#fic: sangria

[artiststarme]

"A Little Fruity"

It was just an average night for the Munsons. Wayne was taking advantage of a rare night off to catch up on laundry and watch a rerun of one of his favorite Western films. Eddie was fiddling around the kitchen trying to create some sort of semi-edible dessert for the two to eat after they had finished their sodium-filled TV dinners. After creating a symphony of clunks and bangs, Eddie came bursting around the small island with a small plate and thrust it into Wayne’s face. 

“Here, try this. Isn’t it amazing? And it’s healthy!” He said excitedly, pushing the plate into Wayne’s hands and watching him take a small nibble. 

Wayne didn’t know what he made, some sort of berry danish or tart it seemed. It was alright but he wasn’t a huge fan of fruity desserts and much preferred richer flavors such as chocolate or caramel. But still, Eddie had tried his best to make a ‘fancy’ dessert and he deserved praise for that. 

“Pretty good, kid! It’s a little fruity though,” he said and gave his nephew a thumbs up while he shoved the entire tart into his mouth.  

“Hey, like me!” Immediately, Eddie realized what he said and tried to backtrack. “Um, not in a gay way!”

“That’s the only way,” Wayne said after a moment, raising an eyebrow. He maintained a calm composure, the direct opposite of Eddie who was on the verge of a panic attack. Eddie’s heart beat hard against his chest, his hands started to shake, and tears filled the brims of his eyes. 

Eddie couldn’t believe he’d been so careless with his words. He’d grown too comfortable and now he was going to pay the price. His uncle was going to abandon him and never talk to him again. And Eddie couldn’t even blame him. If he were him, he wouldn’t want his eccentric, fag of a nephew living with him either. He didn’t know what he could say to fix this. 

“Um…” Eddie couldn’t even speak through the fear clogging his throat. He hadn’t been this scared of Wayne since he was dropped at the man’s doorstep by the social worker when he was 11. It had taken months of Wayne slowly breaking down his walls and gaining his trust until he stopped being so afraid of him. But now with one small slip of tongue, he felt like he had reverted back to the little bald-headed kid he was back in the day that had feared everything.

Wayne, immediately recognizing the terrified glint in his wide eyes, set the plate of dessert next to him on the couch and raised his hands in comforting surrender. “Relax kid, I don’t care what you’re into as long as you’re happy. And safe. It’s alright, Eds. Calm down.”

He rose from his seat and approached his cowering nephew carefully, making sure his hands remained in Eddie’s point of view. Eddie watched him approach with wide eyes as he shook like a leaf. When Wayne placed his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, the boy immediately launched himself into his uncle’s arms for a comforting hug. His frame shook with the force of his cries and the whole time, Wayne just patted his shoulders and murmured comforting words in his ear. 

“It’s alright, kiddo. You’re still my boy, nothing's gonna change that. It’s alright, you’re okay. I know this isn’t how you wanted to tell me but it's okay.”

Wayne meant what he said. His boy was different in a lot of ways and he’d always accepted him before. He wasn’t going to turn on him just for loving who he loved. Times were hard on people like his nephew. Was he disappointed that Eddie was going to have a harder time finding love than his straight counterparts? Absolutely. But he knew it was beyond Eddie’s control and he would never blame him for that. Not for something he couldn’t control and probably not for some things he did have control over. 

Eddie whispered into his shoulder, “you don’t hate me?”

Wayne shook his head passionately, tightening his grip on his nephew. “Of course not! I’m always gonna love ya no matter what. There ain’t a thing you could do that would make me hate you, Eds.”

Eddie let out a weak chuckle, “even if I didn’t graduate again?”

“Even then.” 

“What if I murdered someone?” Eddie asked, words coming out more steadily with his worries assuaged. 

Wayne scoffed, “you can’t even kill the bugs, kid. You couldn’t murder anybody.”

Eddie pulled away enough to look him in the eyes. There was a smile on his face now but it was dimmed by the tears stuck on his pale face. “But if I did?”

“I’d be a little mad but I’d still help you hide the body. You’d probably have a reason. Now, stop yammering and get that guitar of yers. Show me that new tune you were working on.” Wayne said, swatting at his nephew’s tangled hair and pushing him away. 

He listened to his cackling as he went down the hall and shook his head. His boy was too good for this world and he could only hope that when he got hurt, he’d be able to pick up the pieces. 

~*~*~*~

Months later, Wayne remembered their conversation as he sat atop a picnic table outside his trailer smoking a cigarette. As soon as he’d seen the broken body of that young girl in the living room of his trailer, he knew it couldn’t have been Eddie. No, there was no world in which his sweet nephew would ever hurt another human being. It wasn’t in his nature. Eddie was theatrical and extravagant but he was also sensitive and tenderhearted. 

This horrific deed couldn’t have been his Eddie. Not when just a few months ago, he had come out to him with a joke about a goddamn fruit tart. Not when he’d nearly had a panic attack about being hated by the one person that was always in his corner. No, there was no way regardless of what these piece of shit cops said. He just hoped that he could convince them before things got any worse for his boy.

[rosemaze-reveries]

the first time you hear sangria's voice, it lingers in your mind like a siren's song, haunting your every move

you hear it in the echoes of your own footsteps & along the manor's whistling windows-- it drives you too mad to sleep

it was never sangria's intention to plague you this way. she's startled when you confront her in hysterics outside of the games, collapsing at her feet to please sing for you one more time & undo your curse

such drama, she thinks. this is just a love confession, no? but the sight of you crumpled there reminds her of something from her past, and she's interested enough to entertain you

"i don't sing for free—" she is gentle when she plucks up your chin, rolling her thumb over your bottom lip. "but use those lips of yours, and you might be able to coax a sound you like"

[christinesficrecs]

Hi! I was hoping you could help me find a fic. I don’t remember much. But I believe it was an amnesia Stiles fic. I believe he goes back to thinking he’s 17 again. He doesn’t remember that he’s with Derek I think even married and that they live together. And that he is also pregnant. I think it is mpreg. But he’s not that far along so they were able to hide it from him until he does get his memory back. And we find out that he tripped down some stairs and hit his head.

Sorry if not enough info. Thank u! :)

Hey! The mpreg part is really throwing me. 🤦🏻‍♀️

Someone please help. Lol.

I think parkbacon6104 found it. Thank you!!

Trip and Fall - Stilinski Style by KaliopeShipsIt | 4K

When Stiles wakes up in the hospital with temporary amnesia after a household accident, finding out that he's no longer 17 but 27 AND happily married to Derek Hale is not even the biggest shock in store for him that day.

[allofthebees]

Rating: T (Kissing, some body worship)

Pairing: Riruhime

Word Count: 378

Riruka wants to put her in a box. A pretty pink pastry box laced with white at the edges, and a clear window at the top that she can peek down into. One she can store away and save for special occasions.

Bleach fandom I am here with Orihime gay momence

[bangaveragewhitewine]

last night of my holiday (been in Ibiza (the quiet part) for a week) and I’m drinking sangria on my balcony to combat the 👿back to real life scaries👿 but I have a tan and freckles again and a note of summery fic ideas to keep me going

[crybaby-bkg]

my family threw a party for me yesterday and it was soooo much fun!!! I felt so loved and celebrated, especially after being in such a slump for the past like six months 🥺🥺🥺

[writteninverses]

hiya ! for the prompt game how about 12 and any pairing of yr choice go crazy <33

hi!! this prompt is so AAHHH i love this quote so so much im so glad you sent it!!

12. you were drinking sangria and i was throwing oranges at you.

The Spanish sun is shining bright over their heads. Raging sun rays heading directly to their backs, tanning them in the process. They are trying to find a bar at 4:45pm.

"I told you we should have stayed at the pool, or even the hotel. Now I am feeling how my balls are basically going to melt." Sirius says, using his hand to wipe off the sweat in his forehead.

"Stop being so dramatic, you are the one that is craving some tapas at this godforsaken hour." Remus keeps walking and he finds a free table in a terrace.

They are in a quick 3 day trip in the South of Spain, since Sirius found cheap tickets and he said that it was a total bargain and they had to go because Remus when was the last time we travelled together. Remus thinks that seeing Sirius getting burnt is rewarding for how much he pestered him to do this trip, so he takes comfort in that. Karma, that's what people say.

"Can't we just get some sangrías from the supermarket and sit down in a bench? It’s too fucking hot and I’m beyond tired and I can't keep walking around like a cock with no destination." Sirius rests his chin on Remus' shoulder and wraps his arms around his waist.

"Yeah, alright, we can do that." Remus pats the hands hanging on his belly.

Sirius gets some sangría in plastic bottles and Remus buys oranges because he wants something to snack. They are in a small town visiting for the day, so they find a little waterfall that exudes the cleanest water they have seen in a long time.

They sit down on the rocks, the water flow caressing their feet and Sirius takes a sip from his sangría.

"This is heavenly." And he looks at Remus.

Remus peels one of the oranges and eats one of the segments, "It feels like paradise." And he looks at Sirius.

"Aw, look at you getting all flushed because you love me soooo much and you are sooo glad we are in this trip." Sirius mocks and Remus throws oranges segments at him.

"Shut up, you wanker."

"I love you too, Remus."

Remus sighs, "I love you too."

"Did you just sigh?" Sirius gasps putting a hand on his own chest.

Remus laughs and he feels content, at peace. He's found what he was looking for.

[saintlupin]

i’m going to continue to sip on alcohol and write fic that is so self-indulgent……..

[attapullman]

Pretend | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: f!reader, light smut, 18+ only as always, unprotected pinv, fake dating trope, one bed trope, lots of switching between present and past tense whoops

A Note From Mo: It's Choose-a-Fic! Thank you to everyone who voted and has been part of my 500 Follower milestone! Hopefully you like the fic I wrote just for you (with a little extra one bed trope as a special thank you)! 😘

Coupe glasses tinkle and laughter rings out as the rehearsal dinner draws toward an end. Everyone’s had a little too much of the hotel’s signature white sangria. On your left, Isabel and Reuben are frozen in blissed smiles, the outdoor lights casting an ethereal glow. An idyllic night before the wedding.

You should be relaxed. You’ve had a little wine, the most delicious dinner, and tomorrow your college roommate is getting married at this stunning resort. But every time that big hand grazes your shoulder or his breath heats the skin of your cheek, you’re reminded none of this is real and you desperately wish it was.

The only difference between six-year-old Robert Floyd and the man standing in front of you is the broad shoulders. Those pink cheeks are just as prominent and his eyes are wide behind updated corrective frames. Sandy hair politely brushed off his face. Even his thin lips warp in that same warm smile that instantly relieves tension. The only significant difference is those shoulders that fill out the entire doorway as he checks his rooming assignment with Isabel.

