon had lurked behind you, the heat of his body so close to yours as you worked.

You finish the edges and bend the metal to the desired shape, trying to imagine Simon's wrists as you work--which is surprisingly easy considering how much you've stared at that sleeve of his.

The second you finish, you bolt out of that horrid workshop, off in search of a nice box and some wrapping to finish off the gift. You had a session with Simon the following Monday, and it's then you'll present it to him--if you're feeling brave enough.

Monday rolls round, and the workshop is empty when you arrive, save for Simon working away in the corner. You can tell by the way his posture stiffens that he knows someone has entered, even over the noise of his work, because he's always so perceptive.

The box is in your hand, and your palms are starting to sweat as you call out to him. "Hey Si."

He finishes up what he's doing and makes his way over, setting his welding mask down and revealing his handsome features. "Just us tonight." His comment seems fairly inconsequential, but honestly, you preferred it that way, getting to be the sole focus of his attention.

You nod in response, knowing you should just get the gift giving out of the way so you can both get to work, but your stomach twists with worry. What if he hates it? What if he never wears it?

"What's that?" He asks, eyes flickering down and clocking the box and the source of your troubles immediately.

You thrust it at him, almost as if the box burns to touch. "A gift, for you, it's silly really, but I just wanted to say thank you for everything..."

For the lessons, for his attention, for never treating you as lesser.

He rips off his gloves before he gets to work on the wrapping paper, and peels open the jewellery box to see the steel band inside.

"If you hate it, it's fine. It's just a little token of my appreciation." You rush out your words--damage control.

His dark eyes flicker between you and the bracelet, his expression unreadable before he pulls it from the box and places it around his tattooed wrist. The fit is perfect, but his reaction isn't as his expression sours. "Where did you make this?"

"Huh?" You startle, as that wasn't what you expected to come from his mouth at all.

His eyes narrow, and you swear he takes a step closer. "You didn't make this in my shop. Where did you make it?"

Oh fuck, you think, realising you have to admit to stepping foot in that other shop. You avert your gaze as a sheepish expression overtakes your features. "Uh, PK's shop, I wanted to surprise you so, I went there..."

His hand grips your chin, forcing you to look him right in those stormy eyes. "You wanna make something for me? You make it in my shop, yeah? My student, my shop."

The possessive words make you shiver, make you want to fall for your knees, and beg for forgiveness for the unknowing betrayal.

"Yeah, okay, of course... I mean I hated it there, I swear, they gave me the absolute creeps." You try to laugh away the swirling guilt and discomfort you feel. "Left as soon as I was done, and even gave them a 1 star review. But, I'll never go back, I promise."

Your eyes shine up at Simon's, waiting for him to relax.

"That's my girl." Finally, his touch releases and he steps away, grabbing his gloves. "Let me finish up what I'm working on real quick, yeah?"

"Of course." You nod quietly, watching as he walks away as your stomach starts to sink. At least he didn't take it off. "Do you... like it?"

He stops still, checking out where it sits on his wrist. His expression doesn't change, but you can hear the sincerity in his words. "Love it."

And a week or two later, when Simon asks you to come by the shop one night outside of your sessions, you're not entirely sure what to expect.

He explains he's trying something new, and needs your help, and doesn't explain anything further. But it's Simon, so of course you comply, of course you trust him.

It's only when he brings out a micro welder and a small length of gold chain that you realise what's happening. The intense look in his eyes before he gets to work leaves no room for argument, and you silently accept your fate as he permanently attaches that little bracelet to your wrist--a dainty little 'S' charm hanging from the middle.

[becca-e-barnes]

The Study

Not only is this the start of my 'Moving In' series, I'm also calling it my birthday piece! I turn 24 on Tuesday and I'm trying hard not to think about the fact I'm overdue a quarter-life crisis.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2.7K (oops)

Warnings: Pleasure Dom!Bucky, sub! reader, spanking, use of a vibrator, forced orgasms, kinda Dom vibes but totally consensual, degradation, safe word system but safe word not used, pet names

Summary: Bucky spends the weekend at your new house and you take him on a tour.

Minors, do not interact

Turning the key in the front door still feels odd. One of the very first changes you made to the house was installing a new locking mechanism on both doors and it hasn't had a chance to stiffen up yet.

The smell of paint is starting to dissipate but it hits you hardest when you open the front door. The hallway was one of the last areas of the house to be redecorated so the smell seems to be most noticeable right at the door.

"Damn, this place is deceptive." Bucky's remark makes you smile to yourself while you hang your jacket up. "It's a whole lot bigger on the inside than I thought."

"It surprised me too. All of the rooms are a nice size."

The house had ticked so many boxes for you. More than two bedrooms in a quiet development, a low maintenance garden, off road parking, a downstairs bathroom and the whole house has plenty of potential. The plan isn't to live here forever, after all. It should be easy enough for you to sell when you decide to move on.

You flick a few lights on in the hallway and toss your keys into the bowl on the hall table before you turn your attention back to Bucky standing in your living room. Despite the fact you hadn't removed your own shoes, he's taken his off, leaving them neatly at the doorway of the living room beside his travel bag.

He's respectful of your space; he always has been but it's nice to just have him in your space. It's nice to have him be part of it.

