#Subconscious Extraction

[onlinemarketingcash4ublogspotcom]

Mastering Social Media Analytics: Insights from a Leading Agency ABOUT THE EPISODE: In this episode, we delve into the intricate world of social media analytics with insights from a leading agency that employs a dedicated team of 137 analytics experts. Discover how understanding the unique dynamics of each platform is crucial for success in the digital landscape. With 2,000 employees, this agency demonstrates the sheer scale and importance of tailoring strategies for platforms like Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook.

https://www.onlinemarketingcash4u.blogspot.com Learn why the thumbnail on Instagram needs specific attention, how certain actions on TikTok can impact performance, and why carousel ads are currently a must on Facebook. This episode uncovers the shift from traditional marketing practices to a merit-based system where the quality of creative content is paramount. Marketers are now challenged to think beyond amplification and focus on creating content that naturally reaches and engages audiences. Join us as we explore the evolution of marketing strategies and the importance of leveraging analytics to drive success in today's competitive digital environment. Click here for this episode's website page with the links mentioned during the interview… https://www.salesartillery.com/marketing-book-podcast/mastering-social-media-analytics

[msvorderofoperations]

New dream diary.

This one was kind of odd in its tone. At times deathly serious, and others incredibly superficial. I dreamed that I was in a far future kind of setting where this game had kind of taken over the world at large for good and for ill. It existed in many forms: a miniature based war game, a trading card game, and mixed reality massively multiplayer online video game. I say mixed reality, not just as something that incorporates real world objects into itself, but as something that directly affects reality as well. It also conferred great powers on high level players. But I will get back to this in a bit.

Another aspect of this dream was that I was in a polyamorous relationship in a sort of hub and spoke system. Myself and a few other people were romantically involved with this one woman, but weren't really involved with each other. And for whatever reason, the polycule all lived together, except for the woman we were all romantically tied to. Some of them I got along with great, and we were good friends, but this one guy I did not much like at all and we pointedly tried to spend as little time around each other as possible. This is borne out at one point by this guy talking up how much time they are going to spend together the next time she visits, and I take him at his word. But when she arrives, she specifically wants to be with me.

This is awkward for a number of reasons, not all of them interpersonal. I had been prepping for a day to myself, playing a single player version of the card game which was offline but could still record progress and would update my associated stats upon the next time I logged in. I also had not fully bathed, and this is where the dream took a very tonally strange tangent. Instead of bathing at home like would be the sane thing to do, I instead find out about a fully automated robotic bathhouse in India, and opt to use it instead. Doing so involves me fully teleporting myself to the complete other side of the world, which I do as a lark. But in doing so, I forget to bring my shampoo, so my hair is still a greasy mess. And again, instead of just doing it at home, I feel the need to make the trip once more.

Unsurprisingly, one of the things our shared romantic interest wanted to do together was have sex. But in thinking I was not going to be partaking today, I gratified myself shortly before she arrived. Which the dude who lied about her being with him today (sorry that I don't have names here, my dream did not provide any so I have to describe everyone in terms of my relationship to them) makes fun of me for doing. Which, in addition to being shitty by itself, he implies that by doing so I am unworthy to be in a relationship with her because of it. For her part, she does not seem to pay this any mind. She is actually quite interested in the details, because she finds the idea of me touching myself to the idea of her very hot. From here the narrative starts to pull away, as for whatever reason my dreams will often be sexually charged but they almost never actually feature any explicit sexual content.

The narrative then takes on a more limited-omniscient perspective, showcasing the shared goings-on of the other members of the polycule as I am away with our shared love. Specifically, it starts with one of the people I am friends with investigating a recent, and hugely influential moment that happened in the MMO part of this game. It was a group activity that involved trying to stop the latest attack from the antagonist faction, which went about as bad as it could have. All of us had different roles and skill sets, which we had tried to apply as best we could to minimize the impact of this event. I will spare the unimportant details, but the long and short of it is the my role was the intelligence gatherer, and I found out what the object of this enemy incursion was. Despite being about a large scale attack across many parts of the in-game space, the main objective for them was a bomb, planted in a playground at a school. I tried to warn people of this, saying "Its a bomb, in the mirror in the playground." But for whatever reason my messages were becoming garbled and what people heard was "In the mirror underground" and no one could make sense of it, so they took it as being spam.

While the thing with the bomb was happening, the guy who was determined to undermine me was dealing with his own problems. He had proper heard my warning and had been trying to make his way to the school to either disarm it or evacuate. Unfortunately, he had run afoul of the bunch of extremely dangerous high-level enemy monsters. They were the weird giant worm-like things that could move shockingly fast, and had minor reality warping powers. Specifically, they had the ability to redirect kinetic weapons fire elsewhere, which was a big problem because that was the main way this dude engaged in combat. The last time he had fought these things, they redirected his bullets into another member of the polycule, and killed them. Vowing to not let that happen again, he instead tries to escape, but it proves very difficult as he has become surrounded. The one merciful thing about these worm enemies is that while they have incredible hearing and absurd reaction speed, they are completely blind. So while he can't find his way free or fight out, as long as he stays calm he isn't in much danger himself.

Eventually though, the time to stop the attack passes and the bomb does end up going off. It is discovered in the aftermath that the reason the placement went undetected was because the explosive being used is a new, novel compound that does not read as an explosive. It is functionally an inert mud in basically all circumstances, but once the catalyst is introduce it becomes a hyper-powerful energetic explosive. To the point that all it took to blow up this whole school was something about the size of a tennis ball. And the very weird thing is, the catalyst is blood. Any kind will work.

Also in the ongoing investigation, there is a secondary site where no lives were lost but has fairly significant structural damage. In winding back the game state to see how bad it actually is, he sees that a player was present at the time of the event. It turns out to be the guy who was trapped by the worms. It seems in his frustration at having not been able to stop the explosion, in the ensuing chaos after he went on a destructive rampage in a place where there were no people present and then used the editing powers granted to high-level players to make it look like it was done by the opposing faction.

When my time alone with my paramour comes to an end, my friend quietly confronts me with the information that the other guys was responsible for the secondary destruction. We are keeping it on the down low not because we place any blame on him, but because we see that this event has enormously effected him and that we want to try and help him work through what he's going through. So we opt to try and organize a group activity for the whole polycule.

While that is happening, the subject of all our affection tries to make good with the dude who is clearly Going Through It and low-key making it everyone's problem. She tries assisting him with other aspects of the game like the TCG and the miniature, but at every juncture, he brushes her off and intimates that he is better off alone. Which obviously is very upsetting to her.

In the meantime however, we have finished our planning for the group excursion. We opt for something simple in just taking a walking tour of an area downtown and sampling the food and drink available at the best places there. As we are are out and about, an incident occurs. In a shared roadway, a dude in a pickup truck doesn't stop for us, and I end up doing pretty intense damage to it to stop it before it hits anyone. In trying to fix up his truck in the aftermath, I end up kind of ham-fistedly apply the high-level editing powers that I have only recently been given access to. I try to restore the surface of the hood of the truck back to what it was, but end up incorporating the surface of the road and the dirt beneath into it's appearance. While my friend shows me more direct ways of utilizing the powers to more useful ends, the troubled guy goes to check on the driver.

It's at this point that this take a turn for the worse. The driver is fully unconscious, which is odd because the truck had been moving very slowly at the time of the accident. In checking his face against records, it turns out that this guys is a known collaborator with the enemy faction and is wanted by the authorities. As this is happening we have opened the hood to see if there was any damage to the engine that we can repair. And we find...nothing. No engine, no battery, nothing that would allow this car to move under it's own power. Just ruptured containers and what looks for all the world like clay soil. We quickly realize that this car was being used to smuggle whatever this substance is, and by hiding it in the engine bay and impelling it through unseen means, cursory searches wouldn't find it. Some kid grabs a chunk of it, and before anyone can stop him, all hell breaks loose.

In handling it and tossing it to himself, it hits a mosquito and it becomes abundantly clear what this stuff is. it explodes with a incredible report, and the whole scene erupts in incredible carnage. Because of how crowded this place had been, the viscera keeps reigniting it, all while the shock of the explosions push the remaining amounts of the stuff all over the place. It has a terrible cascading effect where is seems that there is no safe place to be. Even those off street level in the buildings above are succumbing to secondary and tertiary explosions. I am able to survive the initial blast and try to corral people to stem the tide of violence, but nothing seems to be working. While all this mayhem is going on, I see my love trying to save someone who has broken off from the group. And I see in excruciating detail as a rogue piece of debris catches her in the head and immediately and soundlessly kills her.

At this point I wake up.

[chronicowboy]

i have so much inspiration right now but it's like it's all being held by back by the world's daintiest paywall because of how many assignments i have

[gojoest]

i am feeling oddly anxious today o|<

[voidcat]

desperately need them to meet you dont get it

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ husband john price - 03

cw : angst, miscarriage, reader is on the chubby side

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as john sat in the middle of his living room, his head in his hands, he thought about everything that had turned to shit in the last few weeks. he was tired, his body exhausted from the deployment, the stress… the heartache. he couldn't go to bed—not when you wouldn’t let him comfort you as you cried. it was too much.

when he arrived on base, he went straight to his superior's office and told them he wanted to accept the desk job. no more deployments for him. he explained that, subconsciously, he had been training simon to take his place—he knew his lieutenant was ready. after hours of negotiations, they had finally accepted. now, he had to tell his team.

over the years together, task force 141 had developed a deep bond. john loved his boys, but he had other little boys waiting for him at home. he knew they wouldn’t be thrilled with his decision, but they’d understand.

to say they had been shocked would be an understatement. they knew john was getting old, but this was sudden. he had never really expressed any desire to leave the field. simon even went as far as asking if his wife had put him up to this, to which john just laughed, telling them you didn’t even know. it was going to be his little surprise when he came home. he also told them about the new baby. they had been excited about the news.

"tryin’ tae build a whole fitba team there, captain? poor missus cannae catch a break wi’ a bear like you," johnny had said, hugging his captain over the good news. john had received a pat on the back from simon and another embrace from kyle. he was going to miss them.

"let's go out with a bang then, captain, yeah?" kyle had said. one last assignment, then he’d be home for good, right?

how could he have thought it would be this easy?

their intel had been a setup, leading them straight into a trap. chaos ensued—the team was split up, communications were cut, and they were deep in enemy territory. they were being hunted. what should've been a quick extraction turned into three weeks of survival. john had been on his own. he'd seen simon dragging an injured kyle, and that gave him hope they were still alive. he'd prayed johnny had made it out too.

what john hadn’t known was that the rest of his team had made it back within days. no word from their captain for weeks, and the higher-ups had been forced to declare him missing in action. mia. three words that sent a chill through every soldier's spine. sometimes, being dead was easier. after the shitshow that went down, command had strictly prohibited any attempts to mount a rescue.

that was why you had opened the door to three men one morning. you had never met them, but you knew. they didn’t need to say a word. if it hadn’t been for simon’s reflexes, you would’ve dropped to the floor, hard. small pattering feet made their way to the front door, drawn by their mom’s sobs. johnny had rushed to them, telling them he was a friend of their father. pulling them outside to play, he reassured them everything was okay. they were too small to notice the tears in his eyes as he gently guided them out.

simon had dropped to the floor, you still in his arms. he wasn’t one for physical touch, but after john’s disappearance, he had needed comfort too. he had never been more grateful for his balaclava than that day. kyle stood in the entryway, quietly letting the tears fall down his cheeks. he had been the one to notice.

blood, running down your thighs.

everything had been a blur to you. one moment, you were happy at home with your children, and the next, your life had completely fallen apart. alone in the room, you had barely listened when the doctor explained that your baby was gone. you had had a "spontaneous abortion, induced by a significant physiological or emotional stress event."

at least your baby was with their father.

at the same time, your husband had returned from the dead. after long weeks of running and hiding, he had found an old radio and fixed it up. he had cried upon hearing laura's voice from communications. a few hours later, he was back on base.

he had been rushed to the med bay—tired, malnourished, with some wounds still healing—but he was home. he asked about his team.

"yeah, they made it home, captain. we were all waiting for you," the sweet nurse had told him before he closed his eyes.

when he opened his eyes again, he was still in the med bay, but kyle was there. the sergeant had a small smile on his face, and john could see tears filling his eyes—just as there were surely tears in his own. he asked about the others, and kyle reassured him that they were all okay. after years together, john knew there was something else. kyle took a deep breath, and then he spoke.

