#techno hugging y/n

[theinvador-fanart]

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ THIS IS A LIFE, PART TWO !

summary :: in every universe, spiderman will inevitably lose the one thing that matters most to him: y/n l/n. miguel o'hara, peter parker, and hobie brown have all suffered through this story. they soon discover another version of you is alive, bound to fall in love with miles morales and to die abruptly. with the prospect of a second chance and a newfound obsession, these four men will do anything to keep you at their side.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 10.2k

content warnings :: yandere!miguel, yandere!miles, murder/death, gore/blood, stalking, age-gap, non-con touching, drugging, invasion of privacy, force-feeding, mentions of rape/assault, mentions of vomit, hanging, insinuations of suicide, physical restraint, child neglect/abuse, child abandonment, & a lot of gross shit.

miguel o'hara's yandere traits are . . .

smothering, territorial, & paranoid

──── Electricity. It is what Miguel O'Hara lost you to on October 17th, 2099. And it is what he felt on May 16th of the same year.

A soccer coach, that is all you were. Simply there to guide a gaggle of tiny rascals toward their dreams of becoming Olympic athletes. That is all you should have been. Spending your days beneath the sweltering sun, collecting quick money and soccer-ball-induced bruises, before leaving Nueva York to settle down elsewhere. That is what you could have been.

Gabriella O'Hara was one of your many students. However, her dad was rarely present during her games. The lack of fatherly presence struck a parental nerve in your body, hence your perceptible favoritism for her. The efforts you made did not go unnoticed by Gabriella, either.

The time she had preferred tying dandelion stems to one another instead of participating with other classmates, you joined the lonely girl and taught her how to craft flower crowns. Since then, she has always arrived to practice with light in her eyes as she gifts you another flower crown of millions. And of course, you thank her graciously for the present. Even after they wilt and wither, they will forever have a home in your residence.

Today was a particularly gloomy Saturday in late March. The carpool Miguel relied on had been cancelled last minute, much to his dismay. The parent he couldn't remember the name of informed him their child was stricken with a case of chickenpox. After reading their incessant apologies, he groans in a fit of annoyance upon realizing he would have to chauffeur his daughter for the day.

Soccer Ball and weed-ridden flower crown in her small hands, Gabriella clambers into the back of the car and fastens herself into the car seat. In the process, she finds yet another way to bring you into the conversation. Somehow in the span of a few weeks, everything Gabriella does revolves around you in some shape or form. If Miguel hears 'Y/N,' 'flower-crowns,' or 'soccer' once more, he is positive he will implode on the spot. Clenching his jaw, he mentally prepares himself for the most excruciating car ride he is sure he will ever endure.

When they arrive at the field, there is no hug, no kiss, not even a wave of goodbye. Miguel merely lets his daughter exit the vehicle herself, ignores her exclamation of "See you later!" and zooms off. Despite how harrowing her father's negligence is, Gabriella knows she will see you and that fact aids all. If she were honest, she would say she likes you far more than she does her own family. It is tacitly evident through the attention you give her. You lighten up like a Christmas tree when she runs and engulfs your legs in a tight hug. Gleefully, you accept her gift of yet another flower crown and praise her for the effort she put into crafting such. And after being so deprived of the necessity of love, Gabriella practically clings to your side like a parasite.

In the meantime, Miguel returns home and hastily sorts through reports sent in by Alchemax. From technological hiccups to your average-day Karen, being in this field never failed to make this man roll his eyes in annoyance. Despite the admiratio he holds for his career, he still grumbles when his responsibilities creep up on him. And much like everything else in his life, he despises it all.

A monitor then pops up beside him, the translucent screen displaying a reminder he had set hours ago. "May 16th, 2099. Saturday. 3:45 PM. Pick Up Child." His head is thrown back in a fit of irritation when he is reminded of her presence. Miguel closes the tab and leaves the expanse of his office, counting down the days until his daughter blows out her 18 candles and he can finally be at peace.

After the car ride spent pondering over why he had chosen this life, he soon arrives at the soccer field. Scrutinizing through the cluster of children playing in the field, he cannot find Gabriella through the chaos. Miguel does not worry about her well-being, as opposed to how other parents would react to their child being missing. He merely huffs before departing from the vehicle. His large hand tracks through his hair as he searches for where the brat had wandered off to, ignoring the lustful gazes from mothers who were explicitly unhappy in their marriages.

Tucked away in the corner is the first-aid center. Within the bell tent, he spots his daughter. She is blissfully happy as she laughs hysterically, which makes her father red with rage. His talons dig into the meat of his palms; his fangs protrude into his lips. He had already driven all this way for her, how dare she force him to travel even further!? Stomping across the field and through the threshold, his towering frame suddenly halts when he takes notice of the additional presence inside the tent.

And just like that, for the first time in his entire life, the anger simply... vanishes. It is almost like magic. Through tireless efforts, Miguel has done everything in his power to deplete this suffocating rage. All efforts made by him were brought to no fruition. In this moment, however, the mere presence of this stranger brings such a candy-sweet shock to all his senses, that he forgets where his anger was in the first place.

They cast a look over their shoulder to acknowledge his sudden entrance. And their features sit like stars on the expanse of their face, their eyes like the sun and moon basking him in its holy light. A kind smile that could rival the luminescence of heaven grows on their face. Miguel is shocked the sight hadn't caused his knees to lock beneath him. They introduce themselves and if he could write their name on his tongue and only ever speak of them, he wouldn't waste another heartbeat.

Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.

The word sounds like flowers in the wind; like an answered prayer for brighter days. Extending their arm out to shake his hand, Miguel fervently takes their hand into his and shivers from the close, yet minimal, contact.

"So, this is the notorious Y/N I've heard so much about." His voice drops to a low husk, attempting to woo you.

Miguel presses your knuckles to his lips and kisses them with fervid haste. The skin, flesh, and warmth pervading the expanse of his lips make him feel weightless. He doesn't have a romantic bone in his body, but with you now in his life, he'd tear every raw bone from his body and place them at your feet if you so much as asked. Just keep making him feel the way you do.

He then introduces himself and punctuates the syllables with the inflection of his accent, knowing of how it drove others wild. In this case, he was not given the heart-lurching sight of you averting your gaze or listening to your flustered giggles. Instead, you yank your hand away from his affections and revert your attention to Gabriella. Miguel had forgotten she was there altogether, and once again, the permeating rage returned once more.

Without your blessed attention, his lost soul returns to the home it built out of anger and misery. He had so greedily absorbed every sliver of good you possessed, he never fathomed how he would feel when it would be inevitably revoked.

Upon closer inspection, Miguel notices how his daughter's cheeks are puffy with stained tears. On her knees are a clutter of superhero-themed band-aids, a few displaying her father in his work attire. You inform him of the tumble she had taken earlier that day and of how there was nothing to concern himself with, gesturing to the bandages adorning her frail legs. He was never worried in the first place, only captivated by your sheer existence.

You then bend down to where Gabriella is seated on an ottoman and take her tiny hands into yours.

"I was going to wait until later on, but I got a gift that I just have to give you!" Gabriella lightens up as if you had told her you were taking her to Disneyland, anxiously anticipating her present.

Quirking your head, you turn to her father. "If that is alright with you, of course." Yes, anything you want. I will give you everything you could ever want.

A nod of his head and you stand to your feet. That mellifluous voice of yours that Miguel could listen to forever apprises Gabriella to close her eyes, which she obliges to and brings her palms to her face. Grasping hold of the gift hidden in the corner of the tent, you begin to tread toward the young girl. Before you had granted her to, she not-so-sneakily peeks through the expanse of her fingers. She can't abstain from squealing in excitement when she catches sight of what is in your palms. She closes the distance between you both and rushes to you, before practically yanking the gift out of your grasp. A harsh scolding bridges upon Miguel's lips for the action. However, when he takes notice of the admiration in your expression, he is rendered speechless with sudden envy.

A flower crown is what you had given her. The detail is exquisite, evident in the sheer awe plastered upon Gabriella's face as she studies it. Strawflower, lavender, eucalyptus, and daisies adorn the garment, as well as strands of amaranth that would cascade down her back. In addition to this, a myriad of other ornamentations clung to the crown. Vibrant gemstones, pastel buttons, and a pink, silken ribbon that ties the crown together in a flawless bow — it is a tiara befitting the most beautiful of princesses. And you told Gabriella she fit that standard effortlessly.

Meanwhile, Miguel stands in the background and seethes. How despairingly he wishes the gift were for him instead. In any other light, he'd say the garment was tacky. Ugly, even. He would have no resourceful use for it, either, and it would inevitably be chucked into the garbage. When it is you who put all care and detail into the gift, however, the story changes. Mere seconds have gone by since he has learned your name and still, he'd flaunt that crown for the rest of his life if you had gifted it to him. No matter the judging heaps of laughter he'd receive from others.

Gabriella thanks you profusely and engulfs your legs in another hug. Her gratitude is met with a reciprocated squeeze, as well. The act of affection is given to one another entirely oblivious to the third party overwhelmed with jealousy. His thick brows are plastered in a permanent furrow and his lips have morphed into an envious sneer. You are so effortlessly good with children and Miguel can't refrain his brain from catapulting to conclusions.

What does your life look like outside of being his daughter's favorite person? Do you have children of your own?

Is there someone else?

You and Gabriella then perform your secret handshake. It had been choreographed during one of the numerous soccer meets after her father neglected to collect his daughter on time. Soon, the two are leaving the tent. And every step away from you feels like walking on hot stones. The further Miguel treads, the scorching temperatures increase. He cannot look back. One glance and he'd be barreling for the poor tent like some rabid animal, desperate for another taste of your bottled happiness.

May 16th had only been the beginning of the Miguel-ridden chaos that would soon embark into your life.

Considering his negligence, you were stunned to see how he had signed his daughter up for several classes a week. But, you become entirely aghast with shock when you find him attending every meeting and game, remaining in the same spot for the entire course. Most parents twiddle on their phones while others mingle with the other adults. Miguel O'Hara was different. His sole, undivided attention was reserved for the actions taken on the field. And his sweet child could not have been more elated.

You presumed this alter in behavior to be a spark of realization that manifested into becoming a better parent. However, as the weeks go by and he continues to attend, you are quick to realize how his attention isn't appointed to his daughter, but it is set on you instead.

It is impossible for you to disinter what about yourself he finds so entertaining. With his eyes glued to you, it fills you with a sense of insecurity when you assume he may be mocking or judging you. The seemingly permanent dead emotion cast on his face makes you squirm with discomfort.

Upon closer inspection, or during the constant chatter he provokes when you're not occupied with the children, you swear the pupils of his eye almost appear... heart-shaped? You also cannot remember a time when he looked you directly in the eye, either. You're sure if you asked him what your eye color is, he'd be dumbfounded (he knows the exact shade by HTML color code, but that fact remains unknown to you). They are locked onto your lips, instead. Do you have something on your face? Maybe something in your teeth? The lack of emotion he communicates through facial expressions has you ridden with worry.

The most evident response you've been able to perceive in his expression was on a random day after practice. In the midst of a conversation with Miguel, another father interrupts him. His face morphs into something murderous when the unwelcome guest has the audacity to ask for your number. He claims it is to inquire you about his son's performance while he is not physically present in the game. With the way his eyes leer to your body, Miguel knows exactly what kind of revolting, perverted visions are plaguing his mind.

Clenched jaw, tense frown, eyes blown wide — Miguel’s chest rises and falls with rapid breaths while he glares bullets into the man. It takes everything within him to not release his talons, flash his fangs, and rip this pervert into nothing but a bloodied mess of gore on this very soccer field.

He is dead by dawn.

Exposed to several counts of rape and assault, Spider-Man hanged that man with his red web-matter beneath a bridge. His written confession was pinned to his chest with a hunting knife.

The disturbing events led his wife to officially resign her son from your practice. On live television, the widow swears on her life that her husband would not do such a thing. The sudden exposure of random crimes without any victims or proof does seem a tad suspicious, you think to yourself. Due to the circumstances, however, you cancel soccer meetups for the following several weeks so parents and children can process these disturbing events.

While you are typing another empathetic message to the apparent-criminal’s wife, another message pings on your device.

The culprit is no other than Miguel O'Hara. As if the news that had spread amongst the city like wildfire had chosen to leave him intact.

As if nothing happened.

Miguel invites you to an ice cream parlor with him and Gabriella, a weird undertone that implies it's a date while his daughter is the annoying third wheel. To get your mind off the poor boy whose father was brutally murdered, you agree to the rendezvous. His response is far too ecstatic to be deemed platonic, but much like all of his other flirtatious insinuations, you ignore it. You are juggling much more important, colossal matters in your life, after all.

Early afternoon rolls around and you arrive a mere five minutes early to the parlor, only to find the two were already seated beneath a pastel-striped umbrella. Gabriella is adorned in the flower crown you gifted her weeks ago, babbling about frivolous matters while her father sits beside her. Chin rested against his palm, you have never seen a more bored expression on a human's face.

Double-checking the clock to ensure Miguel's apathy wasn't a result of your poor planning, you're relieved to see your suspicions were false. You briefly scroll through the new messages on your phone from parents and neighbors regarding their children. As much as you adore your job, juggling the well-being of so many lives can be exhausting.

The click of your car door opening cuts your actions short. Looking at the sudden intrusion, you find Miguel O'Hara towering over you with Gabriella at his side. Her eyes beam beneath the flower crown you crafted, while her father perceptibly softens at the sight of you. Almost as if a tidal wave of relief washed over him after years spent breathing in trepidation. Not wasting another second, Gabriella crawls into the car and engulfs you in a hug. You are able to reciprocate the affection before her father pulls her away from what's his you. He is rather rough with her, but the smile that paints her face aids the dread inside of you.

Miguel lends a hand, which you take with reluctance. He guides you from your beat-up, engine-sputtering vehicle as if you were royalty. Your other hand was now held hostage by Gabriella, who attempts to conquer her father's strength and guide you to where they were once seated. Her efforts are futile when you are yanked into Miguel's sudden embrace. He was never shy with his affections, but this is the first time he was so close to you. And God, is it overwhelming. His imposing frame envelops every inch of you, to where all your senses are deluged in all of him. His cologne, his muscles, his warmth — he is everywhere and it is wholly suffocating.

"I missed you so much..." A beat passes before you realize he is referring to the mere week you have spent without seeing the O'Hara family.

Slowly and painstakingly, he releases you from his tenacious hold. Gabriella is then swift to fill the silence. She grasps your attention easily, something her father has struggled immensely with.

She pantomimes about the fashion show she hosted for her dolls back home and the success she earned during her P.E. class a few days prior. So indulged in the stories of this poor, attention-deprived child, you failed to notice how your hand was still held in Miguel's grasp. His lips find your knuckles, as they always do. The sensation of his kiss against you was nothing out of the blue. The act of affection had become a strange routine for every encounter you both shared. Without your resistance, Miguel fully indulges himself in how much he has missed you and plants more long, abiding kisses to your hand.

When you finally perceive his actions, you swiftly yank your hand away from his relentless affections. An awkward, forced smile sits on your face as you look at him with furrowed brows, seemingly scrutinizing him for some sort of explanation of his actions. Gabriella then pulls you away and drags you like a dog to their reserved table. Not without a sharp demand from her father to be careful with you.

On the surface, you find a colossal bowl of your favorite ice cream. The question lurks of how they had known this fact, but you merely brush it off as dropping the information to Gabriella a while ago. Besides the treat, a bouquet of paper flowers scribbled with bright-hued markers sits. She expresses how she crafted it for you during her time in school. Students were given art equipment and assigned to create a heartfelt gift for their parents. In the brain of Gabriella, she neglected her actual parent and put all her love into creating something perfect for you. And to you, it was all of that and more.

The three of you sit. You thank the young girl for the beautiful gift. Then, you pretend to inhale the scent of fresh flowers and jokingly compliment her on how she picked the finest posy from her garden. Before you can continue to pantomime about the process she went through to craft the bouquet, her father interrupts her. He proposes a gift he has gotten for you, as well.