From where you stand behind her, suitcase in tow, you feel your cheeks warm and your gaze drop. You haven’t seen him since the engagement party where you muttered, “it’s a small world after all” more than once. It seemed all too coincidental that your college roommate would be marrying a guy who just happens to be in the same Navy squadron as your first grade boyfriend. 

To be fair, you had “dated” Bobby Floyd for a total of a week before your parent’s divorce landed you on the opposite side of the country. There hadn’t even been a formal breakup. He’d simply been the guy you jokingly referred to as your “first love” at wine nights. Occasionally you remembered his collection of vintage Coke bottle caps. 

He was practically a figment of your imagination until Isabel introduced you to the man in the nicely ironed pale blue button down and you sputtered out that you already knew each other.

You’re so lost in how bizarre the coincidence of it all is that you zone out through Bob’s check-in and the next few guests that arrive. It’s not until her line of relatives has dwindled that she remembers you’re sat behind her, sorting out the favors for after the reception. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have given you your card earlier!” she apologizes as she flips back over her clipboard to find your room number. It’s all forgiven, you were waiting to finish up your bridesmaid duties before checking in. Get the work out so you can slip on your bathing suit and enjoy the amenities - pool, sun, and cabana boys - before dinner tonight.

She hands you a room card and walks you through the map of the hotel. You miss the second half while gathering up all your items, mentally trying to remember exactly how many rights before a left. Dinner is at seven and anything else surely she will remind you. With a kiss to her cheek, you head off to your room to begin the fun part of this destination wedding.

The property is stunning, all sun-washed sandstone and lush tropical plants. Deep blue terry cloth draped over the sun loungers you would live on all weekend. Some sun to compliment what should be a flawless wedding weekend. Maybe you’d get lucky and one of Reuben’s hot Navy friends would join you for some eye candy. You deserved a little one-weekend-in-paradise romance.

Suite 4. It’s a little deflating to remember that you’re in this big suite alone because all the other bridesmaids have dates. A least you have some privacy. The intricately carved door accepts your room key and you push the heavy wood open, ready to change and relax.

W-why was Bob in your villa?

Standing amongst the floor-to-ceiling windows draped with ochre that overlook the ocean, white oak furnishing topped with plush linen bedding, and a trailing pothos overtaking the wall, was Bob Floyd - right in the middle of changing his shirt. Equally wide eyes taking you in as he held the bunched heathered grey cotton right in front of his head, thumbs through the head hole, mouth open in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

What was he doing in here? This was your room. “Why are you in my room?”

Despite knowing he’s not in the wrong, his cheeks tinge a deep pink. Takes a moment to pop his head in the hole of his shirt and brush out the wrinkles. You cling to to the annoyance of him interrupting your afternoon instead of focusing on how toned he’s gotten as an adult.

“This is my room. Suite 4. See?” He holds up a card identical to yours, the glossy ‘4’ reflecting the sunlight. The same ‘4’ that looks back at you. 

Clearly there’s been some sort of mistake, someone at reception accidentally typing in the wrong number while going about their busy day or Isabel reading her meticulous list wrong. An easy fix. 

You bite your lip. “Oh. Maybe I grabbed the wrong card. I’ll go find Isabel and sort it out.”

“I’ll come with you, she might have handed me the wrong card. Probably supposed to be sharing a bed with Fanboy.” He’s impossibly sweet as always. 

You have no idea who or what a Fanboy is, but you accept his company back to reception, leaving your bag in the room purely because the bridesmaid dress alone weighs a half ton. The walk back there - with a few long turns - is a tad awkward as you both walk in silence, occasionally jerking your heads in the direction to turn.

Isabel has wandered away from reception, and is now soaking in one of the poolside bars with Reuben, their lovesick smiles contagious. She gives you the warmest smile when you approach, face splitting in two as she takes in your companion. “Hey, you two! You get settled in okay?”

God, this is awkward. Thankfully before you can muster the courage, Bob steps in. “I think there’s been a mix up with one of our rooms.”

Her eyebrows furrow as takes in what he said. Eyes flit to her lounger where her clipboard of rooming assignment lies within her tote. Reuben sips his frozen margarita in casual interest, not involved in the logistics.

“Which room are you in?” Even without her clipboard, Isabel is pretty sure she knows who is in what room. She spent months perfecting these details.

You hold up the glossy ‘4’, now slightly sticky with your sweat.

“Four? Hmm, I’m pretty sure that’s right. Was there a problem with the key? Both your keys?”

You give her a bewildered look. “One of us has the wrong key. We’re not sharing a room.”

“Why not? Your prude parents aren’t here to care if you share a room with your boyfriend.”

Every muscle in your body freezes. What is she talking about?

And while you’re paralyzed on the spot, Reuben looks like he’s about to throw up the margarita. Because he knows exactly what just happened. And not only is it his fault, but he does not have a solution.

Before you can question Isabel, the pilot is throwing his arm around your shoulders and grabbing Bob’s elbow, whisking you two away, calling out to his confused fiancée not to worry, he’s got it handled. The controlled hands of a fighter pilot steering you back in the way of Suite 4 while his face reads like he’s watching a plane crash.

Reuben won’t answer any of your questions, holding up a palm while you sputter out the who, what, where’s? of what is going on. Bob silently allows himself to be directed, confusion upon his brow, but patient enough to wait for an explanation. 

Once you’re privately within the confines of Suite 4, the soft scent of bergamot and sandalwood wrapped around your bodies, Reuben finally confesses his mistake.

“Isabel thinks you two are dating.”

You expect to see eyeballs on the floor from how violently they pop out of your head. What? Bob doesn’t look much better. You two have barely spoken in decades, let alone are in a relationship! Why in the hell would Isabel think that?

Reuben drags a hand down his face, wishing he was back in the pool drinking. “When Bob over here told me that you two dated way back, I casually mentioned it to Is. When she asked the other week if he’d be good sharing a room, I thought she meant Fanboy or Harvard.”

You skip over the fact that Bob has talked about you to other people to focus on the details. “She meant me.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” By this point he’s rubbing the skin on the back of his neck raw, eyes wildly desperate. “Can you two share? It’s only two nights.”

Your eyes meet ocean blue as you both look at the single bed, then at each other. Bob intervenes calmly. “Why can’t you just tell her we need another room?”

Reuben crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. “We don’t have any other rooms. We booked the place out entirely. Short of Aunt Muriel keeling over, one of you would have to be at another hotel.”

“That’s fine,” you quip, grabbing your suitcase and ready to get the hell out of this situation.

“There’s nothing within a half hour drive. And you’re both in the wedding, that is not going to fly with Isabel.”

You’re tough, you can do hard things. Two nights at a gorgeous resort where you have to share a king-sized bed with the sweetest man on the planet? Could be so much worse. From a look at Bob’s face, he’s having the same realization.

And right as you’re about to tell Reuben that it’s not a big deal, he sends in the clincher. 

“You’re also gonna have to pretend you’re dating.”

“You’re joking.” Your tinny voice rings out in the room. You can do a lot of things - go to a wedding alone, sleep in the same bed as Bob - but you draw the line at pretending you’re dating someone you hadn’t seen until an engagement party six months ago. Nope, no way.

You look at Bob, standing with his hand resting low on his hip, watching this entire scene unfold. Giving him an expectant look, he smooths out his face and gives you a little nod. He’s on whatever team you’re on.

And just as you were about to tell Reuben to get lost, Isabel’s sweet face floods your mind’s eye. That happy smile she always greets you with, and her dismay that something had gone wrong with your room. Her perfectly planned out wedding weekend ruined by her misunderstanding a minor detail. She would insist that you have separate rooms, even if it interfered with plans, and she’d be upset - the smallest tinge of disappointment clouding her bridal smile.

Isn’t the job of a bridesmaid to make the bride not have disappointment?

And now, sitting here at the rehearsal dinner, warm conversation all around you, you can still hear yourself let out a large huff of breath and agree. “Alright, we can pretend for the weekend.”

It’s a decision you stand by, but doesn’t make the subtle way Bob has been playing your boyfriend the last 24 hours any easier. He plays devoted partner a little too well. Carrying your beach bag down to the water that afternoon when everyone wanted to sit by the pool, sweetly rubbing sunscreen into that spot on your back that you can never reach. Grabbing a drink for you when he went up to the bar. 

Your lonely wedding weekend is suddenly filled with this broad-shouldered Navy man who gives you a shy smile every time you make eye contact.

There wasn’t time to put in ground rules before Reuben threw you you to the wolves to socialize with the rest of the wedding party. When Isabel saw you, standing a healthy foot away from Bob and her sculpted eyebrow raised, it was the first test of this “relationship”. Your heart slamming in your chest as you slipped a hand around that thick bicep and rested your hot cheek against his shoulder. His own face fighting anxiety as he allowed you to set the pace. Isabel’s smile brightening as she beckoned you closer, instantly fawning over the two of you and the way Bob’s hand fits a little too nicely around your waist.

Thankfully the copious amount of relatives and friends constantly interrupting Isabel and Reuben prevented your friend investigating too close into this development in your love life. Happy to believe over some intentionally placed hands and the casual way he throws sweetheart in when asking if you want a drink.

“Now that I have you alone, why didn’t you tell me you were together? First loves reunited?!” Isabel drags you away to the other bridesmaids, Bob giving you a small wave as he joins the men. 

You shrug, making a show of looking at the hibiscus to avoid her eyes. Desperate for a believable lie. “I didn’t want to…uh, distract from your big day?”

She wraps you in a warm hug you don’t deserve. “Not distracting in the slightest. He’s the best, you’re so lucky!”

You throw a glance his way, watching his good-natured grin as Reuben’s groomsmen, mostly aviators he’s worked with over the years, joke and jostle on the other side of the lawn. It’s side glances like these that carry through the night; when he pulls your chair out for dinner, asks the waiter to refill your water, and offers you half of his dessert. When your eyes do meet, you drown in the twin oceans that twinkle back at you.

By the time you’re heading back to Suite 4 to share that big bed, you’re pretty sure you’re not pretending to like him anymore.

You’re regretting not putting up the pillow barrier Bob so kindly offered to set up. It seemed childish at the time - you didn’t need a divider to stay on your side of the bed - but now you’re lying here in your little cotton pajamas you did not expect anyone to see and you can hear him breathing and the room is a little too warm. Every sense is on high alert and a pillow barrier would give you an inkling of privacy.

In the silhouette of the moonlight peaking through the curtains, you watch the planes of Bob’s face as he peacefully sleeps beside you. If he’s good looking in the daytime, he’s breathtaking at night. Pale eyelashes against his cheeks, lips slightly pouted, hair mussed from changing sides. You wish you could smooth your fingers over the planes of his face, appreciate the sharpness of his jaw, the roundness of his cheeks.