"it's your wife, captain."

that's how he ended up here. on his couch, in the middle of the night. aside from your heartbreaking sobs, the house was quiet. your children were with their grandparents; john hadn’t seen them yet. he had been told that they didn’t know their dad was missing—they just thought their mum was sick and needed to be left alone.

sighing, john made his way toward his bedroom when he could no longer hear your crying. maybe you had fallen asleep. you both had come home today. you’d been told john was alive and well while you stayed in the hospital for a few days. you knew your anger was unjustified, but you just couldn’t move past it. your mind was playing tricks on you: if john hadn’t been away, your baby would still be safe and warm in your belly. deep down, you knew it was wrong to think like that, but you were heartbroken and didn’t know any better.

you stilled when you heard the bedroom door open. the last time he tried to comfort you, you had screamed terrible things at him—things you regretted, but it was too late. as he got closer to the bed, you realized you were longing for his embrace. just to feel him close, his arms around you. so when he got into bed and reached for you, you let him.

you let him pull you toward his body, even though it wasn’t your husband’s body. not the one you knew. he had lost so much weight; it had been years since he’d been this skinny. you hated it. it reminded you of all the things that had happened, all the things he had been through to come back home. you started crying again. the feeling of his arms tightening around you only fueled your sadness. you had been so cruel to him, but yet, here he was.

"shh, my love," john whispered softly, tears of his own running silently down his cheeks. "i promise everything is gonna be alright." if you hadn't been with him for so long, you would have missed the hurt in his voice. more tears streamed down your face.

you had both lost so much, but you trusted him with your entire body and soul. he promised everything was going to be alright, and you believed him.

[mediumgayitalian]

He doesn't quite wake up with the sun.

Well, not literally.

When Will first stirs Nico is still deep in the trenches of his own subconscious, and tonight it is sweet. Tonight he can smell the magnolias in the forests of the South, where he wandered for hours, learning to be comfortable with the size of his hands and the weight of his feet on the ground. Tonight he can hear his sisters' humming, both of them, Hazel's high, sweet voice with Bianca's baritone. He can feel, even, the warmth of his duvet, heavy around his shoulders. None of it makes sense, not together, but it is comforting regardless, and he does not want to leave.

He does not get much choice, in the end. The dawn's sun beams softly through the open windows, and beside him Will wiggles, eyes narrowed carefully as he tries to extract himself from the cage of Nico's arms without waking him. Nico blinks the bleariness out of his eyes, and sees the edge of Will's tongue peeking out of his mouth.

"Y'coulda jus' woken me."

Will jumps.

"Aw, shit. I almost had it this time."

Nico's eyes slide back shut. "Not even close," he snorts.

"I was so. I was up a whole twenty minutes before you sensed it like the little sonar you are."

Will's padding footsteps sound louder than they really are in the quiet morning, echoing off the frigid marble; Nico exhales slowly and maps his steps in his mind: his trek to his drawer in the cabinet, rooting around until he finds his scrubs, his six quick steps to the ensuite, his muffled crash and poorly muffled cursing as he stubs his toe, like he does every morning, on the edge of the doorway.

"Mother -- fucker," Will hisses, clamping his teeth shut at the last minute.

Nico smiles.

He doesn't realise he has fallen back asleep. In his dream, he still hears Will's footsteps, still sees his shadow through the shade of his eyelids as he passes, fluttering from one edge of the room to the next. In his dream there is still the ruffle of the bandages wrapping against his wrists, the tear of a brush as he yanks it through his perpetually-tangled hair. In his dreams Will his humming, terribly off-key, to a song that has not yet been invented.

In his dreams their room is made of hardwood floors and gigantic windows, on an apartment across the street from Mount Sinai. Their blankets smell like peppermint and magnolia body wash.

"I'll see you later," Will murmurs, pressing a kiss to his forehead, his temple, his cheek. In Nico's dream there is a pressure next to him as a hand leans into the mattress. Will hovers above his face. In his dream he smells toothpaste. "I'll be back before you're up, Sleeping Beauty."

"You will not," argues Nico weakly, and his huff is swallowed by Will's teasing grin.

"Love you."

Twelve footsteps to the door, rubber soles slapping the hardwood. The obsidian doors scrape open, and when Nico blinks awake again, they are closed and cold, and the sun is brighter.

He smiles, and goes back to sleep.

[crescenthistory]

could i pretty please with a cherry on top ask you to argue for dialogue prompt 62 with sirius?? 🥹🤭

you absolutely can<33 this is a bit angsty but mostly in the bittersweet way, i promise. i just adore the thought of sirius falling for a slytherin during the war and learning to understand and forgive his brother through them...

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will ARGUE for prompt 62 "this means war, my dear" with sirius black

carina's 2k celebration

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

cw: fem!reader, hurt/comfort, pre-established relationship, background wizarding war, reader was friends with the slytherin skittles, implied death eater barty

wc: 1k

Sirius was always the best of the bunch to distract you.

When the meetings became longer and more frequent and when you felt you were spending more time at various safe houses than in your own bed, Sirius had become the one you would subconsciously turn to. Whether he realised the position you had accidentally bestowed upon him or not, you did not know, but he seemed to readily accept it regardless.

Prior to the Order, you never really spoke with Sirius Black, being a year below him and close friends with his little brother and the other Slytherins. Had someone told you four years ago that you would seek him out in corners and laugh quietly together, you would have thought them mad and, perhaps worse, thought yourself a traitor.

Yet, here you were. 

When you excused yourself for a glass of water, there was Sirius, ready with the cup. When you got up to pace by the window, he would sit down in the windowsill, so you weren’t alone. When you could not sleep at night, you went to the living room where you almost always found him sitting with some beat up guitar, playing some tune you never knew.

It remained unspoken, but you reckoned he kept you tethered more than you’d care to realise.

Dorcas was with you in the Order, but it was in part because you were such close friends that you struggled turning to her. So, it became Sirius. You weren’t sure how, when or why, but it became him.

Dumbledore had called the Order together to spend the weekend in Potter Manor, planning an extraction of muggleborns that were held up in Southern Wales by some death eaters there. Officially, you didn’t have any names on death eaters involved yet, but from the minute Moody described one of them as having “acid green hair”, you were mentally checked out for the rest of the day. Everyone knew, you could tell from the weight on their eyes on you, but you couldn’t focus.

You excused yourself early, and found yourself sat on the floor in front of an old record player that had gathered dust, looking through the piles upon piles of records, not really seeing any of them.

A beat up pair of black boots came into view seconds before he spoke. “Some music to drown out your thoughts?”

You looked up to meet Sirius’ eyes, already hearing the joking tone in his voice and relieved to find the same atmosphere on his face. He crouched down next to you, so you wouldn’t have to strain your neck and bumped his shoulder into yours. “What’re we listening to, princess?”

He questioned you, but he didn't hurry you, allowing you to take your time to process your thoughts and connect your mind back into a conversational mode. You gave him a weak smile. “I don’t really know, I haven’t looked at them properly yet.”

Sirius had the grace not to comment on the fact that you had been sitting before the records for a good 20 minutes – on the contrary, he looked completely unphased, still smiling that easy smile of his. The more you got to know him, the more the suspicion that it wasn’t all that easy settled into you. It only made you more grateful to have it bestowed upon you.

“Well, this is Uncle Wulfric’s collection mostly, so it’s quite outdated. None of the David Bowie, Freddie Mercury crowd, but I believe he has some Andrews Sisters, Glenn Miller and the likes.”

You sometimes forgot that Potter Manor was as much his house as James’.

“Oh, that’s alright.” You didn’t quite recognise your own voice as you spoke. “I don’t really listen to a lot of Bowie anyway.”

Sirius turned on his heels to you, grabbing your knee with one hand and his chest with the other as he gasped theatrically. “You simply cannot say any such blasphemous words to me, princess, I’ll have a stroke. I’m terribly sorry, but this means war, my dear.” 

He nodded at you gravely but squeezed your knee to show it was all in jest. You surprised even yourself when a laugh bubbled up past your lips, rumbling your body in a delightful way. 

Sirius’ eyes widened along with his smile as he took in the sight. His eyes read mission accomplished and you deigned not to think too much about its implications. 

You held your hands up in surrender as the mirth continued its dance across your face. “Fetch me a white flag to wave, would you? We’ve got enough war on our hands without me angering the Almighty Music Knower.”

Sirius dropped his chin to his chest and chuckled, looking up at you through his stray dark curls and long eyelashes.

“What do you say then, pretty girl?” He squeezed your knee again. “Can I put on some Ella Fitzgerald for you?”

Your eyes followed his gaze to the Fitzgerald plate propped up against the side of the record player. It seemed well-loved. “You may,” you said with faux recession, to which Sirius’ grin became more beaming.

He leaned over past you, putting his knee down on the ground right beside yours to reach the record player and pop the plate on with skilled precession – a comfortable action, one he has done many times before. You didn’t move to give him more room, instead you allowed him into your space, basking in how it seemed to ground you.

Sirius smelled like his shampoo and leather jacket, even when he wasn’t wearing it, and though his skin was cold whenever it brushed yours, you still ached for its proximity. 

This odd feeling going through you was perhaps something to look into after all of this, when the only war that was waged was the one between you and Sirius apparently, over what music to listen to. For now, when he gave you a smile that was equal parts fond and reassuring, you simply did your best to return it.

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Kinkmas (4)- Cookies And Cream

Wanda X Reader 18+

Summary:  Whilst attempting to bake festive cookies with Wanda, the two of you end up getting a little 'distracted.'

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings/Tags: Fluff, Christmas Cookies, Baking, Smut, Dom Wanda/Sub Reader, Fingering, Magic Strap on, Spanking, Multiple Orgasms, Kitchen Sex, Hair-pulling, Brief Choking, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Rough Sex

Kinkmas Masterlist

---

A soft hum left your lips as your body subconsciously swayed to the tune of the Christmas music softly spilling from the speaker, your hands carefully placing the tray of cookies into the oven ready to bake, your smile stretching at the festive shapes of them. Your personal favourite was the Christmas tree shaped ones, your mind running wild with ideas of how to decorate them, hands instinctively opening the cupboards to grab the ingredients needed to decorate the various styles of sugar cookies.

Wanda had helped you use the range of cookie cutters, the two of you having fun with trying all of them out, the tray swiftly filling with bare snowmen, stars, Christmas trees, Santa hats and more, smiles engraved onto your faces the entire time you were together.

As you were opening the bag of icing sugar to make the various colours to decorate with, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to her body as her head rested against your shoulder, watching your hands measure out the appropriate amounts for each bowel.

"Hey Detka," Wanda murmurs after returning, having taken off her thick jumper which leaves her in a simple black tank top and the matching pair of pyjama pants you convinced her to wear, your gaze briefly wandering down to where her bare arms were snaked around you.

"Hey love," you whisper back, tilting your head to the side for a kiss, pecking her lips innocently before returning to the task at hand, silently relishing in the comfort her body provided. Her body stayed glued to yours as she watched you make the first bowl of vibrantly coloured icing, you relaxing against her embrace momentarily as her hands slid under your shirt, caressing the skin in an affectionate and tender manner, fingers gently drawing idle circles against your warm body.. "Does my sous chef want to help again?" you murmur after a while playfully, lolling your head back against her in demand of another kiss, craving another after all the 'hard' work you put in to make the dish filled with green icing.

She smiles and chuckles softly against your lips, her arms that were snaked around you slipping away as she moves to stand opposite you at the kitchen island, her eyes sparkling with mischief. You want to be disappointed at the lack of physical touch as she moves away, bringing with her the items needed to help you make the frosting for the cookies she was eagerly waiting to taste, but the look in her eyes distracts you.

"Sous chef?" she asks humorously, both of you knowing exactly who the true chef was between you. "Are you sure about that, Detka?" Her tone amused as she slides a spoon out of a drawer, ready to mix in the milk and vanilla extract into the powdered sugar, your smile engraved on your face as you can't help but stare at her adoringly.

You hum in response, biting down on your lower lip to try and suppress your smile, Wanda letting out another angelic laugh as she shakes her head at your antics.

The room is then encased in the festive spirit once again as the two of you work silently, enjoying the tranquil atmosphere as Christmas songs fill the air. Your eyes occasionally meet, her green softening at your loving gaze as you watch her make the bright red coloured portion of icing, the white gradually turning the desired colour as the colouring is swirled into it. Your gaze however swiftly flickers over to her arms as she stirs the spoon in the thick substance, forearms flexing slightly as she drags the spoon through it, the vein in her hand protruding slightly causing a series of sinful thoughts to briefly flicker across your mind. God her arms were sexy.

You managed to keep your thoughts at bay to a certain extent, the smirk playing on Wanda's lips implying she'd still heard them, but you didn't notice that as your gaze travelled higher up her toned arms, watching how the muscles moved subtly. Your attention was only diverted away when she moved to cross her arms over her chest, consequently pushing her breasts up, your gaze briefly flicking to them before meeting her gaze with a sheepish look, her brow raising at your red cheeks.

"Enjoying the show?" she teases, chuckling softly as you return to making another colour of icing by adding the orange food colouring for the snowmen's noses, acting coy.

"I always do," your tone soft as you meet her gaze again, the green enticing you in and luring you into staring at them forever. You'd always watch Wanda make the dinner for the two of you, usually sitting on the countertop as she explained the dish, occasionally teasing you about your lack of cooking skills to which you'd always laugh at.

The gaze lingers as you continue to get lost in the eyes you love so much, a wave of arousal flooding through you when you notice them darken, an idea entering your girlfriend's mind as your legs squeeze together as she looks like she wants to absolutely ruin you. When her mouth parts slightly, you expect her to tell you what to do, to order you onto your knees or bend over the island, but instead she merely teases you, wanting you to be desperate before giving into your fantasies.

