#hiyas tries to draw again

[hiyasdoodles]

Who's the king? Who's the boss?

[hihiyas]

Maybe we

Could be

Slow dancing

Until the morning

We could be romancing

The night away, yeah

[transvampireboyfriend]

Here's a little snippet from a tattoo shop/bakery au that i got kinda stuck on and i dont know if ill ever finish.

some context: Chrissy and Eddie are best friends that live in different states, Eds is taking two weeks off work for Chris' visit, he won't be at his tattoo shop which means he won't see the cute baker from next door

Chrissy's in the middle of answering and he's stretching his arms above his head when they hear the front door opening and the little bell above it chiming.

Eddie left the sign up front switched to "CLOSED", which can only mean-

"Eds?" Steve calls into the studio

Eddie immediately gets up from his seat and goes to meet him at the lobby, missing Chrissy's surprised look.

"Hiya, Stevie." he greets, bumping his knuckles against the front counter where Steve is standing just to the side of it.

He's secretly been hoping Steve would stop by just so he could see him. Just so he could hear his voice one last time before he has to go on for days without it.

Steve looks good too, in a plain white shirt, his blue apron and the absolute best pair of lightwash jeans in the whole entire world (if you're asking Eddie).

"I thought I saw you come in" Steve says, "You've been here for hours and you didn't come by to get breakfast, so i brought you this" he lifts the tray in his hands.

There's a mug with coffee, several sugar packets and two chocolate croissants.

"Aw, Steve, you didn't have to" Eddie says, genuinely touched. His heart flutters even though this is typical of Steve. He's just the sweetest.

"Oh, stop it," Steve protests, sounding bashful "these are from yesterday, I can't sell them" he says, placing the tray on the counter. A blush colors his cheeks and Eddie smiles, he looks so pretty.

Eddie knows by now how a pastry looks when it's fresh. He can't be fooled anymore.

It's been so long of them doing this dance though, and Eddie knows if he mentions it Steve will just get embarrassed, so he keeps his mouth shut about it.

"Well, they look really good." Eddie says instead "Thank you, sweetheart" he adds softly, his eyes drawn to the pink blooming on Steve's cheeks and focusing on the flour smeared across Steve's nose. He wants to kiss it and get flour all over his lips.

Eddie leans towards the tray and breaks away a piece of croissant, taking a bite.

Yep. Either Steve made these this morning or he's got magic abilities.

" 'M sure gonna miss these" Eddie says around his mouthful, gesturing with the bit of pastry still in his hand.

"Ugh, don't remind me," Steve groans "the shop already feels dull today"

Eddie laughs softly "You flatterer" he accuses

"Just trying to get you to visit" Steve defends, leaning against the counter and into Eddie's personal space to tap the rim of Eddie's reading glasses.

"Like I could stay away from your shop" Eddie says, tries his best not to sound breathless. He thinks he fails, and he must be blushing too, judging by how Steve's eyes are roaming his face.

"Good. Cause we need the business this month" Steve jokes.

That makes Eddie snort and laugh, Steve's shop is filled to the brim with costumers at least twice a day, five days a week.

Steve smiles at him again and then he peers around Eddie.

"Oh, hi!" Steve greets, straightens up and waves a little.

Eddie turns to see Chrissy leaning against the lobby partition, observing with her arms crossed.

Fuck.

"Chriiisssyyyy!" Eddie draws, and she narrows her eyes suspiciously "C'mere!" Eddie soldiers on,

Chrissy eyes him warily but walks to the counter and smiles sweetly at Steve, "Hi!" she greets "I'm Chrissy."

Steve's eyes widen "Of course! Eddie was picking you up today! I'm Steve, it's nice meeting you!"

He's such an angel, Eddie wants to cry.

"Likewise, Steve. I'm so sorry, I don't think Eddie's mentioned you yet" Chris says, but directs it to Eddie, glaring at him.

Eddie's about to answer, offended, but gets stuck on Steve's crestfallen expression for a split second and then Steve beats him to it.

"Oh, it's okay" Steve says, his smile reappearing, "I own the bakery next door" he supplies.

"He brought croissants!" Eddie tries to redirect "The best croissants in the state I'd say" he offers, succeeding in lightening Steve's mood again, judging by the twinkle in his eye.

Satisfied, Eddie asks Chris "D'you want one?"

Chrissy looks at him weird but mutters "sure" and grabs the one still whole.

"Well!" Steve exclaims, softly clapping his hands against his sides,

"I was just dropping these by, I won't take up any more of your time." Steve says "Chrissy it was really nice meeting you, I hope you have a great time in our town."

He turns to Eddie then and reaches out to squeeze his arm "And Eds, I hope you get lots of rest during your break. And visit us." he adds, moving his hand up to softly pull on a stray bit of hair that fell off Eddie's bun "The place won't be the same without you"

Eddie deflects so he doesn't melt under his gaze.

"I'm not dying, Stevie." he says, grabbing him by the shoulders and bodily turning him around as Steve softly laughs.

Judging by how his own cheeks are burning, Eddie's sure that he's the exact shade of a ripe tomato.

"I'll be back before you know it." Eddie adds, and with that, he gets Steve out the door.

Steve turns to say "You better" to Eddie. And once again, he peers around him to wave his fingers at Chrissy "Bye!" he says.

Sweetheart.

Eddie forces himself to not watch him walk the few steps between their shops.

When he turns back to his best friend he's relieved to see she's not glaring at him anymore.

She's got chocolate in the corner of her mouth and she's nodding.

"These are really good" Chrissy says, lulling Eddie into a false sense of safety.

He walks towards her to pick up and continue eating his own croissant, but as soon as he's within reach, Chris smacks the back of her hand against his bicep.

"OW!" Eddie protests, leaning against the counter and rubbing his arm.

She's been an athlete ever since they were in middle school together and she's never pulled her punches with him, it's a big part of why he loves her so much.

"You never told me you had a boyfriend!" she accuses, her mouth still full.

[kittycookiesuwu]

Hiya! I love your art and wanna ask if you could draw some family art with Optimus, Ratchet, and Bumblebee (both little and older... teenage?) Your art just makes me wanna watch Prime over and over again ^^

Hiyaa! Thanks alot for the kind words- I tried doodling something, might not be the best but I hope you like them :)

I have not drawn Bumblebee that much either so hope he doesn't look horrible in my artstyle :'DDD

[anundyingfidelity]

Hiya!

Just read your recent SB fics and I'm fucking hooked. Dark Ben is ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥. Can I request another Dark Soldier Boy and reader being in slave/master dynamics, please? 🥹

helloooo!! thank you so much, i'm glad to know that you liked it!! i tried my best for a dark!soldier boy haha. this is maybe the first time i write this type of master/slave dynamic and i'm mostly a sub so the reader is a sub too XD hope you enjoy this filthy thing !!

event guidelines ✮ event masterlist ✮

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

PLAYTHING — Dark!Soldier Boy x female reader

Word count: 592 (these aren't 400 words drabbles anymore lmao).

Genre: dark smut.

Warnings: dark!soldier boy, master/slave dynamics, face-fucking, cum-play, cum swallow, hair pulling, finger-sucking, if you squint forced alcohol compsumtion, usage of word 'slut'.

Your throat hurts and you try to catch a breath from your nose as much as you’re allowed to. You shut your eyes closed, feeling his strong hands against your scalp, fingers tugging at your hair as you gag on his shaft over and over, while he’s using your mouth as his personal fleshlight.

His cock throbs in your mouth, spit is running down your chin and you try to rub your thighs together, yearning for some friction between them. Your nipples are hard and stiff now, aching for release, but you know better to not touch yourself before he gives his permission to do so.

“Shit, you’re so fucking good with that mouth of yours, sweetcheeks,” he praises and follows a chain of dirty courses between his hitching breath.

You think he’s going to release down your throat but you’re so wrong. Soldier Boy forces your head back, his dick slipping out of you leaving a string of saliva connecting the tip of his veiny shaft with your swollen lips. His dark green gaze takes in the mess you are; on your knees between his legs, eyes lost in pleasure even if he hasn’t touched you yet, panting hard, showing up your bare body only with a pair of black stockings combined with high-waist suspenders that hugged your body perfectly.

Just how he loved to see you, his little plaything. So obedient, so eager to please him. His cock begins to twitch again.

“Fetch me another glass,” Soldier Boy orders, voice low and dark.

“Yes, master.”

He lets go of the grip on your hair and you stand up with wobbly legs to fill up his glass with the expensive bottle of liquor standing on the bar of his penthouse. When you come back, he trails his eyes over your figure and takes the glass as you kneel between his thighs. Innocent eyes draw back at him, he smirks, settling the glass on the carpeted floor by your side.

“Such a good pet,” Soldier Boy praises, his thumb now tugging at your lower lip. You open your mouth as a reflex and he shoves his index finger along too. You start sucking on them and he pushes further, making you gag around his fingers. “Ain’t even touching you yet and I know you’re soaking wet.”

You moan as an answer, mouth full of his digits. He pulls them out suddenly and forces your mouth to stay open with a hand, the other taking his hard cock to shove it down your throat again, this time fucking your wet cavern like a mad man looking for his release. It’s not too long until he spends his cum until it mixes with your spittle and runs down your chin, coating the base of his cock.

“Swallow,” he commands, staying still inside your mouth and you do as better as you can.

Once you’re allowed to breathe again you lick the remnants on his shaft, moaning at the salty taste of it. He forces you to stop suddenly and grabs the liquor glass again. Your aching jaw falls open thanks to his strong hand and he pours the scotch on your mouth. The taste smoothly burns as you swallow it all.

