#smacking my head through the drywall!!!

[icterid-rubus]

My felting project, in the washing machine, forgotten while I start on dinner

[chelseeebe]

there’s a honey

title based on there’s a honey - pale waves

i would give you my body but am i sure that you want me?

the one where eddie’s probably in love with you and yet you can’t even be seen in public with him.

kinda really angsty and sad i’m sorry

18+. mdni. smut. r is kinda very mean to poor eds here, maybe there’s a ltitle redemption/hope at the end.. who knows. modern au i guess.

eddie’s not supposed to be doing this, your number had been deleted and he knows he should’ve just let it ring out.

but he’d recognised those last three digits and hadn’t be able to help himself. at least this time he’d let it ring out a couple of times before picking up.

and now here he was, hand fisting your shirt, pulling it tight around your waist as he slams his hips against your doughy ass, the bed frame matching his pace as it slams against the wall.

he felt terrible.

chrissy was probably somewhere across campus waiting for him to text back while he was here, balls deep in the girl he’d sworn off last week.

they weren’t together, he’s not even sure if they’re talking but he knew he at least liked her. thought she was cute and not mean to him, but truthfully, she’s not you. she’s never going to be you.

and he’s not stupid enough to think that while you’re still in his life, they could ever be anything.

nobody else that he had ever had sex with had ever felt like this, not that it were a long list of people but still. he thinks that’s what keeps him coming crawling back every single time.

“oh my god,” you whine, arms collapsing underneath you as you fall into the mattress. moving back against him in unison, his palm coming to slap your ass, his handprint lingering.

he takes that as a sign to keep going, slamming into you with such ferocity that the sound echoes through the tiny room. the wooden bed frame close to smashing through the drywall.

“fuck,” he grunts, keeping his grip tight on your shirt, “you feel so fucking good,” unable to contain his babbles. breath becoming laboured as you squeeze around him.

your noises are muffled, face pressed into the blanket as you incoherently mumble what he thinks is his name. he can tell you’re close just by the way you’re breathing. he’s had years of experience, learnt every trick in the book to get you there before he was.

he lands another smack to your ass before pressing his chest to your back, lips sloppily connecting to the back of your neck, pressing you further into his rocking bed.

this new position allows him deeper, nudging himself against your sweet spot, just about able to keep his body hovering over yours.

“shit.. i’m close eds don’t stop,” you whine breathlessly but he already knows that. can feel himself teetering on the edge though it is absolutely necessary that you go first.

“i know.. i know,” he pants, sweaty body melting together as his pace falters, giving you everything he had for the last however many seconds.

your legs begin to shake from underneath him, fist balling his tousled bedsheets while his name falls from your lips like some kind of prayer. eddie will never tire of hearing you whine and cry his name nor the way you clench around him, turning to mush right before his eyes.

it’s the only time you’re ever soft, malleable even.

“that’s it,” he soothes, open mouth pressed to your clammy skin, hand finding your hand and resting his palm on your white knuckles as he topples over.

“fuck.. oh fuck,” he pants, slamming into your quivering cunt, painting your walls with his load, his forehead falling to the skin between your shoulder blades, head spinning a hundred miles an hour.

his arms let out, collapsing on top of you, breathing into the crook of your neck as he regains any sort of semblance of control. he eventually rolls off, outstretched on the tiny slither of bed as you come to.

“jesus,” he weeps, pulling his boxers back up around his waist, the elastic dealing a harsh snap to his skin.

you don’t honour his words with a reply, turning to lean back against the pillow, readjusting your t-shirt. you’d be off soon, he can sense it. not so long ago, you’d maybe stay the night but now it was out of the question.

eddie misses it dearly, maybe it was his fucked up way of playing make-believe for a little while but he missed it nonetheless.

“you going to tina’s party?” he asks from the pillow, eyes narrowed as you shift around.

“yeah i think so,” you shrug, readjusting your bra straps. you’re itching to leave, christ, you won’t even entertain him with a little pillow talk now.

“who’re you going with?”

you sigh, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, not willing to entertain this conversation, “i’m not sure yet,” grabbing your discarded clothes with a haste.

“why don’t we just go together?” he asks, knowing that it’ll probably push you over the edge. he can’t help himself, has never been able to understand why you’re so evasive about your relationship.

“oh my god eddie,” you frown before slipping into the connected bathroom, eddie jumps up from the bed, he’s not gonna let you run away from him again.

“oh so you are still doing this?” eddie asks, following you into the bathroom. he stands in the doorway, watching as you comb your fingers through your hair.

“doing what?”

“pretending that you don’t want me,” he pokes his finger into his temple, “playing your weird fucking game that nobody else understands,” he should stop there, but he doesn’t, “you know, nobody cares if you fuck the freak, we’re in college now, right? you’re the only one that gives a shit,” it’s truly cathartic to get it all out but he knows he’s going to regret it.

“what?” you mutter, speechless. confused why he’d just unloaded all of this onto you seemingly out of nowhere. spinning on your heel to face him, still half-dressed and disheveled.

“you heard me. and you know what? maybe i understood why you didn’t want anyone to know in high school but we’re adults now, you can’t pretend that you’re still worried about people finding out,” the scowl deep-set and unbudging on his lips.

“well i don’t want you eddie,” your face turning sour, jabbing your finger into his chest. “maybe you’ve deluded yourself into thinking that this- the sex, means more than it does, but it doesn’t,” you’re angry now, he’s got you riled up, exactly how he wanted, “i don’t care if you’re a nerd or you play board games or whatever the fuck it is that you do, i just don’t want anyone to know that i’m fucking you.”

your words are bitter, sharp even. slicing through his chest with harsh force. it’s not true, he knows that much. it’s no secret that you do care about that shit, you’ve made that abundantly clear over the years.

he just can’t understand why you still think anybody else cares. everybody’s too busy to give a shit about outdated cliques and who’s fucking who. it’s your worst-kept secret anyway, by the end of the night you were always hanging off of his arm or pulling him out of whichever bar you’d both coincidentally fallen into.

“you’re a liar,” eddie bites, levelling his eyes to yours, “even you don’t believe that,” he steps closer, brows knitted together as you rage on.

“fuck you,” you spit, deciding to do something he could’ve never expected. smashing your lips to his, it’s a short, passionate kiss, your fingers twisting into his shirt before he pushes you off.

“you’re fucked in the head,” he utters, voice full of sorrow. he pities you, truly. because he knows that if you’d just shake whatever weird self-doubt you still carried, that the two of you could be good together.

you push past him, pulling your jeans on as you grab the rest of your belongings. you’ve done this before, plenty of times. stormed out of here because eddie had asked you a question you didn’t like, only to call him up next weekend begging for his attention.

and he gave it, time and time again.

at your mercy, completely.

it’s the only way he’d known, not enough self-respect to end it completely. and even now, when it feels different, permanent somehow, he knows you’ll be back.

“don’t call me again,” eddie calls out, still lingering in the doorway, “i mean it, delete my number, block me, whatever. just don’t fucking come back,” his arms folded over his chest, like he meant it this time.

“oh i won’t, don’t worry,” turning to face him one last time, eyes full of spite before you disappear into the hallway, not for the last time.

-

unbelievably, the two of you had gone weeks of no-contact.

not even a drunken text to lure him over. nothing. nada. zilch.

eddie had taken that as a sign and asked chrissy if she wanted to go to the party together, at least this time he hadn’t been met with slamming doors and a screaming match.

she’d helped him do his makeup, dotted fake blood around his mouth and made them take a picture for her instagram, an incredibly foreign experience to what he’d ever had with you.

you’d taken selfies before, stupid ones that never saw the light of day. lounging in bed with a joint hanging out of your lips, refusing to ever send them to him incase he did something unthinkable. like post them or dare show anyone.

he shakes his head as if to rid his brain of the memory, trying to zone in on whatever bullshit chrissy’s friend heather was droning on about. he can’t focus, not when he knows you’re here.

see, it’s different when you’re apart. he can compartmentalise you, all of your memories, bury you in the back of his brain and enjoy the time he had with chrissy. it’s like you’ve infected him, weaving your web throughout his mind.

eddie’s phone buzzes in his pocket, pulling him out of the hole he’d burrowed himself into.

those familiar three digits flash across the screen.

bathroom 5 mins

he hasn’t even seen you yet, not that he had been keeping an eye out (he had). he shifts over from where he and chrissy sat squished on the couch, too engrossed in the conversation to have seen his phone.

“i’m just gonna go to the bathroom,” he smiles, guilt running through his veins, “get me another beer?” using that as an excuse to not do anything stupid.

though he knows himself, knows you too and most certainly knows that won’t happen.

“okay,” she grins, none the wiser, making him feel so much worse. her halloween costume was completely different to anything you’d ever worn, opting for a cute little rabbit as opposed to the ridiculously sexy getup you usually had on.

he wonders what you’ve chosen for this year, what low-cut, revealing outfit will have him on his knees, regretting his decisions this time around.

there are hoards of people everywhere, crowding the hall as he tries to shuffle through, not even bothering to knock as he reaches the bathroom.

he slips inside, quickly locking the door behind him as you sit perched against the sink. he was right. you’re in some tiny red dress, horns adorning your head. it’s fitting, really.

“so you didn’t block me,” you state, smug as shit as you lean against the white porcelain.

eddie just rolls his eyes, “is that all you wanted to say?” his hand already clamped around the door handle. it’s an empty threat, he’s not going without a fight, or a kiss, but probably both.

you bite down onto your bottom lip, the red lipstick already slightly smudged, “i missed you,” squeezing the words out, as if they physically hurt to verbalise.

“me? or my dick?”

“can’t it be both?” you smirk, pushing yourself from the sink to near him.

“not if you’re lying about the first one,” keeping his head stood tall, not letting his gaze wander, no matter how much he wanted to peer down your dress.

“i’m not,” placing your hand on his chest, looking at his lips rather than his eyes, “you didn’t miss me?”

you’re so.. so terrible. for him. as a person. whichever.

because he knows that you know he can’t resist. all you have to do is bat your eyelashes and speak softly to him and he’s right back at your feet. eddie wants to be stronger this time. to turn around and march out of here with his dignity still in tact.

but then your hand creeps lower, fingernails dragging down his unbuttoned shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake and he knows he’s fallen for it again.

“of course i did,” he whispers, barely audible because even he doesn’t want to hear it.

“who’s that girl you’re with?” you question, fingers lingering at his belt buckle, gaze flickering between his eyes and his parched lips.

“chrissy,” he feels like a dick for even speaking her name right now.

“she’s cute. she your girlfriend now?” teasing him, drawing a line down to his crotch your finger.

his breath hitches in his throat, wetting his lips, “no.. she’s- uh,” stuttering when your palm meets his dick, already rising in his pants.

“she’s what?” grinning devilishly, hah.

“she’s waiting for me,” he chokes out, just about remembering that he’d asked her for another beer.

“why don’t you run along back to her then?” knowing full well that he wouldn’t. couldn’t even.

the words tangle in his throat, coming out in a squeak, “tell me- tell me that this is just sex and i will,” finding a spurt of courage from somewhere deep within.

you don’t reply, keeping a firm hand on his shifting jeans, “eddie,” more as a warning than anything else.

“or tell me you want me,” swallowing the lump lodged in his throat, “and i’ll stay,” he’s pathetic, begging for an inch of your love, just a little of your heart.

“i can’t.. i can’t be who you want me to be,” you choke, dropping your palm from his zipper, hanging limp as you back away.

