#that looks like every other brown mouse

[kedreeva]

Do you think you could give your opinions on the recessive / lethal yellow genes in mice? Do you think you'd ever consider breeding recessive yellow? (If you haven't already.) I'm just super curious about your thoughts on them as I don't really know a lot about genetics. Do you think it's possible to breed a consistently healthy line of yellow mice? I'm just super curious to hear your thoughts as a breeder

Well, this is a kind of long answer and I'll warn it discusses animal death, so I'll put it behind a cut.

Personally, I wouldn't, but not because of ethics concerns; I just don't like any of the colors made with RY/AY. They're just not visually appealing to me. I had a couple RY pop up from the Taylor black line when I first got it, and they were just enh. A good, rich red, esp a satin red, can be a really perfect looking mouse... but by god that's years of work and it never ends because Red is such a hard phenotype to maintain and I'm just not that determined. I'm convinced that people breed for red because seeing it opens all the ferret cages in their brain, not because they can be normal about it. If you want good reds, it's like you dedicate your life (and mousery) to it or you don't do it, and my life's already dedicated to the peafowl. My mousery is already dedicated to blacks and tricolors.

As for the AY gene itself, it's a "lethal" gene in that homozygosity is lethal but it's lethal at the blastocyst stage so it's not really an ethical problem imo. If it was lethal as in the pups deteriorate and die post partum, or if it caused well developed pups to die/be stillborn such that it caused the dam health risks, then it would be a problem. But, it doesn't. You just get smaller litters because some cells die way early on and get reabsorbed. I don't really have any problems with that. Show breeders cull litters down to 4-6 pups (for dam and pup health reasons), so it's not like all of them would be turning into adults anyway.

As for the genetic issues with the adult mice, there are three major health issues. The first is obesity (sort of), and the major problem there is keeping them in breeding shape (meaning, capable of doing the do at all). Curiously, in at least one study I remember seeing, there's a difference between an obese mouse of X color mutation and an AY that's considered obese because of its natural body type; for example, an obese black mouse will likely have a shortened lifespan, whereas an AY mouse doesn't (at least not less than any other mouse color mutation) unless it's obese for an AY. So this isn't really a problem as long as the breeder is watching their diet and ensuring they stay fit for their body type.

The other two genetic problems actually are health issues related directly to the AY gene, and that's being prone to diabetes and to tumors. However, these are both things that (any good) breeders would notice, cull, and therefore not breed forward, in order to keep the line as free from them as possible. Which really isn't any different than any other line that develops health problems of any sort. People don't keep health problems. A good breeder should be and usually is aware of the potential health problems in the lines they are breeding, particularly if it's a genetic one that can't be avoided (like you can't avoid AY if you're breeding AY), and will know what to look for and intervene as soon as possible. Diabetic mice urinate excessively so it's REALLY noticeable, and tumors... well. Hard to miss. And tumors of various sorts is a fairly common "select away from/cull" problem in any mutation, it's just slightly higher risk in AY.

So the short answer, in my opinion, AY isn't really an unethical gene to work with. It's not one I'd choose to work with, but I don't think the people who do are doing anything wrong just for working with the gene at all. It comes down to the same ethics as any other mutation; working to maintain body condition and selecting for health.

Honestly, out of all the animals I've seen bred and bred myself, I think mouse breeders in general have proven themselves to be the most concerned with what's best for the animal, not the breeder. The show clubs like FMBA and AFRMA etc won't recognize standards for things like snub noses or manx tails or anything else that would potentially seriously impact QoL by nature of existing at all, and at least in the groups I'm in, the members are not shy about recognizing when health problems mean no breeding for a mouse regardless of how pretty or sweet. When someone newer asks what to do, I've never seen anyone support trying to breed a mouse with issues, or usually even keep one whose QoL would be poor. They are very familiar with the kindest thing you can do is let them go. It's a breath of fresh air from the goddamn chicken groups, who will limp along any bird that's still breathing regardless of what's best for the bird.

I think the only morph I've seen that I have an ethical problem with is the X-brindle gene, which is a "brindle" gene on the X chromosome that causes the mouse to be unable to absorb copper. This means that the males DO founder and die after birth (which means most people just humanely euthanize the male pups, they aren't out here letting them suffer that I've seen), and females get a strange coat color and curled whiskers from low copper absorption. Does have a second X gene that's clean so they still can, but it's really an unnecessary mutation to continue imo. It hasn't been recognized by the show clubs that I know of, but idk if they can be shown under normal brindle or if you can tell at a glance, as I don't really know as much about them or any of the AY gene specifics. I have basic knowledge but since i don't breed them myself it's very in passing knowledge. I know it's rarely bred or worked with in the first place, and I hope it stays that way or disappears entirely.

[hoshigray]

Had the most random thought, but what if you caught Miguel by surprise and sneaked a kiss on the back of his neck when he's stressed out?

An: Don't mind me, just feeling soft for Miguel because he's corrupting my brain at the moment, lol. Also, wanted to write this to distract me from the fact Pleasurable Practice got smacked with a community label ffs. But, tysm for the love on that fic <33, and [MAYBE] I'll work on pt ii for next week! Thanks again, you lovelies, and enjoy!!

Edited Note: Also, here's an ATSV masterlist I made earlier for your convenience!!

Cw: Miguel x reader - fluff - stressed Miguel bc when is he not - you give him a kiss on the neck - pet names (amorcito/little love, mi alma/my soul; amor/my love) - just you and Miguel being adorbs and him being whipped hehe~

Wc: 902

"Aaaaaarrgh!!!"

You snap away from what you were doing to find where the noise came from. Not to your surprise, it's from your boyfriend — Miguel O'Hara, who's expressing his dismay by throwing another tray full of empty containers you got from the cafeteria.

The man is descending from his [godforsaken slow-ass] station, tapping his feet and huffing by the second. His brows are furrowed in anger, and he moves a hand to soothe his forehead with his fingers. When his post finally stops, he jumps down to sit on a chair and groans into his hands.

That was the third time this week. A villain was supposed to be captured and brought into the Spider Society to be sent back to their own universe; however, that was two days ago. And for some reason, this evil-doer has been hopping in and out of multiple universes. It's been a hassle for the other Spiders to grab hold of them; Lyla has to have eyes on them within every minute of every hour, and Miguel...Obviously, he would like to have this matter taken care of already.

You get up from where you're sitting and walk up behind Miguel, whose face is still covered by his hands with inaudible curses that you can tell are in Spanish. "You okay?"

The rise and fall of his broad shoulders entail a huge sigh seething out of his system. "No, mi amor." He frees his face only to rest his forehead with a hand propped by his leg. "This game of cat-and-mouse has been going on longer than necessary, got Spiders who're tired of the chase — I'm tired, yet there's more stuff piling up and—" He stops himself with another deep sigh, and you place your hands on his shoulders. "I just can't right now...."

All you can do is hum aimlessly while massaging his shoulders, his trapezius and deltoids tense with stress. You understand that a lot is going on for Miguel, giving him his space and letting him do what he does best: being a hero. But of course, being a superhero isn't all sunshine and rainbows, and you're bound to get hit with obstacles that'll hinder your progress. Annoyingly so, if you're a leader of an organization like your boyfriend.

Nevertheless, he's only one man, and you know he forgets this fact when he's too wrapped up in work. He's dedicated to protecting his peers, his home, and you. And although you appreciate the sentiment sincerely, you wish he'd remember to not go too hard on himself before he's burnt out.

You sigh through your nostrils, your hands kneading out any remnants of tension while Miguel indulges before storming back to work. That's when an idea hits you when your eyes land on the back ends of his hair, a smile creeping in slowly. Your hand brushes the lower tufts of his brown strands, and you lean down to press your soft lips on him after pulling his suit to expose his neck.

Immediately, Miguel goes rigid at the feeling of your lips on him. And his breath hitches when your hands wrap around him, pulling him closer to you as you lay your chin on top of his head (which you realize is a rare opportunity as he's taller than you).

"Mi lindo araña," You chuckle to yourself when you notice hints of red sneaking on the lobes of his ears. "The more you stress yourself, the more you look like a grouchy face."

"A grouchy face?" His tone holds slight confusion. "You've been hanging with Peter B. too much, amorcito." He shakes his head while you giggle, and you two sink into each other's presence for a little while, taking in the silence outside of the calming breaths Miguel takes. If he were to confess, it's as if almost all his fatigue has vanished into thin air when he's in your embrace. But he doesn't say anything — he doesn't have to. Because you already know.

You set your lips on his temple. "Feeling okay now?" His body vibrates from a tiny purr, and you remove yourself to stand up straight. "Alright then, I'm gonna go to the cafeteria to get something to share. Because you clearly need a snack. And while I'm gone, pick up that tray and those empty containers off the floor before Lyla has another reason to call you a 'grumpy man-child.'"

His face molds to a deep scowl from the mention of his pixelated peer's name-calling. "I am not a man-child."

You give him a look. "You kinda are."

"And what gives you that—"

"Muñeco," Miguel quickly refrains from arguing when you call him by his nickname, the name only you can use. "If you're not a man-child, why haven't you stood up and done what I asked yet?"

The man opens his mouth, yet no words dare leave. Reddish-brown eyes are honed in on your figure as you survey his reaction, and he exhales in defeat when he stands up from his chair. Your smile flourishes. "I'll be back," is what you say as you turn to exit his domain and head to the cafeteria.

Miguel watches you leave until you're out of his line of sight, unable to fight the twinge of his lips while he moves to pick up his mess like you instructed him to.

"Sólo tú puedes darme órdenes, mi alma."

[mickyschumacher]

𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: carlos sainz and you have an on and off relationship: full of an alluring pain. and no matter what, it seems you two always come back to one another. 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors DNI), infidelity, toxic relationship, reader has a vagina, unprotected sex (wrap it up like a gift!), reader slaps carlos, crying, ANGST, carlos bordering on being a sadist, cumming inside, fingering in the car, that being said - dangerous car driving, oral sex, incorrect model stuff probs, severely poorly utilised spanish, probs poorly written smut lol, probably missing plot holes but yeh

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: carlos sainz x model!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4k+

𝐀/𝐍: this is poorly based off taylor swift' 'style'. i hadn't realised i turned such a nice song into something well um... not nice? proof-read but as always, don't hold it against me!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆  •°.  。  .°•  ⋆

Before you even started your cat-and-mouse game with Carlos, you were well aware that he was trouble the moment he walked into the room.

Scratch that.

Formula One drivers were nuisances. Ask any other model on the street and they would probably agree with you.

You knew that it was a relationship you probably shouldn't even be in. He was always going to be away in a new country every other week while you were doing photoshoots and walking runways. You would barely have time with each other. You don't think that you could even label such a relationship 'long distance'.

So when your management sent you down to the infamous Monaco Grand Prix as eye-candy, how were you to deny those brown eyes constantly lingering on you, following your body as he sported a smug smile? No one would be in their right mind to not fall for a guy like Carlos.

The heated gazes, the flirty comments, the burning brushes of touch... it was clear for the both of you that you had to be together.

But of course, despite knowing all of this, you couldn't help still feel a bit emotional about your relationship.

midnight

you come and pick me up, no headlights

long drive

could end in burning flames or paradise

fade into view, oh

it's been a while since i have even heard from you

Here you were. In Miami. The sun had fully set and the rare few stars you could find had taken up their night shift.

You were just leaving the office of your management after having a discussion on what photoshoots you were doing in the upcoming weeks and what events you were attending.

Chanel, Dior, Ralph Lauren, YSL, Louis Vuitton...

Brands on any other general day you would've love to talk about. But your mind was in a state of disarray after receiving a message from a certain Spaniard.

hot spanish polla (prick)

pick you up in 15, princesa (princess)

behind your office.

Even now, looking at the message again, you let out a scoff. You scrolled up, finding the last message you had sent to him. In January.

It was currently May.

Your fingers clenched around your phone as you let out a shaky sigh. Despite all the rage you felt, of course you were here, in the secluded area of your company.

You looked down at your clothes. A model life meant wearing 'fashionable' clothes. You, your manager, and your stylist often pre-agreed on the outfits you wore just for the sake of your image. Today, your stylist had dressed you in a black mini skirt and maroon sweater. You neck and ears all adorned in thin gold jewellery while you feet were hugged by a classic pair of white sneakers.

You pursed your lips. At least you looked good.

But of course this was just like Carlos. Speaking, calling, texting... all when he wanted. You knew he was in Miami. You weren't an idiot. You had all of this season's races organised into your calendar.

You were just in disbelief that Carlos had the audacity to even text you after not hearing even a word from him in almost five months.

Your ears perked up to a low rumble of a car entering the area. The headlights were off but you could still spot it's familiar features. You eyed the iconic Prancing Horse and rolled your eyes. The love and hate you had for Ferrari was unexplainable.

The car stopped in front of you and the door of the driver's seat opened. Carlos came out as if he were in slow motion.

You sucked your tongue to your lips upon eyeing his appearance. He was in a black coat, a simple white shirt that stuck to his sculpted body paired with black trousers that brought out his stupidly defined thighs. Those thighs... god, how much time had you spent on them?

and i should tell you to leave 'cause i

know exactly where it leads, but i

watch us go 'round and 'round each time

Carlos waved a hand through his hair and smiled at you. You could feel his eyes waver over you, making you suppress the innate shudder his gaze would usually send you. You couldn't let him think that everything was okay.

He opened the door to the passenger side and gestured for you to come in with an extended hand.

You folded your arms and stared at him. Were you really going to do this? Yes. Was this what you deserved after so long? A man who felt dizzy for you but wouldn't speak to you for four months? Yes and no.... yes.

Carlos narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to look at you. He knew exactly what you were thinking. "Get in the car, Y/N. Before I make you."

There was nothing threatening about his tone. In fact, even if it was, it would be an empty threat. Because at the end of the day, the both of you knew you were going to.

You internally sighed, before walking up to the open door. You turned your head to him and gave an amused huff. "As if you would, Sainz."

Carlos flashed his classic grin, the very one that had gotten you into this mess in the first place, and watched you enter his car.

By the time you had but on your seatbelt and rested your arm on the door, Carlos had finally sat next you.

"You look good, cariño (darling)," Carlos murmured, bringing your hand up to his mouth to leave a small kiss.

You clenched your jaw at the fiery tingle that sprawled across your hand. You snatched your hand away. "I know. I look good all the time," You mentioned curtly.

Were you being a bitch? A bit catty? Simply put, yes. But you thought a man who usually got what he wanted deserved some sort of catty behaviour.

"Four months, Carlos, four goddamn months... of nothing," You sighed out.

A remorseful expression fell over Carlos' face. "I know. I'm so sorry, cariño. I don't have any excuses."

You huffed once again with an irked smile, folding your arms while you looked out your window. You could think of one. But maybe it wasn't time to bring it up right now. You were tired of this game already. You would rather a false peace than the raw reality.

Your eyes peered over to him. "Long drive home?" You asked.

Carlos smiled softly at you. "As per usual."

You nodded slowly and Carlos turned the key of the car. The engine came alive and seemingly so did he as his hand naturally fell to your thigh while he reversed out.

you got that james dean daydream look in your eye

and i got that red lip classic thing that you like

and when we go crashing down, we come back every time

'cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style

you got that long hair slicked back, white t-shirt

and i got that food girl faith and a tight little skirt

and when we go crashing down, we come back every time

'cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style

Carlos could feel your eyes on him as he drove down the empty, long roads of Miami, dotted with the sparsely spaced palm trees swaying in the warm summer breeze.

Your eyes trailed over every inch of him. His hair. His eyes. His lips. His neck. His body. Every crevice. As if you were trying to print an image in your mind.

You always looked at him like that. Carlos remembered asking you about it. "What are you looking at?" He would ask.

"Just you," You would retort, "I just can't believe someone like you exists."

Carlos would chuckle and question what you meant by that. You simply said he reminded you of James Dean. Even now. His hair was slightly grown and slicked back with the heat of Miami. His entire aura was smug and intoxicating. The entire world could see Carlos Sainz as the Spanish romantic driver, but you knew that behind that warming exterior, was something dirty... troublesome in the best way, in fact.

You, god, you were the complete opposite. Y/N L/N. The good girl model. Pure. Untainted. The type of model you would see in spreads of brands right after they had a controversy because your angel aura would put anyone back in the good books. No matter how revealing your clothes were or how much skin you had on display, you were somehow still the epitome of unadulterated goodness.

There was a saying that people often associated with good girls like you. Every good girl wants a bad boy to be good just for her.

You wished that wasn't true. How desperately had you avoided all those flashy teenage popstars and actors. But here you were inevitably falling for an intoxicating Carlos Sainz. Time and time again.

so it goes

he can't keep his wild eyes on the road

You let out a shaky sigh as Carlos' hand travelled closer and closer up your inner thigh. "Carlos," You warned, eyes widening slightly as those brown eyes were planted firmly on you, taking in every little movement of yours, instead of looking at the road.

"Yes, my ñina bonita (beautiful girl)," He answered almost questioningly in a teasing tone.

"Keep your eyes on the road," You weakly mumbled.

You both watched his fingers linger up your skirt. His fingers danced across your burning skin and paused at the thin material covering your core. You sucked in a sharp breath once those fingers met your panties.

Carlos grinned at your shaking eyes and the warm dampness on his fingers. "You make it hard to look away," He confessed earnestly.

You could feel his fingers rub your pussy ever so slowly, only just grazing over that sensitive nub of yours.

"Jesus fucking christ, Carlos," You hissed out, hips bucking at his touch.

Carlos could feel his pants become incredibly tight all of a sudden. The control he had over you was so enthralling that he wanted to simply stop in the middle of the highway, grab you by yours hips and fuck the living life out of you.

What a sight that would be. You straddling his lap, soaking his trousers as your ass rested against the Ferrari symbol embedded into the steering wheel. He would make sure that the brand he represented would be covered in your cum after he was done with you.

Carlos sucked in a sharp breath. "Jesus fucking christ, indeed, cariño," He managed to get out, blinking hard at the road in front of him.

He watched out of his peripheral vision as your head fell back against while his thick fingers pushed past your panties and slid against your drenched folds.

His fingers ventured and craved a journey, feeling each crevice of your pussy. Carlos thrusted his fingers into your warm walls, briefly watching you envelope him entirely.

"Fuck, Carlos," You moaned out, hand instinctively reaching out to covers his. You couldn't tell if you wanted him to stop in this horny haze or push him in even further.

It must have been the latter as you could feel his fingers delve further into you. Carlos let out a strangled moan, foot pressing further on the accelerator. He needed to get you home as fast he could.

takes me home

the lights are off, he's taking off his coat

i say "i heard, oh, that you've been out and about with some other girl"

he says, "what you heard is true

but i can't stop thinking 'bout you and i"

i said, "i've been there too a few times."

By the time you had reached home and got to your bedroom, the entire of your house remained living in the darkness you had found it in.

Carlos and you didn't need lights. If there was anything he was purely confident about, other than his driving of course, it was your body. He knew it like he knew those race tracks. Every curve. The distance from your breasts to your pussy. How long it would take you to cum. He knew it all.

Carlos shrugged off his coat somewhere onto your floor, needing a release from the heat surging through his body. Your shoes and socks he had pulled off in a haste as well.

His lips had found yours as his hands roamed your back, pulling him closer to you. His fingers snuck past the hem of your shirt, brushing your bare skin while reaching up your torso to find a neat surprise.

"No bra," Carlos' hoarse voiced queried with the sound of a smirk playing at his lips. At least thats what you could assume in the dark.

Carlos inched you towards your bed as if it was a second nature to him.

The soft silk sheets he had bought you last year consumed the both of you as his fingers brushed past your nipple.

You released yourself from this kiss at the action, gasping for the air that Carlos had taken from you.

"I heard you were with some other girl. Is this what you did with her?" You finally asked, feeling a small smirk grow onto your face despite the annoyance running through your body.

You could feel Carlos stop moving, probably boring those beautiful brown eyes of his into you.

He knew what you were talking about. February. Pre-testing season. The drivers, some staff and their partners had gotten together to celebrate the upcoming season.

Lando, like the photo lover he was, had decided to document the night with his camera and post it to his Instagram dedicated to photos, lando.jpg.

You had clicked on it a few hours later, deciding to see how much fun they were having while you were doing a photoshoot with Kim Jones. Pictures of Charles dancing terribly with Max had made you laugh. Carmen looking concerned for George's wellbeing as he took shots had made you laugh even harder. There was also a photo of Alex and Lily being the cute paddock couple they were while Carlos was drunkly looking into the camera

But then your fingers stopped on particular photo of Carlos.

He looked good, you could not deny him that. Flushed skin, hazed eyes, the perfect smile... all while dressed as the Madrid's richest.

But lo and behold, that wasn't the only thing getting your attention. Instead, it was the girl in his arms. The same girl who in the next few photos had her lips on him and his hands on her ass. You could even spot a fresh hickey that wasn't on her neck in the previous photo.

God, the comments and tweets were coming in at lightning speed.

user55: who's the girl? i thought carlos was with y/n?

user04: maybe they broke up?

user16: wasn't just with her for new years? jfc, that man needs to get a grip

mickyschumacher: y/n deserves better than this

user44: i wonder if she knows?

Quite soon after, Lando had taken down the post, apologising to you profusely. You reassured him it was okay, even though deep down you were exhausted of this.

Not only had Carlos been going around with another girl, but he didn't even have the decency to say sorry. He would rather say nothing.

Carlos didn't know what was worse. His growing guilt or the fact that your reaction was making him harder.

His fingers skimmed across your swollen lips. "Obviously what you saw was true. But the thing is... I can't stop thinking about you and I, princesa. You consume me for every second of the day. Even if I don't show it. Fuck, I have a ritual before every race, you know? To cum to your name... to your body."