“Yeah, fucking take it all, my little slut,” he grunts, eyes on your flushed face. “You’ve been so good today. I might have to reward you.”

You whine pathetically, unable to look away from his lustful eyes. You’re basically begging to be fucked by now. And that he will, under his own terms.

[xcalciumx]

Lost | Moon Knight System x Reader

Word Count | 4.5k

Summary | When you let a broken-hearted Steven into your apartment, you never thought that this would happen. They needed comfort, you wanted to give it to them - but somewhere in the midst of it all, ‘comfort’ became something much, much more. Something it shouldn’t have.

Just like The Casanovas said, how can something so wrong, feel so right?

(Mentions of cheating. Dabble of fluff, bucket of angst and a little bit of NSFW. <33)

—

It was pouring outside, the dim street lights a mere flicker in the darkness when you heard the knock at your door. The wooden spoon you’d been using to stir your dinner came to an abrupt halt, your eyebrows drawing together. You rested the spoon gently against the side of the pot, turning down the temperature on the stove before making your way towards your front door. 

It’s late. The sleeping city outside offers nothing more than the barks of restless dogs and the coo’s of awakening owls. Your footsteps against the hardwood floor of the hallway are soft, toes buried deep in a pair of fuzzy socks you’d gotten for your birthday last year. The apartment is bathed in black, the only light coming from your small kitchen. It should have been comforting, cosy even - but all it did was remind you of how lonely you really were. The knocking at your door was an anomaly in your never-changing routine, a little bit of excitement for the day. After this, you would finish making your dinner, sit down to eat it in the lounge and then you would go to bed - only to wake up in the morning and rinse and repeat all over again. 

London was supposed to be the change you needed. It was supposed to be all fun and adventure, relationships and new opportunities, but all it did was lock you in an office 24/7 and make you feel like more of a recluse than ever before. 

You’d lived here for a couple of years now, but it never got easier. For you, at least. Your sister on the other hand, whom you’d moved into London with from the homely abode of your small family farm, had had a better time. She’d gotten a job that paid well, a small house in a quiet suburb, she’d made friends, taken risks and after a year (you really tried not to roll your eyes in jealousy) had landed herself a nice, handsome fiance who worshipped the very ground she walked on. But that didn’t matter, right? You still had individuality, didn’t you? Freedom? A chance to reroute your whole life and drag yourself from the inevitable dark pit you were stuck in…?

Okay, you were miserable. So what? 

Talking of your sister, it came as a big surprise to find said fiance, Marc Spector, on the other side of your peephole. At least, you thought it was Marc Spector. Maybe it was Steven. Or the other one, Jake Lockley. To be honest, you still didn’t completely understand the whole altar thing. Your sister, in all her indifference, had never really bothered to explain it to you, but you supposed it wasn't really any of your business anyways. As long as she was happy and he (they?) were happy then who the hell cared. 

You didn’t hesitate to unlock your door, swinging it open to come face to face with one seriously frazzled looking man. 

“Hiya...”

The British accent and mumbled greeting was lost on you as you took in how he was standing, jacket sopping wet from the rain and hair flying around his head like a crazy scientist. He wouldn’t make eye contact, hunched in on himself, neck craned awkwardly downwards and foot tapping incessantly against the ground. 

You blinked at him stupidly. What in the…

“Steven?” you questioned, stepping back to usher him inside. “The hell are you doing? Are you alright?” 

You had met Steven enough times to be able to pick him from the accent. He was usually the one to appear at family gatherings and he’d been the first one your sister introduced you to when she started dating them. The downcast look haunting his face was concerning.  

“M’sorry,” he mumbled as he shuffled over the threshold, coat leaving droplets of water across your floor. “Didn’t know where else to go.” You tilted your head but didn’t reply, closing the door shut behind him. 

The both of you stood there in silence for a second, neither really knowing what to say. Finally, you found your voice.

“Let me take your coat, you look like you're one shiver away from catching a cold.” He stared wide-eyed at you but nodded mutely, handing you his drenched jacket hesitantly. You motioned for him to follow you as you made your way to your living room, chucking the coat carelessly into your laundry as you passed. As you got to the open space of your lounge, you quickly flicked on the light, embarrassed at how you seemed to be living in the darkness like a vampire. Steven didn’t say anything though and you relaxed a bit, snatching up your warm, fluffy blanket from the couch. When you turned, he was standing in the doorway, hands buried in his pockets and lips pulled into a frown. He looked rough. 

You cleared your throat, holding out the blanket awkwardly. Steven’s eyes came up from where they had been locked on the floor, staring at the offering in your hands quizzically. When he didn’t come any closer, you chose to approach him, hands carefully wrapping the fabric over his trembling shoulders. With a nervous wince, you pushed the hair splayed over his forehead back, hoping it wasn’t too intrusive. He gave a tightlipped smile at you then, his hands softly grabbing the blanket that covered him. You almost missed the quiet thanks that left his lips. 

“Yeah, right, um.” You fumbled over your words, eye darting towards where his shoes had trekked mud across the floor. You blew out a breath but didn’t comment. “Do you wanna take your shoes off and go sit on the couch or something? Um, I’ll get you something warm from the kitchen. Coffee? Tea? I could do hot chocolate? Um..”

Steven smiled at you again, this time a little more genuine. “Thank you, love. Tea would be good, if it’s not a bother. Ah,” he glanced back at where he had walked. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. You waved him off and motioned towards your small black couch. He was quick to take his shoes off, padding towards it. With a sigh, he dropped back into the pillows, hands instantly moving to run through his hair and head dropping forward. 

Before you got stuck staring at him, you quickly made your way into the kitchen, switching on the kettle. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the bubbling red of your dinner.

“Shit,” you cursed, having forgotten about the food. It probably wasn’t edible anymore, if the burnt brown of it meant anything. You sulked as you turned the stove off and moved the pot off the fading heat. As you waited for the water to boil, you took a second to look at your reflection in the microwave, realising that, damn, you kinda looked like crap right now. It was probably a good thing Steven seemed a bit too out of it to notice, not that he would have said anything even if he did see your unruly state. 

The kettle whistled and you scurried over, assessing the different boxes of tea you had spread along the wall. You loved the stuff, but you had no idea which one Steven would want. With pursed lips, you took a sachet of green tea from the previously unopened box; Steven did seem like a green tea kind of guy. 

When you came back into the living room, he was sat hunched over, his head buried in his hands. You frowned at the sight, collapsing down onto the couch next to him. He looked up as you did, eyes glossy with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Quietly, you passed him the cup.

“Thank you so much,” he murmured, blowing over the hot contents. He took a sip of the tea and a look of calm washed over his features, eyes closing momentarily before looking over to you. “How’d you know green tea was my favourite?” he joked weakly.

Your lips quirked upwards into a grin. “You just seem like a green tea kind of guy.” 

Steven smiled at that, shaking his dark curls that were now beginning to dry. 

WIth a thoughtful hum, you continued. “Personally, I can’t stand the stuff, by all means, take it home with you. Don’t tell my sister you got it from me though, she was the one who gave it to me in the first place.” With the cuppa clutched tightly between his hands, Steven paused. His mouth instantly curled into a frown. You watched it happen, hands fiddling together anxiously in your lap. “Steven,” you tried. “What happened? Why are you here?” 

His eyes closed again, but this time they were clenched tightly as though he was in pain. His lips sealed shut. 

“Steven,” you urged, but he just shook his head. You sighed. You didn’t want to push him, but when he showed up at your door in the middle of the night, soaked from head to toe and looking like death was on his heels, you couldn’t help but worry. 

You went to speak again but stopped as something in the room changed. It was barely noticeable, like a spider winding a web in the corner of a room when you weren’t watching. But it was there. Whatever it was. Steven’s back straightened, and suddenly he was staring at you. His sad, brown eyes now narrowed and cold.

You didn’t know what to say.

“Steven caught her fuckin’ another man,” said Steven. Though it wasn’t Steven, was it? No, the accent wasn’t British and the words definitely weren’t ones that would pass the reserved lips of Steven Grant. 

“Marc?” you asked. 

He smiled wryly at you. “Try again.”

Your mouth opened and closed, “Jake?” Your eyebrows knit together, fingers clenching at your side. Unlike the other two, you had only met Jake on two occasions. The first time was at some random supermarket in the middle of the night. You’d been trying to fulfil your chocolate cravings when you’d bumped into Jake, mistakenly taking him for Steven. You’d eagerly embraced him (in your defence, your sister had told you about a promotion he got at work that he’d really been wanting - and by told, you mean complained - and you thought he deserved a little bit of recognition and congratulations for it) and you very soon found out that it was in fact not Steven, if the heavy drawl and suggestive comments were anything to go by. The second time, the odder encounter of the two, Jake had shown up to your apartment, drunk out of his mind and rambling about some old Egyptian bird or something like that. Needless to say, that one warranted a quick call to your sister to come pick him up...you weren’t too sure how he even knew your address anyways.

When you registered what he had just said, your eyes widened in surprise. 

“She was cheating on you?” You shot at him in a scandalised whisper. He shrugged his large shoulders.

“Yeah.” 

“And Steven caught her doing it?” you gasp.

“Sí.”

“Oh my god.” You squeak, nearly falling off the couch in surprise. “Oh my god,” you repeat.