You watch with lust filled eyes as she swipes her finger into some of the white icing left, the sweet treat slowly dripping down her finger as she raises it to her lips, effortlessly sliding it into her mouth and moaning softly at the taste. Her eyes stay trained on you as her cheeks hollow slightly, tongue swirling around her finger to lick it clean, your own mouth parting at the sinful sight of her.

"Mhmm delicious," she hums out innocently, swiping another bit of the icing and repeating the action, your legs squeezing together harder at her sultry look. "Although," she starts, smirking a little as she pushes herself away from her position at the island, walking around it at a leisurely pace, revelling in how you watch every movement, every sway of her hips in an mesmerised manner, "I know something else that tastes even better." Her arms wrap back around your body, her mouth purring the words into your ear making you groan at her suggestive words, a surprised noise leaving you when you feel the strap on now placed between her legs, red tendrils of magic dissipating into the air after she conjured it.

"Wanda," you sigh out, pushing your body back against her and the toy, a low groan escaping her, the noise going straight between your thighs. "Fuck, is it...?'' Your words trail off as she grinds her hips into you, softly moaning at the shell of your ear as she can feel everything through the toy, her powers enabling her.

"Yeah," she husks out, her hands sliding down your body, caressing the skin at your waist softly before pulling your body back against hers, your hands gripping onto the edge of the marble countertop for support. "I can't wait to fill you up Detka," she rasps out, kissing your neck lewdly as you give into her, the incessant throb between your legs too much to handle.

"Please," you sigh out, lolling your head back against her shoulders, eyes peering up into hers submissively, "I need you inside me." Her lips instantly pressed against yours at the way you practically whimpered your words, her resolve quickly crumbling as she was just as desperate as you were at this point, her firm hands squeezing your curves as her hips pushed harder against you, pinning your body between her and the countertop.

"You want me that bad Detka?" She chuckles out lowly, teeth scraping the side of your neck, warm mouth pressing against your skin, the touch sending arousal straight through you, your hips pushing back against her to emphasise your want for her. You can feel her lips pull into a smirk as your actions, one of her hands sliding up your body to rest against the underside of your jaw, guiding your head back so she could ghost her lips against yours. "Tell me what you want," her tone dropping an octave, accent wrapping around the words and adding a gentle rasp as her green are utterly consumed by lust and desire.

"Fuck me," you sigh out, "Please," eyes fluttering close as her lips brush over yours, not quite pressing hard enough to give you the satisfaction of feeling them passionately moving against yours. "Bend me over and show me I'm yours," your tone a mere whisper, her mouth crashing to yours as she swallows the soft whimper that escapes you at the intensity of the kiss, tongue sliding into your mouth while her hands move to your pyjama pants, effortlessly sliding them down your legs.

With every touch, you felt your body burn at the sensation, heat building swiftly at the pit of your lower abdomen as her fingers slid your panties to the side, wasting no time in thrusting a finger into you, wanting to stretch you out.

The moan that escapes you is nothing but sinful, the pathetic noise eagerly swallowed by her mouth as she works her digit inside you, curling it perfectly against your sweet spot and causing pleasure to spark through you, your mind struggling to focus on anything but her.

Your knuckles bleed white with how hard you were gripping the countertop for support, hips trying their best to rock against her hands as she groans into your mouth at the way you already clench around her desperately, your mouth parting, lips lingering against hers but not kissing as a groan is torn out of you, her smirking against you at the noise. Her lips trail along your jaw as you struggle to kiss her back, her thumb reaching around your body to circle your clit a few times, your hips bucking against her as your legs try to squeeze around her hand, her other one easily parting your legs.

"Please," you moan out when she slides in another finger, thrusting them together inside you a few times before her free hand moves to between your shoulder blades, pushing your body forwards against the countertop.

Her magic slides everything nearby on the table out of the way, the red fading in the air as you're bent over the marble island like you wanted, hands reaching across to the other end as you knew you were going to need to grip onto something.

"I hope you know that I'm not going to be gentle," her tone is soft as one of her hands gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail, her eyes shamelessly raking over your body all ready for her.

"That better be a promise," you chuckle out, her hand tugging on your hair to drag your head backwards slightly, her other hands positioning the toy at your entrance.

A shaky breath leaves her as she feels how wet and aroused you were with the tip of the toy, the warmth and wetness fogging her mind as she teasingly grinds the toy against you another few times, waiting for you to plead with her.

"Wanda, please- Fuck," your words are cut short as she thrusts the toy into you with a powerful snap of her hips, a low groan escaping her at the feeling of you so tightly wrapped around her, her hips flush against yours as she savours the pleasurable feeling. A moan leaves you as she fills you up completely, fingers pressing hard against the countertop as she pulls her hips back until only the tip of the toy remains in you, a small, low curse leaving her lips before she thrusts it back in, both of you moaning once again.

The room quickly fills with the lewd sounds of your moans, pants and the sound of the toy repeatedly being drilled into you, her pace merciless and rough as promised, her hands gripping your waist tightly as she pounds into you in the middle of the kitchen.

"Shit," her tone low as her eyes can't tear away from the sight of her cock being swallowed by your cunt. "You're taking me so well Detka," she pants out, her hands guiding your hips into a slightly different position, the toy reaching even deeper inside you and hitting your sweet spot with every single thrust.

"Fuck," you practically scream, clenching around her hard and making her buck her hips into you roughly, a desperate noise being dragged out of her. "Just like that, shit, harder," you beg, her hand pulling on your hair harder as she somehow increases the force behind her thrusts, a broken noise escaping you at the pleasure that floods through your body.

Unable to stop herself, her free hand spanks you roughly, knowing just how you like it earning another loud noise to reverberate around the room, your eyes squeezed shut at the overwhelming feeling of pleasure consuming you.

"Please, again," you whimper, her hand roughly colliding with your other cheek, a red mark forming where her hand had just spanked, her dominance somehow making you even wetter at the mix of pain and pleasure.

The combination of her brutal thrusts and her harsh spanks clouds your mind, body acting on its own as you try to push your hips back in time with her movements, a string of moans and chants of her name spilling from your lips, your orgasm rapidly approaching.

"I'm so close," you pant out, another spank sounding around the room, your body jerking at the sensation, a whimper falling from your lips. "Please," her hips continue to snap into you, her hand still tugging on your hair, the other moving to hold onto your hips as she can tell you're struggling to support yourself, pleasure being the only thing your brain is comprehending.

"Come for me," she husks out, a guttural noise leaving you as you clench desperately around the toy, walls spasming around her as waves of pleasure and euphoria crash through your body. You fall over the edge into a powerful orgasm, body trembling in her grasp as she slows her thrusts down, a moan escaping her as she tries not to come in you just yet, her hips gently rolling into you. "Fuck," she curses, voice a mere pant as she feels you clench around her again, a small whine leaving you when she pulls out suddenly, hands moving your body.

A thrill is sent through your body when she manhandles you into a new position, having you sit on the edge of the countertop with your legs spread, eyes blown with lust as you watch her hungrily while she positions the toy back at your entrance.

"You feel so fucking good," she husks out against you, tilting her head to meet your lips messily, the kiss a clash of teeth and tongue as you passionately steal each other's breath away. You moan lewdly into her mouth as she thrusts her hips into you again, filling you up perfectly making your hands grip onto her shoulders, nails digging in. "All mine," she mutters, biting down on your lower lip and dragging it down, eventually releasing it before letting her tongue sooth over the dull pain, a whimper leaving you at the action and the feeling of the toy pumping in and out of you.

"Yours," you moan out, her lips relentless against yours, hips incessant as she chases her own release, driving you towards your second simultaneously. One of her hands goes to brace her body above yours, resting on the countertop, the other moves to your throat, fingers resting against the underside of your jaw as she directs you to look into her eyes, a new wave of arousal and heat flooding through you.

"You want me to fill you up, Detka?" She purrs, her rhythm starting to falter a little, speeding up as she nears her release, an affected sigh leaving you as the mere thought of her coming in you has your head spinning.

"Yes," you immediately reply, "Please do, please come in me," your tone laced with desperation and submission as she groans, crashing her lips to yours as your body nears your own release, ready to fall over the edge with her.

"Fuck, I'm coming," she groans, hips stuttering into you as thick spurts of cum fill you up, her hips pressing further into you as her body towers over you, pushing you harder against the island as a string of moans leave her. A moan spills from your lips at the euphoric feeling of her emptying inside you, thrusting gently into you as you follow her and crash into your orgasm, pleasure taking over all your senses as she hides her face at the crook of your neck, panting against your warm skin.

Ragged breaths take over the room as you relax against each other, one of your arms loosely wrapped around her shoulders while the other goes to her hair, fingers softly scratching her scalp, her lips tugging up into a small smile against your skin. Her arms have snaked around your body, pulling you close for a soft embrace as you both try to recover after your powerful orgasms, your head leaning against the side of hers as you remain locked in a state of bliss. Your eyes gradually flutter open, flickering away from the ruffled hair by your head to the clock on the wall, eyes instantly widening.

"Shit," your tone immediately grabbing Wanda's attention, head pulling away from the safety of your neck, "The cookies," the panic in your tone and wide eyes instantly causes Wanda to laugh softly, the angelic noise making your brows furrow as she simply kisses your forehead, chuckling as she lingers at the spot.

"I turned the oven off earlier Detka," she reassures, your eyes having missed the red tendril that ensured the cookies didn't burn while the two of you were preoccupied, relief flooding through you as you were rather excited to try them.

"Oh," you mumble a little shyly, her lips pecking your lips once more, the two of you inevitably smiling against each other, an idea popping into your mind as she still remains inside you, "Well..." You trail off, Wanda's brow raising at your tone, "As the oven is still off, we might as well have a round three."

Another chuckle leaves her as she shakes her head at your antics, kissing you softly and answering your question as she lifts you off the island, carrying you towards the sofa and pinning your body between her and the cushions.

"We might as well," she mumbles playfully, starting to thrust her hips back into you, moans filling the room once again as you lose yourself within each other once again.

The cookies were going to have to wait until later. 

[fatehbaz]

In just eight blocks of sidewalk in quiet neighborhood, walking through the not-quite-rain of a sunshower, today I encountered four missing shoe soles. Little pieces of plastic and rubber, detached from pedestrians' shoes, now lonely on the concrete, with the weeds.

No such thing, really, as a "weed", though. "Weed" is not a botanical term. Instead, describes perceived pests, at the discretion of the observer. At the discretion of the authority. Designated as weed by the one with power over that land. The agronomist, the rancher, the plantation manager. The weed wastes space that could otherwise be given to a monoculture cash crop, an "economically significant" plant. The weed interferes with the productivity of the plot of land. The weed interrupts the extraction. The weed diminishes the value. The weed doesn't belong in this place.

People are made to be weeds, too.

Some cities will designate you as a weed, and then they'll take action to pull you out. They'll uproot you. But it's not always explicit, like "we're outlawing loitering" or "we're outlawing taking a nap in the park" or "we're defunding the library". Sometimes it's quite clever, it's written into the physical landscape. Self-congratulatory "progressive" cities learn to co-opt language, to obscure the violence, to use and abuse space.

Thinking about things you might encounter, you might perceive, after you've been destitute, broken, lived at a homeless shelter, for years. Little signs of other peoples' misery. Indicators of desperation that some might overlook. And the way that environment shapes, and is shaped by, these miseries.

A friend asks "why is there always an unusual amount of scuffed detached missing shoe soles on this particular stretch of sidewalk? There are hardly any homes around here, it's all asphalt and empty lots, so where are all these be-shoed people coming from?" Because even though this is a wide expanse without either home residences or any kind of commercial or recreation space someone would want to visit, these blocks are the straight-line direct path between a low-income apartment complex and the cluster of corporate big box stores, and there's no bus line that runs between the two areas. "But don't the vast majority of customers of shopping malls and box stores drive vehicles, hence the obscenely massive parking lots?" Sure, customers drive, but guess who actually has to work at those places? An underclass of people living at that apartment complex with harsh restrictions and cheap amenities, who can't afford car insurance or who might be too physically disabled to bike. And so that apartment complex is a de facto "company town", the residents are essentially in confinement. It is written into that landscape. It can be read. "Why is there always debris, wrappers, coins, etc. in this particular quiet couple of blocks of the boulevard?" Because these blocks are between a thrift store and a same-day drop-in clinic, so many impoverished people will routinely be walking between these two locations. They attend their appointment, and then have forty-five minutes to kill before the bus comes back around, so why not check out the thrift store? The city and county collaborated and placed all the low-income assistance offices on the far side of town, which conveniently forces the poor and disabled to both stay away from the luxurious downtown district and also to waste their time making a four-hour commute, catching various connecting buses or else riding the bikepath, across the city just to attend a ten-minute-long appointment.

