#didn't know what else to do with this prompt

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✵Under the hood.

✦ Pairing: Modern!Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: A beautiful day quickly turned into a very shitty one when your car broke down in the middle of a mountain road. Thank Goodness, a charming cowboy luckily crosses your way and talks you through fixing your fussy engine. ✦ Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI!! Not properly speaking sexual intercourse, but this contains sexual themes. "Talking you through it". Dirty talk. Mechanical sex metaphors if that's even a thing??? Sexual tension. Arthur is a smooth b*stard. ✦ Words: 2,3k (once again relying on @arthurmorgan-vp for this gorgeous pic of Arthur!)

Sooo! This was initially an ask for my mini prompt sprint from @cloudywithachanceofcrisis (awesome url btw), and it turned into this whole fic because I'm too deep into modern Arthur and I just couldn't stop writing. Basically, the ask was for Reader's car to break down and for Arthur to talk her through fixing it, "Megan Fox Transformers" style. 😏 I had too much fun writing it. Enjoy!

✧.*

A creaking sound of metallic agony rings out as you pull your car's hood up, quickly followed by a horrible smell of burnt pieces of metal and plastic.

Shit.

This really wasn't what you had planned for today. A barbecue party at your best friend's ranch, cold beers, the smell of grass mixing with seasoned steaks and hay. And laughter, and horses, and riding. The sun embracing your face as you and her would gallop through the fields, just like when you were kids. The real start of summer.

That's what you had planned this morning when waking up. Now the sun is roasting your neck, your car is stopped, front pitifully open as a wounded animal you would have just hurt, along one of Wyoming's lonely rocky mountain roads. Needless to say, you were in deep trouble; no network, traffic as low as the school's road on holidays.

Except for other locals, of course.

After long minutes of panic and desperate calls into the void of a connectionless dial tone from your phone, you finally heard your salvation from the other side of the road. A blue Chevrolet pickup truck, some Creedence Clearwater Revival bursting through the windows, sunrays gleaming on the immaculate bodywork.

The truck slows down and stops right next to you. Window down, its owner smiles at you with an unmistakable smirk and blue eyes shining almost as much as the perfectly polished metal of his vehicle.

"You alright there, sugar?"

Arthur Morgan. Another ranch owner from your valley. He's bending to your direction, turning down his music, and you notice the pile of country and rock albums on the countertop. You internally chuckle; it fits his character way too well. You knew him a little; all the breeders know each other in the valley. Most of them, as with your family and his, have beneficial relationships, like symbiosis in nature. Clownfish and anemones. Trees and lichen. Make yourself useful to the other party and you'll never fight again. Instead of destroying yourselves over a piece of land, you've learned to take advantage of each other and to prosper together. The Man is an animal, after all.

You had very good memories of the time you had spent at his ranch, usually for the breeding season. He owned one of the finest horses in the whole county and rode them like no one else could. And you would have lied if you had said you didn't find him handsome, in this typical cowboy rugged charm. Always wearing jeans, sometimes chaps. Tight, simple black or white shirts that were always stretched around his biceps or pectorals. Never without a pack of Marlboros that smelled like fresh nights, talking about life under the porch. A leather hat and jacket for riding, a cap when around his ranch. Today is a baseball cap type of day too, it seems.

"Of course not, Morgan! Do I look peachy?! My car broke down and I can't fix it." You explain, hands on your hips.

"A chance I was passin' by then." He smirks even more, readjusting his position in his seat. "Don't worry darlin', we'll get it in mint condition no time."

With a smooth move of the wheel with one hand, he pulls over just a few meters from you. Your hear the old truck turning down, the door opening; he grabs a toolbox and a bottle of water before joining you in front of the open hood of your poor suffering car.

"Here, first, drink a bit. Don't want ya droppin' dead in the middle o' nowhere."

You chuckle as you take the water he's handing to you, the coldness of it on your palms enough to make you feel at ease. "Would be hard to explain to the cops eh?"

"Sure would." He concedes with a snort, his left hand taking support on the hood as he bends towards the engine. After a few seconds of him probing the wound with an expert gaze in silence, he turns to you. "Ya know what? You're going to learn and fix it yaself. I'll teach ya. That way, you won't have to wait on a... dirty cowboy to save your ass next time you break down."

You smile, amused and somehow grateful for his proposition. You definitely should have known better in cars already, considering how life was demanding in those wild plains.

"Alright then, let's hear what the "grand master" of cars has to say." You joke, and just for the way his crinkles showed more in the corner of his eyes, the smile it brought to his face, it was worth it.

He takes a dirty piece of fabric and puts it in the back pocket of his jeans out of habit, before giving you a pair of gloves from the toolbox, greasy and used, and you put them on without complaint, hard, used cotton surrounding your skin.

Your eyes involuntarily notice how his neck is more tanned, compared to a part of his torso you can catch a glimpse of. His forearms, too. The veins that run through them are like great streams that sublimate his muscles. He really is cut out for the hard life on the ranch, even more than most people you know.

"First, you need t'find your brake cylinder. Check the fluid level in it." He points at the plastic reservoir and waits.

You bend towards the engine too, and touch the cylinder. It is one of the only things you knew about.

"That's right, that' thing. Does it look full?"

"Yes."

"Good. 'Could be leakin', though. Brush your hands under it..." He commands, one hand still on the hood and the other holding his belt. He looks so casual, as if he were giving mechanic lessons every day. "Come on, don't be shy, darlin'."

You do exactly as he tells. You don't know why, but there's something suddenly extremely intimate in this whole situation. The way you're both bent inward, bodies close, way closer than how you would stand next to someone. The way he speaks those orders, his voice even more gravelly, rasping, almost purring in your ears. Deep, so deep, and the way his accent is eating half the words in that southern drawl is doing things to you. Stomach fluttering, you try to keep your head cool and actually focus and fixing your damn car.

"So? S'it wet?"

Jeeeesus, he's not making things easy. Making violence to yourself not to answer yes on instinct, you force out a too casual "Nope."

"Alright, now do the same with the coolin' system. S'right next to it."

You bring your hand to the other plastic cylinder, wrapping your fingers under the round pipe coming out of it. Your muscle memory is stronger than your rational thinking. You can't help but imagine how it would feel to have them wrapped around something else, something just inches away from your own hips right now. Something you knew would be undoubtedly big considering the way that man is carrying himself, the way it shows when he's riding, big and heavy and obvious through his jeans. You close your eyes, unable to keep those unholy ideas away.

"No leaks, sir."

"Perfect. Oh, ya should always check up for leaks first, but never open this damn thing with your engine still runnin', ya hear? Could splash hot chemicals all over ya."

"Copy that."

"Good girl." He drawls in a satisfied praise, his left hand tapping on the hood in a satisfied way. As if he had just finished with you and would pat your ass contently. You shiver, his words and the fucking delicious way he said it igniting and unresistable fire between your thighs. "Now let's check the engine fluid. Pull out the dipstick from it."

You slowly remove the long and thin wand from your car motor, and to your surprise, you feel one of his big and rough palms on top of your glove to help you carry it, as his left one finally leaves its perch and grabs the top of the stick.

"See the fluid? If the thing looks like you have just shoved it in an oil fryer, you're good. But if you notice some other stuff like... somethin' that looks like thick water, or a creamy stuff right here, it ain't good."

Fluid. Shoving. Thick. Creamy. There's no way he isn't aware of what he's doing. The way his gigantic hands handle yours and the stick. The way you can smell his strong perfume, petrolic reek of the damaged engine long gone, replaced by heady notes of sweat from the scorching sun making him pearl, mixing with remnants of his cologne. Or was it woods? Cedar and pines, with hays, and faint traces of this so specific scent that farms and ranches have.

"Darlin'? Ya got it?"

"Y-yeah yeah. Oil good, creamy stuff isn't." Oh my god, you sound so dumb you're almost embarrassing yourself.

"That' right. Now the filter. See that big fan underneath? We have to make sure it's perfectly running and sealed, overwise your engine is pumping stuff from nowhere and ends up damn dirty."

He arcs himself completely, lying his side against your car to slip his hand under the piece of metal, and grabs a pipe you can't see from where you stand. He probably tests the solidity of the thing, but all you see is him wanking a fucking engine. Does he handles his cock like that? Does he jerk it slow and steady like he rides his horse in an elegant walk? Slow but deliberate, meticulous like he is with his own truck? Or is it all the contrary, does he treat it rough and quick? Like an urge he needs to get out, contrasting with his precise and conscientious work? Does his shaft fuck his fist, jerking off so fast he's almost done in a few minutes? Does his-

"Here, I need to show it to ya. Come."

Oh. You're dead on the inside, your pussy isn't even trying anymore, burning without any restriction and you're happy it's a hot day because at least you have an excuse to be sweating that much. He's still leaning his side against the car, arm folded, and he gestures for you to join him in the same position. Throat hoarse, legs mushy as if they were boneless, you get closer and lean on your side too, your back touching his chest. You two are basically spooning on your car right now. He removes his hand from the engine.

"See? S' that one, right there. Go on, grab' it."

Jesus all I want is to fucking grab it you complain in your head. He must realise this is extremely erotic, right? You couldn't be imagining it on your own. You hope not, or else it means that you're completely crazy. Your body is entirely tensed as an arched bow, you bring your own hand to the filter pipe.

"Now... shake it. T'make sure it's sealed."