Tomorrow you have to pretend all over again to be in love with him. A feeling that’s already starting to creep inside you. A whole day of his gentle touches and laughs against your cheek. He was the perfect boyfriend that week in grade school, and even more perfect as an adult. Holding his hand made you want to never let go…which promptly made you want to jump out of your skin. 

This was a tiny white lie to get through Sunday morning. That was it.

You keep replaying the last moment before you retired back to your hotel room for the night. The drunken group sitting around the fire pit, a bottle of tequila making its way around the circle. Not enough chairs so you ended up in Bob’s lap, body cradled in the firm comfort of his chest. 

He made it so natural, the way his hand ran up and down your arm when you shivered in the night chill. You knew he could feel the shock up your spine when you noticed how intently he watched you during your story of how Isabel found a rat in your dorm room. He made you feel like the only person out there by the fire pit. The only person on this island.

When even the tequila couldn’t keep you warm any longer, the group disbanded in favor of cozy beds and hot showers. And even when no one else was in sight he still kept his arm around your shoulder to share his warmth, the pinching heels you’d shed in his hand as he asked whether you wanted to shower first.

Lips accidentally brushing your ear when he said he liked your dress; it matched the bougainvillea.

While you hadn’t spent much time together since your parents moved you away too long ago to remember, you were continually floored by how thoughtful he was still. He remembered how Isabel didn’t like ice, and that a few members of his squadron had allergies. Giving up his water because the woman next to him was without. Not to mention how he seemed to go the extra mile with you. All the years of boyfriends before this and not a single one had ever noticed you picked the pine nuts out of your salad; your new fake boyfriend requesting a fresh one sans nuts.

And it was borderline torture watching him get ready for bed post shower. Face and chest red from the scalding water and slick hair pushed back, towel slung a little too low as he dug through his suitcase. You were still speechless as he offered to put up a pillow barrier or something if it would make you more comfortable, making sure you knew he respected your boundaries.

His eyes were so blue without his glasses…

Caution to the wind, you run a finger over his cheek, brushing away a rogue eyelash and promptly turn away from him. Only one more day and you would be free of wanting a man that wasn’t yours.

The Fitch wedding day was perfect. Wide smiles, bridal lace, stunning hydrangeas, and not a dry eye in the house when Isabel and Reuben officially became husband and wife. It was the storybook start to a happy ever after. 

The sunlight blessed ceremony was followed by a lantern-lit reception, dancing and drinking overtaking the sprawling beach-front lawn of the hotel. You stayed out until the evening ended, the wedding party laughing and overfilling glasses of champagne until the last lantern was blown out. 

You barely remembered your rooming/relationship situation until a warm hand was on your forearm, asking if you were ready to go back to the room. It’s entirely unfair how good he looks in his suit. All day you’ve admired it, from the moment he emerged from the bathroom asking for help with his bow tie to an hour ago, when the wedding party did one last rendezvous on the dance floor. 

Bob has an ease on the dance floor, clearly practiced, the hand on the small of your back gently guiding. A hand big and warm and more distracting than trying to remember your own footwork. The dark-haired woman he seems close with whooping out, “Look at those moves, Floyd!” every time you get close, her own date cheering along. 

You shake the memory from your brain as Bob walks you back to the room. Keep the pining to a minimum until you can get to the airport and not have to see him ever again. You’re doing this for Isabel, your own emotions have no place. Even as you watch him open the door to the room and welcome you inside, looking so perfectly boyfriend-shaped.

Your skin feels too hot, your head clouded by bubbles and loud poppers exploding into the sky. Shedding this satin dress and getting into a warm shower sounds like heaven, washing away the buzzing ill-content flooding your body since you joined the wedding group that morning hand-in-hand with Bob. But a broken zipper interrupts those plans.

“Bob?” He stills on his way to the bathroom, bow tie loose around his neck. You indicate to the stuck zipper you’re fiddling with, warmth flaring at the top of your cheeks at your predicament.

The tips of his ears flush as he walks to you, chest a breath away from your back, admiring the way the satin flows over your curves and dips. Takes a moment to gather your hair over your shoulder before reaching for the zipper. The skin of his pinky accidentally brushes your neck, twin breaths catching at the shock. 

Firm fingers guide the zipper onto the track. As they guide the cool metal down your back, the boiling point that has been simmering below the surface since yesterday afternoon comes to a head. The lace of your bra is visible. Now the silken band of your underwear. The air of the room is still, eagerly awaiting what happens next.

While his voice is shaky, his words are firm. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your head turns to the side, eyes catching his profile, too scared to look at him directly. 

“What are you pretending to do?”

His face falls into the crook of your neck, fingers tightening along the satin of your hips. “Pretending I’m doing our friends a favor. Pretending I’m not falling for you. Pretending every time I touch you it’s not the best part of my day.”

Your hand wraps around his, rough skin and satin beneath your fingers. Needing to tether yourself to reality to make sure this isn’t a champagne-fueled dream that he’s professing against your neck. 

“In that case, I don’t want to pretend anymore either.”

While you can’t see him, you can feel his realization against your skin. Brow furrowing, lips parting. The soft brush of his nose as he straightens up, uses his hands to turn you to him. Finally forced to look at each other amidst the information divulged.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, who braved the waters of uncharted territory. Time stills and speeds up as his face grows closer. The scent of sandalwood and bergamot that’s followed you all weekend replaced by the woodsy mint of his cologne you’ve treated yourself to when tucked into his side. Anyone outside can hear two hearts beating erratically, anxious and excited. 

His lips are warm and comforting, just like everything else about him. Pressing delicately against yours, taking his time and letting you set the pace. You’re torn between the shock of how divine he feels and the greedy need for more. Senses overwhelmed by him; you want to taste more, feel more, see more.

When he pulls away, a gentleman not wanting to overstep, you’re breathless.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you.” His confession is paired with pink cheeks and large hands playing with your fingers. 

You can’t help but to tease him, the banter from your childhood coming back. “Did it live up to expectations?”

“Way, way better.” Your smile is swallowed in his kiss, chins knocking as you trade off enthusiasm. A groan leaving Bob as you grab his hands and walk back to the bathroom. That hot shower still sounds amazing, but you need more of him.

The travertine tiles glow in the soft light as you watch your childhood love remove his suit, taking time to fold the pieces on the counter, letting you indulge in unbuttoning his crisp shirt as you share another sweet kiss. His own hands twisted in the dress barely clinging to your skin. The sounds that escape him as your hands explore his chest are purely sinful, meant only for your ears.

He barely lets you bask in his body, honed from years of Naval training, before he’s stripping the satin from your frame. You beg for another kiss, but he denies you. He can’t be distracted from watching every inch of skin being revealed. From letting his fingers follow the fabric as it pools at your feet. From kissing his way back up your body until your head falls back against the wall, fingers beckoning him to the shower.

“You’re so beautiful.” It’s more breath than words, but ignite the goose flesh along your skin as he adjusts the hot water and shower head to your liking.

Minutes or hours passed as you reacquainted under the steam. Your fingers tangled in wet strands of sandy hair, fingers slipping along any skin you can reach. His own hands tightly hugging your body, holding you close as he appreciates your nude form. Swallowing each other’s moans as his fingers dip between your folds and you run your palm along his shaft.

The universe has ceased to exist by the time Bob kisses you against the shower wall, fingers wrapping under your thighs to hoist you to his level. Loving the way you giggle as your arms wrap around his neck, trusting him wholeheartedly. Eyes trained at where he lines up with you, relishing the way your breath catches in anticipation. He kisses your forehead as a promise to take care of you, a promise you know he’ll keep.

Once he’s seated deep in you, the moment about connecting rather than getting off, he tilts your head up to check in with you. A kiss as his eyes search you for discomfort. The flames of his eyes burning the brightest blue. One final clench around him and he knows he needs to move; if not for his sake, for yours.

It’s the most glorious dream as he fills you completely, hips rocking into yours as sweaty foreheads meet.

When he brings you to orgasm, a steamy moment punctuated by your muffled screams against his shoulder, there’s nothing fake about the affection as he peppers you with praise. Or when he fills you with his own release a moment later, exhaling thank you, thank you, thank you.

A pillow barrier isn’t even discussed as you lay in his arms that night, cheek against bare chest. His arm trails down your arm like it had the night before, a mindless action you now recognize as meaningful to him as to you. Sated and content, as it should be.

You sit up a little to run your nose along his neck, producing a low groan from him. “You need something, sweetheart?”

“I was wondering, after that,” you gesture to the shower, cheeks heating, “does this mean we’re, uh, dating again?”

He smiles at your flush, cupping your face with one of his large hands. Presses the sweetest kiss to your lips.

“You know, we never had a break up. Technically we’ve been dating this whole time.”

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[froggibus]

Pool Party - Obey Me

Includes: Lucifer, Mammon, Levi, Satan, Asmo, Beel & Belphie

Genre: fluff, crack

Summary: what better way to spend a hot summer day than at the pool with your favorite demons?

CW: swimming, sunburns, lots of sunscreen, kind of a crack fic ngl, alcohol and drinking, crocs, chicken fights, reader = mc

this is a part of my Summer Suntacular Event, come check it out!

guys i am SO BEYOND EXCITED TO FINALLY POST THIS!!! ive been waiting a WEEK...anyway sorry for starving my obey me followers for almost a year...my bad

Lucifer:

surprisingly not wearing his dorky scuba suit

hovers around the grill while Beel cooks 

brings extra water and sunscreen in case anyone forgets theirs 

pesters you about reapplying your sunscreen like every 20 minutes 

tries to beat Beel at chicken but almost instantly loses 

brings his extra paperwork and refuses to participate in anything until he finishes it

the only one who’s jaw doesn’t drop when he sees you in your bathing suit

he still thinks you’re hot—he just doesn’t show it like everyone else

insists on getting a group photo of everyone but it takes like ten tries before he gives up because everyone keeps squinting at the sun

wants to be the “responsible” one and not drink so he fills his thermos with sangria to be sneaky

literally everyone knows it's sangria cause who brings a thermos to the pool

Mammon:

asks for your help taking pictures of his brothers in their bathing suits so he can sell them

does not burn and refuses to put on sunscreen unless you beg him to

and then acts like he’s not doing it for you but just protecting himself

doesn’t bring his own beer or anything and just leeches off of everyone else’s

has another, secret mission of trying to push Lucifer in the water without getting caught

succeeds and blames it on you like the bastard (affectionate) that he is

thinks you look too hot in your bathing suit and tries to cover you the whole day. does not succeed.

will cause a fight if anyone compliments you 

“Mammon are you jealous or something”

“tch the Great Mammon doesn’t get jealous. you’re crazy.”