“Careful, you look like you’re about to have a heart attack.” The dark haired man glared at the cup in his hands before taking a small sip. His face crumpled like paper. “¡Mierda! What is this shit? You got something better? Scotch, whiskey, a beer? Dios Mío, woman.” 

You stared at him blankly, too stunned at the revelation that your sister would do something like that. Jake waved a hand at you. 

“Hello?”

“Oh my god,” you said one last time, for good measure. “Yeah, yeah I’ll get you something else. I - I’m so sorry. Wow. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Can you tell Steven I’m sorry? That is just. Wow, I shouldn’t have pushed him about it. I, I just, wow.”

It was Jake's turn to stare at you blankly. 

“You don’t have to apologise to me, sweetheart. I hardly liked the bitch anyways.” Your eyes widened even more (if that was possible) but you kept your mouth shut. That was your sister he was talking about… “Steven was being too much of a pussy to tell you what happened,” Jake stretched back onto the couch and grinned at you. “So about that drink?”

You shot up from the couch. Right, the drink. Surely you’d have something in the fridge. Before you could hurry away to the kitchen, Jake was suddenly tugging at your shirt.

“Wait, wait, hold up,” he grunted. You looked back in confusion but he was staring across the room at a mirror hanging on your wall. “Yeah, well why don’t you come out and deal with this shit then, puta? No, no, and you - you're the one who dragged our asses here.” Jake sneered, looking mightily affronted. “Ay? I’m not making her do anything! It’s her pleasure to do this, she - “ he paused before looking up at you expectantly. “You wanna help us, don't you, sweetheart?”

You glanced around in confusion but slowly nodded your head. “I guess?”

“You see? Oh for fucks - oh my god. I’m done. No, no, deal with it yourself. Dios mío, pequeño idiota estúpido.” Jake’s chocolate eyes met yours and he smiled sarcastically. “I’ll see you around, beautiful.” 

Like a switch being flipped, Jake’s body tensed up and his cold brown eyes turned to molten lava.

The hand that had been gripping at your shirt dropped and a scowl appeared on his lips.

“You don’t have to run after Jake and Steven like a fucken’ maid, y’know.” You didn’t reply, mind-boggled. The angry brunette in front of you stood up, shrugging off the blanket that had been covering him and started pacing across the carpeted floor of your lounge. You watched it happen in shock, not knowing what had just transpired.

Before you could ask, Marc (or at least you assumed it was Marc) started muttering to himself.

You sat back down, hoping it would ground you a little. 

“Uh, Marc?” You asked. He didn’t reply, still walking around like a man possessed. “Marc,” you called again, worry evident in your voice. When he still refused to stop, you sucked in a deep breath, mustering up what little firmness you owned. “Marc!” 

He stopped and his wild eyes met yours. “Sorry…sorry.”

Your lips parted slightly. So it was him. “Sit down, Marc,” you requested softly. To your surprise, he actually listened, slumping back down onto the sofa. “I’m sorry,” you started, not really sure what to say to him at this moment.

He stared at you for a second before glancing away.

“It’s whatever. It’s not your fault.” 

You pursed your lips. “It’s still my sister who did that. And, y’know, I’m sorry for making you mad. I really was just trying to help.”

Marc looked at you with his eyebrows furrowed. “Mad? No, no I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at them. At her. At - at me.” Your mouth made an ‘o’ shape.

“If you need something…I mean, I'm no expert in relationships but I reckon you’re feeling pretty bummed right now.” 

Marc scoffed. “Bummed? My fiance was having sex with another man. I think I’m a bit more than bummed.”

You lowered your head. “You're right. Sorry.”

Across from you, Marc huffed. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t treat you like this after you let us into your home. Just -” Marc groaned, like trying to speak about his feelings was the most difficult task he’d ever been given. “I just loved her, y’know?”

You smiled sadly at him. “From what she told me, she loved you too. Loves you.”

“Yeah? Well if she loved us so much, she wouldn’t have felt the need to fuck someone else.” his full lips tugged down. “I mean, shit, sometimes it felt like she didn’t even like Jake and I. Feels like she was just with us ‘cause she wanted Steven. And even then, she took advantage of him because he was too much of a dumb, in-love idiot to know better.” 

You wanted to argue this - say something that would make him feel better, but truthfully you couldn’t. Your sister didn’t talk about them much, but when she did, it was always; Steven that and Steven this. And, more often than not, it was her complaining about something he had done. Hell, one time she had rang you up to whinge about an apparently ‘awful’ date he’d taken her on to a museum.

Honestly, you thought she was just lucky to have someone take her anywhere. 

It wasn’t that your sister was a bad person (though that was questionable after what you’d just found out), she was just a little bit spoiled with the riches of life. She got what she wanted. She got who she wanted. And clearly, she took it for granted. But even then, it was beyond you how she could do something like that to a man who, from what you had bore witness to, would give her the world. You didn’t know them very well, but from Steven’s kindness, to Marc’s dry humour and even Jake’s unparalleled charm, they seemed, to be honest, not short of the perfect fiance. 

Maybe you were a little jealous.

You said instead, not quite sure how to properly respond to Marc’s heartfelt confession, “So, no marriage then?” You worried that it might have been a tad insensitive.

 Marc cracked a sad, small smile. “No, I don't think so.” 

“That’s probably a good thing. Let me tell you, she probably would have been the biggest bridezilla to walk this earth.” Your attempt to lighten the mood didn’t go unnoticed.

“You know, one time she got pissed at me because I didn’t fluff the pillows for her after getting out of bed.”

You can’t help the laugh that bursts out of you at Marc’s unexpected words.

“Sorry, what?”

He continued in a reminiscent tone, “She said that if Steven were there, he’d have fluffed the pillows, fixed the blankets and gotten her a cup of coffee.” He raised an eyebrow at you. “I told her she could do all of that herself and threw a pillow at her face.”

Your face scrunched as you tried not to laugh again.

“Maybe it is my fault she cheated on us,” he said blandly, head dropping back against the couch as his eyes met yours. A giggle escaped your lips and you instantly clapped a hand over your mouth. “You think me being cheated on is funny?” he asked. You quickly shook your head. 

“No, no I’m sorry, Marc. It’s not funny at all. Promise.”

Marc shook his head, “Was just teasin’.”

The smile stays on his lips but his eyes drop, a hefty sigh moving his chest. When he looks at you again, he reminds you of a little boy. Lost. In need of comfort. He reminds you of yourself.

“You know, maybe Steven met the wrong sister first.” 

His cheeks raise for a second as he smiles tightly at you. For a second his words don't register, but when they do, a hue of red rushes to your cheeks.

“Thanks, Marc,” you say gently. “I really am sorry about what happened.” 

“I know,” he sighs. “I know.”

And as you sit there watching him, his dark ruffled hair and full pink lips, something painful gnaws at your stomach. Maybe Steven did meet the wrong sister first. You stand up, toes sinking into the plush carpet below.

“I know I don’t have to, but let me get you something to drink anyways.” 

-

“Marc,” you gasped as his large hands slid around your waist, pulling you deeper onto him with every thrust of his hips. “Oh, fuck.”

The softness of your bedsheets sink against your clawed grip, the wooden frame of your bed scratching up against the wall with every movement from the man on top of you.

He was everywhere. Everything. Touching, biting, kissing, loving. 

It was enough to make tears well up in your eyes. Enough to make you turn your head and conceal a quiet sob into the pillow beside you. It was enough and it was nothing all at the same time. 

How did you get here? With your legs sprawled over Marc’s strong, muscular shoulders and his warm, soft body pressed tightly against you. How did you find yourself reaching a high you’d never felt, his name falling off your lips in hurried gasps for breath and whispered sobs of ecstasy? 

He wasn’t yours. He never was.

But still, as you came, clutched tight to his body, lips pressed close to one another, just for a second, it felt like he was. Like he could’ve been. 

And shit, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt like hell.

“That’s it, baby,” he muttered into the skin of your neck, teeth pulling at whatever they could find. “Good girl, just like that. Fuck. Yeah.”

He sighed, his hands clenched into fists, breaths unhurried and heavy against you.

This could be paradise. 

You wished it was paradise.

But fuck, all you could think about was how you were the worst sister in the world.

You shouldn’t have let this happen. You shouldn’t have been so weak. When Steven showed up at your door close to tears, his large frame shivering and his eyes so wide and sad, and when Jake took control of the body for a split second, with his dry wit and crude grins and when Marc, sweet, rageful Marc, had tried to make things less awkward, had tried to act like the woman he loved didn’t just shatter his heart…you should have done what any good sister-in-law would do, you should have offered him a spot on the couch until he could sort things out and go back home. You should have comforted him, given him a shoulder to cry on, called your sister and bitten her head off for being the most ungrateful woman in the world. You should have, but you didn’t. 

You shouldn’t have given him that beer. Or the one after that. Or the four that followed. A grieving man and a shit ton of alcohol was nothing but a recipe for disaster. 

“You really gonna make me drink alone?” Marc asked, lips upturned in an inviting smirk.

And how could you say no when he looked at you like that? “Yeah, alright, just a couple. I think we both need it after tonight.”

It was more than ‘just a couple.’ 

You shouldn’t have let him touch you like he did, shouldn’t have convinced yourself you were just being a good friend. You shouldn’t have been so weak and drunk and - and stupid.

But it was too late for regrets now.

The feeling of a hand cupping your cheek dragged you out from your inner turmoil. Marc was staring at you, his dewey brown eyes fixed squarely on yours. The crinkle on his forehead told you he was confused, an expression that reminded you more of Steven than anything else. You hadn’t even noticed him fixing up the blankets around you, or putting on his briefs. It had to have been the middle of the night by now, early morning even. The last few hours had been a haze…a sweaty, passionate, pink haze. 