His breath is almost brushing against your ear. His deep raspy tone, resonating through his chest when he speaks, scratching against his tongue, feels like honey and whiskey both at the same time. Languorous and coarse. It swirls and rolls all against you, coating you as if you were a candy waiting to be eaten whole. You shake the metal piece, trying at all costs to push away the sinful thoughts the gesture is bringing to you.

"Thaaat's it... How does it feel, girl?"

"F-feels good to me." You're blushing, you're sure you're blushing. You know you are, cheeks burning at the double meaning this whole conversation is holding. You hear and feel him humming a positive, deep sound in answer.

"Well, if it ain't mechanical, it's probably your electrical darlin'. Let's look at that battery o' yours."

He finally gets up, pushing on his arm. You're almost sad not to be turned the other way, you could have witnessed the way his biceps had flexed, veins popping for a few seconds, grease and oil now painting his skin and beautifully emphasizing his muscles, a perfectly shaped and shaded Greek statue.

You start to get back up too, and suddenly feel the weight of his gaze and you. You were bent, half folded just a few seconds ago, basically presenting your ass to him. Oh, you congratulate yourself for having chosen to wear these little shorts this morning. There was no way he could have looked at something else. Once fully up, you greet him with a not-so-innocent smile, fixing a strand of your hair behind your ear. A vein on his neck shows as he reciprocates your smirk, and his own body tenses. He's enjoying this whole situation.

"Mmh. I can already tell ya, she's the one causing trouble." He states, pulling his cap back in place with two hands. You're not even sure he's actually talking about the car anymore.

"H-how do you know?" You didn't want your voice to sound that weak. This man had the effect of disconnecting every basic function from your biology; except all the ones related to sex of course. Those, those they were on fire, on the verge of fucking overheating.

"Look, it's loose." He explains slowly, voice drawling, each word slurred in a husky rumble. He's saying it like that on fucking purpose. "Some bolts must have blown out. So, that littl' bitch bounces as you drive, and it ends up disconnected. All... messy, 'n overused..."

You religiously nod at his godly speech. Your eyes are fixated on his hands moving the battery in periodic movements, repetitive sharp snapping noise filling the air, fingers sliding in between the pieces of metal.. He could have well been thrusting his hips into it, it would have had the same effect on you.

"Now... let's get this bad girl to behave." He adds, devilish smirk on his face, a hand leaving the battery to pull a wrench and a few new bolts from his toolbox.

All your life you had prided yourself on being a strong and independent woman. The ranch chores? No problem. Riding? Easier and funnier, even barrel racing. Lassoing, helping a cow give birth? Done and done. Not that it was easy, but you could handle it yourself, and pretty damn well on top of that.

But right here, right now, this ego is crushed under the dirty boots of this Appolon of a cowboy, odd but unforgettable mix between a rough rancher and a mythological God, palming a car battery as if it was your ass. You could have done anything if he had ordered you to, you had never been weaker because of someone. You would have been on your knees, God, you wish he'd let you get on your knees for him.

With just a few turns of the wrench, the temperamental car is repaired. He tests the engine from the conductor seat, and it works perfectly fine. It's almost humiliating how easy it was. He gets out, pulls the hood down for you, and stands tall, satisfied with his little intervention.

"You're good t'go, darlin'."

"Thank you so much, Arthur." You don't know if you should be thanking him for the battery or for the litteral porn show he delivered you for free. It had been years since your hormones had gotten that wild.

And they weren't about to stop, considering how he had taken back his water bottle and drank straight from it, some of it beautifully streaming down his scarred chin, then his throat before getting soaked up by his already sweat-drenched shirt. He takes some of it in his right hand and wets his neck, and you have to contain a sigh. The base of his hair, all wet like this, makes you want to run your fingers through it more than ever.

"T'was nothin'. Am happy t'help a pretty girl in need."

There are a few seconds, just a few, hanging in the thick air between the two of you, where you both look at his other, his abyssal marine blue eyes sinking so deep into yours you're almost surprised he's not falling right into your soul. Maybe he is. But his gaze doesn't waver for a single second, not even by an inch, and you realize that only he maintains such intimate contact for so long without showing the slightest sign of nervousness. No one else does. For him, it doesn't have to be a source of discomfort like most people, and it becomes so intimate that you feel your legs weaken once again under the weight of that gaze. Just the two of you. Fucking with your eyes.

He gets closer to you, and you move back against the front of your car. You don't say a word. Neither is he. There's just his deep breaths and the deafening beating of your heart. He raises his arms around your waist, as if wanting to lean on the hood, trapping you. Your thighs and your aching core between them are just a few torturous inches from his jeans-covered crotch. You want to take a quick peek, burning to know if he's indeed painfully hard, if the blue pants are as tight as his shirt is on his bicep. But you can't, unable to break his eye contact, sucked into those blue seas. There's a small grease stain on his cheek you'd like to cover with your lipstick. You hold your breath. Your whole body freezes, which made no sense at all to you, considering how hot you were feeling, how ardent the atmosphere was with him almost bent on you. It's like those mind-numbing summer days, when the air is so hot and heavy and full of electricity that all you want is for the storm to finally break, never mind if the lightning strikes your whole body.

All the better if it does.

He grabs his wrench he had forgotten behind you, and pulls back. In an instant, it's winter. You don't want it to be. He looks at you with this knowing smirk, this hard jawline almost cheeky, this goddamn ballcap like a crown.

"H-hey uh -" You cough, unable to let things end like this. Searching for the thunderstorm. "I was... I was going to the Miller's Ranch for a barbecue. D'you wanna come?" You bite your lip at yet another double entendre. Shit. "I could... Offer you a beer, for all of that?"

Gently pulling the working gloves off your hands, he answers, taking his sweet time, his face holding this repressed mischievousness and desire, well hidden behind his smug expression.

"Well... I'd very much like to come. Thank you, sugar."

✧.*

Well, thank you for this amazing request that sparked this obsession in my brain I guess, Rhae! Also I won't lie to you guys, I was clearly inspired too by these amazing art pieces from @/altergoat02. Check out their blog, all of their art is prodigious.

And if Modern Arthur is your kind of boah just like me, I highly recommend you to check out Evie's Takin' care of business!! And yes I've completely looked for a tutorial on youtube about car motors. I'm just that ignorant.

tagging the sweeties who had shown interest in this/my work: @stottlemorgan, @moons-honies, @arthurmorganist, @redwritr, @cloudywithachanceofcrisis, @a-court-of-valkyries

[fandomlit]

everyone's a suspect (surprise!smosh x reader)

summary after seeing something they weren't supposed to, some of the smosh cast know you're dating one of your--and their--coworkers. they make it a personal goal to see if they can figure out who..

warnings (more of a preface than a warning) reader is referred to as she/her but implied as queer

a/n PLEASEE send in smosh requests y'all im begging

gif cred belongs to @shmoo06

angela ran up to courtney's desk, where chanse, tommy, and the girl herself were sitting peacefully, eating their lunches together.

"yeah?" courtney prompted, taking in angela's wide eyes and slightly dramatic stance. "you okay?"

"i-i don't mean to be a gossip," angela said, slightly breathless and extremely exasperated as her eyes darted around her friends.

"of course not," tommy immediately abided, but propped his head onto his hands and leaned toward the brunette.

angela continued, "i was heading to chat with ian about something and y/n was leaving his office when i walked in, and there was a stack of papers on his desk that looked like the workplace relationship disclosure form."

courtney's hands slammed against her desk as tommy's jaw dropped and chanse gasped. "wait, how do you know?" courtney immediately tracked. "before we make assumptions." chanse and tommy slightly relaxed at the suspicion.

"because it said it at the top."

now tommy was standing, hands over his mouth as the other two's jaws dropped.

"i don't want to gossip!" angela repeated, waving her arms. "i don't want to spread rumors or anything! but y/n is our friend, and this is crazy information and i really wanna know!"

"oh, i wanna know so bad," chanse said, bringing his hand over his mouth. "who do we think y/n's dating? this is crazy! how could we not know?!"

tommy, who had started pacing a small line by courtney's desk, paused and brought his pointer fingers together. "this has gone from accidental snooping to an opportunity." they turned to him as he began to smile. "we were just saying how slow it's been around the office lately.. and now we have a chance to play a game. or, not a game per se, but.."

"watch a show," chanse offered excitedly.

tommy grinned, pointing at him. "yes!" angela offered a considering face.

"let's not dig too far into her business!" courtney spoke, holding a hand out. they all nodded respectfully. "y/n has her right to privacy.. but let's just.. see what we can see." they all nodded again, eagerly now, grinning at each other.

and just a moment later, y/n passed by as she walked to her desk, damien at her side. they both had food boxes from the same place, chatting with each other avidly as they passed. y/n offered their group a wave and they smiled back before sharing looks when the pair was farther away.

"and so, the search begins," tommy hummed slyly.

"all of our friends are suspects."

...

later that day there was a board af shoot with courtney, shayne, angela, and amanda. it was shayne's turn in the game when courtney watched as you entered behind the camera, approaching spencer's director chair. you leaned down and spoke something to him, getting close so you wouldn't disrupt the shoot. you were grinning as you looked at him, and when he turned his head to meet your eyes, your faces very close, he grinned too. he spoke back to you in a tone they couldn't hear, but even the dim lighting behind the camera didn't mask the blush courtney saw creeping up his neck.

you spoke one last thing to spencer and he chuckled, nodding at you and saying something else before you turned and left. she watched as spencer watched you go, gaze flicking from you to the set and back a few times before you were completely gone. courtney snuck a glance over to angela, who was already looking at her with slightly widened eyes, obviously having seen the same thing.