A box is then placed before you. It is enveloped in vermillion velvet and silver tracings of 'Cartier' are threaded among the sides. You restrain from expressing your shock at the expensive appearance. Flicking the small latch that probably costs more than your bedroom alone, you gently clutch the two adjacent covers and open the box.

Sat inside is a diamond ring. The way the July sun reflects against the gift and into your eyes is harsh. You're shocked you hadn't gone blind from the unwelcome pervasion. The intricacies of the garment are delicate and precious, to where you are afraid of even putting your hands on such finery. You become entirely ridden with shock and terror when you grasp the thin thread attached to the box and read the price tag.

$2,000,000 is written in bold letters, almost as if the striking font was ridiculing you.

As heard through the fits of gossip from bored parents during practice, you were aware Miguel was a billionaire working at Alchemax. In these past few weeks spent handling nagging parents worried for their children's safety, the fact seems to have escaped your brain. And even with receipts that look like phone numbers, you still cannot fathom how pure diamonds are mere pocket change to him.

Jaw on the ground, you don't realize just how much time you spent gawking at the ring. A hum of amused, affectionate laughter clutches you away from your state of captivation. You shift your gaze away to see Miguel and those all-too-familiar heart-shaped pupils. Staring into your soul. It is the most emotion you have seen on his face since you met him. You wonder how many times he has looked at you like that when you were occupied with other matters.

He moves closer to you. You stalk his movements with curiosity, watching as he grasps your hand for the zillionth time since you met him. Uncomfortably pressing himself against you, Miguel reaches over your shoulder and grasps the ring. He evidently indulges in every second spent in close proximity with you. The hot, heavy breath fanning against your ear informs you of what captivated chaos is taking place inside his brain. Goosebumps bloom on your skin when the frigid diamonds meet the flesh of your ring finger. He assumes the sudden shiver engrossing your body is due to his closeness and he does little to hide his perceptible excitement.

You loving him nearly as much as he loves you — that is all he could ever want.

You lightly tread your digits among the ring, almost afraid to dirty the expensive jewelry with your mere touch. You stutter through an attempt at thanking Miguel for the gift. And your awe mending with your gratitude has his heart lurching in his chest. God, you are just so sweet. He is surprised his teeth haven't all rotted just from standing here in your presence.

Gabriella is in a similar state to you, as well. Any child in the presence of jewelry meant to be worn by a deity would react in a similar manner. Though, her childlike wonder fogs all the polite manners she prided herself in having. Her small fingers reach to touch the diamonds, but her efforts are halted a mere picosecond after they had begun.

Miguel snaps his fingers. That is all he does. Gabriella freezes at the sound, turning her attention to her father, and then cowering like a scolded puppy. She scoots away from you, abandoning her endeavors the second his fingers meet his palm. You fear what occurs beneath the roof of their home when there are no prying eyes there to witness anything.

A sultry whisper of "you look perfect" in your ear and the state of discomfort you were in only intensifies. Miguel's finger drags from your left shoulder blade to the other as he begrudgingly moves away from you, returning to his original seat.

Nearly incoherent blabbers of the ring being too much money tumble from your lips as you try and rid yourself of the diamonds. However, no matter how tireless your efforts are, the ring almost seems locked around your finger. A gentle tap to your elbow from Miguel beside you and you halt your efforts. You've heard he is quite scary when angry, after all.

With melted ice cream left on the table and diamonds superglued to your finger, you come to the conclusion that leaving your house today was probably a mistake.

When you do return home, however, you now realize you should have seen the blatant red flags long ago and left Miguel in your shadow. Your incessant assurances of how he just has an odd way of expressing kindness halted you from accepting the truth.

Standing before your bathroom mirror, a myriad of cleaning products from beneath the sink sit before you. Your laptop sits there, too, and displays countless YouTube videos adhering to removing a tight ring. Attempting to unravel the glimmering, red knot tying the ring to your hand, the revelation of Miguel's intentions finally begins to settle. These matters are so important, that you don't even acknowledge how the vermillion string looks oddly familiar to what you see the city's superhero using to travel.

Deep within your thoughts, the sharp vibration of a text message startles you out of your inner turmoil. A hologram expands from your phone left against the bathroom countertop. Lo and behold, no other than Miguel O'Hara has messaged you. He thanks you for joining him earlier (avoiding mentioning how his daughter was there, too). He slides an additional compliment of how diamonds look stunning on you. You're glad the toilet is so close to you, as you may need to vomit from the rotten sweetness of his words.

Instead of replying, as you would normally thank him for his kindness, you ignore his message. You are far more interested in trying to rid your hand of this ring without harming the accessory and washing his $2,000,000 down the drain.

With fruitless efforts and exhausted arms, you slouch against the bathroom wall and wave a white flag. You decide to succumb to the stubborn ring's desires and move on with your nightly routine. Instead of having your usual shower, however, you run a bath instead to avoid harming these damned diamonds. It is almost comical to lay in these bubbles completely nude while still wearing this single piece of jewelry. You wonder how Miguel would react to seeing you like this, physically scowling at the lust-ridden response you know he would have.

Speak of the devil, another message from him chimes on your phone. The hologram expands from its spot on the counter, once more. He inquires why you haven't responded to him, as if you would drop everything just to converse with him. He would do the same for you in a heartbeat, but that fact remains unknown to you.

A mere minute passes before an onslaught of messages begins to pour into the room. The rapid ding! of your phone causes you to clench your teeth with fervent irritation. You groan before abruptly escaping the warm embrace of bathwater to grasp your phone. Ignoring all incessant begs for your attention, you put your phone on mute and savor the tranquility that follows. You also overlook the mentions of "not being able to see you" and "his cameras disconnecting" in favor of returning to your peaceful bath.

Your state of relaxation is short-lived, much to your dismay. Not even several minutes later the tumultuous sound of fists banging on your front door permeates. The sudden intrusion of noise sends a shock of terror into your heart. Due to recent events, you fear the crime that has spread throughout Nueva York is now standing outside your home. Could it be someone begging for help? Or could it be someone eager to take your life? Swiftly ensnaring a robe around your body, you hastily tie the knot as you rush to identify the one responsible for the clamor.

Another groan of vexation escapes your throat when you see Miguel at your doorstep through the peephole. The fear simmers but returns when you can't piece together how on Earth he knew where you lived. You hesitate to open the door, but it isn't like you have much of a choice in that matter.

The door creaks open. And the reaction Miguel has seeing you in a robe and his diamonds is more than perceptible. Almost as if whatever excuse he conjured up for being at your home at this hour had been snagged from his brain. His eyes travel from your head to your toes, then back upwards, before reality slaps him across the face and forces him out of wonderland. The fear pumping through his body depleted the second Miguel saw you, to where nothing but a hot canopy of tranquility embraced him. The confused, puppy-like expression on your face, the thin robe protecting you from exposure, and his precious diamonds on your hand — nothing about this sight could save him from the tsunami of devotion that has swallowed him whole.

His arms are around you faster than you could think. And he just melts.

You meekly attempt to escape his tenacious hold, but your efforts are never brought to fruition. With his large hands clasped onto your body and his face nuzzled into your neck, escaping this man and his smothering love was a mere pipe dream.

If the emotions coursing through Miguel in this moment had somehow become a physical matter, he would care for it like he would a newborn baby. Tend to its every need, soothe it when it fusses, give away every ounce of love his heart can possibly accommodate. It contradicts his current performance as an actual parent, but all of his soul was reserved for you, after all.

"I can't live without you." It has only been several hours since you last saw him. Why is he acting like this?

Your efforts to escape accelerate when the razor-like point of his teeth poke against your neck. A harsh shriek then emerges from you when fangs protrude into your flesh. Something unfamiliar pumps through your system with rapid speed. It courses through your body and envelops every inch with profuse lethargy. The exhaustion satiates everything. It is all you can perceive. You slump against Miguel's toned physique like a wet noodle, to where he fully supports your weight with adoring fervor. Whispers of praise and gentle proclamations of love are the last thing you perceive before you drift off.

The dizzy sight of blurred city lights and bedsheets is what you see next. No Miguel, no bathrobes, no ensnaring embraces. Just you and your warped, distorted vision. You attempt to pull your head forward, only for gravity to fail you when you loll back onto the puffy pillows. When your hazy vision fades into something more distinct, you are finally able to discern some of your physical surroundings.

A bedroom that certainly does not belong to you is what you are met with. It is luxurious. Expensive. Lush. An incredible contrast to the small, decrepit bungalow you called home. The tall windows display the remarkable city from its highest point. The gentle, red-hued lamplight frames the late-night clouds drifting about and the planes soaring through the sky. You are laid against a circle-framed bed where several exorbitant comforters are draped around you. The robe you were adorned in hours ago was gone, too. Now, you are dressed in a high-quality, silken pajama set you do not recognize.

Your head relentlessly aches as you attempt to study the entire scene before you. The sensation is alike someone slamming a hammer into your brain. You bring your hand to your temple in a feeble attempt at easing the ache, but the freezing touch of the diamonds on your finger make you hiss from the stimulation. It channels a groan from your throat. The sound you make is simultaneously met with the distorted echo of a stranger's cooing. They purr out whispers of comfort and love, failing miserably in mending the fear stirring within you.

"Oh, button… You have no idea how long I have wanted this." Miguel fucking O'Hara. That revolting, candy-sweet voice belongs to no other than Miguel O'Hara.

He towers over you, as he always does. Dread tickles your bones and dances among the goosebumps trailing your flesh. Questions swarm within your brain as you attempt to scrutinize what you could have done to anger this man. You've heard through the grapevine how catastrophic his fury is, after all.

Contrary to popular belief, however, Miguel is not the flaming ball of rage he appears to be. Well, he at least isn't like that with you. Everyone else has clear evidence of the absolute rabid dog this man can be. It is evident in his greedy, adoring hands that have been stained red more times than he can count. It is evident in the warm pool of his brown irises that only appear blood-hued when you are not around. It is evident in absolutely everything he does.

This fact doesn't change at this moment, either. With the speed of a predator stalking prey, Miguel steadily climbs onto the bed and straddles you. You can only lay paralyzed and stare at the man above you in trepidation. With frail efforts, you are able to garner a sliver of mobility when you attempt to push him off. He resorts to grasping hold of your wrists and pinning them beside your head. So much for that plan. His abnormally sharp nails dig into your flesh; his nose pokes the bridge of yours when he bends down. His breath fans against your face and the familiar sight of his heart-shaped pupils is now overwhelming. Once again, his eyes are glued onto the one place they always seem to be: your lips. You can practically taste the need exuding from him.

A hologram then appears in front of his face. A monotone, robotic voice emanates into the silent room. "Your heart rate is 110 BPM. This has alarmingly exceeded your average BPM. If you are in danger, please press-"

The anger you heard rumors of fills him to the brim. Something daring to refrain him from drowning you in his love is equivalent to ordering a one-way ticket into the depths of Hell. A grunt and curse emerge from him. With a rushed flick of his finger, the hologram disappears as quickly as it came.

And without another second to perceive his actions, his lips are on yours. It is an almost god-like fervor he possesses. Your relentless struggling flies over the head of the absolute beast on top of you. It is instead met with the sharp prick you felt the night before on your lips. The same sensations flood through your veins, once again. This time, however, you are still able to regain consciousness and the small dosage succeeds in immobilizing your body. Now, you are entirely susceptible to whatever your kidnapper intends to have you endure.

Meanwhile, Miguel is utterly convinced he has left Earth and is now resting on Cloud-Nine. The unadulterated affection and sheer giddiness derived from your kiss bubble in his chest like a fizzy, sugar-ridden soda. He even considers he had somehow gotten drunk on the beverage, even though there is no physical indication of the beverage even existing. The way his heart batters like a savage animal locked in a cage is enough evidence to convince him otherwise, though. This kiss was only done to debilitate you, yes, but he would be a fool if he believed he could hold himself back from indulging in this moment.

Forehead pressed against yours, he speaks with breathless tremor. "I..." He gulps, "I got you another gift, button."

Once Miguel deems himself satisfied, he laps up the drops of blood that cascade from your lips with bone-chilling glee. Reluctantly, he withdraws from the close contact. His attention then begrudgingly drifts from you and to something on the bedside table. You are unable to turn your head and identify his actions, you can only lay on this bed in complete, paralyzed submission.

In his hands is a bowl of your favorite ice cream. "You never finished your bowl at the parlor. Remember?" You are still unsure of where he learned this was your preferred flavor.

When you expect him to bring the plastic, pastel-pink spoon to your lips, he does the opposite. Instead, he feeds himself a spoonful of the ice cream. Then, much to your horror, he presses his thumb to your chin and indulges in another kiss. His tongue slithers into your mouth, to where he coerces you to consume the sugary substance directly from him. Like a fucking mother bird. Your moans of discomfort are mistaken for sounds of pleasure. The noise elicits a muffled grunt from Miguel that vibrates against your lips. After all, the guttural groans protruding from him are enough to inform you he is enjoying this far more than you are.

"You can't just walk into my life, take my heart, then try and leave." Another quick, yet deep, kiss is forced upon you before he continues. "I won't let you. I can’t let you…”

A mess of ice cream, saliva, and stained blood paint your abused lips. Miguel backs away from your mouth and the separation provides you ephemeral comfort. For the umpteenth time, he hastily scoops another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth and fervently forces it into yours. It is absolute torture.

Any attempt at pushing this monster away from you and puking out any trace of him left in you was entirely fruitless. The spongy muscle of his tongue continues to explore your mouth with more heaps of ice cream. Miguel kisses, slurps, and guzzles all remnants of you he can garner. You wonder if he had bought the entire parlor with how much ice cream he appeared to have.

"I love you too fucking much..." All you can do is let him relish in the euphoria he feels upon his actions and pray to God that it will end soon.

This is what life looked like for the following months. Miguel forcing his love onto you the way he forced ice cream down your throat.

And it is what life looked like when he lost you. Miguel forcing the universe to adhere to his needs the way he forced you into being his lover.

October 17th. It was all his fault. 

He remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. It was a frigid Saturday morning. Miguel dropped Gabriella off at school for soccer practice, not bothering to wave or kiss his daughter goodbye, once again. Instead, he leaves quickly to purchase an expensive necklace and another order of your favorite ice cream to surprise you. Diamonds and sugar are the best way to someone's heart, right?

The ice cream falls from his hands and splats against the ground when he finds you. The diamonds are now chipped and dented from falling onto the hardwood floors. His breath is lodged in his chest as if his lungs had been crushed beneath the weight of the sight that stood before him. His eyes are blown wide in confused horror as if the mere action of blinking would kill him in his stance.

You lay on the floor of his office.

Lifeless. Cold. Dead.

The vibrant spider webs he used to tie the ring to your hand had conducted an electric flow from the watch he had been working on and into your body.

The electricity you made him feel was now the reason you were dead.

However, Miguel refuses to see this. He brings your body into his embrace, choosing to ignore the lack of reciprocation and silent pulse. You are just asleep, you are just asleep, you are just asleep. Tears overwhelm his vision, hiccups penetrate his chest, and unruly sobs fill the air. Still, he clings to you and persists in what he is desperate to believe as the truth. You are just asleep. You're always so sleepy, it is just too adorable! Maybe some ice cream will wake you up. Right? Right...?

Incessant demands to open your eyes fill the air, which soon turns into a series of relentless, incoherent pleads. Miguel webs the battered necklace and spilled ice cream into his hands. He ensnares the jewelry around your neck, a choked compliment of how beautiful you look barely able to escape through unruly sobs. His trembling hands then bring a spoonful of your favorite ice cream to your lips, ushering you to open your mouth and let him feed you. The tears staining his vision make it hard to see what he is doing. He loses the mobility of the spoon, to where it then clatters against the ground.

Large hands then cling to your face as he forcefully shakes you and calls out your name.

"WAKE UP! Y/N, WAKE UP!" The desperate, thunderous roar could have torn the world asunder with its violent force. It surely would have woken you up, had you been alive. Miguel knows this and it destroys him.