Was is it a poor excuse? Yes. It didn't even explain why he had done it in the first place. But the most damning thing was, you didn't care. Or you could care less to begin with.

Instead you were turned on. The pool in your panties had gotten even bigger as you released a light moan at his words. Your hands travelled to his waist, peeling off his white shirt while he raised his arms. The combination of your body heat was so high that it could almost be considered unsafe for the average human.

"You're a lucky man, Sainz. I can't stop thinking about you too."

Carlos could only let out a moan at your words, removing your sweater before bringing his lips to your nipples, dividing his attention to them equally. His hands were busy unbuckling his belt and taking off his trousers.

Your hand reached into his long hair, gripping the locks tightly as he moaned against your breasts. You could hear the clink and thud of his belt and pants hitting the floor as he pushed up your skirt, unbothered to take it off.

In face, these mini skirts were going to be the death of Carlos. He loved them on you. It wasn't just the easy access to the heaven down there. But if he had to explain it, it was the way they rested on your thighs. Laying there simply, not doing anything but creating a monster in him.

Carlos pushed your panties to the side, plunging his fingers into you without any warning. He could feel you arch your back and push your head into the bed while you writhed under his touch.

"Fucking hell," You swore, clenching your thighs around his hands.

Carlos chuckled. "Such a dirty mouth, princesa," He stated before speeding up his pace.

Your loud moans echoed within your empty house. Your hips bucked into his hand, fucking yourself faster on him to chase the release he had built up in the pit of your stomach.

"You wanna cum, Y/N? Hmm? Tell me?"

The sweat was building up on your skin as Carlos had added his thumb over your clit. He rubbed his thumb briefly in slow circles but he had given up on the teasing. He wanted you to squirm in his hands because that's how much pleasure you were receiving. He flicked the nub in fast motions, dropping his warm spit into your hot folds.

"Holy–Carlos!"

Carlos smirked at the ironic combination of words following out of your mouth. Yes, he was holy. But if he was that divine, you were no angel. You were a sin. A goddess. A she-devil.

"I would love to watch you cum, princesa. I really would. But my cock is begging for you, hmm? I think your pussy deserves some attention that isn't my fingers, no?"

Carlos had stopped moving his hand and removed his fingers from you. He could feel you shake in his hold. From anger or pleasure, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he had left you begging for more.

Although it must've been anger.

Because almost immediately, he had heard it before he felt it. The sharp whack of the air. The burn on his cheek almost sizzling.

You could feel his hot gaze pierce through you as your chest heaved up and down in frustration. "You're a little shit, Carlos," You groaned. "Sorry, no. What was it in Spanish? Polla? Yes, fucking polla."

The room had turned eerie in seconds. Carlos' silence had started to worry you. You could still feel his gaze and hear his laboured breathing but he was saying nothing.

Suddenly you felt his hands wrap around your waist and move to his lap. You let out a gasp at the bare cock you had been placed upon and the sloppy lips resting near your ear.

"I think I need to fuck the nice back into you, princesa, no? Maybe if you become my little divine goddess, I'll let you cum, hmm? What do you think?" Carlos' whisper was hot and heavy in your ear. "Use your words, mi amor (my love)".

Goddamn it. He had broken out the 'mi amor'. The only thing that had you hanging by a thread. The sliver of hope that whatever you and Carlos had going on was more than this. That you truly loved one another.

"Yes, Carlos," You said, bringing a gentle peck to his lips.

You could feel him smile against your lips. "There's my good girl.''

Carlos pushed your panties aside, assured that you were stretched out and wet enough by his fingers. He grabbed his cock and was overcome with a shudder when rubbing the tip of his cock through your folds.

"Spit, cariño," His voice commanded.

You gathered all the saliva that had easily accumulated after salivating for this man and let the warm fluid fall from your lips.

Carlos couldn't see but he could just imagine if the lights were on. The bubbled liquid falling from those pretty lips of yours, turning into thin strings as they had perfectly landed on the slit of his cock.

He didn't even have to say anything as your nimble fingers rubbed your saliva over his shaft. You could hear his heavy breaths in the air and a small sigh of pleasure came from his lips. "Baby, let's get me in you, hmm?"

You let out a small whimper at his words before releasing a strangled moan as you pushed his cock into your pussy. You could feel each swollen and puffed out fold take him in and your warm walls wrapping around him tightly.

Carlos shut his eyes tightly. "Mierda (shit). You feel so good, princesa," He groaned, lifting his hips up.

You moaned in agreement, throwing your hands around his neck as he thrusted in and out of you.

The concept that cock could made a person dumb often sounded strange. But with Carlos, it was true. You couldn't do anything or say anything but moan in pleasure.

"Lamp. I need to see your face, princesa," Carlos muttered out in awkward pauses, rutting his hips against you in an angle that almost made it impossible for you stretch your arm out and turn on the lamp.

A yellow illuminated the room and finally, you could see each other.

You had made eye contact with Carlos. His eyes bore into you while his mouth was agape as if he was constantly ready to moan. His normally slicked hair was now tousled courtesy of your fingers.

Jesus, was he a sight to behold.

But Carlos didn't think any less of you. God, how were you even real? Your skin was flushed, hair sticking out in every direction, sweat and traces of your wetness across your body and your eyes: dazed with lust and bordering on the edge of being fucked out.

But most especially, those goddamn lips of yours. They were painted with red when Carlos had first picked you up. The red had faded, only trace amounts left mixed with the red flush of the swelling he had brought by kissing you. What a vision you were.

Your eyes flickered to the specifically red cheek that faced you. God, this man knew how to make you feel for anything. His hips jerked into you, pushing his cock deeper as every second passed. The spell he had on you was serious; dangerous.

You could feel a glaze of water fall over your eyes as your fingers brushed his reddened cheek. His skin was still warm from your slap. Carlos shivered at your touch, eyes fluttering shut.

"I'm sorry, Carlos," You murmured out so quietly that if he wasn't listening so intently, he would've missed it. "I didn't mean to."

Carlos could feel his heart pace as you softly kissed the burning skin of his. It was as if you were kissing his pain away. A warm tear from your eyes had fallen onto his cheek, making his heart melt.

Carlos could feel himself tighten at the action, even more so when you clenched your walls tightly around him.

"You think you deserve to cum, mi princesa?" Carlos queried, wrapping his hand around your jaw and making you turn to face him. His eyes shook at your teary eyed gaze. The mascara and eyeliner you wore had broken down. If he hadn't felt so soft for you, he would've teased you and said you looked like a racoon.

Carlos could feel you start to shake as you buried your nails into his skin. To his surprise, you shook your head no. You begun to slow your pace and clench around him, only trying to get him off.

"Oh mi amor, mi ñina bonita, you deserve to cum. You deserve a lot more than you know," Carlos whispered, tucking your hair behind your ear. He planted a soft kiss to your forehead before bringing his thumb to your clit, rubbing hard and increasing the speed of his cock thrusting in and out of you.

You couldn't help but let out a sob mixed with both pleasure and sadness. A wave of euphoria convulsed within your body as Carlos staggered to a halt in you. His cock twitched and throbbed, spilling his hot cum into your walls.

You bought Carlos into a tight hug, pushing yourself further onto his cock, making him groan again and release a few more ropes of his cum into you.

Carlos brought his lips to your shoulders and left a small trail of kisses as the two of you calmed down.

The double meaning to his words had thrown you off.

You could tell what he meant.

This why he had reached out in the first place.

His guilty glances. The poor excuses.

This was the last time.

Whatever this was between you... it had to end.

You both needed to move on.

But especially you.

It was a gutting feeling to know. But Carlos was right. This sadness, this anger, this toxicity could go on no longer. Despite being heartsick, you were happy though.

Because even if this ended, you had gone out in style.

𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[corroded-hellfire]

Continuing on with my baby fever I came across videos of parents "laying" (softly hovering) on their babies lap to see their reaction. Some babies are gentle with one parent and push of the other parent. But I wanna see how Eliza would react to the entire Munson family doing this. Thank you!

Baby fever you say? 👀 Step into my office…

Honestly, looking up reference videos for this fic was the most heart melting thing ever and I thank you for bringing that into my life. I hope I have done this justice for you!

Words: 3.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Ugh,” Luke groans as he flops down on the floor of Eliza’s nursery. The Minnie Mouse shirt and pair of toddler jeans he’s holding smack him in the face as his dramatics bring him down.

Eliza sits on her miniature butterfly couch and watches her brother, face stoic as the two-year-old is used to the theatrics he’s inherited from their father. 

“What is taking so long?” Ryan strolls into the room and leans against the door jamb. He crosses his arms over his chest and arches an eyebrow as he clocks his brother on the ground. 

Flinging the articles of clothing behind him, Luke huffs and turns his head to meet Ryan’s questioning look.

“Every outfit I pick out she doesn’t like!”

Heaving a loud sigh, Ryan saunters over to the closet tucked into the corner of the pink room. Curious as to what he’s doing, Eliza cranes her neck in an attempt to see past her oldest brother. Try as she might though, she doesn’t have x-ray vision and has to wait for Ryan to turn around to see the black and white striped dress and pastel green sweater.

“Eh?” Ryan raises his eyebrows as he holds the items out towards the toddler.

Keeping her chin high, little Eliza looks over the proposed outfit before nodding her affirmation once. 

“What?” Luke shouts as he bolts upright. “The Minnie Mouse shirt is way better!”

Ryan throws a smirk over his shoulder at his younger brother as he helps Eliza get changed into the winning look of the day. 

“She must love me more.”

“Uh, no,” Eliza hums as her head pops free from the confines of the dress. “Better clothes.”

Luke cackles with laughter, arms crossing against his stomach as he falls on his back once more.

“Oh, that’s too good! Please, we all know I’m her favorite,” Luke says.  

At only two-years-old Eliza is already used to her brothers competing in almost every aspect of life. She rolls her doe brown eyes and allows Ryan to help her into the green sweater before leaving the two boys alone in her room. 

“I seem to recall us having this argument before and Grandpa somehow coming out the winner,” Ryan says, following the little girl’s lead and heading towards the door. 

“Well,” Luke says, stretching out the word as he scrambles to push himself up into a standing position, “then this time we don’t allow him to be part of our bet.”

The older Munson brother shakes his head in amusement as he walks out into the hall and to the right, towards the rest of the house. Luke is right behind him though, practically nipping at his heels as he waits for some kind of response. 

“What bet?” Ryan asks, stepping into the kitchen.

“Yeah, what bet?” Eddie echoes, eyeing his two sons over his “#1 Dad” coffee mug where he leans against the counter. 

“Seeing who Eliza’s favorite is. And not Grandpa this time,” Luke informs his dad as he slides into a chair at the table. 

“I believe that would be me,” you say with a proud smirk, traipsing in from the living room with an empty sippy cup. “I just turned on Rolie Polie Olie for her.” 

“No one can compete with the Rol,” Eddie jokes, giving you a playful wink and a smile. 

“She definitely loves that show more than she loves any of us,” Ryan says. He yanks the refrigerator door open and stares inside as if something new is magically going to appear before his eyes. 

“I bet I could interrupt it and she’d be okay with it,” your husband says. “And will you either grab something out of the fridge or close the damn door?”

“So, you’re saying you’re the favorite, Dad?” Luke asks, eyebrows disappearing into the curls that are getting too long for his liking. 

“Isn’t that old news?” Eddie asks with a smirk as he walks over to grab Luke’s box of Lucky Charms. 

“Everything about you is old,” Ryan says.

The joke has your hand slipping, causing the apple juice you were refilling Eliza’s sippy cup with to spill all over the counter. Avoiding Eddie’s eyes, you try to hide your snort of laughter as you grab a towel to mop up the mess. Once the sippy cup is successfully filled up, you turn back towards the living room—Eddie’s eyes still firmly burning your back—and go to give your daughter her drink. 

“Didn’t we already do this? I feel like we played this game before,” you say. “Eliza picked Wayne over all of us.”

Eddie shrugs and takes another sip of his coffee. “No beating the old man. The actual old man.” Eddie narrows his eyes at Ryan, who just chuckles in return. 

“No,” Luke says. He shakes his head as he lets the marshmallow cereal fall into his bowl. “We have to know who her favorite in the house is.” 

“Any ideas?” Ryan asks, plopping down in the seat across the table from his little brother. 

“Hmm,” Luke hums as he chews on a bite of his breakfast. “I’ll brainstorm at school today.”

In the end, it’s you who comes up with the idea that sets the competition into motion. Once Eddie heads out to work and the boys to school, you realize how much you’re able to get done around the house because Eliza is thoroughly hypnotized by her favorite show. It’s not until the hour of Rolie Polie Olie is done that Eliza is running around the house, wanting to play with every toy under the roof. 

After dinner that night, and once Eliza is in bed, you bring your idea up to the boys.

“So, like, we take turns? One person a day?” Luke asks.

You nod in confirmation.

“Right. Because if we all did it one after the other on the same day, she’d get cranky and it wouldn’t be fair for whoever goes last.”

“What, we like, pick straws?” Ryan asks. “Then someone goes Tuesday, then Wednesday...?”

“I’m game,” Eddie says. He lifts one flannel-clad arm and rests it behind you on the couch, giving you the perfect opportunity to snuggle into his side. 

“So…” Luke muses as he walks over to the couch and takes a seat next to you, on the opposite side of Eddie. “We just put our heads in her lap like this?” The younger Munson boy demonstrates by laying his curly head on your thighs, staring up at you with wide blue eyes. 

“Exactly,” you say, reaching down to boop the tip of his nose. “See if she cuddles you or pushes you off. And then we’ll see who she has the best reaction to.”

“I like it,” Ryan says.

“Me too,” Luke agrees. “Ryan, go get straws. Cut one short!”

With an irritated eye roll, Ryan does as his little brother says, feet shuffling along the carpet as he goes. 

The plan springs into action the next day. According to the laws of the straws, Ryan was up first. Followed by Luke, you, and then Eddie rounds it out. 

Tuesday morning starts off like every other weekday, everyone running through their routines to get ready for whatever lies ahead for them that day. Once Eliza is dressed in her purple long sleeve shirt, pink overalls, and her morning apple juice is finished, it’s time for the games to begin. 

You, Eddie, and Luke watch as inconspicuously as you can from the kitchen entryway as Ryan approaches the couch. Your daughter’s eyes never leave the little yellow robots, even as her oldest brother kneels on the dusty-brown cushion next to her and keeps scooting closer. 

Eliza’s leaning back, her legs out straight in front of her, and Ryan takes advantage of the open space to lay his head right down on her little knees. The two-year-old just seems confused at first. She looks down at Ryan, back up to Rolie, down to Ryan, up to Rolie, then back down to Ryan again. After staring down at her big brother for a little while, Eliza reaches for his head and begins to card her tiny fingers through his golden-brown locks. Her hands continue the movements even as she turns her attention back to the television screen. Ryan can’t help but smile; it actually feels really nice. She keeps up the motions until there’s a commercial. Then Ryan rolls on his back to look up at her and she giggles down at him in return, not sure what he’s doing, but happy to have his attention. 

“Do you want me to stay?” Ryan asks.

Instead of answering verbally, Eliza wraps her arms around her big brother’s neck and settles back against the cushions. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ryan says with a chuckle, before adding under his breath, “and as a win.”

Wednesday, it’s Luke’s turn. Once Eliza’s got her favorite show on and a cup of apple juice in her, he makes his move. It’s clear from the moment Luke’s head hits her lap that Eliza is in a feistier mood today. Whether she woke up like that or Luke brings it out of her is anyone’s guess. 

“Ow,” Luke groans as two small hands beat down on the side of his head as if it’s a drum. The boy winces, face scrunching up, but as you watch him alongside Eddie and Ryan from around the corner, you can tell Luke is trying to stick it out and see if he can somehow salvage a win. There’s a brief glimmer of hope when Eliza stops percussing on her brother’s head. However, it’s short-lived. 

Short, stubby fingers make their way up to Luke’s curls and the youngest Munson boy breathes a sigh of relief, seeing as how gentle the toddler was with Ryan’s hair the day before. The problem, they discover, is that since Luke’s curls are far tighter than his older brother’s, Eliza’s fingers quickly get caught in them. 

“Oh, please no,” Luke murmurs, but it’s too late.

Eliza tries to yank her hands free, frustrated that her fingers can’t run smoothly through his locks like she did for their eldest sibling. She pulls Luke’s hair while letting out her own whine.

“Ouch! Why are you whining? I’m the one who’s about to be bald!”

Next to you, Eddie lets out a snort of laughter. 

“Bald?” Eddie says. “Wayne? That you?”

Giving a roll of your eyes, you gently swat at his stomach. Luke also hears his dad’s remark and gives him a glare from the couch as he tries to wrestle himself free from the toddler’s grip. 

Finally, Eliza is able to slip her hands free from the rat’s nest that’s become of Luke’s hair—thanks to her. She’s thoroughly annoyed now and grumbles a few low groans, giving up on words completely. If she were old enough to know swear words, she’d definitely be using those.

Luke breathes a sigh of relief and raises a hand to rub at his sore scalp. Before he can make contact though, both of Eliza’s hands splay flat on the back of his skull and she gives a hard shove. The implication is clear: get off my lap.

Not willing to risk any more of her tiny wrath, Luke rolls off her and off the couch altogether. He lands with a thud on the carpet and gets the chance to rub at his head at last. His eyes narrow as he looks up at Eliza, who is no longer paying him any mind. She’s immersed in Rolie Polie Olie once again, the rest of the world forgotten. 

Your youngest son pushes himself to his feet with a huff. He shuffles back towards the kitchen, back towards the rest of you.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he mumbles as he passes, heading straight for the fridge. 

To Eddie and Ryan’s credit, they do both stay silent as the three of you turn to watch Luke yank a Yoo-Hoo out of the refrigerator and pop the top. He chugs down half the bottle before wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand. 

“Ugh,” Luke says with a sigh as he heads toward the hallway. “It’s not even 8 am yet.”

With both of the boys’ attempts out of the way, you’re up. You debate going in straight for the lap when you give her the purple sippy cup of apple juice, but something tells you that you’d end up with a wet and sticky face though. Instead, you wait until most of the beverage is gone and she’s let the bottle roll out of her hand onto the cushion next to her. 

“Good luck, babe,” Eddie says, giving your ass a pat before you walk out into the living room. 

As soon as your knee touches the couch, the television show your daughter is so transfixed on goes to commercial. She turns her head to look at you, large brown eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

You freeze, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. It’s odd to be struck still and silent by your two-year-old, but here you are. Rolie Polie Olie being on a commercial break could either make or break this for you. 

“Mama!” Eliza chirps.

A breath loses from your chest, and you give her a grin as you move to lay your head on her little legs. The moment your body makes contact with hers, Eliza’s arms encircle you as much as they possibly can, and she leans down to rest her head against yours. Her cheek smooshes against yours, her chin bumping into the corner of your eye. 

Warmth floods through you, your heart growing three sizes as she lays all her body weight against yours.

“Hold on,” you hear Luke mutter from the kitchen, “wait to see what happens when the show comes back.”

There are only about forty-five seconds until just that happens. 

Eliza’s skin brushes against your cheek as she adjusts her head to get a better view of the television, but otherwise stays where she is. In fact, it feels as if she cuddles into you even further as she settles in to watch her favorite show. 

“Oh, come on,” you hear Luke complain. The twelve-year-old is clearly not happy that he is losing this competition so far. It’s not as if Eliza could be bribed, though. Luckily, toddlers haven’t been corrupted by life yet. 

Luke walks into the room and stands at the side of the couch, hands resting on his hips. 

“Comfy, are we?” he asks. 

It’s evident your daughter is quite cozy as she doesn’t look up at her brother or move for the rest of the episode. 

“All right,” Eddie says, rubbing his hands together. “Saved the best for last.”

“Debatable,” Ryan says as he chomps on a granola bar. 

Your husband flicks Ryan’s black-rimmed glasses so they slide down his nose. With a huff that sounds far more sophisticated than one coming from a fourteen-year-old, your son shakes it off. 

“Ready?” you ask, slipping your arms around Eddie’s waist. 

“Always up for snuggles with my girls.” 

A wet, smacking kiss is placed on your cheek, and you let out a soft giggle.

“Gross,” Luke groans.

“I know you are, but what am I?” Eddie taunts, proving he’s as mature as his adolescent sons. 

You let your arms drop from around his middle and you cup Eddie’s cheeks. 

“Go get her,” you say.

He pecks your lips before heading out into the living room.

Eliza is as entranced as always in her cartoon and Eddie takes advantage of that by silently sidling up to her. She doesn’t even realize he’s there until the couch dips next to her and her empty sippy cup rolls until it meets Eddie’s jean-clad knee.  

He moves the cup aside and slowly lowers himself until he’s able to rest his head in his daughter’s lap. 

At first, it’s as if Eliza doesn’t even notice. She’s watching her show, letting her dad just lay down on her. But after a few seconds, her stare breaks from the television and her brown eyes meet matching larger ones. Her head tilts to the side, inspecting him, and her curls bob with the motion. Eddie smiles up at her and a slow grin grows on her face in return. 

One of Eliza’s tiny hands splays across Eddie’s forehead, some of his bangs getting pushed to the side, and some getting caught under her warm palm. Her other hand lands on his chin, delicate fingers curving around his jaw and rubbing against some stubble. 

Eliza stays like that, looking down at her father, not moving. It takes everything in Eddie not to laugh as he just stares back at the inquisitive little face that reminds him so much of you. 

Quickly, Eliza leans in and presses a kiss to the tip of Eddie’s nose. Gone is his urge to laugh, replaced by the most adoring grin as he revels in her affection. He’s about to thank her for the kiss when she leans in to do it again. This time, however, her mouth is open, and she ends up enveloping his nose in her small mouth.

There’s no way Eddie can hold in his laughter this time as he feels her drool dribble up his nose onto his face. The giddiness is infectious because Eliza pulls her mouth off only to begin laughing alongside of him. 