Levi:

a miracle that he even came outside i'm afraid

wears his dorky ass hawaiian button up and goggles around his neck

burns SO easily please slather him in sunscreen

hates that the other brothers get to see you in your bathing suit and pouts about it like the baby he is

lays on a lawn chair and plays on his switch + refuses to get in the water

however as soon as you ask Beel for a piggyback in the pool, he’s Michael Phelps

carries a water gun and pretends like he’s assassinating people

accidentally ruins Asmo’s makeup and starts a brawl

super blushy and flustered if you come near him in your bathing suit

and if you touch him his system does a hard reset

refers to the whole day as a ‘filler episode’ much to everyone’s confusion

eats about a thousand different popsicles with increasingly weird flavours

wears a pair of purple crocs with anime charms (he’s been begging you to get a pair for months so you guys can match croc charms)

Satan:

does not care much for swimming but he’ll lay on a lawn chair and read his book

talks to you at least three times about the dangers of UV rays and the importance of sunscreen

has a really dorky sun visor that he wears anytime he’s in the sun like an old man

brings an extra matching one for you 

needs to challenge Lucifer at absolutely everything

the second Luci steps in the water to play chicken, Satan is throwing you on his shoulders

has one of those lounge floats decorated with cats that he lays on while he reads and sunbathes

only drinks moscow mules and insists that you try them

has a meticulously maintained pair of Birkenstocks that he wears everywhere

tries to wear them into the pool and has a five minute argument with Lucifer about why he can’t

lays out your towel in the sun for you so it’s nice and warm when you get out of the pool

bonus points if he wraps you up in it

Asmo:

comes an hour later after everyone else because he had to shave everywhere and paint his nails to match his bathing suit

takes a thousand and one pictures of himself 

and about a million more of the two of you together (his favourite of which he sets as his lock screen)

has an incredible collection of cruelty free, reef friendly, non-comedogenic sunscreens that he applies liberally

goes in the water but refuses to get his hair wet and WILL cause a fight if anyone splashes him

weirdly good at chicken but only because he doesn’t want to fall in the water

loves aesthetic cocktails served in fruits and drinks them the whole day

probably the best at making cocktails too

has a timer set for when he has to reapply sunscreen and asks you (and only you) to help him apply it

also forces you to wear sunscreen 

Levi uses his expensive face sunscreen on his body and Asmo almost kills him

Beel:

the absolute grill master

he’s got 10 different things on the go, a beer in one hand and tongs in the other

challenges everyone to a game of chicken and refers to you as his ‘secret weapon’ to win

the Satan/Asmo duo get surprisingly close to winning but Asmo chips his nail and concedes

has one of those floaties that you can put drinks and snacks in and drags it along with him in the pool

lets you hang off his back while he swims

if you’re laying down on your towel he WILL come and shake the water off of himself on you like a dog

will only throw you in the pool if he 100% knows it won’t upset you

threatens the other brothers to do the same or face the consequences

forgets to put on sunscreen but somehow doesn’t burn???

comes out looking like a greek god

Belphie:

spends 90% of his time lounging on a pool float like the lazy mf he is

bats his eyes at you and asks you to bring him drinks everytime he finishes his

did not inherit Beel’s ability to tan and burns

five minutes in the sun and he becomes a lobster

only leaves his pool float to play one (1) round of chicken (that he loses) and if he gets too hot

also his pool floaty is definitely black and white like a cow

everytime he hears Satan lecture you about sunscreen he repeats it in a high pitched nerd voice 

belphie pls wear sunscreen

probably falls asleep on the floaty at least once until Beel comes and flips him into the water

if anyone splashes him he WILL retaliate to the fullest extent

compliments how you look in your bathing suit just to annoy Mammon 

steals everyone’s drinks if they leave them by the edge of the pool bcs he’s too lazy to grab his own

Summer Suntacular | Masterlist | Obey Me Masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

[highhhfiveee]

please i need some dubcon mike schmidt ..,,, like he picks up drunk reader from a party n takes her home n fucks her throat ..,,, ‘you’re so easy to control when you’re all stupid like this’ ..,,, she’s got tears streaming down her face n she’s clawing at his thighs but he just holds her head in place n strokes her hair n tells her how good she’s making him feel ,,

okay okay okay. shiver me fuckin timbers lmaoooo. this is so brothersbestfriend!mike. switched it up a little but i hope you still enjoy! [had this set to post at 12 but tumblr failed me lmao]

sangria

pairing: brothersbestfriend!mike schmidt x blackfem!reader wc: 4k tags: brothersbestfriend!mike, fem!reader, intimate touching, choking, wild dick sucking, deep throating, spitplay, degradation, dubcon (reader is plastered, and while she does consent to be taken advantage of, she is still under the influence); mike is such a protector and i'm starting to think that this is megasub!reader x protector!mike in addition to bbf! [let me know if i missed anything + this has been proofread but there’s always still a chance for mistakes lmao]

link to the original fic, mimosa, here 🍹, and the first part of the finale here, tequila sunrise, here 🍸

okay, so maybeeeeeee you two didn't actually get caught that day.

you’re panting in each other’s faces as you come, clean yourselves off, and exit the shed like your brother's best friend hadn't made you squirt all over the garden tools and pool supplies.

the feeling of mike's come pooling in your bikini bottoms makes you tingly all over again, and you're squirming while you both ease your way back into the fold of cookout attendees, diverting into separate paths so no one can catch onto your attachment; clandestine and kept between the eyes, lips, and bodies of you two only.

you'd wished mike nothing but hell while you were away at school, doing anything you could to get the thought of him out of your head. even though you'd been the one to catch feelings, you never wanted him to have any part of you ever again, restricting him from you.

you'd wanted him erased from the entire galaxy then, but from the cookout forward, nothing excited you more than the thought of being mike’s plaything. you snuck around with him more than you should've; giving him handjobs in the backseat of his car, letting him eat you out in your bedroom with the door open---risky things that made your heart pound with adrenaline and need, a rush to the very end.

you could only get that feeling with mike. it made you sick to your stomach with taboo butterflies, fantasizing about all the ways he could have you thrashing, eyes rolling back, toes curled until your feet cramped.

he'd hooked you on him once again, and this time, he'd decided to go with the flow. he wasn't pursuing anything with anyone else, and feelings had begun to bloom in him. nothing like love, he'd told himself (even though your flirty smile made his heart palpitate before making his dick hard), but like...safeguarding.

you were young, unversed with life, vulnerable; mike could see people taking advantage of you, mistaking your soft, impish act for total naivete. even though he'd hurt you himself, he'd never allow anyone else to treat you that way, or put you in a situation to harm you. there was this urge in him to keep you safe, keep you protected from the mean world that ate girls like you for breakfast.

mukrrrrrrrrrrrr

molwwwwwwwwww

gahdmn i cant tYpe LoL

exhibit a.

y/n are you drunk

….

………..

…………………………….

y/n

4 F R E E dwinks

downnnnnnnnn thw hATCH

pArTyz rool xp

mike's about to ask about your location when your picture floods his screen, phone vibrating in his hand with a call. he answers it with a displeased, "where are you?

"she’s at 8203 harrington circle," someone yells over loud, bass-riddled music and scattered conversations. mike hopes it's a friend of yours, and not a complete stranger. “she was fine, but i think that fourth drink tipped her over!"

mike's been putting on clothes and grabbing for his keys and wallet since your first text message, already sulking to his car as your friend finishes her statement. "stay with her and keep her upright, i'll be there in fifteen."

he can't get rid of the deep scowl etched on his face while he drives, both hands clasped tensely on his wheel at ten and two. he wants you to have fun, of course. he isn't going to tell you not to go to parties, or not to drink---you’re your own person, and he has no right to tell you what you could and couldn't do, but something about you utterly hammered around so many people you probably don't know makes his heart pound against his ribcage with agitation.

harrington circle was a street on a state school campus, one that you'd opted not to go to all that time ago. maybe you'd known some people there, but mike was sure you didn't know your way around, where to go if something went wrong...

he pulls up to a tall, red brick house smack dab in the middle of a cul-de-sac, immediately throwing his car in park and exiting when he sees two girls walking alongside a guy carrying you out the front doorway. he has his hands hooked under your armpits, pushing your boobs together and "covertly" staring at your amplified cleavage as he leads you down the short stone path.

your head lulls back a little, and you're smiling up at the sky with your eyes closed and your cheeks flushed to death. your legs drag under you, and mike's quick to grab for your waist, removing you from that perv's grasp with haste and a grimace.

you droop into him, body leaden with alcohol, and he slides one arm under the back of your knees, bending his own to lift you into a bridal style hold.

you squeal as he turns away from the house, throwing your arms around his neck and dreamily sighing at the way his hands feel carrying you, strong and vigilant and possessive. "mikeeeeeee," you mewl, pulling yourself into him so you can nudge at the column of his throat. your words are slurred almost beyond comprehension, and he commands one of the girls to open the passenger door so he can ease you inside.

he sets you down in the seat, or at least tries to, whispering, "let me go" when you keep your arms wrapped around him. the position has him hunched over, and it hurts his back so badly, but you whimper, "nooooo, want you close" while nearly making him trip and fall across you, splaying his entire body over yours. he smells so good, all warm and musky and mike, and you don’t want to separate from him.

"y/n, please. i wanna get you home," he reaches back to wrench your arms off of him, placing them in your lap and closing the door before you can complain. he walks around the front to the driver's side, monotonously thanking the girl who'd helped you as he grumpily enters the car.

he grabs for your seat belt, stretching it across your torso as he does his own and drives away from the annoyingly illuminated house and party commotion in silence.

you're so gone, but even drunk, it's unsettling to you how quiet mike is, keeping his eyes focused on the road without a hint of a glance or a word to you. his jaw is clenched deeply, and he's stiff as a board against his seat, so opposite from his usual sullen, suave nonchalance. you frown at him, fingering with your strappy, well-tied sandals. "hey, grumpy,"

"not grumpy," you huff at his tone, sour and unwavering, and wiggle your toes as you finally free them from the entrapment of footwear. "i'm fine."

"you've gotten very, very bad at lying," you demur. your head slacks again, but this time against your headrest. you ogle mike through the film in your eyes, digging your teeth into your bottom lip. "mad at me?"

mike writhes in his seat, his jaw muscles flexing at your coy lilt. you know how to manipulate him with your words, sweetening them in just a way that would have mike bending to your will. the way you're gazing at him with your big, unfocused eyes makes him makes him press down on the gas a bit harder.

"i'm not mad," he mutters, all pseudo-nonconfrontational and collected, but you know that he's not telling the truth. something about the circumstances bothers him, and you want to know why. the car comes to a stop at a red light, mike shaking his head as he scrunches his face and rubs his eye with a knuckle. "forget about it."

"i won't. don't like me having fun without you?" he doesn't answer, staring ahead at the empty streets around the two of you. it was so late, nearly 2 am, and it only fuels the exasperation he feels burning in his stomach. he doesn’t like you out here like this, without him to keep you out of harm’s way.