As your eyes roved over Marc's face, a sudden guilt churned in your stomach. You tried to rationalise it, he had come onto you, not the other way around. But you knew that it was as much your fault as it was his. You were both drunk. He was trying to forget about his fiance’s infidelity and you…

What did you want, really, in your drunkenness?

The question scared you. It scared you so much that you ground your teeth and refused to dwell on it any longer. 

“You should get some rest, Marc,” you whispered gently, eyes looking everywhere but him. He mumbled something under his breath before burrowing himself down into the white sheets of your bed, his dark locks a mess. His back rippled with muscles as he got himself comfortable and you forced yourself not to look.

This was wrong. So, so wrong.

You didn’t want to know if Marc was still tipsy, or if over the last few hours, he’d come out of the drunken fog like you had. You didn’t want to know, because if Marc really had been intoxicated the whole time - if he had been so out of it, that he could barely register who he was fucking, then that meant he didn’t mean anything he had said, or did. And that stung, just a little bit more than it should’ve - you were, after all, just his fiance's sister.

It didn’t matter now anyways, he was out cold. 

When you heard his soft snores start to fill the room, you slinked out of bed, your feet carrying you through your apartment. The chill of the late Autumn weather had you wrapping your arms tighter around yourself. 

In the bathroom, all you could do was stare. The person looking back at you with the tousled hair and red marks left a sour taste in your mouth. Marc was your sisters fiance for fucks sake. It didn’t matter if she’d cheated on him, that didn’t give you the right to just - to just, what. Fuck him? Use him to fulfil your own lonely, desperate desires?

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Loneliness. A longing for something, or someone.  

You liked Marc, you liked Steven - hell you even liked Jake for what little you knew of him, but they were due to be wed to your sister in a couple of months. Did this not make you some sort of homewrecker? Sure, your sister had done it to him first but…but.

But nothing. You didn’t know what to think. All these feelings bubbling to the surface were too much. 

The tears caught you by surprise. What had you done? Your sister would hate you. Marc would wake up in the morning and hate you. Steven probably hated you for sleeping with Marc. You hated you right now.

You couldn’t look at yourself any longer, couldn’t stand to think about this for another second. 

You left the bathroom and headed for the couch, the place where this whole mess had started, curling yourself around your deserted blanket. You clenched your eyes shut, begging for the quiet solitude of sleep. There was too much on your mind, and…

…And god it was wrong, but the feel of his hands on you kept you awake till the first rays of morning light shone through the windows of your small apartment. 

Post nut clarity be like 

[youshouldhavepaidattentiondad]

Fireworks explode over the lake, drowning out the sound of cheers from the citizens of Hatchetfield.

Duke loves the Honey Festival, always has. Though, for some reason, he finds himself unable to watch the fireworks. He can't watch the display without an aching emptiness in his heart.

Now, instead of watching the colorful explosions, he finds himself walking by the old diner. Boards cover the windows, graffiti sprayed across the wood.

He misses it, though he can't quite place his finger on why. He tells himself it's because of the food and tries to ignore the nagging little voice in the back of his head that tells him that's wrong.

Something red in his peripheral catches his attention. He turns to see a red haired woman in a denim jacket. “Oh, hello,” he says politely.

“Hiya,” She greets with a grin. Her eyes drift over to the abandoned building. “Was it a good restaurant?” She asks curiously.

“It was the best,” Duke replies with a smile of his own, “Can't find another slice of pie in town that even compares to Miss Retro’s. Too bad it closed down when she died.”

The stranger hums as her bright blue eyes lock on Duke again. “That's a shame,” she sympathizes, “But we can't dwell on the past.”

This makes Duke laugh as he looks her over. “Says the woman who’s dressed like the eighties spat her out,” he teases. He extends a hand to her. “I'm Duke, by the way.

“Miss Holliday,” She introduces herself as she takes his hand. “I hope I'll see you again real soon, Duke.” She gives a wink before drawing her hand back and walking away.

Another loud boom sounds off as another firework explodes in the sky. Duke's eyes turn up to watch the bright, colorful lights shimmer in the night sky before looking at the retreating back of Miss Holliday.

He wonders why the ache in his chest feels stronger than ever now.

[blindmagdalena]

Hiya!! I wrote you some fluff, sorry! Tldr the protag (I just used “they”) meets homelander while he’s on patrol and saves his really shitty day with a hug. I’m obsessed with compound v babies that never developed marketable powers, so they’re a little tougher and stronger than most but otherwise nothing special. I think if I continued this they’d only meet again when he was depowered and totally friendless. Anyway, hope you like it! Lots of love, first timer 💕

-

Homelander’s jaw clenches through that big smile of his, uncaring if a slight malice coils in the centre of his eye. He looks straight into the camera, and feels a muscle under his lower lash twitch as the flash goes off. In broad fucking daylight.

It only stings for a second and he knows it, but the dull ache lately thudding in his ears is suddenly a full roar. He blinks hard and no one sees the flash of red in his corneas. The phone shoved in his face meanders away with the idiot attached to it unharmed, and he gives a bland goodbye. Barely time for a breath before someone else wants Homelander’s attention.

They’re next, tall enough to look him in the eye and waiting at the edge of polite distance for his invitation. He isn’t rushed at, which makes a change for patrol meets.

“Auto-flash is your friend,” they offer to the guy leaving, but he’s too absorbed in his selfie to hear. They shrug like they tried. “Asshole,” they grumble, now more to Homelander as they approach. “Want a hug?”

He doesn’t. But he has the presence of mind to unclench his fists at his sides. At least they asked, this many people in and requests usually become demands. The expectant shout of his name starts to grate.

His hesitation gives them pause, and their smile turns to momentary embarrassment at having overstepped. “If you’re not big on that, I totally—“

“You can’t take it back, now,” he tries not to sound like he wants to show them his teeth. “C’mon, bring it in.” And manages, it seems, when he holds his arms out.

They close the gap, folding their arms around his sides. Letting their hands rest on his shoulder blades, before one of them gently pats the centre of his back. Their chest to his chest, the sound of their heart briefly surrounding him before it quiets. Like they’ve been reassured of something they were afraid of.

Their sigh doesn’t stab at his eardrums, they hug him like this is something they’ve been meaning to do for a long time. And their embrace’s earnest, affectionate pressure makes his uninterested grip around their waist very suddenly tighten.

Homelander presses them against him without a thought, arms like steel bars digging into their back. He waits for a different sound. The hitched breath and scream of pain to really make this day hell. But their ribs don’t bend. Their spine doesn’t fold.

Their voice is a whisper, easy on sensitive ears. A little breathless, but fond, “You saved me once.”

No verbal thanks accompanies the statement, only their warm hand moving a slow circle at the centre of his back. Then, their grip eases. His arms fall back to his sides without needing to be scolded, as if suddenly awake to the encroaching crowd. To what he could have done.

Homelander stares at their still-smiling face. He didn’t fuck it up. They’re fine.

His control on his expression lapses only briefly, but he stares at them with glassy blue eyes. Brow slightly furrowed. He’s trying to recognize them, and he can’t.

Then that face is gone, back to a veneer-grin. They give a little wave, unbothered with being forgotten in a way he doesn’t understand.

They don’t make him lie. And then they’re gone, the whole exchange barely half a minute. His chest feels heavier, then lighter. Homelander draws himself up to his full height, ready for the next in line.

DEAREST.... i love this!!!!! aaahhh, the way he was caught off guard by the sincerity of the interaction, and the lack of expectation for performance or a front, the CONSENT of it all... please, you have such a way with words!

i loved him being so disarmed he just. squeezed. almost like a reversion to that moment as a child, snapping his caretakers spine, only to come back to reality and see that they were fine. that gave me chills! i'd love to see more from you, wow. thanks so much for writing this and sending it my way! 🖤

[jobean12-blog]

How would this go with Bucky 🤔

Nailed it!

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word Count: 622

Summary: It's always so hard to pick a nail color but thankfully Bucky is a big help.

Author's Note: Kate my love, feeding me endlessly! THANK YOU SO MUCH! This one was so much fun to write and I hope you enjoy! HUGS AND LOVE my friend! You can see the color I picked here Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by my sweet @firefly-graphics thank you love!💕

Warnings: fun fluff, teasing and flirting, some curses, implied smut to light smut- oral m rec (18+ ONLY PLEASE!!!)

Gif NOT MINE: Credit goes to @buvky

“Ok Buck, I’m leaving,” you sing as you search for your bag.

He slides up behind you and shakes it in front of your face.

“Thanks,” you giggle.

He turns you in his arms, kissing you softly and the next thing you know your back gently bumps the wall as he pins you against it.

“Buck,” you murmur, lightly pushing on his chest. “I’m going to be late.”

The words are weak, just like your willpower and when his fingers slip under your shirt you lean into his touch.

He teases your skin as he kisses a warm and wet path down your neck. When his lips press to yours once again he whispers, “have fun,” before pushing away and sauntering into the kitchen.

You straighten up and narrow your eyes, huffing your way to the door. He turns and gives you a lopsided smirk before adjusting himself in his sweats.

“At least I know you’re suffering too,” you grumble.

“Hurry home,” he winks.

You blow him a kiss and shut the door.

When you arrive at the nail salon you head straight for the large display of nail polishes. You sigh as you stare at the wide variety of colors and your hand reaches for a peachy pink color called ‘don’t kid yourself.’

