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upsidedownwithsteve · 7 months

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Love Sucks II. The Interrogation

Vampire!Steve Harrington x fem!reader He’s just a gloomy, little guy.

The Masterlist 🩸

You scolded Eddie and Dustin immediately.

But Steve didn’t seem to mind, shrugging in that tired way that he did as he wandered off into the corner of the Wheeler’s kitchen with them. They’d set up an awful interpretation of what you deemed to be an interview room, the dining table pushed into the darker space where the light from the window didn’t reach, Nancy’s old desk lamp plugged in beside the microwave, the bulb shining harshly at the empty seat Steve was told to sit in.

He blinked as he did, tired eyes aggravated by the brightness but he just squinted and slumped in the chair, looking over at you with that longing way he did. You held up a coffee cup at him in question, smiling. He nodded, pleased.

“I assume you know why you’re here,” Eddie began as the rest of the party milled around aimlessly.

Some were listening, others were bickering about what to watch on TV. Nancy was making popcorn and Robin was already asleep in the armchair beside Max.

Steve nodded, knowing it was only a matter of time before he got the big brotherly talk from Eddie about you. He readied himself for the questions about his interest in you, his intentions, how he planned to keep you safe from—

“Can you turn into a bat?” Dustin asked instead.

Steve frowned, confused.

“Dustin!” You scolded the younger boy from across the kitchen, teaspoon clattering into the mug, coffee grains spilling on Mrs Wheeler’s countertop. “What the hell?”

“What?” Dustin yelled back, arms held out in question. “It’s a serious question!”

Eddie was grinning, wide and a little manic, looking from Steve to you and back again. “Well?” He asked the boy.

“This is so rude. You cannot be for real, Eddie.” You went ignored, eye roll and all.

“Um, no?” Steve answered, squinting at the two through the light they were intent on keeping aimed at him.

“You sound unsure,” Eddie countered, dubious. He wasn’t allowed to smoke in the Wheeler’s house so he was chewing on the end of a bubblegum pink straw instead. He waved it at your boyfriend, suspicious. “Is that because you haven’t tried or aren’t allowed to say?”

Steve looked at you for help. “Why wouldn’t I be allowed to say?” He replied weakly, visibly concerned and confused.

Dustin shrugged before leaning across the table, bright eyed and grinning toothily. “Vampire overlord, maybe?”

Steve shifted uncomfortably. You were still making coffee, too far out of reach for him to hold your hand. Steve loved holding your hand, you were so much softer and warmer than him and sometimes you painted your fingernails a really pretty colour— someone cleared their throat. “Uh, I don’t think I’ve met him yet…”

Eddie and Dustin reacted immediately to this answer, heads bent and producing a notebook from seemingly nowhere, scribbling down notes in chicken scratch handwriting about their ‘findings.’

“… does he live around here?” Steve tried once more. “Is he my boss? Am I going to get in trouble?”

You soothed him with a hand over his hair, appearing at his back to place down his coffee in front of him, black and unsweetened in a mug as big as a soup bowl.. “Sorry, baby,” you offered, shaking your head at your two friends.

Steve loved it when you called him baby.

It went on like that for a while, Ghostbusters playing in the living room while Eddie and Dustin kept Steve at the table under the spotlight, drilling him about things you could only shake your head at.

“Can you fly?”

“No.”

More notes written, a worrying sentence jotting down about taking Steve somewhere high for experimentation.

“Can you run fast?”

“Uh, I have asthma…”

“What about jumping? Can you jump onto the roof?”

“I haven’t like, you know,, tried. Heights are scary.”

Sighs, heavy and disappointed, came from the kitchen. Steve was pouting, arms crossed.

“Can you read minds?”

“No.”

A brief pause, and then Dustin whispered to Eddie, eyes narrowed and still on Steve: “he’s lying.”

“I’m not!”

“Can you turn invisible?”

“No.”

“Do you sleep in a coffin?”

“What? No?”

Eddie paused, studying Steve. “Unconvinced,” he concluded. “Further investigation required.”

“How come you can come out in the daylight?”

“I don’t know, but that lamp is super bright, guys..”

Stumped, Dustin and Eddie finally relented. Ghostbusters was just finishing, the rest of the kids tired from too much sugar and arguing about who the best team member was.

“So you’re just a really shitty vampire, huh?” Eddie asked, his nose scrunched and sounding unaffected.

“Kinda boring, actually,” Dustin agreed.

They were both staring at Steve with a little disappointment, like two kids who’d finally found out Santa Claus wasn’t real. They sighed again and got up, raiding the Wheeler’s pantry for snacks while they left behind a sad and insecure vampire.

You scowled at the boys as you passed, punching Eddie on the arm a little harder than what would be considered good natured. You nudged your way between Steve and the table, folding yourself onto his lap and into his arms. He wound himself around you immediately, grumbling softly into the crook of your neck about bats and powers and being a poor excuse for a cryptid.

Later, over dinner, you stole Eddie’s last slice of pizza and scolded him for giving your boyfriend a vampire complex.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington blurb #vamp!steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 18 days

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the girl next door 6

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

You can’t remember the last time you had the house to yourself. Even if your mother’s just next door, it feels a little lighter around there. And you’re happy for her. Maybe having Steve around will be good. He can be an outlet so she doesn’t have to put all her frustrations on you.

She was happy when she left, even excited. That’s another rarity in your life.

You start your day off with a tea. The apple cinnamon bags are a bit old so you use two. You bring the cup into your room and get your table set up with your pencils and sketchbook. You open the window to let in the sunlight, the natural light much brighter than the yellowed bulb above.

You know your mom would tell you to do something more useful than just scribble in your sketchbook. You got the dishes done last night. Steve offered to help but you deflected as you foresaw your mom’s disapproval. You can’t let company pick up your slack.

You try to wipe away the anxiety of last night. It’s over now. You shouldn’t have worry very much about it again.

You finish your tea. It’s cold by the time you get to the dregs. You sit back to look over your sketch. Your eyes feel a bit fuzzy from hyperfocusing on that one stamen. You rub your brow and yawn. The sun shifts and you look over at the old alarm clock on your nightstand. It’s close to noon.

Something else catches your eye. You look up at the window across from yours. The curtain ripples around the gap before it’s pulled open from inside. Steve stands on the other side of the pane. Can he see you?

You can’t tell as he turns away without acknowledgement. The glare of the sun should hide your room well enough. You never really thought of it as your blinds are closed more often than not.

You get up to rinse out your cup. You stretch your legs as you pace in the kitchen. You’re restless. You’re so used to your mom and her demands and expectations, that having your own time feels aimless.

You could surprise your mother with dinner. Have it in the oven when she comes home. It’s still early but you can make something more than boxed macaroni. It will be a good cushion to fall back on when you remind her about tomorrow’s appointment.

🏠

When your mother returns, you can see the fatigue around her eyes. For as little as she goes out, you’re not surprised. What strikes you, is how happy she is. You help her to her recliner and she sighs as she leans back.

“Such a nice man,” she keeps repeating.

You smile and let her regale you with a recounting of her day. Still, you can’t help but wait for the pendulum to swing back to normal. She leans her head in her hand, her eyes distant.

“I swear, the universe sent him to me,” she says, “it had to. It was how much I need someone.” She drops her hand and traces her finger around the armrest, “sick, got a lazy daughter, stuck in this damn house...”

There it is. You frown. You mash your hands together and waver.

“I made dinner,” you offer.

“I don’t want KD,” she snips.

“I made... I made shepherd’s pie,” you offer meekly, “should be almost done.”

“Hm, wondered what that stench was.”

You frown. “I can put it in the fridge for tomorrow. Be good to have something we can just heat up after the doctor’s.”

“Doctor?” She grumbles, “eh... I forgot.”

She slumps and her eyes dull. You can’t help the pang in your chest. Sometimes you wish it was you who was sick. It feels like you deserve it more than her.

“Hopefully it’s good. If you can get the surgery--”

“Surgery!? Surgery. You keep going on about the damn thing,” she barks. “They can’t fix me, girl, get that through your head.”

“I know, mom, but they can help--”

“Like you help me? Crittering around here like a rat!” She hits the armrest violently, “would ya leave me be?” She closes her eyes and turns her face away, deflating once more, “ruined a good day...”

You sniffle and slowly turn on your heel. You should have known better. You should have just left her alone. As much as she rants about you staying in your room, she prefers you there. Out of sight, out of mind.

🏠

The next day, your mother doesn’t say much. Her silence is just a bitter as her words. You don’t push it. She gets in the car without argument and you set off into town. Even if she says it’s a waste of time, she listens intently to the doctor and answers all his questions. It’s only when she has to go through the tests that she shows her agitation.

After some hours spent at the specialist clinic, you’re free to go. Your mom is just as quiet. You feel her mood roiling in the air. Her hand is shaking to the point that she’s hissing at it.

You steer down to the corner and linger at the stop sign.

“Mom,” you squeak, “you want some orange julius? A treat for the way home?”

“Don’t talk to me like a damn child,” she snarls. “Let’s just go. I’m tired. Got no blood left in me.”

You nod and bite your tongue. Maybe you can just put her to bed. Her naps are a respite, though you find yourself anxious in the silence, terrified of waking her prematurely.

As you pull onto the suburban avenue, you slow and approach your drive. You pull in and shut off the engine. You get out and go around to help your mom. You open her door and she hauls herself out, tisking under her breath.

“Didn’t see him,” she mutters.

“Good afternoon,” Steve’s voice answers your question before you can ask. You look over the hood as he waves from his porch, “busy day?”

Your mother steels herself and forces a smile, “just went to the doctors.”

“Oh, everything okay?” He asks.

“Sure,” she chimes, “just some tests. Nothing serious.”

“Good to hear,” he stands behind the porch railing, arches crossed, “day’s not over yet. Still lots of time to enjoy the sun.”

“Mhmm,” you mom grabs onto your wrist, shaking you as leans into you. “Nice day out.”

“I was gonna do up a milkshake, if you ladies wanted to join me I got plenty to go around.”

“Milkshakes?” Your mother considers, “mm, I’d have to change out of these.” She looks down, “smell like a hospital.”

“Sure, take your time,” Steve says, “how about you, honey? I got strawberry. You seem like a strawberry type.”

“Eh, she’s more a vanilla type,” your other cackles. “Plain.”

“Got that too,” Steve ignores the joke. “I understand if you’re tired out though. Don’t wanna be too desperate over here, just wouldn’t mind the company.”

“I’ll be over soon,” your mom assures him, “she’s got some laundry to do.”

She keeps hold of you and points you towards the house. You help her inside, even though she does her best to hid how she clings to you. Her steps are uneven and stunted. You get through the front door and help her sit on the chair you keep by the door, just in case.

“Goddamnit,” she’s shaking pretty bad. “Help me, you dumb girl.”

“I... I don’t...”

“Get my goddamn inhaler. I forgot it this morning.”

“Oh, uh, okay.”

You hurry down the hall and to bathroom. It isn’t in the cabinet. You go back out and scan the table. Not their either. You find it next to her recliner. You wish she’d keep it one place. You go back to her and hand it over.

“I’m gonna go over,” she says before she huffs from the canister, “you’re gonna stay here. Out of my way.”

“Alright,” you agree. You prefer that anyway.

She takes a minute before she gets up. She shooes you away and you retreat to your bedroom. You sit on your bed and wring your hands, waiting as you listen to her. She doesn’t say goodbye before she leaves. Only the front door slamming lets you know she’s gone.