He walks slowly around the little living room, looking at the few ornaments and picture frames you'd collected. "That's cute." He's looking at a picture of you and your best friend, sitting on the floor of your old kitchen, laughing yourselves to tears over the fact your Christmas tree was three inches tall and cut out from the back of a cereal box. The photo brings a smile to your face every time you see it.

"Are you hungry? You've had a long day." You move over behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and kissing his back through his clothes while he looks at your pictures on the fireplace. He's had to travel for a few hours just to get here so you imagine he's bound to want something.

"I'm okay for now." You nod at his response, taking in the fact he's actually standing in your home.

The time you have with him is limited. That's how this works but for just less than two days, he's yours. After that, he'll go back home so you've learned to make the most of the time you have with him.

"Help yourself to whatever you like. Kitchen is down the hall." You don't even really want to move but you can't stand like this forever.

He turns in your arms so he's facing you and captures your lips in his. It's a soft, slow, gentle kiss; the kind you've been dreaming of since you last saw him. You need him to feel exactly how much you've missed him without having to tell him.

The kiss lasts for minutes, far beyond its natural end but neither of you care.

After what feels like forever, your lips part but your foreheads stay pressed together, both of you determined not to pull away.

"I still haven't gotten the grand tour." He's got the most beautiful eyes and they're locked on yours to the point that you'd almost forgotten he's never been here before. "But I want to start in your favourite room."

"Well, the study is my favourite. I converted one of the bedrooms into an office space."

"Show me."

You don't protest. Instead you head out of the living room and up the stairs to the furthest end of the hallway, with Bucky following closely behind you.

"These all used to be built-in storage units around a headboard for a bed. I took all the doors off the cabinets and made it into shelving." You'd turned the room into a space that you love. The walls are painted a light shade of cream with houseplants lined up between books on the shelves. Instead of storage around a headboard, you now have book shelves, arching around your desk. The other side of the room has a sofa that converts into a bed for extra guests and there's a beanbag in the corner by the window to read on.

"I see why it's your favourite. Odd mix of books here though." Bucky's eyes flick over the titles, ranging from your collection of political figures' autobiographies, the 'Diary of an Oxygen Thief' trilogy, the selection of books providing commentary on the criminal justice system and a good few classics.

"It is. But I like this room. It'll be cosy in winter once I get some fairy lights and nice and bright in summer. Somewhere to unwind." You're thinking out loud as you reach up to close the window and that's when you feel Bucky step behind you.

"I think we should celebrate." Bucky’s voice is low, his lips trailing up the side of your neck, heading towards the spot just behind your ear that he's always loved to kiss.

"I think..." He stops briefly on his path, taking a second to inhale deeply, determined to slow down. "I think we should make love in every room of your new house this weekend."

Fuck.

"Are you sure you're up for that? Because I can really stretch it out. I'm not sure how we're going to make it work in the pantry or the downstairs bathroom but I'm happy to try."

"Your 'pantry' is a cupboard." Bucky's breath is hot on your neck, and you feel his lips have curled into a smile.

"I know. You promised every room though." You can't help but tease him, although you're half serious. It's not your fault that you're keen. Not when he's kissing down your neck like that and holding your waist so your back is flush against him.

"You're a handful." You feel his fingertips graze the bare skin of your waist and you remember how nice it is to just be touched the way he touches you.

"I might be a handful but I can promise if I have my way, after you leave here on Sunday, you won't even be able to think about cumming again until Thursday at the very earliest."

"Jesus, that's one hell of a promise." He turns you around to face him and you notice his eyes are damn near twinkling with excitement.

You've got all weekend together; there's no need to rush but you can't help the overwhelming need to feel him sliding into you. That's when you feel closest to him and it's the closeness you're craving more than anything.

Your hand cups the side of his face, your thumb tracing across his freshly shaved jawline and you allow yourselves a second to just be together.

He smells familiar. The heat of his body against yours makes you feel safe. He makes you feel safe.

"I want to start with you though. I brought you a little something." He kisses your lips gently and smooths a hand down over your hair before he retreats downstairs to the bag that he'd brought a few changes of clothes in.

He returns with a small cardboard box with the tape on one end already cut.

"I didn't have time to wrap it. It arrived last minute." You're so busy trying to get into the box that you hadn't even noticed.

Inside the box are a few instruction manuals, a thin white cord and a black satin pouch. Inside the pouch is a neon pink toy that's thicker at each end, narrow in the middle and nicely curved.

"I've already charged it and paired it to my phone. This end slips inside you." He points to the thicker end, studying your face to make sure you're okay with this.

And why wouldn't you be? This is pretty damn close to a dream come true.

"Remember what you said last time I saw you? You wanted me to spank you. Maybe we should take it a little further." He's always been hesitant to do anything that would hurt you and that fact is the very reason you want him to. You know how much he wants to protect you and knowing he cares about you has you convinced that he's the right person to explore this with.

"Please." You whisper, beyond excited at the thought of getting everything you've begged him for. "What did you have in mind?"

"I'm thinking about you bent over this desk with this inside you and we'll start off with a couple of light taps to that pretty ass." He presses the button on the narrow part of the toy and it give a short buzz, coming to life in his hands.

Fuck, you're into this man. You're into his hesitation just as much as you're into his willingness to try something new.