"wait, no, i didn't like that," amanda said, pointing between angela and courtney. they froze, giving a classic and completely real deer-in-headlights look.

"what? what happened?"

"they just shared a look," amanda said, shaking her head. "a sneaky one- are you cheating?!" they both let out an invisible breath that their scheme wasn't caught onto, instead playing into amanda's bit. but they shared one last knowing glance before locking back in to the game.

...

tommy was headed into the kitchen for a midday coffee break when he saw you and arasha giggling by a warming kettle, shoulders pressed together to look at something on her phone. tommy was immediately suspicious as he watched arasha watch your reaction to what she was showing.

"hey guys," he greeted casually and you both looked up and greeted him. "whatcha looking at?"

"arasha's showing me the tiktoks people have made shipping us," you giggled as arasha scrolled to another with a smile. "apparently they come up on her page all the time, but i somehow haven't seen any!"

"they're awesome," arasha affirmed, showing her phone to tommy. tommy, instead of assessing the edit itself, zoned in on the like count: less than a thousand likes. which means that the algorithm specifically picked this niche according to arasha's likes and searches.

tommy let out a chuckle as the edit ended with a heart surrounding you and arasha in goofy outfits for some bit. "that is good." he gave arasha a look as she moved her phone away, tilting his head in a way he hoped she perceived as knowing. "you two make a cute pair."

you, still giggling casually, wrapped your arm around arasha's back as tommy watched her cheeks darken. "we do, don't we?"

...

angela was chatting with you at your desk about some scheduling thing when damien walked by. you looked up and gave him a casual greeting just before he intentionally bumped into your desk, knocking down one of your trinkets.

"oh, i'm soo sorry," he spoke dramatically, righting the trinket after tossing a folded piece of a paper on your desk. you just giggled at him as he walked away with a grin, holding your eyes a beat longer than was necessary.

"what's that?" angela asked, eyes darting between you and the note.

you picked it up with a smile. "damien likes to leave me notes sometimes. usually some goofy, cheesy motivational quote." you unfolded the paper and angela held her breath before you read, "'it's a trash can, not a trash cannot.'" you shook your head before opening one of your drawers and angela had to stop her jaw from dropping as you placed the note with a hefty stack of ones with damien's handwriting. "he's sweet."

angela let out a short laugh. "yeah, that's sweet alright."

...

you, chanse, and trevor was setting up for a smosh pit video when erin interrupted the intro to say that trevor's mic wasn't working.

"hold up, i can.." you moved over to trevor, lifting the back of his shirt to get to the pack tucked into his belt and trevor let out a high-pitched yelp, jumping when your fingertips brushed his back. you and chanse immediately laughed.

"sorry! i wasn't expecting to be touched," trevor spoke with a teasing smile, looking over his shoulder at you as you fiddled with the mic pack.

"i'm sorry," you chuckled, meeting his eyes and leaning a bit closer to him despite your already close distance. chanse's eyes widened. "i should've asked before lifting your shirt, i'm sorry."

"y/n, you never have to ask," trevor teased as your jaw dropped.

"hey, so your mic is on now."

you all laughed out again, you slipping back to your podium and chanse caught trevor sneak a glance at you as he chuckled.

...

"the cruel thing here is that it truly could be anyone," angela spoke seriously and the group nodded. they all decided to confer for lunch again a few days later specifically to address their findings. "because honestly, to me, it just looks like everyone at smosh has a crush on y/n." tommy let out a laugh.

"and who could blame them?" courtney giggled, tapping her fork to her chin. "but you're right, i don't think we've named an interaction yet where there isn't reasonable suspicion. like, everyone is acting like they're in love with y/n."

"not acting," chanse assured. "every suspect is in love with y/n, it just comes down to who she loves."

"this is all getting a tad dramatic," courtney sighed.

tommy shook his head. "not dramatic enough, i say. anyone seen anything recently?"

"i saw her and shayne being sneaky talking in a corner today.."

"angela, you know i'm married to shayne, right? it's important to me that you know this."

"no! yes!" angela defended as chanse snorted. "no as in, no she's not dating shayne, but maybe they were speaking so secretively because he knows something!"

courtney shook her head. "no-go. we already gossiped about it, he doesn't know any more than we do. unless he just figured something out.. in which case he'll tell me later." she smiled as angela nodded.

"you know what we haven't considered?" chanse said. "ian himself!" courtney gasped as tommy nodded.

"you're so right," angela said, tangling her hands in her hair. "oh my god, he could've been filling out the form with her!"

"she does seem to have a lot of meetings with him lately..," tommy considered.

"what if we just asked?" chanse proposed and their heads all snapped to him. "like, not tell her we know anything, but ask if she's crushing or what she thinks of spencer or someone we suspect.."

and just then you, with convenient timing as always, walked past with an innocent, "hey, guys!"

"y/n!" tommy called over the others greetings. "come join us, won't you?"

you gave him an apologetic smile as you paused your walking. "i'm sorry, i've got a meeting with ian before i take my lunch. next time for sure!" you resumed your trot with a wave goodbye and they all shared a look.

"see? so many meetings.."

...

they were about to give up a week later. it seemed like every interaction was suspect, everyone was a possibility, and you were just yourself as usual. it was starting to annoy tommy unreasonably.

"i feel like i usually have such a good sense for this!" he whispered with exasperation to angela during a shoot set up. they were getting ready to record a new TNTL, a large portion of the cast being there and involved for the undertaking. all of their suspects were milling about them without knowing they were suspects. "but i can't clock y/n!"

"she's a tough cookie," angela nodded in agreement. "she's just so happy and sweet with everyone, it's impossible to tell."

"maybe it'll be the person that she's not usually herself to," chanse butted in, coming to stand between them with his hands on his hips. courtney wandered over when she noticed them congregating. "like, it'll be the one person she doesn't greet like everyone else." they nodded with consideration.

"i just wanna know!" tommy whined before going to get his mic set up. more cast members started to file in, including their special guests that everyone greeted in a loud chorus as they entered--anthony and ian.

"wait, anthony's real?"

many laughed at damien's comment as they continued to mill about set. eventually, tommy wandered back to their little pod as the cast for the video filed onto the stage, prepping for a big intro. you greeted them enthusiastically as you came to stand next to tommy.

"we all excited for another soak session?" you joked with your usual excitement, referencing an inside joke that made them all chuckle.

"oh, for sure."

you looked over as anthony and ian came to stand next to you. anthony gave you a smile as he peered down at you, and angela could have rolled her eyes at the sweet look in his eyes. yet another person with the hots for you. "hey, y/n."

"hi, anthony."

and there it was. it wasn't obvious, but the slight subdue in your tone from how you had just talked to them versus how you spoke to anthony immediately caused a click in their brains. angela couldn't stop her jaw from dropping as chanse gasped, then slapped a hand over his mouth, tommy's eyes going wide as courtney's lips formed a silent "oh".

you were dating anthony.

but you had no clue that they had just made the connection. you gave them a confused, but amused look. "you guys good?"

"oh for sure," tommy nodded breathily, and you just shrugged when anthony raised an eyebrow. you all focused as emily began to give directions.

after letting ian and anthony introduce the video, they moved to sit in stools first and the rest of you moved off. they watched you share another smile with anthony, him watching for a second as you walked away before looking elsewhere.

"this goes all the way to the top!" angela whispered dramatically as they moved to the dressing area and the other three laughed out, elated in their discovery and with shock still deep in their systems.

[erodasfishtacos]

Threadbare - I ||FWB!H||

prompt: yn avoids because she doesn't know what else to do

word count: 3.2k

warnings: angst, cheating

author's note:

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The transition in being friends to friends with benefits was surprisingly smooth for the impressively big amount of lack of communication, lack of resolution, and all over how much was swept under the rug instead of address.

It’s was a quiet tension between them that was sometimes sexual tension, sometimes angsty.

They couldn’t wait for trivia to be over so they could get their hands on each other or this other.

It was not as pleasant when someone mentioned Lauren or Ben.

How if someone brought up Lauren, YN’s eyes would automatically dart to Harry to see his reaction and she didn’t miss the ways his jaw clenched when Ben was brought up.

It wasn’t a mutual agreement of not talking about these things, acting like them coming together was conventional or that everytime they went out with their friends - they didn't tell them.

They held this secret between them, not only that they were currently hooking up but what transpired that weekend at the lake house.

Neither of them were that kind of person, who would step out on their partner, or cross boundaries they shouldn’t when they’re in a committed relationship but apparently they were that kind of people - both of them.

YN knows there is nuance.

She knows neither her nor Harry were happy in their relationship.

She knew that Lauren treated Harry like shit nearly a ninety-percent of the time.

Ben had never been all that great after the love-bombing phase was done which she had fell for the flowers and the random grand gestures.

It didn’t make it okay.

YN always had a bit of a crush on Harry.

He was a bit more attentive to her than he was to any other females in the friend group but she’d never looked into that or fed into that too much.

She brushed it off on the fact that she had a (now looking back) massive crush on him that she didn’t want to actually acknowledge because she shouldn’t have a crush on someone who’s in a relationship as she’s in a relationship with someone else.

It was fucked up.

The rest of the time of at the lake house was tense after YN had bolted from the pool, leaving Harry mid-apology but knowing better than to chase after her.

He hadn’t bothered her again - even as they both were in different rooms in the same big summer house.