You exhale and pull the fold out table up to the edge of the bed. You open your sketchbook and stare at the pencil. You don’t feel like drawing but you have nothing else to do. You just sit, looking at the amaryllis. You can pick out every flaw in your work. You close the cover and frown.

A knock startles you and you stand up. Oh gosh, it’s probably Marge. What is it now? Is the siding too stained? Are the steps crooked? You get up and shuffles down the hall. You open the front door, hiding behind it as you poke your head around.

Steve has the screen door propped open against his elbow. He holds a tall glass filled with pink, “here. Figured I’d bring this over.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you accept the condensating glass, a wide straw poking out of the whipped cream topped drink.

“Maybe next time you can pop over too,” he suggests, “I’ve been working on getting the pool going...” he grins, “it’ll be a good summer for it.”

You nod and look down at the milkshake.

“Really nice of you,” you say.

“It’s nothing, sweetie,” he puts his hand on the door above him, looking down at you, “enjoy.”

“Uh,” you look at him then at the straw. You don’t want to be rude. You put your lips around the tip and take a sip. “Mm, yup, good. Thank you.”

His blue eyes stick to you and he drags his hand down the door, “I’ll make a deal. You come over to see the pool when it’s ready, and I’ll make you another. How about that, sweetie?”

You push your lips out. It’s not nice to say no. He didn’t have to bring you the milkshake or invite you. You shrug.

“Okay,” you agree, “erm, thanks again.”

He nods and taps the door frame before he steps back. He gently closes the screen door and you watch him through. He turns and strides down the stairs. You shiver as the cold glass numbs your fingers. Hopefully, he forgets about the pool thing. You don't even have a suit.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #au #silverfox au #the girl next door #mcu #marvel #captain america

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strawberryspence · 2 years

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Yeah, so Eddie realizes he likes Steve when he saw him biting that bat and yeah, Steve realizes he likes Eddie when Eddie called him “big boy”

But the moment they realize they’re in love with the other? That’s what I want to focus on.

Steve falls in love first, because he always does and maybe he’s stupid for letting himself fall in love with Eddie so fast but it’s so easy. Eddie’s so easy to fall in love with, with his stupidly gorgeous hair, his creativity and kindness and resilience. Steve’s never met anyone like Eddie, with his pure uniqueness and weirdness, tied together with loveliness.

He realizes he’s in love with Eddie on a normal Tuesday night, they’re hanging out in Eddie’s room, doing separate things, but comfortable in each others presence. Music is playing softly in the back as Eddie scribbles on a notebook. Steve puts down the comic he’s been reading, trying to subtly watch Eddie and giving up. Eddie’s hair is up in a bun, eyebrows scrunched in concentration, pencil between his lips as he chews on it. He’s muttering to himself, whispering as he jots down new story lines for the new campaign.

Suddenly, Eddie jolts up, meeting Steve’s eyes. “I got it! I know how to end the campaign!” Eddie’s talking so fast, so animatedly, nothing’s loading up on Steve’s head because all he can think about is how Eddie’s eyes lit up in the orange fluorescent bulb, happiness sparkling in his brown eyes.

It’s a mundane, quiet Tuesday night and he wants this for the rest of his life.

The sky is blue, the grass is green and Steve Harrington is in love with Eddie Munson.

Eddie falls in love harder, because just like everything else in his life he goes hard in falling in love and maybe he’s stupid for falling in love so hard with Steve but it’s so easy. Steve’s the strongest, kindest and most generous person he’s ever met. Steve’s heart is a well, that gives and gives and gives to everyone he loves and he has so much love to give.

He realizes he’s in love with Steve on a Saturday night. The kids are in the living room, screaming and pointing at each other as they fight over monopoly properties. Robin, Nancy, Jon and Argyle are upstairs smoking weed. Eddie’s helping Steve clean up the mess from the dinner. There’s no music, no instrumental playing, just the kids screaming in the background and a few laughter from upstairs. Steve’s wearing an apron as he washes the dishes and as Eddie sweeps.

Suddenly, there’s music. Soft, sweet, almost like a lullaby. Eddie whips his head to look for where it’s coming from. His ears find Steve, singing as he dries the dishes. And god, Eddie wants to laugh and cry at the same time. Steve is singing Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper and it’s so far from Eddie’s usual genre but he wants it recorded on a cassette for his van so he can listen to it everyday.

It’s a hot Saturday night and he wants this for the rest of his life.

The sky is blue, the grass is green and Eddie Munson is in love with Steve Harrington.

#then they smooch #under the stars #theyre both alive’#no ones dead #whos dead #who said anything about being dead #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson angst #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie rants #steddie headcanon #steddie fic rec #steddie #daeheadcanons

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vintagepascal · 1 year

Note

I have an angsty/fluffy request!!!!! I feel like P has been getting more annoyed with the paps lately and I feel like if they stressed out his love he would get so po'ed, so maybe something about him getting mad or anxious about it (thats the angst), and reader comforting him and then some type of fluffy ending? I don't know if that makes sense but I think it's a fun concept. Ty if you decide to write it!!

LETHAL

AN - thanks so much for requesting love! hope this does it justice :) I used the inspo from that article where Pedro says his protective side is lethal hehe

word count - 3,200

rating - mature

content warnings - angst, no smut, fluffy ending, paparazzi involvement, slight catcalling, but literally the sappiest shit you've ever read how tf did I even conjure this shit oh my god

summary - pedro just wants to take his girl out for a nice date night, but someone at the restaurant sells you out

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

No one was supposed to know. The two of you had done everything right - called ahead with specific instructions but not given your real names, gone at non peak times, asked for a private table in the back of the restaurant away from the windows, taken your car instead of Pedro’s because it was less recognizable. And still, as Pedro scribbled his signature at the bottom of the receipt, you cautioned a look outside and you realized that what you suspected was true as yet another car pulled up to the curb.

“Pedrito,” you used your softest voice, reaching across the white tablecloth for his hand. He wrapped your fingers up in his automatically, eyes finding yours. The sparkle in them dulled when he saw the look on your face. “We should probably go.”

“You haven’t finished your wine, amor.” His voice was tight, and you saw him crane his neck to get a view of outside for the first time, though he didn’t have a clear view like you did. It wasn’t hard to guess why you were ready to end an otherwise perfect date night early.

“That’s okay, we have more at home,” you smiled, moving your napkin nicely off your lap and onto the table. The first flash of a bulb went off and you swallowed hard. At the table to your left, you saw your favorite security guard, Mateo, stand up.

“Time to go,” was all he said.

You saw Pedro’s hand ball up into a fist, and he sucked in a breath between his teeth.

“No one was supposed to know we were here. Someone must have tipped them off.”

You reached for his hand, smiling when he opened up and offered you his fingers to lace your own through.

“It’s alright.”

“It’s really not,” he countered. You knew he was at his wits end, considering the paps had managed to find him every day this week. He didn’t have much choice since he had to go to the gym each day for training, but he’d begged you to stay in the house as much as you could so they’d leave you alone with the promise of a nice date night on Friday to make up for it.

“Hey.” You ran a thumb across his cheek quickly, hoping no one had a zoom lens where they could find you somehow. “Let’s just get home, yeah? It’s gonna be fine.” He looked down at you, some of the stone softening in his eyes as he did. He squeezed your hand twice before looking over at Mateo who dutifully began to walk forward. It wasn’t lost on you that he stood in front of you rather than Pedro.

It was more than you anticipated. As soon as the front door opened you were practically blinded, flash after flash going off. You wove your arm around Pedro’s bicep, trusting him to guide you in the direction the car was in. You walked as quickly as you could in your heels, only slowing slightly when you realized your dress was starting to ride up your thighs a bit.

You could barely make out most of the words that were being yelled at you, but one voice stood out above the rest of the frenzy.

“Nice legs sexy, let us see em!”

And you weren’t the only one who heard.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Pedro turned, and he would have stopped walking if Mateo’s strong grip on his shoulder hadn’t kept him moving towards the car.

“Get in the car Pedro,” he said matter of factly, opening the door. Pedro waited for you to slide across the backseat first, blocking the opening just in case your maneuvering revealed anything you didn’t want on display.

“I want his name,” Pedro demanded.

“In the car,” Mateo repeated, shaking his head. Pedro looked at you quickly, saw that you were tucked back into the seat as far as you could be and felt his chest tighten. It didn’t matter then, all he needed was to be closer to you. He ducked in and the door shut behind him.

Mateo was quick to circle around to the driver's seat and you were on the road almost immediately, the crowd already scattering behind you in search of their next victim for the evening.

“Fucking assholes,” Pedro growled, eyes trained out the back windshield for only a moment before he turned to you. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.” It couldn’t have taken more than 30 seconds for you all to get to the car, but your pulse was racing and your ears were ringing and despite your best efforts, your eyes were watering just slightly from the adrenaline. You fought it and won, determined not to cry and add any more fuel to Pedro’s fire. Very little made him mad, but when you were mistreated, there were no bounds he wouldn’t cross.

“Are you sure?” He found your hand against the leather, eyes hardening when he felt how clammy it was and realized you were hiding how upset you actually were.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, trying to play it off. “That was just a lot.”

“I’m sorry, so so sorry.” His voice was small again.

“Don’t apologize for them, amor. You didn’t ask for that, it’s not your fault,” you reminded him, lifting his hand up to your lips and kissing his knuckles softly. This wasn’t a new conversation.

“You wouldn’t have to deal with any of that if you weren’t with-“

“Pedro, stop. You know I don’t care about the pictures.”

“The fucking nerve of that guy to say that shit to you…” You could feel the anger roll off him in waves.

“It’s not the first time I’ve heard some shit like that, it’s not the last-”

“And that makes it okay? That’s supposed to make me feel better about it?” He looked at you, exasperated, and somewhat confused that you weren’t as upset as he was.

“No, of course it’s not okay, but I can handle it. I’m fine.”

You saw him open his mouth again to argue and you knew it would be futile, so you used your last line of defense. You leaned over and kissed him, bracing your hand on his thigh and molding your lips to his. Of course he kissed you back - he’d never had that much self control, but his lips were unrelenting at first, words unsaid keeping his mind racing and away from you.

“I’m okay Pedrito,” you murmured, kissing along his jaw, smiling when your lips found the smooth heart shaped gap in his beard. “I’m safe, I’m happy, I’m here with you.”

Your words pulled him back a fraction, your lips helping his jaw to unlock from where he had it clenched. He ran a warm hand along your thigh, trying to ground himself.

“Bésame,” you asked. His eyes softened - something about you speaking Spanish always got to him and he obliged you, leaning over to kiss you sweetly. He cupped your face gently, getting lost in you for a few minutes of the drive until you were both satisfied. You settled afterwards, with your head on his shoulder, smiling each time he pressed a kiss to your forehead or your hair.

But you could still feel the tension in his posture, see it in the way he led you into the house when Mateo parked the car, and you knew the storm hadn’t passed. So it wasn’t a total surprise that Pedro stopped in the living room instead of following his usual path to the bedroom.

“Hey,” you tried. “I’m going to go change, are you coming?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” You watched him pull his phone out of his pocket, mind already on his next task. You didn’t push it - his heart was in the right place. Always the protector. And so you went about your evening, changing out of your dress (though it would have been easier with Pedro there to help with the zipper) and into a cute matching pj set, perching in bed and waiting.

And waiting. And waiting.

Your patience waned after 15 minutes, and you peeked your head out of the bedroom doorway, only barely able to make out the outline of your boyfriend standing on the living room balcony, the sliding door half open and his agitated voice flowing in.