"Traffic light safe word system. 'Red' and I'll stop, 'amber' and I'll give you a break, 'green' to keep going." He wants to be fully sure you know you're in control here, not that you ever had any doubt.

You nod and stretch up on your tiptoes to kiss him, this time with as much passion as you can manage. Your hands run through his hair while his trail over your body, your tongue flicking gently against his.

Just being around this man makes you wet, not that you'd ever admit that to him. Even the thought of him has you throbbing with arousal so now that he's here in front of you, your whole body feels like it's buzzing.

He touches you like he can't get enough. He can't get you close enough and it's beyond thrilling to be the subject of his need.

It's almost embarrassing that you get yourself worked up so easily but from the hungry look in his eyes when you undo the button of your jeans, he doesn't seem to mind.

You step out of your jeans and panties and Bucky helps you out of your top and bra, leaving you naked in your study.

"Look at you." Bucky sounds like he's almost in awe, no matter how many times he's seen you naked.

He kisses you again, matching the same passion he'd had earlier, trailing his hands over your soft, warm skin until his fingers are nestled between your thighs.

"Fuck, you're soaked." His fingertips trail between the folds of your sex, gathering the wetness he's responsible for. "Good girls don't get this wet at the thought of being spanked. You know that, don't you?"

You're almost too turned on to even respond to him. "Bend over. I want to see how well you take your toy."

You do as you're told, bending over your desk while Bucky drops to his knees behind you to slip the toy inside you. You feel him trail the thicker end of the toy against your slick cunt, gathering enough wetness to let it slip inside you comfortably.

Within a minute, the toy comes to life inside you and there's no way to stifle the moan that catches in your throat.

Not only is the internal part vibrating at a low, delightful buzz, the other end is pressed right to your clit and is stimulating it at the same strength.

"Did I say you could make a sound?" Bucky quizzes, sounding harsher than ever and when he gets no response, his hand comes down on your ass with so much force that it makes you yelp.

It was a hell of a spank and you can feel heat blooming under the skin of your left cheek, quickly followed by another spank to the right.

"For the record, you can make as much noise as you need to. But only because I've told you that you can. You see the difference?"

You force yourself not to nod and it has the effect you were hoping for. Two more harsh, painful spanks are delivered, one to each cheek, the same as before.

You don't know if you imagined it but the toy inside you feels stronger. You can't be sure if you're just focusing on the pleasure over the pain or if Bucky really has turned it up.

"Does that feel nice, sweetheart?" He needs to know you're enjoying this because a little part of him is surprised at just how much he's into it. He gets to control both your pleasure and your pain because you want him to and the trust alone is enough to get him off.

"Feels amazing, fuck. Making such a mess." Stringing sentences together isn't easy but you swear you're about to cum already. Your nipples rub delightfully against the wooden desk and you swear every sensation is heightened.

"I wish you could see the mess you're making. Looks fucking delicious." He turns the toy up ever so slightly but that's enough to send you spiralling, gripping the edge of the desk as pleasure ripples through your entire body.

You can do nothing but sob, cumming relentlessly because he's refused to turn the toy down. Even after you're done, he keeps it at the same intensity, moving on like nothing happened.

"You say the sluttiest things. That promise of yours to totally drain me. Who says shit like that? So fucking filthy."

"I mean it. I want every drop of cum you can give me. And then more." You know saying something like that will earn you another spank and it does.

"You're not just acting like a slut. You are a slut. You spend your life hiding it from everyone else but you can't hide it from me." A shiver runs down your spine. You almost feel like you've been caught. Like he's figured you out and now you have nothing left to hide. "Say it."

It's a clear instruction but saying it makes it real.

Your hesitation earns you another sharp spank, heat prickling both your face and your ass at the same time.

"Don't make me tell you twice." For someone hesitant to slip into a dominant role, he's absolutely nailing it.

"I'm your slut." Your voice is less steady than you would've hoped but the words at clear at the very least.

"My slut?" He almost sounds like he can't believe what he heard.

"Yours. Your slut." You repeat, wishing you could see his face.

"Oh sweetheart, that's cute." He means it too. He turns the toy up as a reward and even though it's only at half its full strength, you can't help but cum again, pleading your way through another blinding orgasm.

"Such a good girl for me. That's it. Cum nice and hard. Give that slutty little pussy what it needs." He lands one more harsh spank on your ass and you swear it only makes you cum harder, to the point that your legs are shaking.

But all of a sudden, the sensation stops completely.

"B-Bucky?" You ask, turning around to look at him, wondering if something went wrong.

"Don't want to wear you out, sweetheart. I think that'll do for now." You agree that it's probably a good place to stop and you have no problem taking the toy out for a while.

He pulls you in close, resting your head on his chest, letting you catch your breath while he holds you and kisses your forehead.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" His voice is soft, hoping that you'll tell him the truth.

"No. It was perfect." You smile, capturing his lips in yours, hoping to relieve some of his fear. You're almost giddy with excitment. It truly was everything you needed and you fully intend to thank him for it before the weekend is over.

"Good. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would." He's back to the gentle, tender touches that you're so used to from him and it's a blessing that he can flick so effortlessly between both personas.