Then this spatial layout, this city's physical environment, will shape the physical body. This violence writes itself into the flesh. The way the denim is chafed and discolored on the left shoulder of someone's jacket from carrying a small backpack around by foot, day after day after day. The way someone's heart rate increases when they see a white and black vehicle in the periphery of their vision, subconsciously recollecting institutionalization and institutional abuse, or fearing what a ticket fee would mean for their budget (they might not be able to afford rent). The way someone develops a painful limp, maybe occasionally depends on a cane, because they had to walk great distances every day to get to work and their shoe sole fell off on the sidewalk, but they can't replace the shoes because their employer is underpaying them, and they're forced to stand all day at work anyway, and they already had some modest nerve damage in their foot because they've been rationing their insulin and can't afford their prescriptions, and federal medical insurance keeps denying them because their physical letters in the mail always show up too late or not at all, and groceries are too expensive so it's hard to get good nutrition to heal, but the diabetic nerve damage has by now damaged their digestive tract too so they have a strictly limited bland diet and can't enjoy the simple pleasure of a home-cooked meal (if they can even afford a home, at this point), and all those "little" miseries add up, and now they're hungry, and in pain, because they were forced to walk kinda funny for a long time over all those decaying sidewalks with all those other weeds.

[miguelhugger2099]

Him and I (2/2)

Summary: Lyla, is it normal to be jealous of your variant? Prev A/N: shout out to the literal artist of the recent 2099 comics for drawing atsv miggy and comic miggy side by side, it inspired this fic in the first place. TheWarBlazer on twt :) Comic!Miguel x Reader x ATSV!Miguel, SMUT, little PWP, Word Count: 6, 355 Comic Miggy = Mig / ATSV Miggy = Miguel c:

By morning, you had woken up slowly, processing where you were and what you had done the night before. Your hair was a mess and you pulled the covers around you when it slipped off, feeling a bit chilly. You looked around you to find yourself to put on, ultimately finding your panties ripped apart from yesterday so you just settled on loose shorts and Miguel’s blue t-shirt lying to the side. You noticed he wasn’t beside you but there was a smell in the air that told you he was at least still home and making breakfast.

You got up from the bed, making sure your legs worked still before peeking out the door to see if you could spot him. You turned your head from side to side until you finally caught him, leaning against the stove slightly in a compression shirt with sweatpants.

Miguel was there cooking up a basic breakfast of eggs and toast, taking a few sips of what you believe to be his protein shake. He glanced behind his shoulder to see you and he gently smiled. “Hey.”

You smiled weakly back at him, hoping he wouldn’t notice your cheeks darkening. “Hey. Morning.” You waved awkwardly.

Miguel chuckled and pointed to a bag on the glass table. “I bought some empanadas from the panaderia I go to. I didn’t know which one you’d like so I got both chicken and beef.” He faced back to the pan to scramble his eggs. You made your way over to the bag, opening it up to see another smaller set of bags labeled messily with Miguel’s handwriting.

“Which one do you recommend?” You asked, taking one from the beef label.

“The chicken.” He responded. You chuckled to yourself since the other Miguel preferred beef.

You walked over next to him and watched him work as you took a bite into the empanada. He turned and gave you a small smile, satisfied that you liked what he brought you.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked, turning off the stove and taking two plates from the cupboard. You nod.

“Yeah. Just, uh, starting to wake up.” You blush softly, remembering the scenes from last night. Mig hides the prideful smile on his face.

“That’s good. I’m glad.” He places a decent amount on both of your plates and leads you to the dining table where you both begin eating and chatting.

He admires you as you speak, finding the beauty in this new you that he once knew.

After a while, you and Miguel felt the air shift, mugs and utensils starting to hover a bit in mid-air. You stiffened, knowing what this feeling was. Someone was opening a portal. Someone found you.

You quickly stand up and Miguel follows with a worried expression. “What’s wrong?” He asks, on edge and his talons extract subconsciously to the unknown he felt around him. You don’t answer and instead face the door of his bedroom where the warping was. Your spider senses went wild but calmed down the moment you realized that this was another spider person–they weren’t threats but you were just shocked.

You take a step back, closer in front of Miguel in case whatever spider person would ask questions. What you weren’t prepared for, was your boss opening the bedroom door to walk where you two were.

There was the leader of the Spider Society in all his glory, Miguel O’Hara–the original version you knew.

“Miguel…” You gasped breathlessly in shock, barely a whisper. Shit. “He-hey!” You laugh nervously. “You, uh, wow–haha.” You were speechless, knacking your brain to say something–anything to explain yourself. “You found me,” you chuckled nervously. “Y’know–I–I was lost for a bit but um–thankfully–I found another spider person and–wouldn’t you know it– it’s another you. So I was…extra…safe…” You trail off, noticing how Miguel had stared behind you to look at his other variant. You glance behind you to see the redhead tense up, standing up straighter to not be intimidated by this other version of himself.

“Yes. I was looking for you.” Miguel grunts, still as hardworking as ever. “The others were worried.”

Your gaze softened, thinking of your friends and feeling your heart swell at their concern. “Yeah. But I’m safe and look,” You showed your watch up to Miguel, his eyes ripping themselves off his variant to your watch. “He fixed it for me. You two really are alike.” You smile.

“I–I was gonna go back, but the watch was just fixed. No communications and the touch pad wasn’t working–” You tried to explain but your boss cuts you off.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s great. Now we need you back.” He frowns down at you. Your smile drops and so does your heart.

“Well…well of course but–”

“But?” Miguel cocks an eyebrow up, his frown deepening. You purse your lips–even though you knew Miguel close enough, he was still your boss. You glance back at his counterpart apologetically and in turn he glances down at you.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper your apology to him and he doesn’t like it.

“You don’t have to go.” He whispers back to you, one hand resting on your arm and the other cupping your cheek. Neither of you notice your boss glare at the way he’s touching you. “You can go back whenever.” He insists.

“Actually she can’t,” The brunette's voice booms between you two. “She has a job to do as Spider-Woman–at the HQ.” He hisses out.

“But she wants to stay here. You can’t just make her.” The redhead retaliates. Miguel grows annoyed, kissing his teeth with a loud tsk.

“She isn’t yours.” MIguel grabbed your arm and tugged you towards his chest. The redhead grabbed onto your other arm and tried pulling you away from him, making you in the middle.

“She isn’t yours either.” He spat back. Both Miguel’s scowled at one another, your boss puffing up his chest to tower over both of you while his variant bared his fangs unwavering to his attempt to scare him off. “Did you even bother to ask what she wants?”

You look up at the redhead, even though he was facing off his counterpart–they could very well tear each other apart. “Miggy, just hold on–”

“Miggy?!” Your boss scrunches up his face, not even prepared to hear a nickname come out of your mouth for his variant. You blushed and opened your mouth in shock–the nickname had spilled out.

“Not–Not like that! It isn’t like that!”

“Not like that? What, so you just have sex with every variant? Give them pet names right after?” He raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms in a snarl.

You start babbling to defend yourself but Mig perks up.

“What do you mean by that?” He asks. You and Miguel both turn to him–you still flustered while Miguel scowls at his counterpart.

“What are you talking about?”

“How did you know we had sex?” Mig crosses his arms and narrows his eyes up at Miguel on the other side. You blink for a moment and then it slowly processes in your brain.

He…He watched. But how?

The watch.

You snapped your neck back to your boss and you see him clench his jaw but his eyes don’t look at down at you–the tips of his ears grow increasingly red.

“You watched,” Mig laughs, shaking his head in disbelief and throwing his hands up. “You watched,” He repeats. “You sick-"

Stubbornly, Miguel tries not to falter. “She called.”

But his own self knows better than that. “And you stayed.”

“I was making sure she was safe.”

“Oh, that makes sense. Making sure she could safely cum? Yeah, I handled that.”

“Guys—” You interrupt with pure horror on your face. “Can we please not?” You turn to face Miguel’s general direction but you don’t meet his eyes. “We can just forget about everything in the last twenty four hours and what happened here so–”

“I want you back at HQ,” Miguel grumbles, turning his head away from you but still protecting his masculinity and pride with his arms tightened around him. “Away from here and back to work.”

His counterpart scoffs a humorless laugh. “Now I get it,” He walks up to Miguel and pulls you behind him “You’re jealous.”

Miguel squints his eyes down at him. “What?” He growls but the other’s smile only grows. He’s figured him out. They have the same mind after all.

“Jealous,” He repeats. “Did you have some feelings for her? Is that why you’re here all pissed? Just cause I got to her first?”

“Don’t piss me off.” Miguel’s face hardens, his frown growing deeper and showing his fangs off to threaten him.

“Or what?” Mig growls back, his talons extracting from his fingertips.

Feeling the growing tension, you try to speak up since one Miguel was dangerous enough–two of them would be catastrophic.

“Hey–can we not, maybe?” You interject, moving beside Mig and trying to catch your boss’ eye. Mig turns his head at you for a moment and then grinning to himself as he comes up with an idea.

The redhead hugs your back close to his chest, one hand on your hip and the other sliding up his shirt you’re wearing to reveal your stomach to the brunette. “Mig!” You gasp, blushing fiercely and holding onto his arms. You look away from your boss in embarrassment, opting to hide in his variant's neck, which he happily allows. You fail to notice your boss’s breath hitch at seeing your bare skin and his pupils being blown wide. The Miguel behind you smirks even wider.

“We could share.”

“I don’t share.” He growls.

“So you do want her. Just for yourself.” Miguel doesn’t respond, his eyes focused on the way you squirmed under his gaze alone.

“Mig–Mig, please.” You whine when you feel his porcelain hand disappear under your shirt to cup one tit in his hand and run his thumb over your nipple.

“Stop that.” Miguel’s jaw clenched when his eyes met his match. Bright red eyes narrowing at his scarlet ones.

“I’m not stupid. I’m you. I know what you want,” The redhead murmurs, grazing his teeth on your earlobe. “What she wants,” His mouth curls up when he sees you purse your lips to hide your moans but he can feel your heartbeat. “What we all want right now.”

Mig looks up at the other version of himself, realizing that this one might not be as confident as he is. A by the rules asshole who was all about work, work, work. He was the same but not to this extent. However, if this Spider-Man was anything like him, all he had to do was wave the candy in front of his face and he’d crack. No matter the universe, Miguel O’Hara always grabbed what he wanted if the right buttons were pressed.

Your soft mewl snaps them both out of their mental warfare, two pairs of eyes looking down at you between them to see you look bashful and hot with embarrassment. For a moment, both men stop, equally concerned with putting you in the middle. Your boss feels the most guilt but Mig on the other hand feels less so. With his hand right by your heart, he can feel the heat emanating from your body and pounding heartbeat against your ribs. He has felt the same need and craving when you were squealing last night.

“Isn’t that something you want?” Mig hums, his hand on your hip playing with the string of your shorts. Miguel takes a firm step forward to stop him but was stopped when you nodded your head. Your eyes still shut while you felt your cheeks burning. Mig’s touch was intoxicating especially with the feeling of him on you from last night still lingering on your body.

“I need words, sweetheart.” He hums and you purse your lips for a moment.

“Yes…” You choke out.

“Yes, what?” Mig asks you but looks at Miguel.

“Yes, I want it…” You groan, feeling humiliated but it was exhilarating at the same time. The redhead slides his hand under your shorts to feel the new wet patch growing between your legs. Mig smirks as he remembers slicing off your panties last night. He nudges your legs, a silent command to spread them apart and you give him that access with shaky steps. He lets you relax on his chest while his fingers spread your folds apart while you whimper. Miguel stares at the hand in your pants with a blush across his face, fighting his two emotions of wanting to stop this and wanting to make you whimper like that.

Your boss’ variant bunches up your shirt over your breasts and you writhe in his hold, trying to gain some sense of decency while the two men basically get off on just the sight of you.

“You want more, don’t you?” Mig behind you purrs, his fingers in your shorts gently rub circles against your clit while his other hand tweaks and pinches your nipple. “Want to feel nice and full?” He kisses along your neck and you try to grind against his fingers, wanting them to slip inside but he was just teasing you. You moan softly, focusing on the feeling of electricity jolting down to your core.

“Uh-huh, mhm–please,” You whined. Miguel’s breathing increases and his suit strains to accommodate for the bulge growing between himself. His hands clench and unclench beside him as he itches to grab your body to feel the soft skin you could provide him. His eyes lingered on your tits and he licked his lips subconsciously.

“Hear that? She wants more. Isn’t that convenient?” The redhead chuckles, slipping his hand out from your pants and showing up with his fingers covered from the juices your cunt provided him. “You just gonna leave her like this? Or are you gonna help out your precious little employee?” He taunts Miguel and Miguel swallows the lump in his throat.

Miguel takes another step forward just enough to be in front of you and to feel the heat coming off you and his variant. He hesitantly rests his hand on your hip and you flinch, not expecting to feel a third hand on your body. Miguel’s variant raises his slick soaked fingers to your mouth and smears a bit of it on your bottom lip. You open up slightly but Mig had already slid them inside your mouth making your tongue taste yourself. You whine as best you could with his fingers in your mouth and look up at Miguel with shame. You felt your cheeks burning hot but your eyes widened slightly in surprise. Miguel stared down at you, huffing softly as he watched you suck your slick off his own variants fingers.