"is it the drinking?" you pout, frustrated with the way he's ignoring you. "i admit, maybe four drinks was overkill, but i feel sooooo good. my body feels like..." you make a subtle buzzing noise, similar to tv static, and cut it off with a giggle, reaching over for one of mike's hands while the light turns green.

you inch it towards your lap, dragging it across the skin of your thigh that skims the end of your skirt, mini and gold and matching with the white corset top you wore. "you should feel."

"y/n..."

"c'mon mike," you pout again, dipping his hand between your opened legs. you let out an astounded moan when his cold fingertips connect with your bare clit, and now he's scowling at the fact that you’re not wearing any panties. he thinks about how many people would keep note of that, combined with your docile, inebriated state, and see it as a way in. it’s clear, with how those drinks have you begging him to ease his fingers into you, caressing your tight, warm walls so he can add another check to "car" on the list of places he's made you squirt. “don't want you to be mad at me anymore."

"i'm not mad at you, y/n," he finally says, fingers still against your skin. you're soaking his seats, the excess of your slick dripping down to the cloth, and he has to pull himself out of thinking about someone else feeling you in this way. his eyes stay low on the road as he continues, "did you know anyone at that party?"

"mhm, like one person." mike sighs, a low grumble in his throat. he pulls his hand away from you, putting all of his attention on driving so he can get home. he just wants you inside, away from the world and in his charge. he doesn't say anything for a long while, eventually taking a deep breath and mumbling, "just want you safe, y/n. i'm glad you called me to come get you. there are bad people out there, and i don’t trust them in situations like this.”

"yeah," you purr, leaning against the center console and resting your head on the side of his seat. "you're my knight in shining armor, hmm? keeping me away from all the bad bad people looking to destroy messed up princesses like me?"

mike side eyes your tone, nearly scolding you for treating it like a joke and not something that could actually happen.

"...that's one way to put it, but seriously—-“

"wanna be destroyed though," you interrupt, unbuckling your seatbelt once he cuts the car off in the driveway. he’s turning to you, dark eyes gazing towards your pouted lips. you're reaching your hand across his lap, massaging it over the press of him in his sweatpants. “especially by you. wanna be your little fucktoy. let you use my messy holes however you want because they're yours."

your filthy mouth and shameless confession have mike turned on and hard and thinking about how you've called your holes his. he's seeing you bent over the couch, stuffed to the hilt with his fingers pressed against your tongue while he smirks down on you, veins coursing with lust. he squeezes at your hand, and says,

"let's get you inside, okay? then we can talk more about my messy fucking holes."

you're dizzy, giving him a big, woozy smile and letting all the craving you feel inside pour out through your glazed over eyes when he swoops you up again, carrying you and your shoes to his front door. your arms are back around his neck, and you're placing soft kisses on his lips, jaw, and chin as he drops your shoes by the entrance and carries you all the way to the couch, settling his body into one of the corners.

you're adjusting yourself on him so your bare mound drips over his thighs, and he's got his hands around your hips again, digging his fingers into your flesh as you mindlessly grind against him. you're still kissing against his lips, so uncoordinated and sloppy, and he pulls on the wispy strands at the nape of your neck, disconnecting you from him so he can leer at you with a look that tells you he will be destroying you tonight, guaranteed. "no panties was really bold of you, baby."

"can’t have panty lines in this skirt," you frown, placing your hands on mike's shoulders for leverage to move on him a bit harsher, eventually grazing them over his back and arms as you do. "not cute."

"but it's really not cute for you to have my holes on display for anyone to have, especially not when you're like this."

"mikey, please,” you coo, hunching down to press wet, suctioned kisses on mike's bare neck and rolling your hips into the weight of him. he feels so good against you, and you're aching, the alcohol sending shocks to your clit with every second of friction. "want you in me or something. no more talking, just use—-.”

"aht, don't rush me. trying to get you to understa---" one of your hands goes from roaming his shoulderblades to placing pressure around his throat, shocking him stiff against the back of the couch.

he doesn't think anyone has ever choked him before, and while his eyes burn at you with frenzied astonishment, you're causing him to have a revelation. his dick pulses against the material of his sweatpants at the feeling of your dainty hand squeezing his throat, and he's reaching to grab your wrist and bring your hand down before he comes all quick like he’s 18 again. you stop him with your other hand, coming in close to his face.

there's such a ferocity in your stare, and he knows that you're not going to let him lecture you all night. you need him to fuck you, need him to do something with you and your drunken arousal.

"are you really gonna keep talking, or would you rather just fuck my throat?" you slide your arms down his back, lips placed by his ear as you whisper, "show me how depraved people really can be when i'm like this."

he knows it's sick, but it doesn't take much past that for mike to have you on all fours beside him on the couch, back arched into a 45 degree angle as you drool all over his lap. you're begging for it, whining about how good he feels in your mouth, and he doesn't want to miss an opportunity to give you something you want, even though you're in this state. he's glad that it's him using you in this scenario, and not someone genuinely looking to hurt you. it's his rationale for giving in to your immoral desires.

you pull away from your mess with a sharp inhale, your jaw trembling as you sit up and give mike an eager, spit-slick smile. your eyes are even more distant than before, and it's almost like you’ve checked out. mike can see all the brashness and attitude you give him on the regular is gone, currently replaced with servitude and the intent to please, nothing less.

"wanna feel you ruin my throat, mike," you rasp, grabbing his dick in your hand and stroking at the soft skin, suckling on his tip as you flash him the hunger you feel inside through a grin. "please."

he's silent, having a quarrel with himself as he takes in your blank, mindless expression. it’s so wrong of him, but you look so pretty like this, and he reaches out to hold your cheek as you pout at him again.

"pleaseeeeee," you whine, tears nearly welling in your eyes. "want you to wreck me, use me however you wanttttt. gonna be your obedient, drunk little whore, do whatever you ask."

mike loses all resolve then, and demands you to drop to your knees in between his own. you're quick to assume the position, letting him put one hand on the back of your head and feed his dick into your throat.

"shouldn't like this," mike mutters, wrapping your hair up into a ponytail with both of his hands, watching you rub his dick over your face after slipping it from your mouth to spit on it. he almost can't take you like this, spacey and pliant and all his to destroy. so drunk and willing and--- "shouldn't let me take advantage of you like this."

your face is stained with tears and spit, streaks of dried liquid overlaying your burning cheeks and swollen lips. the neckline of your top is soaked too, saliva glistening on your chest.

"maybe i wanted it," you muse, winking leisurely as you wrap both of your slim hands around his base, smirking up at him. "maybeeeeeee i went and got plastered cause i knew you’d come get me if i called," you're feeding him into your mouth again, and without warning, mike is holding your head stationary, shoving his hips up into your warm mouth while you gulp every time he hits the opening to your throat. of course you'd do something like this. your admittance makes mike feel a plethora of things, good, bad, ugly, but right now, all he's focused on is making you feel like the toy you wanted to be.

"you're a fucking slut, y/n," he hisses with gritted teeth, throwing his head back as he feels you open up for him, allowing him to raise his hips and sink further into you.

the muscles of your throat flutter around his length, and it makes his toes curl, tangling together in his socks. "only sluts go to a party to get drunk so they can be turned into pretty little fuckdolls later...like being fucking mindless for me, huh?"

"love it, mike," you whimper, laying your tongue flat so his dick can slip in and out of your mouth with less resistance. it's covered in thick spit, a droplet resting on the tip, and mike leans down to collect all of it in his own mouth with a sloppy, obscene kiss, before releasing it all over his pelvis with a groan.

it was a fucking mess, and he loved it. he knew you loved it like this too, and your enjoyment of the raunchiness is reflected in the way you patiently wait for him to plunge his dick in you, eyes twinkling with everything and nothing at the same time.

your hand is moving under your dress, fingers stroking along your sodden walls, but he doesn't care; not when your eyes are rolling back into your skull as his dick infiltrates your throat again, filling the room with a persistent gluckgluckgluck as he rhythmically slams your face into his base.

you're sure you'll have no voice after this, but fuck, will it be worth it. you're basking in every second of this, so happy you decided to go out tonight. you were unexperienced in some ways, but you knew how to get to people, or at least to mike. you could get him to do whatever you wanted under the guise of him being in control, and all it took was a bit of sweetening with your voice, a flutter of your eyelashes and a crooked, "innocent" smile for mike to be wound your finger, abusing your face in a way you shouldn’t have dreamt of. you're running out of breath, and your fingers dig into his thighs with the message, but he ignores you, gripping your hair so that your mouth gently snaps up around him every time he pulls his hips back. the sensation is godly, and mike's not sure if he deserves this really. you'd fallen so hard for him at one point, and he'd crushed your hope to be with him under his thumb, but now you're here, letting him have you like this despite those memories. he's lucky, for whatever force is keeping you in his orbit.

"letting me do this to you while you're fucked up...letting some older guy take your throat like you're just free use...you're not getting into heaven," you laugh around him, forming your mouth into a makeshift smile as he slowly slides you off of him, overstimulated by the ridges of your throat muscles clinging to him. he doesn't want to come on your face, not this time. he wants you to beg for him to come in you, for him to fill you until you're overflowing, leaking down your thighs while he gives you more and more and more and more...

"i know," you mewl, pretty face smeared with saliva and pre-come. "i'll be in hell with you. wouldn't have it any other way." mike sits up, thumbing at your bottom lip and hissing as you unhinge your jaw and suck the tip of it inside. your eyes are getting dimmer by the second, but you're still wanting everything mike can give you.

he won't stop until you say so, and he strangely finds himself buzzing with lust at the thought of you bossing him around for his pleasure and yours. how had you gotten in his head like this?

"go in my room and strip, baby. sit in the middle of the bed and don't move." you're on your feet in a flash, clumsily dashing down the short hall without a look back.

it gives him time to get some towels, a washcloth to clean your face up, some lube, and grab waters for the both of you, thinking about all the ways he's gonna contort you. he might even make you watch in the mirror, make you take in your glassy eyes and lack of autonomy, the way you're letting him, your brother's best friend, have you in such an obscene way.

he cracks the door open with all the items in hand, and scoffs when he sees you naked, but stretched out on the bed, mouth hanging open with soft snores.

he walks over to the edge, dropping the things he's holding onto the comforter and shaking your shoulder softly. "baby," you lurch awake, murmuring "huh?".

you blink the bleariness out of your eyes as he uses one of the towels he brought to wipe off his drenched groin, and he smirks at you. you two are done for the night, and that's fine with him. something about your small figure, safely sprawled against his sheets has him seeing hearts and stars and rainbows and everything else he's tried so hard to push away.

when he's dry, ditching his shirt and boxers, he leans against his headboard, cradling you in his arms and lap as he begins using the washcloth to wipe at the dried spittle on your face. "here," he announces, cracking open a water bottle and bringing it to your lips, tilting it so you're able to get some water between them without much effort.

you swallow the sips he gives softly, wrapping your arms around his neck again. you loved being skin to skin with him, and right now, you felt tranquility.

this is but a fraction of that 100% he wanted to give, you think. something has changed in him, and now he wants to show you care. he still wants you to need him, need him to keep you protected from the world outside while he corrupts you in his own. you want that, too.