“why?” reeking of desperation, pitying himself more than you ever could, “i don’t.. i don’t understand,” the party bounces on outside and eddie can’t think of anything worse than having to go back out there with teary eyes and a tent in his jeans.

you turn away from him, keeping your palms pressed to the porcelain as you stare into the basin, “why don’t you just leave? i’m not going to have this conversation with you again,” point blank refusing to even look at him anymore.

eddie scoffs, swallowing his despair to make one last statement, “you’ve ruined my life,” choking back his cry before swinging the door open, elbowing his way through the crowd.

he pushes past drunk assholes until he reaches the front door, storming out onto the sidewalk, gasping as the fresh air hits his nose. all he wants is to scream, or puke or maybe both. he can feel the eyes of concerned partygoers as he stumbles out onto the street.

everything sounds weird, metallic like ringing through his ears until a familiar voice calls out from the doorway.

“eddie?”

[queenpiranhadon]

Could you possibly do a ninjago Cole x Baker reader

A/N: We're going to ignore how late this is LMAOOOO I'M SO SORRY ANONNNNN IT'S HERE NOW!!! Here's my masterlist!

Warning(s): Reader owns a bakery, reader's kinda clumsy- falls into a sack of flour, reader makes scones with flour (whichever type is left to imagine for my celiacs🤍), Cole accidentally wrecks the bakery, serpentine arc kinda? I don't watch Dragons Rising, cursing, reader is gn but is written with f!reader in mind, reader thinks of Cole like a puppy, Cole calls reader Master of Flour, reader hits unnamed serpentine in the head with a frying pan, Cole "asks" reader out on a date, mentions of nagas, not proofread!!

Pairing(s): Cole Brookstone x Baker!Reader

•─────•°•❀•°•──── ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏꜱ ────•°•☁︎•°•────•

It was your day off.  

So obviously, you’d spend it working.  

Your days off, Sundays in particular, were when you closed the bakery you owned for the day to restock your inventory of baked goods to sell. 

Most people would call you crazy, saying that you worked too much and that you shouldn’t work on your breaks.  

Thankfully, you weren’t most people. You loved to bake, especially from scratch (those who used mixes were not only lazy, but the results were always artificial to you). 

It was 6:47 AM, and you stretch out your arms, cracking your knuckles and get to work, spreading flour over workspace. 

Then, you take the same flour measuring it precisely before dumping it into the porcelain bowl you grabbed earlier. You walk over to the giant pantry storage unit you had in the back to grab the sugar and baking powder you needed, humming to yourself softly. 

Music flowed through your headphones, the tunes lifting your mood as the sun’s rays peek through the windows, a golden hour in the dawn of the morning.  

You grab your measuring cups, pouring the right amount of sugar into your bowl and then twisted open the top of the baking powder container.  

Yet the damn thing wouldn’t budge.  

“Come on...!” you groan the corners of your lips turning down. “You weren’t doing this last week!”  

You knew you sounded extremely stupid, talking to inanimate objects and trying to persuade them to cooperate with you – but you were alone, so it didn’t matter.  

“Stupid. Little. Piece. Of.” you grunt, smacking the lid against the edge of the countertop, but you didn’t anticipate the lid of actually pop off, the force you were exuding into the can made you bang your chin onto the countertop, and you fell backwards onto a sack of flour you hadn’t opened up yet.  

“Ah Shit!” you yelp, white powder billowing up around you from impact.  

You frown as the flour settles onto your form when you sit up– making you look like a humanoid snowman. 

Your body aches and you plop down, but you moment your head sinks into the grating fabric of the flour bag, a loud boom is heard throughout the cafe.  

You bolt right up, scrambling to your feet and sprinting out of the kitchen to find a big gaping hole in the place where the door of your precious bakery was supposed to be, along with 2/3s of the wall. 

“What the actual- AH!” you squeak, ducking down behind a table as a large chunk of drywall is sent sailing over in your direction.  

“Ah shoot sorry!” you hear a male voice call out from a little bit to your left.  

You wince as you see a man dressed in a black gi punches the tiled floor of your bakery, a large chunk of the earth from underneath shooting out of the floor.  

Your insurance sure as hell wouldn’t cover for this.  

You watch as the man tackles some weird serpent-like creature, almost like a naga, with humanoid hands, but had a head that resembled a snake.  

Your heart pounded as the man in black was thrown across the room, hitting one of the walls as the pictures hanging there fell, glass shards now litering the floor.  

You want to tear your hair out at this point, knowing that you’d probably be fifty by the time you could ever repair the damage- but in the grand scheme of things, that wasn’t your biggest concern.  

You needed to do something, and fast.  

Sprinting to your kitchen again, you size the possible weapons you had, choosing a wide frying pan that was evenly weighted in your hands. Quickly making your way back to the mysterious stranger that your door and then some, you see him wrestling with the snake-thing, attempting to trap it in a large boulder.  

Perfect. 

You creep on behind them, slowly and carefully, raising your frying pan. 

“TAKE THAT!” You yell, swinging the pan at full force as it contacted the serpent’s head, a loud clang resounded through the almost demolished building as the creature slumped forward, unconscious.  

The two of you stand there, in shock before the man before you lets out a low whistle.  

“Wow.” he says, removing the cloth that covered his face to reveal a head full of chin length black hair and honeyed amber eyes. 

Oh. 

Shit. 

You knew this face- you'd seen it on TV more than you’d like to admit. Cole Brookstone, one of the Masters of Spinjitsu, Master of the Earth. 

But, however, ninja or not, your store was still in shambles.  

You laugh wryly and raise an eyebrow. “Care to explain why my bakery is now a Borg Store after Black Friday?” 

The man snorts and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah...sorry about that. We’ve been trying to catch this guy for months now- stupid rat’s been trying to steal Pixal’s blueprints for some new mechs. Can’t believe all we needed was a frying pan.” 

You snort at that and wave your pan mockingly in his direction, and he feigns a look of terror on his face, stepping back and sighing dramatically. 

“Woe is me! Why is fate so cruel that I must die at the hands of the Master of Flour!” He cries in an ostentatious manner. 

It was then you realized, embarrassingly, that you still looked like a humanoid snowman. 

“Ah shit... sorry! I fell on top of a bag of flour when I was trying to make scones earlier before you...” you motion to the wreckage, not needed explanation. 

His eyes widen and his head droops in guilt. ‘Awww, like a puppy’ you think. 

“I really am sorry... maybe once I help you fix everything up, I can try one of those scones for myself?” he said, smiling slightly.  

Your heart warmed at this kindness, relieved that you wouldn’t be swallowing yourself in probably every job you could think of to repair the damage.  

“Is that a date?” you tease, thinking he’d playfully flirt back, but a boyish smile creeps across his face.  

“I mean, if you want it to be.” he says bashfully, looking down at the floor.  

You grin, grabbing his hand in your flour covered one.  

“I hope to see you soon then.” 

[thelampisaflashlight]

Some general headcanons and lore I've established about the ghouls and other things in my fics. Below the cut for length.

-Hell is multi-layered, and follows the same sort of structure as the one in Dante's Inferno, except the circles are treated more like regions, and the residents of Hell (ghouls, demons, etc...) are able to freely move between these areas, but they cannot leave unless summoned and/or striking a deal with the toll man.

This is largely to ensure the surface doesn't get overrun.

While that might seem counter intuitive to the whole apocalypse/ruling the world thing, Hell likes bureaucracy... and paperwork.

...Pity the demons living in Limbo, that's where all the contracts and other bullshit gets sent to be filed.

Rain certainly doesn't miss it, that's for sure.

-Mountain used to be human, but he may or may not have committed mass murder on some monks/the former residents of the abbey, way, waaaay back when the original building was only about two decades old and got sent to Hell.

Additionally, his original home, his cottage/cabin, is still standing on the abbey's property; It's the gardener's cottage now, and he's real proud of how well the structure has kept up.

When asked, he will neither confirm nor deny the murder allegations.

-Dew is a hybrid; Water/Fire, with a smidge of Air mixed in to maintain the balance between his primary elements, but his percentages are even lower than half and half, because he's also part human.

He didn't display any "abnormalities" while growing up, so no one knew he was anything other than human... until he kind of sort of maybe smacked his head a little too hard in the woods and woke up in Limbo.

Rated it a 4/10, gets why Rain wanted to leave.

Toll man was cool though.

-Swiss is a half-ghoul, with a similar composition to Dew, except he had a vague idea of his heritage growing up, just not the full extent of it.

Unlike Dew, however, he didn't have to die in order to activate his ghoulish side.

Significantly less traumatic.

And lastly;

-The ghouls' den is laid out so that there are two communal areas, and a "powder room" (a bathroom with a toilet and sink, but no shower/bath), while their individual rooms have a sort of dorm style set up with the addition of personal, on suite bathrooms.

Mountain and Dew's dorm is the only shared room, and this is largely because of Dew's skull smacking through the thin drywall dividing their rooms, resulting in both a concussion and a large hole in the wall.

When Aeon and Aurora came along, and the dorms got remodeled, Mountain and Dew elected to remain roommates at the cost of sacrificing one of their bathrooms, because they'd gotten used to sharing.

[gffa]

"Time to tackle all the strung up cables that dad put up because mom got rid of cable and all the computers are wireless now. Shouldn't be too hard! All you have to do is yank the cable down from where he stapled it to the ceiling, it'll come right off." WRONG. You have to carefully follow every single coaxial cable because dad literally strung about a dozen of them from the basement into EVERY ROOM OF THE HOUSE, sometimes multiple ones to the same room because he was running a cable box and an ethernet connection (dad liked direct connect instead of wireless, which, fair, it would have been my preference, too), so you can't just yank any one down, because ONE OF THOSE is still to the modem and you need the modem, but once you find one, okay, I yanked all FORTY STAPLES FOR THIS ONE 40ft CABLE, I'll just unscrew it from the junction box, I know it's not one we need! WRONG. Those fuckers are on there so tight that I can't even move it a single inch (and I have to stand on a chair to reach the fucker because of where he placed the box and I'm extremely short so it's not a fun time), all right, just cut the cable short enough that it won't be falling on anyone's head, except have you ever tried to cut coaxial cable? Let me tell you, you can't do it with wirecutter pliers (at least not the ones dad had, it might just be that they're old, but more likely cable's too thick + trying to do it while standing on a chair with my arms all the way over my head was killing me, I couldn't do more than two before I was exhausted), so they've just been dangling from the ceiling, like ten of them with literally 40ft cables that smack you in the head any time you walk through there AND I have to follow the crazy loops he stapled into place because the cords had to be long enough to reach (so if a 30ft cable would have worked, he got a 40ft cable to make sure, etc., which fair enough, I'd rather buy one a bit too long than have to buy two if the first one didn't work, too) to make sure I'm cutting the right ones, and eventually I had to give up and ask a handyman friend to get a saw to cut those fuckers for me because doing it by hand was NOT WORKING, so like. "I got the old unused coaxial and ethernet cables down!" sounds like a trivial thing to Have Accomplished Today, but YOU try yanking down a cable from one room strung into the other through the gaps in the drywall, occasionally when he stapled one BEHIND A PIPE then draped the wire OVER THE PIPE, so I had no leverage to yank it down no matter how hard I was pulling, I had to get up on a chair and gently scoot it back THROUGH THE STAPLING AGAINST THE WALL, so I could yank from the underside instead to get it free and THEN feed it through the wall and THEN find it on the other side and THEN follow it to where THIRTY MORE STAPLES WERE WAITING FOR ME and THEN cut it off near the junction box, and YOU try not losing your mind when you have to do this ten more times.

[luxeavenger]

Tell me I'm Yours

Day 3 Kinktober prompt: Possessive

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x reader

Warnings: Possessive Lloyd, possessive sex, rough sex, vaginal fingering, tiny bit of knifeplay, stalking, murder (implied), could be dub-connish (if you squint), dark fic (because it's Lloyd)

Words: 967

If you like it, please give it a reblog! It helps other users find my work!

Kinktober Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-fi

Lloyd is watching you from the shadows. You know he is, because he always is.

Meeting that menacing man had upended your whole life. Now you have to be careful of every interaction, because Lloyd sees the devil everywhere.