“Fuck…” He groaned and his grip on your hip tightened. “Can I? Please.” He bent over slightly, his breath hitting your face. The redhead behind you watched and then flicked your nipple when you didn’t respond fast enough. You yelped around his digits and felt them slip out, a string of saliva coming out.

You nodded again, reaching one hand off Mig’s arm to hold onto Miguel’s shoulder.

Miguel slides your shorts down, pooling them underneath you and moans when he finds you without underwear, his cock twitching in anticipation. His hand on your hip slides down to lift your leg up and he moves closer to rub his crotch against your core. The blunt nudge sent a jolt of pleasure through your body and you nearly fell back if Mig wasn’t holding you from behind. Miguel’s other hand rises up to cup your other breast, squeezing and kneading the flesh between his fingers.

“Ah–Fuck…!” You gasp and roll your head back against his variant's shoulder, your eyes barely glancing down at the two toned hands cupping and grabbing your body. You feel Mig thrust softly behind you, poking your ass while Miguel continues to grind up against your pussy. Your mind went foggy as you felt both men surround you, the fantasy of being taken by both of them sent your brain short circuiting.

The shirt you had been wearing fumbles back down, covering yourself once more. Miguel grunts in annoyance, letting go of your breast to rip the fabric into shreds with his talons that made Mig tsk. Miguel went back to playing with your nipple until he leaned down to latch onto it, flicking the nub gently with his tongue. You twitched and gasped, arching your back off Mig and into Miguel’s mouth. “Miguel!” You mewl and he groans in response, biting it with his teeth and pulling before letting go and watching how erect it had gotten, wet with his spit.

You hear Mig grunt behind you, bucking his hips against your ass to feel some friction for his cock. His arm wrapped around your middle to pull you against him, his lips dragged along your neck in open mouthed kisses and his hand returned to twist your nipple between his index finger and thumb. Miguel pulled away from you a bit so glance down at the soaking mess you made on his suit, his cock throbbing for more. So, he rips his variant’s hand off your waist.

Miguel then hauled you over his shoulder, returning back to the bedroom and tossing your body on the mattress, giving you a strange sense of deja vu. Mig rolled his eyes and followed behind your two and saw you on his bed once more. You squeak and cover your eyes when Miguel phased out of his suit and Mig tossed his shirt up and over his head. Miguel crawls in bed with you, his frame basically covering everything in front of you. You peek through your fingers and close your legs which makes both men frown. Mig crawls beside you, pulling one leg apart while Miguel takes the other. Mig takes your hands away from your face and settles for kissing your cheeks and trailing down to your jaw and collarbone.

“Don’t be shy,” He murmurs, his hands cupping your tits in his large palms. “You’ve already had one of us. What’s another one, hm?” You moan out when he plays with one nipple in his hand and sucking the other. Miguel kisses down your stomach, finding himself fond of your thighs, squishing them in his hands and grazing them softly with his talons. Goosebumps rise to your skin as his tongue teases just outside your pussy.

Miguel’s plump lips take your clit and he gently sucks on it, his tongue licking up and down and swirling around it. You quickly grip both Miguel’s hair in one hand and pull them closer to you body. Your mind didn’t know who to focus on first, it was like they touched every nerve possible and turned you numb, only to feel pleasure and nothing else.

Miguel pulls away entirely, spreading your folds apart to see the increasing amount of slick you were producing and he groaned. He slips a finger inside you pushing through from how tight you surrounded yourself on his digit. “Coño…” Miguel mutters. You spread your legs further apart, Miguel kissing the inside of your thigh appreciatively. Your head rolls back as the two men assault every possible soft spot on your body.

Mig twists your nipple between his fingers at the same time his mouth suckled around your other nipple. You felt his teeth nibble the bud, his fangs grazing over you delicately. Miguel continues to ease his finger deeper inside you, preparing you for another finger. You moan loudly, writhing beneath them desperately and it’s no use–not when two grown men are keeping you still with their weight and hands. You try bucking your hips further down Miguel’s fingers, whimpering his name and gasping. Miguel curls his fingers inside you, hitting the soft spot you’ve been craving and so you squeal in pleasure. Mig quickly lets go of your abused nipple to kiss you and hinder your moaning.

Miguel growls and glares at the redhead. “I want to hear her.”

“Mmm, too bad.” Mig chuckles against your lips and slips his tongue in your mouth. You could barely focus, face contorted in pleasure as Miguel takes it as a challenge. He dives back into your cunt, pumping his fingers while his tongue flicks up and down to lap up your juices. Your moans are muffled by Mig’s mouth but your hips buck wildly to meet your boss’ wet muscle licking you up. He pins your hips down so he can focus on eating you out properly and you whimper, your body completely hindered and at their command. His nose nudges against your clit and you claw into their hair. One hand in straight ginger locks while the other hand yanks on wavy brown strands.

Mig pulls away from your lips to take a deep breath, both your tongues and lips are wet from swapping spit. You’re breathless from the kiss so you stick to small whines and mewling as you hump yourself on Miguel’s fingers and mouth. He feels you convulsing around his fingers and he eases a third finger, scissoring you to stretch you out just a little more. “Miguel! Miguel! So close, I'm so close–please!” You beg, trying to fight against his hands holding you down.

But Miguel pulls away all of a sudden. The pressure inside your abdomen disappears and you groan in frustration. “No!”

“Tranquilo. You’ll get what you want.” Miguel mutters under his breath. He looks over at his variant, a silent conversation going on that only a Miguel would ever understand. Mig settles by your head, his cock strained against his sweatpants. You look over lazily at it and try to reach for his waistband but he stops you with a gentle smile.

“Not yet, princess.” He kisses your knuckles before dropping it back to your side. You’re confused for just a moment but you’re pulled out of it when you feel Miguel lift your legs over his shoulders. He lines his cock up with your entrance, his angry red tip dribbling an insane amount of precum. He glides himself in between your folds to lube himself up and your pussy throbs feeling how hard he is. Miguel huffs, his cheeks flushed as the lust clouds his judgment and mind.

Being as gentle as he possibly could, Miguel pushes his tip inside you. You gasp and arch your back, Miguel being just a bit bigger than you’ve taken before. Mig jumps into action, playing with your nipples while he runs kisses along your neck. “Hold onto me, mama. I’ve got you.” He murmurs. Your hand grips into his hair again while the other grips the sheets.

“Mig, Mig…” You whine while Miguel pushes further inside. Miguel rubs your thighs to ease you into some comfort and trying to stop himself from splitting you apart. Both men whisper sweet nothings to you, praising you for how well you’re doing and how good it’ll feel. Miguel rubs your clit in small circles while he reaches the hilt.

“S’good…” Miguel murmurs. “You’re doing so good.” He slowly pulls out, watching your pussy soak his cock. He strokes himself inside you softly as to not hurt you but, damn, was it hard. Mig tries to relieve your stress by bringing your nipple in his mouth again, his hands holding you and rolling your other nipple between his fingers.

You moan and arch your back, your hips lifting up to meet one of Miguel’s soft thrusting. That feeling you had last night of needing something more was slowly being quenched. Having multiple hands, multiple options of pleasure was just what you needed and it seemed like they thought the same. Miguel held your legs up while he picked up his pace, his balls smacking against the curve of your ass. You felt him stretch you out with every thrust, your pussy coating his cock with wet slapping and sticky echoes. Mig murmurs into your ear.

“Can you feel it? You take cock so well, look at you. You look so pretty getting fucked, hm? Oh, you poor thing.” Mig taunts you, his hands squeezing your breasts in his palms, your nipples and mounds having bite marks all over them. You wail and thrust your hips to meet Miguel's pounding, your cunt squeezing him tightly as you felt the same pressure of your orgasm coming up.

Miguel groans, panting and huffing to keep himself steady while he fucks you. His hand presses down on the bulge in your stomach, feeling his tip slide in and out and poke through your stomach.

For some reason, that was the final push you needed to cum–your pussy clenching and unclenching as you cream and cry around Miguel’s thick girth. Your legs shook in his hands while he rammed into you to prolong your orgasm. He pulled out before he could cum with his teeth clenched tightly while Mig let go of your tits and stood up from the bed. Miguel takes a few deep breaths as he watches you barely recover from your high. His cock was still painfully hard and now glistening with your cum. Your body was bruised– hickeys around your chest from Mig and tiny scratches on your legs and thighs from Miguel’s talons.

Miguel tugs you up and lies you on your stomach so you’re facing the foot of the bed. You feel him tap your thigh. “Knees. C’mon.” He mumbles and you weakly try to lift yourself up but Miguel grows impatient, settling for just picking up your bottom half himself. His calloused hands grip into your plush hips, carrying most of your weight. You see Mig approach where you are and you look up. He smirks down at you and narrows his eyes downward and you follow. You gulp and grab the sheets into your fists when you’re met with the sight of him stroking his cock softly. Your mouth drops open in surprise and you feel your mouth water. His tip was already red and leaking and you’re entranced with the way he rubs his thumb across the head to smear his precum as lube.

His other hand lifts your gaze back up at him with his thumb forcing your lips apart to open them. You blink up at him and his heart skips a beat at how pretty you’ll look with your mouth stuffed with his cock. The redhead looks at his counterpart from behind you, giving him a small nod and he returns one back.

“Be a good girl and open up.” Mig hums and taps his cock to your lips–he’s been waiting for this. You open up and stick your tongue out for him to slide onto. His tip feels heavy as he nudges himself deeper in your warm mouth, his breathing already increasing rapidly. Your lips wrap around his thick cock, nearly hitting his base but enough for the red hair of his pubes to graze your nose. He groans above you, struggling to force you deeper down himself and instead reaches for your hair to grab onto.

You feel Miguel behind you slide his cock back inside you, pushing himself to the hilt where his balls smack your sensitive folds and bumping your forward, making you choke on Mig’s dick. The redhead hisses and grunts, yanking you back. “Be shocking careful.” He growls at Miguel but he ignores him. Miguel’s mind is somewhere else entirely, his eyes haven’t left your ass. He grips each cheek in his hand and bites his bottom lip, his fang piercing the skin for a second.

“Que bonita eres,” Miguel praises, tugging you back against his pelvis and making his cockhead arch up into your sweet spot. You shook and rolled your eyes back, nearly falling apart if it weren’t Mig holding you up. You clamp down on his cock instinctively which makes your boss choke on his gasp.

“Shit–she’s still tight.” Miguel moans, rocking his hips against your ass. “Relájate, mi amor–así, así.”

Your body moves after every push of Miguel’s thrusts–pushing you back and forth on the cock in your cunt and the cock in your mouth simultaneously. Mig moans in turn, the vibration from your own whimpering runs down his length for stimulation. His hand keeps a tight grip in your hair to make sure your head stays up and sucking. You feel your neck strain to look up while both men use your body for their own pleasure.

Sounds of slurping, squelching, and moaning surround the room. You could hear the quiet grunt of Mig while Miguel was a little louder, groaning and muttering things under his breath. You thought for a split second that Miguel was little more rough on you than his counterpart–or maybe it could’ve just been because it’s his first time fucking you. You didn’t care honestly.

You tried to focus on the Miguel in front of you, his dick filling your mouth and his tip occasionally poking the back of your throat and making you tear up. Your tongue swirls around him, gagging a bit and leaving copious amounts of spit on him. You glide your tongue under a throbbing vein of his and he hisses above you, his hand pulling your head forward to take him deeper and slapping his balls on your chin. “Fuck, I should’ve made you do this earlier–” He moans. “Should’ve known those pretty lips would do some good sucking me off.” He thrusts a bit faster and you can practically feel him swell up at the thought.

You moan around him, spit dribbling out your mouth and down your chin. You could taste the new flavor of his salty precum on your taste buds and the natural musk of his cock. Your jaw began to feel sore from being stretched open to accommodate his girth. Mig’s hand tried to shakily push back the stray hairs that had fallen in front of your face. “That’s it, gorgeous. You’re doing so good for me. You like that? Feeling full, hm?” He teased, knowing you couldn’t even answer if you tried.

More saliva accumulated inside your mouth and you moaned around him pathetically as your response. You pussy clenched from his teasing which made the brunette behind you groan and pump himself faster inside you. He held your hips tightly going fast and short strokes which increased the sound of skin slapping on skin. You focused your eyes up at the redhead until your eyes widened feeling a hard smack to your ass.

You whined around Mig’s cock, feeling the tears prick in your eyes from pain and pleasure while Miguel behind you left a few more slaps to your ass before squeezing it in his large hand. Mig looked over at his counterpart fucking you from behind, kneading the plump flesh while he bucked wildly like an primal animal. Miguel’s eyes were clouded with raw lust, focusing on the way your ass jiggled and rippled with every pound and slap, how you mewled around his variant’s cock and how your previous orgasm made it so much easier to slip in and out of you.