"How about we order in and stick a movie on?" He suggests, kissing the tip of your nose. "Go put on something comfortable. I'll find a takeout."

[r-u-living]

The waffle incident took place on the 17 of June. The day Captain Ghafa should have docked for two weeks. Alas her ship was caught in a storm so her crew had to dock at a Ravkan port.

Kaz Brekker was reported had waiting at 5th harbour for three hours before he dissappeared and burst into Wylan Van Eck's estate where Wylan Van Eck, Jesper Fahey and a recently returned Nina Zenik.

They had been eating waffles waiting for Captain Ghafa and Kaz Brekker so when he picked the lock and kicked down a door to yell "INEJ ISNT THERE!" in the voice of a panicked teenager who's crush just texted them "Wyd?" Nina Zenik snorted waffles out her nose. Not much is known apart from that but we do know that a waffle ended up on the ceiling one on Mr Brekker's face and several in the garden.

The group was later heard arguing with snippets such as "No Jesper you CANNOT eat the waffle that is stuck the the ceiling." "Nina Zenik is that a strawberry in your hair?" "Wy I regret to say that WAFFLE FIGHT"

Several stadwatch were called to the scene but when the arrived the place was spotless and nobody was home.

It is still unsolved.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

Paring: Steve Rogers x Reader Summary: The rains that end your perfect, shining days whisper things in his ear that you'll never be entrusted with. But your boy only breaks his favorite toy.

a.n. - day 3!!! i hope you guys are enjoying! anyway, how many tortured poets inspired fics do you guys think i have in the drafts? hint, too many.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Anon's Birthday Celebration

"Then maybe you're better off without me!"

No, you're not.

You're not.

You're not.

You fly up from the edge of your bed, doing everything to get him to see reason, to get him to see you, for once, "I never said that!"

"You didn't have to!" he booms.

Your hand reaches out to grip his bicep, but he wrenches his arm away.

And standing in your highest heels, in your best dress just for him, you chase after him, "I just want you to talk to me! I want you to not push me away!"

He snatches his tux jacket up, shrugging it over his shoulders, "I don't want to talk!"

"You don't want to talk or you don't want to talk to me?"

"Both!" The words are so casually cruel. He says it without pause, without remorse. He doesn't even notice the pained look that his words leave on your face like all the wind has left your lungs.

Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing as she hears the argument echo through the walls of the Compound. "Oh, here we go again..."

The moment he whips open your door, you know what this night will look like.

You'll be his perfect doll, his trophy for the night. He'll smile, hold your hand, and won't speak more than a word to you the whole night.

He'll leave you wondering what went wrong, what you did wrong, what sent him spiraling into the abyss all over again.

And he'll wake up tomorrow like nothing ever went wrong.

"Steve!" You reach for his hand, but he drops your hand and keeps walking without so much as a second glance. "Steve!"

"Steve!"

He doesn't turn back around.

As you watch him walk downstairs, you feel a warm hand rest on your shoulder. "You okay?"

You nod, trying to keep the tears welling in your eyes from falling down your cheeks. "He's just - in one of his moods, I guess."

"A mood?" Nat quirks an eyebrow. "That's the excuse?"

You suck in a breath. It's a shitty excuse. And it only sound worse with every time that you have to use it.

You sound like a broken record, a broken toy. You practically beg Natasha to pull the string for the latest excuse. "You know how he gets."

He only runs because he loves you...

"It's ironic that he always does this right before you've got to put on your best face in public."

You let out a long, deep sigh, "Nat..."

She raises her hands in surrender, "I'm just saying. You look amazing tonight, but tears don't go with the dress."

The urge to defend him bubbles within you.

It doesn't matter how much he breaks you, it's you he chooses to break.

You're his favorite toy.

He only runs because he loves you...

After a few moments to make sure the rivulets don't descend on your plastic smile, you go after him.

You find him seated in the car, sitting in the backseat like he knew you would give in and eventually follow after him.

It's all painfully silent. He stares out the car window, drowning in a darkness that you'll never get to see. You sit with your hands in your lap, the smooth silk of your dress crumpling under your fingers.

You hated nights like these. These galas were never fun for you. Still, you don't remember it being quite this hard.

As you step out in front of the flashing lights, Steve grips your waist, just enough to lay claim to you.

Because, in the end, you're still his favorite toy.

You roll back your shoulders. Your cherry lips pulled into a smile that you can only hope looks more genuine than it feels.

You can barely recall a time when your shining smile didn't feel so plastic. You were an Avenger. You were strong, independent. You stood tall and held your own. You were beloved in your own right - or at least, you used to be. Now, you were nothing more than the girlfriend to Captain America. Nothing more than his favorite toy.

You stand beside him in the line of reporters.

He refers to you often. He barely spares you a glance.

He presses loving kisses to the top of your head. He doesn't offer a single comforting word.

You've spent all night watching and waiting for the worst of his tortured heart to hit that you've barely noticed the night passing you by.

The reporter before you politely points the microphone at you. She smiles, tilting her head, "So what's it like?"

You blink at her, realizing that you've hardly been paying attention. You fix your distant smile with a chuckle, "What's what like?"

"What it like being the woman behind the man? Being the woman behind America's Golden Boy?"

"Oh..."

What is it like?