“You might just be as weird as I am,” he tells her, which makes her laugh even harder. 

That night at dinner, the results are discussed.

“So, who wins?” Ryan asks as he spears some green beans with his fork.

“Not me,” Luke grumbles, slouching down in his chair. 

“Oh, relax,” Eddie says, reaching over and clapping the younger boy on the shoulder. “It’s not like this was scored or anything.”

Luke drops his fork onto the plate with a clang and raises his hands up in front of him.

“My hair ruined it for me! That’s not fair!”

“You know, she can talk now,” you point out, looking at Eliza happily eating in her highchair next to you.

“Good point,” Ryan says. He clears his throat and leans across the table towards her. “Eliza, which of us is your favorite?”

The little girl pops a grape in her mouth and chews, looking like she’s thoughtfully thinking over the question.

“Me,” she finally says.

“No,” Luke says with a shake of his head. “Which of us?” He emphasizes his point by gesturing to the four of you around the table. 

Eliza nods her head once, with finality. “Me.”

Eddie huffs a laugh and shrugs his shoulders.

“Her Majesty has spoken.”

“I don’t think it counts,” Luke laments, looking back down to his plate.

“Yeah, her vote doesn’t count,” Ryan agrees.

You and Eddie share a look of amusement across the table. With these three around, life will never be boring.

[celestialprincesse]

🌹💞

Simon Riley does not like Valentines day. To him, it's another one of those pointless holidays people use as an excuse for overconsumption and to try and show off how their lives are better than everyone else's. Simon hates the excessive gaudiness of it all and the lame hearts and flowers. Seriously, how much thought does someone put into a wilting bouquet of red roses and some overpriced chocolates in a flimsy heart shaped box - they're at the front of every supermarket throughout basically all of February, everywhere.

Simon Riley hates Valentines day until he meets you. Bumps into you at the local florist, unusually unaware of his surroundings as he stews on the pointless idiocy of another lame holiday. The way you squeal as the three dozen peonies wrapped in brown paper tumble to the floor which you land rather inelegantly beside snaps him from his reverie with a grunt. "Fuck - shite - M' so sorry love." He stutters out, feeling like all the air has been punched from his chest when he sees your big eyes staring up at him with wild confusion, now crumpled flowers long forgotten as you stare up at the intoxicatingly rich brown eyes of the man before you. Although, man doesn't feel like the right word for him, tall and strong and holding out a hand the size of your head to help you up, your peonies dwarfed by his long fingers as he helps you up.

You vaguely hear yourself mumble something in response, an awkward stutter like a lovesick teenager asking their crush to the movies, met by a strong hand to the top of your bicep, soothing you, asking if you're alright. A concerned eyebrow furrows when you don't respond, just stand there gawking like a fish. He wonders if maybe you hit your head on the way down, and he was too dumbstruck by the flurry of soft silky skin, glossy, sun-struck hair and petals to see. You look like you've just seen God, and he looks like he's just seen the most beautiful thing said God could ever have crafted.

"Are you okay?" The low timbre of his voice - you don't even know how to react, so dazed and confused and there's butterflies - no, not butterflies, bald eagles and kestrels and ospreys, massive feathery wings beating against your diaphragm and rendering you speechless - butterflies are for normal men. The man before you is too monumental for butterflies.

"Yes! Yes." You squeak in embarrassment like a mouse under a cat's paw, looking defeatedly down at your flowers, brown eyes following your gaze with a sympathetic look.

"Were these for someone?" He seems almost a little flustered by his foolish lack of spatial awareness, which just so happened to strike at the worst time, seeing as now he stands before you, clutching a withering bouquet, failing to save this conversation. Both of you stand like that together, in some strange limbo, like time has stood still in order to force you together, not starting back up again until this conversation goes somewhere. "Just me." You murmur, voice so pathetically small under the draw of his magnetism. He's probably here to get flowers for his girlfriend, or fiancee even. She'll probably turn up any second, beautiful and charismatic and just as magnetic as the man before you is.

"Let me buy you some more, yeah?" He nods his head back in the direction of the fancier florist in town, the one you'd splurged on in a valentines induced self-pity party. He buys you three dozen pink peonies, matching paper and ribbons too. He also insists on taking you for a coffee, and buying you some silly pink and white frosted cake in the excuse that your blood sugars probably dropped after the fall and some other fake nonsense like that. You obviously say yes, to the flowers and the coffee and the cake - to the gentle smiles and the crease of his warm brown eyes, his hand on the small of your back. Both of you say yes to giving Valentines day a try.

⋆ ˚.⋆୨୧˚

Some short simple little V day fluff for y'all the brain isn't braining at the moment but also wanted to give you all a little Valentines day present because ily

[notapradagurl7]

Keep A Distance.

Pairings: Black Fem! Cop!Reader x Armando Aretas.

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe.

Summary: You were a cop working on the runaway Armando Aretas case, alongside Mike and Marcus but decided to go solo by working undercover.

Taglist: @lovedlover @planetblaque @megamindsecretlair @westside-rot @keyera-jackson @browngirldominion @swavydadon @playgurlxoxo @nerdieforpedro

Warnings: PWP, doesn't follow the film’s timeline, profanity, mention of guns, mention of violence, erotic asphyxiation/choking, Armando being persistent to the reader, dacryphila, consensual for both parties, short fic.

————

The light from the computer illuminated on your brown skin with your hand resting on the mouse, clicking on the file on the desktop with the picture of vibrant roses. Opening the file, your eyes scan the information and criminal records.

All that work just to lose him out of your sight again.

“Armando Aretas is still on the loose after taking control of the Aretas cartel when his mother was tragically burned in a fire.” the reporter spoke up.

You sighed and shook your head in disapproval, you pushed the power button on the remote, turning off the television, there was no way to catch this guy after playing this game of cat and mouse. Your finger pressed the power button and watched the computer fade to black.

You were working for the Miami Police Department as a cop, moving your way to a respected and it was every man and woman looking out for themselves.

It was a shame that you had to endure the shit from men and women in the police department.

Standing up from the desk, you walked out of your office. You approached the main office with determination.

Marcus and Mike stood by each other, you gave them fist bumps while "What's the latest, detective?" Mike asked, leaning against the desk with a smirk.

"Same old, same old. Aretas is still slipping through our fingers," you replied, crossing your arms. "I think it’s time I take matters into my own hands."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that? You know this guys plays fucking dirty."

“Yeah, well, dirty is my middle name,” you shot back, the fire in your belly igniting.

“Just keep your head on straight, alright?” Marcus warned, his tone serious. “We can’t afford to lose you too.”

You shrugged off their concern. “I appreciate it, but I’m not going in blind. I have a plan.”

“Which involves what? Seducing him?” Mike chuckled, but you noticed a flicker of concern in his eyes.

“Something like that,” you replied, your smile a little too sly. “I’ll get close enough to gather intel; I won’t get too comfortable.”

“Uh-huh,” Marcus said, not buying it. “And what makes you think he won’t be the one to get too comfortable?”

Mike knew that you could take care of yourself but Armando was his son, he had Mike’s genes running through him. Once Mike called Armando the fucked up version of himself.

“Because I know how to keep a distance,” you replied, your voice steady.

“Just remember, he’s not some petty thief. He’s dangerous, Armando is Mike’s son” Marcus reiterated.

“I can handle myself,” you asserted, turning on your heel. “I’ve got this.”

As you stepped out of the precinct, the Miami heat hit you like a wall. You pulled your box braids into a tight bun, adjusting your badge before heading to your car. You knew you had to find Armando's weaknesses, and if it meant playing the role of an alluring enigma, then so be it.

Later that night, you found yourself at a dimly-lit bar, the kind where the shadows danced as much as the patrons. You leaned against the bar, scanning the room. The air was thick with tension as a mix of laughter and whispered conversations filled the space.

“Can I get you something?” the bartender asked, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Whiskey, neat,” you replied, your gaze still fixed on the entrance.

Moments later, the door swung open, and in walked Armando Aretas. He was a silhouette of charm and danger, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. Your heart raced as he scanned the crowd, his eyes landing on you.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, sliding onto the barstool next to you, his voice smooth like velvet.

“Depends on who’s asking,” you replied, your tone playful yet guarded.

“Armando,” he said, extending his hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

“[Your Name],” you introduced yourself, shaking his hand firmly. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Only good things, I hope,” he smirked, leaning in closer, the intoxicating scent of his cologne wrapping around you.

“Depends on your definition of good,” you shot back, your pulse quickening.

He chuckled softly, clearly intrigued. “You’re not like the others…I like that.”

“Keep your distance, Aretas,” you warned, your voice low and steady, but the chemistry between you was undeniable.

“Why would I do that when I’m enjoying this conversation?” he replied, his gaze piercing through you.

“Because this isn’t a game you want to play,” you said, your heart racing at the thrill of the chase.

“Oh, I think it is. And I always win,” he whispered, his voice dripping with confidence.

“So I heard that you're looking for me, Detective [Last Name]” he smirked, eyeing you up and down. His eyes remained on your ass.

You swatted his hand out of the way, and narrowed your gaze. “My eyes are up here, you're gonna come in with me. I'll arrest you and this case will be over..”

Armando smirked at you, snatching your gun that was attached to your belt. Your fist connects with his cheek as blood spills from his chin, he spits it out on the floor.

“I guess it's not over yet..” He smirked, stepping closer to you.

You were supposed to leave, you wanted to cuff him and take him into your car. But you couldn't, the heat between your thighs made you stifle a moan.

“Was all this chasing after you, a trick to get me all to yourself Armando?” you asked seductively, smirking.

Armando's eyes darkened with desire as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Maybe it was, detective. Maybe I wanted to see just how far you'd go to catch me." His hand trailed down your arm, sending shivers down your spine.

You fought against the growing heat in your body, reminding yourself of the mission at hand. But the magnetic pull between you and Armando was undeniable. The danger only added to the thrill, fueling the fire that burned between you.

As his lips brushed against your neck, your resolve wavered. "We can't do this," you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction.

Armando chuckled darkly, his hand on your waist. Pulling your face closer to his, when he wanted something or someone, a desideratum for him.

He only did this just to get closer to you, he planned everything just to see your pretty face again. The

But this mission left you fuddled and to save face, you kept your cool instead of admitting it. Did he want you?

"Who says we can't mix business with pleasure, detective?" His words sent a jolt of electricity through you, igniting a hunger you couldn't deny.

In a haze of desire and adrenaline, you found yourself giving in to the temptation. Crashing his lips into yours, tongues turned in sync. You moaned in the kiss, and he led you to the car.

Next thing you know, you were under him on his bed and kissing him sloppily. Both of your clothes were littered across the bedroom floor, the soft smack of your lips colliding with his filled the room.

His naked body against yours from the front with glossy sweat, his hips thrusting into you without mercy, as if it was a vindictive yet almost loving type of fuck. His tongue glided across your neck, wanting to leave hickeys on you.

The moonlight peeked through the curtains, and shone on your brown skin. Your brown braids pool around your pretty face, your mouth agape only to let out loud drunk moans and slurred screams.

There you were, fucking your enemy in the dark. Thankful that he couldn't see your face twist up in pleasure, “I bet you look so pretty taking every inch of my dick mami..like a good slut,” he praised, cutting himself off with a raspy moan.

Your hand rested on the back of his neck, bringing him for another sloppy kiss. Leaving a chain of spit between your lips and his, “That dick is so good…” you mumbled, your head fell to the pillow.

Your slick pussy gripped around his dick tight, feeling his inch after inch.

“Oh..fuck! Armando!” You cried out, your vision blurred with tears rolling down your watery cheeks. Teeth trapped under your lips only to be sucked off by Armando, moaning muffled with each kiss. Your tears turned him on quickly.

His head ducked and halted between your titties, wrapping his warm mouth around your nipple. Thighs smacking against your ass, the sound similar to clapping, wetness enveloped his thick dick entirely, Suckling it roughly while pinching your left nipple, “Fuckk! M-more,” you croaked.

Balling your hand in the blanket you turned into a wet, blubbering mess underneath the male. “I’m yours now? So fucking wet..” he grunted deeply, you whimperrd in response. His hand wrapped around your neck, bringing you in for a quick kiss to your lips.

“You’re mine papi, all mine..” you moaned loudly, drooling trickling at the corner of your lip. Unable to speak from the pleasure.

This was better than you imagined, your guts being rearranged by the man you loathed so much but he was here with you. His hand smacked across your ass, you whined lowly. “Fuck!”

“Being inside you is a dream true, suck a good girl..” he groaned, rutting against you without mercy.

Your climax hit you rapidly like a tsunami crashing through without warming, your sticky essence gushed down on his dick and you screamed loudly, falling on the blanket.

He followed suit by pulling out of you, falling beside your body and kissing your shoulder. You panted heavily through it.

“T-this can't happen again..” you murmured raspily, shaking your head. trying to confess to yourself that this was a one-time thing.

Armando hummed lightly with a soft chuckle, “Are you sure about that? You did say that I'm yours..” he panted lowly.

You almost dozed off until he gently picked you up bridal style, carrying you into the bathroom as he flipped the light switch. He turned the faucet, you heard the squeak.

Filling the tub with foam soap, at the right temperature, You were placed in the tub, allowing the water to soothe the ache in your body and pussy, sighing blissfully. You watched him walk into the shower and proceed to wash himself clean.

You washed yourself clean from the weight of the day, you fell asleep in his bed with him. Beside his body, dressed in your clean panties and gray tee shirt.

As the sun began to rise, casting golden hues through the window, you made a silent vow to yourself. You left quickly with everything you had, keeping this a secret.

You had to keep a distance, but the memory of that night with Armando would linger, a dangerous secret that bound you together in ways you never thought possible.

The next day, you returned home and sat in your desk chair in front of your computer. Quiet as a church mouse, which made everyone worry about. It wasn't normal for you to be quiet from their perspective.

Marcus and Mike knocked on your door, the sound tore your attention from the computer. You jumped from the sound, placing a hand on your chest.

“Come in!” you called out, seeing the pair through the office window.

They stepped inside, concern etched on their faces. Mike leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, while Marcus took a seat in the chair opposite you.

“Hey, you alright?” Mike asked, his tone softer than usual. “You’ve been unusually quiet since yesterday.”

You flashed a tight smile, the memory of last night flooding your mind. “Yeah, just a lot on my mind.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing you. “A lot, huh? Or should we be concerned about that ‘solo mission’ you took on?”

You shrugged, keeping your expression neutral. “It was just a quick check-in. Nothing major.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “You guys know I can handle myself. I’m not a rookie.”

“True, but it’s not just about handling yourself,” Marcus interjected, his voice serious. “It’s about the risks involved. Armando Aretas is dangerous.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms defensively. “He got away.”

“He did?” Mike asked you, raising a brow.

“Yeah, he was too fast and strong.” you added softly, looking up at the ceiling.

“Well, guess this case is closed huh?” Marcus asked, pursing his lips.

You nodded your head slowly, “Yes, and let’s just get to normal. What’s the melody to Bad Boys song? Bad boys, Bad Bo—” you sang playfully until Mike and Marcus interjected.

“Hey, hey, hey get your own theme song and learn the lyrics!” Macurs joked, his face twisted up a bit with a chuckle.

“Yeah, that's our theme song, but you did amazing on this case..” Mike added with a chuckle, smiling at you.

“My bad, thanks for believing in me guys..” you replied with a warm tone.

You gave the men fist bumps, watching them walk out of your office. Feeling a wave of relief wash over you, so much for keeping a secret. But it was over and you couldn't see him.

You could afford to blur the lines between business and pleasure, mixing them together was bad enough. You were done, now back to business only.

——————

Part Two.

[followthebluebell]

would love a list of low energy enrichment activities to try with cats. im always looking for more ways to be involved with my cat but she is 3 and very high energy and after a long day i often dont have the spoons to chase her around with a toy while she finds new exciting hiding spots to look at it from. this makes me sad :( i dont want her to be understimulated

Food-based enrichment:

Feeder toys are a favorite! But these carry the drawback of requiring cleaning afterwards, so calculate that into your spoons. Some of them are machine washable, so that may be an option if you've got a dishwasher.

Snuffle mats - another favorite, these also require the occasional clean but don't need to be cleaned every time you use them. You can make your own pretty easily. Or, hell, just grab a very cheap bath mat from a dollar store. Your cat won't know the difference.

Scatter feeding - literally just. Throw a handful of treats or kibble on the floor or down the stairs. Literally, that's it. Calculate clean-up into your spoons because cats aren't reliable vacuums. But it keeps them busy for a few minutes.

Toy based enrichment:

Get a cardboard box. Crinkle up some brown wrapping paper or whatever cheap paper you've got on hand and put it in the box. Congrats, you've now combined your cats two favorite things in the world: boxes and paper. For extra fun, add catnip (or silvervine or whatever your cat's drug of choice is), toys, or treats.

Ripple Rug: this is actually a specific product. It's literally a square of carpet or rug with velcro on the bottom that attaches to ANOTHER square of carpet or rug. It's fairly stiff. The idea is that cats can dive into it and make their own little tunnels. My cats LOVE it. You can probably recreate it quite cheaply using cheap rugs or carpet, tbh.

Cat crinkle mats: again, this is something fairly easily made at home. You get some cheap crinkly plastic and sew it into two old washclothes or something similar. Congrats. You now have a little mat your cats can sit on, bat around, and crinkle. You can also just buy them in multiple sizes. Many have catnip in them too.

Paper bags: cats just love paper bags. Be sure you remove the handles to make sure no one gets their head stuck. Most cats entertain themselves pretty well with bags.

Cat springs: those little plastic springs are a favorite, and so are those cheap rabbit-fur covered mouse toys.

Cat race track toys: another favorite.

Cardboard cat scratchers: the cardboard ones require MORE cleaning because they leave little bits of cardboard all over the place, but it is kind of nice that you can just throw them out when your cat is done. Any scratcher is good, though. I've listed cardboard for ease of clean-up and because it's a very popular material for cats.

Cat tunnels: like bags and boxes, cats just love tunnels.

I'm not a big fan of laser pointers or robotic toys. I haven't seen many cases of light chasing disorders in cats compared to dogs, but it's an issue enough that I don't readily recommend them. I also don't really recommend robotic toys because a lot of them make noises that cats don't like. If your cat enjoys these things, congrats; I just don't find them universally popular enough to really recommend. But I had to mention them, because if I didn't, my notes would be full of 'but what about Product X!!".

I've tried to keep this list to low cost toys and activities. There are other things you can do, like installing wall shelves or getting a big cat tree, but these things are more likely to be expensive, either in terms of money, time, or energy. I wanted to focus on low cost activities that I felt were more accessible to disabled folks.

[the-kr8tor]

Autumn of '88

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 3.8k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie is mentioned taller than R, Reader and Hobie are 13/14 in this, Puppy love, TTN! Reader and Hobie, set in the TTN universe, best friends to lovers (prequel to TTN), CW food mentions, Fluff.

A/N: This is the last of the 1k celebration fics! Thank you all so much ❤️❤️❤️

Thread the Needle Masterlist

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Head on your palm, heavy eyes slowly closing with every dreary words that your biology teacher says, you fight a yawn from escaping since the last time someone yawned in front of Mrs. Weathers they got kicked out of class. But with the boring subject about symbiotic relationships in the wild, that you most definitely already know since you did the advanced reading, you're tempted to yawn loudly and widely just so you could escape from this biology hell.

The air is crisp, October air breezing through you from the open window to your left. Clad in your cardigan and yellow corduroy pants, the cold still seeps into the thick fabrics. It's a comfortable cold but with you sitting still for more than an hour without stretching your limbs has you freezing in your seat.

You risk getting called out by Mrs. Weathers if she notices you looking out of the window for even a second. But you are so bored out of your mind that you'd rather stare at the oak tree outside than continue to listen to her yapping about symbiosis. Having the brilliant idea to hide your wandering eyes from the teacher with your hand slightly covering your profile, now safe from her piercing gaze, you watch as the orange leaves dance with the breeze.

There's a pile of dead leaves at the bottom of its trunk, and you wish you could jump inside and never have to study biology ever again. It must be so warm and cozy inside, with the orange and yellow leaves as your sky and walls, you'll live like a tiny mouse queen ruling over your land. You think of all the stuff you'll bring inside your little leaf kingdom, your sketchbook is definitely a yes, and also your big pack of colorful markers and pencils is an absolute need. You'll need some snacks of course, some eggos and cheese balls would suffice. As for sleeping, you guess you'll never need to sleep when you have so much time to do anything you want in your leaf kingdom.

Yet, you think you'll be lonely inside. Sure you can bring your gameboy or your care bears, but they can't exactly talk and have the most riveting banter with you. With a smile, you plan to bring your best friend with you to your autumn kingdom. Hobie can be your bard or your right hand man. It's perfect, you think, a perfect place where it's just you and Hobie where there's no more school to attend, no more grades to keep up, just you and him having fun in the pile of leaves.

With a sigh, you blink slowly as your eyes get heavier and heavier with every daydream. Fighting the sandman from having his sandy grip on you, you pinch your cheek subtly. Opening your eyes, a familiar silhouette appears right next to the oak tree. Long arms waving in your direction, legs jumping to get your attention. Blinking rapidly, it's none other than Hobie who has the widest grin on his face when he notices that he finally has your attention.

He motions for you to go outside, beckoning you over dramatically. Miming that he'll cry if you don't go outside. You think otherwise, quietly giggling at his antics.

After the realization, you straighten in your seat, wondering why and how he got outside when he's supposed to be in maths.

A loud thwack slams against your desk, jumping awake, Mrs. Weathers shakes her head, tongue clicking in agitation.

“If you're not prepared to listen in class it's best that you should leave, miss L/N.” She says, gritting her fake teeth.