God, you were perfect, Miguel thought to himself. So desperate and so willing to have not just one of him but two. “So greedy,” He murmured between heavy breaths. “Just had to have two cocks, huh? Just one isn’t enough—couldn’t settle so you wanted me to fuck you, is that it? Needed your boss to cum inside this weeping cunt?” Miguel groaned and lolled his head slightly back while his hips began to speed up. His cock swelled inside you, his balls tightening for release but he held back–just a little longer, it feels too good.

Your eyes rolled back, unable to keep sucking the redhead dick anymore with how their teasing and talking sent you in overdrive. Drool leaked out of you and you felt your pussy gush more juices on him and down your thighs. Mig pats your cheek to wake you up out of your cock-drunk haze.

“Head up, princess. Keep sucking, I’m so close.” He moans, grabbing the back of your head and shoving you up and down on his length.

You were made for this, both Miguel’s decided. You knew just how to please them, your pussy was already carved in the shape of their cocks, your tongue knowing exactly how to suck. Now that they had you, they were never letting go. Maybe there are some things Miguel O’Hara can share.

You weakly went back to sucking Mig off, but he didn’t mind. Just the feeling of your wet warm and drooling mouth was enough to have his cock twitching down your throat.

“Haah, fuck–” The man above moans, gripping your hair tightly in his fists. “Shit, shit–I’m gonna cum.” He whines and tries to pull himself off you but you whimpered and reached out your hand to grab his thigh from moving away. He looks down to see your eyes pleading and begging him.

“You wanna swallow?” He asks between huffs, a smirk slowly curling up. “Alright. I’ll give you what you want, princess.” You closed your eyes, a silent thank you as you tried to properly help him reach his climax and cum in your mouth. Mig closes his eyes and thrusts in abandon, his tip rubbing against the back of your throat and swelling up before releasing in your mouth. You gag a bit, unexpecting so much to come out but you tried swallowing as much of him as you could.

You felt him softening on your tongue while you drank his thick cum, some of it being too much and dribbling down your lips and his length, Your tongue slipped around him to make sure he got his fill before he slid out your lips. A string of his cum and your saliva connecting from his tip to your wet lips. Mig stroked his cock a few more times, the beads of leftover cum spurting from his tip which you happily lapped up with the tip of your tongue.

“Oh, such a good girl.” Mig praises, his thumb cupping your chin to open your mouth to make sure you swallowed everything. You opened up softly, moaning and whimpering freely now that you aren’t hindered by dick down your throat. Mig, now exhausted from cumming, pulled away from you to sit on one of his plush chairs in his bedroom. His chest heaved up and down as he calmed down from his high. Meanwhile, your head fell to rest on the edge of the mattress while Miguel continued to hump you, his cock engorging every second with his own release. Especially with the way you moaned and squealed.

“Tan mojada, tan apretada–ay Dios–por favor, por favor–"Miguel moaned, slurring under his breath while he looked down to watch his dick disappear in your pussy and reappear with an unbelievable amount of wetness. His thrust went out of rhythm, now a desperate attempt to just finish inside you.

“I’m gonna cum inside, okay?” He groans. “Eso se suena bien, mami?” He leans over you to pound his cock in a different spot, his hand coming down to push your head in the mattress. Your cheek is smushed to the side and you can barely see Miguel fucking you from behind but you can feel his hand grab your entire head.

“Uh-huh!” You babble, mouth just being filled and drenched with cum. Miguel sees your eyes half-lidded and rolled back, jaw slack as you spill out moans and more drool with his variants cum drying on your chin and lips.

Miguel lets out a deep growl from his throat as he fastens his pace, his talons pricking your skin around your hip to keep you steady while he uses you. You scream his name, your vision going white and hot with pleasure as you finally reach your orgasm again. You came around him, the sound of wet plaps becoming more prominent as Miguel thrusts his last few times.

Seeing your body go limp and sensitive from just orgasming made his moan in response, his cock twitching wildly before stiffening and shooting his thick load inside you. He painted your insides white, the warmth of it slipping out between him and you from the sheer amount of cum he produced. Miguel continued to slowly pump himself dry, making sure your pussy squeezed every drop he could offer, shuddering when he pulled out of your wet walls to see himself drenched in both your fluids.

Miguel let you go, watching your spent body flop down without the help of him picking you up. It was now more quiet than usual, just the sounds of heavy breathing as you collected yourselves, sweat dripping down everyone’s skin.

Mig smirks lazily from his comfortable plush chair, his cock in his hand and semi-hard from watching you two finish. He glances at Miguel’s glistening cock, also semi-hard just by watching how you glow after cumming.

“I could go another round.” Mig huffs and Miguel turns to him with a tired look but with a speck of lust ignited in them.

You whimpered and shook from the aftershocks of your orgasm still flowing through you. “No…no more. I’m…It’s so sensitive…” You drooled on the sheets, trying to catch your breath and feel the nerves come back to your body.

Miguel looks down at you and nudges your legs apart to see the damage done to your pussy. Swollen and glistening with all types of fluids and cum. He uses his fingers to spread your folds and you twitch and whine weakly, Miguel’s cum oozing out of you. He jams the amount that had leaked out of your back inside with two of his fingers, making you moan. His other hand grabs your ass cheek apart and he grins.

Miguel looks up at his counterpart only to see him with the same toothy smirk. Great minds think alike.

“Well, there is… one hole we haven’t used yet.”

A/N: are u happy to be in paris? :3

To the lovelies that wanted to be tagged <3 🏷

@oscarissac2099 @huniedeux @mcmiracles @gltzpzy @ahano @the-pan-liquid @julian0800 @2099gf @jadeloverxd

feedback appreciated ! plz be nice _(:3」∠)_

[astrojulia]

Your Relationship to the Past and the Collective

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The Moon's placement reflects our emotional connection to history, tradition, and the collective consciousness. It reveals how we process cultural inheritance and navigate the tension between individuality and societal conditioning.

Moon in Aries

You strive to distinguish your personal identity from cultural conditioning, seeking to define your choices independently of inherited traditions. This placement encourages boldness and a pioneering attitude when breaking away from the past. While rejecting or ignoring the past, you may unconsciously remain influenced by it. A lack of awareness about these hidden influences can lead to impulsive decisions shaped by subconscious patterns.

Moon in Taurus

You value and respect cultural heritage, especially natural and enduring structures. To you, the past offers nurturing and stability, and you often seek to conserve what is meaningful and timeless. Attachment to tradition can make you resistant to change, overly reliant on established ways, or closed-minded to new perspectives. Your reverence for "how things have always been done" may hinder adaptability.

Moon in Gemini

Curious and mentally agile, you engage with historical and cultural details, finding ways to connect lessons from the past to the present. Your approach is thoughtful yet lighthearted, appreciating diverse viewpoints. You may dismiss traditions and cultural norms as irrelevant, rebelling when they are imposed on you. This tendency can make it difficult to anchor yourself within a shared historical or cultural framework.

Moon in Cancer

Emotionally attuned to your heritage, you cherish the bonds of family, community, and tradition. Your sense of rootedness fosters an intuitive connection to the collective consciousness, and you have a natural affinity for nurturing cultural continuity. Your emotional ties to the past may trap you, making it hard to establish independent values. Susceptibility to collective or occult influences can lead to an overreliance on external validation or outdated ideals.

Moon in Leo

With a creative flair, you draw inspiration from cultural imagery and traditions. You express loyalty to your heritage while adding your unique touch, often celebrating your roots with pride. Your romanticized view of the past can lead to rigid or exclusionary attitudes, making you prejudiced against other cultures. An overemphasis on cultural superiority may create barriers to embracing diversity.

Moon in Virgo

You approach cultural traditions with a practical mindset, seeking to extract useful lessons from history. This placement enables you to analyze the past with precision and incorporate its values into everyday life. You may become overly critical of cultural deviations or idealize the past, clinging to conventions as a standard for perfection. This can lead to judgmental attitudes or difficulty adapting to evolving social norms.

Moon in Libra

Drawn to traditions that promote harmony and fairness, you appreciate cultural norms that foster social connections. Your values often align with ideals of justice, diplomacy, and balance within the collective. You risk losing your individuality by conforming too closely to cultural expectations. To assert your independence, you may feel the need to completely break away from inherited values.

Moon in Scorpio

Deeply intuitive, you have a profound connection to collective consciousness and can imbue cultural symbols with emotional intensity. This placement allows you to explore the transformative aspects of shared experiences. An obsession with the darker facets of culture and history can lead to glorification of power or submission to controlling influences, including occult forces. You may struggle with releasing emotional ties to destructive traditions.

Moon in Sagittarius

You are driven to understand cultural heritage and place the present within a broader historical context. Open to exploring philosophies and belief systems, you often find meaning through global or universal narratives. A tendency toward ethnocentrism or conventional thinking may cause you to defend the status quo against necessary change. You may resist challenges to institutional or cultural traditions.

Moon in Capricorn

You excel at organizing cultural inheritance into frameworks that provide structure and purpose. This placement aligns well with societal elements like governance, tradition, and historical legacy. Rigid views about societal norms and cultural superiority can limit your adaptability. A lack of intuitive connection to collective energies may create blind spots regarding emotional undercurrents in society.

Moon in Aquarius

You distill the higher ideals from collective experiences, focusing on progressive advancement and humanitarian goals. Your loyalty lies with the collective's well-being and its future evolution. Rebellion against traditional values may cause you to reject cultural wisdom outright. This tendency can isolate you from meaningful aspects of collective experience.

Moon in Pisces

With deep attunement to collective energies, you embrace universal compassion and cultural diversity. Your affinity for spiritual and religious heritage allows you to find unity among different traditions. Over-romanticization of the past or blind acceptance of collective conditioning can cloud your judgment. This placement may also open you to manipulation or the fabrication of narratives that serve personal agendas

(CC) AstroJulia Some Rights Reserved

[strawberriesandhotmen]

Forbidden

a/n: Greetings, babygirls. I’ve been really into angst recently so I needed to indulge myself a little; I’m a sucker for this man in any and all scenarios, but fuck me if angst isn’t a topper on my list. 

pairing: rival!Punisher!Frank x fem!vigilante!reader

CW +18 smut: swearing, angst, hickeys (mention), fingering, begging, reader is a heartless little shit (but also horny so we love her)

word count: 3.5k

Forbidden.

You knew it was, you both did. And yet, somehow, neither of you seemed to give a damn.

It was only supposed to be one time; a one night stand, if you will, but you both knew that was bullshit the moment the agreement had been made.

Things had started off pretty casual; a quickie here, a blowjob there, nothing serious. Just fucking. You had intended to keep things that way; distant, far-removed (emotionally, that is). However, as most people are well aware, intentions often do not come to fruition. This situation would be no different.

You had first come into contact with the infamous Punisher on a mission of your own, attempting to extract some intel from the Russians that had recently made themselves known in the realm of ‘black market activity.’ Unfortunately for you both, Frank had had the same idea. You held your own, no doubt, feeling proud of yourself to even cut his lip in the slightest. But most people can’t take one punch from the Punisher, let alone five. Let’s just say, your jaw was very sore the next day.

You crossed paths one or two more times, each encounter holding more of the same, until a certain mission where the two of you were forced to work together. You couldn’t help that every time he cocked his gun your eyes snapped straight to his forearms. You couldn’t help the shiver that ran straight down your spine every time he uttered a word in that raspy voice of his. And, hell, who could be expected to help themselves with Frank Castle lying on top of them, shielding them from the barrage of bullets flying from the opposition? It was unbidden madness, but you found yourself welcoming it.

You could tell he felt the same, stealing side-long glances at you whenever you walked beside him, unnecessarily shielding you from incoming punches even though he could clearly see you handling it, his hand accidentally brushing against your hip at any available opportunity.

During that same mission, you began to realize the way your heart rate would pick up with each word that left his lips, and you started to understand what it is you were feeling. Well, you were feeling many things, truthfully; annoyance, exhilaration, hunger, but most of all…

Lust.

And that is how you ended up in your bed with Frank Castle. After all, you always got what you wanted, and it helped that he wanted it too. It didn’t end after the first time, with you ignoring the guilt you felt for compromising your morals in such a way. The reward, in your mind, far out won the risk. 

You couldn’t help but notice that nagging feeling, however, that you should put a stop to it, to all of it. It was dangerous, it was stupid, it was reckless. And yet, you found yourself once again falling asleep next to your antithesis, your paradox.

Frank woke up before you this time, a rare occurrence since he wasn’t really a morning person. The sunlight peeking through the blinds agitated his subconscious enough to awaken him, causing him to tiredly roll towards you. His eyelids slowly parted, his sleepy gaze landing on your angelic form.

Covered by only the thin white sheet, the silhouette of your body on full display to Frank, your hair creating a perfect halo around your head. You looked so peaceful, he thought, quite the contrast to your usual snarky attitude. 

Frank's gaze wandered down your body, taking in every single curve you had. His eyes continued to wander downward, pausing when his gaze landed on your hair. For some reason unbeknownst to him, seeing it spread out like that was extremely satisfying to him. Hell, even when it wasn’t spread out all over, it still looked good to him. His hand slowly reached out, gently grabbing a strand of your hair as he carded his fingers through. It was soft, full, and that was even after previous activities that had left you quite messy a few hours ago.