What's it like being queen of sandcastles that he destroys?

What it's like being his favorite toy?

The one he holds so tenderly, caresses with the most gentle of touches, only to be discarded and broken as he pleases?

You crack a smile, pretending to be coy. He hates it when you talk about him, about your relationship. He says he likes his privacy. He likes for it to be seen, not heard. But you think he means you.

You find yourself pulling the string, reminding yourself that he loves you. He only runs because he loves you.

You rest your hand on his chest, looking at him with all the adoration in the world, "I mean, he's - he's Captain America. What else it there to say? Like you said, he's America's Golden Boy."

You swear you can feel something break inside you. He's finally done it. His favorite toy is finally all smashed up.

You feel broken.

His favorite toy.

His broken toy.

He doesn't stay for the party, never does. It's a blur as he guides you back to the car with a hand on your hip.

The silence fills the car once again.

It's all silent as he calls the rain to end your days of wild once more. Back at the Compound. In your room. Watching as he stands before you. He means what he says, he doesn't want to talk, and he most certainly doesn't want to talk to you.

As you sit on the bed, watching as he methodically takes off each piece of his tux, he offers his first voluntary word of the night, "That camera guy was hitting on you."

A pang of joy flashes through your broken heart.

After all, your boy only breaks his favorite toy. You are his favorite toy. You always will be.

"I didn't notice. I was too busy worrying about you."

He rolls his eyes, "I told you to leave it alone."

And out of all the hearts he was offered, it was your tortured heart he stole. And one thing about Steve Rogers, he plays for keeps.

Your eyes snap up at him, examining those blue eyes that you feel in love with. "Why won't you ever just let me in?"

He refuses to hold your gaze, too afraid of what you might see. If he sees forever in your eyes, he'll smash it up.

The voices in his head are so much louder than you. And worst of all, you have no idea how to fight them off. The rains that end your perfect, shining days whisper things in his ear that he'll never trust you with.

You know that. And in some ways, you've always known that. It's a give and take, a push and pull. And as long as he keep pushing, keeps taking, you'll pull him as close as you can, you'll hold him through any storm. What other choice did you have?

For the second time tonight, you pull the string yourself. He only runs because he loves you.

"You're better off anyway," he whispers.

But you're not.

You're not.

You're not...

Steve Rogers Masterlist Anon's Birthday Celebration Inspired by Taylor Swift Series

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams@shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes @beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a @weallhaveadestiny @mostlymarvelgirl @honeydew3064 @michealharrypotter @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @withyoutilltheendoftheline @the-photo-hoe @rae-nna @sarachabeans1@double-shot-of-tequila @spookyparadisesheep @lunaalovesyouu @daisy-loves-bucky@roseproseposts @theoraekenslover@king814318 @maybesomedaytho @carlie-babes99 @sunshinechikin @as-white-as-snow-love @melala1030 @badasswlthafatass @armystay89 @multiversefanfics @cherrysscinema @breathlesspieceofdeath @ravenn-darkholme @bxckybxrnes24 @guiltyasreid @bellabarnes1378 @blithecapricorn @mrsnikstan

[clear-what-i-was-seeing]

artists have "draw this in your style", i think fic authors should start doing "write this in your style" where a ton of people write the same prompt but all do their own lil interpretations and characterizations and fun dialogue bits etc

[iamumbra195]

SBG Hunger Games AU

Ashlyn, forced to survive and take on a leadership role she never wanted in the rebellion. Her parents teaching her to survive as best as they could in hopes that she could protect herself if she ever got hurt and refusing to let her put her name more than once for the reaping no matter how hard things got, only to watch her name get picked out of hundreds of others and not being able to do anything as their only daughter was thrown into a death tournament for the amusement of the rich and powerful. Ashlyn doing her best to survive the games and resenting Aiden for stepping all over her boundaries and poking his nose into her business but slowly learning to love him as time goes on. Her being forced into the arena of her nightmares a year after she and Aiden got out, knowing only one of them would walk out alive this time and she wanted it to be him. Her losing him despite doing her best to try and keep him alive.

Aiden, so hopelessly devoted to a single girl it destroys him. Aiden, the son of the mayor and his wife, whose cousin was reaped just two years before him, losing his voice and passion for singing in the process. Him watching the girl he liked (and was kinda obsessed with) get chosen for the games shortly before his name was pulled and finding it vaguely ironic because he'd always wondered what it was like to die but he'd never really expected that he would die this way. He was always testing the boundaries with the peacekeepers, seeking out dangerous things that he knew would get him in trouble. Aiden, who already knew what the outcome of the games would be because he would make sure of it himself-- make sure Ashlyn would come home even if he didn't. Him watching as she offers him the berries-- both of them go home or neither of them go home-- and falling in love with her all over again. Him volunteering for his cousin and swearing to make sure Ashlyn will be the only one to walk out all over again because he knows they won't get lucky again this time.