"mmmmmmm, you're so boyfriend," you muse, placing pecks on his collarbones as he continues cleaning you up. he's able to maintain a pokerface towards you, wiping at your cheeks with passive strokes, but inside, he feels nothing but chaos. why does he like hearing you call him boyfriend, like having you in his arms like this? why did it all seem to fill a hole in his heart, one he always thought would stay a cavity?

"really do love you, mike," you add, staring at him full on now. you might as well be sober, with your attentive, doe-like eyes. "tried hard not to, but i do."

you've broken him down, so easily, and somehow, he's giving into you with a deep, irrevocable sigh. he has nothing else to do but finally accept the truth.

"me too, y/n. me too."

this was rough for me to write because my brain just couldn't work properly, so i hope it's not the dogshit i think it is lmao hope this satisfies you anon!

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites-@mikeschmidtgf-@jun1p3rlol-@xyzstar-@aquamarine001-@atrociouslybear

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Life in the City 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bad friends, creep behaviour, abuse of power dynamics, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You move to the big city and find yourself swallowed up by its chaos.

Characters: Clark Kent, Thor Odinson, short!reader

Note: Probably calling in today. Also will hopefully be working on more Dirty Work for tomorrow.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You’ve been waiting for Friday all week. You need this. A girl’s night, just you and Melanie, a bottle of wine, a bowl of popcorn, and your favourite nostalgic blockbuster. You even got a brand new pair of cozy jammies for the occasion.

And it’s your first official get together at your new apartment. Your very own. No more roommates, no more arguments over dishes and dust and a shared bathroom. It’s all yours! It’s almost like a housewarming, even if it is just a bachelor suite.

A new home, a new city, and an old friend. You haven't seen Melanie in years. You keep in touch here and there but she always seems to have so much going on. Now you're in the same place, it won't be so hard.

You bounce in the door, excited to get started on your prep. You leave your work bag in the entryway beside your shoes as your mind runs a mile ahead of you. You’ll fold out the futon couch and throw all your pillows on it. And the extra comforter can go on top. And you’ll put a scarf over the lamp, oh, and you got some candy for the spread. 

It’s a bit childish but it’s been so long since you could just throw away your daily toil and forget. No overtime, no grind, just a night to reconnect and refresh. You grab your bag from the short hallway and take out the clay masks you bought at the drugstore on your way home, you thought that would be so cute!

You pull out your phone and search for the digital rental on your account, wanting it ready to cast as soon as Melanie’s there. Your screen suddenly lights up with an incoming call, interrupting your browsing. You answer, excitedly greeting your best friend.

“Melly Bean,” you chime, “I was just getting everything ready–”

“Oh, really?” Her voice is willowy, “that’s… I’m sorry.”

“What?” You clutch your hand in front of your stomach, your chest filling with dread. You know that tone.

“I totally forgot and I made other plans–”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I know, it’s shitty but I really can’t cancel and we can do it next week, right? I’ll host. I have a bottle of rose here, or I could make some sangria–”

“Uh, yeah,” you feel like you’ve been punched, “yeah, sure, that’s… that’s fine. Things happen.” You shake your head at yourself as you try to stem your disappointment, “good thing I didn’t even get started…” You look at the futon, covered in pillows and the fluffy pink duvet, “I actually just got in the door, long day at work–”

“You ready?” A distant, deep voice creeps under your rambling from the speaker.

“Sorry, I gotta go,” she interrupts, “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Again, I’m sorry. I’m so stupid. I should’ve put it in my calendar.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure her softly, “call me. Talk later, Mel–”

The line dies before you can finish your sentence. You pull the phone away and frown at the timed out call. You sniff and toss it onto the futon. Well, you can still have a good night. Alone. Catch up on a show and pamper yourself. Your skin is getting a bit patchy.

Or just lay here and watch the same thing you watch every night. Suddenly, you have no energy. You flop onto the mattress, the metal frame creaking loudly, and sigh. Another lazy night, all by yourself.

🏙️

Melanie doesn't answer your call on Saturday. You try not to dwell on it but you know she's not working. Her nine-to-five keeps her planted at her desk Monday to Friday, just like you. Well, you can't be mad at her for having a life.

She texts on Sunday. Just a short but sweet confirmation for next Friday. A heart emoji along with a promise that you'll see each other then. You can bring all your snacks and the face masks, and even your cute new pajamas. Her place must be a lot nicer than yours on her executive assistant salary.

A new week begins but Monday isn't as difficult as usual. You have something to look forward to. Again. This time, it will actually happen.

You spend your days with the spreadsheets and menial reports. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday all blend together into an endless slog but Friday comes around with a special shine. It's the day. 

You breeze through the day, lighter than usual. You even packed everything up so you could commute straight to Melanie's place. She's been texting, saying she's excited. Well, she sent a message at 10:38am. 

It'll be just like in high school, when you sat up all night and giggled. Except this time, you're not too young for the movie you're watching. No, you'll be just like the metropolitan women you watched on the screen, gal pals!

You take the twelve out towards the east side of the city and get off a few blocks from her building, at least according to your GPS. You walk in a full circle before you get your bearings and end up just outside the grated door. You tap the small button to buzz her number and wait. It's a lot fancier than your apartments.

You ring several times without answer, your stomach swimming with nerves. What if she got caught up in something? Could she forget in the  eight hours since her last message? Are you in the wrong place? You check the address again.

You hear someone come up the walkway and sidle aside to let them in. You consider sneaking in after them but you don't know if you should. They might not like that or you might get in trouble. You stand back as the man glances at you and gives a nod. He keys in a code and buzzes himself in. You scrunch your lips, helplessly floundering on the edge of the steps.

"Coming in?" He holds the door.

"Oh, uh," you catch the handle, "sure, I just... my friend wasn't answering."

"No worries, don't look like much of a criminal to me," he kids.

You chuckle quietly, forcing it out nervously as you follow him inside. The entryway is white with silver trimmings and the lobby opens up to a set of two elevators. You look at your phone again, confirming Melanie's apartment number. The man strides on confidently and hits the button, the doors dinging and sliding apart.

"Going up?" He prompts as he puts his hand in front of the censor.

"Uh, sure," you scurry forward. You suppose taking the stairs might be a lot with all the weight in your knapsack.

"Floor?" He trails you into the elevator.

"Um, seventh."

"Ah, what a coincidence," he taps seven and the doors close.

You bring up your chat with Melanie and text her. Hopefully, you're not too early. You don't want to surprise her. You key in that you're there and on your way up.

The door open again and the stranger once more lets you through first. You check the numbers on the plates on the wall; 700 - 710 to the right. You turn and the man heads in the same direction. How awkward. You hold the door to the hallway for him and he catches it, not far behind you. You count the doors until you find 704. 

You stop and knock, stepping closer to let the stranger pass. He doesn't. He stops and laughs as he rubs his palms together. You peek over at him. Oh shoot, you have to be in the wrong place. It explains the no answer and you're standing at his door knocking. You must seem like a crazy person--

The door opens before you can figure out what's going on and Melanie's 'hello' goes from a high squeal to dull disappointment. You look at her as her eyes flit between you and the stranger at your shoulder. She laughs and tosses her hair back.

"Oh, uh, come in," she waves you inside, "movie night, right?"

She rubs her neck as she steps aside, your stomach flipping entirely. Did she forget? Really?

"Um, I forgot to mention..." she says slowly, "Clark's joining us. He's never seen the movie before so I thought..."

"That's fine, but er, I can... just go. I thought..."

"I didn't forget," she insists as the man enters with hesitation, "promise, I just... invited my boyfriend."

"Right, boyfriend," you turn to the stranger, Clark, she said his name is, "hi."

You introduce yourself and he repeats his name. He's handsome and tall. As far as you can tell, he's nice too. The cleft in his chin gives him a rugged handsome news and his eyes a bright and blue. He fits Melanie perfectly. She's changed a lot more than you knew.

You give a strained smile and look around. Her apartment is so nice. You're happy she hadn't seen yours after all. As you try to figure out what to do, she approaches Clark and stands on her toes to kiss him. You keep your eyes on the floor and turn, distracting yourself with your shoes as you peel them off.

"I brought snacks," you say as you unhook your bag from one shoulder, "for the movie--"

"Oh, I'm on a diet. No carbs, no sugar... mostly water and lettuce," she trills, "sorry."

"I...It's okay," you try not to wince as you struggle to free yourself of the heavy bag.

"Here," Clark startles you as he grabs your bag by the handle on top and helps lift it off your left shoulder. You pull your arms free and he carries it to the table, planting it on top beside the tall vase of white orchids. 

"Thanks," you say as you inch forward, anxious about messing up the unlivable pristine apartment, "you can share the snacks... if you're not on a diet."

"I'd love to," he accepts, "should I make up the couch?"

"Uh, sure," Melanie flutters her fingers at him, "I guess that makes sense."

You notice how she bites into her glossy lower lip and looks around desperately. She's wearing a pretty black dress and there's a sparkly clutch on the half-circle table by the wall. You thought Melanie would be your one piece of home in the city but now you feel even more out of place. Uninvited.

"If it's a bad time," you begin.

"I told you," she snips, "I didn't forget. Duh, you think I'm an airhead or something?"

"N-no--"

"I know you went and got your fancy degrees," she sniffs, "but I don't need paper to tell me I have a brain."

"I didn't mean--"

"Mel, cool it," Clark chuckles lightly, "no biggie. I like a night in," he shrugs, "I'll grab some blankets and pillows. We can have a sleepover."

"Sleepover?" She nearly hisses at him, "well, tomorrow--"

"We'll all sleep in and I'll take you ladies to breakfast. Or brunch," he unzips your knapsack and takes out the tall bottle of wine, "depending on how much you indulge." 

"Oh, I can take care of all that," you offer as you near the table.

"You're our guest," he insists as he holds onto the bottle, "hon, you wanna get some glasses?"

You hear the gentle sigh escape Melanie before she replies, "fine."

You wring your hands in front of your chest and hover by the table. You hate this. You feel like you've intruded on their night but you thought...

Your heart sinks as you think of the message; 'looking forward to tonight'. She sent it to the wrong person. She must realise that too.

"Mel will pour us some wine," Clark says loudly, "did you wanna help my grab some blankets and stuff?"