She could hear him in the kitchen, starting the blender, he had to be able to hear when she turned on the shower but there was silence between them.

And it disappointed her, selfishly, she wanted there to be a knock on the bedroom door, another conversation, something from Harry.

But she was the one who ran, who made it clear that what happened wasn’t good, and YN has always struggled with avoidance, it why she hasn’t broken up with Ben.

She hated confrontation and uncomfortable situations to a fault.

Being socially anxious was in her bloodstream, and having hard conversations was like pulling teeth without being numbed first.

So the second Harry had pulled his hand back, his mouth opening to discuss what just happened - there was no other option for YN then to just avoid, flee so that she didn’t have to talk about it.

YN doesn’t come out of her bedroom for the rest of the night.

Her heart’s in her stomach because even if she doesn’t want to be with Ben, there was guilt for liking what just happened with Harry.

She couldn’t get it out of her mind when he’s cupped her breast, when the rough pad of his thumb had nudged over her nipple.

It was fucked up that her thighs were wet at the thought, at the way his eyes had honed in on her, and how fucking turned on he looked as he reached out to touch her.

She’d never felt that kind of arousal in her life and it wasn’t right, she wasn’t expecting it with Harry when she had long ago deemed him out of her league.

YN wasn’t asleep by the time that Ben stumbled in, drunk and clueless to the internal crisis of self she was having.

She kept her eyes squeezed shut when she felt him looking at her.

Determining whether she was asleep or not, and mumbled some intelligible before he was stumbling out of his clothes and crawling into bed - promptly passing out even while YN struggled to calm her mind.

+

YN knew she was making everything worse.

She knew that she needed to talk to Harry but avoidance was easier.

It was easier to not make eye contact with him when everyone clmabered downstairs in the morning.

It was easier to sit as far away as possible from him at the table when they all ate breakfast, and made sure not to look at him.

YN could feel his gaze burning into the side of her face.

She could tell that he was staring at her, willing her to look at him, and she wanted him to stop because he was being obvious - or at least she felt like he was drawing attention to the situation but if anyone notices, nobody say anything.

Then they’re down by the lake, YN’s laying on a lounger on the dock, soaking up the sun, and trying to warm up before getting into the water which was chiller than she usually liked.

It was peaceful until she can feel the wood of the dock start to tremble next to her until someone is sitting on the chair opposite her.

YN has sunglasses on that were big enough to hide her eyes completely, dark enough that he couldn’t see.

She blinked her eyes open to Harry looking at her with an unfamiliar look on his face, she didn’t know what he was feeling but he definitely wanted her attention.

YN sits up as Harry hands her something, his voice quiet and unsure, “You’ve got to reapply, you’re gettin’ burnt.”

“Thanks,” YN takes it from him, making sure their hands don’t touch even though she can acknowledge that it’s dramatic.

Even if she’s being short outward, internally there were butterflies tumbling around in her belly that he was even paying attention to her like this.

Apparently her standards were incredibly low because Ben would never do something like this.

He wouldn’t have noticed in the first place, nor used any amount of energy to go up to the house to get the bottle of sunscreen.

“Think I grabbed the right one, you said the one in the blue bottle irritates your skin, right?” Harry checks, he’s off, subdued.

YN didn’t like it but she couldn’t bring it up, they couldn’t talk about it where anyone could hear them.

The thoughtfulness, the fact that he listened when she made that off-handed comment the other day when Ben handed her the blue bottle.

“This is the right one,” YN agrees lamely, taking it out of his hand, they were both skating on uncertainty.

“You ignored me at breakfast,” Harry observes, suddenly on topic to what they really need to talk about.

And YN knows her eyes must have widened like a deer about to be hit by oncoming headlights because she wasn’t ready to have this conversation.

“Didn’t mean to,” YN lies, it wasn’t even a good one but she could feel this uneasiness starting to churn in her stomach because at the end of the day, she had this stupid fucking crush on Harry.

And now she’s seemingly on track to continuously make herself look like an immature little girl who can’t have a conversation.

Harry’s brow furrows at that, huffing with a shake of his head, “Okay. I guess it’s just in my head then.”

And YN didn’t want to gaslight him either.

Fuck.

“I-” YN doesn’t know what to say, swallowing harshly as toys with the sunblock bottle, “It’s not…in your head. I - don’ know.”

It wasn’t graceful or intelligent whatsoever, she felt tongue-tied suddenly at having to explain her poor behavior.

“I would like to talk to you about yesterday,” Harry replies, his tone is neutral, unreadable.

She'd rather not have a conversation about him apologizing, saying it was a mistake, that he wasn’t thinking, that it didn’t mean anything.

She was going to actively avoid the conversation at all fucking costs.

“Not…here,” YN glances around, no one was directly by them but it wasn’t the place to have it - in active eyeline of both of their significant others.

“You will talk to me about it though?” Harry persists, his fingertips are digging into his knees, she knows

it's

absurd but it looks like he’s actively resisting reaching out and touching her.

YN nods, the guilt revving back up because she knows she’s going to do whatever to avoid it, to not have all of her false hopes and dreams crushed.

He was out of her league, he had a gorgeous girlfriend, he was in a committed relationship, and she was too - it was stupid for her to even entertain the idea.

“Yeah, just not here,” YN agrees weakly, she wonders if he can tell she’s not being truthful with him, if he’ll call her out on it.

“Please just know that -” Harry starts to say, leaning in a bit closer in a way that wasn’t inappropriate but made if more difficult for anyone to overhear.

“Harry! Stop bullshitting and get me a fuckin’ drink!” Lauren interrupts obnxiously from the water.

By the slur of her words, she already had enough alcohol pumping through her veins, and the way she demanded from Harry wasn’t anything new but it never got easier to hear him being barked orders to.

The rest of their friends laugh, like it’s funny how Lauren talks to him.

But by the subtle sharp edge to her tone and the way that Harry’s eyes instantly go dark, his nose scrunching slightly in disgust before he hides it shows just how unfunny that interaction is.

Maybe because she sees too much of herself in Harry in that way.

Ben barking at her for things and she just does it to avoid conflict or arguements.

Nothing was funny about it.

++

YN unsurprisingly doesn’t stick to her word, Harry seeks her out two times during the day to try to talk to her.

The first time YN gets flustered, makes up an excuse about having to use the bathroom, and promptly hides in the bathroom for a good twenty minutes.

The second time, YN suddenly gets very busy helping set up the volleyball net when she notices Harry starting to make his way towards her.

And she knows by the end of the night, his patience is wearing thin - purely based off of the unamused glances he gives her.

The way he’s not anywhere near as talkative as he normally is, and his general demeanor is off - even their friends call him out a few times on it.

Now, she’s nervous to talk to him because of the fact that he’s getting annoyed with her.

She truly keeps digging the hole she’s stepped into deeper and deeper until it feels entirely impossible to pull herself up out of without ramifications.

It wasn’t until late, it was nearly eleven, and their night was in full swing.

The bonfire was blazing, everyone had alcohol flooding their systems except for YN and Harry.

YN wasn’t naturally a big drinker but tonight, she was far too uneasy to think about even sipping anything.

Whereas Harry had a beer or two but he’d been nursing them slowly, enough that he wouldn’t feel any effects of it.

YN feels like the walls were closing in around her.

The conversation was going to come, Harry seemed determined by this point, and YN has probably just made this whole situation worse by not having the conversation in the first place.

YN sneaks away to the bathroom in the house, the second floor one because it was one that no one was allowed to throw up in if they drank too much.

She did it while Harry was in the middle of a volleyball game, and she really didn’t think he’d dip out to have the conversation or pull away from the group because it would surely be suspicious if YN and Harry randomly disappeared around the same time.

But YN is wrong.

God, she’s so wrong.

Because when there’s a knock at the door, YN’s first thought is that it’s Georgia, so without thinking she opens it.

But standing there is a very very unhappy looking Harry who’s lips are in a firm line, his brows drawn inward, and his voice is rougher than usual when he says, “Time to talk.”

“What do you want?” YN has the nerve to huff, surprised by her own attitude as she steps backwards, and Harry follows her in, shutting the door, and locking it behind him.

She wants to point out that this looks so entirely shady, that they should have this conversation not in a locked room, in a house alone but she cannot find it in her to care to point that out nor does she wants to.

“I want you to stop avoiding me,” Harry replies as he crosses his arms, standing towards the door and allowing YN to put some distance between them.

There was this sick, twisted thrill shooting arousal up her spine that she was able to rile him up, get a reaction, it meant in some capacity that he cared at least a bit about her.

When Ben was mad - it turned her off completely but something about the sharp, defined cut of Harry’s clenched jaw, the puffiness of his bottom lip from his front teeth digging into it.

He looked fucking hot when he was pissed and that’s when YN realized she is in deep shit because fuck, she smitten.

“I’m not,” YN replies stubbornly, mirroring his posture by crossing her arms and popping her hip to the side, tongue poking at the inside of her cheek.

Harry looks like he wants to sink his teeth into her- she’d never seen him like this and it was fucked up but she wanted more.

Harry finally smiles but it’s not his normally, boyish grin.

It’s intimidating, sharp and dangerous, his dimples popping as he tilts his head, “I didn’t ask you if you were avoiding me. I’m telling you what you were doing. I’m done with it, we need to talk. Understood?”

And if YN could rub her thighs together without it being obnoxious she would.

It’s twisted, he’s clearly upset and she’s better than no man, thirsting over the way the vein at the side of his neck bulges, his biceps look massive as they flex, and his eyes are sparkling with fury.