“Okay,” you stand up to collect your things, shoving your notebook and books inside your already full backpack. Your reply has Mrs. Weathers confused, since you are her best student.

“Wait—” you've never seen her flabbergasted, your classmates snicker silently in their seats, some even clap and cheer you on.

Giving them all a shrug, you exit the classroom before she grabs you back inside. With the door shutting close, you sprint towards the exit. Trainers squeaking on the linoleum, backpack heavy, you push the double doors open with your shoulder. Hobie greets you outside just as the fresh air whips at your cheeks.

He claps slowly but surely, face proud with a smug smile. “I've got to hand it to you, Pingu, I did not expect that. I have successfully made a rebel out of you.”

Hobie stands on the grass like he owns the entire school, hands tucked inside his jeans, thumbs tapping on his metal belts that clinks against each other when he moves. For once, he's dressed for the weather, the old worn leather jacket now fits him better than last year, it was bigger on his shoulders back then. Puberty works in mysterious ways, you think. A denim vest lays on top of the leather, handmade pins of his favourite things are all tacked securely on the denim. Its edges are frayed, but you know it was intentional since you're the one who helped him do it. The thrifted ‘Queen’ shirt you gave him on his birthday is the perfect size, but you know that he'll only be able to wear it for a couple of years at the rate he's growing.

No one would think you two are best friends judging by how different your styles are, or how different you are to him. Personality wise, likes, dislikes, it's all different, sometimes you wonder how you two get along. But you wouldn't have it any other way.

“How'd you get out of maths?”

“Climbed out of the window before Mr. Keery came in.”

You doubt his story. “Yeah, right, your classroom is on the third floor, Hobie.”

He feigns hurt, “my own best mate doubts my abilities?” You roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks says otherwise. “‘m great at climbing, I could climb down from that height.” You stay silent, looking at him with a raised brow and unblinking eyes. “...fine, I faked sleepin' by snorin’ loudly, happy?”

You touch his shoulder with a mischievous smile. “Hobie, you don't have to fake snore because you snore like an elephant giving birth.”

“You're very funny,” he takes your wrist to push your hands away. You now notice the new nail polish on his nails. “That doesn't even make bloody sense.”

You ignore him, mouth agape and shocked at his painted nails. “You finally coloured your nails?” You take his hand that has nail polish sloppily painted on. The paint even reaches to the edge of his nails, painting his skin with shadowy black. “You could've asked me for help, y’know.”

“It's part of the style” He shrugs, taking his hand away before you can feel his pulse pick up.

“Sure, even the bubbles are in style.” You tease with a playful smile. “So why'd you call me over here?”

“Got bored, then thought you're also bored so I went to your window so we could skip the rest of the day.” He purposely skips the part that he knows exactly where you always sit.

You gasp. “Wait, I thought we were just skipping class, not skipping the rest of the day!” Hands on your hips, you shake your head. “And here I thought there's like a really cool… stick or something.”

“A stick?” He chortles.

“Yeah, like the one you found a few days ago that actually looked like a sword.”

“Nah, I wanted to—” A high pitched whistle echoes out, startling you both. Finding the source of the sound, the school guard is currently running towards you. The hundreds of keys on his belt jingles, cheeks red from all the whistle blowing.

“Oi!” The yells, pointing accusingly at you two.

With wide eyes, Hobie takes your hand before sprinting away. He practically drags you along with him, bigger strides than you, he looks over his shoulder to check on you. Unsurprisingly enough, he has a huge grin on his lips, as if he planned all of it.

You follow his lead, dead leaves crunching under your shoes, backpack weighing you down. Yet, he doesn't leave you even though you're slowing him down. You appreciate him for not letting your hand go, but you don't like how your heart hammers against your chest when you look at your intertwined hands.

Finally reaching the metal fence, Hobie chucks his backpack over it. It's not that tall for him, he could easily jump over it with no problem, but with you still waiting on your growth spurt, it'll be a challenge for you. He knows it too, without asking he grabs your bag off your shoulders, he then quickly throws it over the other side before crouching down with his hands on top of the other.

“C’mon, Pingu, up you go!” Hobie flicks his eyes over to the guard, he's glad that the guard isn't exactly a track star. The whistling gets louder as the uniformed man gets closer. “Hurry—!”

Before he could finish saying the word, you shakily put your foot on his palm. With one strong push, and a jump from you, Hobie hoists you over the fence. You miraculously make it over, landing on your side with a groan. Hobie follows a second later, climbing like his life depended on it. Immediately grabbing each of your backpacks, then putting both on one arm, he lifts you up from the pavement with one hand just before the guard could even reach the fence; you two race off across the street, huffing and aching from the daring escape.

Going around a corner, Hobie leads you towards an alley. He skids off to a stop, heavy bags falling off his arms.

Hands on your knees, lungs burning, and face sweaty from the run, you check behind the corner if the guard is still after you.

“He won't follow us anymore. We're out!” Hobie exclaims, exhilarated, and grinning widely. He leans on the wall opposite of you, chest heaving, laughter echoing around the empty alleyway.

Copying his stance, cracking a smile, you laugh together with him. “You're a bad influence, Hobie Brown.”

“And you're a great influence, Y/N L/N.” His smile and his shining eyes says it all: we balance each other out. “Too bloody nice, that's what you are.”

You shake your head, chin resting on your clavicle to hide your lopsided smile. Heat on your cheeks, you seem to find yourself having the same expression lately whenever you're around him.

“Where to?” He asks once he caught his breath.

“My choice?” You ask, smile permanently etched on your lips.

“‘course,” Hobie says it like it's the most obvious thing. He was supposed to add to his sentence but he shuts his mouth before he could let the word escape.

You excitedly perk up. “The mall?”

He makes a face. “I'd rather stay in maths.”

“Arcade then?”

“They'd kick us out,” you knit your eyebrows in question. “Because we're skippin’ class, they put up that fuckin' sign a few weeks ago.”

“Oh right, I forgot. How about the record shop? Mike's cool, he might let us stay until classes are over.”

Hobie pushes himself off the wall, strutting over to you, your heart quickens for some reason. He pats shoulder with a smirk. “Your best idea yet,” taking both bags off the grimey floor, he puts them both on each shoulder. It's your turn to smirk at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say in a sing-song tone.

He clicks his tongue, avoiding your eyes. “C’mon then, before someone sees us here and thinks we're skippin' class.”

“Hobie, we are skipping class.”

“Not if we act like we're not.”

“...what?” You chuckle, blinking in confusion. “What would you do?”

“Nothin’, let's go.” He walks away from you.

“Oh come on, what will you do? Will you put on your best acting skills like how you faked being sick in front of the nurse? Because she was definitely convinced that you had chicken pox!” You giggle, following him, matching his longer strides.

“It worked, didn't it?” Hobie turns his head away from your playful glance.

“Yeah, because you had an actual fever. But sure, your drawn on chicken pox was very convincing.”

“I'm an artiste, Y/N.” He says, trying to do a french accent.

You snort, “sure, and I'm the queen of England.”

“Alright, your majesty.” He stops, “carry your own luggage,” your bag thuds on the pavement. “I don't want to help some parasite.” Smugly walking away, you feign hurt with your loud gasp.

“You…you doodoo head!” You yank your bag, wearing it properly on your back. Running after Hobie, he has a mischievous smile, one you're all too familiar with.

“Doodoo head? That the best you can come up with?” He says before bolting off, leaving you in the dust.

“Hey!” Running, you follow him with a laugh. “Asshole!”

—

Finally reaching the vinyl shop, the bells jingle as you two enter. The smell of plastic and cheap air freshener lingers in the air, the ancient shaggy carpet is soft under your trainers. Shelves upon shelves of records greet you as you roam your eyes around the different album covers. It's a slow day so the store is empty except for Mike the cashier who has headphones on.

Hobie sniffs dramatically, “home sweet home!”

Mike cracks an eye open, with a groan after seeing you and Hobie standing by the door, he chucks his headphones on the counter, looking disgruntled. The denim jacket with hundreds of patches and bottle cap pins is large on his lanky frame.

“Oh great, Hobie's here.” He says sarcastically, long straight hair flipped over his shoulder with one move from his head. “And he brought his little girlfriend. Hi, Y/N, you still hang out with this arse?” He points at Hobie who doesn't bother correcting him anymore. “Seriously, I thought you were smarter than that.”

“D’you finally have it, mate?” Hobie acts like he's the same age as Mike, even though the teenage cashier could be his older brother. Ignoring Mike's jab, he waits for his reply.

Wanting to quit his job is clearly seen on his face. Then he considers the fact that he needs to save for college. With a sigh, he points towards the end of the store, where you think ‘it’ is there.

Hobie punches the table with a thump, then he excitedly bounds over to where the cashier pointed. “Thanks, bruv.”

“Cyndi Lauper?” You ask, all wide eyed and shy. “It's not at the front anymore.”

“Over to the right, just across where your boyfriend is.”

“He's not my—nevermind, thanks.” Walking past all the display, Hobie guffaws when he finds what he was looking for. You smile at how happy he is.

He's so happy that he grabs you by your elbow, pointing at the new ‘Ramones’ album. The words “Ramones Mania” are printed in bright red.

“Finally! Look!”

“I see it, Hobs.” You chuckle, “didn't this release months ago though?”

“It did,” he sighs like he's recalling a bad memory. “But this place isn't making a lot of money from records like this, so Mike here!” He yells the last part to annoy the man. “Delayed ordering it. I had to come ‘ere every day just to remind him.”

You see Mike pressing the volume up on his walkman. Making sure that Hobie sees that he's not listening to him.

“You didn't tell me that.” You say, sounding a bit too hurt.

“Thought you wouldn't care.” Hobie shrugs, “‘sides, you don't listen to stuff like this.” He points at the album.

“I could listen to it, Hobs. I make you listen to my records and you seem to like it.”

Hobie's eyes soften. “You wanna listen to it together then? You might not like it.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “If I don't end up liking it then at least I gave it a try, right? If I do like it we have something new to talk about.”

He could only manage a smile and a curt nod. Taking the record to the listening booth that sits at the corner of the store, he leaves his bag outside whilst he opens the door for you. Placing your bag down more gently than he did, you enter the cramped booth.

Mike yells after you two, “you lot better not snog in there!” You and Hobie scrunch your faces at the man.

“We're fourteen, mate!” Hobie yells back, not agitated, just weirded out by Mike's comment.

“You're fourteen? How would I know? You look fuckin' sixteen, bruv! Tall motherfucker.” He whispers the last part, Hobie didn't hear it but you surely did.

“I thought he was cool.” You admit, shutting the booth door behind you.

“He's a wanker, just actin’ like he is. Thought you fancy him?”

“Ew.” He beams at your reaction.

You giggle, the sound bouncing off the padded walls of the booth. It's just a regular rectangular box with a shelf for the record player and a bench to sit on. It's quieter inside, the cars outside are muffled, the only clear thing you can hear is how your heartbeat gets faster and faster the longer you stay squished inside the booth with him. Sitting down, you leave enough space for him. Hands on top of the other, you roam your eyes around the cracking paint on the walls, mind making shapes from how the navy blue paint crumbles.

Hobie carefully takes the record out then places it on the record player. Sitting next to you, you can practically feel his excitement reverberating. He takes the headphones from its rack, turning each around so you and him could listen at the same time.

“Ready to shit your trousers?” He asks, eyes glinting from the single light bulb. He's so close to you that you can see yourself in the reflection in his eyes. And you can see every single strand of eyelashes that's perfectly blending in with his eyeliner.

“I don't want to poop on my trousers, I like this pair.” You joke, and you pat yourself on the back for making him laugh. “This is corduroy, Hobie.”

“Alright quiet time now.” He presses play as you hide your amused smile.

—

You bask in the sunset, eyes closed, you let the autumn air kiss your cheeks, your hands are behind you, propping you up. Despite the dusty pavement, and the looming problem of getting found out that you skipped school, you're perfectly content where you are right now. It would be perfect but you're missing something, or someone for that matter.

Cold air suddenly blows right behind you, the convenience doors close with a hiss and that's your cue to look up. Hobie appears upside down in your vision just like you thought, he tilts his head, you can see the cogs in his head turn. Placing the cup on your forehead, he laughs at your crossed eyes. Condensation rolls off from the plastic cup and into your skin.

Hobie takes it away before you could catch a cold. Sitting next to you, he hands you your bright slurpee. There's a mix of colours, red and blue melting into the orange and purple.

“They didn't have the brown one.” He says as he rips open a pack of Doritos. “There's no puddin’ pops either.”

“Aw,” you say slightly disappointed, but the sight of the box of nerds inside the plastic bag helps remedy your disappointment. “Ooh nerds!”

“Where?” As he says it, you see a grin slowly spreading on his face. “I only see one right here!” Chortling, grin wide, the orange hues of the sky paints him with its watercolour glow. You'd take this sight more than a day alone at the arcade.

“Ha ha.” You say flatly, sipping your drink too quickly, you wince loudly. Hobie guffaws into the barren space, save for the 711 behind you and the woods sitting quietly in front of you. His laugh echoes, even with his amusement, he still has the time to pat your back affectionately.

“Ow.” You rub your temple.

“What’d I tell you before? Drink it slowly, love.” The title slips out of his tongue. The second he realizes it, he hides behind his own cup, sipping wordlessly as he stares off into the woods.

Love, the simple freudian slip has you blinking at him slowly. He has never called you that before, he has, however, called you a bunch of nicknames that are either sweet or to purposely annoy you. But love? You've only heard older teenagers call each other that, and they usually have their hand inside their girlfriend’s or boyfriend’s back pockets when they do. You have no idea if Hobie has mistaken, because you're clearly not love, you're pingu, you're cheese, you're pebbles, hell, you're even lad, or his best mate. Never love, because that's reserved for someone you actually like, someone you truly care for.

Is he mistaken? Mimicking something he has heard around school?

“I should've told you about the album.” His voice wakes you to the present.

Do you care for him? Of course you do.

“What?” You breathlessly ask.

He's your best mate after Danny left, he was the only one who filled that lonely lonely gap he left. You think he's stuck with you forever, and he thinks you're stuck with him forever. Strangely enough, you both think it's perfect.

“Me pestering the shit out of Mike.” You knit your eyebrows at his words. He looks down at his boots, a small puddle at his feet reflects his own confused face. Is he apologizing? Why is he apologizing for? Weirdly enough, you both ask the same question.

You'd annoy Mike for him. You'd call the shop endlessly just so they would order his record. Even if you get in trouble for the telephone bill.

“You would've helped.” Hobie continues, eyes now looking into your own.

Care, it's a simple word, but you think it's not enough to describe how you feel about him, how you really feel about your best friend. It's much more than that.

“Yeah, I would've annoyed him too.” You softly smile at him.

“I know, love.” Because he knows you, and you know him too. Hobie utters the title more confidently, the word rolling off his tongue like butter. He makes it sound like he has been calling you that in his head for a long time. Maybe he has. “I know you would.”

He had the answer the whole time, it's not just you caring for him. It's love, it's love in its earliest state, it's love at its most innocent.

You love him, that revelation scares you, but it's better not knowing how you truly feel whenever he smiles at you and your heart skips a beat. Now you know, you'll tell him one day, one day when that feeling gnaws at your chest. But for now, you'll settle with drinking slurpees with him, you'll settle for skipping class so you could listen to records with him. For now you'll settle with loving him as his best mate, and for now, you're content just by being at his side.

[ashwhowrites]

Older! Eddie Munson x reader where Eddie and Y/N flirt with each other until one night, the two of them end up having sex (they were drinking), and Y/N is afraid that Eddie didn't like her and that he was just drunk and she starts ignoring him, and Eddie feels hurt bc he likes her, and when he gets to talk to her again, they end up having sex and confessing

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting <3

⚠️ smut

Girl next door

Y/N has lived alone ever since she turned eighteen, she wanted independence from her parents and to be on her own. She rented out a tiny little house in a quiet neighborhood, and that's when she met the Munsons. Eddie and Claire Munson, a couple that Y/N found herself watching from her window.

They fought constantly, and their loud voices filled the neighborhood. She could hear Claire slam the front door every single time she ran out. She'd come back the next day, but just to fight and leave all over again. It was a marriage that never seemed to have a good day.

Eddie Munson caught her eye the most. His long hair, his mature face, the small amount of facial hair she craved to feel against her. His brown eyes, the eyes that she imagined looking up at her between her thighs. He was a wet dream and she had many.

She wondered what he did on the nights his wife left. Did he sleep in their bed alone? Did he miss her or thankful she was gone?

Y/N knew it was inappropriate to not only have a crush on her older neighbor but even worse to have a crush on a married one. But she couldn't help it.

He filled her mind all the time.

When she was in the shower, her hands between her thighs as she leaned against the wall. The image of him behind her, his chest against her back.

When she stood in her kitchen, the window gave her the perfect spot to watch him work in the yard. His white tank top clung to his wet skin, and his hair tied up. His tattoos glistened up and down his arms.

When she tried to sleep but the ache from her cunt kept her restless. When she pushed a pillow between her legs and moved her hips down on it. Her hand slipped under her shirt as she felt her chest. She'll never forget when she reached toward her window, just inches above her bed, peeled back the curtain, and saw right into their bedroom. Her hips froze on her pillow as she watched him jerk off. His shirt was pushed up on his chest, giving her the glory of seeing his stomach clenching as his hand worked on his cock. She barely noticed that she started moving on her pillow again. Her eyes glued on him as she rubbed her cunt against the soft fabric. His eyes clenched and his head thrown back, the white ropes of cum landing on his stomach. The way his eyes looked over, staring right back at her as she came in her underwear. She immediately moved the curtains back, embarrassment in her body when she realized what she had done.

But nothing ever happened and she never spoke to him. It was a cat-and-mouse game, almost. Sneaking looks at each other through the windows.

After a year, on her nineteenth birthday, Claire left for good. Y/N watched as she threw her bags in the car. Y/N kept an eye on their driveway for months, but Claire never came back. She assumed the couple got the divorce that was needed.

But with Claire gone, Eddie went outside more often. And a few times, Y/N found herself in conversation with him. She cursed herself for being attracted to him even more. He was even more beautiful up close.

Eddie invited her in for a beer on a random Friday night. And they got closer. She learned about his life, and he learned about her. He knew she was young, and apologized if it was weird to invite her in. But she didn't care and he honestly didn't either.

On her twenty-first birthday, he declared it was his duty as a friend to take her to the bar. A year passed of her hanging out with him almost every day, and she couldn't stop herself from falling in love with him. He was older, divorced, and at a different stage in life than her. But that made her want him more. She just feared maybe for him it didn't go past sexual tension.

"You look amazing!" He complimented, a smile on his face as she twirled in her dress. Neither knew her dress would be thrown to the floor in the backseat of his car.

She was drunk and he was drunk, both stumbling in his car. Then before she knew it, their lips met in a heated kiss. They were rushed as they tore each other's clothes off. Their tongues tangled together as Y/N took off Eddie's belt and unzipped his jeans. Her body lay against his seat as he settled on top of her, his cock buried in her as he fucked her. She loved the way he stretched her open, his nails dug into her sides, and his mouth attacking her neck. Her brain melted, all she could do was lay back and let him have his way with her.

"How long have you been thinking about this, huh? Don't think I don't see you watching me all the time." He teased, his voice mocking. "Fuck, baby. You feel so good clenching around my cock. Sweet tight cunt."

She whimpered from his words, her hand moving down to her clit. She gasped as she rubbed her clit, moaning into Eddie's face as she felt herself getting close.

She came as the car shook and the windows fogged.

~~~

That was a week ago.

She barely remembers how she got home, but she remembered the feeling of his cock inside of her.

But she's been too scared to see him since. When she woke up alone in her head, the feeling of his skin ghosted her.

She was afraid it meant nothing to him. That he was drunk and didn't mean it. He wasn't interested and she was too young. She couldn't handle the rejection.

She avoided him as much as she could. When she went out to grab her mail the next morning, he was walking over with a smile on his face. She panicked and raced inside.

Or when she was tanning in her backyard and he walked out to grill. Before he could say a word she raced back inside.

Every day she was close to him but she ran away every time.

~~~

Eddie was puzzled by Y/N's behavior. He thought they had a good night together and to him, the sex was the best he's ever had. He could still feel her lips and the way she clenched around him. But anytime he got close to her, she ran away.

He hated to admit he was upset. He didn't plan to date after his divorce, but Y/N was different. She made him feel things he'd never felt. She felt amazing underneath his body and how she came all over him. The lust in her eyes and smeared lipstick.

He liked this girl and now she won't even look at him. Was it just a little fling for her? Like getting the older guy for fun but nothing serious?

Eddie refused to let another weak pass without clearing the air. He wasn't going to let her ignore him.

He grabbed a case of beer and walked over. He hated that he was a man in his 40s, and scared to talk to a fucking girl.

He knocked on the door, impatiently waiting.

Y/N was shocked to see Eddie on the other side of her door. She didn't know what to say.

"Can we talk? I brought beer." Eddie suggested, holding up his case of beer. Y/N stepped aside, she hid from him long enough and now she needs to be an adult.

They went to her living room. Eddie cracked open the beer and handed her one, then cracked his own. He sat next to her and took a deep breath.

"Why are you avoiding me?" Eddie asked, he tried to sound soft but he couldn't help but sound annoyed.

"I'm not." She shrugged, avoiding his eyes as she looked around the room.

"Knock it off, you ran away every time I got near you. And I thought you were mature and I thought you weren't a teenage girl. But I see I'm wrong." Eddie scoffed. She shrunk in her seat, hating the scolding tone in his voice.

"I don't know if it's because we have different generations or shit, but the way I was raised was when you fuck someone, you don't ghost them. I don't know if that's a younger group type of thing. Where you mess around with no feelings involved. So I can sit here and assume these things about you, or you could speak up and tell me what the hell is going on." Eddie snapped.