Miguel grasps the watch on top of the desk, you still in his arms. The desire to absolutely destroy the very thing that took you from him was almost feral. When he thought of the intentions he originally had upon creating the machine, however, he sought against it. Clicking the metal walls back into place, he taps a few buttons in the correct order. The room is then adorned in neon colors that frame a pitch-black portal. From here, Miguel stands to his feet with you in his arms and ventures through.

He abandons his daughter, abandons his life, abandons everything.

When he first learned of the existence of the Multiverse through his job at Alchemax, he fantasized about creating the perfect world where you and him can be together. He crafted it from scratch, but it still needed a few more knots tightened and screws fastened before he could have given it to you. Blinding sunshine and vibrant blue skies; healthy green grass and a single house on a hill. The clouds drifting in the sky resemble a myriad of different shapes, where Miguel had hoped you and him could do cloud-gazing with one another. The flowers planted in the soil all contrast in variety and color, where Miguel had hoped you could make him a personal flower crown like you did for his daughter. And of course, an invisible force surrounds the small plot of land to ensure you won't go wandering.

Where it can be just you and him. Where you can never escape his love. Where you can be happy together.

Things are much different now. He was too late. Miguel can only stand here with your lifeless body in his arms, surrounded by the clean home he intended on spending forever in. The satiating grief had turned into desolate numbness. He doesn’t waste another second before taking action. Laying your body into the bed you two were intended to share, he assures himself you are just taking an afternoon nap. Then, he begins to forage the home for something, anything, that will wake you from your slumber. Like sleeping beauty, he desperately muses to himself.

Within several weeks, your poor body had been strapped to the bed with numerous tubes and IVs protruding into your body. Miguel stands by a desk, a myriad of holograms displaying information that would be incomprehensible to even the smartest of people. Eye bags sit heavy on his face from restless nights; his eyes are swollen and red from the lack of sleep.

He doesn't care if he has to kill every person in the Multiverse, endure the most gut-wrenching pain known to man, or even sell his soul to the devil himself. He will do anything to see you open your eyes again. Even if it is just to slap him across the face or to scream at him for taking you from your old life, he still needs it. You'd be home. And that is all Miguel could ever want.

However, he was so occupied in doing everything within his power to bring you back to him, that he hadn't realized just how uneducated he was about the Multiverse. When he wakes up after falling asleep at his desk to the strange sound of something sizzling, he looks and finds the furniture around the room begin to glitch. Almost as if he was living in a simulation. The closer the malfunctions accelerate to you, the quicker he is to take every device plunged into your body and bring you into his arms.

The foundations of the home vibrate beneath his feet, and he then sprints from the bedroom and down the stairs. A violent crash echoes from behind him when he finally escapes through the front door. He doesn't dare to look behind him, he only holds your body closer to him and sprints forward.

A few taps to his watch and a portal unfolds just several yards from him. When he was a mere footstep from escaping with you, the force of the destruction snatched you from his embrace. He tries to fight against the energy pulling him into the gateway he summoned and practically flails his body around like a dying insect. His desperate efforts to retrieve you are of no use when his strength is overpowered by his own machine. Inevitably, he falls into the portal.

A harsh cry of "NO!" flees from his mouth before he finds himself back in Nueva York. Alone.

The world Miguel had put his blood, sweat, and tears into creating had crumbled right before his eyes. And right in the middle of the mess is where the only thing he has ever loved is.

As the story of all Spider-People goes, Miguel uses every bit of energy derived from his grief. He, however, does not use it for the sake of others or to ensure no one ever feels the pain of losing a loved one. Instead, he vows to study more of the Multiverse and create technology that can bring your body back to him. He was so close to waking you up! He just needed a little more time!

During his endeavors, he soon meets Jessica Drew, and all delusions he claimed to be the truth shattered like glass onto concrete. Here, Miguel learns of the "Y/N-Curse," as she so called it. How every Spider-Person is destined to fall hopelessly in love with a version of Y/N, only to lose them in the end. She tells him of how she was in love with her own version of them, too, during her teenage years, which made Miguel spark with territorial rage. After beating around the push for too long, what she tells him causes his entire body to go rigid with shock.

Everyone was so used to the stoic, cold, terrifying Miguel O'Hara. Only Jessica Drew had seen that exterior disintegrate when he learned your body had been destroyed and it was impossible to retrieve you. His absolute worst nightmare had manifested into reality and nothing could ever conquer the amount of pain he feels now.

You are gone.

Forever.

If it wasn't for Jessica's high-speed, spider-induced senses, Miguel would have succeeded in killing her and then himself right in that moment.

From here, he agreed to Jessica's inquiries about starting a society of Spider-People all across the Multiverse. If not for others, then for you. Even if it is not the same Y/N from his reality, any version of you does not deserve to suffer. Still, to live every day watching millions of versions of you die through the numerous holograms sat on his desk tortures him in ways he cannot fathom. It is killing him, but when it is for you, he will do absolutely anything.

He will find a way to stop this curse. Even if it is the last thing he ever does.

With that, your life was over. May 16th, 2099 — the day Miguel O'Hara met the only thing that ever mattered to him. And October 17th, 2099 — the day Miguel O'Hara inevitably lost them.

A year has now passed since Miguel lost you and your story on Earth-1610 has kicked into full gear.

March 30th, 2023. Roughly a month has passed since you began these tutoring sessions. One hour every Tuesday and Thursday. That is all it was; that was all it was supposed to be.

Within the short expanse of 18 years, Miles Morales has never felt such exhilaration then when he is with you. Life has exploded in various hues of rapture, enchantment, and those all-too-familiar sensations of goosebumps blooming across his skin. When he miscalculates an equation on purpose to hear your euphonious voice correct him; when he feigns frustration to feel the warmth of your comfort and reassurance — oh, there is nothing that could ever equate to these newfound emotions. These two hours a week have become the highlight of his life and will forever remain so, he is sure of it.

3:27 PM flickers in neon green on Miles' wristwatch. 33 minutes until he gets to reunite with you. The love of his life, his soon-to-be spouse, the future parent of his beautiful children. It is impossible to contain the effervescent excitement as he sits here atop the numerous pillars adorning the Brooklyn Bridge.

A sketchbook sits in his hand, a technical pen in the other. Only several more empty pages are available, as the other ones have all been painted with your face. More sketchbooks contained with similar drawings are hidden in his bedroom back home. The amount of money his mother has spent on sketchbooks this month has become alarming. Rio is starting to edge over suspicion when his excuses of "I lost it" and "I spilled water on it" have been wrung dry.

And the drawings on these pages are a picture-perfect definition of lovesick. Sketches of what you would wear on your wedding day, illustrations of you and him on adorable dates, and of course, the alarmingly accurate depictions of you. Every detail of your form has become muscle memory now; every feature and "blemish" of yours is imprinted in Miles' brain. His foot taps with anticipation against the stone surface. Oh, he cannot wait to see you again.

Hastily, he shoves the art equipment into his cluttered backpack. A silver web sprouts from his wrist when he jumps from the skyscraper-high pillar. He soars through the city and hums to one of the numerous love songs on his playlist dedicated to you. Swinging past several graffiti pieces he's made of your face and ignoring a poor woman whose purse was being stolen, Miles soon makes it through his bedroom window.

At record speed, he rids himself of his sweaty suit and dresses himself in the best articles of clothing from his closet. A pair of jeans he hadn't doodled on, a Brooklyn Nets jersey over a white tee, and a pair of freshly-bought Air Jordans. For a final touch, a spritz of cologne he stole borrowed from a Tom Ford store. He would wear a tailored suit, but his request to have such was rejected by his parents. You needed to see how serious he was about you. After all, who knows how many others are in line to snag your heart? Miles' body erupts with chills at the mere thought.

Patching up the final efforts of his outfit in the mirror, he hears the front door creak open and the elated tone of his mother escapes through the thin walls. Then, there is your voice. And in our entire universe, there is absolutely nothing that can compare to the sheer music of your voice. He takes a deep breath to eradicate the black dots dancing in his vision, before finally leaving his bedroom. When he turns the corner and makes eye contact with you, the sweet shock it brings to his senses is almost enough to make him collapse onto the kitchen tile.

"Hey, Miles." He certainly would not mind waking up to that every day.

"Y-Y/N! It's good to see you! No, great, actually. It-It's great to see you! I'm happy you're here... Very happy, heh..." The fact he is able to muster a single syllable in your presence is nothing short of a miracle.

A mere 20 minutes has now passed since you have entered the Morales residence. You and Miles are sat at the dining room table, surrounded by a mess of highlighters, study guides, and practice quizzes. And this boy could win an Oscar with how well he plays dumb. Miscalculating equations, picking wrong answers, and misspelling simple words. With the few questions he purposely answers correctly, every "Nice job!" and "You got it!" has him staring at you as if he had looked into the night sky for the very first time. Oh, the sight of your sunlit smile and the sound of your mellifluous voice are seconds away from making him melt into a puddle.

Rio then enters the room with her phone in hand, much to Miles' dismay. As he is about to groan at her presence and demand through clenched teeth for her to leave, she then speaks.

"Y/N/N! Your boyfriend's on the phone! He said he had some trouble getting a hold of you." A knowing smirk is sat on her lips. However, there is also a gleam of disappointment over the fact she couldn't have someone as amazing as you join the Morales family.

With zero romance in your work-induced life, you are puzzled upon receiving this information. However, you then playfully roll your eyes, assuming it was a friend of yours playing a stupid prank. This action, however, told Miles all that he needed to know. The person on the other line has been granted the absolute privilege of calling you theirs.

And his world shatters.

With a "Thank you, Mrs. Morales," you take the phone and leave to the other room. Unbeknownst to you, you leave behind a downhearted mother and a devastated boy trying desperately to gather the pieces of his broken heart. His agony is almost palpable, which Eio takes notice of immediately. She places a comforting hand on his shoulder. She then informs him that there will be so many other fish in the sea the young boy will meet in his life, but she is oblivious to the weight of her son's devotion.

There is no one after you; there is nothing if it can't be you.

Meanwhile, you sing out an amused "hellooooo?" into the phone's speaker. You say your friend's name, exclaiming of how you know this is them and that this stunt they pulled against the infatuated student you tutor was cruel.

You wait for their witty response, to where there is none. All you can hear is the sound of someone's trembling breaths. You say their name in question a few more times, inquiring if the creepy mood was just another silly joke. When all you are met with is sheer silence accompanied by heavy breathing, you bid your friend an annoyed goodbye and end the call.

When you return to the dining room, you are muddled to find there is no one there. Before you are able to call out anyone's name in question, a loud and sharp bang! shakes the entire house. You can hear Rio's muffled voice through the walls. Although you are unable to discern her speech, the perceptible worry in her tone shakes you to your core. What has happened while you were gone? You follow the sounds, only to find her at Miles' bedroom, begging him to unlock the door and let her in. Within said bedroom, it sounds as though a tornado had formed within the small expanse and was destroying anything within its path.

Rio sees you in her peripheral and is swift with taking her phone back, ignoring your worried inquiries, and guiding you back to the dining room. A forced smile is planted on her face as she advises you to pack your things since Miles has suddenly "fallen sick." She begins to pack your things for you and of course, you aid her in these efforts, but she is far more frantic than you are. She slaps several dollar bills in your hand and when you try to inform her this was triple the pay she is meant to give you, your efforts fall on deaf ears. Rio then puts your backpack on you as if you were her child on your first day of Kindergarten.

With a gentle hand on your back, she leads you out the door. On the way, she gives you thanks and apologizes profusely for the unexpected trouble. Before you can reply, the door is slammed in your face. You are left in the dark expanse of the hallway, wondering what on Earth had just occurred. As much as you wish to help, you know there is nothing you can do at this current moment. You consider sending them a gift basket later on to aid Miles through his unexpected "sickness," before returning home as Rio advised you to.

You leave, blissfully unaware of what events are taking place within the Morales household.

When you had left to take the phone call, that is when disaster struck. With tears seeping down his cheeks, Miles abruptly stood from the dining room and stormed off to his room, his mother close behind. He slammed the door shut, locking it before proceeding to take out every sliver of emotion within his body on whatever helpless matter sat closest to him.

Miles' room became a complete disaster within the matter of seconds.

Action figures have been dismembered, posters are torn down, and art equipment has been destroyed. The dents in the wall from what he has thrown about are accompanied by the fist-shaped hole he left in the wall. A window has been shattered, his bed has been upturned, and his desk has been split in half. All emotions barreling through his body wreaked havoc on anything within his path.

His clenched fists form moon-crescent shapes into his palm; his chest rises and falls rapidly with infuriated breaths. His entire body is shaking with misery, rage, and horror. He feels everything at once and it is destroying him. The sobs being pulled from his chest feel like knife wounds through his heart. The tears falling from his cheeks paint his shirt wet and stain his hands from consistently attempting to wipe them away.

How could he not have known?

Through bleary vision, he glances at the door of his closet which has suffered immensely from his havoc, with violent indents and chunks of wood protruding out. Miles then drags his exhausted body across the room.

He enters the closet and locks the door behind him.

How could he not have known?

Just outside all of this destruction, you walk through the bristling streets of Brooklyn. A sharp chill sits on the back of your neck, almost as if someone was hot on your tail. It has you whipping around to verify no sudden danger was there to welcome you to your demise. Usually, walks through the city are calming to you. Tonight, for whatever reason, was different. You excuse it as still feeling perturbed from what had happened moments before with Miles, but the sensation still lingers.

Swinging from building to building behind you is Miguel O'Hara.

He had sat on the top of a neighboring building with a 2023-modeled phone in his hand. Hearing your voice, after a full year of being without the euphonious melody, had his heart halting in his chest. Even after you ended the call, he still sat there. Flabbergasted. Stunned. Euphoric.

The plan he conjured up was swift and flawed. Anyone in their right mind would be devastated to hear your heart belonged to another. Especially Miles Morales. Acknowledging this, he ushered the boy into a full mental breakdown right before you. The sight would surely terrify you, leading you to run away and leave him in the dust of your past. However, this was not the case. Instead, you were concerned about his well-being and wished to stay. The sharp envy coursing through Miguel led him to chuck the phone against the concrete surface of the roof, a few of the shattered remains piercing his skin.

What prevents him from tearing out Miles' throat, scooping you into his arms, and taking you far away is the state of the Multiverse. He refuses to make the same mistake he made a year ago; he refuses to put you in any sort of danger ever again.

For now, he'll create a ridge between you and the boy you're destined to fall in love with. Forging messages, fabricating lies, causing another childlike meltdown of millions. Miguel will do everything in his power to ensure you feel nothing but contempt for this boy while protecting you from your impending death in the process.

He just hopes nobody else in the Spider Society finds out you are alive, as well.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

THE BONUS TRACK !

❝ YOU SAID I WAS THE MOST EXOTIC FLOWER,

HOLDING ME TIGHT IN OUR FINAL HOUR . . . ❞

pinterest owns my heart so i couldn't stop myself. here, here, here, here, and here are some examples/inspiration i used for miguel's penthouse.

gif creds :: miguel.

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[unholyhelbig]

https://www.tumblr.com/unholyhelbig/748001277238181888/ive-reread-the-entirety-of-oversight-again-and

i’ve done this as well. i think u should 😌😏😉☺️🥰

Title: Rose Colored Glasses [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Reader gets word that Natasha is hurt and rushes home to assess the situation.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): injury to nose & foot, slight blood, and shrimp

[a/n: Did someone request more oversight? Because I've got you covered. This is pure fluff, sorry for the lack of angst! It's short, and sweet, and not proof read because I don't have time :( ]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

A quiet house was never a good sign. Growing up in the foster care system teeming with other wards of the state had taught you that. Often, you were three or four to a room. There were bunk beds with sheets slotted against the ceiling or stuffed under the mattress above your own, just for some type of barrier. It was an illusion of privacy, most of the time. Because houses like that were never quiet.

When you’d moved in across from Darcy after your 18th birthday, things weren’t quiet. Above you was a Latin-American couple that would wait until just past midnight to turn on a slow, rhythmic song and dance. Their steps were soft, and calculated. They carved out time for one another every single night between shifts. Just for the two of them. You often let the thumping base lull you to sleep.