You just nod, thankful for his diversion. Anything to keep you from wallowing in your embarrassment. Everyone there knows you're not supposed to be there. You must seem pathetic.

You follow him down the hall and wait on the other side of the closet door as he opens it. He hands you a folded down duvet. He sends you back to the living room as he goes to grab pillows from the bedroom. You get a glance of the sleek white vanity just as he opens the door.

You turn and traipse back to the front room. You go to the couch and shake out the blanket. You glance over as Melanie slurps loudly from a stemmed glass, the other two are unpoured.

"Really, Mel, I can just go--"

"No, it's fine," she huffs, "I don't want him to think I'm some sort of bitch."

"Oh, I wasn't--"

"You don't call to confirm?" She accuses.

"I texted and I buzzed--"

She shushes you as she hears Clark coming back down the hall. You leave the blanket across the sofa and go to the table. You pour the other two glasses and step back, too uneasy to claim one of your own. Instead, you busy yourself unpacking the snacks but you don't even know if you'll have any yourself.

"You girls sit," Clark insists as he drops the pillows on the sofa, "I'll get everything ready. Oh, hon, you should go put some pajamas on, get in the spirit. You could lend some to your friend too."

"Erm, I brought my own," you offer, "just... thought they were cute."

"Amazing, you two get changed, get cozy, and get the movie going," he grabs the bag of chips from your hands, "oh, and I'll get those kernels popping."

You nod and swallow as Melanie struts out without looking back. You retrieve your pajamas from your bag, brushing close to Clark by accident, and apologise. You quickly flit away to follow her, chasing after her right before she can close you out. You need to find an excuse to get out. Then you can think of how to say sorry for spoiling her date,

[lemonlyman-dotcom]

In lieu of Season Five just around the corner, I thought it would be fun to do a Work is Published Wednesday for my TK Strand’s 30th Birthday fic TK Strand’s Sweet 16 (times 2) (minus 2) 🎂

Lucy’s setting a comically large glass filled with an orange liquid in front of Mateo when TK comes into the kitchen. She elbows Mateo in the side hard, and he plasters a big cheesy smile on his face.

TK, oblivious to the weird vibe on the other side of the room, leans against the counter next to Carlos, pulling his attention away from the spectacle. He happily accepts the remaining half of Carlos’s taco when he hands it to him. TK takes a bite and closes his eyes as he chews. “Oh, I always forget how good that is.”

After a moment, he puts his hand on Carlos's forearm. “How are you doing?” he asks.

“How am I doing? It’s your birthday. I’m doing fine.”

“Sweetheart,” TK says, voice somehow both soft and stern. “This is the first big family blowout since your dad. It would be understandable if you were feeling sensitive. I just wanted to check in with you.”

He thinks about that for a moment. He wants to give TK’s considerate concern the time it deserves. It’s true — this is the first big family party since they lost his father. He’d still been too broken-hearted to do any kind of big celebration for his own birthday. He knew TK and his mom had wanted to do something, but they’d respected his request for a low key day. They’d resumed Sunday lunches about a month after Gabriel’s passing, but those were more subdued affairs. They had a quiet Thanksgiving last month, the first major holiday without him. Christmas is sure to be harder.

He looks inward and finds the sadness is there, of course, but it’s much quieter than it was even a couple months ago. He finds himself feeling an overwhelming sense of joy tonight. His entire family has come together to celebrate his new husband. That’s something he never thought he would have.

“Dad would have loved this,” he says. “He loved you. I think I’ll always feel a little melancholy at family gatherings. But tonight I’m just happy celebrating you. My sweet husband.”

A beautiful smile crosses TK’s face and his eyes go soft. Whatever he’s about to say is cut off by Mateo exclaiming across the kitchen.

“Oh! Cupcakes! Maybe a cupcake will make me happy.”

He takes a huge bite before anyone can warn him, and immediately makes a sour face and spits it out.

“Oh my god, poison!”

“Oh, dear,” Tía Lucy says as she refills his sangria. “Wash it out.”

“It burns a little!”

Read on ao3!

Thank you for the tags @paperstorm @corsage @orchidscript

Tagging @ironheartwriter @captain-gillian @heartstringsduet @emsprovisions @carlos-in-glasses @whatsintheboxmh @nisbanisba @chicgeekgirl89 @literateowl @emsprovisions @bonheur-cafe @alrightbuckaroo @honeybee-taskforce @thisbuildinghasfeelings @welcometololaland @eclectic-sassycoweyes @tellmegoodbye @ladytessa74 @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @basilsunrise @lightningboltreader @liminalmemories21 @freneticfloetry @sapphic--kiwi @herefortarlos @firstprince-history-huh @fitzherbertssmolder @fifthrideroftheapocalypse @filet-o-feelings @fallout-mars @your-catfish-friend @kiwichaeng @tinyluminaryzombie @guardian-angle22 @rmd-writes @iboatedhere @reyesstrand @never-blooms @decafdino @certifiedflower and OPEN TAG 🏷️

[bluelockhalloweek]

Your Blue Lock Halloweek 2024 prompts are here!

👻 Reblog with your favorites prompts & share with your Blue Lock crew!

👻 Find the event on Twitter @/BllkHalloweek

👻 See below for more info, typed-out prompts, & prompt examples if you need clarification or inspiration

👻 If you would like to volunteer to translate prompts so more people can join the Halloween Party, go here!

👻 Original fanart by Qoffee51 (twt | insta) and graphic design by @suosage (​​twt)!

👻 Feel free to mix and match, and take prompts as literally or as tangentially as you want!

👻 Work doesn’t have to be specifically Fall / Halloween themed as long as it fits a prompt. (If you’re writing a Wild West fic for “Cowboy,” don’t feel like you have to stick a 🎃 in a corner unless you want to.)

👻 Work can be as lighthearted, scary, or spicy as you want as long as you follow the guidelines!

👻 Find the 2024 event Archive of Our Own Collection here!

👻 The event is hosted on Tumblr, Twitter, and AO3, so share your contribution on all three!

👻 Thank you to everyone who submitted prompts! Credit to @/unhingednagi who suggested "Dance with the Devil" (😈) & the several anons who suggested an undead/resurrection 🧟‍♂️ theme. A lot of other suggestions were already on the longer list or were very similar, or might be better saved for another year. If your favorite isn’t on the list, it's perfect for “Free Prompt”!

👻 Did you like last year's prompts? Use as many as you want on Day Five for Free Prompt!

-

Blue Lock Halloweek 2024 Prompts (Oct. 28 - Nov. 3, 2024)

Monday Oct. 28: Pumpkin Spice + Dance with the Devil  

Tuesday Oct. 29: Myth + Resurrection  

Wednesday Oct. 30: Whisper + Scream

Thursday Oct. 31: Sugar Rush + Haunted

Friday Oct. Nov. 1: Incantation + Free Prompt!

Saturday Nov. 2: Festival + Instinct

Sunday Nov. 3: Space + Cowboy

-

-

Prompt Examples + Explanations 

I’ve had people ask for prompt examples in past events I’ve hosted and this event is open to any language, so here you go! These are the quick brainstorming notes I took while narrowing down the list, now expanded with links & definitions. These are only some of maaaany interpretations—go wild!

Your host is a fic-writer with ADHD, so…you’ve been warned.

🎃 Day 1: 

Pumpkin Spice: Cozy Autumn vibes. Putting up Halloween decorations, carving Jack-o-lanterns, coffee / tea shop, pumpkin patch, scented candles, baking, fall sangria, sweaters and beanies and flannels, momijigari (Autumn Hanami 🌸, basically) / admiring gorgeous fall foliage, fresh hot apple cider in an orchard. Itoshi Bros and their love of turtle/mock-neck sweaters. Pumpkin Farmer Aiku and Karasu scarecrow!

Dance with the Devil: Defined. To dance with the devil is to engage in risky, reckless, or potentially immoral behavior. Or going out dancing; Demon and priest, hell, listening to the angel or the devil on your shoulder (making a questionable decision because it’s tempting), devilish fun or spells, sin, temptation, a deal with the devil. Ohhh, Sae and Shidou, your night has come! 😈 (Suggested by unhingednagi) 

🎃 Day 2:

Myth: Myths or legends from any culture or time period. Greek, Roman, Japanese, Egyptian, etc.!! Gods and mythical creatures and beasts. Dionysus or Eros or Apollo Shidou; Persephone and Hades, so many! Hercules Kunigami!

Resurrection: reincarnation, zombies (Lorenzo!), waking up a vampire or werewolf after being bitten; …having a little too much fun on Halloween and having to pull oneself together the next day (sugar hangover, ...hangover-hangover). (Suggested by several anons!)

🎃 Day 3:

Whisper: soft voices, trying not to be caught/found/discovered, whispering a secret, whispering something spicy, hearing voices. 

Scream: screaming in fear or excitement or…; calling out for someone. Scary movies, pranks. Awkward meet-cute. Bachira’s monster. 

🎃 Day 4, Halloween: 

Sugar Rush: the “rush”/“high” or energy you get from eating a bunch of sugar! Trick-or-Treating, candy corn, so much candy, caramel corn; being sweet, a different sort of rush; ..."give me some sugar"

Haunted: Ghosts, spirit entities like yokai, strange noises in the night. GhostBusters, Ghost Adventures. Gagamaru as a friendly Yokai! Shaman. Possession, possessed or cursed objects. JJK. Ouija board game! Monk Igaguri. Real or funhouse haunted house, ghost stories; being haunted by the past; being possessed or haunted. The twisty, creepy aura thing Rin gets.

🎃 Day 5: 

Incantation: a set of words that could be a sort of incantation / magic words, any type of magic, witches, wizards, curses, Ness the Magician, Harry Potter, Quiditch, Lord of the Rings, crystal ball, tarot. Wands, spells, magical objects, magical creatures, etc.. Making a wish. Non-literal magic words in relationships (saying / hearing just the right thing). 

Free Prompt: Whatever Halloween stuff you want that doesn’t quite fit a prompt. The day to use any of last year’s prompts! 

Just listing some of the things I would draw (if I could) or write (if I had time): Video game au for Hiori! Little French imp Charles as the Joker or a jester. Pokemon! Barou as the “Cowardly” Lion in the Wizard of Oz. And finally, artists, if you’re reading this, please, please consider Noel Noa (of the 🇫🇷 French National 🥖 Team!!) dressed as Bonjour Man from Life Lessons with Uramichi Onii-san (clip, manga cap). This is my second year making this wish. This image has literally been haunting me since starting this event and the manga/anime (even the dub!) is soooo funny. And technically, Bonjour Man is a cursed spirit sooo 👻

🎃 Day 6: 

Festival: String lights illuminating festival stalls, costumes, traditional attire (Aryu looking stylish!), food and drink, games, Isagi devouring fried fair food. Fall Music festival. Mid-Autumn Festival (with all the pretty lanterns and mooncakes 🥮), Harvest / Fall Fests in general. Bobbing for apples, caramel / candy apples, carnival rides and games, Ferris wheel, corn maze. Oktoberfest; Kaiser and/or any Bastard München player in Lederhosen—please, I’m begging!! Fun house / haunted house. Day of the Dead festivities. 