Because you know Lloyd is here, somewhere you have yet to determine, you try to distance yourself from the man in the farmer’s market. He’s just making inconsequential small talk about some new job, or something. He’s one of those people who thinks everyone they meet on the street wants to have a conversation.

You spent the next five minutes with him trailing around behind you. You studiously avoid encouraging any further conversation, but this does nothing to deter the strange man. At one point he puts his hand on your shoulder, and you pull away as if scalded.

It’s too late for him now anyway.

It’s nearly two hours after you’ve returned home, when one of the shadows in your dimly lit apartment speaks to you.

“Who the fuck was he?” The shadow asks, even though you know with certainty that he's already found out. As well as how he’d spent the last two hours.

“I don’t know. Some guy who just wanted to talk, I guess,” you shake your head absently.

“He fucking touched you,” Lloyd spits, leaning forward so his furious face comes into view. “Strangers don’t just go around touching people.”

“Yes they do, Lloyd,” you roll your eyes. “It happens all the time. Some people have no boundaries.”

He crosses the room with three long strides. “You know what I fucking meant,” he growls. “Strangers don’t just go around touching you.”

“That’s not what you meant though, is it? You mean you don’t let strangers get away with touching me. You know I love you. You know I know I’m yours. So why do other people matter so much?”

“You’re mine,” Lloyd scoffs.

“What’d you do to this one, Lloyd?”

Suddenly your back is against the wall, with Lloyd’s hand around your throat, and his stiff cock pressing into your hip. The movement startles you, and your hands fly up to grip the leather straps of his shoulder holster.

Lloyd’s voice is gravelly, thick with arousal, “If he was a stranger, then why does it matter?”

You whisper, “What did you do to this one, Lloyd?”

He grinds his cock against you with a groan. “Nothing they can prove in court,” he chuckles darkly.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say softly. “He’s nobody. You could have just let him go.”

He spins you quickly, his thick forearm pinning you against the wall, and yanks the back of your pants down. He snakes his hand inside, and unceremoniously shoves three fingers into your cunt.

“I did it because you’re mine,” he hisses, twisting the fingers inside of you for emphasis. “If I want to, I’ll kill every last person that so much as looks at you sideways. No one gets to have you but me.”

He pulls his fingers out of you, and plucks the knife out of the sheath at the small of his back. Pulling the waist of your pants away from your body, he yanks the blade through the fabric, roughly slicing through it until you’re stripped from the waist down.

The knife is driven through the drywall next to your head, and you hear the sound of a zipper raking down. Then Lloyd’s hand is pressing against your back, as he feeds his thick cock into your pussy. It feels like he’s splitting you in two, and you know you’ll still be feeling him days from now. It’s an ache you welcome.

He groans when he bottoms out. He wastes no time, and begins fucking you mercilessly. “You can’t get away from me, little fox,” he huffs in your ear as his hips smack against your ass.

“‘M not trying to, Lloyd,” you moan.

“Mmm. Say it again. Say my name,” he purrs, mustache tickling the shell of your ear, hands squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“Lloyd,” you cry out. “I’m yours, Lloyd. Fuck, I’m yours.”

He curses, and pulls you away from the wall just enough for him to be able to reach around and get his fingers on your clit.

He urges, “Come on, little fox. Come for me. You’re mine, and I want you to scream for me.”

He knows exactly how to push your buttons, has ever since the day you met him, and if he says you’re going to scream for him, you can take it to the bank.

Your fingers scrabble against the wallpaper, looking for something to cling to as your orgasm washes over you. Lloyd throws an arm around your chest, and you attach yourself to his corded forearm with an inarticulate cry.

His hips worked tirelessly milking every last drop of pleasure out of your body that he can, until you finally go boneless in his arms. Only then does he chase his end. With his hand on the back of your neck, pinkie ring digging into the bony protuberance of your spine, he fucks you fast and hard, and all you can do is whine softly while he uses your body to get himself off.

Finally, and with a guttural grunt, he comes. He doesn’t stop fucking it into you until it’s running down your thighs in hot rivulets.

Marking you up, just like he likes.

“You’re mine,” he whispers in your ear, clutching your body to his. Calmly, almost pleasantly, he says, “You belong to me. And I don’t care who I have to kill, no one will lay so much as a finger on you. I’ve caught you, little fox. And no one is going to take you from me.”

Thanks for reading! Please remember artists rely on readers like you to hit that "reblog" button. For you - it's free. For us - it's worth everything.

The dripping slime from my signature is by Rivermakes on DeviantArt, and was free to use with credit.

[borrowing-at-midnight]

Handoff

Part two is finally here, short and sweet. This can be read without reading the other one, though.