Ben, big and charming with a love for singing that helped him get sponsors when he was reaped, having his throat heavily damaged during the games by one of the careers. He beat them to death in his anger and his throat was fixed by the capitol but it was forever changed and artificial and Ben hated the sound of it so he never spoke or sang again, getting angrier and more defiant of the capitol until his family's home was burned down and he realized the capitol would kill them at any time if they wanted to. So he kept quiet and remained on his best behaviour, letting his hatred and anger fester inside him as other kids were reaped and then his cousin, his reckless stupid cousin was reaped and Ben knew he would die in that arena while he could do nothing but stand there with clenched fists and poisonous rage. But Aiden survived against all odds and there were whispers of rebellion and Ben began to hope-- until the victors are reaped and Aiden volunteers for him despite all his protests and he is forced to watch from the sidelines all over again, hoping that Jasmine and District 13 can extract them all from the arena in time.

Tyler, hardened and angry from loss, clinging onto the family he has left and volunteering as tribute when Taylor gets chosen so she never has to fear for her life only for her to get chosen again the next year as a punishment for his own defiant nature. Taylor, who manages to survive her games, watching her brother continue to suffer to protect her from the darker sides of being a tribute. Marianna, a victor who had a mental breakdown after the capitol killed her husband, watching her children go through the same trauma she went through and not being able to do anything about it. Tyler and Taylor being pulled back into that nightmare arena and Marianna volunteering for Taylor and dying in the arena to protect Tyler in the only way she could. Taylor, helplessly watching from the sidelines as her mother dies and falling apart at the seams when she realizes they didn't manage to get Tyler before the Capitol got to him.

Logan, intelligent and kind despite all that he went through, managing to get through his games by being underestimated and hiding with the career pack. His parents watching as he used their knowledge of botany (and drugs) to survive in a forest landscape where tributes from District 3 would generally struggle to survive and coming home despite all odds. Him being dragged into the games all over again barely a few years later.

Ashlyn, Aiden, Tyler, Marianna, and Logan being allies in the games. Ben, Taylor and the others working with District 13 to get the victors removed. Aiden and Tyler being the ones lost to the Capitol. Ashlyn, forced to be a symbol. Taylor becoming more angry and vicious because she has lost her whole family at this point. Aiden and Tyler coming back not quite right, not fully human. Alex Laurier taking on a bit of a mentor role for Ashlyn like Boggs did for Katniss, warning her not to trust Maverick.

Ashlyn and Aiden helping each other heal, the gang and their parents coming together in the end and helping each other heal because they were still kids by the end of it all, even if they were never truly allowed to be.

IT FITS THEM SO WELL, I'M GONNA GO CRY IN A CORNER WHY DID I THINK OF THIS? 😭

[doseofthreecuties]

        ❛ Do you really think you've won, Laura? You killed me and you lied to the police. But here I am, haunting you, ruining you still. You'll never be free. I will never let you go. ❜

gif set for "asked for death, but instead I'm awake" fanfiction (author: @bebx)

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

preview ~

memes!

[cerealforkart]

You know what sucks? I live in a timeline where Hunger Games AUs died out but I still have to see Harry Potter AUs every other day

[shroommush]

So. I made a whole rant post talking about a fic of mine, and when i tried to post it, tumblr decided NOPE, and ITS GONE NOW. So im not writing all that again, but heres a link to a doc thatll explain it so i dont have to sit here and write it all again

(This was copied from a rant on discord, and my friend was running out of time for me to explain the fic, so i kinda got a little rushed around the end. But i was going into way too much detail in the first place, so its fine.. sigh...)

Anyways, heres some comics and art i drew of the fic, cause i love and adore them so so much and NEED to share them with you

I hope you all enjoy "A way out of this slimy situation" or, AWOOTS

And two more drawings, cause thmblr has a ten image limit per post (ill reply to this post with another comic for AWOOTS, but it'll make more sense with context so PLEASE go read the doc if you havent already, you will be very confused otherwise)

[owl-with-a-pen]

Weightless, Kara coasted across the stratosphere of a broken world. Static still bristled at the corners of her vision, enough that even from far above, there were pockets she wasn't able to decipher past the fog. With a gasp, she burst forward with unmitigated strength, throwing herself into orbit.

Up and up she flew until, finally, she settled somewhere that direction no longer mattered - cradled by the infinite lull of the universe.

And yet the pain still found her. The memories. Flashes of blood and death and destruction. A blaring heat at the back of her mind, ringing in her ears until the pressure was too much to bear. A blast of raw energy that had erupted from her eyes, blown to astronomical scale by the technology Father had designed just for her.

Destroyed. How could they all be… gone? How was that possible? How had she… how could she…?

Legs curled tight to her chest, Kara felt no more than a child held static by the void. The same child who had been marched up and down Kandor’s vast hallways for years on end; measuring her strength, her speed, her dexterity through rigorous training cycles led by the holographic foes that had been pasted to the indistinguishable bodies of Father’s Primus drones. Her mind, of course, had been exercised to the same extreme – a most powerful tool, Father had praised. Encouraged by his enthusiasm, she had read from data crystals at his console for hours at a time, covering endless topics in both theory and practice until he had decided she was finally ready for her most important lesson.

Of the worlds soon to be welcomed by the New Kryptonian Empire.

Kara pressed her palms against her eyes, forcing herself into those softer memories.