“I’m sorry,” Harry takes a deep inhale, calming slightly as he becomes a tad bit more lax in his posture, “It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable and it was completely out of line for me to do. I take full accountability and I’m so fucking sorry for putting you in an uncomfortable position.”

YN takes a minute to process it because…it wasn’t the apology or the regret she was expecting to hear from him.

It wasn’t necessarily rejection.

It was genuine remorse.

“You…I’m the one who showed you them,” YN replies slowly, more confused than ever, and the arousal fizzles when she notices how distraught Harry is underneath hsis cool demeanor.

“I should have never asked. I should have never put you in a position where you felt like you had to-”

“I didn’t feel pressured or uncomfortable, Harry. I’m an adult who made decisions too,” YN points out because it was on both of them, they both participated equally in the bad behavior.

“Then why did you run away? I thought it was because I made you uncomfortable,” Harry’s shoulder slump slightly in relief, his arms uncross but he doesn’t step forward even if she wants him too, even though she shouldn’t want him to.

“I was scared,” YN admits quietly, she has to look away for a moment because his gaze was so fucking intense.

“What were you scared of, Honey?” Harry pushes, he takes a step forward, lessening the space in the small area but they still weren’t touching, and her heart was starting to fully pound like she was running a marathon.

YN finally blinks at him, teeth dug into her lip, debating whether she should tell him the blunt truth - gauging whether that will just lead to rejection but the way he’s looking at her, it makes her want to risk it, say ‘fuck it’.

“Of how much I wanted it,” YN’s voice is barely above a whisper but he could hear it in the otherwise silent house.

“Wanted what,” Harry’s voice is deeper, rougher, and it’s an almost a demand like he needs to know, that it’s not optional.

“Harry-” YN resists, barely hanging onto her morals with a fucking thread, and waiting for him to cut the string.

And he fucking does.

“Tell me, tell what you wanted so badly,” Harry pushes, his fingers are clenching like earlier, he has to restrain himself from reaching out at her.

“It scared me how badly I wanted you to touch me, wanted your hands on me, on my tits, on…yeah,” YN trails off, sheepish and her cheeks were so fucking hot in embarassment at what she’d just said, admitted.

It’s faster than YN can process, the way Harry strides forward, and handles her - twisting her roughly until she’s pinned against the wall across from the sink, it’s tight and their bodies are pressed flushed.

His lips aren’t on hers but they’re ghosting close enough that if they moved even an inch they would brush.

“Tell me I can,” Harry murmurs, there’s this sweet, desperate, needy plea in it that makes her knees weak, “ I wan’na, so bad, honey.”

YN swallows harshly, losing all sense of why this is wrong, and she finds her hands coming to his hair - gripping there and puling his mouth to hers, “Yeah, yes. You can have it.”

[vunblr]

Spasibo

Pairing: SoftDark! Winter Soldier x Female Reader

Warnings: Non-con/Somnophilia -masturbation-. Voyeurism. Stalking.

Summary: She offered kindness where there should’ve been fear. Now it haunts her in silence, starved for warmth it can’t forget.

Word Count: 987.

notes: For the @avengers-assemble-bingo event, Kinky Bingo. The Prompt is Somnophilia. Card number KB-014.

They hadn’t said it that time.

The mission briefing had been barked, burning coordinates into its brain, the mark to eliminate, the item to retrieve. But they hadn’t said no witnesses. That line, that kill-switch command that made the world go red and simple, went missing.

It didn’t know why. Oversight, irrelevance.

Didn’t matter.

The Soldat followed the target anyway, carried on the mission, and then sat in the grime of an alley. One eye was swelling shut. Blood dribbled from its lip, slow and sticky. Its ribs shrieking every time it breathed.

And that’s when she came.

Light footsteps. The jingle of a metal bowl in her hand. Cat food. Of all things. She came to feed the strays in that stinking alley.

And saw it.

She should’ve screamed. Run. But she stopped with wide and soft eyes, and something in her face. Pity? No. Not that.

She stepped closer, cautiously. Didn’t ask what it was doing. Didn’t demand answers. Just looked at it. Quietly. Then pulled something from her pocket and offered it out.

A handkerchief. Folded. Patterned with strawberries.

“For your lip,” she said. “You need it more than I do.”

The Soldat didn’t move. Just stared at her. She wasn’t a threat. She wasn’t a target. She was a witness, but no order existed for her.

It took the handkerchief.

Didn’t thank her. Didn’t speak. But it didn’t throw it away either.

And that was the mistake.

Or maybe the seed of it all.

----

It found her two weeks later. Tracked her. It wasn’t looking for anything, not really. Just a scent. A place to curl in the absence of blood.

Her apartment wasn’t locked tight. Second floor, balcony entrance. Easy.

She left her window cracked for the breeze.

It slipped in without a sound.

Didn’t wake her.

Didn’t touch.

Just watched her sleep, crouched at the edge of her room, with its knees bent like a feral thing in wait, a gloved hand twitching against the floorboards.

But later, on missions, after the carnage, it would remember the piece of cloth still hidden in the chest pocket of its gear and smell her kindness, dried and faded now, but real. Press it over a mouth that never smiled. Close its eyes like praying.

So it came back. At first, it was only crouching in silence. Weeks of it, watching the rise and fall of her breath, how her fingers curled in her sheets. How her lips twitched when she dreamed.

Once, it knelt by the bed. Leaned close. Pressed its nose to her hair, breathing deep like it could warm it from the inside out.

The next time, it lay beside her. Once. Just once. Careful not to shift the mattress. Didn't touch. Didn’t move.

Not until she turned in her sleep, and her knee brushed against its thigh, and her breath fanned its cheek, and then it bolted down the side of the building and vanished like a shadow.

But the last time- no. Not the last, just the worst.

Something changed.

She lay on her stomach, tangled in white cotton. The old nightdress clung high on her hips, exposing her thighs, the round, sweet curve of her ass.

No underwear.

No barriers.

The Soldat landed on her balcony like a whisper. Damp boots, ragged breath. Blood still under its fingernails from somewhere else. It was on its knees before it knew it. Crawled to the bed like an animal starved of warmth. Lowered its face to her sheets.

A muscle twitched in its jaw. It didn’t touch her directly.

But it couldn’t stop itself and ended up reaching. With trembling fingers, it lifted the hem of her nightdress, slowly and reverently.

Her scent invaded its senses. Sweet, sleep-warm, and slick.

It lowered its face between her semi-parted thighs, brushing its nose against her skin, just to smell. To inhale. Its body shuddered, eyes rolled back.

It wasn’t enough.

It straddled the backs of her thighs and leaned to grab the headboard of the bed with its metal hand. Then, freed its cock, already hot and leaking in its hand, and began to stroke.

It didn’t rush.

Just moved over her in silent tempo, eyes locked on the mess of her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo, and listening to the whisper of her breath.

Every pump of its fist reminded it of the handkerchief.

She slept through it.

Of course she did.

It came with a strangled sound, thick spurts of seed painted her skin, viscous heat sliding down between her thighs, pooling too close to what it would never dare to take.

For a moment, it just stared.

Then, her breath hitched, and she turned slightly, but didn’t wake up.

It moved quickly. Found a washcloth, wet it with warm water from her kitchen sink, and returned to the bed.

It cleaned her slowly.

As if each wipe could undo its sin. It mopped the spend from her inner thighs, her ass, even the sheets beneath her where it had dripped. It worked by moonlight and by breath, as gently as it could manage with a metal arm and blood beneath its nails under the damp cloth.

Erased the defilement, as if it never happened.

As if it hadn’t knelt over her and spent itself on her skin like a starving thing.

She didn’t wake.

Maybe she dreamed of something soft and warm. The Soldat hoped- no, it didn’t know what it hoped. That was a forbidden word.

It smoothed the cotton nightdress back into place and stared at her.

It would never touch her with those hands.

But a word softly left its lips, one that no one had trained it to say.

The one it owed her from the handkerchief.

"Spasibo."

Then it slid out the window into the dark, the strawberry cloth still hidden in its chest pocket, close to skin that never felt clean.

Permanent taglist: @pandaxnienke @queergalpal97 @mrsalexstan @sophiemass @alagalaska @identity2212

dividers by @/strangergraphics

[sirxlla]

HIII can u make one about yelena and female reader who is a new avenger too where Lena is like all worried about her after a mission and she is too idk bad with feelings ¿ To confess

Scrabble? Scrambled? One of Those Two.

------------------------------------------------

Warnings: Fluff, Angst.

Prompt: above ^^^^

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts. (My first female x reader, I'm so excited.)

-With that said, it's all under the cut-

All Yelena's been doing the past few months is saying she'd rather be anywhere else than on the team, how everyone's annoying and she's tired of "stupid people." She made it seem as if everyone was annoying to her, and she couldn't give a shit less about anyone.

She hasn't let anyone get close in a long time. The Red Room has trained her that other people are stepping stones, tools, or nuisances, so it's hard for her to unlearn. Her family being "fake" is just the cherry on the cake. Now? Now she's berating you for nearly dying on the last mission.

"How could you be so stupid? You knew exactly that doing that was dangerous and what do you do?!"

"Yelena, everyone was gonna die if I didn't do it!" You tried your hardest to defend yourself even in the hospital bed you had been placed in.