Ted discovers Schlatt's borrower friend.

~~~

“FUCK YOU! OH MY GOD!”

Ah yes, that's exactly what you want startling you to consciousness. Schlatt, through the drywall, screaming and laughing maniacally at whatever game he happened to be playing on stream this time. You had meant to get up earlier to ask him for help getting water, but it seems to be too late for that. You shrug it off and start getting your supplies ready to go.

If you were being honest, water was one of the things you asked for help borrowing the most since you agreed ‘not to be so stubborn,’ as Schlatt likes to say. It's one of the most difficult things to get, especially when you're scared of falling down the drain. For the most part, you still wanted to live in your place inside the walls; you'd put too much effort into the place to just abandon it. There were times, however, that you spent a few days in a row out in the open. True to his word, Schlatt did in fact upgrade you from the shoe box. He went out of his way to buy a small box that could be propped open or folded closed, slightly larger than the shoe box. He and you had even been working on getting the cats used to you so that there was less to worry about when you did spend time outside the walls.

By the time you get out of your thoughts you're approaching the kitchen exit, only to see that it's been blocked. A bag of bagels has been pushed up against the hole in the wall. It takes a little less than a minute to shove it away from the wall enough to make room to get out. You weren't sure why Schlatt decided to block your exit, or if it was an accident, but you continue on towards the sink. As you make your way, you start pulling out your rope and making a lasso out of it.

You almost don't notice the rush of air as a clear plastic cup is slammed over you, catching you off guard enough to walk straight into the side of it and send you stumbling backwards. Once you realize what's going on, your heart nearly stops right then and there. Hesitantly, you will yourself to look up.

A hand. Still holding the bottom of the cup, just as big as Schlatt's. A hand. Beyond that, a face that you think you might recognize, but can't be sure. Short black hair, round wire-framed glasses, soft brown eyes. His expression is a mixture of shock, confusion, and awe.

‘You've gotta be fucking kidding me.’

“What in the…”

The feeling of being trapped under a plastic cup is unfortunately all too familiar. The outside world is muffled and warped by the plastic, but at least you can see out of it this time. See your captor. You start to weigh your options.

You could just cut through the side and make a run for it, but who knows what this guy would do, if he would smack you into oblivion like a bug. You could try talking to him, explaining that you know Schlatt and that he should let you go. Would he even believe you? Maybe you could-

“What are you?”

You snap out of it, attention flicking back to him. He's lower now, leaned down to get a better look at you. Schlatt obviously trusts this guy to hang out around his house unsupervised, but that doesn't mean you'll just trust him with your life. You take a step back and shake your head.

“No? Wait, so you can understand me. Can… Can you talk?”

Hesitantly, you nod.

“You can! Okay, maybe that was a dumb question. How about… your name?”

You take a moment to consider. There's no way Schlatt doesn't find out about this, even if he is streaming at the moment. How close he is to finishing up, you have no clue. He wouldn't let this guy around if there was any chance of him hurting you, though. Right? You take a deep breath and gulp.

“(Y/n).”

“(Y/n), huh? I was kinda expecting something less normal than that, honestly. I'm Ted.” He pauses, examining you with a scrunched expression. “What… are you? Like, how are you that small?”

Furrowing your brows, you give him a skeptical look. “Let me out and maybe I'll tell you, officer.”

Ted's face lights up with a lopsided grin, caught off guard by your joke. “How do I know you won't just run away? I mean, I won't stop you, but I have questions that need answers.”

You flash your knife at him. “I could've made a break for it a long time ago, but I'd really rather not get crushed like a bug, thanks.”

“Woah, woah, I wouldn't hurt you!” He sounds almost offended by the accusation. “Sorry for the scare, I didn't mean to intimidate you or anything. Here. Truce.” Slowly, Ted lifts the cup and sets it to the side.

Seeing humans move objects as easily as they do will never not send chills down your spine. You put that in the back of your mind for the time being. Brushing yourself off, you take a deep breath of fresh air.

“Trust me, I've had worse. This is barely half of what I got when I first met Schlatt.”

“Oh! So you know Schlatt! Does he… know about you?” Ted gives you a skeptical look.

You can't help but laugh at the insinuation he makes. “Alright, I'm not some sort of creep, relax. We've known each other for a while now. He helps me out sometimes. A lot of times, actually.” You rub the back of your neck awkwardly.

“Is that so? You'll have to tell me all about that first meeting you mentioned, some day. For now… how?” He motions to your whole body as he leans on the counter, arms crossed.

Unconsciously, you take a few steps back. “It's not really a ‘how,’ I just…” You pause, considering how to word this. “This is just what I am. It's not like I was human and got this way.” You snicker. The idea of a human being shrunk to your size was amusing. Schlatt wouldn't last a day.

Ted’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, so there's just tiny people that exist? Because there's no way you're the only one of… whatever you are. Oh my God, are there tiny people in my apartment?”

“Probably, you live in a dump.” Schlatt walks in from the hallway, headphones around his neck, sipping on some GamerSupps.

Ted straightens up to face Schlatt, quicker than you expected, causing your heart to jump to your throat. You gasp lightly and step back, both actions going unnoticed by the massive humans.

“I clean my apartment every week, it is not a dump!”

“Yeah, I wasn't talking about the apartment.” Schlatt reaches past Ted, over you, grabbing a bag of Goldfish from the cabinet. Seeing him move sends an all too familiar chill down your spine. The feeling only intensifies when Schlatt offers you one of the crackers, his huge hand outstretched towards you with a single Goldfish pinched between his fingers. You snap out of your daze, quickly playing it off and accepting the cracker. “So I see you two have met.”

“Wait, so you know more about this?” Ted motions to you.

“Yeah, man. They aren't really too fond of humans. This one's a defect, apparently.”

“Hey!”

“What? Look at you, you're hanging out in my kitchen. No other borrower does this shit, you said so yourself.” Schlatt has a grin plastered on his face.

“I have so many questions.” Ted’s face scrunches up, his eyes flickering around the room as if trying to find the words or where to even start.

Before Schlatt says anything, he looks to you for authorization, to which you give a nod of approval. No point in keeping it from Ted if he's already seen you, right? “(Y/n) is this thing called a Borrower. They came with me from New York. We met when I was in college, and we've just kinda stuck together ever since. They live in the walls most of the time.” Schlatt's accent is heavy as he speaks, almost monotone. “Can't believe I'm not charging this bitch rent, honestly.”

Ted has his fingertips to his temples as he takes in the information. “The walls.” It doesn't come off as a question, more like he's confirming what he heard.

“Yes, the walls.” Schlatt huffs a laugh at Ted’s face, clearly dumbfounded.

Ted turns to you. “The walls. Why would you stay in the walls?”

Schlatt throws his free hand in the air. “That's what I've been saying! Hey, that gives me an idea, actually.”

“Uh oh, don't hurt your head big guy.”

“Shut it, pipsqueak. Ted! Since you guys are buddy buddy now, I have a favor to ask. You know how I'm moving back to New York?”

“Wait, what?” You and Ted exclaim in unison.

“Did I forget to tell both of you? Whoops, anyways, while I take care of everything, maybe (Y/n) can stay with you! It'd be good for them to get outta the walls for a while. Maybe they can even find out if there's any borrowers in your apartment.”

Ted furrows his eyebrows and crosses his arms, looking down in thought. “I am curious to know if there's anybody in my place…”

A shit eating grin spreads across Schlatt's face as he glances at you before turning his attention back to Ted. He slaps his friend on the back, pulling him forward with an arm around his shoulders. “That's what I'm talking about! Now, come, I'll show you what you'll need.” As Schlatt drags Ted off to his bedroom, you huff a defeated sigh and turn around to the walls.

Better get packing.

[phantomphangphucker]

Phic Phight - Why Do I Still Live In This Town?

@Chrysanthemum9484

Trent just wanted to sleep, unfortunately some ghosts and one ghost hunter are having a verbal and physical fight right outside his damn window. Trent is not impressed. Not at all.

“How dare you! No one lays a hand on my Maddie!”.

“Phantom! Why does the vampire ghost think I’m his!”.

“Don’t worry about it, he’s working on it!”.

“Working on it?!? Is this an on going problem! And!- oh he just blew up a building! Crap!”.

“Shit shit! Plasmius! You fucking dumbass! And yes! He! Uh! Might have tried to kill your husband a few times!”.

“WHAT!”.

“I’m not letting a buffoon ruin my true love!”.

“The only true thing about you is that you’re a fucking FRUIT LOOP!”.

“Absolutely NOT! Phantom! I give you permission to lift me up so I can shoot him!”.

“No! He’s got a cat! He’s better! Your guns are insane!”.

“This one only shoots potatoes! … Jack drained the other gun!”.

“See! A BUFFOON!”.

“I love my buffoon!”.

“At least we can all agree he is a BUFFOON!”.

“Then join me!”.

“No! Fuck you you douche-canoe and your shitty hair and your ugly ass car collection! Stop giving me dead badgers!”.

“Then become my live one!”.

“I’M DEAD!”.

“You both should have STAYED DEAD!”.

“GET BACK HERE! I WILL END YOU!”.

“END YOURSELF! THAT IS A POTTED FICUS YOU DUNCE!”.

“I’ve seen your grades! I am hardly the dunce here!”.

“Ghost don’t have brains! You’re both idiots! It’s on the fake palm tree!”.

“Oh you are GOING DOWN!”.

“Why did you cover ME in goop!?!”.

“HA!”.

“That’s a good look on you! Phantom!”.

“EAT MY ENTIRE UNSALTED ASS! PLASMI-ASS!”.

Trent glares murderously at his bedroom wall, stomping over to the window and shoving himself out of it with squeezed shut eyes just in case, “WILL YOU ALL SHUT UP! I’M TRYING TO SLEEP! FUCK!”. He instantly gets gooped by Mrs. Fenton, as he expected.

“Sorry!”.

“Do you! Or do you NOT! What me to keep this thing from eating your house!”.

“I don’t care about his crackerjack house!”.

“I’ll make you pay to fucking rebuild it then!”.

Trent growls angrily, “I DON’T CARE JUST LET ME SLEEP!”.

“NO!”.

“I’m trying to get this wrapped up as fast as I can! Mr. Trent!”.

“I’ve got you now!”.

“ZONE DAMN IT! DON’T!- AH FUCK!”.

Trent falls on his ass, sputtering, as the building shakes. Phantom coming intangibly in through the wall to grab his leg, “you can’t stay in here, sorry”

Trent starts smacking and slapping him, “no! I will sleep in rubble if I damn well have to!”.

“Invest in FUCKING EARBUDS!”.

Trent gets pulled through the wall, he’s still covered in goop just now with some fucking drywall dust added in.

“End! You foul thing! None shall touch my woman again!”; the vampire ghost is physically tearing apart a green plant-like ghost with his claws and teeth.

Mrs. Fenton hurls her gun at the vampire ghost’s head, “I am not your anything!”.

Phantom sighs and buries his head in his hands.

Trent glares at all of them, “well can I fucking SLEEP NOW!”

“You do you, jackass”.

“You can add the damages to the FentonWork’s tab! Sorry!”.

“Oh I’m not done yet!”.

“Shut up, Plasmius”.

Trent glares hard and just walks off to a bench, grabbing a shower curtain out of the rubble (it has laughing cat faces on it), and lays down to fucking sleep. Stupid fucking goddamn ghosts.

“BEWARE!”.

“FUCK!”, Trent gets flung off his bench and proceeds to mercilessly beat the Box Ghost with a tire iron he found on the ground.

End.

Prompt: "No! You do not hurt my (girl)friend and get away with it!" And <incert ghost name here>'eyes flashed dangerously.

[the-mad-closet]

Okay hear me out on this… it’s kinda weird OwO

Werewolf Javi/Human Amelia + This ask + 18, 20, 33, 60 and mayyyybe 75

If that’s not a lot >\\\< <3

Ooh fun!

18 - Dirty Talk, 20 - Blindfold, 33 - Face-fucking, 60 - Overstimulation, (bonus) 75 - With people in the other room

~

18 - Dirty Talk

The thing about being in love with a werewolf is that the sex is easy. The thing about having sex with a werewolf is that Javi is essentially an over-excited puppy. The good thing about this is that Amelia already knows what to do to turn Javi on.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you." Amelia asks. "Mm, you'd like me to pull out the strap on and fill your slutty hole, wouldn't you?"

Javi whines, high pitched and dog-like. "Yeah," he replies. "Please, please, please!"

"That's a good boy. Let Master take care of you, hmm?"

"Yes, Master," Javi happily replies.

~

20 - Blindfold

Blindfolding Javi is always an interesting experience because Javi's other senses are already so heightened. Javi says he loves the blindfold and Amelia can feel the pleasure even without using her Rafkon abilities.

Javi whimpers excitedly as he turns his head, following Amelia's every movement. Not that he could currently see her with the pink blindfold obscuring his vision. Amelia wants that right now, Javi unable to see. It gives her a rush to watch her wolf track where she goes.

Amelia hums softly, reaching over and running black painting nails up Javi's bare torso, up his chest, and then back down to his groin and back up. Javi whines. Amelia chuckles. "Don't worry," she murmurs, "Master will give you what you need."

She hooks one finger of her free hand through the d-ring on the black collar Navi wears. "Won't she?"

~

33 - Face-fucking

"Mm!" Amelia grunts, the last of her orgasm fading away. "Ahh," she moans, head leaning back. "That's a good boy." Carefully, she climbs off Javi's head and lets him catch his breath. "And good boys," she says seductively, running her pointer finger down Javi's hip, the tip of her nail scratching the sensitive skin.

Javi yelps involuntarily, fangs on full display.