She’d learnt first of Thanagar – how to speak in their crude tongue, or to fly in the same undulating method as though guided along by a set of her own burly wings. It was less dignified than the freedom of movement a Kryptonian had against gravity, and yet Kara had revelled in its exciting and unpredictable nature, the way it would make her stomach flip with every sudden dive or sharp swoop. She had laughed loudly alongside other Thanagarians, joining them on migrations, watching on as they had welcomed technological advancement alongside their centuries-old traditions. She had sat down with Thanagarian elders, staring transfixed as they had whittled figures of their Wingmen from great trunks – an order held in high esteem, expected to police a world that had once prevailed without the need for such intervention.

They struggle, Father had told her, to find order. Their construct is failing, their ideals… inefficient. The Kryptonian Empire would bring them the perfect order that they crave.

Kara’s eyes widened behind her hands, that same numbness from before creeping back into her mind. Placating her. Assuring her…

Their planet had been beautiful. She had found joy there… high up in the sky along with the other children.

Children.

Kara squirmed against the void, a whimper lodging itself deep inside her throat.

Soft memory. The planet was mesmerising, with vast cities, limitless oceans and stone perches set high into the sky to witness the most tranquil sunsets. Statues stood tall out in open water, meticulously crafted by sculptors over years, their chisels held steady against the hefty beat of their wings.

And on the ground, beneath the ocean floor, caves had stretched for miles, whistling their own tunes, smelling of salt water and…

Flush with Nth metal deposits, Father had informed her once with a grounding hand. A long time ago. Going to waste on limited minds undeserving of its uses! Seize the planet for the Empire, Daughter, and strengthen our own resources in the process.

She had demolished senselessly for… for resources?

No. No. That couldn’t be it. That wasn’t true.

Soft memory. What of Euphorix? A matriarchal society, Kara remembered, one that had welcomed her with open arms. Father had not joined her there. She had been free, for a time. The Euphorians had not been in need of a new order as he had described. They’d had their own already.

And Kara… desperate for a planet to call her home, had nearly fallen for their…

False ideology.

She cringed, burying herself further away.

They will welcome you without question. The perfect unsuspecting ally. An alien with much to learn. But you will learn of them, using the powers they do not possess; study their battle strategies, their vulnerabilities. Find out everything you can about them and exploit it. Do this, Daughter, and the New Empire will be forever in your debt.

Kara shuddered. The Empire, of course, she had done it all for the…

H’lven had been next. A juvenile planet made of half-breeds, rodents who had evolved similarly to how apes had on Earth. Kara had found their easy way of life hypnotic, a simpler means to exist. She had studied their rituals as instructed, their holidays and their hibernation periods. Although, Father had been most intrigued by the latter…

Take their world while they sleep. Ensure no resistance.

Tears rolled down Kara’s cheeks and she clenched her fists harder against her face, shaking her head until her skin was raw against her knuckles. She had learnt their languages, their politics, their battles won and lost. Their tactical advantages, their disadvantages. Everything that might make them susceptible to attack.

All of it locked away behind false memories, or perhaps, distorted ones. Just like the wall on Thanagar, the glyphs carved into every planet face they had invaded. A mural immortalising the Kryptonian trickster who had lived among them before raining fire down from the sky.

Every planet, shy of one.

Kara gasped shakily, folding even tighter into herself.

Earth had been an outlier. Father had instructed her not to stray from her directive – all would come together in time. But she had been… impatient, more-so than with other planets. For this one had called to her, not to Father, to her. A message filtered through space, from one who called himself… Kal.

Hello. Uh, Kara… I don’t know if this will work, but if you’re out there and you get this message, I’m tired of being alone. I thought you might be too. Your cousin, Kal-El

The language had been strange to her ears at first, and while Father’s translation technology had made the words decipherable, she’d wanted to hear it for herself, in the language it had been intended for.

Earth. Not part of their plan – not yet - but English was one of the many languages stored in Father’s databanks. There must have been reason for that.

And so, Kara had sat with the Primus drones for days, speaking back the chaotic language that was English consonant by consonant until she had achieved fluency, the common vernacular. She’d needed to ascertain that there was no doubt for mistranslation, the message was too important to misinterpret.

Especially that word, the one this Kal-El had used as his sign-off.

And when she was certain, Kara had cried tears of joy for the first and only time that she could recall.

Cousin had meant family.

Thinking back, she wasn’t sure why she’d kept this from Father for so long. After all, would he not have been overjoyed to learn of another Kryptonian’s survival? To add to the ranks that they were sorely lacking?

He would. He will.

Then why? Why wait? Perhaps she had feared exactly what had happened. That even with the knowledge of another Kryptonian, a blood relation, he had still forbidden her from straying from their plan. The new Kryptonian was interesting, and he would prove an indisputable ally, but only when the time was right. And only when they arrived on Earth together.

You must learn from your mistakes, Daughter.

Kara nearly scoffed at the echo of Father’s words. Mistakes? How was she to know what mistakes had been made when they were locked behind a wall of static within her own mind? She had been instructed to embody the planets that they conquered, to take from them their tongue, their beliefs, their strategies, all to determine exactly how she might bring their downfall most efficiently. A Kryptonian was strong, but Father had wanted more from her. Power was not just in one’s physical traits, after all.

The perfect weapon must be astute both in mind and body. Kara, my daughter, you will be the essence of our Empire.