He moved a little closer to get a better look at your sleeping face. You looked really beautiful, he thought, when you weren't yelling at him or arguing about something. A small, uncharacteristic smile appeared on his lips before it slowly faded. They were supposed to be enemies…but why did you have to look so damn good?

You stirred softly in your sleep; not enough to wake, just to subtly turn your body towards him with a subconscious hum. Watching you turn towards him made something in his chest clench, but he pushed it away. He was supposed to be at war with you, not in your bed.

Despite his better judgement, he allowed his callused hand to continue running through your hair, slowly moving down to gently rest on your jawline as he quietly admired you. When he started to really feel like a creep, he decided it was time to wake you. He braced himself for you to lash out from exhausted frustration, gingerly shaking your shoulder. You must have already been on the precipice of consciousness, your eyes almost immediately fluttering open as your gazes connected. Looking down at you as your eyes opened, Frank couldn’t help but notice the way you looked at him. It was probably nothing, but he felt a tinge in his chest all the same. God, you had ruined him.

“Mornin’, princess.” he teased. You fought the urge to roll your eyes at the nickname, not appreciating it. You allowed your gaze to momentarily flit across his features, taking in the bruises and scars gleaned from his most recent mission.

“Morning.” You mumbled quietly, covering your mouth as a yawn overtook you. He chuckled softly at your tired response, watching as you yawned. You looked so cute and adorable like this, he thought, but he quickly shut himself down. Why was he getting so damn attached?

“You look a mess.” He teased again, his hand moving from your jaw to gently brush some of your locks away from your face.

“Well, I wasn’t the one who made the mess.” I shot back suggestively, sending him a look before averting my eyes to the ceiling. His face darkened slightly as a hint of a smirk appeared on his face, the memories of last night returning.

“And who was it begging for more, hm?” You rolled your eyes at his pompous reply, not dignifying his comment with a response. He chuckled, his hand trailing down and gently grabbing your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t even try it, princess. We both know you enjoyed it just as much as I did.” You uninterestedly mhm’d in response, continuing to shield yourself from experiencing any actual emotions. Letting go of your chin, he smirked again before leaning down to your neck, his lips gently brushing over a spot he’d left a mark on the night before.

“If I remember correctly, you seemed to enjoy it even more when I did this…” He paused for a moment before gently pressing his lips to the exposed skin of your neck, his hands running down your body before settling on your hips. He knew he shouldn’t be doing something like this, especially when he wasn’t supposed to be within ten feet of you, but the moment he was touching you again, all rational thoughts faded from his mind. He felt himself getting lost in you, just like he had hours ago. A small, yet all-too-influential part of him selfishly wanted more.

As your brain finally caught up to what was happening, your breath hitched at the intimacy before you pulled away, sitting up against the headboard with the sheet clutched protectively over your bare chest. He watched as you sat up, his mind still hazy with desire. He pushed it away, though, realizing that you were clearly not in the mood for anything. He rather presumptively assumed to himself that you were just tired from last night, that he must be just that good. Without a word, he sat up, his back leaning against the headboard to match you. It was silent for a few moments before he spoke again.

“You alright?” He knew you weren’t, but he knew he should ask all the same. You merely nodded in silence, not so convincingly. He studied you for a moment, noticing the way you held the sheet up, almost trying to hide yourself. Normally, he’d comment on it out of concern, but a rare voice of reason advised him to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he looked down at his lap, rubbing the back of his neck. The awkward silence nearly consumed the room before he spoke up again.

“Listen… about last night-“

“Don’t.” You rudely interrupted. You didn’t mean to be so harsh, but you had also assumed he was smart enough not to bring up the situation. You had agreed not to, after all. He paused for a moment, a bit surprised by the immediate cut-off.

“What, I’m not allowed to speak about it?” You sighed, looking straight ahead.

“It’s just better if we don’t. It was a mistake; we can recognize it like adults and move on.” Now that felt like a knife to his fucking heart. A mistake?

“...A mistake?” Frank felt a foreign sensation in his chest when you referred to it so dismissively. It wasn’t supposed to be a mistake; hell, it wasn’t supposed to be anything…so why did last night still feel so good to him?

“What, you don’t agree?” You finally looked over at him, your tone inconsiderate and rough. He was quiet for a moment before speaking again, seeming to consider his response.

“I think…” he paused, trying to figure out how to word what he wanted to say. “I think I enjoyed it way too much to call it a mistake.” You had to scoff at that, if for no other reason than to maintain your nonchalant facade.

“It's called sex, Frank, it's meant to be pleasurable.” You stated matter-of-factly, swallowing your desire to cover your naked body as you disappeared into your closet. He leaned forward, a part of him wanting to get up and stop you from walking away. At the same time, his eyes didn’t leave your body, taking in the view for a moment before you shut the door. He swallowed the lump in his throat before leaning back against the headboard, his eyes trained on the closet door as he spoke again.

“It’s not just that, and you know it.” You sighed heavily, having tried to avoid this very conversation for so long.

“Oh, do I?” Your tone was incredulous, haughty. You were desperately trying to push him away, not all that subconsciously. He was beginning to feel agitated. Why were you trying so hard to deny it? He thought you were past that point after last night, and now it was like you were trying to run away from him all over again.

“Yes, you do. and you’re trying to deny it because you don’t want to admit how much you enjoyed it.” He snapped back. His voice had wavered slightly at the end, almost not wanting to argue with you this time.

“The sex was great, Frank, but that’s all it was.” You thought you had him there, not picking up on the ‘just sex’ he had muttered bitterly under his breath. That sentence made him feel like he got punched in the chest. He knew he wasn’t supposed to feel like this, and yet the thought of it being just sex and nothing else made him feel… strange. He couldn’t tell if it was anger or sadness or disappointment or… all three. He didn’t respond for a few moments, his hands grasping the sheets tightly as he clenched his jaw.

“You’re full of shit, you know that?” He cursed himself, knowing he could’ve come up with something better if you weren’t such a damn mind-fuck. You chuckled darkly at that, finally emerging from the closet in panties and an oversized t-shirt that had been lying on the floor.

“Got me good there, Frank.” You patronized, not waiting for a response before walking into the kitchen. You didn’t have to tell Frank you were making breakfast; You always did, no matter if you argued or not. It was strangely domestic, but you chose to ignore the implications each time, and each time you kicked yourself for it. Frank grumbled under his breath at your attitude, making gibberish comments about your unnecessary stubbornness. He was one to fucking talk. 

After a moment or two of wallowing in his disdain of you, he decided to take a shower and clean himself off. He didn’t think himself very persuasive when smelling like fish. After drying himself off, he didn’t even bother putting on a shirt, only pulling on boxers and a pair of sweatpants he had left here a week or two ago. When he stepped out of the bathroom, the smell of bacon immediately found its way into his nose, improving his mood in the slightest. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, after all. 

He stepped out of the bedroom to find you at the stove, lightly swaying your hips from side to side while humming a tune he didn’t recognize. He thought you looked like a fucking goddess, messy hair and all. There was no way in which he preferred to see you more than right now, in just a t-shirt looking uncharacteristically domestic. He was fucking enthralled by you. Tearing himself from the doorframe, he padded up behind you and snaked his arms around your waist, his chin finding your shoulder. Your muscles tensed at the unexpected contact, but you forced yourself to relax as you heaved out a sigh.

“It’s almost done, you can sit.” You said without turning to look at him. He bit back a smirk, the smell of bacon and your obstinance filling him with a new determination. He was going to have you, and you were going to enjoy it.

“That’s alright, I’ll wait.” He declined, his breath fanning over your neck. You silently cursed your body for even registering the sensation, closing your eyes just long enough to regain complete control over yourself. Flipping a slice of bacon with tongs, you inhaled as you recognized one of Frank’s hands was beginning to move downward. The thought entered your mind to refuse him, but you were so painfully conflicted that you couldn’t bear to make the hard decision. You allowed his calloused and bruised hand to snake under your tattered shirt, smoothing down the skin of your stomach before pausing at the waistband of your panties. He wanted you, but not enough to forego consent. You turned off the burner, moving the bacon pan to the back and allowing your hands to grip the edge of the counter, silently giving him permission.

You heard him let out a sigh of, what was it, relief? And with that, his fingers edged under the lace, stretching dangerously close to your subtly pulsing clit. Damn him and his coercive tactics. He turned you on more than you cared to admit (at all times), but you had moved past being embarrassed about his affect on you, and he had moved past making childish comments about it. That is, he had moved past making childish comments about it. Emphasis is important.

“I’ve barely even touched you and you’re already so wet, princess.” You rolled your eyes, not appreciating his pridefulness (not that it wasn’t completely valid).

“Bullshit, you haven’t even touched my-” You cut yourself off with an involuntary gasped as Frank’s middle finger slipped in between your folds, your body immediately betraying your previous protest. Shit.

“Fuckin’ soaked.” He huffed, sounding almost shocked at the truth behind those words. Yeah, it was shameful. You were much too turned on to even consider uttering a word, apprehensive as to whether or not your body would force a moan out of you instead.

“Not much to say now, huh?” He chided as he brushed against your clit, causing your grip on the counter to tighten in both annoyance and arousal. “What’s wrong, princess?” His lips grazed over the shell of your ear, nipping lightly before that husky voice spoke again. “Cat got your tongue?” He was a fucking menace. He was pissing you off to no end, and yet all you wanted him to do at this very moment was fuck the actual life out of you.

“Shut up, F-Frank.” Pitiful. Anyone could see through that stuttered facade. At this point, you had accepted the fact that he knew how much your body wanted this, even if your mind was screaming fifty different ways to kick him out and never be in this situation again.

“Oh, so she speaks.” What a little shit. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was only doing it to give you a taste of your own, heartless medicine. He must’ve gotten bored, slipping his finger through your folds, because he was now teasing at your dripping entrance, clearly planning to invite himself in.

“She’s so ready for me, princess. Feel that?” He whispered huskily in your ear, not waiting for a response before shoving his finger inside you up to the knuckle. Your mouth dropped open and your breath caught in your throat as he immediately found that spongy heaven inside of you, your grip on the counter so tight you thought you might break it. Frank let out a groan of satisfaction, soon beginning to pump his finger in and out of you at a torturous pace. You could see what he was doing now. He wanted you to beg.

But you wouldn’t. No fucking way.

Frank pressed his chest against your back, his bulge poking into your thinly covered ass from behind. He knew what he was doing, increasing his pace just enough to make you want more…a lot more. It was growing difficult for you to swallow back moans, to hide the gasps that caught in the back of your throat with each pump of his long finger. And just when you had felt like you had reigned in your breathing once again, he shoved a second finger into your tight, dripping hole.

Okay, so maybe you would beg.

“Fuck, Frank.” You gasp out, your hands starting to cramp as you continue to hold onto the counter. You can practically hear the smirk that spreads across his lips at your exclamation, but you were far from bothered by it at that moment.

“What’s that, darling? Something you need?” You squeezed your eyes shut at his cocky taunt, involuntarily clenching around his fingers as they ravaged you.

“F-Frank-” The plea caught on your tongue like a stale taste, foreign on your lips. You didn’t want to beg, you were sure you didn’t, except the thought of doing so sparked a fire so deep inside you that you weren’t so sure at all.

“You can do it, sweetheart, let go.” The way his breath fanned over your ear sent tingles down your spine; you wanted to let go. With a deep breath and a whimper escaping your lips, you did.

“Frank, please.” You had expected a patronizing reply, more taunting even than before. However, the response you got boiled down to a deep groan rumbling from his chest, his lips latching onto your neck as if he were holding on for dear life. His pace increased to an inhuman speed, punching your g-spot with each thrust with expert ability. His palm smacked against your puffy clit, your thoughts clouded by pleasure alone, that impending high just within reach. Your moans echoed across the walls, coupled with Frank’s groans of satisfaction. When you finally came, you didn’t think you’d ever felt so good in your life. Maybe it was the suspense, maybe it was how taboo it all was…or maybe Frank was just that good. But you didn’t care, after this you knew all you wanted was him. You had denied yourself for so long, and you didn’t want to anymore. He was yours.

After you came down from your high, Frank gingerly turned you around and pulled you into his chest, breathing heavily himself. He allowed his lips to ghost over the skin of your neck, placing light kisses here and there.

“So beautiful, baby.” The words were tender, meant. You had never heard such sincerity from him, and you felt as though you wanted to hear it again and again.

“Frank?” You whispered, tilting your head upward to meet his gaze. He looked down at you, bringing your foreheads together.

“Yeah?” Wrapping your arms around his neck, you sighed.

“What is this?” You felt terribly stupid for even asking that question; it was childish, cliche, but in this situation, all too necessary. An unexpected smirk spread across his face, and he placed a chaste kiss on your lips before rasping out his reply.

“Forbidden.”