Amelia clicks her tongue. "Good boys get rewarded." Without further delay, Amelia leans down and swallows Javi's cock right down to the root.

Javi's head smacks into the pillow as he moans long and loud. "Master," he begs, hips pushing up. Amelia laughs, the vibrations making Javi yelp, "Please!"

Amelia taps Javi's hip, giving him full permission to fuck into her mouth. Javi gladly takes it, hip already churning upward with powerful thrusts. Amelia catches the rhythm quickly and sucks like her life depends on it.

It's not long, it never is. Amelia hums, hands drifting up to play with Javi's pebbled nipples. Javi howls as he comes right down Amelia's throat.

Amelia sighs happily, swallowing every drop.

~

60 - Overstimulation

The aftershocks of Javi's second orgasm always feel like lightning, so he says. It's not often that he asks to be pushed back the limit like this. But he'd begged so pretty, how could Amelia refuse?

~

Javi lifts his hips, pressing back into the strap on desperately. "Please," he begs. "C'mon, please?"

Amelia laughs. "Aww, baby," she says. "I've just started." She reached down and presses a button on her hip. Javi yelps as the cock in his ass suddenly vibrates right against his prostate.

"Please," Javi begs, pushing back harder.

Amelia laughs again. "Good boy."

(Bonus)

75 - With people in the other room

"Am-Amelia," Javi gasps pleadingly. "Please, there's-"

"Your father and sister and entire family just a room away?" Amelia asks teasingly, hand creeping down Javi's pants anyway. "You'll be quiet, won't you?"

Javi whimpers, claws drawing scratches in the plaster and drywall. "A-Amelia," he begs.

"Ah-ah," Amelia tuts, tapping her finger on Javi's lips. "What's my name?"

"Mm," Javi moans, eyes closing and head thunking against the wall. "Master," he pleads.

Amelia smirks. "Stay quiet."

"Yes, Master," Javi replies, looking at Amelia with wide, hesitant eyes. Amelia kisses the look away and Javi moans softly as Amelia brushes against his cock again.

~

Thank you! @skyland2703

[ronearoundblindly]

I'm literally coming up with so many ideas that my head keeps flashing me with new images of best friend Ari x reader

This is one of them:

I CAN'T get over the scene where reader slaps on the table to gain twittle brother's attention🤣🤣 (btw they actually give me a little Weasley twin vibe bc of their bickering) so my brain offered me a clip where reader is being furious, possibly towards a handful of people, Ari included. When reader is holding a stern face and says something like: "this is unbearable!" Ari wants to soothe her temper, trying to soft-talk reader. He only finishes the first part of his sentence, when reader shoots him a death-glare: "Uh-uh. Don't even try. You are part of this too MISTER."

and Ari gives the rest of them an expression that reads "sorry, tried my best, you're on your own"

I love this. All of this. P.S. the kitten has claws in this one. Reader lashes out. She is feisty. Warnings for language, arguing, and implied intention of violence, mostly for humor. (Headcanon format because I'm lazy.)

Temper

You show up at the house after a long day to find Ari working on painting the 'dining room' (you're not sure if you'll get a whole dining set for in there yet).

He's got headphones on, so you don't bother him. He hasn't noticed you're home.

Then you hear a bang from behind you, from the other end of the house, down the hall with the bedrooms.

Voices--familiarly childish voices--argue with each other.

"Your fault." "No! This is your fucking fault."

What are Dimitri and José doing in your house? What...What have they done to the WALL?

You can peer right through a four-inch hole between the spare bedroom and the hall. A sledgehammer tilts against the hall side presumably because it fell all the way through the hole.

You see Dimitri's wide eyes beyond the crumpled edge of drywall, and he panics.

You had to pass the doorway in order to see the damage, so both men-children get ahead of you racing through the house, shrieking for Ari to save them and you to calm down.

José tries to hide on the other side of Ari but startles your boyfriend so badly that the brush smears paint all the way across José's cheek and into his open mouth.

"The hell is going--"

"These two idiots put a sledgehammer through my wall," you scream, advancing on Dimitri while he too maneuvers to put Ari between you.

Ari swings with the paintbrush again, this time smacking Dimitri in the gut so that his shirt is ruined. "You did what? Honey, I'm sorry. I'll fix--"

"OH NO, MISTER, you brought them into this house--"

"It just happened, honest."

"We were just fooling around."

"Why would you fool around in my house?" Ari booms.

"Shut it, Levinson. This isn't your house yet, and I have half a mind to make you sleep outside. You should have been watching them!"

"We're not kids," Dimitri whines, shifting to the other side of Ari because it's closer to the exit.

You can't even find the words. You barely have oxygen from how hard your whole body clenches in rage.

Ari turns to the boys and just says, "run."

Ari jumps to try and stop you from grabbing one of your friends as they bound out. You get ahold of José's shirt sleeve and yank him back toward you, latching your arms around his neck, attempting to climb onto his back and take him down. Dimitri trips over Ari's toolbox and faceplants into the partial dividing wall to the living room.

Everyone goes silent as Dimitri removes his bracing hand from another hole and then he looks at the dent his skull made right beside it.

"Shit," he whispers softly before the room erupts in shouts again.

"You mother fucker," you howl, shoving yourself off of José, but then Ari has you by the waist. All you can do is flail at Dimitri as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum scurry away.

"I gotcha, kid," Ari keeps repeating as you hurl obscenities at their retreating car. "I'm gonna handle it. I swear. Take a breath, woman."

A full week later, you sit at your usual table at the bar across from two tentative (and scared shitless) men.

"You two are doing all of the yard work at my place this whole summer."

After a quick glance between each other, they nod.

"And you--" you turn to Ari who stops mid-swig of his drink "--are building me a She-Shed. One off-limits to all dudes."

[Main Masterlist]

Anybody have a name idea for this series? I got nothing so far. Just having a blast writing it.

[dasher-tales]

Kickoff for Dashing

Image of our trailblazer's engine compartment displaying the jumper cables I ran for the kicker.

After wrapping up a few lunchtime dashes to fill up the tank for the dinner rush, Milo suddenly got it in his head to install a kicker—a signal amplifier for his CB (citizens band) radio. A kicker, also known as a linear amplifier, boosts the radio’s output power, allowing him to send and receive signals over longer distances. In short, it gives his CB extra range, perfect for those long dashes where he likes to “talk skip” with other drivers—essentially chatting with people from all over by bouncing radio signals off the atmosphere. Now, I’m not exactly a huge fan of the whole CB radio thing, despite going by the handle Crazy Daisy (or just Crazy for short). But I humor him. After all, I have my hobbies—like 3D modeling—and he has his CB stuff. It keeps him out of trouble, and I’m all for that.

First, we had to figure out where to put it. My first thought was to stick it right beside the CB on the dash, so I gently plopped it down and glanced at him. “No,” Milo shook his head immediately, knowing I was teasing him. I grinned, but we both started seriously looking around. I hooked up the short 3-foot jumper cable that connects the box to the radio so we could see where we could place it without straining the cables. Taking into account how loose the cable needed to be to prevent breakage, that left us with about two feet of wiggle room.

Milo suggested the glove box, but I pressed it up against the front of it and shook my head. “We need that for storing things we need to dash with,” I said, giving the cord a little wiggle. “And also, airbag.” I mimed the airbag going off and the kicker smacking me in the face. “That would not be pretty.” “Right,” Milo agreed, wincing at the thought.

He looked over at his mic holder near the radio and patted the area. Without saying a word, I quickly removed the mic and placed the kicker up against the plastic part of the dash around the radio. But all I could picture was banging my knee on it over and over. I mentally sighed—it wouldn’t be the first time.

I noticed the cables would still be in the way of the airbag, but an idea struck me immediately. The kicker is a box with long metal heat sinks on top, fins spaced wide enough to allow airflow. I could easily fit my fingertip between them. On the bottom, it had a lip on each side, and I’d already drilled screw holes in it to secure it.

I grabbed the drill from the back and drilled a smaller hole, but the zip tie wouldn’t fit. I was just about to switch to a bigger bit when Milo piped up, “I wanna do it!” I playfully hugged the drill to my chest. “Mine,” I teased. Milo grinned and grabbed for it, and soon enough, we were play-wrestling for control of the drill. Naturally, he won—because I let him, of course.

I held the kicker in place while Milo lined up the drill. A moment later, the hole was drilled, and I threaded the zip tie through it.

I placed the kicker in the spot we’d finally decided on and shifted it around, lining it up just right. Milo held it in place as I—out of pure habit—tried to drive a screw directly into the hard plastic. Naturally, it slipped away. Milo snickered. “I knew it.” I grinned as I reached for the bits and drilled the first pilot hole. Once I swapped over to the screw bit, the drywall screw went in smoothly, like a mouse slipping into its hole.

Halfway done mounting it, I stepped out of the Trailblazer and swapped bits again to do the lower hole. I had to bend over, pressing against the seat to get the right angle. "Wish I was that seat," Milo commented, grinning like a fool. I tossed my bangs out of my face and shot him a smile. “Behave.” He was quick with the comeback, full of teasing as usual. “I don’t have to behave. I’m your old man.” “Pfft, you’re younger than me,” I snorted as I kept working.

I tensed for a moment when I felt his hand gently rest on my shoulder, then forced myself to relax. Years of an abusive relationship had left me wary of unexpected touch, but Milo knew that without me having to say a word. He understood, accepted it, and never pushed. After finishing up, I gave his leg a quick squeeze as I rose, a silent gesture of appreciation.

I grabbed some mutilated jumper cables from the back. They only had one set of clips—the other end was bare wires, perfect for powering the kicker. After losing an expensive kicker in what we now call the white truck incident, we’d come up with an easy way to install and remove them for situations just like that.

In a nutshell, the white truck incident was one of Milo’s bright ideas—he trusted a friend and agreed to blindly swap vehicles with her. What she conveniently forgot to mention was that the truck actually belonged to her brother, who turned out to be a vindictive little twerp. Once he found out about the trade, he wanted the truck back, and he was determined to make our lives miserable.

First, he removed the battery, which made us miss an entire day on our route. When we responded by locking the truck, he upped the ante. While we made a quick pit stop to check on Mom between dashes, he removed the back tire, took off the brake hub, and put the tire back on. We didn’t realize what had happened until we hit the road again. The back tire flew off as we drove down Genesee Ave, leaving us stranded.

The cops got involved, the truck was towed, and while we did eventually get the Durango back, we lost everything that was in the white truck—tools, CB equipment, and worst of all, his mom’s blanket, the one she used before she passed. That’s what hurt the most. The cop wouldn’t even let us grab it.

Ah well, it’s in the past now. We’ve moved on, but ever since then, we’ve kept everything grab-and-go—nothing more than we can carry.

The zip ties were linked end to end, creating a loop about eight inches across. Unconsciously, I spread my hands, fingers looped through the ties, and began rotating my hands in a circle, keeping the loop taut. It was like I was guiding something through a track, focused on keeping the ties steady.

After a couple of motions through the loop, I let go and threaded the cable through it, trying to pull it through the hole. But it was too thick to fit that way. “Nope!” Milo, my personal peanut gallery, called out from the driver’s seat, clearly enjoying watching me work through this puzzle.

The ends of the cable came back together as I pulled it back through. That’s when the light bulb flicked on. I twisted the wires together, keeping the loop between them, and fed it through the hole. A little finger fishing later, I grabbed the wire and carefully guided it the rest of the way.

With a shimmy and a push, the cable slid through the fender and out the side, near the door. Milo’s jaw dropped. “All right, smart-ass,” he said, clearly impressed. I flashed him a grin as I dropped the cable through the door and pulled in the slack, then used the twist ties to secure the wire to the fender so the door wouldn’t catch on it.

Minutes later, I had everything wired in, the clamps hooked up to the battery. I stepped back as Milo checked my handiwork. In my head, I could hear a sports announcer shout, “And there’s the kickoff… score!” as Milo received his radio check.

I’m not a football fan, so it’s probably the wrong term, but I didn’t care. The kicker was installed, and now we could dash with a happy Milo. I won. 

-----

Coming next week: What should’ve been a simple Subway pickup turned into a wild goose chase across town, complete with a support call mishap. Welcome to the chaos of Subway Dash Smash!

[goblinmasonrypoems]

through the holes in my brain

i remember his hands most

smooth as a stone

soft but landing twice as hard

sometimes making me laugh

(but more memorable when they made me cry

and i hate that's what i remember most

is being scared

and i wish that the laughs

were enough to erase that

but the laughs could never be enough)

and i remember the hand game at Lyon's

and him flicking the sweet n' low packets

and making the crayon disappear

but the sting of a smack

and the thunk of a knuckle

and the crackle of twisting blinds at 4 am