You settled yourself with a deep breath and moved back into your room, then to the bathroom and over to the clawfoot tub, starting up a bath. When all else failed, you always turned to water. You took your time doctoring it up with all your favorite products until the bathroom resembled a bit of a spa. The only thing missing then was Pedro.

So you went in search of him, again unsurprised to see him still on the phone. You caught the tail end of his conversation as you pushed the sliding door out of your way.

“- had to be someone there… Yes, I can respect that you don’t think it was, but I am very respectfully informing you that you’re fucking wrong. Someone within that building sold us out to the paps, and you’re going to figure out who it was, so I can figure out who the hell was outside harassing my girlfriend and who the fuck they work for.”

You slid your hand up Pedro’s back as a way of announcing your presence, coming around to his side and ducking under his arm that was braced against the railing. You wedged yourself between him and the metal, facing him with a smile that he briefly returned, phone still pressed to his ear. With a wiggle of your fingers you motioned for him to hand it to you, your other hand resting on his hip.

With a small sigh he gave in, passing you his phone. You could hear the restaurant manager babbling and you muted the mic for a moment so you could speak freely.

“I’ll be right there expired a while ago amor,” you teased.

“I’m sorry baby, I just-”

“Don’t let that dick steal any more of our night. We’re okay. I’m okay. I’m safe, I’m happy, I’m here with you,” you repeated your words from earlier, getting up on your tiptoes to brush your nose against his. His resolve was fading, but there was still a dull fire in his eyes, aching to defend you.

“We don’t get enough time like this as it is, let’s enjoy it, yeah?” You hummed, kissing him only once before checking to see. As expected, it worked, and your Pedro was back, all traces of his anger gone from his face. He took his phone back, hanging up without another thought and slipping it away into his pocket.

“Sorry cariño, I got carried away.”

“Apology accepted in the form of you, in the bathtub with wine in the next two minutes,” you grinned, kissing him again and ducking under his arm before disappearing to the bathroom.

He didn’t disappoint. You had barely stripped and sunk into the water when he returned, two glasses in one hand with a bottle of wine in an ice bucket in the other.

“Looks like I missed the show,” he teased, looking down at your pile of clothes on the floor.

“That’s what happens when you’re late. But hey, I’m in my seat and ready for the next act.”

That got a chuckle out of him, paired with a blush that warmed your heart. He took care of you first, pouring two glasses of wine and passing one to you before he got to work taking off his dinner clothes.

You attempted to dog whistle for him, which only ended in you breathing aggressively on your two fingers with a bit of spit ending up in the bathtub, and Pedro giving you a look of pity before you were both laughing.

“I’ve really got to teach you how to do that love.”

“Oh shut up and get in here.”

You offered him a hand, scooting up so he could settle in behind you. As soon as he was in the water he was guiding you back to lean on his chest, arms coiling around you to hold you to him as he kissed your temple.

“Does this mean we’re never going to that restaurant again? Cause my capellini was really good,” you ran your fingers up and down his arm that crossed your chest.

He was silent for a moment before he spoke. “I can make you good capellini.”

You leaned to the side until you could look back at him, quirking an eyebrow.

“I… can hire you a chef to make you good capellini,” he grinned sheepishly, laughing as he held you against his chest. You relished in the sound as it echoed off the tiles, kissing his skin.

“I’m kidding baby, we don’t have to go back,” you reassured him. Deciding you’d spent long enough unable to see his face, you maneuvered so you were next to him instead, resting your cheek on his chest with your legs intertwined under the bubbles. It was blissful, and you only sat up to sip your wine or kiss him.

You enjoyed the silence and soft kisses, light traces of each other’s skin under the water through your first glass, but your tongue loosened up by the second one.

“Can I ask you something kinda serious?”

“Anything amor,” he hummed, interest piqued.

“Would you ever trade it? The fame, for getting your privacy back?”

“If you’d asked me that before I met you, I would have said no. But I think the answer now might be yes.”

You pushed up off his chest so you could see his eyes, waiting for him to explain.

“It comes with my job, and my job is all I ever wanted. It’s been my dream since I can remember. I worked my whole life for it, and somewhere deep down I always knew that there were downsides that would come with it if I ever made it big. You hear the horror stories of the crazy people, the stalkers, the paparazzi. And when you’re just trying to make it, it almost makes you jealous in a way. It’s like ‘damn, well if anybody gave a fuck about who I was maybe I’d have to worry about that’. And then you get your break-”

“And people are asking to put their thumbs on your eyeballs in the streets of NYC,” you grin.

“Yeah, yeah exactly. But when it was just me, I could always stomach it because it was also a reminder of like ‘hey, you made it. This is happening because you made it into the big leagues’, you know? But it’s not a fun or glamorous part of it. And now it’s affecting the people I love, and I can’t do normal fucking things, like take you out on a normal date night without us getting swarmed. And you deserve that. You deserve to get your capellini in peace, and I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to give you that, because that part of my life is always going to be there.”

The sadness on his face brought tears to your eyes, and you turned his face to look at you.

“You’re worth it Pedro.”

The sadness didn’t budge.

“I mean it,” you continued. “You’re worth all of it. You’re worth more.”

The next kiss was deeper. His lips caught yours with a new appreciation, his teeth catching your bottom lip making your breath freeze in your chest. His arms moved under the water, shifting your body around until you were straddling his thighs, your elbows braced on his shoulders, fingers in his wet hair.

When you finally broke free to catch your breath, he was looking up at you as if you’d hung the moon.

“I need you to remind me of that. On the bad days,” he whispered. It wasn’t often that he asked you for reassurances, and the entire premise of it made you melt.

“Of course baby. Of course I will. You’re always going to be worth it to me, because I love you.”

“I love you more.”

You shook your head at that, folding down to rest your head on his shoulder. He traced his finger over your spine, back and forth slowly as he kissed your skin.

“You know, we don’t have to stay in LA when you aren’t filming,” you mused after a few minutes.

“Where would you want to go love? I’ll take you wherever you like.”

“No, I don’t mean a vacation. I mean, we’re in the worst city for privacy in the world. Even New York is better than here, and we already have your place there.”

He pondered it for a moment, twirling a piece of your hair in his fingers. “I wouldn’t mind spending more time in New York. Don’t know that it would solve our paparazzi problem though, they’re still pretty bad there.”

“Then we could go even further. Not long term, but I mean hell. Oscar has that second house in Hawaii he always offers to us, you know he’d let us stay. Or we could go to Chile, see your family.”

“Chile? You’d go to Chile?”

“Why not?” You asked. “I mean, I don’t know that I’d want to move that far away, but of course I’d love to go for longer than just the few days we got to go last time.”

“You’d do that for me?”

You weren’t sure if it was the wine, or the pure bewilderment on his face, or maybe the realization that he just couldn’t fathom how much you truly loved him, but you began to laugh.

“What do I have to do to get it through that brain of yours hmm?”

“You’re worth it-” you punctuated it with a kiss before you continued. “I love you-” another. “I’d do anything for you.” He was smiling then, leaning up to meet you. “I’d go anywhere with you.”

“Yeah?” He murmured against your lips, chasing you in a bid to kiss you longer.

“I’d marry you tomorrow if you asked.” The words stumbled off your tongue before you could stop them, but you didn’t care, you were too wine drunk and in love to think about them.

Pedro caught them though, kissing you again with a smile and waiting for you to lean back.

“Tomorrow huh?”

You blushed as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Well in that case I need to call the jeweler and see if they’re still open this late.” He dramatically pretended to check his watch, making you roll your eyes at his antics.

“Ah yes, nothing like a Friday night ring shopping escapade.”

“Who says I still need to shop? I bet they’d let me pick it up, it should be done.”

You felt your mouth drop open, but you couldn’t quite find the muscles to close it. Pedro kept his smug smile for a moment, basking in it as he reached up with his finger on your chin.

“You’re worth it,” he returned your words, leaning up to kiss you again. “I’d do anything for the future Mrs. Balmaceda Pascal.”

#my writing #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal writing

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electrosair · 11 months

Text

Where do they like to kiss? dendro + electro ver.

english isn’t my first language, sorry for mistakes

characters: al haitham + baizhu + kaveh + tighnari + cyno (separate)

word count: almost 1k

Al Haitham

Top of the head.

Somehow or other he has to show that he's still the cool guy, so he won't give you a lot of kisses or affectionate caresses in front of people. But once it's just the two of you, things change.

I was sitting on his lap, head buried in the hollow of his neck and half asleep, focusing solely on how his chest expanded and sank with each breath in rhythm with mine. He held a book in his hands and his eyes moved from left to right, reading every word and occasionally letting out little murmurs. He closed the book abruptly, perhaps unhappy with its contents, and I jumped at the noise. "Oh, sorry." He said in a soft tone and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer to his torso. "You can go back to sleep." He sketched out a small laugh and pressed his lips against the top of my head, ruffling my hair slightly.

Baizhu

Wounds.

Hear me out, I know this probably sounds very typical or very weird or both at the same time. But for some reason my head only sees it possible for Baizhu to spend all his free time poking you in the scrapes and bruises so they 'heal faster'.

His work shift was over and we were relaxing quietly, ordering some new products that had just arrived at the pharmacy and talking about the day when he saw a previously unseen wound on the skin of my arm. "When did you get it? Let me see." He asked and dropped the jar of crushed herbs on a shelf, taking my wrist to closely examine the bruise. I quickly explained that it was a simple knock with a door, but Baizhu was adamant that it needed to be treated, not at all for the fact that he loved the feel of my skin under his touch. "Does it hurt much?" His fingers caressed the bruise on the outside of my arm and when I nodded slightly he brought his warm lips to it.

Kaveh

Cheeks.

Okay, but Kaveh getting upset about his job? Why do I feel like he would come back to you for a lot of comfort after a day with really annoying customers? He'd ask you for advice only to have you say one sentence to him, light up his own light bulb and shower you all over the face with kisses.

I was already tucked up in bed and Kaveh had not yet arrived home. The sounds of Al Haitham's footsteps stopped quite a while ago and the worry began to grow on me, only then the door opened and the noise returned to the house. Kaveh appeared through his door frame, looking drunk as he propped himself up so as not to fall. I jumped out of the sheets to go hold him down and sit him on the edge of the mattress, questions coming out of my mouth as I tried to check if he was okay. "Customers are insufferable, not like you." He mumbled vaguely, his arms gripped me tightly and he leaned me against his own body. I tried to speak again, but he cut me off before I could. "Oh, I should have thought of that before, just having you here does it for me." He laughed and kissed my cheeks quickly, still drunk and slid over to scribble something in his notebook.

Tighnari

Forehead.

This man is too sweet to exist, he would try to give you a single kiss, maybe as a goodbye, a peck or something but he would just convince himself that it's not enough and kiss your forehead (or anywhere else) as well.

I could see him gathering his stuff in a backpack for today's expedition, he said something about a strange plant throughout the day yesterday but I didn't pay much attention to him from the moment he uttered the phrase 'it's too dangerous for you to go blah blah blah'. Once everything he saw as necessary for his outing was inside the green bag he approached me, that typical face that even if I asked him on my knees he wasn't going to let me go. "Before you ask, no." I rolled my eyes, holding back a small laugh and nodded my head. "Well, I'll be going now then, I'll be back in the evening." He left a kiss on my lips and headed for the exit of our cabin but before he left he turned on his own heels and ran up to me again, leaving a kiss on my forehead.

Cyno

Legs.