The city was just outside your window. In the summer, you could prop it open with a brick and let the sounds of cars become a backdrop. There were sirens, and when the fire hydrant on the corner was loosened, the world welcomed a cold blast of water, sprinkling into the street. That was the opposite of quiet. That made your chest feel light, and warm.

After marrying Natasha Romanoff, you settled into the loudness of her home. Your home. Veronica was constantly running around the twists and turns of the bottom floor, Clint or Kate or Darcy galloping after her with a big smile on their face. They slowed themselves to make sure they didn’t break anything, but they wanted her to win, too.

Yelena often came with the muffled sounds of Russian techno bands coming from the headphones around her neck. It was a staple to find her in the kitchen with her head down, slicing into an apple from the backyard with precision unknown. Natasha would tug the headphones off to get her attention, or to send her into annoyance.

The night that Natasha got hurt was stifled with the sound of rain. It had soaked you to the bone, dripping onto the linoleum floor and then the carpet as you ascended the stairs two at a time. You’d been at the docks later than usual, the storm that had plagued the side of the harbor was relentless and delayed shipments.

The captain of the shipping boat your family had utilized for decades wanted to discuss something over whatever crap coffee you could beat out of the machine in your office. He spoke with a thick southern drawl, his mustache was encrusted with salt and sand. You had shed your coat and tried to warm yourself up by hugging your mug to your chest. Nothing seemed to work.

While you weren’t opposed to giving the man a raise, you were not the final say. Natasha was, and you figured he could use the company more than anything. The captain flicked through books that were on the shelf, taking two or three for his next journey out to sea. It was like clockwork with him, and you indulged his need for quiet companionship each time.

When your phone rang, you never looked at the caller ID. Those who were privileged enough to get your number knew to talk without any of the pleasantries that they were used to. Clint’s voice came through the receiver in a smooth, hushed tone that made you believe he wasn’t supposed to be calling you in the first place.

“Look, y/n, there’s been an… incident.”

“What kind of incident?”

He was meant to escort her to one of the many cocktail parties that Carlos LaMuerto was throwing at his mansion that bordered the same body of water that you resided on now. They were lovely get-togethers that you often attended with your wife. This, however, was the fourth one this month and your stomach was turning at the idea of another cocktail shrimp and lamb pate.

Clint had offered, seeing the desperation in your eyes. And while Natasha was reluctant, she ultimately agreed. No news of a bust had reached you yet, nor had a gun blazing argument. While the Captain licked his dry lips and scanned the books in front of him, you continued in hushed tones.

“Nat’s hurt. It’s not a big deal, you can finish up your business. She’s just being stubborn is all.”

An escaped sigh “I’ll be there.”

No shit, she was being stubborn. Your wife was bull-headed and wouldn’t admit to the smallest defeat. It eased your nerves slightly, and only slightly, that Clint said it wasn’t a big deal. No gunshot to the back, or knife to the throat. It wasn’t good enough, however.

Natasha would be upset that you tracked mud into the house and left your boots sloshing by the door. You were panting by the time you reached the double doors that led to your bedroom. They were, of course, blocked by Clint and Kate. Yelena was leaning lazily against the railing that was parallel. She regarded you with an uninterested stare.

“You did not have to come here.” She said, “We’ve got it handled.”

“She kicked all of you out, didn’t she?”

“What? She certainly did not!”

Yelena’s voice pitched with her lie. Kate’s cheeks turned an off-shade of pink and Clint just rthe hallway, that was a good sign. Still, neither of the two moved to let you into your own room.

“If you’re not going to get out of the way, can you at least tell me what happened?”

There was a muffled reply from behind the door. With the way that the voice flitted, you knew that she was trapped on the bed. Otherwise, she would have leveled you with a glare right here and now. The words were simple “Do it, you die.”

“Oh, come on,” You whispered harshly, turning your attention to Kate instead. She was the easiest to break. “Katie, what is the harm in letting me through? I’m going to catch my death if I stay in these clothes.”

“Catch your death?” Clint scoffed “What are you? A poet from the 1800’s?”

“I’m about to be breaking your fingers if you don’t-“

“You can’t even break wind,”

The two of your voices combined as you kept at it. You didn’t’ miss the wary look that Kate shot Yelena. One way or another, you’d get into your room. You refused to be banished to the couch again, especially in wet clothes. If you had to threaten ruining the rugs with your muddy footprints, so be it.

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” You held up both of your hands, silencing the chaos of the corridor. “Nat, you are my wife, you’re hurt. Whether you like it or not, I’m coming in. Does anyone have any objections?”

Kate went to raise her hand, but Yelena yanked it back down and shook her head no. You tore into Clint with a look that could drop him dead. He relented and stepped away from the door. While you had a moment of peace, you walked into the dark of the room. She’d turned out the lights, save for the half-moon that showed a pale pattern against the carpet.

When you reached for the light switch on the wall, Natasha let out a noise that was similar to a wounded animal. You halted, your actions and made out her form on the bed. She was folded in on herself, her silhouette rigid.

“Baby,” you cooed, closing the distance between you and the bed. She grunted again, this time in pain. She attempted to turn away from you. You lowered yourself onto the sliver of bed, approaching the situation softly. “Can I turn on a light?”

“No, I’m hideous.”

You chuckled softly “I highly doubt that, my love. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Natasha had never liked being vulnerable around you. It had taken a full weekend of you nursing her back to her feet after the incident on the pier for her to let herself cry. You held her for hours, her nose pressed against the small of your neck. She’d gripped onto you, as if you’d leave. But you never would.

Eventually, you saw her shadow nod. Before she could change her mind, you flicked on the lamp on the side table. It didn’t’ have a far reach, but the light was less harsh on the both of you. It was impossible not to notice the blood that had dried against Natasha’s nose, a split right down the middle.

You’d seen her with broken bones before, bruises that wrapped around her midsection. You’d put ace bandage around her ribs after drawing her a bath. This was nothing to be ashamed about. In fact, she often saw them as battle scars that would heal in a pink gash.

Her foot was wrapped up with a bag of peas and one of frozen carrots that Clint, or even Yelena had situated. There was bruising around her ankle, it looked painful and you internally winced at the coloring. She groaned into the small of her elbow.

“I want to die”

“Natty, it’s okay. This is nothing a cozy weekend inside can’t fix.”

She said something that was quiet and muffled by her arm. You didn’t understand her one bit, but she squeezed a single tear from her eye that you wiped away dutifully before it could reach the silk of sheets.

“What was that, baby?” You asked gently.

She threw both of her hands down and glared at the ceiling. Her fingers eventually found yours, squeezing your palm in reflex. Her words came out in a quick breath, “I tripped over a carpet at the stupid dinner party and hit my face on the catering table.”

You were effectively silenced. That was very un-Natasha. But lately, you and Clint had been pestering her about her eyesight, especially at night. It wasn’t something she wanted to hear. In fact, each time you brought up the idea of glasses, she would effectively silence you with a glare, or even a kick to the shin under the kitchen table if you had company.

You bit the inside of your cheek and ran your thumb over her hand. She clutched your hand tighter. Now was certainly not the time to laugh, and while you fought back the initial giggle, you were more concerned about your wife.

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“I bet you got right back up.” You said, pressing your palm against her cheek. “None of those fancy party types would dare question your influence on this city.”

“Shrimp went flying everywhere.” Natasha pouted.

“Everyone was tired of shrimp anyway, even the shrimp.”

She grasped at the collar of your jacket and pulled you closer to her, pressing her lips against your own. They were warm, the warmest thing that you’ve felt since getting caught in the passing storm. You were careful not to lean on her ribs, breathing in the rosewater scent of her.

Natasha pressed her forehead against yours, running a hand up your spine. She grimaced. “You’re all wet.”

“Well now I am,” You smirked against her jawline, leaving a little nip in your wake. “You need to get glasses.”

“Don’t change the subject. You’re getting the sheets all damp, and you smell like fish.”

“I smell like fish?” You giggled, pressing a kiss to the exposed part of her neck. You felt Natasha laugh too, using her hands to cover her face from the blush that was blooming against her cheeks. “We’re talking about me?”

She laughed harder, attempting to shove you off but you let your body go slack against her, not using your arms to hold yourself up anymore. “Yes! Go shower!”

“Mm, but you’re so warm.”

“You’re not going to be warm if I make you sleep on the couch.”

You gasped dramatically, pulling your head off her stomach and meeting her dark green stare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me. After the day I’ve had, I refuse to sleep next to my wife when she smells like a marina.”

Even while she said it, her voice was gentle, her fingers working over your scalp to brush the wet hair from your eyes. You pulled yourself up to give her another peck on the lips, careful to avoid the split nose and busted ankle.

“Fine, but only because you need more aspirin.”

She grunted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Can’t believe I let you through my defenses.”

“Uh-huh. Get some rest. I’m going to go talk to your defenses about getting you an appointment with an optometrist.”

You turned to move towards the bathroom, already craving the warmth of a shower and some clean pajamas. Two steps from the doorway and you felt a plush throw pillow hit you directly on the back of the head. Natasha had amazing aim, always had, and always would.

You bent down and picked up the gold upholstered pillow, giving her a faux glare. “You’re not getting this back.”

“Oh, come on, baby.” She stuck out her lower lip “I have to prop up my foot.”

“You should have thought of that before you launched it at my head.”

 [Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober: Day 4 (Prostitution)

Kink: Prostitution

Pairing: Male!Android x GN!Reader

Other Kinks: Deepthroating, Cum Swallowing

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1047 words

Kinktober Masterlist

"Wow, it's so soft." Axel half-whispers, warm digits massaging your ass cheeks. His modulated voice is full of awe, so enraptured by the feel of flesh and muscle. Since coming to this planet where 90% of the populace are androids, cybers or other kinds of techno-life, this was a reaction you were getting used to.

Especially when it comes to your clients.

"You like?" You purr, wiggling your hops in his face. The audible whirr of his cooling fans kicking on makes you giggle.

"Y-yeah, I do." Axel mumbles, still in awe of the jiggling flesh. He gives your ass a timid slap, cooing at the recoil.

Axel was shaping up to be one of your favorite clients. He'd walked into his appointment, face flushed blue with coolant and stuttering out an introduction. He had muttered out that it was his first time with an organic, which you had already assumed but pretended to be shocked anyway. Most of your customers requested you because of the novelty of your fleshy body; you'd grown used to several minutes of petting and observation before they eventually asked you to spread open.

But Axel had been different. He had asked your name, asked if the way he touched you was okay. Even the way he fondled you felt different. It wasn't detached fascination, it was a desperate awe. He'd whispered sweet things about your body, admired your specific stretch marks, your dimples, and your skin's imperfections.

You think you'll give him your card after this session. It’s reserved for your most well-behaved, respectful clients.

But for now you have a job to do, and you want to show Axel all the things your fleshy body can do.

You flip around, pulling Axel into a hug. He squeaks, not unlike an old computer mouse, but quickly sinks into your embrace. He rubs his face into your warm skin, moaning at the sensation. Just a kiss to the cheek has him shuddering with a moan.

"Let me make you feel good, baby." You whisper in his audial port, Axel responding with an eager nod. His body readily complies as you push him back on the bed, slotting in between his legs. The sleek wiring pulses green and blue in between his segmented joins, flaring as you trace your fingers down them. It's adorable.

His modesty player is buzzing, whirring machinery underneath betraying how eager he is, if you couldn't already tell from his shaky whines and stuttered words.

"W-what are you-" Axel whispers, caught in a moan when you press another kiss to the plate, his hips jerking upwards. "Ooh, do that again, please."

"I can do you one better, handsome." Your hand caresses the seam of his plate and Axel is quick to let it pop open, sliding to reveal a pulsing phallus. It drips with a neon green lubricant, more like a vibrator in shape than a human penis. It also has several bumpy nodes, which only excites you for later.

Wasting no time, you lick up his shaft, paying special attention to those nodes, wondering how sensitive they are. Axel throws his head back with a breathless whine.

"O-oh, stars. That feels good." His voice catches with another moan as your hand wraps around the base of his shaft and squeezes. More neon lubricant gushes out of the slit at the top, which you lap up eagerly.

Yum, lemon-lime flavored.

You suck at the eager slit some more, Axels flailing hands grasping at your shoulder and neck, gently pulling your mouth closer, chasing tbe high.

"Your mouth...it's incredible!" Axel yelps. His whimpering voice sends a shiver down your spine.

You're definitely giving him your card after this.

"Your tongue, your lips, I've never felt anything like it. It's amazing."

"Hmm, and how about this?"

Before Axel can even mutter a "Huh?" you have him half-down your throat, cheeks sucked in. His voice processor glitches as he groans, those eager digits digging into your skin. "Oh stars!" He shouts as your tongue lathers around the shaft, slowly moving your head up and down.

He's a little too thick at the base for you to properly deep throat him, but you don't need to. You can see his wires pulsing in your peripheral, hear his pants and moans, and can taste the excess lubricant bubbling to the top. Axel grows bold enough to hold onto your cheek and fuck into your louth, although quite gently.

"I think-" Axel stutters, hips still humping into your throat, "I think I'm close."

You humm, the buzz around his shaft making his thrusts falter. Your lips pop off the top of his member for a second, quickly replaced by your hand. Licking excess fluid off your lips, you look Axel right in the eye.

"Oh yeah? Where do you want to come? Down my throat?" Axel nods, voice chip struggling to form words amidst his groans. It makes you smirk, giving one long lick up his phallus before deep throating him again. You set a more moderate pace, urging him to climax.

"Oh stars, ohh-" Axel's voice, even glitchy, is melodic. He sound so sweet, coming undone below you. "S-shit!" His chip distorts the audio, wires pulsing a bright flash as hot streams of lubricant shoot down your throat. It's a little sour, but also quite sweet.

You slowly let Axel out of your mouth, savoring the flavor of his phallus as you do. The running of his cooling fans reminds you of a kitchen vent, his phallus slowly sinking back into his modesty place for a quick recharge.

You climb up Axel's body, giving him gentle kisses as you do. He readily nuzzles into your skin, despite his systems already warning that he might overheat.

"That was....fantastic" Axel whispers.

The sheer reverence in his voice makes you giggle, pecking again at his jaw.

"Well, I'm not sure how long it will take to recharge but..." You run a finger up his wiring, batting your eyelashes. "We still have another hour left in our session. If you'd like to see some of the other things I can do."

Despite the warnings in his processor, despite the way his modesty plate slowly beeps as he lets it open again, Axel is eager.

"Yes please."

[nerdysleepybunny]

Hallo! im new here so please let me know if i cross any boundries.'

anywho, I was wondering if i could request a platonic philza and/or techno comfort? ive had bad few days :(

Have a wonderful day/night!

I APOLOGIZE FOR GETTING TO THIS SO LATE!! I literally love dsmp asks even though the fandom is dying off, so this definitely isn’t crossing any boundaries! I hope you’re doing better. My dms are open if you ever need to chat! :D

🩷☁️N E R D Y S L E E P Y B U N N Y☁️🩷

Fandom(s): DreamSMP

Character(s): Philza, Technoblade (ft. Mumza & Chat)

Reader: Gender neutral (you/your)

Style: Hcs

TW: N/A

Summary: How Philza and Technoblade (separate) would comfort you!

🩷☁️N E R D Y S L E E P Y B U N N Y☁️🩷

Philza:

I feel like he’s the type to just know you aren’t doing well before you even say anything.

Like, you’re just sitting there in your feels, then suddenly?

BOOM CONCERNED DAD RIGHT IN YOUR FACE

“Are you okay, mate?”

“Do you need anything?”

“Here, let’s sit and have a chat.”

Literally shooing chat away so it’s just the two of you having quality time together.

Would sit down next to you on a couch, but probably wouldn’t initiate any touching. The most I see him doing is a shoulder pat or a hand rubbing your back.

Of course, he wouldn’t mind you leaning on him or embracing him! He just doesn’t want to touch you in case you want your space :)

If you want to talk about it he’s there to listen and offer wise old man advice (if you call him old while you’re upset, it’s the ONE time he won’t get defensive about it)

Like

He’s just talking giving you some advice about your problems, then he hears you snickering

“What’s so funny?”