and the scrape of the putty knife

hiding the holes in the drywall

are always louder

and through the holes in my brain

i remember her hands most

callused from steel strings

adorned with the Alice in Wonderland ring

i always begged her to wear

blue veins and freckles

(and i remember them coming

to her mouth as she laughed

which i tried to make her do often

because if she was laughing i was safe

and i wish the laughs

could always be enough

but they never really were)

and i remember white knuckles

across the hairbrush handle

as she hissed that now i

"could tell everyone [ᵢ'd] been abused

like[ᵢ] always wanted"

and i remember them gripping my shirt collar

and the sting of the White Rabbit across my cheek

and i remember them wiping

at the drool in the corner of her mouth

after a norco nap

and as i tell another story

and use another silly voice

i hope nobody notices my hands

deep into my pockets

to keep from ripping and picking my skin bloody

crossing and clenching and cracking

as i count in my head

backwards from a hundred by four

tangled in the roots of the back of my hair

to keep from floating out of my body

i hope all they see

is that i'm a barrel of laughs

and maybe this time the laughs will be enough

[shadow-sojourn]

The Hallway

I am in a hallway. I was in a hallway. I will be in a hallway. Soon, I will have been in a hallway. Before, I had been in a hallway. If I had made different choices, I still would have been in a hallway.

The carpet is blue and purple triangles, with the occasional black circle thrown in, and the walls are plain drywall spiced up with colorful surrealism and abstract paintings. Between most paintings are doors. Rustic doors. Modern glass doors. Doors with a knob, doors with a handle, doors with no keyhole, doors with five. Doors with hinges, doors that slide, shattered doors, unbroken doors. None of them lead to anything good. The only way to stay—somewhat—safe is to remain in the hallway.

I trudge onward, desperate to leave yet resigned to the fact that there is no escape. On the ceiling, round bulbs set into recesses flicker and threaten to blink on for the last time. I am not afraid of the darkness; nothing ever changes here. The lights flicker but they do not turn off. My only company is my shadow.

Maybe I’ll go through a door, just for a change. But I know I won’t; nothing good lurks behind those doors. Sometimes an absence of everything; sometimes an abundance of everything; and sometimes, just sometimes, I find more shadows. I don’t like finding shadows where there’s no light to cast them.

Gazing around, I stop to inspect a painting covered with red and orange slashes and swirls. It looks like a beast made of fire clawed marks in the canvas. I turn away, as it’s pretty, but just another painting. 

How long have I been here? I don’t know; it’s been at least a full day but less than a month. It’s hard to tell with no windows or timepieces, and I never seem to become hungry or thirsty.

Why am I even still walking? There isn’t any point, after all. I halt, slowly sitting to rest on the slightly scratchy carpet and cool drywall. I close my eyes, wishing for sleep.

It’s been so long since I’ve slept, eaten, or drunk anything. “Although, at this point, I’d be content with seeing someone else,” I say aloud, my voice raspy from disuse.

“You want to see us?” someone whispers. I leap up, breathing hard and turning in circles, trying to spot who—or what—said that. I set eyes on nothing but the ever-static corridor. Did I imagine those words? Maybe I’m going insane.

No, I promise myself that I will get out of here. I start to walk again, but I can’t remember which way I was heading; the hallway stretches out equally far in both directions and I don’t remember the paintings well enough to use them as landmarks. A panic I haven’t felt since I first became trapped here floods through me. I don’t know which way to turn. 

“No, not that way!” something giggles.  Okay, forget about which way is forward and which is backward, because I’m running away from that voice.

Rubber soles gaining traction on blue and purple tessellated carpet, my feet pull me down the hallway. Art pieces and drywall blend into a colored blur. Until they don’t. The lights are off. Effectively blind, I stop, heaving air in and out to catch my breath.

“Stay here! We’ll take care of you!” I hear from my left.

“No, run away! We’ll chase you!” I hear from my right.

“No, no. We’ll eat you! We’re always hungry when we don’t get any visitors!” I hear from behind me.

“No, that’s all wrong! We’ll save you for later!” I hear from beneath my feet. I don’t want to be eaten, but I don’t think I have much say in the matter unless I run away.

Despite the lack of light, I sprint forward, smacking into the walls a couple times before I find a rhythm. Laughing sounds from all around me. I just can’t escape. Terror washes over me, not that I wasn’t panicking before now. I wish this place was as abandoned as it appeared.

Because I can’t see anything, I trip, headfirst, into a hole the things that want to eat me must have made to trap me. I fall and fall and fall for I don’t know how long. Until I’m not falling anymore. 

I sit on my couch, at home. Was all of that just a dream? I certainly hope so, but the painting covered with red and orange slash marks on my wall says otherwise.

[thelampisaflashlight]

Dew: "Because I smacked my head into a wall while trying to tackle Aether, I'm on strict bedrest until I recover from... From uhhh... Head smacky wall hard, no good for brain... thing..."

Mountain, through a head sized hole in the wall: "Concussion. You have a concussion."

Dew, wearily: "Thank you talking drywall."

Mountain, sticking his arm through the hole and giving a thumbs up: "...No problem, buddy. I'll patch this up tomorrow."

Dew, poking Mountain's arm: "WALLS CAN HEAL THEMSELVES??"

Mountain, sighing: "...You really did head smacky wall hard, huh?"

Dew, holding Mountain's arm captive: "Yes."

[rivangel]

Afab Levi who’s always been masc presenting. It was one of the first lessons that Kenny had taught him: how to hold a knife, how to pickpocket, how to be a boy. Lessons often beaten into his little body.

Levi didn’t really get it at first. He’d always been his momma’s little girl, her princess. He understood once he got a bit older. The underground was a cruel place for women, young girls included. It was safer to be a boy, to be a man.

He’d worried about it as he got older. That his body would betray him as puberty struck, hips widening and breasts growing. They didn’t though, the lack of sunlight and severe malnutrition had prevented that. Even as he got more successful as a thug and food got more plentiful, the signs of his femininity were often scarce.

Levi didn’t do sex or relationships anyways, never really had any interest, so it didn’t really matter how he was perceived. He told Farlan and Isabel, though. They were the only people he really trusted down there.

It wasn’t until Levi reached the surface, until he met you, that he really felt comfortable in his own skin. Her own skin. It was an adjustment, some mannerisms she’d never really shake. She’d never be her mothers little princess again, but she’d try to be yours.

(I had this whole thought in the shower and had to send it! I’m sorry if it’s too much 🙈🙈)

EE tay thank god for that shower bc i fucking love what i wrote here. i hope u like it. the beginning is my favorite

(im using the plot of ACWNR from the manga btw)

summary: Three glimpses into Levi’s search for self-love—Levi, who was born a woman and forced to present as a man.

content/warnings: fem!Reader, Levi dressing as a pretty princess ok, kid!Levi and Kenny, injury recovery, descriptions of blood, romantic tension (Farlan and Levi), two moments of physical abuse towards a child (hitting), trying on clothes, fingering (f!receiving), subby Levi

wc: ~5.6k

Levi’s hand shook madly, the silver clippers Kenny put in her hand not even an inch shy of her thick head of black hair. It’s a rat’s nest, lying in thick shaggy strands down her upper back, which she knows is bad, but at least she clipped her bangs back with clothespins so she could see.

My raven, Mama used to say. In the picture-books she read to Levi, Mama showed her things called birds, and that’s why. They were black, like her hair, but theirs shined. Hers was dull. Hurt to brush.

“Are you hurryin’ the fuck up in there or what, kid?”

Kenny's voice is a boom, even all the way through the old bathroom door through to the kitchen, where Levi has learned people are supposed to eat. She has only lived in one room before.

Her eyes shut instinctively at the sound, the trembling clippers stopped in midair. Mama never, ever cut her hair short, but Kenny says that’s what’s going to have to happen if she doesn’t want to end up like her.

The door swings open, causing Levi to suck in a gasp and spin around towards him fast. Since she started eating a lot more, she’s been faster in general, like she wasn’t properly awake before.

Kenny isn’t all dressed up for once. A clean shirt is still tucked into his pants with knives and guns and shivs and such on his belt, but no coat. His hat is clutched in his hand, down by his hip.

He sighs, long and heavy, and plants his other hand on his hip too. “What the hell have you been up to all this time? Starin’ at yourself?”

“No,” she replies defensively, brow pinched.

“Ah. I see. You like lookin’ like a sewer rat, is that right?”

Kenny kicks the door open with his boot, making it thwack the drywall. “What the hell’s your problem, Levi?”

She starts to shiver even though she doesn't feel cold, and turns back. The sink is so rusty it’s turned red and brown near the bottom, so it’s all dirty-looking. She rubs at the stiff stains in the metal, but nothing comes up.

“Well? Speak up.”

“...I’ll mess it up,” Levi grumbles softly. “I never done it before.”

Kenny smacks his gnarled hand down on that dirty metal, making her stiffen, and stares down with a certain look. Mama never gave her that look when she was unhappy with Levi, but the men did.

Her eyes go like saucers.

“Tough shit. Your mama’s not ever gonna do your hair again, and you’re gonna have to do somethin’ about that.”

She sucks in a breath, and starts to whimper. “Not your way! I’m not a fuckin’ boy!” she cries.

“Not my way?” His eyes turn hard. “You take your scrawny ass out in those streets all by yourself, and see how long you last.”

“Fuck off.”

Kenny laughs at her. “You’re pathetic.”

“Not a boy,” she snarls.

“That’s too fuckin’ bad, Shorty. ‘Cause y'are one now.”

“I’ll mess! It! Up! Asshole!” Levi screams, leaning up on her toes to get up in Kenny’s face, which was more like his middle.

Kenny’s face is like a solid flat stone, except chipped and dirty. His face reminds Levi of the pillars that hold the roof of the Underground up.

Her bottom lip trembling, she throws the clippers down with a shout and furiously wipes her wet eyes. Kenny says she can’t cry because then people will know her weaknesses, but so many tears cramp inside her chest all the time since Mama died (“Your mother’s dead,” Kenny told her, that one time with a kind voice.) that she can’t help it.

Kenny makes another face. “Quit the waterworks, you brat. It’s just some hair.”

Levi shakes her head. Her attempts to obey result in these fluttery, wet gasping noises that Levi knows are ugly and would make Kenny angry with her, but she can’t be strong, no matter how hard she tries.

Then a big hand wraps itself around her upper arm, and Levi shouts. She kicks at his knees as hard as she can, but that doesn’t affect Kenny any. He sits her on top of the sink so she’s more level with his face, but still not really.

She peers up at Kenny’s glaring face, teeth grinding, but still tearful. No one Levi has met has ever been as tall as he is; he’s like those giants people talk about sometimes.

“You’re bustin’ my balls here, Levi.” He sighs roughly. “Fine. Stay there.”

Kenny’s grip on Levi’s arm vanishes. Near the corner, he swipes the clippers off the blackened floor, which is supposed to be wood. His big boots scrape dust and glass.

Levi does as he ordered, staring down at her lap. She’s not much used to wearing pants (or a tunic this nice). The other women like her Mama used to play dress-up with her, they said like a ‘princess’.

She misses Moira’s shiny makeup. Dust in all some different colors that even glittered. Black pencils that made her eyes look totally blue instead of grey.

Glass cracks under Kenny’s boots as he steps toward her again. “I’m serious, kid. Some hair is nothin’ worth cryin’ over; this’ll make it easier for you not to die.”

Marta, who said she was from Above—Levi talked to her a lot because Mama and her were best friends. She said Levi’s eyes were like the sky when the sun was going down.

She also explained that the sun is warm, and too bright to even look at. Levi wonders what the sky looks like when the sun is all the way up.

“Brat,” Kenny barks, smacking the side of her head. “Are you deaf? Look at me.”

Cringing, she grunts and rights herself again. Kenny is so strong, that even when he doesn’t mean to, he hits hard.

She looks up at Kenny, in his eyes. It’s easy with his hair slicked back like that. Maybe having that wouldn’t be so bad.

“I’m gonna make a deal with you. I’ll cut it for you this one time, so you can get some kinda idea of how you want it. And I mean that.” Kenny holds up one long finger. “You remember the first thing I taught you?”

Levi deadpans. Kenny is always teaching. She isn’t stupid. “My word is my bond.”

“Uh-huh. So you get what I’m saying?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’d you say?” Kenny holds his hand up to his ear. “Couldn’t hear ya, kid.”

Levi knows Kenny heard her. She straightens up like a rod, and says it like she means it: “I fuckin’ got it!”

“Good.” Kenny casually tosses the two clothespins that she used to pin her bangs back to the floor, and replaces them with bobbypins.

“Hey, don’t gimme that sad doggy look,” he says. “Those worked fine, but these’re better.”

Levi grunts softly. She’ll do that from now on, then.

Then Kenny sighs, short and rough while Levi is in the middle of knuckling the sink so she won’t be jerked around.

“What?” Levi mumbles.

“I’m not wastin’ money takin’ you to any shitty barber. That said, I’m no barber, either.

“If you hate how it turns out after…” Kenny parts the clipper’s shiny blades, looking pensive. “…I’ll let you wear my hat for the day.”

Levi’s eyes widen into dinnerplates.

“But you’re on your own after that. Find some way to style it.”