This definitely sounds weird, but let me explain. I'm 100% sure Cyno would take you on some missions with him and you'd come back in pain from all that walking, so there's nothing better than kisses to relieve.

I kept my eyes closed as I groaned lying down, my calves felt more sore than usual and I knew perfectly well that tomorrow I was going to have a stiffness that wouldn't let me walk, but still I didn't plan to let Cyno down once I told him I would accompany him, at least for this week. "Is something wrong, do you want to rest?" I merely pointed to my legs, looking at him with abandoned puppy dog eyes, maybe I'd get him to give me a piggyback ride or more rest time. "What does that mean?" he asked and crouched down to my height, running his hand down my legs gently as he inspected. Noticing my expressions of pleasure as he massaged, he smiled and began spreading kisses all over my exposed skin, getting giggles from me.

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hauntedestheart · 6 months

Text

A Business Opportunity (Male Body Swap)

The sequel to "A Business Proposition"

Samson Mann was big, he was strong, he was (people told him) good looking, but most importantly, he was broke.

A few months ago his position at the warehouse (aka the only job he'd ever had since he left high school) had been made "obsolete" by new advances in technology so now, at thirty, he was being forced to brave the job market for the first time. But with just a GED, no special skills, and a resume with one reference, his only real job options were in degrading manual labor positions where the starting pay was insultingly low.

While Samson wasn't the brightest bulb in the drawer, his naturally stocky build and boisterous personality made him perfect for working in a physically demanding social environment like the warehouse... but no, companies would rather hire a robot.

After venting about it to his friends at the gym (one of the few indulgences he allowed himself after he had to start cutting costs) one of them had offered up a solution: a friend of a friend of a friend had begun working for Bod+E, and, if interested, he could hook Samson up with an interview.

While Samson wasn't the type to keep up with the latest tech trends, everyone had heard of Bod+E. Founded by eccentric young tech genius Kim Shinwei, the app was currently in the beta-phase and the only way to get access was through a hookup... which Samson's friend was happy to provide.

Samson didn't think of himself as the app gig type but it was the first offer that had come his way that wasn't entirely degrading, so desperation won out over trepidation and he agreed. Now, after two weeks full of paperwork, background checks, and drug tests, Samson was waiting in an office for a personal meeting with a millionaire.

Who was very, very late.

Samson shuffled in his seat again, his large ass uncomfortable shoved into the expensive chair he'd been told to wait in. A large faux-leather chair (conveniently taller than Samson's) sat empty across the desk from him, flanked by a display case of trophies proclaiming Mr. Shinwei's many, many achievements. Samson got the sense he was supposed to be intimidated, which seemed like overkill because waiting in anticipation already had him sweating.

Forty-five minutes wasn't unreasonable, he reasoned to himself. Right? After all, Kim Shinwei's a very important guy.

The only other person in the room was a slight Asian fellow seated on a couch in the corner- based off of his business casual attire Samson had at first assumed was some kind of secretary, but other than a small nod to Samson when he'd walked in the room the young man hadn't acknowledged him at all. Instead he was leafing through a large textbook and scribbling down notes, looking very much like he did not want to be disturbed.

Samson was debating whether or not to risk asking the not-secretary what was going on when he heard the door swing open behind him.

"There you are!" A voice boomed. "I hope you weren't waiting too long, I got a bit distracted when I was getting ready. You know how it is."

Samson rose from his chair and turned to greet the visitor, but when he saw them he did a double take. Based off of his hazy recollection of the photos he'd seen of Kim Shinwei he had expected to meet a weedy looking Asian man much like the one in the corner, but instead the man in front of him was a tall, strapping white man who gave Samson a real run for his money when they shook hands. Samson took in the way the man's muscles pressed against his thin white button up, and when he sat down and he splayed his legs in a way that created a very noticeable bulge that Samson had to quickly avert his eyes from. He looked like a porn director's idea of a businessman.

"Mr. Shinwei?" Samson asked, failing to keep his handsome face from scrunching up in confusion. He was certain he was being rude, but fortunately the man before him didn't seem to mind.

"In the flesh!" Mr. Shinwei chuckled at some private joke and ran his hand through his fluffy locks of hair. "And please, call me Kim."

"Good to meet you Kim. You uh," Samson cocked his head to the side, searching for an angle that would turn the stud before him into the engineer he'd expected. "You don't look like your photos."

The hunk in front of him smiled mysteriously. "No, I don't suppose I would, would I? But I like to dress up for meetings."

The not-secretary sitting in the back of the room snorted, and Kim flipped him off over his shoulder without turning back. Samson was a bit taken aback by the juvenile display and shuffled in place awkwardly, unsure what he was supposed to do, until Mr. Shinwei looked back at him and stretched a hand out illustratively.

"Why don't you take a seat?" Kim offered, suddenly the picture of professionalism once more, and Samson plunked himself down into the chair gratefully. Kim leaned forwards in his seat and locked eyes with with Samson. "So, Samson Mann, right? Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with us, we really do appreciate it. You came very-" Kim's eyes flicked up and down the length of Samson's body. "-highly recommended."

"Thank you, that's great to hear," Samson straightened his back and cleared his throat, attempting to disguise his discomfort. He wasn't very used to professional environments (if this could be called professional) so he sent up a prayer that he wouldn't do anything to embarrass himself and jeopardize the opportunity. "My buddy seems to really love working for you and I needed a change of pace so I thought, why not?"

"Your buddy... that's Joel Green, right?" Kim asked, and Samson nodded. Kim hummed thoughtfully, glancing up at the ceiling like he was remembering something. "Great, I love Joel. One of our most requested- his ass is to die for, right? That thing can shake."

"Uh-" Samson coughed to cover his surprise, and he stared at Kim in bewilderment. "Is this a test? Are we gonna get in trouble with HR or something?"

Kim chuckled and shook his head. "Yes I suppose that is a very unusual way for a boss to speak about an employee- but then Bod+E is a very unusual company. You're familiar with what we do, correct?"

Samson nodded, squeezing his fist beneath the table, and then a beat of silence followed. A sharp look entered Kim's eyes as they flicked over Samson, and he raised his eyebrow expectantly.

"Then tell me about it," Kim leaned forwards and grinned wolfishly at Samson, his pretty face baring a mouth full of pearly white teeth. "If you're considering working for us you have to be comfortable with our service. I want you to tell me what we do here."

"Bod-E, short for Body Exchange, is a silicon-valley startup that-" Samson began, wracking his brain to try to remember what he'd read on the company website.

Kim snapped his fingers and cut Samson off. "No, I don't want the corporate party line bullshit. Tell me what you think it is we do here."

"You uh- you rent out people," Samson said, stumbling over the words a bit. Truthfully, he was still wrapping his head around the idea. When Joel had first told him what he did at his hot new job, Samson had laughed in his face until he realized his friend wasn't joking, and even sitting in front of the creator the reality of it still seemed fake. "You hire guys and then other men pay to take over their bodies and do stuff in them."

Kim leaned back in his chair, a small smile on his face, and the tense atmosphere lifted slightly. Samson exhaled in relief at evidently having passed the test, and he let himself relax a bit as Kim began to speak.

"That's a good start but we're about a little bit more than that," Kim visibly puffed up with pride as he spoke about his work, and Samson tried his best to focus on his words and not the nipples that were poking through his shirt. "Bod-E is about creating experiences, it's about offering people the opportunity to become the man of their dreams and allowing those of us who weren't exactly blessed to work with someone who was to take advantage of their natural goods and get a bit of a break. If a poor man can rent a nicer house when he wants a vacation, why can't an average man rent a more attractive body for a getaway? It sounds too good to be true- but it isn't. And I've proven it."

"I just wanna check," Samson blurted out before he could stop himself. "This isn't a scam, right? You're not gonna steal my organs or something?"

Kim raised an eyebrow. "Why on Earth would I do that? They're far more valuable inside of you."

Samson tensed up when the businessman rose to his feet and slowly circled the desk, trailing his fingers along the polished wood behind him as he zeroed in on the interviewee.

"See, Samson, scams are about money, and I've made enough money to last myself a lifetime," Kim shrugged as if to say just a fact. "I have no motivation to go around scamming random men off the street. No, I do this because I believe in it! Because I care about my fellow man."

Kim was right beside Samson now and he hopped up to take a seat on the table, close enough that the two men's legs brushed together when Kim leaned back to lounge. He began to unbutton the top few buttons of his shirt, tugging it open to expose his shapely pecs, and the fingers of one of his hands idly rubbed at them as he continued to speak.

"Not everyone is born with the same natural advantages Samson," he continued, casually, as if he wasn't stroking himself, and Samson was mesmerized by the motion. "The world is different when you're beautiful, in ways that the beautiful people don't even understand because they think it's normal. And I think everyone should have the opportunity to enjoy that, even if it's just for a night." He snapped his fingers and Samson flinched, looking up to meet a gaze that seared into his soul. "And you're going to get the opportunity to help with that, and make a fuckton of money on the side. Doesn't that sound nice?"

"Uhhh," Samson muttered, a bit stupefied, and he shuffled awkwardly in his seat. "I guess? You kinda lost me a bit in the middle."

Kim chuckled and hopped to his feet, strolling back around to the far side of the table and reclaiming his chair. His shirt, Samson noticed, still hung open. "Let me put it another way then... Samson, are you happy with your body?"

Samson glanced down at himself, and he found no reason to be unhappy. First and foremost, he was healthy. But in terms of looks, he had nothing to complain about either.

While not overly obsessed with his appearance, he was very aware that other people thought he was handsome, and he'd never had any issues attracting a partner. A big guy since he was young, tall and with a stocky build, his years of laboring in a warehouse and the gym had granted him big arms and a small muscle gut- he wasn't cut like a pretty boy model, but he thought he looked good with a bit of fluff around the waist. He had a big, round ass too, and now that "thick" was back in fashion he was more popular than ever.

He flexed his arms subconsciously and nodded. "Yeah, I am."

"I suppose I should have expected that answer from you," Kim said with a laugh, and his eyes roamed Samson's body shamelessly with something close to hunger. "You're tall, strong, handsome- what would you have to be insecure about? But if you would indulge me for a moment, imagine that this wasn't you and you weren't happy with your body. Imagine you looked like..." Kim pointed at the young man still leafing through a textbook at the back of the room. "Like him over there, just to choose a completely random example. Small, skinny, weak, and you had always been that way and you were scared that you were always going to be that way. Never the hero, never the object of desire, always ashamed."

Samson detected a hint of bitterness in Kim's voice, but he wisely chose not to comment on it. Instead he tried to play along and just nodded.

"So if someone told you that you could have the opportunity to feel like this," he gestured towards Samson's powerful body. "to feel like the man you want to be... would you be willing to pay for it?"

"I think I would," Samson found himself agreeing, and he pressed his hands to his belly almost protectively.

"Then you understand why I'm so passionate about the service we provide." Kim smiled, a mischievious glint in his eye. "And here's a follow-up question: On your first day in this hot new body, what would you do?"

"Um..." Samson's brain was overheating and he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Honestly? Fuck people."

"See?" Kim cackled with delight. "You're a natural, you've already wrapped your head around our business model." He opened up a folder and slid a sheet of paper across the table towards Samson with some paragraphs and diagrams on it, which the poor man couldn't make heads or tails of. "It's no secret that many of our clients have specific intentions with bodies contracted through our services, but as you can see here, it's all very understandable."

"Sorry but I gotta ask," Samson rubbed the back of his neck nervously, and he was barely able to look at Mr. Shinwei as he spoke the question on his mind. "Isn't this... isn't this prostitution?"

A pause.