"I don't care about them! Gospodi Iisuse... Ty mog umeret', i chto by sluchilos'? T'fu, ty menya tak zlish'. YA ne znayu, khochu li ya zadushit' tebya ili potselovat'. Ty takoy razdrazhayushchiy!" It was clear she was mad, which was obvious by her tone but also because she switched to Russian in the middle of her getting onto you.

Of course, you were going to look confused. You didn't know a single lick of Russian, but you could tell that she was very angry but seemed conflicted about something. Arguing with Yelena about something like this is an uphill battle you're never going to win so excuses would be stupid to try to start pedaling.

"I- I'm sorry, Lena. I wasn't thinking about what could happen. I'm sorry."

"I know you don't value yourself as much as I do, but I need you to at least think about how I would feel. If youre not gonna think about yourself, think about me."

"What?" Utter confusion washes over your features, wondering if this meant she loved you or if you misunderstood her due to head trauma.

"What do you mean what? If I lose you, I have close to nothing, and I just just found you. You're the only person who I sort of like, so I'd appreciate it if you don't try to get yourself killed like an idiot!"

"Did she just? Did she say she likes me? Yelena likes no one? She likes women? My head hurts too much for this shit." You asked yourself in your brain, your brain trying to put the pieces together but ran out of fuel when you took that nasty blow to the head.

"You mean you care about me? You like me?" You ask her slowly as you continue to squint at the bright overhead lights.

"Is that not what I just said? My words are always like scrabble or- scrambled when I talk about I like- er- like- One of those two, you know what I'm saying!" She looks at you with annoyance cause she knows you know what she means but also with love. Yelena's not mad at you; she's just scared that something worse could've happened to you.

"Maybe?" You squint a bit before, which prompts her to turn the light off, which allows only the light from outside to seep in.

"I'm no good at putting my emotions into words. What I do know is you're damn gorgeous, you make me smile, and my heart dropped when I thought you were hurt, so if that means I care about you, then I suppose I do." She fiddles with the piercings on her ear as she tries to calm her anxiety; love hasn't been something readily available in her life, so this feels awkward, like a boy asking his crush to prom.

"I feel the same way, Lena...if it helps at all. You matter more to me than you know and maybe it makes me a little dumb when I make decisions." You reach your her hand as you try to soothe the anxiety that riddled her face and the tension in her shoulders.

Yelena climbs into the hospital bed with you, placing her head on your breast, laying on her side with an arm over you.

"I'm not kidding, I will kill you if you die." She says as she picks at the material of the blanket over your body. Her comment makes you smile, and the weight of her head is a bit uncomfortable, but the feeling of her close quickly quiets any pain.

"I promise, Lena." Your hand reaches up to rake your nails through her short blond hair, her body next to yours like a puzzle piece, your breathing synced with hers like you and her only breathed for the other.

Translation for the bit of Russian: Jesus fuckin- You could've died, and what would've happened? Ugh, you make me so angry. I don't know if I want to strangle you or kiss you. You're so aggravating.

-> Masterlist

-> Send me requests/prompts if you'd like

[devilssacrament]

weeeeell if you want more prompts so badly how about number 44 from touching for Willmack? 💕

I didn't check the order of the prompts so you're getting another one already. please enjoy ❤️

Mack’s still bummed about the way the season went, still reeling from the abrupt end of it all, the prospect of no more hockey for the next several months leaving him a little off-kilter. It’s the reason why he’s physically present at Toff’s end-of-season barbecue, but mentally kind of checked out, Will doing the talking for the both of them. He’s barely paying attention to anything but Will’s voice and his warm laughter, a cold can sweating against his warm palm.

He doesn’t know what exactly pulls him back into the conversation, but he tunes in just in time to hear Will say, “—so yeah, we’re definitely going to just look for a house. No need to rent an apartment for two years and then start looking for something else. We’re both staying for a while, so it only makes sense.”

Wenny nods slowly, clearly surprised – by what, Mack isn’t quite sure. 

“Yeah, no, that does make sense. I guess I just wasn’t expecting you guys to just– I don’t know. Settle already,” he says with a shrug. “Then again, it’s you we’re talking about, so I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

Will grins at that, very obviously pleased that they’re so predictable, that people can tell that they’re it for each other without them having to say it out loud. The warm feeling in Mack’s stomach only gets more solid when Will turns his head, the full force of his smile hitting Mack in his soft insides, burrowing deep and settling with a pleasant hum. Will looks like he’s about to say something, but before he can utter a word, Toff calls out to them.

“Mack, Will. Come over here for a second!”

Following the voice, they turn their heads and see Toff waving at them from the hibachi grill, a paper chef hat on his head and a spatula in his hand.

“I hope they got insurance because god knows Toff shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near that grill,” Mack mutters under his breath, grinning into his can when Will snorts next to him.

“Well, let’s go over and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself,” Will replies.

They nod to Wenny, who promises to ask his wife about their real estate agent, and then turn, carefully approaching the grill. Toff immediately ropes them into keeping him company while he mans the hibachi grill, the professionals eyeing him wearily as they continue chopping up vegetables and meats. Mack keeps his eyes on the grill, wincing every time Toff gets dangerously close to the hot surface. To his relief, Toff gets shooed away only a few minutes later, the professionals ready to take over while the rest of them finally get to eat. 

“They don’t know what they’re missing out on,” Toff grumbles while dutifully pulling off his apron and hat. 

Mack snorts. “I’m pretty sure they know exactly what you bring to the table and decided they didn’t need to be involved with any first responders today.”

He absorbs the shove from Toff with practised ease, grinning at the eye roll Toff sends his way before leaving them to their own devices. 

“We should find seats, I’m starving and I don’t want to eat while standing,” Will says, letting his eyes wander over the tables and chairs spread out all over the Toffoli’s backyard. 

They spot the last empty chair at the same time. Mack glances at Will out of the corner of his eye and regrets it immediately; his one second of hesitation is enough to give Will a small headstart as he bolts for the lone fold-up chair between two of the tables. With a curse, Mack rushes after him. He’s only a step behind Will but it’s enough for Will to box him out and unceremoniously drop himself down into the chair, a triumphant grin on his face as he raises his can in a cheer. 

“Better luck next time, Superstar,” he crows before emptying his drink in one gulp. 

Rolling his eyes, Mack does the same, taking Will’s empty can afterwards and discarding them both on the table next to him. Then he looks at Will sitting in the fold-up chair like it’s a throne and he’s the king, his legs spread and stretched out in front of him. For a moment, Mack considers letting him have it, considers just sitting down in the grass, or whining to Cat until she magically procures another chair for him. But the sight of Will’s thighs makes Mack change gears. 

Pressing his lips together so he doesn’t grin and give himself away, Mack steps closer to Will, close enough to stand between his open legs and force him to tip his head back to look at Mack.

“What’re you planning, handsome?” Will asks, entirely unconcerned by whatever Mack is about to do.

With a shrug, Mack turns sideways and quickly lowers himself onto Will’s thigh, his arm wrapping around Will’s shoulders. Before Will can protest, Mack swings his legs over the arm of the chair, his ass slipping off Will’s thigh and between his legs. It’s a tight fit, but Mack doesn’t actually mind. The look of disbelief on Will’s face makes him finally give up the fight with his facial muscles, a pleased laugh escaping him.

“Best seat in the house,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Will snorts and shakes his head, but dutifully wraps his arm around Mack’s back and doesn’t push him off, his other hand coming to rest on Mack’s thigh, a brand where the heat of his palm seeps through the fabric of Mack’s pants. 

“I can show you a better seat when we get home,” Will murmurs, only for Mack’s ears to hear, and squeezes Mack’s thigh.

Swallowing, Mack shifts, his cheeks and ears hot, and without looking at Will, replies, “Looking forward to it.”

send me prompts from this list

[glitchy-npc]

Done for a "monologue" flash prompt on discord. Hollow Ground is on the receiving end of an angry monologue from Tegan Retribution. Post canon, having agreed to work together. HG's pov, 907 words.

The door to my office opens with a bang, slamming against the wall as Retribution storms through it. I can't help the flinch — and the flare of annoyance, that veneer is mahogany — but just because he's lost his temper doesn't mean I need to lose mine. At least he's out of the armor, he wants a talk, not fight. Jake stands in front of me protectively anyway.

"To what do I owe the pleas-"

"I told you Charge was off limits!" Retribution growls, stepping up as close as Jake will allow. He might as well not even be in the room for how much attention Retribution pays him.

"Relax, he's fine." I put on my most sympathetic smile. Retribution is overreacting.

"You had him shot!" He yells loud enough that his voice cracks. There's an unsettling fury in those familiar gray eyes that I don't like.

"And I told you to keep him out of the way. Besides, he'll live." I keep my voice calm and businesslike. "Honestly you should be thanking me, he's been far too much of a distrac-"

Blinding white- hot pain bursts against my jaw and the world shifts sideways. Am I falling? A rough hand grabs the lapel of my suit jacket and keeps me from tumbling onto the floor. I blink a few times to reorient myself from the shock.

But its not Retribution who hit me.

"Jake, what the hell…" My lips feel numb and its not just the pain.

"I didn't-" The look in Jake's eyes is panicked, mirroring my own. "I didn't do this." Jake's fist is still raised, trembling slightly. His eyes flicker to Retribution, still as a statue.

Jake pulls his fist back further and I scramble for the one holding my jacket, seeking skin contact, pressing my fingers into his hand.

"Jake you don't need to hit me again, you don't want-"

His fist collides with my nose with a sickening crack. This time I fall, dizzy with pain, the concrete floor stinging my palms. The coppery, wet tang of blood, my blood, brings me back to agonizing clarity.