Instinct: fight or flight, fear, instinct to hunt like vampires, instinct to save someone, instinctively drawn to someone, instinct to grab someone’s hand or hide behind them; that gut feeling that it’s time to leave a place. Hairs on arms raising, chills going down one's spine, one's whole body trying to tell one something.

🎃 Day 7: 

Space: All things celestial. Nightfall. Stars and moon, werewolves, moonlight, Tsukimi / moon viewing + Tsukimi dango 🎑, celestial myths and gods. Stars, moon, aliens, Star Wars, astronauts, and planetary hotline Isagi and Kurona! Kurona and Isagi planetary hotline. Astrology. Wishing on a star. Fun fact: The Orionid Meteor Shower peaks just before this event starts, the night of Oct. 21-22, and continues until Nov. 7th! Cowboy Bebop.

Cowboy: Not much is wilder than Blue Lock—except maybe The Wild, Wild West. Outlaws, Gunslinger Isagi (see recent manga chapters), sheriffs Aikuuu and Nio, horses, rodeos, Ego and his little football bolo tie in cowboy getup pleaseee, the works, Nagi and his lil Choki cactus. Ego as a gangly cowboy, ⚽️ bolo tie and all.

Okay, that’s it. Hope y'all have fun. Please reblog and spread the word 🧡🖤

PS: ...If y'all want ✨spicy 🔞 prompt inspiration, I could always make a separate post (that would be tagged #spicy; please remember to block that if you're a minor or uninterested in mature themes). Let me know!

[fishermanshook]

FALLING FOR YOU. (prospector x gn!reader)

# day 1 of @philomena-propellente ‘s valentines event ! , grammar and spelling warning , you guys I’m turning into a Norton simp help me

INTRO

The longer you stay in the Oletus Manor, the more your Jo memory’s start to wilt away like a flower. This isn’t a personal issue though, as you’ve heard the hundreds of complaints from both Survivors and Hunters on their ever fading memory. After realizing this was a shared problem was when the panic started to arise.

The residents of the manor feared that one day they might lose their memory’s completely. Left only with the knowledge of the manor games and nothing else. Only now did people start to write in their forgotten journals that have been left to collect dust in their drawers. Nowadays, your forced to tread carefully around the manor in fear of stepping in a pool of ink or on one of the many broken quills that scatter the ground.

Unfortunately, the Prospector started later then the others. Therefore, he struggles to remember exactly when he started to fall for you.

Maybe he started to fall for you when you shared your first match together. It’d been roughly a month since you sealed your fate by entering the manor, and by now you had grasped the rules of the game. Norton didn’t pay you any special attention, just that you were the newest Survivor and that was that. There was no need to be so easily captivated by the your presence, by the confidence that radiated off of you, by your smile.

He brushed it off as interest. Had he not just mentioned that you were new? This aura of yours would fade over time, and he would watch as your light dimmed by your one (1) year anniversary.

Once the match had started, Norton was spotted first by Sangria and was forced to kite until his legs would give out underneath him. He tried to buy enough time for his teammates to decode, but all it took was an ounce of cockiness and a terror shock for him to be knocked down. He was quickly thrown into a rocket chair before Sangria left to patrol the area.

Little did either of them know, you were hiding near his chair and quickly got him out. As Sangria came back to his chair, she was surprised to see you and him running away at full speed and taking on the task of kiting for the remainder of the match.

It was a four man victory.

Or maybe he started falling for you when he got REALLY injured. Like, bed-bound type of shit. An attempt to climb over Lakeside Villages boat ended with both his legs broken. His pain was so bad Ithqua surrendered on the spot and actually apologized after, that was just how bad his condition really was.

You learned from Naib, who directed you to go to Norton’s room if you wanted to see him. You arrived and to Norton you seemed like an Angel to him. Emily has been stuck in a match all day and he’s been dying of starvation, but thanks to you he’s feeling full again after some warm soup.

Emily didn’t even know you were doing this until he mentioned you the other day.

“Thank god. They’re amazing, aren’t they?” Emily asked him, not directly looking for a response.

All she got back was his red face and silence.

Maybe he finally realized he fell for you when you took it upon yourself to sub in for his matches when he was still sick. (Again…) Or maybe it was when you went back for him when the Hunter had detention, or maybe-

Or maybe he’s just been in love with you this entire time, and was just too foolish to realize it.

These thoughts and more occupy Norton’s head as he makes his way to your dorm room. He hopes that you’ll accept him and the flowers he’s brought along with him.

note: very dissatisfied in this fic 😞 happy valentines yall!

(2024)©️fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, plagiarize, or repost my work on any other platform

[jjasen]

white lines and black beaches, white lies and black beaches

summary: rafe wants more than a summer fling (based off of the song summer bummer by lana del rey)

warnings: alcohol, drugs, smoking, cursing, angst, my first fic!

word count: 1.3k

white lines and black beaches and blood red sangrias, we traveled for weeks just to escape your demons

You leaned on the balcony railing of the Thornton's house, gazing at the dark beach. The cool summer breeze made you shiver, wishing for the warmth and distraction of the party inside, but that was where he was. You took a sip of your drink, sweetened just enough to barely mask how strong it was, swirling bloody red in your solo cup.

The sliding glass door glided across its tracks, momentarily releasing the thumping music and shimmery laughter from the party into the night air.

i got a feelin’ in my bones, can’t get you out of my veins

You already knew it was Rafe; you could feel his gaze trained on you, and it took more strength than you’d like to admit to not glance back at him. You stilled, waiting for him to speak. Your breath caught in your throat and you gripped your drink harder.

don’t be a bummer babe, be my undercover lover babe, hmm?

“Please, baby. You already know what I want.”

“And I don’t think you understand what I want, Rafe.” You two had had an on again, off again arrangement, until you had tired of his erratic behavior. Until you realized that somewhere along the way, you'd learned to recognize the wide dilation of pupils and muscle spasms of the cocaine, learned to look for dustings of white powder and feel for the quickening of his heartbeat.

You didn't mind so much, the presence of drugs always in the background with Rafe, so long as you kept some distance, so long as you made it clear that the two of you were hooking up and nothing more. So long as you didn’t get attached to a man who would inevitably hurt you both.

The problem with Rafe was that he was a hungry man. He always wanted more. He wanted to have his coke, and he wanted the promise of nights spent tangled in your warmth without waking up alone, and he wanted you to let him have both.

white lies and black beaches, miles in between us, is this love or lust or some game on repeat?

But you couldn't - no, you wouldn't - let yourself love someone who lived for the arrival of ziplock baggies filled with white, someone who would choose the intoxication of chemicals rushing liquid smooth into his veins over you. There were very few nights that you could recall Rafe being present as he knelt between your thighs and glanced up at you, the blue of his eyes clear and calm. You already hated yourself for letting him have you when he was so clearly miles away, drifting on the euphoria of cocaine.

“I promise, baby, I'll get sober. For you," he plead, coming closer behind you and reaching for your shoulders with his hands. You spun around and crossed your arms.

“I don't want you to get sober for me. I want you to get sober for yourself.”

A little furrow made its way between Rafe's brows, and you had to resist the urge to smooth it over with your fingers.

“Do you understand what I'm saying, Rafe? I can't do this to myself. You will always choose cocaine over anything else, and I refuse to come between that.”

“Don't do that to me. Baby - baby, that's not fair. You don't even know the things I would for you.” You could see the wildness of his eyes, could tell that he was itching for his next fix in the trembling of his hands.

let’s skip the games, let’s quit the playing

“No, I don’t know, because you’ve always been focused on your next high.” Rafe reached out an arm and wrapped it around your waist, pulling you in, and you softened, letting yourself find the contours of his body and enjoying his warmth for just a moment. You took a step back and crossed your arms, already missing the comfort of him against you, and he opened his mouth to protest. “I’m sorry,” you cut him off, “but I just can’t. I can’t pretend to be the person you need me to be.”

but you’ve got your reasons, white lines and black beaches

Hurt flooded his face, and you could feel your heart crumple. You turned your head, focusing on the blackness of the ocean waves lapping at the moonlit shore so you didn’t have to watch his pained expression.

“I know I can do it if I was with you, baby, please! Please, just- just give me a chance,” he plead, running his hands through his tawny hair roughly. He moved towards you, forcing you back towards the sliding door.

it’s like making me crazy, tell me have patience, baby i need this, white lines and black beaches

You smiled sadly at him, resting your hand on the door handle. “If I do this, we’re going to just end up more hurt than we already are.”

You watched as Rafe lifted his thumb to his mouth subconsciously, an anxious habit that you used to always try to gently correct. He bit the skin, and you knew it would be red and ragged later. He sighed, ducking his head, and met your eyes.

“Are you saying I’m not worth it?”

His voice broke, and you wiped at the tears that burned your eyes, opening the door and stepping inside. You turned to face him, your bottom lip trembling with the effort of keeping from crying.

“I’m so sorry, Rafe.”

You stepped inside and, shutting the door, downed your drink. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you let the tears fall as you rushed through the stream of partygoers, your chin tucked against your neck.

Rafe watched you retreat from the balcony, then spun around. “Fuck!” He shouted, leaning against the balcony, running a hand down his face. He felt the wetness of his tears and his hands shook as he fished out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He lit one and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke burn and curl in his mouth. He pulled out his phone and typed you a message, his hands steadier as the nicotine eased some of his desire for the baggie of white powder burning a hole in his pocket.

You made your way out of Topper’s house and onto the porch, sitting on one of the steps next to the hydrangea bushes, their showy heads of blue blossoms shedding petals on your lap. Your phone chimed, and you opened your messages with one hand while wiping the tears from your face with the back of the other.

rafe cameron: this isn’t over

rafe cameron: please, give me another chance i know i can do this

you can’t escape my affection, wrap you up in my daisy chains

You bit your lip, tasting the salt of your tears, and deliberated on a reply, typing and retyping.

Rafe watched his phone, holding his breath as he saw your typing bubble pop on and off of the screen. He let out a noise halfway between a sigh and a dry laugh, reading your message to him over and over as he reached into his back pocket and withdrew the bag of cocaine. Shutting off his phone and running his hand over his face, Rafe bit his lip in concentration and waited one, two, three seconds before he flung the bag far away into the night, hurling it harder than any ball or punch he’d thrown in his life.

“Stay sober and we’ll see,” your message read, and you hated yourself for giving in. But that was always how it worked in the Outer Banks. Men like Rafe, powerful men, hungry men, always got what they wished for.