“You sound so old right now, Phil.”

Usually he’d shout his usual “I’M NOT OLD/I’m only in my 30’s, mate…” (I’m pretty sure he’s canonically thousands of years old but shh let grandpa be delusional)

But now? He’d just chuckle and shake his head

“Whatever you say, mate.”

DON’T EXPECT HIM TO BE SOFT FOREVER, IT’S ONLY BECAUSE YOU’RE CURRENTLY SAD

After you’ve concluded your venting/told him that you don’t want to talk about it

You know what time it is…

DISTRACTIONS!!!

Pillow fort anyone? He’s giving pillow fort vibes.

He’s a dad, so obviously he’d just do all the work and build it for you. Again, only because you’re sad. Any other time he’d yell at you for not helping.

Speaking of sadness

Don’t let Phil’s wife see you sad…

OH NO YOU’RE SAD? NOW MUMZA IS SAD AND IS RUSHING TO COMFORT YOU

Mumza is the type to cry when she sees someone else crying, so now both of you are just sobbing together and Phil is there trying to comfort the two of you but is an overwhelmed old man and may end up crying himself

Uh… cry party?

Either you all end up making fun of each other for crying which results in you all laughing together, or you just cry till you get sleepy and pass out on the floor together.

What an interesting way to family bond.

Technoblade:

So you seek The Blade for comfort, the most monochrome and nonchalant man on the server. What a wonderful decision, reader! /lh (I’d do the exact same)

If you’re a Technoblade fan you’ve definitely heard the “it’s fine” audio.

Now I can either be wholesome and say he’d hold you close and whisper that everything will be okay to you

Or I can be silly and realistic and say that he’d pull out a phone and just play the audio with a blank face, but is laughing on the inside due to your “what the actual fuck” face.

Okay now for some actual comfort!

As we all know… Technoblade isn’t exactly good at comfort.

He kills orphans for a living, how do you think he’d react seeing someone crying like a child?

He’s standing looking at you with a look of “why is this creature screaming” and “wtf do I do”

“Uh… you good? You okay? You, uh… need a hug…?”

Very awkwardly holds his arms out for a hug, and if you accept, he even more awkwardly pats your back.

If you got his shirt wet with tears, he’d DEFINITELY comment about it

“Are you seriously ruining my shirt? How are my enemies supposed to think I have a good fashion sense now?!”

Goes into a rant about how he needs to look his best and how it’s a good strategy to beat his enemies in battle while you’re kinda just there… honestly are you even crying anymore?

You’ve stopped crying ages ago, and he’s still just talking

In conclusion, Technoblade is good at calming people down without even trying (I was literally having a breakdown and all I needed to do was listen to the silly pig man talk about Greek mythology. It must all be part of his master plan…)

Speaking of listening to his voice, here’s a scenario.

“Technoblade, can you read to me?”

“…what?”

“Read to me.”

“I’m not reading you a bedtime stor-“

“I wanted you to tell me about Greek mythology.”

“Fine. Come here.”

Long story short, he starts by reading you just one story. That one story turns into the entire history of the Greek gods and goddesses… yeah you pass out pretty quickly. But Technoblade isn’t one to stop mid-ramble. Once he notices you’re asleep, he’ll continue talking, just quieter. He’ll eventually get sleepy himself, and soon enough… you’re both asleep.

Works like a charm!

🩷☁️N E R D Y S L E E P Y B U N N Y☁️🩷

[sealofarchives]

Could you do a headcanon of the Rottmnt Leo of how he would react when he realizes he is in love with the reader? (neutral gender)

Headcanon/Oneshot: The slow realization of Leo falling in love with the reader. (Requested prompt)

A/N: Accidentally went with a slight oneshot but, hopefully this has what the request is looking for.

Insomnia won another night as Leo gave up trying to stick to a normal sleep schedule. Now scrolling on his phone bored from the lack of funny videos on youtube. And decided to try and organize the photos he saved on his device. Until he found a few photos of you two together.

Going backward from the most recent picture and then eventually. Seeing the first photo of you with him.

You weren't really one for photos so... Your face had a bit of trying to smile like what you usually do at awkward family gatherings. But, still had fun around this self confident red slider turtle.

A digital memento of the white lie of

"I was supposed to check out this place ahead of time but..."

"Naaaah, where's the fun in that!"

"Might as well hang out with (Y/N) for a bit so it doesn't seem like a boring escort mission."

His focus now taking mental notes at the later pictures where.

You felt comfortable enough to speak up about your personal space and sometimes not in the mood for a hug. Which he, Raph, and Mikey are guilty of giving surprise affection and very much took the issue in a serious manner.

Resulting in you sometimes out of your comfort zone and taking the lead when something has your full attention. The pictures almost being subtle examples where you can finally be yourself.

Memories of a safe and mutual trust built between you and the turtles' small friend group.

Even joining in on some goofy poses that he can't help but, tease you about it on some random night out.

His heartbeat almost stopped at a past video where he surprised you with a plushie of your favorite character for your birthday.

.

..

...

He saw himself blushing being pulled into your bear hug that almost choked him out of breath. While Donnie recorded the said video as the softshell turtle snickered at his brother's obvious sign of a crush. Leo gave a light glare at his brother until seeing the sweetest smile on your face. The video ending just as the blush deepen close to spreading acrossing his light blue mask.

He remembered how Donnie immediately went with a dating survey. The what type of person you date icebreaker. And a bit of payback of Leo stealing the second slice of your birthday cake.

"Totally not taking notes for your potential future spouse."

Leo facepalmed how much he had to hide any bit of jealousy to avoid ruining your special day. But, it stung hearing you laugh at Donnie's idea and going along with it. Thinking of it as a fun what if game.

Since you almost give the same attention to him. His snarky attitude is rarely at you with how often you're never bored by his routine techno babble. Along with how much patience you have. Dealing with two turtles who deny having some ego problems.

Leo lazily put his phone away on top of his bed.

With a slow sigh to relax his nerves, he replaces his sleep mask with a fresh light blue mask and stood up to wear a dull blue hoodie.

Holding one of this signature swords as he opens up a light blue portal.

("Sorry Donnie but, I'm not into the idea of sharing (Y/N) with you.")

("I feel more at ease with them by my side...")

("Even if I don't have the words for a proper heartfelt confession...")

("I know they can help with me with that.")

Leo held onto to his phone staring at the new phone wallpaper.

Just the two of you. Almost posed together like a couple while attempting to stay focus for a boring grocery shopping list.

He shook off the embarrassing feeling and will pick a different one later but, for now.

The instant text message reply of you still being awake at these late hours gave him another push to ask you out on an actual date. As he jumped through the portal to your room with no hesitation.

[chosoclub]

Art by nada_ge

Playlist based off of this work → here

CONSPECTUS: Suguru Geto is transfixed by you and he would eliminate anything that stands in the way of you and him.  TAGS: MDNI! ° wc 3k ° dark content ° stalking ° cannibalistic idioms ° masturbation ° afab!reader ° cunnilingus (f!receiving) ° penetration ° fingering ° incel!suguru LMAO ° no y/n mention

SUTPHIN BLVD ⋆ SUGURU GETO&READER

The word soulmate has been churned and spit out with no vindication; Stellar collisions seldom occur frequently, and when two white dwarfs spin into each other, their mass instability can conceive a supernova so strong, that the dwarfs’ obsolete mass is thwarted into the galaxy. Yet, this word, soulmate, an event that is meant to encapsulate a feeling so obsessive, so thrusting and strong has been diluted to nothing but a mere expression of love. 

When Suguru first saw you, neon and glowing, he empathized with the supernova. Partially from the alcohol that flowed up to his irises, partially from the way you dress hugged the concaves of your waist and thighs, he felt his vision vignette with you in the center. Your eyes sparkled like dew-misted grass, the words that came out of your lips blurry when they hit his ears, 

“I said, I love this song! What’s it called?” You repeated after his second consecutive huh?

The music boomed through his headphones, making his head spin, and the motor functions flow out of his fingertips when spinning a knob to reverb to the next track.

“Techno? It sounds sick!” You yell over the crowd when he responds, your voice maintains a soft and silky tone even when you’re hollering. 

The music in his ears ceases immediately when he rips the headphones off his head, “Take over for me,” body towards his partner, eyes still on you, watching you begin to dance and blend back into the crowd. The other grabs his headphones. 

The feeling takes over him like ebony ink, swirling through his arteries until it fills him up from head to toe and he feels overtaken by the overwhelmingly obsessive jet black: Her. 

At the end of the night, Suguru has you propped against the brick wall of the bathroom, a hand under your dress, kneading at your breast as you softly moan against his mouth. Your lips are glistening with spit, the plump coral splitting to moan his name in the blur of the club music. He sucks at your neck, the tension between his lips and your skin bleeding a red, purple, blue he laps his tongue over before moving lower to create another masterpiece on the skin. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” He slurs against your bare stomach, placing a kiss on the surface before bracing your legs on his shoulders and laving the entrance of your pussy. His warm tongue against your flesh contrasts the cold wall against your back as you groan his name against the brick. You can feel every ridge that protrudes his tongue as he flicks it in between the currents of your pussy. Suguru wants desperately to twist his tongue until you’re crumbling against him like putty, spinning you at his will until there’s nothing left. 

The bass of the music feels even more intense when you’re so close to your orgasm and when his acute movements quicken, you have to grip at his long raven locks to keep conscious. 

This routine develops over the next few months, and Suguru and his tongue become a presence you see more often. His arm leaning against the door frame when you swing the door open, the two of you both in agreement on terms he’s there for. He’d stay to chat, slowly unfolding you at the palm of his hand, learning more, understanding more about you, and then eventually in the night, fucking the daylights out of you. To you, he modulates into a friend who’s pretty good at making you feel good. One night, he’s sitting on the edge of the couch, arm on the cherry brown armrest, the other stretched against the back cushions and hovering over your head. His eyes have a warm crease to them.

“I like having you around,” you turn to him, smiling. The arm by your neck shifts so that he can rest his temple against his knuckles. 

“Yeah? I’m not surprised.”

“Jesus, no, not like that,” pausing, “yes, like that, but also as someone to talk to.” 

He smiles, eventually unable to help the toothy grin against his right palm. You lean to slide your tongue in between his teeth. He takes you in, arms shifting to each other’s hair, tongue sliding against the soft part of your cheek. 

“I could say the same about you,” he groans against your lips. You tug lightly at his long, black hair, moaning softly when you feel the tip of his shaft poking your thigh. He slides down the couch to let you fully lay atop him and feel the girth of his dick. To Suguru, you begin to overtake every part of his brain. He can’t help but think of you at all hours of the day until the image of you is a constant in his brain, and the thought of you splitting to run to some derivative of him tightens his chest, the black inkling rising to his head until the only thing that can bring him back to Earth is the vision you opening the front door and welcoming him in. When he catches you gazing down at him, gluttonous on your core like licking a bloomed orchid in the spring, the thought of someone else having you at their will like this, eyes glossed over, chest heaving, has him digging his nails into the silk flesh of your thighs until the marks flush bright red slits.

You’re so fucking perfect, Suguru hovers over your lips, his velvet fingers swirling the nectar between your legs, streaks spilling out onto his knuckles. He couldn’t imagine someone else making you feel as good as he does.

Even when he’s not with you, a day off from work, he's stretched on the couch, one hand pawing at his dick, the other swiping through the collection of you – one sleeping soundly on his arm, one through the blinds of you leaning close to the mirror, mouth slightly agape, hand mid-brushing an ebony wand through your lashes, taken minutes before he knocked on your front door. All are unique in their setting, all similar of you unknowing. 

Suguru pictures your velvet flesh, the gravitational pull in the way you lean against him, thrust against him, heave against him. He wonders what it would be like to devour you whole, too pretty too chew, too delicious to consume you only with his eyes. He thinks of your ruby-fresh blood, the way it percolates against your skin when he leaves hickeys all over your chest – wondering if he could bite hard enough to get a taste of the rouge, even picturing your eyes widening in surprise and possibly fear at the sudden action. Regardless, he wonders what it tastes like, expectantly sweet or bitter. He sighs at the thought, feeling his vision blur at the abrupt surge of a climax. 

The next day, when the words, I think I met someone spill from your lips, a soft smile as you look at him expectantly for him to grin back, flash his pearly canines like he always does when you lean close to him on the couch, he only narrows his eyes. 

“Who?” 

“I don’t think you’d know him but I met him while I was out the other night,” your smile is sticking to your cheeks without you realizing it and Suguru despises it, at least when it’s for another man. He can feel his heart beginning to thunder in his ribcage and his blood speed through his veins until they’re protruding out of his skin. 

This felt like a double entendre, one side to tell Suguru as a supposed friend, and the other, a shadow that grows along the room, to say it’s probably in due time we stop seeing each other sexually, but you can still stick around and listen to the new man I’ve been fucking, and Suguru was convinced he despised that even more. The jet-black feels like it’s overtaking every hair on his body, rage bubbling from his core until all he can do to suppress it all is slightly tighten his jaw. 

“Shit, well, that’s great – I’d love to meet him sometime.” He thinks your smile is cruel; a pinnacle of some sort of game you’ve entered with yourself to make him feel like shit after all these months. He has to count his breaths to not offset the rhythm of you two. He gazes into your unfazed composure, the vignette growing until the innocent facade begins to slip away until all that’s left of you is skeletal and infuriating. He can’t help but hate you for this. 

He thinks of this someone from the other night, wondering if he’d already been over and sat in the same place Suguru sits. If he’d been inside you already. How it went. What it felt like. He can’t help the way he quietly scowls towards the floor, rageful at someone and rageful at you.

He leaves your place that afternoon with a permanent narrow in his eyes, but the next night, he’s mapping the steps back to your place. Sutphin Boulevard, he murmurs to himself. He adores how idiotically you leave the blinds unfolded at night for anyone to walk by and peek into life inside. A sweet sigh of relief when he sees you alone cuddled on the couch, phone slipping from your numb hand, eyes closed and resting with the TV blaring. 

He tsks disappointingly at how easy it is for someone to peer inside and watch you sleep. Hypnotic, his thoughts and the way he wants to pick you up and nestle you deep where you can rest forever, unbothered by anyone else but him. Suguru stands there a while, the street empty so late at night, watching and picturing you waking up with him above you flashing an impish smile; Once again his desires shift to see fear in your eyes at how easily he managed to get inside. He’d shake his head, a thumb sliding across your jaw, the other four fingers pressing down on the purple veins of your neck. He wondered if you’d hide from him, ghost him for a while; not answer texts or calls until he’d have no choice but to slip back inside your life. Found ya, sweetheart.

Things didn’t seem to be running smoothly for you and your new man, you find solace and trust in Suguru. You invite him out to the park nearby, the secluded lake that welcomes a pink and yellow sunset as you rant to Suguru about your new love life.

“I don’t know, he hasn’t been reaching out to me if I don't text first,” you say, “that sucks, doesn’t it?”

“You want someone to make an effort for you.”

This causes the blood pumping through Suguru’s chest to pump faster. This asshole doesn’t even know what he has in his hands, he thinks, fists suddenly tight as iron. The thought of you in pain, shedding a tear over this man has him feeling hot; He’s already flipping through scenario after scenario to seek out revenge for your hurt. 

“Right.” 

“You’re worth the effort.” 

Your smile softens Suguru’s grip on the wooden bench. It’s different this time, full of genuine, sticky-sweet honey the way it glows like the sunset. 

He couldn’t imagine you leaving; the possibility has him in shambles, that you would consider someone else in the first place has his heart sinking to his stomach. Suguru was so enamored with you he forgot about you seeking someone other than him – He couldn’t let you stagger away. The walks to your place became more frequent and the likelihood of him knocking to come inside dwindled. By this point, he’s convinced he’s in love, the only words that ring between his ears when you smile at him: soulmate. He grips his fists, nails digging into his palms with a sting. He feels like crying but physically can’t muster the tears and is thus stuck with a bitter scowl on his face and an anvil over his chest. He feels like he’s forgotten life before you and can’t picture a future without you in it.