I look up at Jake, ashen faced, eyes wide with fear but still rooted to the spot — a marionette strung up by invisible strings.

Retribution walks towards me, slowly and I scramble backwards, fuck dignity. There is a gun in my desk, maybe I could…no the thought is absurd, I'd never make it in time.

"We have a truce!" Let him remember our deal, appeal to reason, good business if nothing else. Maybe I can stall him long enough for Jake to break free of whatever hold Retribution has on him.

"No, what we have is a failure of understanding." Retribution crouches down in front of me, eye level, obliterating his rare height advantage. His voice is low and cold, in control, in stark contrast from his outburst just moments ago. " We had a truce because I needed your money and your resources and for a time I thought that meant I needed you. But I don't."

"You're so sure?" I'm proud of how steady my voice is.

"Yes. You've grown lazy, complacent. You thought yourself so far above me that the one condition I put on our agreement was negligible. But what you failed to understand is that with my powers there is no one in this entire fucking city I cannot touch." A smile tugs at Retribution's lips that makes my stomach plummet. "Just take your little boy toy over here." He gestures at Jake but his eyes never leave mine. "Does he know you need physical touch to manipulate him? Because I don't have that…limitation."

"Oh fuck you!" Jake spits. His entire body trembles, trying to move, trying to shift.

"Be quiet and sit down." Retribution says calmly and to my horror Jake obeys. The command wasn't for a chair so we're all on the floor now, if someone were to walk in on us I swear I'd burst out laughing even though I'm half afraid I might die today.

"So what do you want?" I pinch my nose and tilt my head backwards. Its agonizing but there's no point left in fighting it, Retribution holds all the cards now. All that's left is the payout.

"On the surface, nothing has to change." Retribution stands, straitening his suit as he does so. "But if you ever go back on a deal or come after me and mine again…I will burn you so thoroughly your name won't even be a memory."

I can hear someones laugh and it takes me a moment to recognize its my own. Maybe its the pain, maybe its the first time in a long time I've felt…I don't even know how I feel. Scared? Humiliated? Angry? Relieved?

"As far as threats go, that's a good one. But you're an idiot." I know its not wise but I don't have to take this laying down, even if I am technically still on the floor. I don't have to wait for fate or his weathervane mood, I can cut the deal here and now. "You should just kill me while you have the chance."

Retribution hesitates, hand on the door handle. Is he considering it? It's the smart play, we both know it. instead he only shrugs.

"It'd be a shame to make Noe cry, I actually like her." Retribution closes the door with a soft click.

[notmorbid]

sweet fury.

dialogue prompts from sweet fury by sash bischoff.

nothing will ever be the same again.

you get it. i can tell.

you know me better than i know myself.

my life was so very different before you.

isn't 'rose hip' a rather saucy name for a tea?

this isn't the image i want people to have of me.

you probably think i've got some kind of daddy complex, don't you?

what are we gossiping about?

where do you want me?

you're always thinking of everyone else.

you're the one who makes shit happen.

i've always found it best to leave the past in the past.

i don't want ____ to see how broken i am.

i don't feel angry at all. i just feel sad.

promise you'll never betray me. promise you'll never break this trust.

let's not mix business and pleasure, shall we?

may every last one of your dreams come true.

pretend i'm someone else. someone you hardly know.

i would kill to look like _____.

you're not the person i thought i knew.

you could have gotten seriously hurt.

i thought i knew where my life was going.

i know you feel like you can't escape, but you can.

i feel like i'm learning so much from you.

i'm old-fashioned at heart.

when did you know that _____ was the one?

i don't believe in unconditional love. loving someone is a choice you make over and over, every day.

you've caught me. i couldn't leave you if i tried.

______ have always been my favorite flower.

there are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy, and the tired.

it's never too late to heal.

you don't need to be a _____ to be a hero.

i blew it. how can i redeem myself?

how is it possible to love two people at once?

none of this was ever your fault.

i'm sorry. i didn't mean to yell.

i didn't know where else to go. i ran here.

leaving isn't an event, it's a process.

in the movie version of your life, how would you draw it?

though my means may be messy, my motives have always been pure.

care to tell me what the hell happened?

you're the only person who knows the full story.

only you can set yourself free.

you have to make your own mistakes.

isn't this all a bit subversive?

you did what you felt you had to do to survive.

you're going to bring up my feelings for you, aren't you?

if i'm wrong, just say it, and i'll never ask again.

just for one night, will you stop your mind from turning?

i know what i'm doing. i have it all worked out.

despite everything, i like you.

i was in your shoes once, too, you know.

listen. i'm on your side.

i made it to the other side because of you.

let me help you, the way you helped me.

you always want to see the best in people.

where did you go just now?

at some point, you've got to take responsibility for your own mistakes.

am i really that easy to throw away?

for the first time, i feel like i'm seeing you for who you really are.

something is wrong here. i can feel it.

i'm the good guy here.

there's no need for this to get messy, right?

it's alright now. you're safe.

you've made an enormous impression.

you've gotten off scot-free.

all i did was give you the rope to hang yourself.

i'm not a murderer. it was self defense.

you should have listened to ____ when you had the chance.

am i getting warm?

stop acting. i know this is just another one of your performances.

do you even realize what you've done?

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM THE STING *  assorted dialogue from the 1973 film, adjust as necessary

can you get a mob together?

we can't let him get away with that.

what was i supposed to do?

he's not as tough as he thinks.

you're not gonna stick around for your share?

how does he do it?

i dunno what to do with this guy.

sit down and shut up, will you?

sorry i'm late. i was taking a crap.

how do you want to work this?

good god, we're millionaires!

did you know he was that loaded?

you're right, [name]. it's not enough.

i don't even know you.

you know me. i'm the same as you.

it's two in the morning and i don't know nobody.

there's been a mistake!

give me my money back!

glad to meet you. you're a real horse's ass.

[name] said i could learn something from you.

i already know how to drink.

what's your problem?

not only are you a cheat, you're a gutless cheat as well.

what are the odds?

what's your hurry?

you know anything about the guy?

anything else i gotta know?

you can't do that alone, you know.

you're scared of him.

if you don't have one we can get you one.

if this thing blows up, the feds will be the least of our problems.

who told you this guy was in here?

maybe i could help you, if you tell me his name.

which way are the rooms?

i wouldn't go in there if i were you.

what are you going to do, call the cops?

i'm on vacation.

he threatened to kill me.

you're late. where have you been?

that's what you get for playing with your head up your ass.

if i didn't know you better, i'd swear you had some class.

looks like you're bringing up the rear.

don't worry, you can trust me.

give it to me. give me the money.

what makes you think you can trust him?

you want to get out of here tonight?

you getting married or something?

if he comes in again, stall him so i can get a look at him.

this is just a test. the big one comes later.

be careful with that.

here's your wallet.

there were four witnesses at that table!

i need you to help me break him.

where's my money?

explain it to me somehow.

what the hell is this?

what else haven't you been telling me?

it seems worthwhile, doesn't it?

why are you doing it?

i have a pretty good idea.

to hell with that.

we had a little trouble in chicago today.

you got the wrong guy.

[thesourcabbage]

NUMBER 1 … no wait NUMBER 3 … NO BOTH!! Pllllllzzzzzzz

Okidoki!!! These ended up being kinda long snippets, so see below the fold :D

Here's a snippet of Azris Day 1: Creature Feature - Familiar. I'm doing a Demon/Demon Hunter AU for this one.

The demon grunted, burying Azriel's dagger into the earth mere inches from his face and arm. The demonic blood smelled warm, spicy, edged with brimstone and untamed magic. Azriel had only been able to land a single blow.

Bell-tipped slippers interrupted their harsh panting with cloying tinkles, belying the demon's power. The slippers entered the edge of his vision. Azriel twisted his face to try to meet the demon's gaze, but the flaming chains held him firm. Their uncanny glow beat back the comforting forest darkness, repelling his shadows and muting their whispers.

"It's disgusting when our kind turns against each other," the demon said, his tone bored, tracing the edge of Azriel's wing. Azriel tried to jerk back from the feather-light touch, but his wing was at the demon's mercy. "Do you think humans will make an exception for half-demons when all the demons are gone?"

And here's a snippet of Azris Day 3: Contact. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH WARNING: for context, Azriel has been missing/dead for two years at this point:

Two years. Life had regained some color by then. Eris did his duties and maintained his locus of power. He only brought out Azriel's leather jacket once a week now. Progress.

He was wearing it (the worn leather too big for his shoulders, his smell long lost now, the edge of the sleeve worn from Eris's absent stroking) when the shadow appeared. It was weak, tiny, about the size of Eris's pinkie. But it was a shadow. Curled on the pillow next to him. Laying there. It didn't float. It wriggled weakly.

Adrenaline surged in Eris. His breath came in gasps. He didn't dare hope. Tears fell from his eyes. Eris slowly, delicately, brought his hand to the shadow. His finger passed through it, as normal, until it clung to him like a caterpillar to a stem. Hope sprung in his chest: thrilling and agonizing.

---

"Cauldron," Cassian swore. "What does this mean?"

"I don't know," Eris said. The shadow twitched, weak, in Eris's palm. He kept the shadow under the birch canopy, hiding it from the Summer sun. He'd tucked the shadow against his chest, under his clothes, in the days since it appeared at his pillow. Insomnia returned. He was terrified that he'd wake up and it'd be gone. "Has anyone else experienced this?"