"Technically speaking," Kim's words were practiced, as if he'd given this speech several times before. "The government has no name for what's happening here, and can legally do nothing about it. We've followed all appropriate government regulations and are working closely with lawmakers on potential future regulation of the market."

Then Kim smirked. "But that's just the bullshit I have to deal with. All you need to know is that you'd work on commission, so it would be in your best interest to, well, remain as appealing as possible. No one will be allowed to use your body for anything you don't consent to," Kim paused and tapped at the page he'd laid down on the table. "But our data does show that gigs are weighted heavily towards employees who do allow clients to perform sex acts in their bodies, so, make of that what you will. Do you understand what I'm getting at here?"

Kim linked eyes with Samson, and the bigger man nodded. Deep down he'd known what he was getting into, but hearing it said aloud was still very unsettling.

"And it's safe, right?" Samson asked, and Kim smiled at him.

"We watch out for our people," he said simply. "Our security measures are airtight- I designed them myself, and we haven't had an incident yet."

Samson opened his mouth to ask something else, but Kim cut him off before he could speak.

"You seem nervous," the businessman said bluntly. "So let me just assure you that you have nothing to worry about- you're definitely..." Kim licked his lips. "Qualified, for the job. I can see you doing very, very well here, but only if you're willing to take a leap of faith on this opportunity."

"I can see from your resume that you were laid off from your last job because your company replaced you with a machine. Well congratulations, you've stumbled in to the one line of work where guys like you can never be replaced."

Although Kim was trying to put Samson at ease, something about the way the businessman spoke sent a shiver down the big man's back. Still, Kim's words made sense, and at the end of the day Samson needed the money so he girded his loins and plastered a smile on his face.

"But..." the big man faltered. "The pay's good?"

"Ah yes, money," Kim's nose wrinkled up for a moment, then he sighed dramatically. "It always comes back to that, doesn't it? Well, if that's what you're looking for, you're in the right place. Depending on how much of your time you're willing to offer to the company you can expect to take in somewhere between six to eight thousand dollars a month. Perhaps more if you establish regulars who request you privately."

Samson whistled- that was a lot of money! Definitely more than he'd ever made at any of his other jobs. A lot of questions still swirled around his mind but when the numbers were laid out like that, he knew that there was only one answer.

"I cannot believe I'm gonna say this but... I'll do it!"

"Well then!" Kim clapped his hands and stood up, extending one hand forwards, and Samson rose to meet him with a handshake. "All that's left is the trial run."

"Trial run?" A look of bewilderment crossed Samson's face, and then he grasped the implication of Mr. Shinwei's words. "You mean..."

"A test swap," Kim smiled sweetly, but Samson could see that he was practically trembling with excitement. "With me, of course. I vet all of our new hires personally. After all, I wouldn't market a product without testing it first!"

Samson grimaced slightly at being referred to as a "product," but he nodded his head. This was what he'd signed up for after all, might as well get used to it now.

"Allow me to just confer with my associate here for a moment," Kim turned towards the Asian man sitting in the back of the room– Samson had almost forgotten he was there. "Peter, would you mind?"

The man called Peter looked up from his book and rolled his eyes, then picked up the phone next to him and tapped on its screen. Suddenly, both men froze in place and their faces went blank, eyes staring blindly into space. Samson glanced at the two nervously, wondering if he should go for help, when suddenly they snapped back to attention.

Samson watched as the man in front of him stumbled, and he reached out to steady him.

"Mr. Shinwei? Are you okay?" Samson asked, a little nervously, but the man in front of him just sighed and jabbed his thumb back towards the man seated with the books.

"I'm over here actually!" The not-secretary waved, rising from his seat and walking over to join them . "And please, I told you, call me Kim."

It took Samson a moment to put it together.

"You mean, that whole time we were talking, you were–" Unable to articulate himself, Samson rapidly pointed between the two of them.

"Swapped?" Kim chuckled, his voice much reedier in his real body. The real Kim Shinwei was shorter than both Peter and Samson, but as he stood beside them he had a presence that towered over both of them. He slapped the shoulder of the body he'd just been inhabiting, and the man inside rolled his eyes. "Yes, Peter is my... let's just say assistant, and I like to use his body for negotiations since his dashing visage has a certain presence that I lack."

"You mean I exercise and shower," Peter remarked with an eye roll, and Kim just laughed.

"That's one way to put it," Kim mused, a razor sharp smile on his face. "And yet, which one of us is rich?"

Peter grumbled incoherently then plucked something from the back of his neck and dropped it into Kim's palm. Kim held it up in the air for Samson to see: a small white bead of plastic.

"Now, crash course, this is the neurolinker that's going to facilitate the swap," he explained, rotating item in the air to show it from every angle. To Samson it just looked like a jellybean, but Kim proudly declared that it was jam packed full of intense tech. "It's going to bind seamlessly to the back of your neck– you might feel a little tickle, but that's it. Do you mind?"

He pointed towards the back of Samson's neck, and Samson nodded. Kim passed the bead back to Peter, who crossed behind Samson and placed a hand on his neck.

Samson tensed up. "Warn me before you-"

"It's already on," Peter said, and sure enough, when Samson reached back he felt a small bump at the base of his neck that he assumed was the neurolinker. He blinked in surprise– he hadn't even felt it attach.

"Everything feel okay?" Kim asked, and Samson nodded, still rubbing his fingers over the device in fascination. Kim grinned when he noticed Samson's interest. "Like I said, seamless! Comfort was a major factor I considered while designing it."

He held his hand out to the side, and Peter slipped a phone into it.

"They're activated wirelessly via the app– and don't worry about it activating by accident, the commercial models our customers receive are activated a three factor identification system tied to biometrics." Kim tapped at his screen as he spoke. "But I have an admin copy with special privileges so the process will be a bit more streamlined for us today. All I have to do is just–"

Everything went white for a moment, and when Samson blinked again, he was staring at himself.

"Tap right there on the screen!" Kim said, finishing the sentence he'd begun in his own body. "And the transfer happens instantaneously."

"Woah," Samson muttered, clearing his throat a few times before he realized the reason his voice sounded different was because it wasn't his voice.

Even knowing what was going to happen hadn't prepared him for what it would actually be like to be in another man's body. He was short now. More than that, he was skinny. Not even just skinny, a twig. He patted himself down, feeling only the frail bones of an under-exercised engineer, and he shivered. Who knew having no meat on his bones would make him so... chilly?

If being in another body was strange, seeing his own body from the outside was even stranger. He knew he was a big guy, but from his new smaller body he looked like a giant, and Mr. Shinwei was clearly having the time of his life with it.

There was an expression of glee on his face as Kim inspected his body from the inside, and the man had zero shame about groping Samson's body right in front of its owner. Samson watched as Kim glanced over his shoulder at his backside and then began shaking his hips around and Samson saw his ass jiggle around- he hadn't even known that his butt did that.

"Oh this is nice, this is very nice!" Kim exclaimed, then he turned his attention back front and tore his shirt open (literally tore the buttons off, which made Samson wince since that was his only dress shirt) to expose his sexy, hairy body to the room. He licked his lips at the sight of the powerful pecs that sat above Samson's belly, letting out a chuckle as he tweaked one of his nipples.

"Would you mind if I-?" Kim glanced at Samson and then gestured down towards his pants. Still speechless, Samson nodded yes, and Kim tugged his waistband forwards and looked inside. He smiled. "Oh, this is definitely workable."

Samson's mouth gaped, and all he could think to do was mutter a stunned "thank you."

"You know, it wouldn't kill you to show a little self-restraint," Peter said, clearly less impressed by what was happening, and Kim flipped him off.

"And it wouldn't kill you to lighten up a little!" He chastised his assistant, strolling across the room to stand before a full length mirror in the corner of the office. "Look at where I am and what I'm doing. Look at this body!" The flexed his borrowed biceps like a bodybuilder, grinning ear to ear at the sight of his new muscles, and he smacked at his belly. "Why wouldn't I enjoy it?"

He snapped his fingers and pointed towards the door, then turned his full attention to the mirror and began removing his pants. A still speechless Samson managed to catch a glimpse of his own bare ass before an arm wrapped around his shoulder and tugged him away- he grunted in protest, but unfortunately his new body was too weak to put up a fight.

"I'll take you to HR to fill out some paperwork," Peter muttered as he ushered Samson towards the door. "He's gonna be at this for a while."

The last thing Samson heard before the door shut behind them was the sound of skin on skin, and his own voice groaning.

#body swap #bodyswap #male body swap #yeah Idk #no picture again sorry folks you'll have to use your imaginations

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ladymercury8 · 2 years

Text

Too Cute | tasm!Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: It's simple, really - Peter Parker is just too damn cute. [1k]

Warnings: Pure fluff. No spoilers. Just feeding my fantasies.

❃❃❃❃❃

Peter Parker was too cute.

Seated at his desk, with his soft whisps of hair sticking out all over the place; the dark gray t-shirt that hugged every curve on his goddamn perfect body; the squint behind his glasses that simply accented his features, magnifying his already large eyes; the flexing of his bicep as he moved his pen rapidly across his notebook; the rhythmic bouncing of his bare foot; the way he would look up, gaze locked on an empty space of his desk, a light bulb striking above his head as he returned to his calculations.

He was too cute for you to resist.

You approached from behind, socks silent against the creaky apartment floorboards. Your hands planted themselves on his broad, tense shoulders as you began pressing against the firm muscle with your fingers. A gentle massage as you peeked at his work.

But Peter didn’t really seem to register your presence. Too lost in his numbers and equations.

You bent down, twisting until you could plant your lips on his long neck. A kiss on his jugular vein, one just next to it, and then another, like little footsteps gradually approaching his Adam’s apple.

“Hey, baby,” Peter finally hummed, extending his left arm absentmindedly in a silent invitation, right arm still scribbling away.

You entered his embrace, sitting on his left thigh as Peter’s arm wound around your waist, holding you up. His fingers toyed with the fabric of your clothes.

Like ivy, your arms curled around his neck. Your kisses started traveling to his jaw, his chin, his cheeks, his ears. His scent was comforting – bergamot and sweet spices and dew-dropped earth. Warmth.

Peter’s mouth gaped opened slightly, his frame relaxed.

“What’s gotten into you, angel?” He spoke softly, eyes falling closed in pleasure.

“Just missed you.”

At those words, Peter dropped his pen, turning his full attention to you. You could see the light reflected in his glasses, and relished in the gentle growl that escaped from the depths of his throat: “Well, I’m all yours then.”

You brought your nose to his, about to lean in but his glasses blocked the way. You were reaching up to pull them off, but Peter beat you to it, flinging them onto the other side of the room. You couldn’t help but giggle, shifting his hair off his forehead.

Peter’s arms encircled your waist, pulling you into him, no inch of space left between you. And then he crashed his lips into yours.

Those soft lips that perpetually came home cut open. Gentle and soft, yet passionate. Heated. A minty aftertaste, blended with Aunt May’s cherry pie which she had brought over. Sweet and sour.

You pulled away suddenly, acting as if moving away from him, “I’m sorry, I don’t wanna distract you.” A small whine escaped from Peter’s lips, and a creased frown emerged on his forehead.

You fully knew what you were doing. For in that instant Peter wrapped his arms beneath your thighs, lifting you up with ease as he stood. Your legs crossed behind his back, and as he hoisted you up you could look down at him, your chest heaving with cheeky breaths. Peter’s eyes were hooded, swoony and dazed, focused on your lips.