You frown and put it back, taking down a brighter pink called ‘pucker up.’

“This is so hard,” you mumble to yourself.

After looking at three more polishes and putting them back on the shelf you pull out your phone and text Bucky.

“Hey babe, what color should I get my nails? It’s so hard to decide!”

You wait and continue to look. Your phone dings not long after and you nearly drop it when you see his response.

“I want my dick wrapped in red.”

Once his words sink in you smile and lift your eyes back to the colors, searching for the boldest red you can find. The only answer you give him is a picture of the color you pick.

The manicurist comments on your color choice and you explain that your boyfriend helped you pick it out. She gives you a sweet smile and starts working on your manicure.

You unlock the door and walk into your apartment, your eyes scanning for Bucky. You find him leaning against the counter.

“Hiya doll, how was your appointment? Lemme see.”

You drop your bag and sashay over to him, placing your hands flat along his broad chest. He drops his head with a smile and tries to look at your nails.

“Oh no,” you purr. “Not like that.”

His eyebrows draw together as you start to push him toward the couch. With a plop he sits and you kneel between his spread legs.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of his sweats and tug.

“Off,” you tell him.

With a sharp intake of breath, he lifts his hips and you drag the material down to his ankles. You rub your palm over his boxers, loving how his cock instantly reacts to your touch.

“Doll face,” he gasps, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “Fuck.”  

You pull his cock free and pump your hand along the length.

“Well?” you ask him as you look up from under your lashes. “What do you think?”

His eyes are fixed on your hand wrapped tight around his cock.

“What?” he breathes out.

You give him a squeeze.

“What do you think of the color?”

His lips spread into a wide grin.

“Looks perfect doll. What’s it called?”

You roll your thumb over the head of his cock, rubbing the precum over the tip as you dip your head.

“Forever yummy,” you whisper before taking him into your mouth.

@book-dragon-13 @christywantspizza @dreamlessinparis @hiddles-and-skittles @hiddles-rose @goldylions @jhangelface0523 @loricamebackyetagain @lookiamtrying @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @nano--raptor @randomfandompenguin @rebel-stardust @seitmai @weekendgothgirl @breakablebarnes @loki-laufeyson-1054 @justile

[hiyasdoodles]

Happy Hobi Day! Finally done just in time for our darling Sunshine's birthday ^^

[hihiyas]

[icallhimjoey]

Hiya, love your stuff, man. Could you do Joe and a artist!reader? Maybe she's trying to do his portrait and he just won't sit still cause he's a cheeky cumcum twat

i couldnt not write this (cheeky cumcum twat omg i love you) its a short one! Wordcount: 0.8K

-----

One Day

Joe caught you in the morning, pencil in hand, eyes fluttering from the paper in front of you to his features and back again. You were sat at the end of your bed, legs crisscrossed in front of you and with a sketch book on your lap. You’d woken up before Joe, the soft light filtering in indicating early morning, and had gotten up and out to pee. When you walked back into your bedroom, the vision of Joe still asleep looked stunning to you; arms tucked up under his pillow, his face buried deep into it, shoulder blades and mid-back exposed above the sheets laying bare his buttery soft skin – you had immediately reached for a pencil to put the sight of him to paper.

The sound of the pencil gliding along the paper, alternating between longer and shorter strokes, had woken him up a little. When he reached an arm for you and found you weren’t there, he’d looked up, finding you at the end of the bed.

“Baby, don’t move,” you gently directed, but Joe groaned softly, stretched, reached a hand to squeeze your ankle and smiled at you before turning over, completely changing his position and facing away from you as he tried dozing back off for some extra minutes of blissful sleep.

You looked at him a second after he resettled before discarding your original sketch, and starting a new one of him right next to it, focusing on the curls on the back of his head this time. Your whole sketchbook was like this; unfinished drawings of Joe, small bits of his body incomplete and facial expressions barely there in the lines.

“Just pretend I’m not here,” you’d always tell him. “I can physically feel your eyes burn on me,” Joe would always answer, shuddering with discomfort, mostly as a joke. “Just a little longer,” you’d encourage and you’d try to be so fast in your work, but Joe’d always falter.

Joe didn’t really like being drawn; the attention and eyes on him would make him uneasy if it lasted too long, which to him, it always did. He blamed it mostly on your eyes; they would change intensity when you’d stare to sketch. Your eyes could rapidly go from expressive, kind, smiley eyes to sudden fervent, observant ones. It was funny, because drawing him was exactly how you and Joe had met.

You’d been sat on the tube, sketch book in hand, drawing random things you’d see to pass the time. A dog laying by its owners feet. A man in a suit looking up at the tube map, counting the stops he still had to go every time the train stopped. A little girl hanging onto her mother’s hand, wearily eyeing the strangers around her. And then, when Joe sat down opposite you, you had drawn him. He’d been wearing headphones, and was reading the newspaper he’d found on the seat before he sat down. Whatever articles he’d been reading had distracted him enough not to have spotted you darting your eyes from him to your sketchbook repeatedly for the duration of his commute.

It wasn’t unlike you to miss your own stop to finish your sketches, but when Joe had gotten up to step off, you realised you’d missed your stop by 7 stations. A new record.

You’d followed him off the train, stopped him on the platform to give him the page ripped from your sketchbook with a shy smile, and then made your way to the opposite side to get onto a train that would take you back the way you’d come. It prompted conversation - the sketch, and the fact that you had clearly missed your stop. Your sketch then hadn’t been completely done, either, you would’ve missed 7 more stops if it meant you’d gotten to finish it. But Joe was impressed - your sketch was good. Furthermore, you also looked really cute.

And now here you were, seven months later, still without a full sketch of him that you considered done. Joe would joke that the second you would finish a drawing of him, you’d be straight out the door, onto your next project.

When after a few minutes of trying your hand at the back of his head, the early morning sunlight dancing along his strands, Joe moved again. This time he turned over onto his back, hiding the swirly shapes you'd found in his hair into the pillow. It made you groan softly, a little defeated. “One day,” you sighed, closing your sketchbook, placing it on your bedside table and sneaking back under the covers. You knew you’d be able to get some cuddles out of Joe still before his alarm would force him to wake up.

“One day,” Joe softly repeated you, not sure what you meant, still half asleep, but arms finding you and happy to have you there. He pulled you in and tucked you into his side, nuzzling into you and breathing you in as the sun slowly arose, breathing the day into existence.   

-----

The Taglisted:  @ghostinthebackofyourhead @kiwisa @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @xomunson @sadbitchfangirl @jssmth5 @nobody-000 @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @eddiemunsonfuxks @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @thefemininemystiquee @dirtyeddietini - add yourself  

[vampire-chokehold]

the wisp sings

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Peter B. Parker x MJ

Summary: So, no, Miguel doesn’t know how to say no to Peter, because every time he’s ever said yes, he’s felt like the luckiest guy in the multiverse.

"Would you let us make you happy? Please?" says Peter softly and Miguel closes his eyes to take in the air between them.

Warnings: too much angst, but there's a lot of fluff too!

Words: 4,363

Read on AO3

At the top of the tallest building in Nueva York, the air seems different. It doesn't feel as if it is trying to choke him from the inside out; his lungs collapsing with each breath he takes. Up there, every emotion feels small in comparison, just a speck of dust in the universe. He can let go for just one second, of everything, of himself, of all the ghosts that haunt him.

To celebrate one's step closer to death. Qué cosa tan extraña (what an odd thing to do), Miguel thinks as he looks at the date on his wristband, its soft light lingering on his hardened features in the darkness of the night.

Another year, another birthday he dreads to celebrate. For what? There is nothing he can think of that would make him any more miserable than being around people wishing him a happy day. He hasn't had one in forever.

The cars on the streets draw a map of light streaks and their sound, muffled with those of the city –the careless people of Nueva York–, seems like white noise to him. Like static, a nice and soothing background music for his thoughts. He follows their movement with his eyes, from one end of the street to the other, like a pendulum.

It is somewhat peaceful, to drown in his sorrow like this. The grief makes him almost numb in his chest. Casi (almost).

If life were any different, he might enjoy birthdays. Maybe he would feel content around people, all their smiles shining with the white of their teeth, and his too. Maybe he would blow a candle or two, eat a piece of cake, and open the presents with glee. But life isn't always –no, it never is– as we expect it to be, as we wish it to be. And Miguel has come to know this the hard way.

He can still feel her tiny fingers poking his cheek, the warmth of early morning falling onto his shut eyelids, as Gabriela tries to wake him up with a feliz cumpleaños on her lips. He can still see her eyes drawing two half moons on her face, accompanying the widest of grins. He can still taste the coffee on his lips –too sweet for his liking, but how can you refuse your child when she is more excited about your birthday than you? He could never say no to her.

What does he have to look forward to now apart from a few more wrinkles around the mouth, soreness after a complex mission, and the loneliness of going back to a home that is no longer a home but a haunted house?

No breakfast in bed.

No drawings of him and Gabi where his face doesn't look as mean as it does now.

No wish that can ever come true.

So there he is, hiding away like he always does –his chest tight and his eyes stinging with the imminent cry forming in the pit of his stomach. It was a quiet day at HQ and he knows that if he had stayed in his office, he would have spent hours looking at all those memories that he so desperately wants to bury deep beneath. He kind of hoped for a crisis to happen so he can distract himself, to dive into the violence.

"Hiya, boss, I know you ask not to be disturbed today, but Peter is looking for you and he says it's urgent." Lyla appears on his side in a blinding orange light.