Y/N couldn't help but feel turned on by the way he was scolding her. His voice was rough and sharp. She almost wanted him to ruin her and tell her everything she did wrong. She placed her beer on the floor, moving over to his lap.

Eddie watched her confused as she sat in his lap. She grabbed the beer from his hand and moved it to the floor. She took his empty hands and placed them on her back, right above her ass.

"Did I make you mad?" She mocked, her lips moving down his jaw. Her hands moved up and down his chest.

"Yes." He spat, his right hand moving off her body, to slam down on her ass. Y/N moaned and jolted forward. Her cunt brushed over his hard cock.

"I'm sorry for being such a brat about it. Maybe I need to be taught a lesson in manners?" Her bottom lip pouted as her hands moved into his hair, yanking on his curls. He clenched his jaw as his head yanked back. His eyes were on her.

"You want me to teach you?" He played along, his hands gripping her ass.

He quickly switched positions, throwing her on the couch, her knees on the cushions and her body bent over it. He stood behind her, wasting no time to yank down her shorts. He slapped her ass once more. Bending down to bite her unmarked ass cheek.

"Now baby, when I fucked you in my car like the slut you are, did you like it?" He asked, his hand moving her underwear to the side. His finger slowly rubbed her clit.

"Yes, sir." She moaned, her mind already melting as his fingers slipped inside of her. She was soaked and embarrassed.

"And don't you think it would have been polite to tell me that?" His fingers fucked inside of her nice and slow. Her wetness dripped down his palm and her thighs.

"Yes, sir." She gripped the couch as he sped up. The sounds of her wet cunt echoed around them.

"But you decided to be a little bitch and hide from me," Eddie growled, his free hand moving to her chest, and squeezing her breast.

"Now what should you say about that?"

"I'm sorry!" She gasped out, he was fucking her hard, his fingers scissoring inside of her.

"Good girl" he praised, kissing down her spine.

"Want your cock." She begged, reaching behind her. But Eddie grabbed her hand and held it against her back. Leaning down towards her ear.

"Oh no, brats don't get my cock. Especially brats who act like I don't exist." Eddie said

"I'm sorry! I am!" She begged but he refused. Sliding his fingers in and out of her as fast as he could. His other hand reached down to rub her clit.

"Why did you do it?" Eddie pushed, he could feel her cunt clenching around him. He knew she was getting close.

"I...I" all she could do was stutter and moan. Her head spun as she felt her orgasm building. His fingers circled her clit perfectly.

"Tell me or you don't get to cum."

"Please, I need to cum!" She begged but he didn't slow down. Forcing her body to get close.

"Say it!"

"I WAS SCARED! I didn't want you to reject me and I like you and fuck, I've liked you for so long." Her orgasm was right there, two more circles on her clit and she'd be cumming. "I was scared it was only because you were drunk and I'd be too young to have a relationship with you. Scared it was sex and that's it." She panted. "Didn't want to be a young fuck FOR YOU!" she screamed as she came, he fingered her through it. He touched her clit with the perfect amount of pressure and attention. She clawed at the couch as she soaked his fingers.

"That's a good girl. Keep cumming, baby. Give it all to me." He praised, fingering her slowly as he helped her ride it out. Her hips pushed back on his fingers as she rode his fingers.

She fell onto the couch, her body weak. Eddie slipped his fingers out of her, moving her underwear over to soak up her wetness. He gave her covered cunt a harsh slap. He turned her around, his hand on her neck as she faced him. Her face was red as she panted.

"My pretty girl, so much more than a young fuck." He said, his knees on either side of her as he placed himself above her lap.

"Really?" She whimpered out, her voice insecure and weak.

"Mhhm, I like you too. And I've liked you for years. Sure, a young pretty girl catches the eye of the neighbor in a troubled marriage. Teases me through the windows, thinks of me when you masturbate, and even watches me jerk off. Practically a porno in the making. " He teased, a smile on his face. "But what if the older neighbor admitted to his wife there was another woman stuck in his head? So she left. And I finally went after you, I made all the moves and we became friends. We got drunk and had the best sex of our lives. And it was great because there were feelings from both of us." He continued.

"I like you, and it killed me to watch you run away from me." He admitted, his fingers tracing her face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." She apologized, her hand covering his on her face.

"It's okay, I was scared too."

"Does this mean I get to date my extremely sexy older neighbor?" She asked, wiggling her eyebrows. A warm feeling in her stomach as Eddie laughed.

"Mhhm definitely." He whispered, leaning down to smash his lips on hers.

For the first time, they spent the night together. Her head was on his chest, his fingers playing with her hair. Eddie felt loved and wanted, two things he didn't have in his marriage but he found it in the girl next door.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergentreblogs @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37

[zo3mess]

Too Bad At Goodbyes | Part 3 to Bitter-Sweet

Summary: Officers from other towns were reassigned to help the understaffed police force in Evergreen after the butterfly massacre. The good old game of cat and mouse begins with Vigilante continuing his shenanigans and one police officer determined to catch him. Except it is not entirely clear who is chasing whom.

Warnings: 18+, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (Wrap it before you tap it, you know that all too well), handjob, oral (reader receiving), edging, tits worship, hint of sadism?, knife play (to some extent), handcuffs, theft of panties mentioned, enemies become lovers (Who would have thought), female reader, no Y/N

Minors do not interact

Word count: 6.4k

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Extra songs for this fic

Masterlist of my works

Note: This is the final part, guys. I’m sorry it took so long to write, but my brain was completely dead after 2 seminar works I had to write last second. Long live the procrastination! Anyway, I hope you will like this and once again thank you for every interaction on any of my posts, I love you all <3

Day after day, week after week, you were slowly but surely realizing you might have overestimated your abilities. You believed you had the guts to catch villains like Joker or Mad Hatter, even your family and friends encouraged you. And you believed their words, you believed yourself. Leaving your town and heading to Evergreen as some sort of bridge to your goal. However this? This wasn’t what you thought it would be like.

Doing minor police work, failing miserably all the time, having a weird relationship with the one person who would get you a ticket to your dream. Hells, you were in charge of fetching take-out every Friday for your coworkers, like a dog playing fetch.

Your office decided on Fennel Fields this time, the most distant restaurant from the precinct.

The noise in the restaurant had been overwhelming, voices chattering all over, glasses clinking, utensils scraping plates, until one guy managed to drown out everything with a simple question “Anything else I can help you with?”

Wait a minute…

You know that voice, you’ve heard it somewhere, no? But where? One simple look at the source and gears in your mind started turning. It was the busboy asking some family a few tables away from you. Nothing out of the ordinary, maybe you misjudged it.

And then the guy turned. Smiling at his coworker that just passed by him with an awkward ‘hey’. That smile. Dimples. Brown hair poking from under his hat. And most importantly two small hickeys just under his jaw he clearly did not care enough to cover in any way.

That’s curious, you left similar marks on Vigilante a few days ago, when you had another run-up with him late at night. He tugged you behind a dumpster and kissed you like a man possessed. And you were feeling bold enough to suck on his tender skin for the first time.

At first, it wasn’t a plan to mark him up, so you can by chance recognize him in public. You marked his neck for him. Eventually, he would tug off his mask, become a normal citizen again, but the prize he got as Vigilante would stay. He would remember you even after the morning sun rose.

Oh dear God…

A smile dropped from your face, eyes widening in disbelief. And you just could not stop staring. As you watched him leave to refill the water pitcher, every noise quieted down.

Vigilante.

That guy was Vigilante. He must have been. What a weird accident would that be, right? Right?

He seemed so sweet though, bright eyes were shining under wire-framed glasses. He looked all shy and nerdy. Fennel Fields busboy could not be the one killing criminals under the moonlight and drawing hearts with blood for you.

“Cash or card?” The cashier’s voice interrupted your inner monologue when he put your take-out in front of you.

“Card, please. Uhhhh…” You squinted at the nametag and continued, “Tyler? Could you do something for me?”

It was not hard finding out the busboy’s name, all that needed to be done was to battle your lashes and sweetly ask the cashier. That guy was more than happy to provide the name of his least favorite coworker. The good old sabotaging in work, how lovely.

So… Adrian Chase. The poor boy is either an unlucky victim of your search or he is Vigilante. Chances were not even 50/50, you were sure. Almost sure. Like 70/30 in your favor.

Finding his address was even easier. God bless the police database. You ought to pay him a visit. By now you knew Vigilante had a habit of going out on Friday night, leaving a fresh new corpse to bask in the morning sun most of the time. Meaning that if you, by any chance, knocked on Chase’s door, he would not be home.

Around 10 p.m. you arrived at the apartment complex where Vigilante was supposed to live. With unsure steps, you made your way through the staircase, stopping once you saw the apartment number you’ve got written on a piece of paper.

However, knocking and neither ringing the bell resulted in open doors. As far as you could tell with ear pressed against the door, no movement was possible to be heard inside.

You could not get discouraged, you were too far to stop. Another plan was the fire escape stairway leading around the building. You sneaked around until you found his living room window, relatively hard task to locate the right apartment. With a quick look, you knew he wasn’t at home. Maybe if you tried to open the window…

Bingo!

For a guy bragging about how he crawled through your open window, he didn’t care enough about locking up his. You carefully crawled into the dark room and a thought passed by that this is so wrong.

But you’re already there, might as well look around to confirm your suspicion.

Cliché of villains living in the lair was wrong this time. His apartment looked well-kept, almost too normal. With a quick rummage you found out he kept knives and guns around, tucked away under the coffee table in the living room, in a cupboard next to cereal in the kitchen. Vigilante’s paranoid.

When you entered his bedroom, the last and only room you had no chance to search, you immediately noticed the peculiar mess. For his respectively clean apartment, his bedroom gave the impression that it was blown out by a bomb. Clothes on the floor, as well as empty water bottles and candy wrappers, messed up bed covers, half completed Lego set scattered over the floor.

A familiar object caught your attention in all that clutter. A piece of lacy blue cloth lying on the floor, oh you knew what it was in an instant. You pocketed it and headed back to the living room, stretching out on his couch. How ironic.

And you waited and waited, losing the track of time, clock was ticking, cars speeding outside, it almost lulled you to sleep. Then all of a sudden you heard the rattling of keys outside of the front door. Bang of doors being shut. Footsteps in the hall. And finally, the living room doors swung open.

It was your time to scare him in his own home. How the tables turned.

“Jesus-“ Adrian all but jumped. Even though he found it weird you weren’t skulking around the streets looking for him, he would have never guessed you would be standing in the middle of his apartment instead. Now you were even at last.

He was not wearing his suit and it took you aback for a split second. If he wore it you would be 100 % sure he was Vigilante, this way there was still some space for doubts. But the way his eyes got stuck on your frame gave him away.

In case you misguessed your deduction and he was, in fact, a normal guy, he would have looked far more shocked, scared even, since a stranger was walking around his apartment. But this look? Oh you knew this look all too well.

“Adrian Chase. It is a pleasure to meet you,” You kept your voice friendly, with an equally complimentary fake smile. “I hope you don’t mind me visiting you. After all, you have been in my house several times and you never invited me to yours.”

“What? No? I’ve never- I have never been in your house. Stranger.” He stuttered right off the bat, that was adorable.

“Stranger? Come on, Vigilante. Don’t lie.”

“Vigilante? I have no idea who that is and even if I did, I have no idea how you might think that I am him. Or her. Or them.”

“I just find it curious you have a familiar hickey on your neck. I left one like this on Vigilante myself.” You never thought you'd find out his secret identity like that, and neither did he, otherwise he wouldn’t let you bite his neck.

“These? Those are not hickeys,” He pointed at his neck and shook his head a little too fast to appear calm “I had an accident”

“Let me guess, you fell on someone’s lips?”

“Happens more often than you’d think.” Ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous.

“Mhhmm, sure.” You fought an emerging smile so hard. You had this idea of confronting him sternly, confidently, and most importantly with a totally cool attitude. That plan was falling apart, whether it was from the happiness of finding out who Vigilante was or his dumbstruck expression, did not matter at the end of the day.

“And this…” From your pocket, you pulled out a bunched-up piece of cloth. Lace panties in the signature teal color. “You have no idea how my underwear got into your bedroom, right?”

“Those are… Mine?” You wondered how this guy never gave away his big secret. He has been living double life for so long and yet he never learned how to lie properly.

“Just because you stole them doesn’t mean they belong to you,” It was a perfect trap. You knew some perverse side of Vigilante would not resist stealing your stuff, especially if it was in the colors of his suit “I bought them specifically to catch you in the act and kept them on top of my drawer. In case they disappeared I would know you were in my house again, rummaging through my stuff.”

“I’m not some pervert that steals panties.” He dramatically gasped and put his hand on the chest to be a tad more theatrical. You completely dismissed his defensive words.

“Give up, Vig. I got you.” Such a bold statement. You knew who he was now, that wouldn’t stop him from killing you right there on the spot, since your goal was to put him behind bars. Would he be able to sleep peacefully if he truly got rid of you? Even if it was for the ‘greater good’ and protecting his identity?

“Are you here to arrest me?” After a beat of silence, he spoke with uncertainty and you weren’t able to pinpoint the emotion that washed over his face.

A triumphant smile dropped from your face with the question. Were you? You had handcuffs in your jacket, all this time they were waiting to be put on his wrists.

But was it what you truly wanted?

“Adrian Chase, Vigilante, you are under arrest.”

His confused face was everything. Every millisecond it lasted was golden. Truth be told every grimace he made was making you happy. You could see his whole face and that was priceless. But aside from his bedazzlement, his lack of resistance was something you had not expected. He simply stood there, turning his back on you and putting his hand behind his back without hesitation.

Adrian knew he was running around on borrowed time. One way or another, today or tomorrow he would be caught or killed. Of course, he prayed that day would never come, but if Vigilante should end, should be caught, he was glad it was you. He would gladly rot in jail with peace of mind if he knew you had fulfilled your dream and made it to Gotham.

“What for?” He asked with a sigh and flinched when the cold metal handcuffs wrapped around his wrists.

“Multiple counts of murder, assault, breaking and entering, obstruction of police work and personally I would like to add theft.” Quite a long list of crimes and misdemeanors.

“What did I steal? Aside from your lingerie?”

“My dignity. My pride. My mind. My-“

“Heart?” He peeked over his shoulder, but it wasn't his usual goofy smile that was distracting you. It was his eyes. He looked right into your soul and searched for answers you didn’t even know you had.

Quiet so loud it almost deafened you. You had no words suitable for a swing back. Instead, you tugged Adrian by his cuffed hands and he obediently backed in your steps all the way to the couch, where you pushed on his shoulders as a sign to sit down.

He did so with such a stoic expression it made your mind wonder what was he feeling. Regret? Sadness? Rage? Admiration perhaps? After all, you found him on your own without the need to snatch his mask like you tried the first time he made his presence known in your own house.

Only heavy breathing filled the room, temperature growing hot with Adrian’s burning gaze. Did it make your cold heart melt or was it already soft when you saw him for the first time without his mask? And did his eyes always pierced your skin with such cruel intention or was it just because he was afraid for his future?

Goddamn the things he made you do.

You found your favorite position on his lap again, straddling him in a hurry before the logical part returned to take hold.

You pressed an open-mouthed kiss on his neck, just under his jaw. After so many make outs you finally got a chance to kiss his pretty neck properly as his collared suit wasn’t an obstacle now.

Adrian saw it the same way, he had waited long enough to feel your warm lips caress his skin once more.

And right here and there he knew you had gone soft for him. He could not control himself and bucked his hips up to yours with an eager whimper.

“It was only a kiss.” His reaction made you chuckle. Power rushed over your body, now that you knew how sensitive he was to your touch.

“Are you quoting Mr. Brightside?” His head cocked to the side with a cheery smile. You wonder what is going on inside his head all the time. Probably a cymbal-banging monkey and Wii music playing in the background. Or in this case, his brain might be playing Mr. Brightside.

“Why would I be?”

“Your voice cracked a little, I thought you were about to sing the rest.” His smile was contagious, you could not help but grin at him in retaliation.

“You’re handcuffed and can’t move, if I started singing it would be officially considered torture.” He deserved to be tortured though, at least a little bit. For all the trouble he caused you, for making you doubt your intentions.

“But you sing for me so prettily. Especially when I stuff you full of my cock. I’ve been hearing your moans in my head for days after our first time. Shit, I had to jerk off all the ti-“ Before he could chatter further you pressed a palm over his mouth. Does this guy ever shut up?

You bowed back to his neck, continuing your work of peppering kisses over his throat, biting and sucking from time to time. But Adrian kept firing words against your hand, every thought he wanted to share with you was muffled and lost.

The other hand slid from his chest down to his jeans. He looked so alien like this. You imagined his face all the time, but he always had his suit. This time he wore simple everyday clothing and it felt wrong in the weirdest way possible.

Palming his bulge through his pants was not enough for Adrian, whines buzzed against your palm more frequently, hips chasing your touch, if he had his hand free you were sure he would be pawing at you in an instant.

You granted him freedom of speech because your hands had more important task than silencing him. Freeing him from the confines of his jeans. Unbuckled, unbuttoned, unzipped in milliseconds. So fast he lost the words.

Two fingers were shoved into his mouth, his glassy eyes looked up to you with shock. “Suck.” You told him sternly and he wasted no time to obey. Tongue swirling around your digits was a bit distracting, despite his eagerness you managed to shove down his boxers and let his dick spring free against his stomach.

He looked so pretty like this. Unable to move his hand, unable to talk, red and throbbing cock already spilling precum and the brightest eyes pleading for anything you were willing to give him. If anyone told you this is how your rivalry with Vigilante would end, you might have been nicer to him from the start.

Properly wet fingers were pulled out from his mouth and made their way down. Wrapping around him, stroking slowly but tightly, smearing the saliva all over his length. His eyes silently pleaded for more, but his mouth had trouble forming the words.

��Can I suck your tits?” The attitude of that man.

“Wow, so straightforward.” Most of the time you two were together, clothes covered your bodies. You’ve felt his dick more than you’ve seen it. The fact he was now asking for more of your body just turned you on more.

“You’re the one to talk. You come to my apartment, handcuff me and go straight into jerking me off.” He explained with a strained voice and his eyes flickered down to your hand.

“And snappy.” You grinned at him some more before you removed your hand from him, just to unbutton your shirt and shift the cups of your bralette to the side.

Adrian licked his lips once he saw your breasts spill free, barely blinking, not daring to break the gaze he held with your nipples. After his brain finally realized what was before him, he latched his mouth onto you. Licking, sucking, biting. 

Your hand returned to his cock, settling on a nice steady pace that made him groan against your skin, while you, yourself, softly moaned out. It had been too long since someone paid such attention to your chest.

He lapped at your nipples with ferocity, switching from one to another. Tongue drawing circles, teeth pricking the sensitive skin. He was seconds away from straight up motorboating your tits.

Adrian chased your touch, whining and wriggling when you moved your hand faster and faster. So desperate to touch you he had to chase his need away by digging nails into his palms.

Your focus was lacking due to a hungry mouth sucking on your chest, but it did not take a genius to notice the change in demeanor. Eyes tightly shut, breath shaking, needier moans. He was close to bursting in your hand.

“Motherfucker!” He yelled out in frustration when you snatched your hand away and his release with it.

“That’s not nice.” God bless your sarcastic tongue, it drew out the worst in him and what was there not to love than seeing a riled-up man pouting and squirming.

“Sorry, babe, every nice word leaves my mind when I see your face.”

Fingers latched on his face, squishing his cheeks with one hand, tilting his head directly to you. A warning to play nice. But when you saw the realization in his eyes, you kissed the pout formed on his inviting lips.

“Uncuff me,” He demanded with a bratty frown. “Uncuff me and I’ll show you something better than nice words.”

“I don’t know if you deserve it.”

“I don’t know if you deserve it either, you’re mean to me, but here we are.” Did he really just tell you that you don’t deserve it? He just played the same card against you with no shame whatsoever.

Not a single word was said when you stood up from his lap, not even an objection or whine from Adrian when you left him in the living room and with a sway of your curves made your way to the bedroom. You were sure that horndog wouldn’t resist running after you with hands still handcuffed. To your surprise, he didn’t even trip over his own legs when he caught up with you entering the messy room.

After all, you were merciful and quite frankly curious. He promised you something and wanted to get it. So when he awkwardly stood before you, watching you with puppy eyes, how could you resist granting him the freedom he craved.

“Strip,” He said sternly and rubbed his wrists while you were putting away your restraints, but the sharp look you gave him made his voice soften. “Please."

Both undressing while the other watched every move, every piece of clothing being dumped on his already untidy floor. Once you stood there revealed to him, except for your underwear, and Adrian to you, there was no doubt your heart stopped for a second.

Vigilante was a real person…

You could touch him, run your fingers across his chest, into his hair, and he wouldn’t disappear. You knew it before of course, but the true realization hit you the moment you saw his bare skin. Littered with a few small scars, bullet wounds, and fresh bruises ranging from blueish purple to faded yellow.

One of the most beautiful paintings you have ever seen. As most of the masterpiece, this one was also created with madness. Hand in hand with lunacy, paranoia and often a crippling sadness.

There always was and always will be a profound beauty in tragedy. All of this was your tragedy. A story of ambitious woman fighting her way through to success, just to have rug swept under her feet and knocked down by a crazed man.

Maybe you did not find what you initially looked for, success and glory in the work field, but you’ve found something else. A long lost piece. You were fitting together like a puzzle that was finally given a chance to create a bigger picture. Something achingly beautiful.

It seemed Vigilante didn’t have similar thoughts stopping him from doing anything, soon he was on you again. Cradling you in searing hold and kissing you like there was no tomorrow. Maybe he was afraid you would disappear too, he had to make sure to burn the softness of your body to his mind. The addiction of skin to skin, heart to heart.