She bites her lip. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Kenny parts her hair into sections, split with more bobby-pins. “This shit’s desperate for a cut. You can’t go around lookin’ like a slob, Midget. No one’ll take you seriously.”

Midget?

“I’m not a midget, and I know. I’m not deaf,” she grumbles. Kenny tells her that most of all, how important being respected is.

“Nah, you are. Now sit still.”

“Asshole.”

He ignores her, and so it begins: one snip, then two, then six, seven, eight. The whole idea as far as her bangs go is to make it so she can see better. She doesn’t have any choice in that.

“Well?” Kenny is asking from her side. “Use that mouth a’ yours. Whaddya want?”

Her lips press. She can’t think of anything specific. “...I want it to be a raven.”

“Raven?” Kenny laughs in her face. “What kinda hair is that?”

Levi shrugs, glaring down at the black strands littering the floor, and screws her nose up. She’s thankful she has proper shoes now. “That’s what Mama used to say I am.”

A scoff sounds over the snipping.

“…I guess it doesn’t mean nothin’.”

“Anything. Talk right. People’ll look down on you if you sound like an idiot.”

“Shit. Sorry.”

“You better not’ve used that shit mouth around your mother. A proper lady like her never woulda spoke that way.”

Levi feels angry heat twist her twist. “Duh... That’s how you talk.”

Kenny barks a giant laugh. “Great, then. Ya learned it from me! Most people are babies, brat. Talk some shit, and you’ll get a lot more heads turning than some ‘educated’ noble pigs.”

“Got it.”

“And don’t apologize for some shit that doesn't matter. You fuck up, you fix your mistake and move on.”

“Got it.”

More raven is pushed behind Levi’s skinny shoulders, gets chopped, then lands, tickling her hand. She shakes the pieces off.

“You’re not a bad kid, Shorty. Just stupid. Good thing ol’ Kenny the Ripper’s here to show you up from down, huh?” he laughs.

Levi doesn’t know what to say to that, so she seals her lips and just doesn’t say sorry again. She’ll get smart, then. She’ll learn everything, and hit hard without trying, just like him.

Kenny’s rough voice again breaks through the snipping once he’s done with the back of Levi’s head. It’s weird, just feeling air there.

She feels it. It’s shaved down to peach fuzz, actually, until she reaches up a little more. It’s like a blanket.

“Look, kid.”

She looks up at Kenny’s grizzled face. For once, he looks serious.

“You knew your mother better than I did, so—”

She frowns. “I thought you were friends.”

“Hey.” He shoves her head down. “Don’t interrupt while the teacher’s fuckin’ teaching.”

Kenny glides the blade up and over Levi’s ear, shaving more raven way down. “I could’ve been a better friend. You be good to your friends, Levi, or the wrong ones’ll come up and kill ya one day. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“I don’t know half a shit about what she coulda meant by ‘raven’,” he muses. “That’s gonna have to be up to you. So you take that stupid raven and run with it, alright?”

His eyes pierce Levi’s. “Got it?”

Levi has never seen a raven in real life, but she knows what Mama meant by it. Black hair. Maybe short: pictures of ravens have short hair. Clean, so it shines.

She gathers her wits again and looks Kenny back in the eye.

“Got it.”

“Walls, Levi.” Farlan’s anger is betrayed by the urgency thick in his voice. “Work with me here!”

Bracing his middle—where bright wet red has soaked his shirt in one sweeping, solid arc—climbing up the steps to the hideout, plus shoving Farlan away all at the same time isn’t working out. His mind rocks, high and hazy, inside his skull.

“Asshole just got lucky,” Levi grunts, giving Farlan another weak push.

“You’re so full of it.”

“Tch.”

They toddle up more stairs, Farlan’s arm like personal handcuffs around his waist.

If Levi really wanted to knock him away, he could. Just, the crazed look in Farlan’s (bruising) eye is something he’s never seen on him. He isn’t about to be in some real trouble, but if he can’t get Farlan to believe that, convincing Isabel will be impossible.

She didn’t join them this time. Fact is, she’s still new, still a little brat, and probably still sleeping off that cold—another one.

No matter how often she comes down with the sniffles, it never fails to make Levi jittery, like he has a hundred tasks to get done without knowing what any of them are. Hence the random “shopping trip”.

Asshole just got lucky.

Now clear of the top step, Levi shakes Farlan away, for real this time, and gets support from his own two feet. He wavers a little as he jabs the key in the lock, breathing labored, but doesn’t fall. To Farlan’s credit, Levi has lost some blood, but nothing vital was scraped.

“Take care of the girl,” Levi says under his breath. “Fucks sakes, Farlan. You’re a nervous wreck.”

“She’s asleep.”

“Yeah.” Levi calmly opens the door. “But she hasn’t eaten dinner, now has she? Feed her.”

Farlan actually growls. He steps in behind Levi and slams his hand down on the door, banging it against the wall.

Sneering, Levi whirls around and glares daggers at him. He doesn’t have the energy to lecture him for denting their wall.

Farlan looks more serious than he has since Levi has known him, which is saying something.

“You’ve never gotten hit this bad, Lev’.”

“Exactly. Which is why you shouldn’t be treating this like it’s the end of the world.”

Farlan ignores him, and brushes past him into the pristine kitchen in search of first-aid.

“And why? You never told me that part.”

Levi did. He glowers in the mouth of the kitchen, his fingers tacky with blood. “She’s sick, idiot.”

“I remember the things I was up to at her age, and I bet you do too. People like us’re fighters. We aren’t helpless,” Farlan goes on ranting. “Izzy included.”

Levi joins him in fishing in the cabinets for that little white box. “I’m on my death bed, or like you say, and you plan to tell me another story about your old gang?”

“That’s not my point.”

Levi huffs, and winces with his neck craned up. Only Farlan would’ve put it up that high.

“Hey,” Levi grunts, and nods towards it.

Farlan grabs it for him, but before he can do anything else, Levi snatches it out of his hand, and retreats to the dining table for a place to sit.

He sighs like the weight of the world is being exhaled through his nose. “...Sorry about the wall, Levi.”

“Worry about it later.”

Levi plants himself in a seat, biting on a wince. Pulling his hand back from his belly, he huffs. Red. Strings of blood are even clotted dark, dark maroon—proof that they spent too much time arguing about the blood at all.

Farlan plants a hand on his hip. “But look: Isabel isn’t a little kid. She says so all the time.”

“Little kids will say all sorts of shit,” Levi corrects him, unwrapping gauze. “Kids are dumb. That’s why we’re here.”

Farlan scoffs. “The outcome of that really depends on the teacher.”

Teeth grit, winds some coarse gauze around his hand and presses down through his shirt-turned-blood-rag. “Just be glad she’s got someone. Women have it a lot worse down here than men, and they get a lot worse things done to them, too. Don’t tell me—”

Barefeet stomp down the hallway. Isabel appears in the doorway and aggressively stamps one foot down. “I can hear you screaming all the way from my bed, you guys! What’s the big idea!?“

Levi’s eyes harden for a different reason as he moves to cover his middle. The girl still has sleep crud in her eyes, for fucksakes. The sight of him as he is now isn’t a pretty sight to wake up to.

“Glad you asked, Izz,” Farlan says conversationally.

Levi shoots the most fatal glare at the side of Farlan’s head that he can manage. “You shut up, Farlan, if you still want use of your arms five seconds from now.”

Not only is this slip-up not a big deal, but they don’t know who Levi really is, or is pretending to be.

Levi has mastered the art of mimicking a man without question: lowering his voice like a man’s, talking like a man, and dressing so nothing would show—especially when his body started changing.

Seeing how the lucky hit from the “pharmacist”’s (he’s more of a smuggler from the Surface than anything) hired muscle nicked his chest wraps, he’s a little surprised Farlan hasn’t already noticed. Without them, he still doesn’t show much, but still.

Farlan, it turns out, doesn’t need to say a word for Isabel to come stomping into the kitchen. She gets one look at Levi, then does a double take.

Levi sighs, bites back a cringe. “Brat, go back to bed. I’m fine.”

Her eyes grow into the size of dinnerplates at the sight of him. Blood has oozed between his fingers and drips down into his lap.

She’s smart enough to know she won’t get a straight answer out of Levi.

“Farlan.” She whirls around towards him, fists tight by her sides. “Who got bro!? Is he gonna be okay?”

Suddenly, Farlan is on Levi’s side in all this. “He's gonna be fine, Izzy.”

“No! That's not good enough! Where did you two even go?”

That cold of hers seems to have worn itself out on its own, at least. More medicine for next time, then.

While Isabel rants to Farlan, who is doing his damndest to get one word in, Levi presses thick, folded gauze firmer against his belly, through his shirt. Maybe taking it off isn’t necessary.

He holds his breath as fire tears through the injury, causing the world to once again wobble.

Dammit. It’ll take more fight than Levi has left in him to shoo them somewhere away. Isabel is in hysterics.

“You shoulda told me!” Isabel is screaming through tears up at Farlan (she’s even a little shorter than Levi). “I coulda helped!”

Farlan gapes. “You were passed out, sick.”

“That doesn't matter!”

“What’s exactly the point of getting you medicine if you go out with us and die anyway?”

“But you’d both be there! You wouldn’t—"

“Both of you!” Levi cuts in. “Either shut up or take your fight somewhere else. I’m busy.”

Their own little argument bubble pops. Isabel steps to Levi like Farlan just disappeared into thin air, and yanks the first-aid kit towards her.

“You're gonna need more gauze than that,” she whines. “Levi, you're really hurt.”

Farlan agrees. “Look, you were right. Isabel’s okay, so it’s your turn now. Could you take off your shirt so we can have a look?"

Levi protectively clutches the collar of his shirt and considers Isabel's grabby hands.

Nudity is no concern. He has given Isabel plenty of baths in the past (in order to teach her how to clean up properly), and rushing water in the Underground is just a fairytale; only a few first-rate brothels can afford private bathrooms.

It’s not entirely because of his pride, either. It’s the other thing.

Then, Isabel whimpers. Her eyes are two green fishbowls full of tears. “Don’t do this, bro. Let us help.”

She’s right. The longer he goes on without properly stopping the blood, it will grow serious. No choice, it seems.

Levi pinches the bridge of his nose with his clean hand, sighs. “Farlan, gauze. Izz, c’mere.”

Farlan does as Levi asks—though not without muttering, “Finally, you see reason,” under his breath—and so does Isabel.

She crouches down and immediately goes about working the hem of Levi’s shirt free of his waistband. The cotton is plastered to his skin where the injury is deepest, winding up to the right of his navel; his body has clotted some of the blood already.

Before she can slowly peel it past his belly, Levi’s hand lands around her wrist. “Hey, stop for a second. You’re about to learn something about me that’s gonna surprise you. I’m warning you.”

Isabel’s lips press. “You’re so dramatic. It’s fine.” She slaps his hand away.

More gauze and a flask of whiskey to disinfect in hand, Farlan crouches at Levi’s other side. “We’ll worry about surprises when that blood’s under control.”

Fine, then. They’re both completely oblivious, but fine.

Once he’s able, Levi works with Isabel to tug his tunic-turned-blood-rag up and over his head. He keeps wary of stains. Meanwhile, a line of gauze lands over the highest part of his wound, at the bottom of his sternum, as soon as it’s exposed, causing Levi to grunt.

The shirt lands on the table with a wet splat.

Levi covers his breasts with one arm, jaw grit so hard his teeth grind. His waist is still in plain sight, how curvy it is.

“Oh,” Isabel says.

What’s left of the bandages is a mangled mess of cloth that immediately sags down around his lap; it’s partly bloody. Levi tugs them away like nothing has happened, not looking at either of them.

“Huh?” Farlan tears his eyes away from the problem at a hand—“Oh, shit!”—then slaps his arm over his eyes, like he’s been blinded. “Levi, you have—"

Levi gives him a swift kick in the shin. Farlan is lucky this is serious, else he would’ve landed that kick somewhere else.

“That isn’t news to me, you idiot. Don’t get too excited.”

“No!—That’s not what I—!” Farlan seems to be waging an internal war of whether to pull his hand off Levi’s navel or not. “I just didn't expect that.”

“I warned you,” he hisses. “I thought we were worrying about surprises after the blood was under control.”

“I just don't want to... disrespect, or...”

“You’re both idiots,” Isabel softly retorts as she pours whiskey onto a bandage. “Get ready.”

He does, and squeezes his eyes shut with his head turned as she cleans the wound. The sting, high and bright, zaps through his blood, but he takes it.

Farlan doesn’t move, and no one speaks. After settling between Levi’s legs, Isabel gets to work wrapping up his small waist. He holds the bandages in place, his silent breaths quaking.

She goes on. “Warning is stupid, ‘cause…” Her eyes flicker up to Levi's pink face, “I get why. ‘N it's still bro. And you—!“ She reaches, and tears Farlan’s elbow off his eyes, “Quit being weird and just help."

Levi pins his tongue between his teeth and feels his face heat even more. He wasn’t sure what to expect here, but he certainly didn’t predict Isabel being the mature one in this situation.

It feels... nice.

“Okay. Okay.” Farlan squints at first, then takes smaller, sticky bandages out of the kit.

Promptly, Levi shifts his hold so Farlan can do his thing. “Thanks, I guess, for your weird way of respecting me.”

“Ha-ha... Sure. It’s worse down here for women,” Farlan says quietly. “And with you being the strongest, it makes sense, you wanting to keep an image. I just didn’t expect it. I never would've guessed, honestly. You hide it well.”

Frowning, Levi pins his cleavage down a little more. His belly is screaming in agony. “Women can be strong just like some men’re weak. It’s how I’m perceived by them that matters to me.”