"I highly doubt it, Lyla. Tell Peter I will deal with whatever tomorrow," he pushes the button to send his IA away, the light disappearing with a gentle beep.

He looks up into the night sky, the stars almost nowhere to be seen with all the light pollution.

Peter, he sighs. That is something to unpack for sure.

"I must insist, Miguel. Peter seems really serious, and you know he's never serious," the hologram appears again, this time with Lyla looking at him with furrowed brows and crossed arms.

Her expression makes him stop to think for a second. What if Peter is actually in trouble? Can he just shrug it off and ignore him? "Did something happen to Peter?" He finally asks, the worry in his tone too apparent for what he'd like.

"He sounds hurt, but I do not have any more information to disclose. I could run a diagnostics and try to determine if-"

"No, déjalo (leave it)." Miguel cuts her off as he stands up over the ledge of the building. "I'm done moping anyways."

With quick gestures, he taps at his bracelet, it beeping under his touch. A red and yellow flashing portal opens to the side of the building, waves of energy spreading up and down into the darkness. Miguel looks up at the sky one last time as if saying goodbye and then jumps off into the abyss.

The lights devour him as his body crosses the portal back to Earth-616B.

He runs out of the blinding lights, almost stumbling onto the grass in front of Peter's house. He would have liked to play it cooler, but his mind gets the best of him imagining all sorts of tragic scenarios. Peter never calls Lyla looking for him, so this has to be something important otherwise he would just wait for him to come back to pester Miguel about whatever is going on inside that silly head of his. So, of course, he runs.

With his heart almost in his mouth, he knocks on the front door.

One very long and anguishing minute passes before he decides to open the door –uninvited–, yanking the handle with too much force. The house is quiet, too quiet, and his mind rushes to paint him morbid images of Peter bleeding to death on the sofa. He walks into the living room with the sound of his beating heart hammering in his temples and the air squeezing its way down his throat. He stops himself as he comes to realize what is really going on. Just as he starts to read the banner that hangs from the wall, the words bright and colourful, Peter emerges from behind the sofa wearing a silly party hat. Next to him, MJ is holding Mayday with the biggest of smiles drawn on their faces.

"Surpriseeeeeee!" they shout in a surely unrehearsed manner as they spring into view.

Miguel, for once in his life, is speechless. He remains there, his hands still in fists to his side and his heart racing in his chest, his mouth going drier by the second. His eyes dart frantically from Peter to MJ to the banner saying happy birthday! and the realization hits him hard, too hard for what it is, really. But he can’t help it. Mierda (shit).

“Hey, you alright, Miggy?” MJ says from behind the sofa, her expression no longer cheerful.

Peter, next to her, has now dropped his hand and is wearing a confused look on his face. He goes to Miguel and nudges him with his elbow. "Bet you didn't think I'd remember, eh?" he says putting his hands on his hips, taking pride in a successful surprise, trying to lighten the mood that had suddenly shifted.

"I thought you were hurt. I thought something had happened." Miguel said in a quiet tone, looking down at his hands while he unclenched them.

"Well, that was part of the performance! I must say, I'm quite the actor. MJ always says that I-"

"I thought you were hurt, Peter," he repeats, this time his tone is too harsh and he looks up at him, his eyes pleading.

Everything feels too close, too constrained. The room suddenly looks like it's closing in on him, their questioning eyes piercing his thick skin like fire through ice. Peter touches his forearm with the softest of fingers and it burns. Tengo que salir de aquí (I have to get out of here).

Miguel turns on his heel and practically bolts out of the room, gasping desperately for air as he steps out of the house. He bends over his middle, balancing himself with his hand over his knees and he tries to breathe. He opens his mouth wide and he takes in a gust of air but it doesn't seem to be enough. The corners of his eyes are going black and there's a tingling feeling creeping up the back of his head.

"Miggy, are you okay?" he feels a hand on his back, warm and solid unlike everything else around him. "What's going on?"

Miguel doesn't move, doesn't say anything. He tries to ground himself but he feels he's starting to lose control. Peter's face comes into focus in front of him, the Spider-man kneeling on the grass as he takes his face in his hands.

"I'm here. It's okay. Breathe," his words sound so distant, Miguel can't even recognise them on his lips, the severe tone so uncharacteristic in the other man.

He looks into Peter's eyes and he wishes he could drown himself in them. How is this person so calm all the time? Peter smiles the warmest of smiles and he feels himself melt.

"Tell me what's going on, Miguel, let me in," he leans a bit closer to him and Miguel feels he's breathing the same air Peter is letting out.

Some people cannot speak without smiling and Peter is one of them. The way his eyes curve into two crescent moons and the side of his mouth wrinkles when he grins makes him feel like all that's wrong in his life doesn't matter that much.

He's come to love his carefree disposition; even when everything goes haywire, Peter is able to joke around. Cool, calm, collected. That's just who he is. Miguel wishes he could be more like him, but it isn't in his nature. He will always be a freak, cut and sewn into a monster that feeds off the people he mistreats.

"Peter, I…" he starts and then falls silent. Peter nudges him to go on caressing his cheek with his thumb. "This is too much. Too personal. Me, here, celebrating with you, MJ and Mayday. I just can't. No puedo, todo esto es demasiado para mí (I can’t, this is all too much for me)."

"To celebrate your birthday? Too personal?" Peter chuckles and he lets himself fall back, ass completely on the damp grass. "I mean, I imagined you being the kind of guy that doesn't like to age a day, but having a piece of cake and opening some presents never did anyone any harm, am I right?"

Miguel doesn't notice, but Peter's relentless positivity brings him back to reality; the way his eyes flutter all over his face, clinging to his eyes, his lips, his nose; and his soft hands on his face. There it is, how he always manages to bring him back to shore, even when he's sure he's done for.

Peter's expression changes, turning serious, but in his eyes, there's still that softness around the edges. "I get it, I really do. These things, they bring back the past…" he looks up to the night sky, his neck long and beautiful under the porch light. "But I do think you deserve to be happy, Miguel, despite all that's happened." Peter then sits up, bringing his face too close to Miguel's. "Would you let us make you happy? Please?"

Miguel doesn't know how to say no to Peter, he never has. Right from the start, he has let him do whatever he wanted with him. He has tried to stay away, to never cross that invisible line hovering between them.

But Peter is relentless.

He would nonchalantly come into his office and ramble on about whatever was on his mind even though Miguel would never answer or even look at him, but it became a habit –a habit he now can’t live without. Eventually, they grew to be close friends, despite Miguel’s efforts to push him away, and even more than that when Peter asked him to meet MJ.

He admits that the first time he set foot in Parker’s residence, his heart was beating so loud in his ears that he barely listened to a word any of them said that night. He ate and drank and talked as if it wasn’t that big of a deal for him, but inside his stomach, there was a whole hurricane of butterflies trying to make their way out.

Soon those sporadic dinners became a regular thing. Sometimes, Miguel brought empanadas, although he always apologized for not having time to cook a proper dinner as MJ did. Peter took care of the drinks, inventing cocktails that tasted much better than they looked. Gradually, routine began to feel more and more natural, and Miguel suddenly found himself sharing his life with two people.

Although he initially felt strange, as if he were intruding on something, occupying a place that clearly wasn't his, Peter always did his best to make him feel like a part of their existing relationship. And MJ, with her gentle hands and radiant smile, always welcomed him with open arms. It was very difficult not to feel loved when he was with them, and of course, it was very difficult not to love them back.

To be in a relationship again was unthinkable for Miguel. After all the people he had lost, being open to the possibility of all that suffering resurfacing –that is if it had ever disappeared– made him too vulnerable.

As open as a gushing wound.

Naked.

So, no, Miguel doesn’t know how to say no to Peter, because every time he’s ever said yes, he’s felt like the luckiest guy in the multiverse.

"Would you let us make you happy? Please?" says Peter softly and Miguel closes his eyes to take in the air between them.

“Yes,” he breathes.

MJ had baked Miguel a birthday cake with his name on it between pink hearts made out of strawberries.

"People our age shouldn't have to blow out the exact number of candles corresponding to our age. It's a rule in this house," she says as she lights the single candle stuck in the middle of the cake. "Make a wish, Miggy."

Miguel closes his eyes before exhaling all the air from his lungs. He doesn't like making wishes because he knows that the one wish he would ask for is impossible to fulfil, but he feels that he owes it to MJ and Peter for all their effort. What to ask for? Love, health, money, those things that are usually requested from the universe as if magic exists?

To forget? To heal?

The small flame of the candle quickly extinguishes, leaving behind a wisp of smoke that dissipates amidst the applause from MJ, Peter, and Mayday. A shy smile forms on Miguel's lips as he sees how happy they are. Their joy is truly contagious.

"MJ, it looks amazing. I think I deserve at least two slices," says Peter as he extends his plate. He leans on Miguel's shoulder and whispers in his ear, "What did you wish for? For a drop-dead gorgeous boyfriend?"

Miguel can't help but laugh because, despite everything, Peter always maintains his teasing personality. "I already have that, idiota (idiot)." he responds, turning his head to look at him, raising both eyebrows in a playful manner.

MJ leans on the table in front of them and with a finger, she takes a bit of icing from the cake and smudges Miguel's nose. "Did you know that secrets whispered in the ear are considered rude?" she makes a mock frown while sucking her finger.

In the past, Miguel would have been mortified with embarrassment, but he has grown accustomed to their innuendos, and he himself has become comfortable responding to them, a far cry from the stoic character that everyone knows.