He raised his chin upwards, first kissing your bottom lip, enveloping it between his and sucking on it; then crashing against you. A big tsunami wave hitting the rocks of a cliff; a conflagration swept forcefully forwards by a gust of wind.

Peter pushed you against the wall. His hands gripped your body, his chest was flush against your own. It was a kiss like he’d never kissed you before, and like he’d never kiss you again. Passionate and strong, rough yet careful.

You both pulled away, panting for air. You inclined your head backwards, a dry laugh bubbling out from your lips as you took in the sight of your lovesick boy: lips swollen, chest heaving, hair perfectly tousled.

“You good there?” You giggled, stroking a thumb over his eyebrow, cupping his neck with your other hand. His eyes were dopey, intensely and chemically involved.

“Shut up.”

And his lips were once more against your own. You could taste the smile on his face.

Peter Parker was just too damn cute.

❃❃❃❃❃

Thank you for reading! x

#Lady writes #tasm #tasm!Peter Parker #Peter Parker #tasm imagine #tasm!Peter Parker imagine #tasm!Peter Parker x Reader #tasm Peter Parker x Reader #Andrew Garfield #tasm peter parker #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #tasm fanfic #Spiderman imagine

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daily-lightbulbii · 1 month

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#inanimate insanity #ii #ii lightbulb #ii fan #daily lightbulb #scribbly bulb #ive left yall without content for TOO LONG MY BAD #i was gonna draw smth for the eclipse. then forgot. oh well next joke opportunity is in 30 years #anyways take a frame from smth im working on and havent finished yet #80 #theyre in prison btw :3 what for? uhhhhhhhhhhh idk tax evasion i guess

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mochimelt · 6 months

Text

Half-Built

Shockwave & Gn!Reader (could be romantic or platonic)(oneshot)

Your audials activated first. The whirr of your machinery and the low hum of the lab filled your senses, slowly dulled out as the rest of your body began to wake. Your digits twitched against the table, curling into a fist and flattening again, the cold seeping into your metal servos. A sense of familiarity washed over your spark.

“Test. Test.” A close voice spoke out, bits of static slipping into your audio sensors as they recalibrated. “One, two. Do you hear me?”

Your voicebox creaked to life. “Yes, sir.” Far too much static for your liking.

“Staticy and unstable.” A scribbling sound followed, pen on paper, instead of the typical digital clicks and clacks of typing. “Visuals?”

“Not on yet.” Smoother than before. You pushed down the tiny sense of pride that grew in your chassis.

A short ‘hm’ sounded from beside you. “Slow. … Continue.”

Anxious disappointment took over the tidbit of pride like a weed. Unwanted thoughts crawled through your processor, leaving as quickly as they came. Did you break? Had you done something wrong? Corrupted your own body? Was he disappointed with you? You hadn’t failed him, had you?

Your optics flickered online after far too long, the glow of your eyes filling your vision as the rest of the room came into focus. Your vision traced the metal paneling of the ceiling above you, the tubes and wires running into the wall beside you, the flickering light and shadow from the bulb just out of sight.

Oh. That light didn’t typically flicker that way.

“Optics are online, sir.”

“Good. Can you sit up?”

Your helm nodded and scraped lightly against the metal table. Cables pulled against the movement, resting uncomfortably behind your helm. Your arms braced against the table as your servos pushed against it, body slowly raising, optics flicking across the space as you did. The room was in disarray. Wires pulled from their sockets, sparks of electricity from broken tubing, cracks spread across the tile floor. The computer display was missing, the comforting blue glow absent for the very first time.

“Sir, may I ask a question?” You spoke softly, your vision finally focusing on the mech before you.

He had a purple frame, his servo resting on the table beside you, his other arm limp by his side. His digits tapped rhythmically against the clipboard resting on the table. Paper clipped tightly in place, a pen set just beside it, neat handwriting filling half the page. A singular, yellow optic watched you as you moved. Two gray ‘audials’ (though you hesitated to call them that, unsure if those were his audials or not,) sat on each side of his helm. Like little antennae, they flicked up at the sight of your movement. His helm nodded slowly to your request.

“Why is the lab in such disorganization?”

He turned to the rest of the room, looking over the broken wiring and cracked floor, and turned back to face you. “There was a disturbance that resulted in damage to the local area. Power has been cut and is being fixed at the moment.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Sympathies are useless.” His hand picked up the pen once more, holding it just above the paper. “Remain focused on the task at hand. Status?”

“Right.” Your digits held to the edge of the table you sat on. “Status update; all systems online. Audials green. Optics green. Touch green. Vents green.”

Your body moved to demonstrate each system as you read them off. Your optics flickered on and off, your servo tapped against the table, your chassis venting out the slowly heating air within. Energon flowed freely through your body, your spark thrumming rhythmically within your chassis, safety tucked away from open air. You’d need to refill soon. Shockwave responded to each check with a sharp nod and a scribble on the page.

“Left arm online. Right arm online. Servos online.” You flexed each arm and digit before letting them fall limp once more. “Left leg offline. Right leg offline.”

Two stumps sat at the bottom of your torso, where your legs would someday connect. This was expected. Shockwave wasn’t finished building your legs yet, and there was no point in connecting them when they still didn’t work. Not that you minded. His work was difficult, and you would wait as long as he needed to finish building you. You had him to thank for your life, after all.

“Damage report?” His voice rung out, snapping you out of your thoughts. His optic watched you curiously, head tilted only a couple degrees to the side, one digit tapping against the side of the pen he held.

You twisted your helm, one hand pushing into the wiring of your neck. You could barely see the metal of your open back, your internal wiring visible and unfinished, temporarily patched together until Shockwave could find the pieces for your wings. Small wires pulled from your back into the machinery beside you. “No damage to helm. No damage to chassis.”

He hummed. You twisted each arm and bent each digit, stretching and tensing, then let your arms fall. Wires tugged and loosened from each limb as they moved. “No damage to arms or servos.”

“Very good.” His scribbling came to a stop and he stood straight. His helm looked down at you just a bit, optic unchanging as he observed you, as always.

You weren’t sure if his optic was unsettling or comforting. Shockwave was the only mech you knew, and something within your spark cried of fear at the sight of his single optic, his mangled arm turned into a weapon, the cold tone in his voice and the uncaring words he spoke. At the same time, you couldn’t help but feel a warm comfort at the sight of him. More than once you were left in the lab alone, unable to rest and shut down, staring up at the empty ceiling. It wasn’t often, but on these occasions he would stay in the room with you. Off to the side doing his own work. He would tell you about things he encountered that day, other mechs he ran into and possibly ran over, and theories he had regarding you and your form. He would ramble about the modifications and adjustments you needed, the pieces he planned to give you to complete your body. You were his perfect experiment, he said. A mech to traverse all areas. Land, air, and sea of any kind, you would travel them all.

Your form was all thanks to him. All the metal of your body had been repurposed from dead bots, melded and shaped to fit you. A menagerie of colors lay on your plating, cracked and peeling at the ends, not that you cared. Once you were finished you would worry about getting a fresh coat of paint. Maybe you’d go with purple, to match Shockwave. Would he like that?

There was a deep warmth in your spark. A feeling of comfort and familiarity, of care and admiration. Your spark. You didn’t know if he had taken your spark from another mech, or if he had somehow created one of his own, or taken a piece of the Allspark. At the same time, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. There were no memories within this spark. Nothing to connect you to anyone or anything, nothing to taint your memories. A blank slate in the purest sense.

“May I ask a question sir?”

Shockwave stared down at you for a moment before nodding, waving his servo toward you.

“Why wake me up?” A cable pulled at the back of your helm as you leaned forward, twisting to look behind you, at the group of wires and cables that connected to your helm and back. Sparks of electricity emanated from tiny cracks in the wiring insulation, bits of tape wrapping together the more broken pieces. “Am I not a waste of limited power? You could have waited until the power had returned to wake me.”

He watched you as you spoke. His helm sat still, his optic revealing no emotion beneath, none of his thoughts or feelings. But the way he tilted his head just a bit, the way his digits tapped against your frame as he watched you, subtly checking for any external damage, it revealed more than he knew.

“I wanted to check on you. Ensure no damage was done to you during the power outage.” His voice was smooth and monotone as ever, his digits tracing the scrapes on your arm. “Yes, you use some of my limited power, but it was optimal to do so. Tracking your state and fixing any errors is of most importance at the moment. Trying to fix any problems when they have settled and corrupted would be far too troublesome a task.”

You couldn’t help the twinge of satisfaction that came to mind when he spoke. He cared about you, your safety and your status, enough to use his limited power to boot you up and check on your state. His touch drifted away from your arm, leaving behind the insignificant scrapes and peeling paint, and you leaned in to try and keep him there.

“Now, allow me to fix the errors within you.” His servo found purchase on your chassis, a gentle push moving you to lay back down.

“I have problems?”

“Yes. Your slow activation shows you cannot run optimally on low amounts of energon. I will fix this error and optimize your frame to run smoothly on limited quantities of energon.”

“Right.” You didn’t resist as he pushed you back on the metal table, shuffling slightly to get yourself as comfortable as possible for the process to come. It was a familiar routine. “You’ll be careful, right?”

“Of course.” His helm nodded above you, servo fiddling with the machine hooked up to your form. “Disabling pain sensors.”

#shockwave x reader #transformers x reader #reader insert #melting words

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goldenempyrean · 5 months

Text

Twinkling

« Day 15: Fairy Lights »

« Pairing: WandaNat »

« Notes: this was cute to write :) horribly unedited so I apologise :,) »

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙〘 Advent 2023 Masterlist! 〙

“You don’t get it Nat, the lights are what makes it christmas! It’s the one thing I love every year, they’re special!” Is what the feverish witch had yelled - well, croaked to be more accurate - earlier in response when Nat had put her foot down and decided neither of them would be attending the city’s national light switch on event.

Natasha hadn’t said it to cruel or unfair, she did have a point. Wanda was sick. Way too sick to be stood around shivering in the cold, even if she’d worn a coat, the icy bite in the wind would’ve been sure to have left her with the chills. Still, the watery tears that had slipped helplessly down her wife’s flushed red cheeks at the news had made her feel horribly guilty at her decision. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been looking forward to it too, the whole team usually met up. It was always a good night but she simply knew that Wanda would’ve gotten herself 10x sicker in the process.

Wanda hadn’t been said much after that, she simply wiped her tears and taken herself back to their bedroom, shutting the door behind her with a slam louder than necessary - a clear sign she wasn’t in the mood to simply talk things over.

As Natasha stood alone in the dimly lit living room, she couldn't shake off the weight of Wanda's disappointment. She knew it was probably the fever heightening her emotions but the way her bottom lip had wobbled as she tried not to cry at the news had her heart torn into bits. She could’ve leave it like this.

For now though, she gave Wanda space. Fighting back the urge to slip into their bedroom and hold her through the tears. Instead Natasha quietly slid past the room, being mindful of the creaking floorboards that threatened to give away her plan and headed up towards their attic.

Creeping open the attic door, the smell of dry air and dust make her cough instinctively as she crept inside. It was a little dark but it wasn’t hard to spot the piles of boxes in one of the corners. Wiping the settled dust from the top of one, she read the label scribbled on in black sharpie, “Christmas Decoration’s.”

“There we go.” Natasha whispered to herself, as her vision began to slowly come into plan.

She continued to open up the several boxes, searching around in them to grab exactly what she wanted and in the end she was left with countless strings of wire and bulbs.