[rosy-hollow]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱɪx: The Feast

ᴀ/ɴ: so like - i forgot to kiss the brick before i bashed it into my own head... i was physically crying while writing this, ask @unch4rtedwxters they have picture proof- full series masterlist here!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: cursing, DEATH, BLOOD, A N G S T, I REPEAT, A N G S T (this is me kissing the brick), the hunger games, major character death, murder, anxiety attacks, overall just bad bad bad

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader

Both of you are awoken by a loud, blaring fanfare and the booming voice of Oboro Shirakumo, the head Gamemaker of the Hunger Games, echoing throughout the arena for all to hear.

“Attention remaining tributes - the Feast will begin tonight at nightfall. All of you are in critical need of certain resources. Each of you will find what you require in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia. May the odds be ever in your favor.”

The silence that ensues the announcement is deafening. You try to remember who’s left.

13 died in the bloodbath, and you and Bakugou killed the boy from District four. Micah pitches in, telling you that he remembered five other canons throughout the five days you’d been in the arena.

You blink at the reminder, the sound of a cannon booming to mark the death of each tribute. You hadn’t registered the one that sounded when you killed the boy from 4, though you credit that to your crazed and panicked state.

The others… if you’d been subconsciously tuning them out, you seriously needed to step up your game.

The smallest mistake meant death in this arena.

18 dead... that meant there were six left in the arena.

You, Micah, the boy from District 1, the girl from District 2, Toga, and…

Bakugou.

You shake the thought of him from your head, focusing on your younger ally instead. 

You open your mouth to speak.

“It’s not worth going.”

“I think we should go.”

You blink in confusion. 

“You- what? No way, Micah, it’s too risky.” you frown and the boy matches your expression.

“So? You heard him, whatever is in those packs, we need! We could get you medical supplies!”

You shake your head. “No. No way. I probably couldn’t get out of this tree without bleeding out again, and I’m not risking you like that.” you nudge him gently. “I just got a new brother, I can’t lose him yet.”

Micah’s eyes widen as you quote him from before, and he grumbles under his breath. 

“You’re not allowed to use my lines.”

You chuckle, mussing up his mousy brown hair. “You win some, you lose some.”

You shift yourself more comfortably on the branch. “Hey - where did you fill up your water from? You didn’t just survive five days on just your waterskin.”

Micah shakes his head, eyes lighting up. “There’s a contraption I got in my backpack.” he says, pulling out a small mechanical lump of…something? “It might look like nothing, but it’s similar to the ones we use in 9. It extracts the water from inside leaves.”

He plucks a handful of them from a branch in arm’s reach, opening up a latch in the machine to press them into. He positions it over the mouth of his waterskin, and you watch in awe as a small stream of water is squeezed out.

“Holy…cow” you breathe out - catching yourself from cussing. Maybe the blond has rubbed off on you.

Micah raises an eyebrow, teasingly but knowing.

“Cow?”

“It’s a thing we say. …In 11.”

“Mhm, sure…”

“Y-You’re a cow..!”

“What does that even mean?”

“...Good question.”

The day goes by like that, playful banter as you use Micah’s water contraption to fill up his waterskin as well as the empty canteen you had in your pack, while the boy went around picking berries and scavenging for food.

When night falls, you settle down for a hearty meal, finally falling asleep feeling hydrated and full for the first time since you’d entered these cursed games.

It almost made you forget about the Feast tonight.

Almost.

You knew he’d never do it, but what if Bakugou was going to the Feast right now, lurking in the darkness, grabbing the large pack with ‘2’ emblazoned on the front.

You think about his injuries, his injured arm - what if someone attacked him? The Careers coming back from revenge?

The thought plagues your mind - and as much as you try to tell yourself that you don’t care, some stupid, irrational part of your heart does.

Whether you liked it or not - he saved your life. Multiple times.

You didn’t like being in debt.

Back in 11, being in debt meant that other people could use whatever favor you owed against you. It was dangerous.

Which is why the whole ordeal made you so restless.

That’s what you told yourself at least, and you tossed and turned, but the thoughts kept you so paranoid that eventually, you just sit up, sleepy eyes looking for Micah’s sleeping form.

Only for a chill to settle deep into your bones.

He wasn’t there.

Your eyes dart around frantically, your leg screaming in protest and you can’t bring yourself to care.

Panic seizes you by the throat, choking you with such overwhelming fear that you feel like your suffocated, drowning in internal hysteria until one little detail washes over you like someone dunked you in the ice cold ocean.

“I think we should go.”

Oh no.

No no no no no no.

Shit, this can’t be happening! Micah you idiot!

Your aching limbs protest as you clamber down the tree, grabbing your dagger as you grit your teeth, your wounds searing in pain like white hot fire.

Black spots dance across your vision when your boots touch the grass, feeling dizzy from the agony but instead, you let your feet guide you, through the trees, through the bushes.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Your heart pounds in sync with your footfalls, both deafening against the blood roaring in your eyes.

Fuck, you promised you’d protect him.

You promised.

Tears of desperation prick at the corners of your eyes, slipping down your cheeks as you run, ignoring your wounds, ignoring the danger of other Careers that may be lurking.

You had to endure.

Like always.

Your heart stops when you finally reach the clearing, the Cornucopia in the center.

But that’s not what you’re focused on.

Micah.

The girl from District 4.

His small body thrashes wildly in fear as her fingers clamp around his neck to hold him still.

No.

No no no no no.

“MICAH NO-!”

You can only watch as his eyes lock with yours, widening for a fraction before he body stills, trident piercing straight through his heart.

You feel like the breath’s been taken from your lungs.

God, there’s so much blood.

And Micah…he’s just lying there.

Sleeping.

Except he’s not.

Your feet are moving, though you’re not the one controlling them.

A scream rips from your throat, but it’s not your voice.

Your hand pulls your dagger from your pocket, except it’s not yours.

You watch as your body sinks the blade of your dagger into the girl’s neck, her screams ripping through the arena as you yank it out, before stabbing it into her flesh once more.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The monster of rage fills every corner of your mind, chest heaving and heart pumping with adrenaline until all you can see

Is red.

You keep going, stab after stab, even when you hear the cannon go off, you don’t stop; almost like you don’t know how.

A small cry is what snaps you out of your trance, reality slapping you in the face.

Micah.

Oh God. 

Micah.

You collapse onto your knees, not caring about the pain that flares up his leg as you cradle him in your arms.

He’s coughing up blood, and you have to force yourself to not to look at the gaping holes in his body.

You feel sick to your stomach.

This isn’t fair.

Micah doesn’t deserve this - no one deserves this.

“Shit - Micah…hold on kid, you’re s-safe I promise…” you choke out, near sobbing, so distraught that you don't even care about your language now.

You’d apologize later.

If- when - you and Micah go back to the tree. Together.

Micah smiles weakly, his lips stained in crimson. Streams of blood leak from his nose, as tears slip from his eyes as you brush them away with your sleeve.

“...Cow.”

“I- w-what?”

“You meant cow, r-right?” he says, and your heart snaps in two.

Here he was, dying because of you- and yet he still tried to make you smile. 

“M-Micah… p-please just stop talking, I’ll patch you up and we’ll be okay-”

He lets you continue your frenzied ramble as you try to staunch the wounds with your sleeves in a poor attempt to stop the bleeding.

A weak mumble of your name is what quiets you, the boy staring up into your wide, terrified and tear filled eyes.

After all, you were just kids.

Kids who the odds weren’t in favor of, kids with bad luck.

Just…two unlucky kids.

Brought here by the Capitol to send a message.

You had no power in the arena.

Even if you won - you were still losing.

You always would be.

“W-Win for m-me…okay?” he says, his voice cracking as you stroke his cheek, blood smearing against his skin.

You shake your head stiffly, more tears falling from your face. “No, no, no, no, no, don’t talk like that. Don’t talk like you’re going to-”

“W-when you do… tell the Capitol t-to get better bread… the kind from 9 with the golden wheat…s’good..” he mumbles his voice starting to slur.

Panic grips your heart so tightly you can’t breathe, suffocated by anything and everything, with no choice but to sit there and take it. 

“T-Tell my f-family I l-love them… o-okay? A-And tell my brothers that they can’t use m-my room when I-I’m g-gone.”

His words don’t make his face, salty tears running over dried blood that rolls down his neck, and you choke on your own tears, holding him close. His pale is ghostly pale, too pale.

“Micah p-please-”

“I love y-you… y-you were a good big s-sister. B-Best I ever had.” he says, smiling despite the tears in his eyes.

The cannon finally sounds as his eyelids flutter shut - the first one you finally register.

But the sound of the helicarrier coming to take him away is drowned out by the sound of your agonized cries.

You don’t move, even after you watch them - the Capitol - take him away from you.

You’re too lost in your sorrows to notice the pair of red eyes staring at you from the trees.

taglist: @attackonnat @ldk3347 @onlyisaa @luciapiacat @wonubby @snoopyluvrpao @kiromiix @delshmel@nijoll @babypeapoddd@mirajanestrauss1999 @kianatrg @blankk3 @witch-craft-works@midnight-drives-with-sunarin  @samxbaker@xanneeeyyyy@tom-hollands-blog @jazoewazoe @sixxe@poot2234@beabamboo@yiz5uo @ilikeyyouverymuch @hauntedodette@xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx@rosekeu@grimm3r @m4y4wasnthere@eyes4bkg @ghostsoapwhore @sunootzrose @ilovemushroomss @risu-li @kawliflo @jealousmartini

[miscellaneous-marios]

i had a dream that i submitted a mario image here but i don't remember exactly what it was can you extract it from my subconscious

it was a bit hard because the subconscious mind is transient and ever-shifting like a cloud, but how did i do

[delayeddrabbles]

eat the rich - college gf + frat!rafe

A/N: while i know reader/YN ships are more popular, I want to try this as a named OC and see how much traction it gets. Shout out to @lolasangelz for writing Gigi so well that it gave me the confidence to turn Nat back into an OC rather than write her as a reader. (Gradient: Text Color Fader: Red to Blue)

headcanons:

This is set loosely in s3, Rose makes Rafe go back to Chapel Hill to finish his Commerce degree before she'll let him come back to Cameron Development. The pair of them are still fighting over the company after Ward's death.

Nat stumbles into Rafe's room drunk during a party, mistaking it for her best friend's. She then judges him on how barren and lifeless his decor is and he kicks her out, not in the mood for chit chat.

Nat is studying a PPE so they share an Economics class. For someone so reckless with money, Rafe is surprisingly good at it. They become study partners.

They didn't plan on becoming a couple. What started as a quick blow job in the library to clear Nat's head during midterms quickly became an actual friendship.

Nat had been with her ex for a long time and so she was supposed to be in her slut era when she met Rafe.

Nat is trying to date again, but Rafe somehow always gets in the way. He waltzes into her living room with the spare key when she's making out, or he'll call her for a ride home when she's out for a drink.

They're sneaking around the frat house so her ex Jon doesn't find out.

Nat forces Rafe to go hiking even though he hates the outdoors.

Nat complains about the spoiled rich kids who come to the gym she works at, forgetting who it is she's talking to. Rafe offers to just pay her to be his PT so she can quit, but she refuses.

They have a running joke of sending each other terrible songs that could soundtrack the situation. Rafe looks miserable at a party and Nat will send him I Hate it Here by Taylor Swift and revel in the sigh it produces. Leave by JoJo somehow becomes code for ditching an event and hooking up.

Nat and Barry get on like a house on fire and Rafe hates it.

Rafe's mom died of breast cancer. Nat's mom is in the army and was away a lot.

Rafe is always making sure she gets enough sleep and stops working to rest or have fun. Nat is always making sure he eats properly and meets his deadlines.

Nat is fully comfortable admitting he's hot, but not that she worries and cares about him. Rafe is the opposite, he'll happily make her a cup of tea or let her sleep over, but will get stubborn when it comes to admitting she has any kind of power over him. Despite this, he's always the needy, touchy one with a finger subconsciously tracing the outlines of her tattoos, regardless of where they are on her body.

Rafe makes fun of Nat for playing Mahjong at the old folk's home.

Nat and her bff Aden make fun of Rafe for being the most stereotypical frat boy finance guy type they've ever met

Both of them are always getting into fights and having to be extracted by the other.

Rafe avoids talking about money and politics, not wanting any conflict. Meanwhile, Nat is dragging him to picket lines and protests, and people complain that he's too tall in the crowd.

Rafe will turn any political debate she tries to start with him into a dirty joke or play devil's advocate. He likes to remind her that she's a hypocrit for sleeping with him and watch it piss her off.

Both of them are loners. Nat doesn't have a lot of friends her own age, and Rafe has only just gotten back to Chapel Hill and hasn't retained any old friendships.

Nat won't touch anything stronger than tobacco and alcohol. Growing up around her brothers' older friends on the barracks who partied way too hard and struggled with combat PTSD has made her overprotective of her brain chemistry.

Nat is one of the first people in his life to have ever bought him an extravagant, expensive gift. Usually, that's his job, but she works extra shifts and saves up to replace his watch that got stolen.