Weeks later, it’s I think he’s ghosting me all the way down. He has to turn away from you to roll his eyes when you tell him, watching your tear ducts well up with tears as he turns his head. He hugs you tight, wanting your heartbeat to feel his in tandem. Then suggests getting your mind off that dickhead, sweet smile that facades his intentions. You sniffle against his chest, wet tears coating his neck when you nod. Suguru digs his hand into your hips, propping you against the wall and ramming into you until his name is the only one you think of and the only one you moan. 

For the first time since you met him, Suguru doesn’t spend the night. You watch him hazily as he rubs a thumb against your damp cheek. He gives your face an affectionate tap.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll see you soon alright?” Then he adds, “I want to stay, but I can’t right now.” And all you can do is nod.

“It’s okay, Suguru, I’ll text you in the morning, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course.”

He spends the night rummaging through your social media to find any face that’s close to the one you’ve described and cried over. He’s on one of your Facebook posts, mouse hovering over the tag of a man, focus blurred from your shaky hand that took the selfie in a clear drunken state. But, when Suguru clicks on his profile, he has a clear spreadsheet of the man before him; his place of work, his habits, his education. He chuckles at how easy this man is to find; Suguru has already mapped out his schedule in his head. He’s completely submerged in adoration for you, the thought of another man hurting you is catastrophic to him just as much as you leaving him by choice.

He spends the next few days simply thinking. He doesn’t reach out much. He only sits at his desk and fantasizes. A punch to the gut, a punch to the nose to watch the blood spew out in droplets. A bat to the torso. A knife to the trunk to watch the rouge flow. All for you. Any of it, for you. 

He’s planned it perfectly as days turn to weeks; He’s learned this other man’s entire day-to-day. Most likely wakes up at six, takes the subway from Sutphin across to Manhattan, stays at his desk job until seven, lingers around the Manhattan bars until late, and takes the subway back, he’s back in Sutphin by three in the morning, where the raven awaits. 

When the silver doors slide open in the subway, Suguru bumps his shoulder against the other when he steps out onto the concrete. 

“Fuck, sorry man. Hey, you know if I catch a cab from here?” He fake slurs. The other's eyes are bloodshot but they narrow in annoyance. “I don’t live around here, I gotta get back before my girl gets worried.”

There’s only a handful of others who are already gone by the time the other says, “I don’t think cabs are running right now, you need a ride?”

Great, Suguru thinks, an asshole and a reckless driver. 

“Yeah, man, let’s get out from here, making ‘ma head ring.”

The two men stumble above ground, isolated in the night. The contents inside Suguru’s backpack shuffle as he fakes his best-drunk walk.

“Hold on, man. I gotta throw up.” The other stumbles into the alleyway that overlooks the park like a pawn piece that slides right into the path of the queen. Suguru can’t help the grin that takes over his face.

“Yeah, no worries.” He hovers behind the other, and when the asshole is hunched over vomiting over his shoes, Suguru lifts his leg to collide against the other’s backside, sending him hurling forward over the concrete. 

Before he has the chance to finish his holler, Suguru is on top of him, punching at his nose, unnoticing his knuckles that ache instead relishes in the ruby red that glistens across the digits when he lands another blow. Sounds of crack! echo through the darkened alleyway and Suguru decides it still isn’t enough. The only thought in his mind is you, you when he retracts his bloodied hand, you when he gazes at the man below him, eyes barely keeping conscious, jaw unhinging to let out a gut-wrenching scream – You when Suguru reaches for his shiv, you when the stab retaliates blood across his cheek. The gush of blood spills onto the concrete, filling the ridges of the pavement and catching the moonlight as Suguru stands to snap gloves over his already bloodied hands. The blood leaves a trail when he drags it along the alley, a heavy and loud splash when he hurls the man's existence into the void of the lake. 

The body sends soft waves across the surface that Suguru stands to watch until their flow eases. He sighs, then grins and lifts the back of his hand to smear the stranger’s blood that lays across his cheek. As he’s walking back around the block, reaching your place, he smiles again when he sees you forgot to turn your light off. 

AN. Get you a man that would kill for you

[angelf1re]

incorrect MCYT quotes!!

Phil: Why are you always trying to aggravate me?  Tommy: To relax.

Techno: Name a more iconic duo than my crippling fear of abandonment and my anxiety. I’ll wait. Y/n: You and me! Techno: tearing up Ok.

Tommy: What makes a bigger memory than a passionate kiss? Tommy: A stab wound.

Y/n: I think we should have glow stick juice injected in our bones when we're born, so if we break our bones, we get a fun little surprise. Phil: What's the surprise? Techno: Blood poisoning.

Tommy, to Phil: I mean, I get complimented all the time- Y/n: starts cackling Tommy: I do! Y/n: laughs harder

Techno: I have a bad feeling about this, guys. Phil: Oh don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Y/n: Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen? Techno, being bailed out of jail the next morning: I hate you all.

Y/n: Are you busy? Techno: Yes. Y/n: Cool, listen to this…

Y/n: Family bonding should be 50/50. Phil cooks us dinner while I sit on the kitchen counter playing Mario Kart.

Tommy: Phil, Y/n keeps bullying me at school. Phil: Ask your teacher for help. The next day… Tommy, to their teacher: Will you help me beat up Y/n?

Techno: Phil, I am nothing if not a man of principle. Techno: Now let’s break into this apartment.

Tommy: Today, Y/n said a swear word, so Techno said that he was going to wash Y/n's mouth out with soap. Y/n replied, “It’s okay, I like the taste of soap”. Turns out, they’ve been putting soap on their lips to blow bubbles.

Tommy: School sucks. Phil: I know, but you have to do it so you can get a job. Tommy: What are jobs like? Phil: They suck.

Y/n: accidentally eats something too spicy so their eyes start to water Phil: Y/n, look at me. It's okay. I would die for you. I love you so much. You're the best person I know. Y/n: I'm not crying? Phil, hugging Y/n's head: Shush baby, it's okay. Techno is here too and he loves you with his whole heart.

Tommy: Can I get a waffle? Wilbur and Y/n: fighting and yelling at each other Tommy: Can I p l e a s e get a waffle?

Y/n, learning how to drive: What happens if I press the gas and the brake at the same time? Tommy: The car takes a screenshot. Wilbur: Please pull over. I’m driving now.

[kingsleywrites]

How They Would React To Seeing Your Top-Surgery Scars

Characters: Tommyinit (Platonic), Tubbo (Platonic), Wilbur (geared towards romantic), Dream (geared towards romantic), Technoblade (Platonic or Romantic)

Fluff

A/N: For whatever reason my mind has only been giving me angst ideas like I like angst but I need some fluff 💀🤚

Y/N will be used (Meaning your name)

CW: swearing

This can be for anyone who has gotten top surgery and needs comfort about their scars (your beautiful no matter what <;3)

Tommy:

When he first sees your scars it doesn't really register in his mind that they are your top surgery scars

He just thinks that they are just scars that you've gotten in one of the countless battles

He definitely thinks they're super cool and asks you a bunch of questions about them.

"Hey Y/N- Woah! Where did you get those scars! These are cool as fuck!"

He would try and start guessing where you got them.

"Did you get them while in the nether? Was there a Piglin that tried to fight you and then they cut you with their tusks? Oh! Did you duel with Dream? or Techno? Did you kick their asses?"

You'd probably have to calm him down and explain to him that you didn't get into a fight and you just got them from top surgery

He would be very understanding of your situation, though he would apologize for jumping to conclusions.

He immediately wants to know if you have other scars and what the stories behind them are.

If you have more and decide to show them to him, he would listen very intently to the stories, and he finds the battles that you've been through (even if they aren't that big) very interesting.

If you have no other scars or you don't want to show him your other scars he is perfectly okay with that, even offering to show you his scars to make you feel better, telling you how he got each of them in a way that makes it interesting to listen too.

"And this one I got from when me and Tubbo were sparring, he felt so bad that he was apologizing for what felt like hours!"

If he ever felt that you were uncomfortable about the topic he would ask if you wanted to change it to make you feel more comfortable.

Overall he just wants to make you feel happy by saying "Hey, it's normal to have scars, and yours are just as valid as any others."

Tubbo:

When he first saw your scars he was really concerned and started panicking asking you a whole bunch of questions

"Y/N, do you wanna- Oh my god! Are you okay? Where did you get these from? Did someone hurt you? You can tell me but I swear if it was Sapnap or something me and Tommy will literally kick his ass!"

After calming him down and explaining to him that no one hurt you and these scars are from your top surgery

He would apologize for jumping to conclusions but he would be a little confused at first, I don't think that he would know a ton about the LGBT community so he would need a little clarification.

"Uh, I'm sorry if i'm overstepping your boundaries and you don't have to answer this if you're uncomfortable but, could you explain to me what top surgery is?"

After knowing exactly what top surgery is he would immediately ask if there's any way that he can help.

Want to try and fade the scars? Words of affirmation about how having these scars make you human or how your struggles are just as valid as anyone else's? Or even if you just want a hug, he'll find some kind of way that he can help you feel comfortable.

Tubbo really just wants you to feel comfortable in your own skin even if he is a little new to the whole LGBT community and how to help.

Wilbur:

Wilbur doesn't bring up your scars unless you come and talk to him about it first.

He starts to check up on you more and more.

"Hey Y/N, how are you doing? Everything is alright right?"

Just little check ups until you're ready to tell him about it.

If he ends up seeing your scars more than once he might bring it up at that point.

"Hey, um, what are those scars on your chest, if you don't mind me asking?"

Once you tell him that they're your top surgery scars he pulls you into a hug and assures you that he will always love and care about you no matter what.

Basically he will just praise the hell out of you, tell you how amazing you are, how brave you are for going through the surgery, how pretty and handsome and beautiful and cute you are.

Every time he walks by you he will just give you a kiss on the head as reassurance

He never wants you to feel like you are a burden

He will go to Fundy for advice on how to help and if there is anything that he should do to comfort you further.

Just a sweet guy who wants you to feel loved and appreciated.

Dream:

First thought is that someone hurt you and he wants to know who so he can kill the fucker

"Hey Y/N- what happened? No, No it isn't nothing, what happened. It matters because who every hurt you will have about five seconds to count their fucking blessings before I kill them."

You being you might respond with something snarky like "hey the doctor who gave me top surgery shouldn't die, I'm living my best life because of them!"

To which he responds with a mental facepalm and he gives you a hug

He just wants to protect you and sometimes takes it too far

Your chest becomes his new favorite part about you

Every time he gets the chance he will give you a kiss to remind you how much he cares

Cuddling where his head is buried in your chest? Expect him to be kissing your chest till one of y'all falls asleep.

"What? Can I not kiss my beautiful lover and give them all of the love they deserve?"

Technoblade:

Like Wilbur, Techno won't bring your scars up unless you make conversation about it

The difference is, He won't bring it up no matter how many times he sees your scars

I feel like with how many battles Techno had been in he has his own collection of scars some of which he would like to fade away and to never be talked about or brought into existence again.

So he won't talk till you want to talk

Once you do tell him he would say something like:

"Oh that's what those are? Yeah I've seen them before."

When questioning why he didn't say anything he would say something along the lines of:

"We all have our own scars, some you can see, some you can't, some you're fine with the world seeing and some you wish that they would disappear because they remind you of something that you want to block out and forget entirely. I've had my fair share of scars that should fade away just like those painful memories. I would hate to bring you back to a place that you wanted to forget."

As for comfort, he isn't too big on it, not because he doesn't want to give it to you but because he doesn't know how, maybe the occasional word or words of affirmation or hugs when you need them, but anything else and he would need Phil's help on what to do.

He is a great listener though, so if you ever need to vent he'll be the guy to go to.

Techno is just a piglin with a soft heart for you and he would hate to make you uncomfortable.

*****

Another one done! My apologies if this isn't the best I have never done headcanons before so this was new to me. I also tried to keep it gender neutral as I know not only trans males get top surgery so I wanted to make it as inclusive as possible so I'm sorry if things are too geared towards trans males.

Word Count: 1255

[1donoow]

CONTENT CREATOR FANFICS REC PT.2

[Fanfics i've read]

edited

......

♡ - smut

Mostly fluff

......

Corpse husband

Tommyinnit

technoblade

- DSMP reacting to you actually being rich

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

@beeindaclouds - Things you do that they love pt.1 pt.2

- DSMP reacting to Reader with a high spice tolerance

- C!DSMP meet OWL!Reader, right-hand of Lady Death

- Children!DSMP reacting to Babysitter!Reader having a partner

- Crew Boys reacting to you "saving" their basket ball

- dsmp with rich!reader

- C!DSMP react to Reader switching during a fight

- C!DSMP w/ a Vampire!Reader

@dsmpxreaderstuff - reader gifting the dsmp flower

- sassy! reader

- Reader who's always wearing gloves

- your highness

@ruminationnn - nickname for you

@rae-writes - sbi finding out techno has a daughter

@basilly - kissing their nose

@astrologyslayy - what the dsmp would do when crushing on you

- their reactions when they watch you draw

@god-of-balance - ___(hybrid creeper!reader)

@krabs-quill - old phantom phriend

@brightert0mb - Syndicate Gang with a Glare/Allay/Copper Golem!Reader Headcannons

@ruminationnn - a random hug from the reader headcanons

@angel-anoetic - killer cutie (killer bunny!reader)

@cupidmybeloved - ice skating (platonic)

- knitting (sbi x sibling!reader)

@voidgonemissing - a gentle rainy day (platonic)

@helliontherapscallion - sbi sibling deer hybrid!reader

@ramzawrites - strike me down,Zeus! (creeper hybrid!reader)

@retroaria - comparing hand sizes

@modelbus - face id

@thabeeboii - (Y/N) loves hugging people randomly pt.2

@streaming-yn - p! cc! multiple x shy! y/n

- forgetful!y/n duo names

- forgetful!y/n interacting with other streamer

@myntrose - face reveal pog?

@quackarl - mcyt having a crush

@griffintail - just another day (sbi x winged!child reader)

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

corpse husband

@sarahwasfound - fuckin' hot

@thefanficmonster - the doll

@bunnvlr - Mama's boy

@malleux - spell

@whiteqnn - pure 2

@quits-writing - being corpse husband's s/o hc

@castor--writes - corpse finding out you have a bingus cat baby

@rottenroyalebooks - my girlfriend is a witch

@dollsbite - corpse with a pink-obsessed s/o

@kbrownie - leaked

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

tommyinnit

@isadora-larkspur - tommy with shorter reader

@ohlovejoy - reacting to his beard

- the jitters (mute!reader)

@julibeeline - tommy and wilbur accidentally revealing their relationship

@sanderchu - breakfast made with love

- ylyl vlog

@modelbus - beguiled in the background

- cute cat

@bingbongsupremacy - little intruder (toddler!reader)

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

Technoblade

@ze-maki-nin - child in the snow

@milqueandsugar - ___

@beeindaclouds - having c!technoblade as your dad

@fandomlit - imagine technoblade being jealous of the attention you give tommy

@smelted-applejuice - ___ (techo's daughter)

- ___ (wither skeleton!reader)

@beelzebubaz - techno seeing you in his clothes

[vodkathegreat]

Hey Vodka! Thought about a fanfic where passerine Wilbur isnt allowed to meet anyone who isnt from a royal family but theres this person who Wilbur fell in love in and they arent from a royal family, sorryyyy if thats too long!

Caught Passerine! Wilbur x reader

HEEY! OF COURSE SORRY FOR MY ENGLISH! NOT PROOF READER BECAUSE ITS 2AM

Tw: smut, getting caught, praise kink

Wilbur was never really allowed to meet anyone who's not from a royal family. Unfortunately he fell in love with a girl named Y/N. That's where the problem occured, she isn't from a Royal family but it never really mattered to him, In the end Y/N is perfect in every single way to him. The way she looked, the way she smiled and talked... Something wonderful!