Shortly after he stole your breath straight from lungs you found yourselves lying on his bed. Little shakes of excitement accompanied by growing anticipation.

He crawled on top of you like a predator. He got his prey all sprawled out, tense, ready to jump out of its skin, yet ready to jump his bones a second he allowed it. The wandering mind naturally remembered something else, resting in the upper drawer.

Adrain reached across you and started digging through the mess in the nightstand. Baring his pearly whites with a winning smile.

And he was still grinning brightly when he showed you what he fished out. A knife. Out of all the things he could have gotten, it was a knife. You quickly got up to rest on elbows and an inner voice told you to prepare for take off.

“Any reason for that?” You lazily pointed at his hand.

“There might be.”

Few people saw red as a color of passion, and few as a color of anger. Years on the police force taught you to see red as a sign of blood or injury. And Adrian? He connected this color with the suit of his best friend Chris. Seeing you in red panties, Peacemaker’s color, made him literally see red. You’re not Peacemaker’s, you belong to Vigilante, you belong to him.

Adrian wanted to make sure you would remember it. The knife slowly slid under the cloth on your hips. With a clean swipe, he sliced the expensive lace and moved to the other side. Once it didn’t hold together he tore away the last piece of clothing covering your body.

“Fucking four-course meal. I just want to eat you,” A gush of realization hit him in the middle of admiring your naked body. “Eat you out I mean. I’m not a cannibal, I feel like I should clarify that when I’m holding a knife.”

He swiftly tossed the knife on the floor and before you heard clinking of it hitting the ground, he was prying his head right between your thighs.

Adrian had a bad habit of not eating properly. To be fair it was hard for him to notice the hunger when his mind was running at full speed, swarming his head with millions of other things than basic human needs. But when a feast was laid out before him? He wouldn’t leave a single crumb.

The second he buried his tongue in between your folds, you became his favorite dessert. And the second you felt him suck on your clit, you realized his tongue would go to waste in prison. You made the right decision, he was much better off there, worshiping your body.

Delightful pleasure blossomed in your pussy and stretching to the very end of each of your limb and swarming your head. Not even all those nasty noises could not take you out from the heaven you lingered in.

Warm tongue nudging your clit with short flicks before switching to lick a long strip all across your cunt. Prying deep into you for another taste, sucking on your labia, occasionally biting your inner thighs. Adrian was having time of his life while you clutched on the bedsheets and moaned in retaliation.

Completely and utterly consumed… Barely feeling a hand sneaking off your thighs and making its way to your dripping hole. Two fingers were pushed into you with no restraint while Adrian’s tongue continued his work on you.

With trouble you lifted your head from his pillows and looked down just to find Adrian looking at you half-lidded, smirking against your clit when your gazes locked. Then he went for a bold move, latching on you, sucking harshly and shaking his head, which resulted in a bolt of shivers down your spine.

This was too good.

He felt your pussy clenching, arousal seeping down to his bed, legs shaking on either side of his head, and the moment your head got thrown back and moans pitched he withdrew his mouth and fingers from you, letting you tether on the edge.

“Shit!” You yelled out upon being denied your bliss. How did he dare.

“That’s not nice” He repeated your previous words with a grin and playfully slapped your outer thigh.

“Go fuck yourself!”

“I’d much rather fuck you, but if you insist.” His hand wrapped around his cock and started stroking himself above you in an obscene demonstration accompanied by over-the-top moans.

You lunged at him and caught his hands before he could continue. This time he resisted having hands restricted, trying to twist his wrists out of your hold with a frown.

“Let go.” There was a hint of dominance in his voice, but what person you would be if you crumbled under every little threat.

“No.” The hold stayed strong and you had no intention of letting go.

Adrian didn’t appreciate your decision. Deep inside his heart skipped a beat every time you did something defiant. When you cursed in his name, when you threw that metal pipe at him, when you refused to let him go. All that presented a challenge and Adrian’s no quitter. But now? He was pent up and when you just delayed the moment he got to be inside you once more, he had enough. And if that meant he had to fight dirty, so be it.

Your breath almost got knocked out of your lungs when his whole body fell on you, successfully pining you to the mattress. Mouth pressed against yours to prevent you from objecting. You would call him out, just for the sake of it, but his whole weight on you, acting like a weighted blanket, was more than welcome.

You did not even notice when you loosened the hold on his wrists, which Adrian quickly took advantage of. You were too busy kissing him back with the same amount of fierceness and before you could notice, you were the one pinned down by wrists.

And that time, when Adrian was above you, his hands on each side of your face, holding you down like a feral animal, yet staring at you in awe, you realized his eyes were green. So beautifully green. After all that time of wondering what color his eyes were, you finally had an answer.

He shifted your hands together above your head, which allowed him to hold you down with just one hand while the other guided his cock into your sopping pussy. Before he pushed in, you were given a soft kiss, a beautiful contrast to previous actions.

You moaned in each other's mouths when he finally entered you with one stroke. You were a sucker for the feeling of fullness only he was able to give you and after not letting you cum on his mouth you were in need to feel him deep inside again.

“You look so pretty like this.” His hand found its way to your chest and pressed right in the middle, feeling your beating heart. He had a weird fixation with it. Sweet nevertheless.

The hammering heart reminded him no matter what was before and what came next, it was beating for him and him only in that moment.  

He drove into you slowly as he basked in the opportunity to feel your walls constrict around him after such a long time. All those wet dreams about you could never replace the real thing.

“I always look pretty.” You smiled at him before he brought his head down. Nice kiss soon turning into a messy one. You could still feel yourself on his tongue when he pried it inside your mouth.

“I can’t argue with that.” He chuckled at your remark after pulling away from the kiss, a string of saliva stretching between you before Adrian wiped it away. With that you rolled up your hips, urging him for more as you fucked yourself on his cock.

Lewld sounds of skin slapping, creaking of the bed, squelching of your wetness and moans and whimpers followed what started as a nice and solid pace and soon turned into the good old savage fucking. And in the meantime he allowed you to run your hands over his body however you wanted.

With Vigilante, with Adrian, it always had to be a lot. No one would hear you complaining though.

With a new vigor of Adrian’s hips slapping against yours, well-kept nails colored in bloody red as you scratched his back in the last hopeless shot to hold on. Deep hurtful marks were left all along his tensing muscles, he didn’t mind it one bit. The idea of being marked in the heat of passion was encouraging at last.

He just wished it would be permanent, a forever reminder of you, that would nudge his memory every time he saw it in a mirror. Whenever this would get a good or bad ending, you were a person who woke up emotions he thought he had lost or hadn’t felt so strongly in a long while.

His hold shifted to your waist, sliding to your hips. Clutching onto you so tightly on purpose to create bruises in the shapes of his fingertips and similar to you, pressing his nails past the barrier of sensitive skin. Hoping it would leave a long-lasting mark. You wailed in response, it hurt so good it made a mush out of your brain.

Yet a dark thought crossed his mind. Getting the knife lying on the floor to carve his initials on your shaking body. That would be the permanence he craved. Painful wounds would turn into nasty scars not allowing you to forget who he was to you for the rest of your life.

But he couldn’t pour all his frustrations on you, all this anxiety and fear of abandonment. He couldn’t do that to you. The truth was you made his blood boil, brought out the worst in him, made him doubt his motivation, terrifying him with arrest, but you had reasons to. It wasn’t accidental or illogical. He could never hurt you for doing the right thing in the eyes of the public even if it meant the worst for him.

If he couldn’t make you remember him with scars on your body, he wanted to make sure you would never forget that night. Pour out a part of his anger on you in the best possible way.  His thrusts were merciless, making his cheap bed shake and headboard slam against the wall. Too late to think about the neighbors, your moans and whines were already loud enough to alert everyone in close distance.

“Fuck! Don’t stop!” You screamed out and it only encouraged him to go on, fingers sneaking down your body to rub tight circles on your clit with threatening precision. The sole thing that mattered was to make you cum on his dick.

“You’re doing so well,” He whispered into your hair with a calming voice. You had to tuck your face to his neck, hiding your red cheeks and muffling piercing screams of pleasure with his silky skin. “Cum for me, baby.”

And you did. Hot burning pleasure shot across your body, all the way to your fingers holding onto his back, to toes on your straining feet, your back arched, chest pressed against his, white flashed in front of your eyes.

Adrian slowed down and fucked you through it while muttering sweet words to your ear. Hands slid under you to cradle you in a hot sweaty embrace.

You came down from your high soon after, but his own was awaiting him and he wanted to reach it too. Let his mind shut down.

The way he picked up pace again made you whimper in overstimulation. His body pinned you down, cock sliding in and out of your spent cunt swiftly, quick moans filling your ears, sweat mixing with his deodorant was suddenly so vivid. Adrian won over your senses in every possible aspect.

He was already so close with how your pussy clenched around him when you came. There was no chance for him to last long like this. Not with how his hips bucked like a wild animal.

“Look at me,” His warm hand cradled your cheek, bringing you to reality. “Please, look at me. I want to see your eyes when I cum.”

The plead sounded so broken and urgent, you had no other choice than to comply. You opened your eyes and saw his green ones, staring back at you while his brows knitted together. Eyelids barely resisting the urge to close.

They might have been right when they said eyes are the windows to the soul.

Whispers of his name on your lips broke something inside him. Pushing him over the edge with a shaky moan. His forehead pressed tightly against yours, panting in your open mouth as he pumped his cock into you for the last few times. Hot thick cum coated your already oversensitive insides and you clamped your walls around him to prolong his orgasm.

Not for a second you dared to close your eyes. He asked you nicely, it wouldn’t be fair if you defied. But since when did you care to listen to his pleas?

He stilled his hips when his cock stopped flaring inside you. However, his eyes opened after quite some time, after he gathered enough power to stop his shaking. Maybe you weren’t the only one fucked completely dumb.

He caught your lips in a soft lingering kiss, his thumb stroking your cheek in such loving manner. It spread warmth deep in your chest, so genuine and adoring.

Vigilante, the concept of a person, of a maniac, dragged you through hell. The way he was laughing in your face, the way you stomped in anger like a little child whenever he escaped, only fueling the fire.

But Vigilante you now knew? Adrian Chase? He took you to Heaven. His words made you feel like the most important person, his touch left goosebumps in its way, and the way he treated you after almost fucking your brains out he made you wonder about the remaining sides of him that you haven't had the chance to see so far.

The million-dollar smile he gave you was comforting, you could get used to it. Addictive as much as everything else about him.

Adrian carefully pulled out and rolled to the side, hissing through his teeth when the pain of scratched back hit him. Both of your bodies tiredly rested on his messy bed, heavy breathing joined the ringing in your ears. Long silence haunted the room, you were afraid to say anything, not wanting to disturb the peace between you two, and Adrian had no words to say as it seemed. Until…

“You won’t leave for Gotham, right?”

Oh, he wanted to keep you.

“Well, I promised myself I would not go to Gotham unless I catch Vigilante. But gosh darn, is he one slippery motherfucker.” You turned on your side to face him properly, corners of your mouth twitched upwards in contrast to such ‘hopeless’ statement.

He smiled at you, eyes twinkling with optimism. “I guess you have to stay a little longer. Before you catch him, of course.”

His hand reached out for yours with uncertainty, but once he saw you didn’t pull away, he intertwined fingers with yours in a tight hold.

“Stay.”

Such a simple word, yet it contained his whole heart. Would it be possible for Vigilante, despite his claims that he doesn’t feel emotions, to feel something? And would it be possible for a police officer, despite her claims of hate towards him, to feel the same?

You silently nodded. There was no use for words when the look you shared said everything that needed to be said.

Was it hatred? No, at least not the serious kind. Was it love? Far from it. Maybe what you two shared could not be named.

You would still throw a metal pipe on his head without a second thought and Adrian would trip you with pleasure whilst running away from you. He would stick out tongue on you if you screamed obscenities at him, but he would also kiss your cheek in the morning if you decided to stay the night and you would straighten his glasses for him when needed and tuck away hair from his face.

Both of you would exchange bloody red roses, sweet looks, and bitter words until fate decided otherwise.

[dark-and-kawaii]

I love the idea of Raphael and Haarlep tag teaming tav but it shows that Haarlep has feelings for our lovely tav.

꧁ 𝒯𝓌𝑜 𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝒪𝓃𝑒 ꧂

Raphael is a selfish lover in bed, but Haarlep is always there to bring you comfort and to make sure you get off.

NSFW - Double Penetration

You were a part of their house now, a part of their lives, their daily routines... Tonight was no different than the others. Raphael's cock was relentless as he hammered into your pussy while Haarlep's rather large and thick cock was spearing deep into your ass. You could feel the two rigid members pushing and sliding inside you, almost touching one another... Just separated by the thin membrane between the two canals of your body.

Sweat trickled down Raphael's forehead, he could barely contain his pleasure, “Such good obedient pets." A low groan emanating from him, he's so close to spilling himself into you again... Between your pussy gripping him like a vice and him being able to feel Haarlep pump in and out of your ass you were surprised he's lasted as long as he has tonight.

Haarlep could only chuckle at Raphael's retort, their mouth on your shoulder giving you tender kisses. There was something there between you and the Incubus, they'd always try to comfort you in your discomfort.

Haarlep knew this was a lot on your body, knew how it brought you pain every time in the start to have both of them deep inside you at the same time. Both of you couldn't deny Raphael though, if you did it would only lead to other torments.

Your body felt feverish and tingled all over. Your right hand gripping Raphael's shoulder as your other hand got lost in Haarlep's hair, pressing the side of their face to yours.

Raphael thrusts himself up, he never cared about your pleasure on nights like these. No, it was all about him, never keeping in sync with Haarlep, his thrusts sloppy. Haarlep on the other hand would slow his thrusts and wait for the perfect moment to become in sync with their master. They knew it would bring you bliss and that you’d enjoy this far more. Haarlep began to match the thrusts of Raphael, as he pulled back, Haarlep would push in and then they reversed. Again and again, faster and faster they built their rhythm and kept up the pace, “Only for you, little mouse.” is what Haarlep would whisper in your ear for only you to hear…

Your climax was rising fast as were theirs, you could feel both their cocks twitch… You screamed out as the final wave of fire washed out from between your legs. It was enough to set Raphael off, his nails buried in your hips as he held himself deep; streams of his seed filling your womb.

Haarlep slammed forward, hard and deep he helped himself to his own release. Completely buried in your ass he began to cum, thick streams of cum filled your anal canal. You could feel it overfill you as it began to flow around their cock until it began to leak out.

You sobbed and gasped for air, it sounded as if you were on your final breath begging for death not to take you. Raphael laid there beneath you, sucking in his own breath while Haarlep was ever so composed, their breath barely abnormal.

Haarlep enveloped you in their arms before you could collapse on their master. Both their cocks still buried in you until Raphael snapped his fingers and was no longer a part of you. You could feel his seed slowly leak out of your used sex…

He could only stare at the state you were in, “What a riveting performance.” He stepped back towards his bed, paying no mind to his slave as he wiped your disheveled hair away from your face, “Oh apple of my eye,” Raphael held your chin, your eyes barely open trying your best to look at him, “it’s always a delight to feel how tight you are.” His joy was cut short just as his brown eyes traveled to Haarlep, his face scrunching bearing witness to the incubus’s lips upon the back of your neck.

Tossing your chin to the side harshly, Raphael walks away “Clean this mess before I return, I’ve other business that needs attending.”

Haarlep looks at the back of his head, “Our, little mouse shall be pristine by the time you come knocking once more.” Their voice teasing.

[hennyjwrites]

Rio trapping his wife again

Y’all already had 5 kids. All boys. You gave up a long time ago on having a little girl but Rio hadn’t. Your youngest was almost a year old and for some reason Rio thought that gave him the green light to have another.

“Christopher im gonna punch you if you don’t leave me alone.” You mumbled as he kissed on your neck. He had told you earlier that night. that he wanted to try for another baby. Your sons were spending the night with his grandma upon her request and that gave Rio the perfect opportunity.

“Gimme just one more.” He begged, sucking slightly on your sweet spot.

You tried to resist him, you really did. But a few more begs, traveling fingers, and a few more kisses, ended up with you fucking him. All night.

He was so good that by the end of the night, he had you begging for him to give you another baby.

That would end up being his routine. After you gave him the green light, He made sure to cum in at least once a day, to ensure he would get his daddy’s girl

A few months later, after getting sick every morning for over a week, and become nauseous to every smell, you went to the doctor. Even though you recognized the symptoms, surprise surprise! Your pregnant.

Of course Rio took care of you your entire pregnancy. Held your hair if you sick, massaged your feet, talked to the baby everyday. Only it wasn’t just him, it was all your sons too. They cared for you and their youngest sibling just like Rio did.

Rio felt this pregnancy was different. He just knew that you were having a baby girl. And boy was he right and wrong at the same time.

By the time you were 5 months you were as large as a house. You brought it up at your doctors appointment and weren’t you surprised.

“There’s baby number 1.” The doctor said showing you where the first baby sat. “And there’s baby number 2.” She moved the mouse over a little bit more. “And then there’s baby number 3!”

Both yours and Rios mouths dropped when she announced you were having triplets. The doctor asked did you want to know the genders and you and Rio both said yes.

“It seems that your having 3 identical girls!” Congratulations mom and dad!” The doctor cheered before giving you some privacy.

Rio stood and gave you the biggest hug and kiss in the world, with his eyes filled with tears. “You heard that beautiful? Three little girls.” He held you for what seemed like eternity in joy.

When you got home and announced it to your sons, the amount of joy that was through the house could blow the roof off. All throughout your pregnancy they all helped you pick out clothes, shoes, and toys all for their little sisters

3 months later and you went into early labor. Your labor lasted for 32 hours, with you screaming, crying, and even staying calm at some point. When you were finally able to push it took around 30 minutes to get each baby out.

Rio stood next to the bed holding his first daughter, on his right and his second daughter in his left. You held your third daughter from the bed. They looked more like you than him. They had the perfect shade of brown with your beautiful eyes, but they took his nose. Each girl was born with a head full of hair.

He couldn’t wait until they started to develop into their own person. He wanted to see would they take after you or him. It was his favorite parts of watching his babies grow up.

“Thank you.” Rio whispered. “You gave me 3 more beautiful kids. I love you more than you’ll ever know baby.” He leaned down and kissed your lips. When he pulled back he bit his lip. “2 more and we’re done.” He laughed, hoping you would agree.

You scoffed, before looking at your babies. “These 3 are going to run you down, not even including the other 5. your not gonna want anymore.”

You both laughed and waited for your sons to come and meet their new baby sisters.

[fanfictionvibesworld]

(A/n: sorry for the late updating my little warriors. You see I am working on some books on my new Wattpad profile. That's where most my one shots and stories are. If curious about where I am and Wattpad my username is @fanficvibs16)

Words: 1.4k

Were the story lies

Summery:Human Alastor x child reader

⚠️Warning: Some cruising, Arguments 

________________________

The date was 1910 in Louisiana, New Orleans. In this decade it was all about change. Everything was changing. The technology, communication, transportation, and of course society. But that doesn't mean it's always a good thing at times. This day was Normal though as the bir—

" God, You're just being just...so difficult to deal with let alone be married to!"

A woman exclaimed loud as it came from a cozy small cabin that was surrounded by lovely trees and plants. Isolated from the outside world. Let's see what's happening shall we?

The man and woman was in the living room of there vintage cozy cabin as the fireplace was roaring behind them. The woman was standing up in the middle of the living room with arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed looking at the man that was sitting down on a leather comfortable recliner chair as he looked like he didn't give "zero fuckes" about what the woman was on about this time. The lanky tall man replied

"If you think I'm so difficult to deal with then you should be looking at a mirror, you're no better then I "

The man stated calmly as he didn't raise his voice at her like she did to him but his words at most times cuts deeper under other people's skin more. Even without the intention. The woman looked more pissed with his response. These arguments back and forward were becoming more of a reoccurring thing these days. All of this started to be more frequent when....SHE was finally here.

" You know what, I'm so sick and tired of this just.... Chose! It's either me or them!"

The woman now in rage said as it hit a boiling point for her. She was giving him suddenly a choice that he had to make.

He was caught off guard instantly as for the first time in his life.... He was speechless. He didn't expect that it would come to this. He abruptly got up from his chair, His signature brown suit followed with him as he looked at her dead in the eyes. The woman took a step back out of reflex and her eyes held some fear since she knew what he could DO and what he WAS. He was now losing his cool a bit as the man's voice became deeper as his usual permanent SMILE was still on display as always

" have you lost your mind, choice. What kind a choice is that? What kind of MOTHER does that."

The man finally exclaimed to the woman more so now we can tell wife. It was the first time that he acted like this and with actual emotion, he always filled with personality was most of it was cold like ice. In reality why he responded like that was because.... She sounded just like... Father ....... He HATED his Father and refuses to talk about what really happened to this day even if he was now in his mid 20's. His permanent smile  was stretched across his face as one of his dark brown eyes twitched in  irritation.

The woman was silent as a mouse. She knew what she said was wrong and probably messed up in someway but she can't take it anymore not with him or anyone. The woman was now looking down at the floor at her feet as the fireplace behind them roared higher than before. She should be ashamed but at the same time she could really care less, she spoke up in a low tone that sounded like a whisper

" Chose ALASTOR "

.

.

.

" Get out of MY house "

The man said but now known as Alastor. His tone was dark and cold.  He looked down at the woman as she was still looking at the ground as his predatory eyes are watching her every move. He was incredibly pissed. But still he had  that permanent and unsettling SMILE. He should just kill her, here and now but...... didn't want to waste any more of his time.

The woman was so glad that she was still even standing and not dead as then she kept looking at the ground. She just decide to turn around and start to walk to the front door away from him in the living room. She opened the front door as before she even took a step outside  spoke without turning back to him

" You'll regret this "

The woman uttered out as then she didn't even care to stay to hear his response as she then walked out the front door and slammed the door shut as  she left the man standing in the middle living room as the fire was dialing down a bit from the lack of firewood being put in the fireplace.