Cassian shook his head. "Mother, does this mean—"

He stopped, face twisted, pained. Eris couldn't voice it either. His throat tightened at the thought. He might be alive.

Rhys called him to the river house that night. Night's Inner Circle was there.

The shadow clung to Eris's fingers. He tried depositing the shadow in Rhys's hand, but it held firm, Rhys's fingers passing through it.

"It acts like a real shadow," Mor said.

"This doesn't mean he's alive," Amren said, grim. The mask holding Eris together shuddered.

"We return to the libraries. Look again. We might have missed something." Feyre rubbed her eyes.

"We were looking for disappearances. Now we look for reappearances." Rhys said.

Eris did his bedtime routine. He laid in his bed. He placed the shadow on the pillow next to him.

He gazed at it. It wriggled slowly, still weak.

The shadows spoke to Azriel. He told him how they'd chatter: return wagging with a morsel of information to whisper. He wondered if the shadow could whisper to Azriel.

Eris came closer to it, his face inches away.

He whispered to it.

I still love you.

I miss you so much.

I want to wake up and find you here.

Come back to me.

Honestly, the Day 3: Contact fic ended up pretty experimental in terms of storytelling and plot. I'm quite grateful to @azrisweek for the prompts -- I feel like they really pushed my creative muscles and took me unexpected places.

[bleadhound]

Wasn't like begging was against his nature  —but he doesn't like to beg,  is the thing,  to anyone except for Kerry.  For Kerry,  he's too willing  —-because unlike everyone else in the world,  Kerry was never mean when Alo took to begging.  Kerry wasn't mean to him in general.  Kerry never deprived him or held him at arms-length,  paranoid,  unsettled by the ugliness of a man who needs something so bad that he's willing to break for it.  For Kerry,  Alo can beg.  He can beg and feel open and raw and he doesn't flinch when he does it.  He didn't think that was possible.  And then he met Kerry Lange. 

Heated affirmation tastes like confection at the back of his throat.  The rasped cadence of his once-lover's voice burning low in his chest,  grating in his throat  —tantalizing sound,  Alo's heart is beating at nine pulse points,  and an extra now pinned  —throbbing,  leaking against his hard abdomen as Kerry's sculpted hands grip fiendishly tight at the cut of his waist.  Alo doesn't mind.  He favors it  —Kerry's hard touch,  the dark-purple bruises left behind by the earnest grasp of his hands,  sweet gnaw of his mouth.  Now,  especially.  Without a doubt,  he has gone too long without the other.  It makes him desperate.  It makes him willing to bend,  to break  —as long as it was Kerry applying the pressure. 

Easy.  This wasn't some anonymous truck stop fuck off the I-15 near Barstow.  Wasn't a blind fuck through a hole in some sad little cowboy bar on the outskirts of Needles.  Wasn't even like his first fuck,  which was closer to making love but closer to just being young,  with a man's whose face he can't remember anymore.  Nah.  What did he know,  until he met Kerry?  Nothing,  absolutely nothing.

But after?  The thought cracks through Alo's heat-obscured skull like a branch of lightning as Kerry's slender waist draws fluid against him.  Frightening notion,  there being an "after"  —but there always is,  isn't there?  Even if they're seeing stars now,  what happens when they're all used up?  When Kerry's looking at him,  veil of needy desperation long since dissolved?  

And what would happen,  when Kerry found out about Jack?      Oh,  God.   Thought like that would've been enough,   maybe  ( big maybe ),  to knock him out  —sober him up.  But then Kerry kisses him.  It's like diffusing a hydrogen bomb.  Satin mouth,  swollen and tasting of them both  —the slow,  but urgent press of Kerry's sweet tongue filling his mouth.   His once-lover's cock pushing,  sinking into the cinch of him.

Alo's no longer thinking about the after.  Kerry's fully sheathing the beating girth of him inside of Alo  —drawing him tighter than a bow,  the reflexive ripple of tightening muscle and blinding pain-pleasure burning the backs of his eyes until they're wet and prompting his body to lock  —wrangle,  drag Kerry in with moans lurid,  wet on his lips.  His mouth open and yielding to Kerry's contact.

Pitched.  He's making those soft,  gravely noises when Kerry's filling him up like this.  Then he's drawing back,  just when Alo's about getting used to the side of him  —he's sliding that thick cock out of him.  Alo's tipping his head back,  breaking contact without considering.  

       ...that's it. 

Hips shove  —rut,  burying the thick chord of his cock back inside oh him full again  —lights flash,  burning bright in the backs of Alo's eyes  —knees knock,  ragged ache of his mouth sounds something so lurid,  he hopes the neighbors can't hear.  But then he kinda hopes they do.  Eyes rolling back as that pain-pleasure dominates the expanding knot in his chest.  

        "Jesus,   yes  —"   The angry rut's got him panting.  Excited.  More than.  His knees are locking Kerry in.  His hands are gripping at the back of his neck,  his hair.  Mouth sloppy against his own.   "—just like that,  honey.  Shit.  Shit."  Burning,  breathless.  There's a strangled laugh in his chest.  Crooked smile.    "Feels so fuckin' good.  Hardly used to you anymore.  Jesus.  Ain't that sad."    It's was true.  Even after Kerry's attention,  he's tighter than a drum  —clenched tight around his lover.  

Kerry breathes him in. It’s a trembling inhale, like he’s trying to fill a part of himself that’s been hollow for far too long. Alo’s voice rings in his ears—raw, wrecked, pleading in a way that Kerry’s not sure that he's heard from the other before. And when their foreheads touch, it jolts something loose in him. The soft bump, the shared breath, the sweat slick between them—these are the things that break him apart.

He shouldn’t have said it. Not aloud. Not like that. But now it’s there—between them, beating like a second pulse.

Alo pulls him in again, desperate and warm, and Kerry lets himself fall into it. His hands settle at Alo’s waist, fingers dragging over skin he’s memorized in too many pieces over too many nights. The request—please, honey—rings in his chest. He likes the begging. It makes Kerry gasp against the others mouth before sucking the other's tongue in for a wet and greedy kiss. He feels their bodies melding together. Flesh and bone. Muscles quaking.

God.

I want to explore his insides.

I want him all over me.

“I know,” Kerry whispers, voice low and uneven. “I know. I need it too, christ I need it too....” He feels crazy when Alo's hands go wandering on him. Nice and needy hands; pawing, gripping, slipping into sensitive flesh. He feels the other spreading him, coaxing him, reminding him of all the other times they fucked around like this in the bedroom, in the bed of his truck, the shower, the kitchen floor. Christ, all of it. Over and over again. Nice, raw, slippery. Meat against meat, bone against bone. Scratches, burns, and rivers of sweat. The kind of fucking that left his body loose and sore the next day.

He grips the other's hips now. Hard, drawing Alo in close to him while he settles between the other's legs, the other's cock slick and pressing up against his abdomen. His mouth finds Alo’s again, not rushed this time, but soft. Lingering. Tongue searching the inside of the other's mouth while his cock presses, and slips inside the other in one prolonged and sturdy thrust. The other stretches. He feels him, like a rubber-band, expanding and dripping with Kerry's saliva. Fuck. He hardly needs his eyes for navigation, he knows the other's body through touch alone. He knows through smell, through taste, through his gripping hands. And the sensation scrapes over him in chills and jitters.

"...that's it." He exhales against the other's lips, his hips already retracting before pressing in harder, angrier.

[roses-and-revolutions]

DC x DP Prompt

Some way, somehow (up to you), Dan, Danny, and Dani all end up living with Vlad.

Vlad is ecstatic. The three D's aren't, but it's not like they have a choice.

To push things forward, they end up begrudgingly going to a Wayne Gala with him, and like most gala kids, they were subjected to forceful, nosy, uncomfortable, and unnecessary questions from adults they don't like, and they know, don't really care.

One of the few obvious questions would be, 'How old are you?'.

Dan, despite being in a clone body of Danny, grows just a bit faster and taller than him and refuses to be the same age as that twerp. So he says that he's one year older than Danny.

Danny, who is absolutely pissed that his clone body is growing faster than him and also refuses to be the same age as that asshole, uses his actual age.

Dani, on the other hand, is having some internal struggles about being a clone and how her body and mind were basically forced to become more mature than she actually is. How she desperately wishes to be a child but will never have the opportunity to be. Or how she wants to be her own person but doesn't know how, and is simply borrowing from everyone around her.

She gets the dreaded question, 'How old are you?'. She doesn't want to be too close to Dan or Danny and 'copy' them. But she doesn't want to be too far off from them because she's really not much smaller than Danny, and also finds comfort in being close to them even if she is just 'copying' them. So she says she's a year younger than Danny.

The Gala goes on, yada yada yada. Then they go home.

A few weeks later, one of the D's (I'm thinking Dan) finds an online article about the Masters family and begins laughing their ass off.

Apparently, Irish twins were one thing. But Irish triplets? That had the general public and social elite in an uproar for weeks to come.

[folkbreeze]

˚ʚ🦑 squid game 🚦

or... freezer bunny game?

[sysig]

Growing closer than expected (Patreon)

[felisartus]

Day 10: Chain

[carnalmantrap]

Prompt 3: Role Swap

Context is these ocs are a (very vague) retelling of beauty and the beast but with a lesbian vampire- now Lucille is the vampire/beast and Seraphina is the human/beauty.

I also made a normal version of them cause I like this and might want to draw a background for it later idk.