Back downstairs, she looked around the toom with determined eyes and a softened resolve.!Natasha began draping the twinkling lights around the living room. She carefully wove them through the bookshelves, wrapped them gently around the framed photos on the walls, and adorned the windows with a warm, festive glow.

As each strand illuminated, Natasha couldn't help but smile, imagining the joy it would bring to Wanda. The room slowly began to transform from it’s somber atmosphere into a magical haven of twinkling multicoloured lights, creating dancing shadows and sparkling glows on the walls.

She even took extra care to fashion a cozy nook in their favorite corner, entwining the lights around their shared armchair. The room was now a symphony of colors and warmth. Everything looked perfect and Natasha found herself taking a step back, resting her hands on her hips as she admired her work. She was going to love it.

After a final checkround, the redhead flicked off the lights, the room being consumed by darkness in their absence. It took a moment for her eyes go adjust but when they did, she made sure everything looked tidy before smiling to herself and heading to their kitchen.

Despite her fluffy socks, tiles were cold against Nat’s feet as she padded over to their cupboards to search the shelves. It didn’t take long to find what she wanted. She took careful care of quieting preparing Wanda’s mug. Now hot chocolate would’ve been the go to in a normal situation but she didn’t want to risk upsetting her stomach again after how long it had taken for it to settle the previous night. So instead Natasha made a soothing cup of sweet lemon tea, making sure to add in a generous helping of honey.

Natasha carried the steaming mug back to the bedroom, knocking softly on the door. "Wanda," she called out gently. "Can I come in baby?”

There was a muffled response, and Natasha took it as an invitation. Slowly pushing the door open, she found Wanda curled up under the blankets, looking both exhausted and fragile.

"I thought you might need some warmth," Natasha said, offering the cup of tea. Wanda looked up, her eyes still puffy from crying, but a faint smile tugged at her lips.

"Thanks," Wanda whispered, taking the cup from Natasha's hands.

The aroma of sweet lemon filled the room as she took a careful sip. Natasha sat down on the edge of the bed, watching as Wanda seemed to relax a little. "I know the lights outside are special, but you understand it’s not worth putting your health at risk for.” She murmured, her soft finger coming to trace the spots where previous tears had been on her wife’s cheek, “But I still wanted to make it special for you…”

Without much more of a warning, Natasha slid her hands underneath Wanda, lifting her with ease as she gave a small yelp of surprise before clinging onto her shoulders tightly. She found herself being carried back to the living room but before she could question everything, they stopped as they stepped foot into the dark room. Nat had slipped her a small remote, smiling down with an unmistakable grin.

“Press it.”

Wanda turned her head to cough raspily before she looked up in confusion, “What?”

“Just press it!”

Wanda hesitated for a moment before pressing the button on the remote. Instantly, the room erupted in a breathtaking display of twinkling lights. The rainbow of glow shimmered around them Wanda’s eyes seemed to echo their sparkle as they widened in surprise.

"I... I don't understand," Wanda whispered, her voice shaking a little as Natasha carefully set down onto her feet beside her. The witches gaze moved from the lights to Natasha, her heart swelling with emotion. "You did all this for me?"

Natasha nodded, her eyes reflecting the sincerity of her actions. “I know how much you love the lights, I just wanted to cheer you up a little bit my love.”

Wanda's lips quivered, but this time it wasn't from sadness. "Nat, you're incredible," she said, pulling Natasha into a tight embrace. The room was aglow with warmth, both from the lights and the genuine love between them.

〖 Join My Taglist! 〗@sayah13 @mahalkitanova @scrambled-brain-eggs @natashamyl0ve @bloomingflowersthings @kathleenmikaelson @shamelessbearunknown @inluvwithfictionalwomen@citrussnz@fluffyblanketgecko @kljhsong@santana1437 @blackwidow-3@asiangmrchk13 @lovelyy-moonlight@juiles@lots-of-pockets @sashawalker2 @natashamaximoff69@observeowl @beholdagaywriter@llovergirleraa@danveration@idkeithershawty @rainedontknow @poison-blackheart@loveshineslikethesky@somber-sapphic @lexasaurs634@scarlettssub@paisley-yy@wandanats-goodgirl@nuianced-tck-enby @maomaoincomming @anne-lister

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ceruleancattail · 9 months

Text

Light

Ace Trappola x reader

There’s something tranquil about the skatepark at night.

The blanket of darkness that shrouds this world, staining everything it touches a ebony black. Lampposts line the very edge of the slopes, towering above the entire park itself. A golden light, flickering at every second. Rays of light illuminate the park, before it plunges the world into darkness once more.

A cycle, as sure as a human’s breath.

The light flickers on…

And it flickers off.

During those brief moments of clarity, minuscule specks of black can be seen fluttering underneath the bulbs. Moths, with their faded wings of fur, reaching out for the warmth of the lights. They swarm the lamps, clouds buzzing underneath.

Some brave souls go too near, and the heat finally engulfs them. Their lives sizzle out, a candle wick spent. Those poor souls crumble, vanishing into ash.

That doesn’t stop their peers from attempting, though.

You watch listlessly, chin on your palm. Eyes following these clouds, wondering how it felt. How it felt to burn. Joining that beautiful,endless glow, even if it was just for a second.

How does it feel? To plunge into the depths of hell, to catch a glimpse of the blinding light they called joy. You laugh silently at the absurdity of it all, yet a small part of you felt a little envious.

Heaving a sigh, your eyelids flutter shut.

How did it feel like?

To love something, anything, so much more then yourself.

Wheels whirl beside you, a skateboard flying towards your side. With a deft motion, you stuck your leg out. Flinching ever so slightly as the board smashes against the side of your foot, slowly trailing to a stop.

Rapid footsteps, a flustered tempo. You raise your head, only to see dual eyes of crimson. A heart was painted over one eye, wrinkling with every step he took.

It was red.

Red as his cheeks, flushed from exertion? Embarrassment? Perhaps a mix of both, really.

Fingers closing around the board, the roughness scratching your palm. You heave it up, passing it to him. The guy gives you a sheepish laugh, flashing his teeth. It was a boyish expression, filled with youth. Rather contagious.

Unconsciously, the corner of your lips twitched, slipping upwards. A smile, albeit a small one.

His hands reached out, curling around the edge of the board. Your fingertips brushed each other, a soft gentle touch. Yet your heart fluttered, skipping a beat.

“Thanks for…”

He gestures vaguely at the board, trying to piece together words. Eventually, he gives up, before plonking himself right beside you. Slamming his foot onto the skateboard, it flies up. Smacking against his palm with a dull thud.

“So… come here often? ”

Chuckling, you tilt your head towards him. Leaning onto your knees, you give him a faint smile.

“Not really. I normally come during the day.“

With the ghost of a smirk dancing on his lips, he barks out a laugh. Mimicking your pose, he brings his knees up to his cheek as well. Leaning onto them, meeting your gaze.

“Why, scared of the dark?”

Curling your fingers, you flick his shoulder.

“I’m terrified of the idiots that lurk within.”

“Ouch. That hurts, y’know?”

Casting you a forlorn look, he clutches at his heart, clothes wrinkling in his grasp. You can’t help but snort at his antics, as dramatic as they were.

In response, you soon find an elbow digging into your arm playfully. He jabs you gently, giving you an overdone wink.

“There’s a name to this idiot, yeah?

It’s Ace. Ace Trappola.”

Ace gives you a mischievous grin, before reaching for your hand, gripping your wrist in his palm. A little too tightly, in your opinion. As you wince, the chemical stench of ink reaches your nostrils.

The lid of a sharpie clenched between his teeth, Ace’s scribbling scarlet numbers onto your palm. A phone number, signed off with a little heart.

He pockets the pen with a flourish, before stepping back onto his board. Another wink, before he kicks off, sliding away on that skateboard of his.

“Call me anytime you wanna’ hit the slopes, Cutie.”

Deep within your chest, something flickers alight.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #ace trappola #ace x reader #ace trappola x reader #twst ace #lucky potion🔷

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shoshiwrites · 3 days

Text

Decided to try my hand at a little postwar. Big thank you to @basilone for the prompts that inspired this ♡ Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC, also on Ao3! NSFW.

the nearness of you

The table’s littered in paper, a handful of pens, black-red-blue, the bound copy of her manuscript beside, her wristwatch, the coffee cup separated from its saucer.

The clock behind her, above the stove, reads just after one.

She should probably try and get some sleep, she knows, but he’s due back in tonight, the tiny D. C. apartment they share until the paperwork goes through on a house. She hasn’t seen it in person yet, but he’s told her about it. Says she’ll love it. It’s got a nook for her desk, he says, a big window to the backyard.

A yard.

That’s a new thing, too. Hydrangea bushes and trees to watch the birds.

She inspects the coffee grounds at the bottom of the mug, dark specks in the dim light of the bulb above her head. There’s more sugar to be had now, a whole canister of it there on the counter, labeled in blue, and she can’t break the habit of only sprinkling a touch with the tiny spoon.

She doesn’t know if she’ll ever get used to it, waiting.

It's not like she hasn't done. The landscapes blur in her mind, the muddied boots, the blood, the tall dry grass, the leaden skies and swoops of birds — starlings, and the flies.

The radio next to the canisters of sugar and salt punches out the program sign-off in static, the tinny “Star-Spangled Banner“ that follows. She keeps it on for the baseball games, when he’s not here. The noise keeps her company, the promise that he’ll ask about the scores. Thank you for listening. Good night and good morning.

She makes it through half of the next page before she hears the turn of the lock.

“In here,” she says, like a stage-whisper, and her voice is thick, like she’s been sleeping. Like she hasn’t spoken since he left.

“You’re up,” he says, and it’s a statement and a question at once, colored by his own face and curls that look like they might have seen a moment of shut-eye in the back of a taxi. He sounds a little surprised, maybe that she’s awake, that she’s greeted him before he’s opened his mouth. His cap must be by the door, and no need for an overcoat in the summer. She knows it’s only the hour and the neighbors that have kept him from coming in with a boom. He looks tired, the same softness to his face that she knows comes from exhaustion. She wonders how he’s been sleeping.

It’s the usual questions and answers, slow this time, and still rushed — have you eaten, how was the train, how’s the story going, hear anything good, and the last one means she gets to produce the little scrap of paper with her pencil marks, the scribbled notes. Two to one Yankees. Chandler walked nine in the first four innings but took a no-hitter into the ninth. Someone hit a one-out single. He guesses until he hits the name that rings a bell. She nods, and his eyes crinkle in delight — at the win, at the paper, at her own eyes warm with love.

He sees the manuscript pages too, the coffee grounds, the hunch of her shoulders. There’s a question in it, like maybe it’s not going as fine as she says it is. She reaches for him. “I missed you.” Maybe it doesn’t help anything, saying that, when this is what they do. Have done. Maybe it does. He smells a little bit like a smoking lounge, the faint scent of aftershave applied many hours earlier.

“Missed you too,” he says, wrapping his arms around her when she stands. “I missed my wife.”

She doesn’t know when she’ll get used to that, either.

Maybe she doesn’t feel like one, a wife, here with a dirty plate in the sink, and the coffeemaker that needs cleaning, and her slacks, and her hair curling away from her forehead.

He kisses the top of her head and maybe she does, here in his arms.

“How much,” she asks, and the feeling gathers in her throat, something tumbling.

He pulls back, the smallest smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’d say — a hell of a lot.” He cups her face with his hand, traces his thumb at her chin, kisses her like he’s passing a secret. “A whole hell of a lot.”

“Mmph,” she says, into his shoulder, and he looks like he might laugh.

“How much for you?”