Long silence filled the cabin as there was unsettledness to it, as it was too quiet. Alastor, after a while of all that  let out a very deep, sigh as he was processing everything him and his (problem no more) wife fought about and her actually leaving

He moved from his spot for what seemed like ages he was standing there, even though that wasn't true.  He walked down the hall outside the living room down to the bedrooms of the house, his brown polished shoes clicked on the ground as he walked. He then stoped in front of one in particular room as it was just like the rest the doors as  it was oak wood but the inside was definitely different from the rest. He turned the old gold color knob as he turned the knob to open the door

In the room was a sight many would think was either a bold face joke or a disbelief sight even for him. The walls were an emerald green with a white ceiling and even a painted forest on one of the walls. Against that forest painted wall had a beige color crib with white small mattress and a blanket. Hanging above the crib was  hanging down as it was baby deers play spiny toy

Alastor walked in the room more as he walked in the room as he actually made an effort to not make his presence known. He walked up to the crib as he looked down. In there was a small red bundle in the middle of crib. Alastor paused for a moment as he hesitated. He then just went for it as he bend down and took the red bundle in his skinny but muscular arms as he hold the red bundle,  it was clear that he didn't really know what he was doing but at least was making an effort

Alastor looked down at the bundle as he took one of his hands as he moved some of that fabric away from the bundles face is what came into view was a precious baby as it had the same mix skin that he had but also had natural rosy cheeks. The baby was though awake as it was looking up at Alastor with there colored eyes with a somewhat chubby face

Alastor just looked down at the baby's with a non readable expression. Alastor never was one to think of to be a father to anyone and even to himself. He to be honest hated children and thought they were just a bunch of germ infested animals that the parents had to deal with until they were adults. It was that but this probably came from his past trauma that was unresolved that he had from his own childhood. By those descriptions one can tell by just that he doesn't like kids. He also was a busy person that didn't like his time passing by  like a waste of time

But

This was different. Something that he can't quite put his finger on  what emotion that was emotion or won that he ever used. Doesn't know why he didn't hesitate to pick this baby instead of his own wife but it was done and over with. It's just..... ever since he saw that babies face..... was like a flashlight in his dark cave that he calls his own. He never thought that he would be a father actually scared that he would end up like his Father

Alastor then suddenly smiled down at the baby. This smile was different though. It was more.... comforting and genuine which he hasn't shown in a long time while not even to that wife of his

" Well, I guess it's just you and me now. My little  Fawn"

The baby in his hold of course Didn't know what he said, since he was adult and they were just a child but that didn't stop them from giving him a gummy small back at him. Oh how alike they are already huh?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(A/n: if wanted to see the full story on this as it is a part of a story that I am actually making go check out my Wattpad is wished. I hope you all have a good night/afternoon/morning. Bye! 

[strandsofgold]

For @reallyhatethiswebsite, hope you like it and thank you for the prompt <3 I am so so sorry that this took as long as it did, but I loved this prompt so much that I couldn't physically stop myself from turning it into way more than the short, little ficlet it was supposed to be. Whoops. Prompt: Tav nuts before Raphael does for once 👀

TW: Implied non-con (just to be safe), but I would sooner say very dubious consent because deep down there is a part of Tav that deeply enjoys Raphael's treatment of her Kink tags: Belly bulge, forced orgasms, rough sex, choking (kind of), painful sex, cervix-bumping, inappropriate use of mage hand

A Little Death

It is a sudden thing, her orgasm. It seises her, knocks the wind out of her, thighs shaking as that thin string of restraint snaps as if it was sliced in two by the tip of a claw. It drags her to the highest of highs, even when her muscles burn and her breasts ache, the pleasure overwhelms and drowns any discomfort she may have had.

A gasp, pitiful even to her own ears, spills from her mouth, her head thrown back in ecstasy.

When Raphael stills, so does the world.

Where she once rode him with abandon, his cock lodged deep inside her, his hips raising every now and again to meet her halfway between the bed and her, there is now nothing but quiet and stillness and the unceasing pressure of his fingers digging into the meat of her waist as he holds her still.

And Tav, in turn, does her best to quiet down and subdue her body as well, but she cannot—she truly cannot—her heart thundering away in her chest and cunt clenching around him as if trying to force him to meet his end just as soon as her. Sweat drips down the sides of her face. Her rapid breathing only intensifies when she looks down at him, her eyes meeting the amber brown of his iris.

He looks decadent in his human form, just as he always does. But there is a storm brewing in the fine lines of his face. A twitch at the corner of his eyes. The beginning of furrow by his brows.

"I—" She tries, she desperately tries to make it up to him—"I am sorry."

When that garners her no reaction other than the flare of his nostrils, she attempts to move once again, attempts to roll her hips—attempts to emulate Haarlep who would simply keep going in order to satisfy their master and distract him from the slight made against him.

But she is not Haarlep.

Raphael tuts, lighthearted almost, as the corners of his mouth stretch upwards. But his smile is all teeth, a violent kind of glee in his eyes as his grip on her waist tightens, finely trimmed, human nails digging into her skin. Thankfully, they are not sharp enough to draw blood.

He only ever makes her blood in his true form.

"So insatiable, little mouse," is all he says before Tav's world spins on its axis.

In the span of a second, she is beneath him, hands pinned on each side of her head. He is still inside her, his cock twitching every now and again—it betrays his interest, his desire.

Raphael looks at her, all smug and... calm. Too calm. His tail lazily swishes to and fro behind him. It is frightening.

As he is now, Raphael is unpredictable.

When they fuck—and it is fucking, they are not lovers, no matter how often Raphael refers to himself as such—it is always about his pleasure, first and foremost. He 'indulges' her, as he likes to say. And there are rules to these indulgences; some have been explicitly stated—'Do not touch my wings, you ingrate!'—whereas others have been implicit, recognisable only through their repeated pattern.

This is one of the implicit ones: Raphael always comes first.

Always. No exceptions.

Tav retreats—as much as she can—presses herself into the bed as if it will swallow her if she merely sinks far enough down. It is the closest thing to escape she will have tonight.

And Raphael, the bastard, laughs at her, that rich, smooth laughter that reminds her of fine brandy ringing in her ears.

"Why so gloomy, oh apple of my eye?" he asks her—mocks her, really, head tilted and eyes widened in the closest thing to innocence a devil like him can muster, feigned as it is. "I am nothing if not a magnanimous lover."

Tav is not so naive as to not see the threat for what it is.

Still, the wall of smoke and fire and magic that consumes him as his human glamour falls apart makes you gasp all the same. The flames lick at her skin, fine kisses of warmth a distraction only for so long. Because with the loss of his human figure makes way for his true one. His devil form.

And with the change in appearance—fine, olive skin making way for red, leathery ones—comes a change in size.

He forces her open, her walls stretching to accomodate him, the rim of her already sore cunt aching at his size. He swells and expands until she is on the brink of tears, the skin on the bottom of her belly stretched taut around the bulge that has formed there.

He is no longer fully inside her.

He is barely halfway inside her.

But she is full. Gods, is she full.

She hiccups, squirms beneath his hands, the his now clawed fingers digging into her wrists till it hurts.

"You want your little death?" He leans down, breathes deep as he presses his nose against hers, mouth hovering above her parted lips and whispers, low and venemous, "I will give it to you."

.......................

The violent, rhythmic sound of skin slapping against skin is the only thing tethering Tav to reality. That, and the all-consuming, mind-numbing pain and torment that wracks her body at every point of Raphael's movement.

He pounds her into the floor—had her on all fours until her arms gave out—one large hand crushed agains the back of her head where it forces her face into the floor, the other possessively cradling her abdomen where it presses against the bulge that disappears and reappears with each of his sharp thrusts.

It is unending. The pain. The brutality with which he takes her.

She has long stopped fighting to flee.

When she tried to escape after the first dozen orgasms, rolled out of the bed, sore and bruised and desperate to not succumb to yet another forced orgasm, scurrying across the floor on hands and knees, Raphael merely looked on in dull amusement—leisurely commented that, If you wish to be taken on the floor on all fours like a filthy animal, you need only ask, little mouse.

Now she lies still, limp and defeated in his grip, nothing but pathetic little twitches of her hips, vain attempts at evading the mage hand whose sole purpose is to make sure her clit is forever stimulated that force her over the edge again and again and again. Even as Raphael violates her thoroughly and fully, his cock spearing through her, carving out her insides to a point where she feels her organs may have turned to mush.

Again and again and again his cock bumps against her cervix, and the stab of pain that comes with it every time tells her that she is as battered and bruised on the inside as she is on the outside. Every push and pull of his hips has puddles of his hot come spilling out of her. Raphael seems unbothered by the mess, merely continues to fuck his remaining spent into her, along with more every now and again when he too reaches a peak.

Her vision is hazy. Her lungs burn, spots of black flickering in and out of her vision. She can barely breathe.

The pressure on the back of her head eases, but only for a moment, and Tav gasps for precious air as Raphael wraps his fist in her hair and drags her head up—forces her into an even deeper arch, forces her ass to press impossibly closer to his scorching skin, his cock impossibly deeper inside her.

She cries and cries and cries, her tears the only cooling reprieve in the blistering heat that consumes her entire being.

Again, she is forced over the edge, her orgasm burning through her so violently she nearly passes out, thighs trembling from exertion, her poor, abused cunt twitching around him. The drool that has dried on her chin gets replaced with new spit as the gurgles and chokes on her tongue, eyes rolling to the back of her head.

She gets no respite. No mercy.

If anything, the mage hand rubs harder at her clit, pinches and twists to make it hurt that much more as Raphael yanks her even further backwards to a point where her back is nearly against his chest.

Shamefully, she knows she would not have it any other way.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Hobie Brown & Non-Conventional Relationships

How to Write Hobie in Non-Conventional Relationships - & How I incorporate it into my own writing

{Non-Conventional Relationship Abbreviated as NCR}

This is Part 2 - Check out Part 1 here if you want! Hobie Brown is unconventional is every way - and he likes it that way. From his music to his views, Hobie is always ready to challenge the norm - choosing to look for healthier, kinder, and freer alternatives.

And that extends to his romantic relationships too.

I talked HERE about Non-Conventional Relationships, the lack of them in fics, what they could look like for Hobie, and how they're a reflection of his values - including his feminism.

In that one, I wanted to talk about why Hobie needs Non-Conventional Relationships, and I analyzed why NCRs are so scarce within the Hobie fandom (hint: it's sexism). I also spoke about how I purposely designed my Spidersona - DiscoSpider Diane - with subversion of a sexist trope in mind, and how we as a fandom can write healthier 'Y/N's.

But I also wanted to talk about - and give clear examples of how a NCR might work for Hobie, and how to write it in fanfiction.

This is a Writer's Guide to writing Hobie Brown in NCRs, and writing 'Y/N's that challenge the norm. As well as how I apply these tips directly in my own writing with Hobie.

[I offer tips and writing advice as well as the ways I use these tips in my writing. I touch on alternative forms of affection, intimacy, polyamory, independence, and labels] Heads Up!! This post is LONG and Detailed. At the end, I have a full deep dive and analysis of my Spidersona DiscoSpider Diane, Hobie, and their NCR - feel free to pass on that if you want or check it out if you're curious or want an example :)

I hope someone out there finds this helpful or at the very least, entertaining! With that said,

Let's Begin~~~~~~~~

Hobie Brown & Affection:

Showing and valuing alternative forms of affection can be a great foundation for Non-Conventional Relationships. There's a wide array of ways to express affection in a relationship - ranging from full on playfulness and messing with each other - to being romantic but only in private. And anywhere in between. In order to challenge stereotypical romance, here's where we can start.

First things first: Cut the generic pet names One of the most common things across all Hobie fics, are generic pet-names. It's hard to find a fic without one 'luv', 'darlin', or 'sweetheart'. And it makes sense, it romantic - and a classic way to show affection. But it can be easy to use these terms as a crutch to infuse romance into dialogue. A good way to diverge from this convention is by dropping the generic pet-names all together. By abandoning words like 'luv' and 'darlin' we're forcing ourselves to find more personal terms for him to call his partner. Hobie calls Gwen and Miles personalized pet-names, and this can extend to his partner too. These names can be personal - When writing OCs, you can use things like inside jokes, a shortened version of their name, or some form of rhyming slang. Having something happen within the story that Hobie pulls a nickname from is also a great idea, or having him call them by a defining trait or something tongue in cheek. [Like if your character is known for being a bit gloomy, have him call them sunshine. If they sing, he can call them songbird, etc.] When writing xReaders, you can subvert typically 'negative' terms into loving and playful names. For example, if the !Reader is portrayed as shy, he may loving call her Mouse Whisper. If they're hotheaded, he may just call them 'hot-head'. But by having personalized pet-names, the reader is shown that Hobie and them have history and past connections that Hobie finds meaningful.

Annoyance can be affection too I talked about this HERE We all love attention from our partners - some just seek it out in different ways. Annoying ways. And I can see Hobie being one to do this - Adorable, but annoying ways. Playfulness is a great way to substitute romance in NCR. We all know those relationships where they love messing with each other or pissing each other off. Having inside jokes about each other, or teasing in a way only the other person is allowed to. It's never mean, but in a way, a form of intimacy. And when romances are written like this, it shows that the two know each other well, down to the smallest things that make them tick. They know each other well, and have a clear soft spot for each other when one starts bugging the other and the other doesn't snap (lol). When writing, you can give them small pet peeves that Hobie may do to irk them. When writing OCs, Hobie can give them nicknames that irk them. Or point out things that annoy them. Maybe he likes a food they hate, and eats it in front of them all the time. It's all in good fun, and shows the two aren't shy around each other. You can also have them bring up embarrassing stories of each other, to show they're close and spend a lot of time together. When writing xReaders, you can have him popping up at the worst times, hanging off of the reader, and overall trying to distract them from what they're doing. He could also play light pranks to mess with the reader - and vice versa - always making sure to end it with a hug and a laugh. At the end of the day, it's all about getting their partners attention and playing around with them. And talking about that -

Touch as a Love Language: Don't be afraid of playfighting Some IRL couples playfight. And it can be adorable. If the pestering goes to far, then the reader finally has to give him all their attention - and they can playfight him. Which is what he wants, their attention. This is something that can be done with both OCs and xReaders - and if they're a Spider-person EVEN BETTER. Don't be afraid to have Hobie pick the reader up, having the reader jump on his back, or punch his arm lightly. Having them wrestle for something, and it can turn into cuddling. The character can jump on his back playfighting, and doom - Hobie's running and it's a sudden piggyback ride.

While on the topic of Love Languages: Laughter as a Love Language Laughter can be a HUGE love language. In addition to annoying their partner, some people aim to making their partner laugh whenever they can. Whether this be making jokes, or doing things they think are hilarious. Not only is is super playful - but it shows that they're close and know each other well. They know what they other think is funny, what's sure to get a laugh, and most importantly, when their partner needs it the most. It shows that they care about their partner's happiness, and they want to bait it out them every way they can - even if that means making themselves look silly from time to time again. This is one of my favorite tools when writing NCRs and it works for both OCs and xReader.

If really want to challenge yourself and show a new form of romance: Abandon 'I love you.' Ever heard of Han Solo and Princess Leia? The whole "I love you." - "I know." trope? Saying 'I love you' is of course one of the easiest ways to show love - but when we abandon it, we can find cuter and more personal things to replace it. In doing this we begin to show a NCR relationship that openly challenges romance. By doing away with 'I love you's in favor something personal, we're showing that their feelings go beyond 'love' into something more personal and intimate to them. They can still be madly in love and not say it - it can be completely unspoken cause they both know. And so, they don't take it too seriously. When writing OCs, you can replace the phrase completely, substituting it with a repeated phrase on both sides. "I hate you" also works as a playful subversion. When writing xReaders, you can have the other side not respond the usual way - "I love you." - "Uh-huh." Or you can have them not say it at all. And have it completely but clearly emotionally implied.

Hobie Brown & PDA:

Hobie is a natural touchy guy. He likes standing close to people, leaning over them and putting his hands on their shoulders. So by having him display limited romantic PDA with his partner, and treating them no different than anyone else, you're challenging the norm and forcing yourself to write other ways.

Prioritize Privacy Hobie is often (or rather only) characterized as a very open person with his relationship, openly kissing, making out, and touching his partner. And this is very typical of a romantic relationship. If you'd like to write a NCR you can try to challenge this. Hobie is from a police state, a world where surveillance is prevalent and freedom is limited. Plus he's a rockstar - people get nosey. And don't even get me start on The Society snooping. You can reflect this by having him prioritize privacy - either out of survival instinct, or just personal preference. Hobie keeping his relationship a secret, or simply not mentioning it, allows a freedom not often see in traditional relationships. By doing this, the relationship can develop naturally without typical pressures or outside influence - whether dangerous or Society wise. The two are allowed to take it as slow - or as fast as they want, without worrying about anyone else getting in the way. And with Hobie being a guy who likes to share often, him keeping one small thing to himself can be special. This can be used for both OCs and xReaders.

Keep Kisses in Private Stealing kisses can be extremely cute, and saving them for private can make them 10x more intimate. Plus this is another one that can be used by both OCs and xReaders. By saving kisses for private moments, those rare instances automatically become more intimate. And by having them restrain themselves, when they do finally get to be alone it can feel romantic (not just sexual). By having them save their kisses for only them, they become more special to Hobie and his partner. They may choose to not kiss at all in public and leave it at that or try to steal kisses when they can - or even substitute a different form of intimacy in place of kisses. Ever see that couple that one of them will walk by the other, and one person will put their hand in the other's for a moment as they pass by before letting go? Like that. Cheek kisses can also be a good substitute for public. Plus in the rare times they do kiss in front of someone, you can save it for super emotional or heated moments (or moments like parties, bars, etc - those are always fun. The gang finding out the two of you have been dating a year after you both get drunk at a party and make-out? Love it.)

Or you can take it over the top - and make it openly committed and intimate, but label-less. Having a partner he kisses, hugs and lives with but does not refer to as his girlfriend also challenges norms of possessiveness - bonus points if they're poly (which I'll touch on in a second). By having him clearly involved with someone, and seriously committed but having it between them can be a NCR. The character doesn't have to be his girlfriend or boyfriend. That can simply be 'his person' or 'the one'. Or he's 'seeing somebody' - or 'with them'. He's not outright saying they're dating, but yeah - they're solidly involved. They may have a kid together, sleep in the same bed, or say 'I love you', but by both parties rejecting labels, they're openly denying people an inside look to their relationship. Are they together? What's that got to do with you?

Or have them be 'life partners' aka - marriage without marriage. This one may be easier to develop for OCs, but can be done for xReaders too. Have them openly express interest in being each other's life long partners. Have them speak as if they're married, even if they aren't. By verbalizing this connection, they don't need rings or a wedding certificate to speak to them, because they openly say it as a form of PDA. Having them believe in soulmates, or 'other halfs' takes the 'caring boyfriend' trope and pushes it into something far more intimate and personal. This could include things like matching tattoos, sharing a home together, wearing things of each other's in place of a ring, etc.

Hobie, Labels, and Polymory (Open Relationships)

Every single fic I've seen of Hobie assumes both parties are monogamous. Let's challenge that.

Do away with the idea of Hobie and jealousy It's unrealistic for his character. Hobie is openly supportive, non-possessive, and EXTREMELY confident. Jealousy is an attribute that feeds off of insecurity first, and sexist tropes of possession second - the idea of having no one touch 'your' partner. Any partner Hobie has isn't his - no one belongs to any one. They can be with whoever and do whatever they want when he's not there. So long as he sees his a priority in your life, he'll be there. Let's just hope the OTHER guy is okay with that (and not extremely intimidated by how perfect Hobie is). This applies to both OCs and xReaders.

Open the relationship - and keep it honest The priority when writing this is honesty - because Hobie values it A LOT. And I cannot stress this more. If his partner is honest with him, and genuinely makes an effort to make him a priority, then Hobie is happy. Hobie himself may not choose to have multiple partners, but by having option on the table and having his partner exercise that shows a huge degree of maturity, communication, and freedom. By having a partner who can openly pursue romance outside of Hobie, but still chooses Hobie as their primary partner, their relationship becomes a lot freer, but still just as close - if not stronger. Sure they've got options, and sometimes they may have flings, but at the end of the day, there's no one they connect more with than each other. Better with OCs, but can be done with xReaders.

Let his partner have the last say Hobie can't be a player if he's not the one calling the shots. Have a xReader or OC that is openly outspoken about what they want and the label they're interested in. (even if thats 'unlabeled) Have the reader be the one who doesn't want to make it official, or on the inverse, have them insist that either they make it official or else they'll stop seeing them. And have them stand their ground. Do not have them budge or waiver or second-guess. Have them leave the ball in Hobie's court - and sort it out for himself. By doing this you're giving them a sense of agency and independence outside of him, and inverts the sexist expectation that men be the ones who define the relationship.

In the words of Coi Leray "Cause Girls is Players too." Kick slut-shaming in the teeth. Where are all the city girls? Directly challenge sexist tropes that are prevalent in the Hobie fandom, by writing a female character who is openly and sexually liberated, knows her worth, and knows how to handle her feelings. Have her be the one seeing multiple people, have him be the one to pass the guy on the way out. Its not more shameful when the character does it. If you want to make Hobie a player who can run game - acknowledge that some girls run game too. And many girls can call that shit from a mile away. Having a character who has multiple partners, but slowly finds themself falling for Hobie in specific is an interesting dymanic. It forces you to show a woman's sexuality in a different and positive light, one not connected to her lust for a specific man. And it forces you to challenge the idea of 'fast girls' or 'groupies'. Ever seen 'She's Gotta Have It' by Spike Lee? That. And you can have her other partners acting as a contrast to Hobie. If she starts realling her other partner really ain't shit - Hobie starts looking a lot better. And let me just say - this doesn't have to cause drama. Having Hobie and the character both be polyamorous, only to connect with each other and laugh about their other escapades can be CUTE. And neither are threatened, because they know it's all in good fun, and they know they've got their partner on lock.