Wilbur looked out of the window of his chamber just to see Y/N climbing inside throught the window "What do you think you're doing?!" He yelled whispering at her. She Helplessly looked up at him, half hanging on his window frame, stretching out her arm for Wilbur to grab and pull her inside. "I came to see you!" She smiled at him as she picked herself up from the floor. Wilbur just hugged her tight "Your dad isn't home, right?" Anxiety laced with her voice "No, he went to Niki's bakery" He said and took Y/N's face into his hands "Don't you worry about getting caught?" She asked again, squeezing Wil's hand "We won't" He reassure her "What if your brothers will see us, They would tell your father and he wouldn't want you seeing me" She said again now sounding more paranoid "They won't find out, I promise" He said pulling her closer to him and then right onto his lap. Y/N shivered feeling Wil's lips on her neck, he began to leave little love bites all over her shoulders and neck. He pulled away just to move back to her lips. As soon as Wilbur felt Y/N kiss him back, he began to softly grind against her, he let out a soft moan right into his beloved persons ear. "You're so good for me, sweetheart..." His hot breath hit back of Y/N's neck, her whimpers got more desperate as Wilbur's slender fingers began to part her thighs. Soft whimpers and moans could be heard coming out of her plump lips. Wilbur finally made his way to your clit and began to slowly play with it.

You were sitting on his lap, your back pressed to his chest, your legs wide open with his fingers in-between your folds began to curl and straighten back, stretching you out so nicely as a soft moan left both, yours and Wilbur's lips. You looked so desperate for Wilbur that he had lost it. He gently laid you on his bed like the gentleman he is and began to unbuckle his belt. His painfully hard cock sprung out of his boxers, his eyes were fixed on your beautiful face that he adored so much. He began to push in slowly, making sure not to hurt you, he saw you throwing your head back in pleasure and trying not to moan. He smiled at the reaction he got out of you and started to thrust a little bit faster. "Shh my Love, you're doing so good, be quiet for me..." He said softly, caressing your cheek, he groaned with every thrust into you, loving every second. Eventually after 15 minutes his thrusts got not only faster but also sloppier. Your moans were so addicting for Wilbur, praises were falling from his mouth uncontrollably. His large yet gentle hands gripped tighter on your sides as he felt you coat his cock with your juices, he couldn't help himself anymore and came with a loud groan inside of you, his cum painting your walls.

The room is filled with a smell of sex by now, Wilbur laid down on Y/N's chest panting softly and caressing her cheeks from time to time, looking at her lovingly. Footsteps could be heard... Both of young adults freezed, the footsteps got louder coming into the directions of Wilburs room, clearly it was more than one person. "Wilbur? Are you alright in there? May I come in?" Techno and Tommy were standing outside. "Not now, Techno!" Wilbur yells out, but before he could finish it the door opened revealing both of them...

[toxicruins101]

YOUR WORDS KILLED ME

Sbi! Family x Male! Killer! Reader.

Tw!: Gore, torture, mentions of torture, blood, killing, depression. Etc.

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

you couldn't even keep count of how many days it had been since you were stuck down here.

1, 2, 3..678910..

Who knows? Yet as the faint sound of your blood dropping onto the floor making a slight consecutive sound you became aware of the passage of time around you.

The faint sound of chains rubbing with each other, making an awful sound.

Pain was the only thing you felt at the moment and you knew you weren't going to last very longer in this hell hole.

You committed a crime, a deadly one quite literally, and in exchange you got sentenced to this.

Torture and torture for days on end.

You heard the heavy metal door move and tried to look up but even that hurt.

You could try to look up with your eyes but you failed the energy to even do that.

"Hey mate.." Philza, oh your sweet father Philza, all this time he had been so hopeful and so relived when they told him you'll be able to get out instead of serving a life long sentence

Yet it pained you so much, knowing his poor heart was going to be crushed.

"Are you feeling ok? I'm guessing your asleep right now though.."

'I'm not sleeping, I'm dying' you thought as a warm feeling invaded your pain struck heart.

Your father always did care for you, he always has, as his first child you meant everything to him.

You wish you could scream out to him and tell him your fate, but were unable as your tongue had been cut out in the early days of this sentence.

You wanted to cry and sob, tell him everything that was wrong, so maybe he could save you, he could rescue you.

That maybe you'll get to see your little brothers again.

Maybe train with techno one last time, teach Wilbur guitar again, and help tommy pull pranks on the others just for one more time.

But your death seemed closer than that possibility coming true.

"Don't worry mate, just 2 more weeks and your out of here, two more weeks and you'll get to go home." Spoke your father tears welling in his eyes at the sight of your broken hanged up form.

You'd be long gone by then, your poor heart ached at the thought of your caring family having to receive the news of your death.

You all meant a lot to the other, so just thinking about it made you weep.

"I'll be taking my leave now mate, stay strong ok? We are all waiting for you back home.." his voice spoke, you tried to move towards him, yell at him to stop and speak a little more.

To null the pain and bring back the good memories, you wanted to die with a familiar voice calling out to you.

Not the treacherous screams of the other inmates in here whose fates have already been decided.

Soon after though another person came in.

"Y/n? You there?"

Techno

Techno!

You were so glad, you wanted to run up and hug him so tightly both of you were out of air.

Sadly you couldn't so you slightly moved your arms making the chains jingle hoping that would give him the message you were listening to him.

"Ah good, thought you were passed out there for a sec and I got really scared.." he chuckled lightly at the end of his sentence

Don't say stuff like that...it'll only make it harder for me to die you thought

"listen, we all, really miss you ok? I know what you did was bad, but, nobody deserves this.

Come back home, ok? We all.

Really need you" spoke his grave voice as he slowly made his way outside, looking over at you again before leaving.

There were so many things you wanted to say to him.

So many

So so many.

You had missed him so much over the years it was crazy.

You didn't know if this was the gods way of having mercy on you and letting you hear your family one last time or their punishment.

Making you hear and bear that weight of sadness knowing all their hopes of you getting out of here were going to get tarnished by your inevitable death.

No-one?

Guess that was it.

Maybe Wilbur and tommy didn't think you were worth their time-

"Y/n?..." Spoke a gentle voice from the other side of the space.

Wilbur.

You slightly smiled, you wanted to cry more than ever.

You had missed him so much.

Hearing about his death in l'manburg broke you in a million pieces

Yet there he stood now, revived and well.

He only started at you and walked over.

He inspected your weak form and wanted to cry at the state of it.

In an act of anger, at seeing his brother, his blood, one of the men who raised him be hung up and treated like a punching bag he broke the chains holding up your arms, with a sword that always hanged loosely on his belt.

Guards came rushing in as you finally felt your hands in God knows how long.

You smiled at him and he smiled back at you.

Guards came in and started pushing him out

He screamed and thrashed in their hold.

"LET GO OF ME YOU FUCKS, IM TALKING WITH MY BROTHER, WAIT-

NO NO WAIT-

Y-!"

his voice got cut off as he was forced out and the metal door slammed shut.

The guards looked at your weak form on the ground and scoffed as they pulled you up and tied you by your wrists.

So much for feeling your hands again

This time you didn't hear a voice, not even a peep.

Just quiet footsteps as they came closer and closer to you.

You felt gentle arms around your torso, careful as to not hurt you as sobs emitted from said person.

Tommy, the youngest out of all of you.

You looked at his dirty blonde hair and wanted to reach out and hug him so bad as he hugged and cried onto your broken skin.

His sobs filled out the room as tears fell from your eyes at the sight of your little brother in pain.

All because of you

Your family was suffering

Your friends were suffering

Everyone was suffering

Because of you

"All right, visiting times over kid, scram" spoke your torturer and you wanted to punch him faceless because of how he talked to your brother.

He only glared at the man but then took notice of the various array of weapons desplayed on his cart.

Full of blood, your blood, to be precise.

"hey, wait, no." He said as he stared.

Two more guards came out and went towards him when they realized he had no plans of leaving.

"HEY! NO! WHAT ARE YOU PLANNING ON DOING TO HIM! NO! DONT YOU DARE-" Spoke the blonde haired kid as they dragged him out, tears falling from his blue eyes.

"Something permanent" spoke your abuser as he smirked at your disheveled younger brother being forced out of the room.

You could hear your name being called and sobs from the other side.

No

No

NO

NO

NONO

NONONONO

NO GOD PLEASE

Don't leave me please

Philza...

Techno...

Wilbur....

Tommy...

Don't leave me to die alone please...

[incorrect-trolls-imagines]

I wanna see some Trollex x Y/N but make it oddly wholesome.

Also, evil Trollex AU if possible pls 👀👌🏻

Y'all know what they say, better late than never, here's some Trollex appretiation time!

---

Wholesome Y/N x Trollex HCs

Trollex is a sweetheart by nature. Supportive of everything his s/o does and aspires to through and through.

He usually shows himself as a suave dude for his partner but they know better; he's the biggest softie around and will become comically flustered if this is brought up by them.

Despite what people might think, Y/N isn't fooled by his blushing and stuttering and knows he doesn't mind PDA at all, but in fact likes it. Will struggle to return the gestures tho (being kinda self concious), but he'll try.

Hand holding, pecks on the cheek, a palm on the waist and loving hugs are a must when the two are together, both given and recieved by either of the pair.

He's prone to self doubt but never fear, Y/N is here! They know just how to lift his spirits up and clear his mind from any bothersome intrusive thought that may come his way.

And this goes both ways; the smallest frown on Y/N's pretty lil' face and he will make it his mission to figure out what the problem is and make his boo feel better just like they do with him.

Evil!Trollex x Y/N HCs

In a world where King Trollex took Barb's place for his own Techno Takeover, whatever his s/o says goes.

Now this could be Very Good or Very Bad depending of who you ask, of course.

If Y/N gets cold feet on supporting his plan, it will throw him off his game quite a bit; could get him to cancel the entire thing even, as conflicted as he would feel about it. Other than himself, Y/N is the only person that could convince him of dropping his world domination.

BUT, if we got an encouraging Evil!Y/N on our hands, then boy oh boy. Not even the whole wide world would stand a chance against the power couple of the century. Y/N will be seen right next to him, leading by his side the hoards of techno trolls as they zombify tribe after tribe in wild spectacles of strobing lights, neon explosions and electronic blasts.

[midnight-talescape]

I’m here (C!Philza x Cat Hybrid Reader)

Kinktober day 11: Wings/Tail play

I’m so fucking sorry (also fun fact I nearly add egg laying in for fun)

Warning: wing play, tail play, biting, swearing, daddy happened once, this is 100 percent ooc, etc, etc you get the point not for kid

Genre: filthy filthy smut

｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡

You fidget uncomfortably in your chair. You ears and tail twitching in every direction.

Philza came back holding two cup of tea, noticed you fidgeting in your seat furrowed his brow and ask,

“What’s wrong, mate? You’re fidgeting,”

“Nothing,” you said without looking up,

Hearing this Philza put down the cup and sat next to you, forcing you to look at him.

“Is something bothering you, you can tell me,”

Hesitatingly you looked up and lick your lip before pointing at his wings and whispering,

“Can I straighten out your wing?”

Philza blink confused as fuck,

“What?”

Giving up, you buried your face in your hand and mumble,

“It’s bothering me! Your wing is so pretty Phil, but you don’t take care of it. I want to preen your feather,”

Hearing your outburst over the pure annoyance over his slightly ruffled wing, Philza cough before saying,

“Thanks for the compliment, mate. But I’m afraid I will have to decline the offer, speaking of which I think I left the kettle on the stove,”

With that Philza quickly walk away, you groan and put your head on the table, missing Philza’s blushing ears under his hair.

From that day on every once in a while you will offer again, hoping maybe be one day he will slip up and allow you to groom his wing, at-last it never happen, until…

“Hey Phil, are you okay?”you ask as you walked into the house of the broken man,

Philza turn around forcing a smile before saying,

“Hey (Y/N), it’s good to see you again! I’m fine don’t worry about me,”

You walked up to him, not believing him for a second.

“Wha-“

You pulled him into a hug, wrapping your arm around his back, carefully missing his damaged wing before saying,

“Hey, it’s fine, Phil. I got you, you still have me and everything’s gonna be fine,”

Recovering from his surprised, Philza buried his face into your hair.

“I saw him died, I killed Wilbur with my own hand and now Ghostbur hate me too, I’m a terrible father, (Y/N)…”

You tip toe and nuzzled his neck in affection trying to comfort him,

“Don’t say that Phil, you’re a great father and Ghostbur will forgive you. It wasn’t your fault Friend died, we can go find them again, together,”

After a while Philza calm down and motion for you to let go, which you reluctantly did. Philza let out a chuckle,

“Well that was embarrassing,”

Glad that he seems to have recover slightly, you smiled and said in a deadpan voice,

“Yes, truly. I will hold this forever against you and use it to blackmail you one day for your many fortune,”

“It seems like I have made a great mistake,” suddenly hesitantly Philza scratch his face and asked,

“Speaking of which, are you still willing to preen my wings?”

You widen your eye in surprise. Seeing your eye widened and taking it as a rejection, he quickly continued,

“It’s fine if you no longer want to, my wings are pretty damage and no longer look as pleasing as they use to be,”

You let out a happy purr and clapped your hand before throwing yourself into Philza’s embrace again.

“I will love to! Also if I dare judge you, I will incur Techno’s wrath, who will definitely hunt me down,”

Philza laughed, before leading you to his room. He went to lie down on his bed and spread his wings.

You gently got on to his bed, and when saw his damage left wing, you slow down your breathing and gently brush across the damage wing. After a while you gently begin to straighten out his feathers. Pulling out loose one and straighten crooked feather light and simple, afraid to cause anymore damage.

Sensing your nervousness of hurting him, Philza turn around slightly,

“You can go harder you know, mate. I’m not fragile,”

“I don’t know about that, you’re quite old, old man,” you retorted back before being slightly braver,

Soon once you cleaned out the feather you gently kneaded through the tense knot in his wings.

But what you didn’t noticed was the closer to the base of his wings, the tenser his body get.

Suddenly Philza let out a muffled moan when you get to the sensitive skin at the base of his wing. Both of you froze at the sound.

You quickly clambered off of him before burying your blushing face in your hand.

Philza sat up slightly embarrassed and tried to hide the bulge in his pant,

“I’m sorry, it’s just the base of my wing are rather sensitive, I should have told you,”

“No, no it’s my fault, I should have known,” was your only response as you feel yourself slowly die inside,

After a few awkward silence you looked up and said,

“I-if you want I can help with that,”

Philza choked on his saliva,

“W-what?”

You grit your teeth, this is real fucking awkward but you’re here might as well,

“I said I want to fuck you,”

Philza look at you sadly and said,

“You don’t have to do that to make me feel better,”

Slightly angry at the fact that he will assume you will do that just because you feel pity, you pounces on him pushing him onto the bed.

“Don’t be stupid, I fucking love you, you old dingus! Why else will I be here comforting you at 3am?! YOU JUST BLEW UP A FUCKING COUNTRY!!!”

Looking at your face staring him down, your eye watery and your lip tremble showing how you’re not as brave as you seem. 

With a sigh, knowing how he’s not gonna let you go anyway, Philza flipped you, quickly changing you and his position.

He pulled you into a kiss. After a while you guys separated, he caressed your face before asking you seriously,

“Are you sure about this?”

Seeing your nod, he quickly undress both of you and attacking your neck.

Philza suck and nibbled at your neck hungrily, leaving red mark down your body as you let out moan.

His hand traveled down your body to your core, lightly touching it before pumping two fingers in stretching you out. 

Your face flushed as you let out whimpers and moan, suddenly you bite down on Philza’s shoulder when you felt him pull your tail harshly, Sebring a electric shock up your spine.

“Do you like it when I do that? Hurting you, leaving mark on you to show you’re mine?”

“Y-yes… FU-“ you let out a swear when you felt him hit your sweet spot,

Noticing this, Philza grin and quickly inserts 2 more fingers before attacking your sweet spot at the same time.

You felt your clit tightening on his finger and tears stinging your eye,

“Cum for me, kitten,”

With that your eye rolls back as you cum hard on his finger, sob wrecking through your body.