She tucks a curl behind his ear. “”Bout the same. Maybe more.”

“More, huh?”

She pokes her tongue into his mouth, in the next kiss. His hands grasp the small of her back, his fingertips wandering lower. She shivers when he travels beneath the hem of her top, skims his fingers along the bare skin of her hip.

“John-” Her voice is a little breathy now, half-serious. “Don’t go starting something you can’t finish.”

“Now, just what are you accusing me of, Josephine?” His thumb presses against her hip, a promise. She starts to unbutton his jacket, the back of her hand falling to ghost against the front of his trousers. “Where’s the goddamn couch?”

They’d moved it to the spot themselves, not-so-gracefully accounting for the difference in their heights. It’s not as plush or as comfortably upholstered as either of them would really like, but they’re not about to waste too much time complaining. He settles himself over her, or tries to, hipbones framing hers.

She bites her tongue with a crack about needing coffee, even though she knows he’d laugh. He’s like that, he can laugh at himself. She lets him work his hand between her legs, over the brown herringbone.

Maybe they didn’t think it through either, as clothed as they are. It doesn’t stop either of them, her from pulling him down to her mouth, the wet kisses and flushed cheeks, the growing hardness of him under the olive wool.

They hardly wiggle out of them, the inconvenient trousers, just enough for her to grab at the back of his thigh and squeeze. “Alright there, Mrs. Egan.”

She goes redder, a sight, and the dark tufts of hair just above the waistband. He sighs out against her throat.

She’s wondering just how comfortable he is exactly, knee wedged like that against the couch, until she feels him against her, slick and swollen, until-

Her exhale’s sharp, the twist of it, the little gasp-groan of it, of them, her nails against the curve of his back.

He covers her like a blanket, heavy and warm, the dull oak moss of his aftershave, like everything she’s ever missed. The movement of his hips grows quicker, spooling tight in the bottom of her stomach.

“Got me right where you want me, huh,” he asks, and his eyes are hazy with it, stormy-beautiful-blue.

“All I dreamed about-” she breaks off with a noise, a whine, a spot inside hit just right.

“Missed me, huh?”

“So much-” Every day, since-

She clenches around him, the edges of her sight shimmering, watches his mouth fall open that touch it always does. A second or two before he remembers just what exactly they’re doing, how they ought to be careful if they don’t want-

She arches, her gasp swallowed with a kiss. He comes in her hand, a dribble sliding down the crease of her thigh. The sound the sticking makes, between their bodies, pulls another noise from her chest.

Heavy, unthinking kisses against her nose, her forehead, her lips. Her shoulders lift, needing more of him.

“I kept thinking about this,” he says, hoarse. “On the train.” A fresh thrill runs through her, touches her cheeks. “Almost missed my damn stop.”

She doesn’t push the errant curl back that brushes her forehead from his. “That wouldn’t have made either of us too happy.”

“Me in Richmond, and my darling wife here on this couch.”

“My darling husband in Richmond and me here on this couch.” Her fingers play at the back of his neck, the moments before they’ll get up and clean and dress for bed. “Good thing you wised up, then.”

“With the real thing here at home? Be pretty hopeless if I hadn’t.”

She traces her thumb against the corner of his mouth, watches his eyes follow her collarbone. “Does Mr. Not Pretty Hopeless care to join the Mrs. in the shower?”

He dips his head, kisses the crook of her neck and shoulder, intent on kissing across her chest. “Care to? That’s the best offer I’ve heard all week.”

#bucky egan x oc #john egan x oc #shoshi writes #smut under the cut #jo's tag #motaverse #i have no idea what's happening here actually #big thank you to the internet for the baseball and old radio info! lifesavers!#also just need everyone to know that jo has been my oc since [redacted] and any naming coincidences are uh. exactly that!#l o l

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

Text

Drawn Together 10

Warnings: non/dubcon, obsession, intimidation, and other dark elements.

Character: Steve Rogers

Note: I wasn’t sure how this chapter would go but hoo boy.

Summary: You get a tattoo on an impulse to break your routine, but you walk away with something else as permanent as the ink.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You bring out the platter of cheese, crackers and grapes and place it on the round table by the sofa. As you do, you hear the front door and your heart lurches. Oh gosh, you’re not prepared. For any of this. As you haven’t been for Steve.

You stand and face the archway over the stairs as a steady ascent creaks on each step. You brush your trembling hands over your dress and swallow through your dry throat. A woman appears, her finely waved blond hair so pale that the silver is indiscernible. Her face is long and elegant though she is not very tall herself, scrawny even in the cinched coral dress. Mrs. Rogers.

Her blue eyes, the same hue as her son, wander around the room. Her lips hold the shadow of a smile and she finds you standing nervously by the sofa. Her cheeks bulb and her lips curve delightfully.

“Ahh, honey, there you are!” She struts over to you as Steve appears behind her, “I’ve waited so long to meet you.”

You’re overcome as she advances on you. With nowhere to go, you can only let her kiss both your cheeks with her precisely lined lips. She grasps your shoulders and looks you up and down at arm’s length.

“Wow, you are so beautiful, darling,” she preens, “this dress is wonderful,” she pulls back one hand as the other follows a fold in the fabric, “if not a bit evening, but oh,” she parts completely and spins, “this is such a quaint little home you’ve got.”

“Sweetheart, this is my–”

“Of course she knows who I am, Stevie,” his mother spins around, so lithe that she seems to float. Her age does not slow her, “you said so yourself, but let’s not forget ourselves. You may call me Sarah, honey.”

“It’s…” you glance past her to Steve as he watches intently, “it’s nice to meet you, Sarah.”

“Ah, excuse me, I am just elated. I am so happy that my boy’s finally found such a nice girl.” She goes to the window and hums as she taps one of the bent nails. Peculiar but not enough to bother her. “And to think he’s hidden you for so long,” she pivots back to point at her son, “and when he told me I had this dreadful fear that he would go so far as to say you eloped!”

You blink, speechless, looking between her and Steve. He’s not very concerned as he watches her flutter around. In fact, he seems rather pleased with himself.

“But he knows how much I’ve looked forward to his wedding and I have so many ideas,” she proclaims, “what were we thinking for the dress? Lace? You would look fine in satin.”

You sniff and try to gather your wits, “I… I haven’t decided.”

“Well, ma,” Steve steps forward, “I haven’t exactly had a chance to uh… pop the question. Um, your ring?”

“Ah, yes, yes,” she touches her cheeks, “I hope I haven’t spoiled anything.”

“All good, ma,” Steve comes up and turns to stand beside you, stretching his arm across your shoulders, “she knows she’s the one.”

You pinch your cheeks between your teeth. You want to scream. You want to run. And as his fingers tickle the sleeve of your dress, you sorely want to slap him.

“Aww, you two are so cute together,” she squeals as she strides up to him. She straightens his collar and fixes his tie, “you look so much better when I can’t see all those scribbles.”

“Ma,” Steve warns.

“And how do you feel about it? All that mess on his skin?” She looks over at you.

You hesitate and shake your head, “um, I…”

You move your foot back in an effort to hide your own tattoo. She senses the movement and her eyes flick down. She leans a bit to get a glimpse and her eyes narrow.

“Honey, please tell me you’re not covered in the same.”

“No, ma,” Steve interjects, “that one’s for me. That’s it.” He squeezes you against him tighter, “she’s a good girl, like I told you.”

“Yes, yes, you do talk a lot, why don’t you let the girl speak for herself?”

“Well, I–” Steve begins, “of course she can, I was only–”

“You were only being rude,” Sarah reaches and takes your hand, “come, honey, I want to see more. Show me around and we can talk.”

“Uh, sure,” you pull away from Steve slowly. You feel his gaze on you and try to ignore it, “it’s pretty small.”

“Modest, it’s sensible,” she clings to you, “oh, and there’s your piano. He says you’re very gifted. He’s always been an avid player but he never did much with it. He was more into his drawings.”

“Oh, yeah, I… my grandfather taught me to play,” you utter, just to have something to offer.

“Ah, and your parents? Mother, father? They’ll be at the wedding?”

“Um…” You don’t know what to say. You fidget with your free hand, tugging at the fabric of your skirt, “no. They… passed.”

“Honey,” she says as she stops at the mouth of the hall, “I am so sorry. I had no idea.” She turns you and pulls you into a hug, her skinny arms tight around you, “that’s absolutely horrid but we’ll make do.” She draws back and cradles your face, “hm, your lips would do well in a sweet shade of rose, I think.”

You’re put off by the suggestion. So sudden and sharp. Amidst the talk of death and grief, she can’t help but bring up cosmetics? Well, she is a bit strange and what can you expect given her son has proven to be entirely unpredictable.

“Um, I’ll show you the master, then, the guest, and um, the office is just closed up right now.”

“Oh, office? Why’s that?”

“Just… needs some fixing up,” you lie, “I’m working on it.”

“That’s too bad. Well, it would do to clear it out and make a nursery. I’d love to help–”

“A nursery?” You stop her at the end of the hall, just before your bedroom door. Why are you doing this? Why are you playing along? “What–”

“You’re going to have babies. You’re still young enough, he is too. I know he’s a bit older but men are virile for a lot longer. You on the other hand, you should start thinking–”

“I’m not having babies,” you spit out, “are you as crazy as he is?”

Her lashes flick down then up. She lets go of your hand and faces you as he arched brows rise, wrinkles lining her forehead, “crazy?”

“Yes,” you hiss, “crazy. I don’t know your son. He’s got me trapped here. He’s… He’s…” You shake your head and scoff, “your son is a psychopath and he doesn’t live here. None of this is real. Do you understand?”

She shakes her head as her eyes flutter madly. She touches her throat as her lip quivers, “I don’t understand what you mean,” her voice cracks.

You huff and roll your eyes. “I’m not doing this.”

You turn on your heel and stomp down the hallway. You don’t look up, you don’t look anywhere but ahead of you. You barrel down the stairs, surpassing your shoes as you twist the knob. The door shifts but does not open.

You hear the top stair groan and a shadow falls over you from above. You fumble with the latch but find another lock you can’t undo. Shiny brass, newly installed. A hole you have no key for. What the hell? This can’t be.

“Sweetheart,” Steve comes down the stairs as you turn the handle back and forth desperately, clawing at the wood, “where are you–”

“Help! Help! Let me out!” You scream at the door, “someone! Anyone–”

Steve’s hand smothers your mouth and his arm hooks around your middle. He yanks you away from the door as he grunts. You flail as he drags you backwards, up one step at a time. You thrash and grab at the banister, your fingers slipping with his strength, a fingernail breaking as it catches on the wood.

You murmur into his palm as he drags you onto even ground. You kick out as he struggles to subdue you. Your eyes water as you see Sarah standing in the hallway. She comes closer and looks you over as you try to dislodge Steve’s hand. You plead with your eyes. Can’t she see how afraid you are?

“You said she was a good girl, Stevie, but I think she could do with some discipline,” Sarah declares, “don’t you?”

“Yes, mother,” he answers, his voice rumbling through you, “I’m sorry. Please ma, she is good. Please, I want to keep this one.”

Sarah clucks and nears. A tear beads over the brim of your eye and falls. She traces its path with her thumb, “then you know what to do, Stevie. If she is to be a good wife, a wife good enough for my son, you must punish her.”

Your garble and round your eyes. Your heart throbs and your ears ring. No, no, no.

“You must do it, Stevie,” Sarah’s voice hardens to stone, “look at her. She needs it.”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #sarah rogers #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #series #drawn together #mcu #marvel #captain america #au #tattoo au

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