“Mm,” Isabel agrees, then glances. Farlan is beet red. “You’ve been acting really weird. What, you never seen a woman’s body before, Far’?”

Farlan’s eyes widen comically. “What?”

“Or have you realized something about your feelings toward our bro?”

Levi’s eyes grow a touch wide. “Don’t you dare answer that, you pervert.”

“Ha!” Isabel cackles. “You hear that? Don’t be a pervert, Farlan! Bro will kick your ass."

Teeth grit, Farlan gets to work sliding clips onto the bandages that will keep them in place. To the tips of his ears, he’s blushing madly. Harder than Levi, even.

He shakes his head. “I heard.”

Levi feels himself relax, looking away from his friends despite himself. A sudden sense of wrongness hit him over the head when Isabel blatantly called his body, him, a woman. That feels right in his head and in his heart, like a large bird rising up inside his chest.

He hasn’t heard himself be referred to that way in a long, long time.

As much as he appreciates the sentiment, it tastes bitter, too. Considering his total disinterest in all things—relationships, sex, and any closer family than these two—that would lead to his nature becoming a secret thing he can find comfort in, considering his total lack of options, how natural it has become to fake it—

It’s going to be a long, long time before he feels this way again.

If ever.

“Levi?” you say gently through the closet door. “How’s it going?”

Levi glares at her own reflection in the long mirror, which casts an image of her own body back at her, and then some. Her lips tug downwards.

Shooting a glance at the assortment of outfits she bought, and some you encouraged her to buy, she frowns even deeper, because none of them look right suddenly—even the summer dress she has on now, which was her favorite in the shop.

It hugs her waist and chest just right, as do the straps hang onto her small frame. The hems, several hues lighter than the main cerulean color, flow around the bottoms of her thighs where she steps, as if the fabric itself was flowing. Sky-blue brings out the color of her eyes, but she just. Can’t. Seem to...

“Levi, sweetheart?” Your voice is as gentle as a breeze.

“I’m not dying in here... Just give me a second.”

It has been several minutes of this.

Levi lets her arm fall from her full chest. Even after joining the Scouts, she never truly stopped binding her chest until you started to encourage her.

She decided to always keep her same hairstyle, though. The short, neat cut represents her mother in a way she could never part with—even though it wouldn’t suit a woman. What upsets her is the stark contrast it makes in her appearance.

And her hands. Her mother’s hands were always silky soft, even dainty, but Levi’s aren’t. Hers are torn by violence. Scarred. Tough.

“I changed my mind,” she tells you dryly through the door. "I’m not putting anyone through the disgust of seeing me like this.”

“Can you at least put me through it...?”

She snorts softly at the way your question ends on a hopeful high note.

Forget the outfit for a moment.

Levi steps closer to the mirror and admires the thick lines of eyeliner you drew on for her. You even groomed her brows, and painted on a pale shade of pink lipstick for her. She had forgotten too much from her early years with her mom “playing princess”.

No earrings. Her ears aren’t pierced, and the idea of wearing clip-ons feels pathetic, even though she did it all the time as a little girl.

She swallows an ugly shame, blinking a time or two. “W-What did you say?”

“Can I see, please?”

“Yeah," she replies. “As long as you’re not taking no for an answer.”

A soft sigh, muffled. “After doing something one way almost your whole life, even if you hated it, it’s hard to change... even though it feels right now. Princess?”

She shuts her eyes as a bright thrill shoots up like a firework in her belly. This whole back-and-forth is petty of her, she knows—mostly it’s unfair to you—but this echo chamber inside her is loud and encompassing. But rusting.

“Yeah?”

“If you decide you want to stop all this, at least for today, it’s fine. I won’t judge you, sweetheart."

Levi bites the inside of her cheek so as to not let the way she feels show on her face, but fails. “I know.”

And she does.

All this, it’s a new development since she allowed you to start helping her in ways she once accepted were helpless. Who she is, who she was, who she is not.

Certain mannerisms—the way she sits down, that straight walk than doesn’t sway her hips, the unconscious lowering of her voice when she speaks—they won’t go away, or not without a lot of fight.

But then she agonizes over how useful these mannerisms really are: the Underground is far behind her, but she remains in a position of important power.

She realizes it’s a shitty way to think, but she doesn’t know how to believe that being the way she wants will earn her the respect the opposite has always guaranteed her.

When Levi is with you, however, all this agony drops off into the background. Affection, attention, touch—it’s so simple for you. She doesn’t feel the need to perform mental gymnastics to fit into a category around you.

She is confused enough on her own as it is.

The sweet names you save just for her, the reverent brush of your palm across her cheek, and it being you, whom she admires so much, treating her in such a way; not like a man acting the part of a woman, not even like a woman acting the part of a man—but as Levi.

It is enough.

For once, it is enough.

Stepping away from the mirror once more, she glances down at her pale, shaven legs. They look to her like a bunch of bony, hard lines to her, but you think differently: you like to point out how long they are, how toned, how thick.

The garters are the color of midnight, in stark contrast to her summer dress, are felt lace. The thin fabric squeezes the soft muscles of her mid-thighs just right, but your opinion on those are worth more to her than her own.

Levi’s hand falls on the doorknob, and turns.

Delighted surprise lights up your features to see her, followed by your look darkening into something much more saccharine.

“Wow,” you murmur, eyes gleaming, which floods Levi full of confidence.

Using that, she sets her hands down around your waist and eyes the collar of your blouse, which has evidently been loosened since she slipped into the closet to change.

“Don’t look so starstruck,” she murmurs. “I couldn’t even pick what shoes to wear... you better not expect me to dress up as well those noble women.”

Her eyes are torn from your collar to your face when you scoop her chin up. Desire oozes off your expression.

Her heart flutters, then soar as two warm palms settle on either side of her full hips.

“Is it...” Levi trails off. “Tell me honestly. Do I look fine?”

Your lip quirks to one side. “Fine? Look at you...”

Your soft lips kiss her on the mouth, trailing down her jaw, causing Levi to huff. Her hand dives into your hair.

“Sorry,” you murmur by her ear. “I just don’t wanna mess up my pretty girl's lipstick, that’s all.”

Levi’s lower half warms to life. Softly she gasps, feeling her face heat. “You better mean that,” she snips as she plays with your blouse’s trimmed hems, knowing. It just reassures her to hear it, to hear you call her your girl.

“I’ll prove it to you, if you want.”

While your soft lips leave a trail down the slope of her neck, Levi’s hand glide up under your top. No bra, just your bouncy, full tits she swallows into her palm. Her clit throbs dully.

“You… really know how to flatter a woman,” she huffs roughly.

“A woman like you?”

Her eyes snap shut. “Yes.”

“Don’t close your eyes,” you murmur, soft and low. “Tell me, how much do I flatter you?”

Levi whines under her breath. She thought the heat of your palm on the back of her thigh, endlessly snapping her garter back was maddening. But now that same hand drifts up between her thighs from the back, lifting light cerulean cotton to expose her delicate pair of sheer panties.

“You look gorgeous in white,” you murmur. “I knew you made a good choice.”

It’s her favorite color.

You stroke her swollen slit tenderly through the thin fabric—just enough to make her flutter, but not enough to please her.

“Fuck,” Levi whispers over your shoulder, clinging.

“This wet already?” You pull up on the hem above her toned ass so it’s taught and tight, and push and pull. Lace slides through her slit and rubs her clit just right.

“Fuck.”

“You’re so sensitive,” you muse, as if your panties weren’t dampening just from doing this to her.

With one hand still working her panties, the other pushes underneath, and effortlessly buries two fingers into her soft pussy.

“Fuck!” Levi gasps. It’s the only thing she can say. Her balance on her own two feet wavers.

You hum shakily her ear, circling her fluttering rim in time with your pull on her panties for her precious clit. “You didn't answer me. How much am I flattering you, Levi?”

“Why the fuck are we still standing here?” she complains. That’s your girl. “You can flatter me b-by fucking me. Properly.”

You relish her heavy breathing by your ear, and the way she can’t even focus to flick your hard nipples any longer. All her energy is going into staying standing.

Her pussy clenches as you piston your fingers with ease, deep inside. So tight.

An urgent hiss of your name vibrates against the shade of your neck.

“Is this not properly fucking?” You’re now fully supporting her with one arm hooked around her waist. You give it to her harder. “Your pussy seems to think so.”

“Mm...!”

Holding her waist means pinning the loose swoops of her dress to the small of her back. Little does Levi know, you get to admire her through your reflections in the mirror. Even though you can’t watch your fingers, now oozing with her cum, push in and out of her, those garters (one size too small), her tight ass, her pretty panties—those are all for your eyes.

Her soft, soaked cunt starts to gush, but you have needs too.

“‘m gonna make you come, okay, angel?"

Levi gasps as your fingers curl in deep, scraping that perfect spot, gaping.

“Y-Yeah? Then what?” she squeaks.

You hiss under your breath, your own pussy fluttering around nothing. The attitude Levi still has in her despite you being knuckle-deep in her cunt in front of your closet door does sinful things to you.

“Anything you want.”

“Wanna, make you come,” Levi speaks faintly by your ear. “Be...”

“Uh-huh? Want you to say it.”

She shudders a soundless moan as you slam them inside, her back curling into perfect arch—just as your knees were starting to grow wobbly.

“Levi,” you moan softly.

She whimpers, so quiet you can barely hear. “B-Be your princess.”

“Good girl.”

You shift, just enough for your thigh to scrape her clit. The heat you feel on your cotton pantleg is searing, then soaking wet.

“Ngh.” Levi’s hips twitch until she finds a rhythm, smearing her clit down in quick, rapid motions.

You firmly fuck three fingers into her tightening cunt. She’s getting close.

“When you make me me come, you’re gonna be smearing your pretty lipstick on my clit.” You curl your fingers. “How’s that sound, baby?”

“Good,” she moans.

That’s your girl.

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[pentagonpimp69]

Life After Death (PT. 1?)

“Well” Rick says as he taps on the eggshell colored drywall, “I guess it could be worse.”

I give him dirty look after hearing his words. After everything, you’d think he would be a little more appreciative of the more mundane things in life.

“Rick, it’s a nice house.” I say as I walk over to him.

“Nice enough.” He says under his breath. I slap him in the arm. Which got me a surprised look back.

After nearly dying in Corto Maltese, Rick managed to be released from Waller’s iron grip. Getting stabbed so close to the heart makes it hard for anyone to fight, even Rick Flag. Although he occasionally has to act as a “consultant” for the officer, her control has loosened enough for Rick and I to finally move to the Midwestern town where I grew up and begin our family.

“Well its not like we can get our money back, right?” Ricks asks. I roll my eyes at his question.

“Richard, you keep acting like I’m trying to move you back to barracks. This is a nice house, we can paint the walls!” I say to him. 

“We’re gonna have too.” He says, turning his back to me. “But we’ll figure it out.”

“Thats the most positive thing you’ve said all day, Flag.” I tell him, with a slight snarkiness shining through my words.

“Its got a decent amount of rooms though.” He said.

A smile stretches over my face. 

As soon as I got to Rick in the hospital, he was nearly comatose. He kept going in and out of consciousness. After days of going in and out, murmuring random sentences here and there, he finally start waking up. One of the first things that he told was that he was going to retire so we could finally get married and have children. Ever since then, it seems to be all we can talk about. 

“Oh yeah,” I answer, “Plenty of room for Harley when she comes to visit.”

“I was thinking about other things but yeah, sure let’s say that.” He says as he grabs my hand and pulls me in for a kiss. A sweet peck from him meets my lips. I pull away and see his smiling face looking back at me.

“Are you happy?” He asks.

“You’re here so yes.” I answer. He gives a nod of approval. “Do you really hate this house?”

He sighs, “No. It's fine.”

I cock my head at him, knowing that he’s lying.

He shakes his head, “It’s not perfect.” He finally says, “But for now, it’ll do. As long as you’re in it.”

I smile at his words. I know this has been a huge adjustment for him. Going from constant action to domestication is hard for anybody. But he’s trying that’s all I can ask for. Moving from Gotham to the town where I grew up was hard. He had no idea how to live in such a slow place. I mean it’s a bigger city with lots to do, but it doesn’t compare to the hustle and bustle of Gotham. Even though he grew up in a place similar to this, it was still a rough adjustment.

“Want to go get lunch before we start moving everything?” He asks.

“Lunch?!?” I loudly exclaim, “We don’t have time for lunch! We have to paint the whole place apparently!”

Rick shakes his head at my dramatics and I began laughing. He starts walking towards me and attempting to pick me up.

“We don’t have time for this either!” I yell as I get thrown over his shoulder.

He smacked my ass as he starts walking out of the house, “You’re lucky we don’t have a bed set up or I’d shut you up.”

Trying something new! I really loved “The Suicide Squad” and I really loved this character. Please let me know what you think. I’d defiantly like to make this a series! Love you guys & stay safe!