But how was she meant to embody a world without falling in love with it? The Thanagarians and their art, the Euphorians and their wisdom, the H’lvenites and their innocence. They were ideals she had fallen for, ideals she had been punished for daring to emulate.

A test of your loyalty, Daughter, Father had told her once, when the fog had again cleared intermittently from her mind. So that I know your will is unwavering and your allegiance to the Empire is without question. These are all… necessary extractions.

Kara’s chest caught suddenly, and the tears on her face rolled in globules out across the star-lit void.

That word. Extractions. She wondered suddenly if she was remembering it correctly.

But with everything she couldn’t grasp, the pieces she could only felt clearer for it. That memory was without fog. It was unmuted. Bold.

Father would have punished her for her keepsakes. For the recipe book she’d been gifted on Euphorix, the statue the elders on Thanagar had crafted just for her. He had believed her obsessions childish and inappropriate. Not fit for a warrior. But… Father had not been speaking of her small treasures, then. They were mere tokens, not extractions. And… if her memory was correct, he wouldn’t yet have known about them at all.

Kara wiped her eyes harshly, staring down at the broken planet beneath her, the stuttered clouds that swirled overhead, raining ash onto an empty world.

From this high up, she couldn’t see the elements of her destruction that had ravaged the planet, and yet in her heart she knew that a great deal was gone.

More than that. Because, as her eyes started to scan, slicing through the fog, she realised that it wasn’t just the city structures or coveted resources that had been eradicated.

Something else was missing.

More static. More deceptions.

Kara had knelt in the ruins of Thanalder, she had felt the rubble of the planet’s largest city beneath her knees, recognising the scorch marks on the stone as her own deadly assault. That had been real. She’d been so ashamed, so disgusted, that she’d sent herself reeling into the sky. There was only so much that could have been seen from ground level, anyway.

Now, though, she had the perfect vantage to see it all.

As much as it hurt, she forced herself to keep looking beyond the fog, to see past her soft memory. The static hadn’t yet receded completely, and there were still pieces hidden from her, obscured in pockets of lost time.

She scratched at the surface of that memory, focusing harder and harder until her skull ached with every rock upturned. No longer did she lie foetal and numb in the darkness, no longer would she allow Father to dismantle her memory for his own gain. He had taken more from her than she had ever known and… and more still from the planets they had conquered.

When the static finally cleared, a chasm opened somewhere inside of Kara’s heart, mimicking that of the city-sized craters she could now see carved from the planet’s surface, left to sully the landscape below.

A shudder passed down her spine as she kept staring, willing herself to understand.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, something Kal-El had said to her struck again so suddenly, she nearly choked.

Are all the planets in the New Kryptonian Empire like this?

He had been right to question it, Kara realised dully. Father had promised her an Empire, a new Krypton that she’d be old enough to protect this time around. But… who was left here to protect? What had Father taken?

Keepsakes. Like hers.

Just, on a much grander scale.

Fury clogged her throat, then grief, then an unbearable agony.

Hypocrite! her mind screamed.

Father had let her fall in love with planet after planet, given her that freedom, only to take it away every time he’d obscured her mind. And, when she woke, the things she had loved were gone. A token in their place.

But what of Father’s tokens, what of Father’s cities? They weren’t hidden in shame behind a wall. They were proud markers of conquest. Trophies. Displayed, somehow…

How could he have them on display?

But Kara’s memories didn’t lie, not any longer, and she remembered the spires of the lost cities of Thanagar, Euphorix’s capitol of Aesad, and the densely populated forests on H’lven. Neatly tucked together beneath ornamental glass domes…

Kara shook her head. It didn’t matter. It couldn't. They were gone because of him. They were gone because of her…

How long until Father pitted Earth just as he had the others? What city might he spare for his collection, his Empire?

Kara thought at once of Jimmy Flamebird’s face, the kindness and honesty he had offered her, and remembered the feel of his hand in her own. A frail, human hand, not even capable of bending steel, but he had extended it to her just the same.

What would happen to him now? The planet she had barely made time for in her haste to visit alone. There was still so much to learn from it, but Father’s crystals would offer her no insight now. He would only fog her mind again. If she returned to him now, if he learned of her defiance, everything she had discovered would be lost to her.

Even without a gravitational force, Kara felt something solid ball inside her stomach, pulling her down from the navel.

She couldn’t go back. She couldn’t go forward, either. She was… alone.

As she curled back in on herself, desperate to drive her demons away, she didn’t think she’d ever felt this small. “Kal-El?” she asked the void, picturing his face in the spaces between broken memory. When that failed, her voice faltered. “Clark?”

Kara didn’t expect an answer when she whispered, “What do I do now?”

[also on AO3]

[cassmouse]

I feel like I'm living my life like a tragic gay Scott Pilgrim fanfiction and I don't know how to feel about that

[glitter-alienz]

here's something I originally planned to make a comic for, but ended up on my empty ao3 account. it's uhh it's about 12 year old mikey's fear of bathrooms and 14 year old donnie trying to be when it's not in his nature.

i tried to make it as lighthearted and silly as possible, tho maybe at some point im gonna write about how evil donnie was as a kid (he was badd)

these two fight a lot but at the end of the day you are stuck with your brother so you have to love and forgive him and be nice and im totally not projecting my own issues with family on them what are you talking about?