He leans over the table and takes MJ's hand, her finger still moist with her own saliva. With the tip, he wipes off the icing and then puts it in his mouth, slowly sucking on it while maintaining eye contact with her. MJ's face turns the same colour as the cake in an instant.

"Before this becomes something, I think you should open the gifts," Peter's smile is huge as he picks up Mayday in his arms. "Shall we find that beautiful drawing you made for Miggy's birthday?"

Miguel can't help but melt every time he sees Peter interacting with his daughter. At first, he played tough and ignored all the times Parker tried to show him photos of the little one, but deep inside, there was a warmth slowly growing.

Mayday is nothing like Gabriela, yet they are two peas in a pod. He sees in her everything he misses about his daughter, and although the memory is like a relentless knife digging into his side, having her close makes him happy. Having them close makes him terribly happy, despite the fear.

Suddenly, silence envelops the room where MJ and Miguel are left alone, but it's not uncomfortable; quite the opposite. When did he start feeling at home in a home that wasn't his?

"Are you okay, Miggy?" MJ asks with a sweet voice, cupping his cheek with a hand that looks ridiculously small on his face.

Miguel looks at her, and although his instinct is to retreat into himself and put up a barrier between his heart and her, he gently places his hand over MJ's and lets the weight of his head rest on both of them. He closes his eyes in a sigh that feels like the first breath of the day. "I still struggle... to come to terms with all of this. I've been alone for a long time, and... it's hard."

He struggles to find the words, especially in front of MJ, who is always so in tune with her own emotions. Honestly, Miguel sometimes feels emotionally inept, and he can't help but question what he can offer her when she's already with Peter –even though he and Parker are like day and night and have nothing in common. Physically, he has no doubt that he fulfils certain fantasies for both of them, but emotionally? Why would anyone want to be with such a broken person who can't relate without dragging along a bag of traumas and misfortunes? Nevertheless, he feels grateful that MJ insists that he learns to communicate better. He wants to be better.

MJ turns his face slightly, now their lips so close that Miguel feels like he's crossing his eyes to see her better. "You know I love you, don't you?" her voice is barely a whisper, as if no one else in the universe is worthy of hearing those words, words that are only for him. "That Peter and Mayday and I love you."

Love. When was the last time someone told me they loved me? He tries to remember, but he can't place the memory in his mind. There are many things he doesn't remember. About Dana, for example. Neither how he felt all the air leaving his body when he first saw her, nor how the world stopped when their lips met, nor how his skin turned to fire with the touch of her fingers, nor how her lips curved upwards, forming the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Miguel doesn't remember when was the first time he was told "I love you." And although he doesn't remember –or so he thinks – an entire lifetime that now feels as distant as unreal, he carries the memories tattooed under his skin, etched into his bones until the day he dies.

"I love you too, MJ. I love you all." Miguel says it as if his life depends on it, with all the air and all the love he carries within. And then he kisses her gently and with a certain impatience, with the hunger of someone who has long yearned for forgiveness.

"Then everything will be fine. We don't need anything else," MJ responds, and her eyes are also like crescent moons when she smiles like Peter’s. Like Gabriela's.

MJ and Peter had difficulty choosing Miguel's birthday present. They couldn't agree on what Miguel might want or need, considering how reserved he is about the things he likes.

"I know you're not a gift person, and that's why it's been bleeping difficult to find something that would suit you, but I think I nailed it this time," Peter proudly says as he puts a poorly wrapped package in Miguel's hands. "Sorry, MJ, I win."

Miguel takes the gift reluctantly, with the embarrassment of knowing that too many eyes are watching him, and he opens it carefully.

"Go ahead, big guy, break it! The best part of opening gifts is tearing the paper! Use those claws that I love so much!" Peter encourages him, laughing. Miguel rolls his eyes but follows his advice and tears apart the remaining unopened paper.

In his hands, he has a black jumper that seems to be handmade. He looks up and sees Peter staring at him with an expression full of love.

"Did you make this?" the surprise in his voice is more than evident because when did he learn to do something like this? Peter nods, his lips curving into a proud smile. "I had no idea you had this skill, Parker."

"Knitting? Well, it's something Aunt May taught me, I don't quite remember why. But how did you not know? I told you I made this for Mayday!" he shows him the Spider-Man mask that the girl is wearing, and she giggles in his arms.

Miguel looks at the jumper in his hands again, caressing the material with his rough fingers. It's so soft. He unfolds it and opens it in front of him. And it's huge!

"I wanted you to have your own jumper. One that fits you. After all, you always come home after a mission, and my clothes never fit you properly. Don't get me wrong, we love that you're practically naked all the time! But winter is around the corner, and maybe... well, that." Embarrassment starts to colour Peter's ears pink as he runs a hand through his hair.

"Peter, I love it. It's... it's perfect. Gracias (thank you)."

“Ok, now it’s my turn!” MJ interrupts them and slides in between to hand him her present.

It's a small box, wrapped with a red ribbon. Miguel opens it and finds a USB drive inside. Puzzled, he looks at MJ for an explanation.

"I made you a mixtape! So you can listen to it in the office when you're alone and missing us, or when we're here and we want to dance... or do things that aren't exactly dancing," she laughs, slightly blushing, and plants a kiss on his lips that tastes like pure bliss. "There's a bit of everything in there, but they're songs that remind me of us."

"How do you know what kind of music I like?" Miguel raises an eyebrow, teasingly.

"I have my ways. A little birdie once told me they heard you singing... and I improvised! I hope I got it right."

¿Qué hice para merecer todo este amor? (what did I do to deserve all this love?) Words won’t come out of his chest, lumped up in his throat like a ball of concrete. He had wanted so desperately to be loved again, and there he is, with more love than he can handle. He feels like he was going to burst with love at any moment.

They are the song he sings every night in his sleep, a song of redemption.

"Thank you, MJ." His eyes soften as he looks at her. "Although I won't be listening to it in the office." he hugs her tightly and kisses both her hands with such tenderness. Everything feels like melting.

After Peter clears his throat in mock annoyance, Miguel stands up, still holding onto the jumper (feeling like he doesn't want to let go) and the tiny box, and gently kisses Peter on the lips. Mayday, caught between the two men, laughs and tries to grab Miguel's face. When they pull apart from the kiss, Miguel holds Mayday in his arms with tenderness.

"Mayday, would you like to give him your gift?" MJ asks with a loving voice, placing a piece of paper in her extended little hand.

"Let me see. ¿Es para mí? (is it for me?)" he says in a higher-pitched voice than usual, something that always makes Peter laugh because it contrasts greatly with his grumpy tone as a super important and intimidating boss back at HQ.

Mayday had drawn a picture of the four of them, and even though the girl was still young, it was perfectly clear who was who. A stick figure with red hair, another one with a pink bathrobe, and him, wearing the Spider-Man suit. Did she draw fangs on me?

There it was again, that tingling in his hands, that cold sweat at the back of his head. The vertigo of terror at the possibility of losing them too. How could he recover from such a loss? Again? He couldn't fathom his life without Peter, MJ, or Mayday. The time he spends with them feels like a wound healing: sometimes it stings and makes him want to run away, but most of the time, it feels as natural as breathing. He knows that before finding himself alone in emptiness again, he will do everything possible to keep them by his side. But this time, he won't make the same mistakes of the past.

"Don't you think we look great together?" MJ whispers by his side, resting her cheek against his arm and running her hand through his hair from his nape up, the sudden contact bringing him back to reality, calming him. She always can tell when he’s spiralling.

And she is right. MJ is always right.

They look great together.

And fear won’t take that away from him, ever again.

[mvrtaiswriting]

Hiya!

I saw your kissing prompt and I'd love to see Prompt 1 with Luffy 👀

Just imagine how much he'd enjoy the kiss and when it stopped, he's sort of in a daze because of how good it felt 🥰🥰

I even bet he would whine for another ❤️❤️

Have a great day/night! You're doing amazing but make Sure to take enough breaks

Luffy x prompt 1: being unable to open their eyes for a few moments afterward

heyyy! first of all, thank you for you sweet words and sorry for the late reply. I am trying my best to take enough breaks - but at the same time, I really don't want to disappoint you guys! I'm trying my best to balance everything out, but not gonna lie: life is kicking my ass right now. and this request just gave me an excuse to escape reality and enjoy this little tooth rotting bubble of love with luffy!! I hope you enjoy it dear. x (ps: have a great day/night too!)

gender neutral! sfw, super fluff.

feel free to reblog, like, and leave a comment. i would very much appreciate it. if you enjoy my works, click here to read more or buy me a coffee.. - from this event.

Resting your feet in Luffy's lap, you rested your back against the Sunny's railings, enjoy the quiet, peaceful night you and the crew finally got to enjoy.

Luffy was more silent than usual, too. Gently caressing your legs, he let his slender fingers run up and down your skin drawing imaginary circles, leaving a pathway of goosebumps behind them. He always tried to savour these little moments between you in the best way he could - even if that mean being his quieter self, letting the ocean's waves serenade to you and doing the rest of the work, speaking about his emotions better than he ever could. This was all he wanted, after all. What's a king without a kingdom? What did it matter if he sailed every ocean but never got you? He wanted all of you; your sadness, your triumphs, your fears. You were an island he had yet to discover, the most precious treasure he could ever find. What if this was everything the biggest treasure of the world was about? All these questions crowded his head. He didn't want to give up on his dreams, he never would - but he didn't want to lose you either. What if you fell with someone else whilst he was busy playing the super-hero?