Looking at your sweaty body, trembling from the high, Philza quickly position himself and wrapped your leg around his waist before he thrust inside you.

Your mouth gaped open and tear streams down your face as you felt his member split your body.

“Sl-slower… ha… fuck… daddy, please… uugh…”

Hearing the jumbled of word coming out of your mouth, he grunted and hold one of your leg up allowing him to change his angle and hitting deeper.

You cried, the pleasure too great for you as you dug your finger into the base of his wings.

Letting out a groan he grabbed your tail tightly and bite down on your neck as he slammed into your womb and fucked the living hell out of you.

You were quickly brought to your orgasm a few more time from the tail pulling and the member fucking the brain out of you, before you felt him cumming inside you.

Without pulling out he wiped away your tear and sweat, before gently holding you into his embrace. Holding you to his chest he covered the both of you in his wings both damage and whole.

Just like that you two fell asleep, knowing all will be fine in the end.

[kaycode1999]

Techno-Organic Reader x Earthspark Bumblebee

This was a request from @technoorganicmic

Important information:

As a techno organic, Y/N can be either human height or grow to the size of bot (tall enough her/his/their head comes to Bee’s Autobot insignia). She/he/they have a blaster arm and a shield arm. She/he/they were created when one of the military scientists working with the Autobots came into contact with a protoform.

15 years ago ( a few days before the end of the war)

Y/N and Bee sit side by side on the edge of one of the ledges near the top of Mt. St. Hillary just as the sun begins to set. “ Bee?” Y/N speaks up, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over the two. Bee makes a hum of acknowledgment turning his head to face her/him/them, “ I’m worried” Y/N says. “ About what?” Bee questions, “ GHOST” Y/N explains. “ Why? Did something happen?” Bee asks, “ Not exactly. But I’ve noticed they’ve been getting more and more secretive lately. Like there’s something they don’t want us seeing” Y/N says “ I don’t have any proof but I can’t shake this feeling that they’re up to something bad. Even Optimus doesn’t seem to trust them completely, I mean they aren’t allowed anywhere Tele-traan 1 and he is very careful about who he picks to work with them”.

“ Now that you mention it, I’ve noticed the same thing” Bee agrees. “ And now that Megatron has joined us- the war is nearly over. Something tells me is won’t be in my favor to be a techno organic that isn’t under their thumb” Y/N says, Bee gets a sad look on his face before taking Y/N’s hand. “ Are you saying you’re thinking of leaving?” Bee asks, “ It’s either that or I might end up like the Decepticons they plan to lock up. I’ll stay until the war is over…. But the second it ends I have to disappear. And you should think about doing the same” Y/N says. A look of pure heart break flashes across Bee’s optics which causes a lump to form in Y/N’s throat, “ Bee” Y/N says giving his hand a squeeze “ We’ll see each other again. I promise”. Bee gives her/him/them a sad smile and nods, the two slowly get to their feet and Y/N throws her/his/their arms around his neck in a tight hug. After a few moments she/he/they slightly pull away just enough to place a kiss on Bee’s cheek. Y/N then steps away just slightly, chuckling at Bee’s shy expression. “ Come on, let’s go meet up with the others” Y/N says, and the two head back down to the Ark and the other Autobots.

Present Day

Y/N lays across the couch in her/his/their apartment reading a book when the weirdest thing happens. Her/his/their eyes start glowing as a message from some middle aged brown haired man with strange eyebrows and two cybertronian arms starts to play.

“ My Terran troublemakers” he starts (and Y/N notices to two young kids behind him who look terrified as they are surrounded by several spider bots) “ as you can see, I have taken your human siblings. All five of you will meet me at the Witwiki race track at 5 o’clock this afternoon, and I wouldn’t try to get help from anyone or- Well, I think you can imagine what happens to poor Mo and Robby if you don’t follow my instructions”

The man gives an evil smirk before the message ends and everything goes back to normal. Y/N gasps and sits up on the couch with eyes widening in surprise. She/her/his mind starts racing for several moments before one thought comes through stronger than the rest.

“ those kids. I have to help those kids”

Y/N quickly grabs her/his/their phone looking up the location and rushing out to her/his/their car taking off for the race track.

5 o’clock

The Terrans walk through the entrance into the Witwiki race track where the evil scientist man and his spider bots have Mo and Robby. “ Right on time, just as I suspected” the man calls as the Terrans walk closer before being surrounded by the spider bots. The red drone Terran tightens her grip on her swords with an angry expression. “ we did what you said Mandroid, we’re here and we didn’t tell anyone. Now let Mo and Robby go” she says, “ Yes…. That was what I said, wasn’t it?” The man says says smiling darkly before snapping his fingers and the spiders bot’s suddenly shoot out some blue cords from their “ mouths” attaching to all of the Terrans. The cords instantly have a sparking electric current start through them shocking the Terrans who cry out in surprise and pain before falling to the ground, “ but you see…. Now that I have you. I don’t really have any more use for these two do I?” He says. Two Spider bots walk up to Mo and Robby holding their sharp claw like arms over their head readying to slice, a look of horror washes over the Terrans face as they realize what is about to happen.

The spiders bring down their arms, and just in time Y/N blasts them before stepping out from her/his/their hiding place catching everyone’s attention. “ Ok… I don’t know who you are” Y/N says taking several steps forward while keeping her/his/their blaster aimed at “ Mandroid” “ but let these kids go now!”, “ and who might you be?” He asks asks narrowing his eyes at Y/N as she/he/they step between him and the children. “ Oh, see it’s interesting. I’m-“ Y/N starts before blasting mandroid in the arm knocking him to the ground. She/he/they then throw her/his/their shield slicing the cords connected to the Terrans before they catch it when it comes back to her/him/them, the Terrans quickly get to their feet and rush to Y/N’s side just as mandroid gets up.

“ Get your siblings to safety!” Y/N orders, Y/N rushes Mandroid as the white motorcycle Terran and the red drone Terran grab Robby and Mo taking them several feet away out of danger while the three other Terrans take on the Spider bots. Y/N and Mandroid exchange a few blows before Mandroid pins Y/N down, “ is that really the best you can do?” He snarks. Y/N smirks before growing to her/his/their full height towering over the (mostly still human), “ What do you think?” Y/N asks before punching him sending him scattering several yards away. He slowly gets back up with a rather surprised look on his face. “ What are you?” He asks, “ Wouldn’t you like to know” Y/N snarks before blasting him back into the woods and the remaining spider bots run after him.

With Mandroid gone, Y/N turns to the Terrans and two human kids walking up to them. The kids all look at Y/N in awe as she/he/they brush her/him/ them self off, “ Are you all ok?” Y/N asks in concern. The Terrans all quickly crowd around Y/N as a flurry of questions come out, “ Who are you? How did you do that? What are you? How did you know where we were?”. “ whoa whoa whoa” Y/N says “ I’ll answer all of your questions, but first let’s get you kids somewhere safe”.

Y/N follows the kids to the Malto’s farm in her/his/their car, and the kids all run to hug their parents who are waiting in front of the house as Y/N parks the car and starts walking their way. The two parents give Y/N a kind of questioning look making her/him/them stop just a few steps in front of them and give them a shy smile and wave, “ Hi” Y/N says “ I’m”. Just then movement from the barn catches her/his/their eye as a familiar yellow and black bot steps out. “ Bee?” Y/N says in disbelief, “ Y/N?” Bumblebee says in surprise. “ Oh my God” Y/N says growing to her/his/their full height and running toward him nearly tackling him in a hug which he quickly reciprocates. After a moments Y/N pulls away smiling at him, “ I-I can’t believe it, it’s been so long” Y/N says. “ too long.” Bee agrees with a shy smile, and Y/N hugs him again. “ It’s so good to see you.” she/he/they says quietly.

“ Wait, Bee- So you know this, um” the mom starts failing to find a word for what Y/N is, and the two separate turning toward the others. “ Techno-organic” Y/N says. “ I do” Bee says with a smile “ everyone, this is Y/N. Y/N, these are the Malto’s”, he then introduces each member of the family. “ its nice to meet all of you.” Y/N says smiling at the kind family, “ What did you mean by Techno- organic?” Twitch asks. “ Well, basically I’m part Cybertronian and part Organic” Y/N explains, “ That sounds like what we are!” Hashtag says excitedly “ Does that mean you’re like- Our sibling?”. Y/N chuckles at the Terran’s enthusiasm, “ Not exactly” she/he/they says “ more like…. Uh, Cousins? That’s probably how I was able to receive the message from that Mandroid. He must have broadcast it on a frequency only beings like us would be able to receive. Too bad for him though, he didn’t know about me.”. A flurry of more questions come out from the Maltos and Bee puts an arm around Y/N directing her/him/them toward the barn, “ Come on guys, Y/N can explain everything in the dugout” he says and the whole family follows after them.

[awooga-llama]

The Beach

Technoblade x NB! child reader

Hello guys, I'm back. I was going to do this one as a bonding with Techno but then I imagined Wilbur being the cool uncle and that led us here, enjoy!

Not proof read/edited

The young (Y/N) had quickly gotten over the cold and returned to their usual routine of wreaking havoc on the family. Tommy couldn’t even keep up with the toddler and he was the youngest besides Techno’s child.

“(Y/N), Uncle is tired. Can we stop playing chase and sit down instead?” Tommy had his hands on his knees, panting heavily. The toddler ran at him and wrapped their arms around his neck, leaning against him giggling.

"Okay Uncle. We can rest for a bit." (Y/N) smiled at Tommy letting him go so he could sit on his knees. The blonde's arms wrapped around the child as he pulled them close for a hug. He gently swung (Y/N) back and forth telling the kid how much he loves them. He tickled them and they squirmed and laughed until the door swung open revealing Techno, Wilbur, and Philza. They all had shopping bags in their arms since they had just gotten back from the town market.

"DADA!" (Y/N) yelled in a high pitch, they escaped from Tommy's arms and ran at their Father. Techno put the bags down and caught the wild toddler picking them up and giving them a kiss on the forehead, smiling widely. Nobody would ever get to see this side of him except his family and that's what made the moment so special.

"How has my little orphan been?" He asked while the child snuggled closer to him, laying their head on the white fluff of his cape.

"They've been good overall. Attempted to get into cookie dough in the fridge, tried to run outside a gazillion times, and wouldn't take their nap, other than all that though (Y/N) was an angel." Tommy replied standing up, his knees popping leaving him a satisfying tingle afterwards. Wilbur and Philza put down their bags near the couch and took off their shoes. (Y/N) wiggled a bit in Techno's arms trying to peek in the bags that they had. The child patted their father on the back and he set them down onto the floor. (Y/N) crawled quietly towards the bags and peered inside. There were colourful towels, plastic sea shaped things, bottles of sunscreen, and all kinds of other beach themed objects. Wilbur watched the child dig through the bags while the other three boys talked. Everyone was in the living room minus them two. Everything was good.

Wilbur and (Y/N) tested out a few of the beach toys seeing they didn't work as well without sand, so the man decided to leave for the beach early with (Y/N) without telling anyone. He helped the toddler into their newly bought bathing suit that had little tnt designs and changed into his brown shorts shortly after that the two made their escape out the back door. Wilbur and the child hand in hand walked to the beach.

(Y/N) looked everywhere, enjoying everything around them. It was a nice day too, not too hot or too cold. The sun was shining on everyone, and their skin glistened like diamonds in the sunlight. Wilbur stopped for a second to admire the view in a new pair of sunglasses and (Y/N) tugged at his hand.

"Uncle can you let me have a turn?" They questioned innocently. Wilbur chuckled and nodded allowing the child to put on the shades to look into the sky, advising that they don't look directly at the Sun. They stood on the edge watching as other children played with each other. (Y/N)'s voice snapped Wilbur out of his trance.

"Are we gonna have to play with those people, Wilby? (Y/N) asked, sounding hesitant, almost as if he were going to be mad at them for asking something like that. Wilbur shook his and began walking in the opposite direction of the people.

"Jelly, we don't have to associate with anybody because let's face it, not liking to socialize runs in the family, I'm not sure how it skipped both Grandad Phil and Uncle Tommy." (Y/N) nodded and smiled, grabbing Wilbur's left hand and pulling at it, running towards the empty plot of sand and ocean.

As soon as the two had reached the beach, (Y/N) ran straight to the water. Wilbur chased them and scooped them up into his arms the both of them spinning in a circle.

"You need sunscreen silly, 'sides you can't go into the water before we put your floaties on you." The brunette booped the young ones nose and began the fight of plastering the kid with sunscreen and inflatable arm floaties. (Y/N) sat by an abandoned sandcastle and watched Wilbur put his own sunscreen on his body.

"Ready to get in the water?" The lanky man excitedly exclaimed sitting beside them on the sand.

"Mhmm." (Y/N) nodded climbing off of the sandcastle with Wilbur supporting them.

After some time playing in the shallow end, other beach visitors came over to their area. (Y/N) was being dragged around by the other kids splashing them in the water. After an hour of forced socializing the child managed to escape. They really did take after their father.

"Can you teach me how to swim Wilby?" (Y/N) asked out of the blue, bouncing up and down in excitement.

"Of course! Come here kiddo." He picked up the toddler and walked towards the water where a group of adult fish surrounded them. (Y/N) grabbed hold of Wilbur's pinky with their chubby fingers as he went to stand by them, the three year old still held in his arms.

"Hello fishy, this is uncle Wilby and I'm (Y/N)." The fish stayed nearby swimming in circles and Wilbur bowed to the fish.

"Let's make you the most famous mermaid ever!" He held the child above the water to where their belly would touch first. (Y/N)'s eyes widened in shock but they didn't struggle out of his grasp. Wilbur started singing making up different songs for the fish.

"You'll be the most beautiful mermaid ever. Mermaids sing the best song there is." He continued singing and when the song ended, (Y/N) clapped happily. Before no time the man had taught the child to swim, and all his instructions were done in song. When Wilbur lifted (Y/N) higher away from the fish, the fish swam closer, bumping their heads into the little one's chin, causing them to giggle uncontrollably. One particular fish bumped into Wilbur's stomach, causing him to stumble backward, falling on his butt. Wilbur got back up looking at (Y/N) in surprise then at the child who wasn't laughing anymore. Before he knew it, (Y/N) was gone, and he began to panic. Wilbur screamed the child's name over and over, diving into the water and looking for the kid. He felt a grab at his ankle and freaked. When it finally came up, the thing that touched him, it was his littlest child (Y/N), who wanted to play a prank on him. He scolded them for that trick but took it easy on them after tears began to form in their (Y/E/C) eyes.

The sun was setting and the two headed off towards home.

They were quiet for most of the trip, but when they got home, (Y/N) was still sad because they had left their favourite spot. They followed Wilbur up to his room, which had lots of toys in it, along with his bed. Tommy and Philza were out dealing with sonething and Techno working in his office. The three of them did get angry with Wilbur for disappearing out of nowhere with the child but got over it soon.

"Come on little duckie. Let's play a bit more." He picked up the child again and they ran into Wilbur's bedroom, jumping up on his big bed.

"Now, lets see where we can play." The brunette said putting the little one on his lap. He sat with his legs crossed and leaned on the arm of the chair so he could watch (Y/N) as they threw blocks at eachother. They were silent the entire time minus the occasional chorus of laughter. (Y/N) was concentrating on throwing the blocks and hitting the target with great force. The last block they hit landed in between the wall and the bed and bounced off landing right under the wardrobe.

"(Y/N), we're going to have to change the wallpaper for that." He spoke as the little one climbed off of him and opened the wardrobe, they took a deep breath and opened it slowly. They froze seeing the many stuffed animals that were hanging from the hangers. (Y/N) was about to start crying again.

"Don't cry sweetheart." Wilbur cooed placing his finger on (Y/N)." Tommy had to do something like that in Wilbur's room, it was some sort of prank war going on. It was nearing 23:00 hours when Techno opened the door to Wilbur's room to fetch his child but he seen the two passed out wearing tiaras and smeared makeup on their faces he decided to let them be for the night.

"Goodnight my Orphan. Goodnight Wilbur." He whispered and then shut the door.