"What's up?" you asked, flicking his straw hat.

Smiling at you as brightly as always, he whispered "it's nothing." reassuringly, before putting his signature hat on your head. Sometimes he wondered if you could read his mind, if there was an hidden talent of you he hadn't yet discovered that allowed you to understand him in ways no one ever did. Luffy enjoyed your company more than anything else - with you, he felt safe. He was still your captain, but somehow, he felt like he could just let his guard down. There was no need to pretend, no expectations towards him being as cheerful as a 5 years old all the time. To Luffy, you were like a big breath of fresh air, a good nap after a long, exhausting day - like coming home, shutting everything else outside. He simply loved the comfortable silence between the two of you.

Turning yourself around, you snuggled closer to him, your head now resting on his thighs. Laughing at you, Luffy lightly pinched your cheek.

"Hello?" he said curiously, watching you adjust on his body. "What was that for?"

"I was tired of the water splashing on my back." you replied smiling. "Plus, I like the view from here." you hinted raising an eyebrow, trying hard to refrain from smirking.

"Oh shut up." he replied, dragging the hat on your face whilst he felt his cheeks almost combust.

"Make me then, captain." you reply, moving your straw hat back to your head again and lifting yourself up slightly, getting closer to his face. By now, Luffy's face was completely red.

"Say it again." he gulped. What was that? He never thought you'd be so bold to ask something like this - he didn't even think he'd reply like that but trepidation was building up inside him, second after second.

You shook your head laughing, resting an hand on his neck and pulling him into a soft, timid kiss. His lips felt soft as they explored yours, kissing you as if life depended on it.

Breaking away from the kiss, you brushed your nose against his. Luffy followed your movements, his eyes still closed from the kiss. He was trying to elaborate what just happened, to understand why it felt like he just discovered a whole, new land to explore.

"Why did you stop?" he asked, before leaning towards you and kissing you once more. A weak moan escaped his mouth as he welcomed the taste of your lips once again. Maybe this was the promised land, the secret treasure.

[chelseeebe]

i’ll know.

lil epilogue for pick a side or i’ll pick you both. thought it worked best a separate little thing rather than being shoved on the end. this is like five or so years after part two.

part one. | part two.

hawkin’s was a long lost memory. the things you did. the people you knew. they were gone.

it was for the best.

you’d tried your hardest to forget it all. put it all behind and start again somewhere else. somewhere no one knew you. where you could be anyone you wanted to be.

and it worked, for a while at least. a new name, a degree, a job, new boyfriend. even new hair. a completely fresh beginning.

until one awful day at work made everything you’d built for yourself came crashing down.

you’d taken a part time job in a coffee shop, something to pay the bills while you got your masters degree. it was easy. damn sometimes it was even fun.

a regular day, making coffee for inpatient business men and stuffy women who carried purses worth more than your apartment.

‘hiya, what can i get for-,’ you look up at the man on the other side of the counter and your heart stops.

the same shaggy haircut, though now it was actually styled, not so scruffy. same eye bags with accompanying narrowed brown eyes. a mirror image of his high school self bar the light stubble now occupying his face.

‘i’ll take a black coffee, large,’ he nods, eyeing your name tag, ‘thanks tara,’ it sounds almost venomous coming from his mouth.

the bile rises, burning in your throat. you’re stuck in the same position until your coworker bumps your arm, jolting you back into reality.

‘y-yeah.. that’ll be.. uh, three dollars,’ you manage to get out, punching the numbers into the register, not entirely understanding what was going on.

‘keep the change,’ he says, offering over a handful of notes from his pocket.

your fingers brush against his hand and you want to throw up. you’d never quite been able to shake that haunting look he’d given you at the lunch table so many years ago.

like he just knew. like he could see inside of you. see all of the horrific things you’d done. how you’d murdered his girlfriend in cold blood and laughed about it.

you blink, the bright overhead lights burning your corneas and stuff the notes into the draw, slamming it shut.

absent minded you push past your coworker and out of the back door into the alleyway behind the shop. you can’t stop the acid from rising, vomiting all over the stones, splashing against the wall.

you attempt to gain some control, breathing in and out, just at least so you won’t throw up again.

pressing your back against the brick wall, counting to ten, again and again. just as your therapist had instructed.

someone joins you, leaning against the wall next to you. but doesn’t speak.

you look up to find jonathan byers perched against the wall, unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

‘what do you want?’ you speak up, running a hand over your clammy face. flushing even though you were shivering, the chill running through your bones.

‘i just thought i’d say hi to an old friend.. what’s wrong with that?’ he replies, sparking the cigarette.

you shake your head, looking up at the moody grey sky, ‘how’d you find me?’

‘ahh.. that’d be telling.’

you scoff, totally bewildered by his presence. the fact he’d come out all this way to.. what? to taunt you? finally expose what you’d done? expose your murderous past?

‘y’know.. i always thought something was off with you.. you were always cold, always just slightly not there,’ he presses, gesturing to his head.

‘why are you here? i’ve moved on.. i don’t want to think about.. hawkins anymore,’ you sniff, spitting on to the floor, trying to rid your mouth of the disgusting taste.

‘well i haven’t,’ he purses his lips, ‘you can change your hair, change your fucking name.. but i remember. i know,’ he exhales the cloud of smoke in your face, ‘and i’m not gonna let you forget it.’

he pushes himself off of the wall, stubbing his cigarette out and flicking it somewhere in the alley.

he begins to walk off but stops a few paces down the small path, speaking over his shoulder, ‘y’know steve’s in the city.. i’ll let him know about this place, great coffee by the way,’ shaking the cardboard cup as he disappears.

you turn to the wall, once again regurgitating the contents of your stomach. writhing as nancy wheeler’s once forgotten face appears in your head.

[kyokutsu-sama]

Hiya!! Love your blog!! Plz could I ask for something for Kenpachi with a female s/o who is as strong as him and often surprises him with her strength? Maybe the two of them sparring or playfighting and she easily manages to pin him down??

Hi😊

First I want to thank you, I'm glad to know that you like my blog❤️

This is a really interesting one since Kenny is always looking for someone who can match up to him. He sure would like to have someone as strong as him or even stronger than him.

I hope you like it ✨️

Kenpachi doubted you as soon as you entered the 11th division quarter for the first time. What he never thought of was that you could take down all of his men without getting a single scratch. His excited smile formed when he found you standing on your feet while the others were lying on the floor beside you, you caught his attention and he wanted to test your skills.

You guys fought and you didn't hesitate to cut him even though you knew you should be worried to see him bleed so much but he showed no signs of weakness and kept attacking you over and over again. After crossing swords for a while he fell to the ground and looked at you panting and with his body covered in cuts, you fell soon after without strength, he also took you to the limit. Everyone else who saw the fight between you and him was freaked out after you won and rumors about you started to spread.

That day was the day he fell in love with you and your strength, he usually ask yu to fight him over and over again.

You were walking around the outside of division when he appeared right in front of you and smiled at you. You already knew he wanted to fight you.

"Y/n, I'm glad to see you. The day is being boring and I thought we could have a "little fight" to liven things up, what do you say ?"

His huge body in front of you managed to block out the sun that previously hindered your vision. You could already feel the spiritual pressure building up he really was taking this "courtesy fight" seriously

"You're calling me to a fight without even saying good morning? What a lack of good manners"-you said smiling sarcastically

"And who cares about manners when both are about to start a fight?"- he said drawing his sword

"You're right" - you took out your sword and prepared for the fight

You went towards him and tried to cut him but he blocked your attack with his sword. You moved away and tried to cut him in consecutive blows and he managed to defend them but in a small gap you turned your blade and cut his arm drawing some blood. He smiled after realizing you had cut him, he was getting excited.

He started attacking this time and tried to slash you but you reached down and swept his legs making him fall. You tried to approach him right after his fall but he was quick to get up and kicked you away, you put your forearms in front of your face defending his kick but it didn't change the fact that you felt your arms go powerless after that kick. You attacked him again and again until he fell again.

"You are not to be underestimated Y/n, I really like the pleasure this fight is giving me"- he said while smiling

"It seems that this feeling is mutual"

You released your shikai and went towards him using the flash step and slashed his torso which was unprotected. Both spirit pressures were colliding especially after he takes off the eyepatch, which caused a large cloud of dust in the air. You didn't think that was a disadvantage since you were strong enough to withstand his energy and keep fighting. He raised his sword and tried to cut you from above but you grabbed his arm and kicked him and this time you went at him without hesitation and put the sword against his neck. The small drops of sweat from a long fight were running down your forehead and falling onto his face.

Both were panting and dusty, he still had a smile on his face while you still held the sword by his neck and maintained eye contact with him. He knew he had lost that little fight but he felt happy at the same time knowing that you were getting stronger and it gave him motivation to keep training and to beat you.

"Are you going to kill me?"-he said making you laugh a bit

"No, I can't kill the only opponent that makes me feel alive"

"Then I think it's better to get that sword away from me because otherwise I won't hold back and I'll keep fighting until you're face down on the floor"

"You are not stronger than me, look at you who even without the eye patch could not win this fight"

"You're right, I think I'll have to keep training to get stronger and defeat you. I won't give up "

"Now that's my captain"-you said giving him a small kiss and getting up right away

"Where are you going?" - he asked

"Taking a shower, this fight left me covered in dust and sweat"

He walked over to you and put you on his shoulder.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Well, you won the first round, now I want to see if you win the next one"-he said, giving a light slap on your butt

You didn't say anything you just smiled as he carried you to the shower.