Find alternative labels Take 'boyfriend and girlfriend' off the table and get creative. They can be life partners, or Best Friends with Benefits (who are genuinely friends, stay that way and are not just thinly vieled romantic tension), or the xReader/OC can simply 'his girl' or 'his guy'. By doing this, you're able to put a label on it, without taking it serious at all. It signals that there is something there and they know it, and they don't need normal terms to define it. Good for both OCs and xReaders.

Hobie & Gender Roles

Chivalry is dead. Romance your boyfriend to death.

I spoke in the last post of about Hobie's feminism and his understanding of the patriarchy and the way it works. And I think Hobie would work to openly defy gender roles in his relationship. Here's are some tips to do that.

Have the xReader or OC initiate the romance Have them confidently ask him out. Have your OC or xReader be the one to approach him at a party and hit on him. Just by doing so, you're putting your characters in a situation that subverts gender roles - where the many is typically the one to approach his mate. It shows confidence on the part of the xReader/OC and let's them step outside the traditional trope of a passive feminine partner.

Have them initiate touch/affection as well Have them touch him first, or wrap their arms around him. Have them kiss his neck (if they can reach lol). Instead of having a shy and quiet xReader who only accepts compliments from Hobie - have them openly and boldly compliment him. A girl who openly loves her partner/boyfriend and yeah- she's gonna talk about him cause she can. Have them call him pet-names first. And show Hobie enjoying it or feeling comforted by it. In doing so, you're allowing him to show a softer side that is also absent in a lot of fics. Plus you're breaking the trope of once again, the partner just passive accepting Hobie's affection without active reciprocation.

Actively show Hobie being comforted and taken care of - not just when he's in crisis Have the character ask if he's okay - in the way a couple will look at each other and be like "You good?" even when nothings going on. Have the character be the one to ask if he's eaten. Don't only do this when he's about to emotionally crack, or when he's physically beat up. Do it on the daily. Men shouldn't have to break before their emotional needs are addressed. So often in fics Hobie is seen as the perfect protector who never gets tired - and then there's no mention of him ever taking care of himself in any way. That's now how this works. Hobie is community based. That means he looks after the people he care about. If the character cares about him, they have them go out of their way to show it - the same way he does. The xReader/OCs can hold him while he's crying or make him go to sleep when he's up all night. They can hear him out when he's annoyed with Miguel, and help him when he's feeling not 100% too. SO many fics are about the reader NEEDing Hobie for some often asinine reason. Sometimes Hobie needs his partner too.

________________________________________________

HI HI! If you've read this far, thank you so much! I really appreciate it and would love to hear your thoughts! The next part is centered around my spidersona Disco-Spider Diane, her relationship with Hobie, and how I incorporate all this into their dynamic. This part is LONG and detailed (I'm unhinged) so I don't blame you if you wanna peace out now! If you do peace out, thanks again! - here's a photo of Hobie for the road!

_______________________________________________________ Now let's talk about Lil Miss Disco and her Boo Thang

DiscoSpider Diane and Hobie -

How I write a Non-Conventional Relationship For more info you can check out Diane's Character Sheet here and her tag here

I spoke briefly in my last post about Hobie, feminism, and how subverting sexist tropes contributed to her characterization - so this time I just want to give an overview of how that translates to a NCR - and how that can be shown clearly in writing.

Hopefully this will give some ideas or at the very least, I can ramble about Diane lol Diane & Hobie - A Basic Overview

[You can check out Diane's Character Sheet here!][And check out her tag for more art & writing here!]

I don't have a word for what Diane and Hobie are supposed to be, and that's intentional.

They aren't dating. Because they don't go on traditional dates - they just hang a lot. They're not boyfriend and girlfriend because that's rigid in it's confines. Even partners can be a bit of a stretch. I wanted to write them instead as two people who care about each other and make an effort to be in each other's lives. They're the other's largest emotional support and cheerleader - and their emotional reactions take focus over the romantic ones.

Diane and Hobie have a Non-Conventional Romance because they're in an emotional relationship rather than a romantic one. There is romance there - but the same way a romantic relationship isn't a 'sexual relationship' because sex is involved - an emotional relationship does not become entirely romantic once romance is involved.

Their emotional relationship is very committed, but their romantic relationship is extremely casual. Here are some ways I show that.

DiscoPunk & Affection:

Diane and Hobie do not use typical pet-names. Instead, Hobie is more likely to call Diane 'Daiquiri' - a nickname left over from the first time they've met. It's an embarrassing memory for Diane - and a story Hobie loves to tell. But by calling her Daiquiri, he's sending the reminder that he thinks about the night they met often and remembers it well. Including the 4 Daiquiris she made him buy her. He also calls her Clover - as she's one of his 'Lucky Charms'. Diane is the same, preferring to call Hobie by his name - or over the top names like 'pookie', 'honeybun', or 'hot stuff'. Though the most common she'll default to is 'babe', though she will only do this will they're completely alone. Hobie openly annoys Diane and she lets him. Diane is easy to mess with, easy to sneak up on and easy to confuse (sorry girl). It's easy for him to make her jump if he's too quiet, and despite being fairly outgoing, Disco gets embarrassed easily. Sharing constant silly stories, calling her embarrassing nicknames and ruffling her perfectly manicure hair, are go to ways to piss her off. And you can usually tell when she asks "Am I playing with you? Does it look like I'm playing right now??" In turn, Diane does her 'groupie act', which involves running up and hugging him hard as hell, jumping on his back, or talking about how cute he is in a baby voice while pinching his cheeks. They playfight A LOT. Hobie is known to come up behind Diane, lovingly slipping his arms around her waist. He lifts her up - and then tries to bodyslam her. He's holding her like he's about to do a judo flip and Diane is shoving at him telling him to cut it out. In turn, Diane likes to run at him from a far and jump on his back, and she's known to punch his shoulder if he gets too cheeky with the jokes. (Thank god they both have Spider Strength). And while they may not be quick to cuddle or hold each other in public - if Hobie is asking for it they WILL wrestle, and with matched strength, they don't stop until someone (usually Jess) tells them to cut it out. And Laughter is one of their biggest Love Languages. Hobie LOVES making Diane laugh - mainly because it's such a spectacle. Diane will scream and cry in laughter, doubled over so hard she has to sit down or leave the room. And for Hobie, it's easy to do this, so he does it whenever's the most inappropriate. Him dancing is a HUGE way because it brings Diane to tears almost instantly, without fail. She begs him to stop cause she can't breathe - she's laughing so hard. Hobie refuses and keeps dancing, just to mess with her. On the inverse, when Diane does it, most of the time she doesn't mean to. Diane is clever, but she's blunt and a little.. easy to confuse. And when she blurts something out or asks a question that sounds a bit ridiculous, Hobie can't help but laugh. Like when she saw Peter B. unmasked for the first time, and immediately asked him "Wait, why are you white?" Hobie will almost away burst into laughter, which is usually followed by Diane going "Whatttt? What did I say? Why are you laughing at me :(' Everytime she does this she is completely serious, which Hobie finds even funnier. If she's confused, he'll try to explain it to her, and he never teases her for it. It's just that Hobie chooses his words very carefully, and Diane says exactly what comes to mind.

They very rarely say 'I love you' and only do it in private. Usually, they'll only say this when one of them is going through it, the other just did something awesome, or they're alone and in a good mood. It reserved for moments of intimacy or spontaneity. With a relationship that is so playful, the two of them would probably think that saying it outright is a bit too sappy and plain. Instead, they substitute it by asking the other if they love them -

If Hobie does something for Diane, instead of Diane saying "I love you", Hobie will be the one to say "Don't you love me?" If Diane does something for Hobie, instead of him saying "I love you", he can swap it with "You must love me." (Usually the other person may say "I do" or an equally loving "Shut up.")

DiscoPunk & PDA:

They prioritize privacy. They don't label themselves - to anybody, even close friends. They let people make their own assumptions because it doesn't matter anyway. Plus with Diane being very committed to her place in the Spider Society, it's preferable to just keep it between them. Hobie doesn't really care either way. But the less people bothering him and asking questions, the better.

Diane and Hobie never kiss in front of other people. Save for a few exceptions. Despite being very physically and playfully affectionate, Hobie and Diane choose to keep most of their PDA completely private - and they're more likely to link arms than hold hands. When it comes to kissing, the two saves it for behind closed doors, or hidden spots in HQ. With relationships between Spider-people being prohibited at HQ, it's just easier that way - and the both of them prefer it. This even extends to close friends, including Pavi and Gwen. They may dramatically kiss the other's cheek to annoy them, making kissy sounds and grabbing each other's faced - and on occasion Hobie may give Diane a forehead kiss (she's tall enough to do this). They may cuddle in front of others too, but that's about it. But kisses in specific are just for them. Wasn't a conscious choice, but they like it that way. There's two exceptions though: 1) Shortly after meeting Hobie, Gwen ran into Hobie and Diane kissing at a hidden spot on campus. Nothing heated, but kissing. Diane felt her looking and seemed very disturbed and uncomfortable she had seen. Gwen left quickly, and although Hobie assured Diane that Gwen was okay, the two of them didn't meet until a later date, and Diane seemed a bit embarrassed.

2) Parties. After shows and while drinking Hobie and Diane are completely fine making out in public and showing full PDA. Why? Because they have the cover of the 'groupie act' and they can argue that they were drunk and were only messing around or even say they straight up don't remember. Their terms of commitment are unique. Neither Hobie (in my little universe) nor Diane believe in soulmates. But they do consider themselves 'committed', but they're not life-partners either. They don't care if they'll be together forever. The idea is nice, but it's not their focus. If they wanna spend their lives together, they can start but showing up for each up daily, rather than wearing rings daily.

DiscoPunk, Labels, and Polyamory:

Diane and Hobie are in an open relationship. Since they've never officially asked each other out, monogamy hasn't really been on the table ever. And both are fine and comfortable with this. Because they're great at minding their own business. Who's the girl leaving houseboat when Diane comes through? Who cares - but if touched the makeup Diane left on his bathroom counter, she'll be sending her an invoice and an angry letter. This is equal on both sides.

Diane is without a doubt more active, and more prone to one-night stands (she has a kink for guitarists) rather than full on relationships. Maybe it's the fact that having Hobie in the picture is intimidating as fuck to most guys.

Hobie also has his share - though he usually finds himself in flings and short relationships - going more for romance than sex. In fact, Hobie was with Diane for the duration of his relationship with his Felicia Hardy.

Naturally, Felicia and Diane knew about each other - though they hadn't met. Diane was fine with this and at most would ask how Felicia was doing. Felicia however really wanted to meet Diane. Like dying to meet her. So she found out Hobie's secret identity and just - turned up at one of his shows. Diane was...understandably confused. She was nice, but confused. Asked Hobie later like "Why's she here. Nothing wrong with it but like forreal why is she here?" and he's like "IDK I aint invite her m8 she always does this." Eventually the two got to know each other and although Hobie isn't with Felicia anymore (it's messy), her and Diane are still close friends.

Hobie perfers to let Diane have the last say when it comes to labels.

He's fairly unbothered. What's he gonna do - tell her he has to be her boyfriend? Or brush her off and still expect her to be there? Nah, Labels are the last thing he's worried about. And that's because he's fine with all of them. So long as they're clear. If avoided labels, and demanded to be label-less, that was still caring about labels.

This is where there's conflict - and instead of most fanfics in which the conflict is coming from him - in their case it's coming from her. Diane avoids commitment, terrified of the threat it could cause to the multiverse and Hobie's universe in specific. She's drank the society Kool-Aid so to speak, and will dance around the topic. Hobie has on occasion mentioned monogamy between them being a good option, but when directly approached, Diane will try to dance around the topic - mainly afraid of what Jess and especially Miguel will do if she falls out of line.

This, along with canon events, are the only things that can get them to actually argue - and it can sometimes decend into screaming matches (more about the Society rather than their relationship). They try to avoid bringing it up. But Diane is still paranoid and avoids it.

They use alternative labels instead. For sake of implicity, if you ask them directly "What is x to you?" Hobie will either say "Diane's my bird." or "Why do you want to know - You interested in me or her?" He may also say 'The Old Ball n' Chain' (mocking boomer humor) or simply say "That's Daiquiri."

Diane will most likely say "He's my little boo thang." She may also call him her 'hubby', or say 'I'm his biggest fan.'

WE'RE ALMOST DONE I PROMISE

Finally, DiscoPunk & Gender Roles

I wrote in the last post about how feminism and inverting the sexist trope of 'groupie' contributed a lot to Diane and her behavior towards Hobie. This can mostly be seen here:

Diane initiated the romance. Diane has always been Hobie's groupie, and outspoken in her affection for him. She thinks the girls hiding how much they like Hobie is silly - He KNOWS he's hot. Why not come out and say it - hype him up. Diane is also a way bigger flirt than Hobie - and I really wanted to write the two of them this way, because so much of the time Hobie is the one flirting, usually on a passive OC or xReader that simply passively accepts.

It's rare in dialogue that someone outright points out how hot Hobie is. So Diane does it. She was fine with being like "You're so hot it's distracting and that's not a joke. :) "

Diane usually initiates touch. Hobie rarely wraps his arms around her (unless he's doing that stupid judo shit she hates), but Diane does it to him all the time. She's tall enough on her skates that if she holds him by the waist from behind, she can see clearly over his shoulders. And it's not unusual to see Diane's eyes peek over Hobie's shoulder when you're talking to him. She's not listening, she's just there.

In turn, Hobie accepts this touch very much like the way an xReader would. He's usually the one intiating and offering touch, but when Diane does it him, he finds it comforting to be on the receiving side.

And I usually see this/show this as him softening into her touch, complimenting her for it, or baiting her into cuddling (like plopping down on her on the couch)

They supplement this a lot with closeness. Hobie and Diane always seem to be shoulder to shoulder, whispering inside jokes into each other's ears and trying not to crack up. Most often, Hobie with hput his arm around her shoulder, or if she's in her skates - a hand on her waist to steady her. Not that she needs it. Their relationship is mainly and largely emotional. And that's the basis of it. Hobie was the one who recruited Diane, and has been there for all of her canon events since, seeing her in her most venerable states.

Diane is dedicated to canon - and letting Miguel write her life for her - and although she finds herself conflicted and cornered by the Society, Hobie wants to be there for her always. And he'll be along for the ride as long as she'll have him. Diane in turn, tries her best to be positive when they're both from worlds where things can get really negative. No matter how much he tries to hide it, the constant battles and brutality with the police of his home world wears on him - and he's aware that he's different than most other Spider-people. He's killed before. Usually, he lets it out through his music and when it isn't that - it's through anger and protest. But like Hobie, Diane is a huge supporter of radical happiness. If you can think of Hobie's music as a call to arms, Diane's music is a love song to the sweeter brighter things in life. Diane was raised by The Black Panthers, and she knows just as well as he does what the brutality and pain of oppression can feel like. She has her feet firmly on the ground and her head happily in the clouds.

If anything, Diane is a person of comfort and escapism for Hobie. A reminder of the sweet life that he's fighting for. Diane lives completely free, free of labels and limits - even while living under the thumb of the Society. And she tries to remind Hobie what freedom feels like, when he gets tired of fighting every now and again _________________________________________________

In this way their emotional connection is mutual.

More than anything, I wanted Hobie and Diane to be emotional rocks to each other, before romantic partners. I didn't mean to write it that way (in my head), but it kinda ended up that way.

So often in the Hobie fandom we see the extremes of either Completely Detached Hobie - who sleeps around and wants nothing to do with labels - or Completely Committed Hobie - who is madly in love with his partner in a traditional sense. And in their relationship, I hoped to challenge that. By writing a Hobie than didn't care either way, or went with the flow. A Hobie that was just as thoughtful in his relationships as he was in his friendships. Instead, I wanted to shift the focus to Diane and making it about her choice. By having the woman be the one to define the relationship, the story can now focus on an internal struggle. And seeing his partner being the one to struggle with labels - whereas he's made peace with them.

And by having their affection shift more into playful - that was just because I think it's really funny. Hobie's a little shit.

All of this allows Diane and Hobie's relationship to be something based on mutal care and admiration for each other - rather than lust and clear-cut commitment.

They're able to be independent people, with independent lives and beliefs, while still being a large part of the other's life. They're able to excecise freedom in their situation, while still having an underlying conflict or struggle driving their story.

Hobie and Diane deeply care about and love each other, multiverse be damned. And even if they may not always see eye-to-eye, they're willing to put that aside if it means they have a chance at a peaceful future together - no matter what universe they're in.

They're not conventional, but they're in love. Cause I said so.

___________________________________________

So uh....yeah. That's how I incorporated Non-Conventional Relationships into my uhhh..deeply complex mental world that isn't written down yet besides glimpses in comics I make in photoshop.

If anyone read this far I will genuinely be so surprised, cause I literally just wrote an essay about their entire relationship lol

I feel like I could type anything down here and be safe cause it's hidden in a cattacomb full of TEXT like lemme just-

(I laughed at the second one til i crrriieeeddddd bro thats so foul)

But if you did read this all, thank you SO SO SO MUCH! As you can probably tell, I think about this a lot. And these characters mean a lot to me so I love sharing them when I can. I hope this helped someone and someone finds it helpful or at least entertaining! You rock <3

Writing this is normal, well-adjusted behavior. Cringe is dead.

Stream Diane and Hobie's album 'BackAlleyJazzLettuce' aka their Funk-Rock fusion ship playlist

Now take this photo of Hobie Kissy Kissy Face and get off my property.

Bye.

[cat-mentality]

It's funny really, how much the children have taken from their adoptive parents.

How looking at them is something akin to looking in a mirror.

Richarlyson who has a little bit of every one of his parents. Pac's warm eyes, Felp's curly hair, Mike's smile. Richarlyson who loves building, who is curious and adventurous, who always has a witty remark in the tip of his tongue, who is so protective of those he loves, who has so much love to give.

Pomme with Pierre's smile and Baghera's eyes. Pomme who is fierce and clever, who loves deeply and selflessly, who will take charge of any situation and bows to no one, who stands strong even in the face of the worst adversary.

Empanada whose hair is a mixture of Bagi's and Mouse's, whose eyes are just like Tina's, who laughs and smiles like Niki, the same sharp teeth. Empanada who is kind and gentle and loving, who likes soft things and to take care of her animals, who loves her siblings and would do anything for them.

Sunny with Tubbo's smile, who doesn't recognize the features of her other parents in her face, she has Pol's warm brown eyes, Lenay's cherry red lips and round cheekbones, Slime's light brown hair. Sunny who clung to the person who loved her dearly, who is witty and hardworking, who looks at things and is never satisfied with how they are, who always wants them to be better, who never settles for scraps.

Pepito with Carre's bright green eyes, Quackity's dimpled smile, who doesn't recognize his hair color as matching with Rivers', who doesn't even know he and Mariana match with their glasses. Pepito with his love for movies and spiders, with his drawings and his bright smile, who likes Amarantos and helping people, who laughs and laughs at every little thing, a bundle of joy.

It's tragic really, how much the children have taken from their adoptive parents.

How looking at them is something akin to looking in a mirror.

Richarlyson who has never had a birthday with all his family together and unharmed by the world, Richarlyson who despite the best effort of his fathers has known tragedy as much as he has known joy. 

Richarlyson who puts a smile on his face, like his pai Forever, who hides his pain because he can’t think about burdening them with his feelings when he knows how much they have suffered, how much they keep on suffering, Richarlyson who knows they hide things from him to protect him and wants to return the favor, wants to give as much as they have given him. Richas who tries to be a beacon of light, who just wants to protect people, who wants them to be happy and safe even if that means putting himself in harm’s way.

Richas who smiles so brightly, who jokes even in the darkest moments, and that makes people forget he is only a child. Who is treated as older than he truly is, as stronger than he truly is, as if people don’t realize how fragile, how young he is. Richas like his pai Pac, trying to turn every dark moment into a joke in the futile hope that it will make things hurt less, that downplays every nightmare that comes his way because if he can joke about it, it couldn’t be that bad right? He is fine! Look at him, smiling and joking, and breaking down when no one can see him.

Richarlyson, who likes his pai Cellbit has a part of himself that he is terrified of. A darkness that spreads around his chest, that comes to light in bursts that leave him shaken and scared in their wake, Richarlyson who is scared of himself, who doesn’t understand where he come from, why those things happen to him, Richarlyson who is so much like the little boy Cellbit doesn’t remember being, the little boy Bagi has searched her whole life for. Richas who, just like his pai, tries to push that part away, as deep as he can, because he is terrified that it will cause harm to the people he loves, who will every single time choose to be the one harmed over them without thinking twice.

Pomme who was born with a target on her back and a weapon in her hands. Pomme who has had to fight for her right to exist just as much as she had to fight for the love of her parents, Pomme shaped by the eternal guilt of those moments where others had to risk their lives for her sake, marked by the initial rejection.

Pomme who thinks she must protect her sibling and her parents even if that means hurting herself, Pomme who would gladly, easily, set herself on fire for the sake of others. Pomme wh, like her dads Pierre and Antoine, hides her problems deep inside because she would never want to share her burdens and her pains with others, who wants to fix things herself without having to involve others.

Like her mother Baghera, who wants to protect everyone, who will spread herself thin trying to do the right thing, trying to keep her loved ones safe and happy. Pomme who loves without expecting the same level of devotion back, who loves even when she doesn't believe she will receive anything in return. A warrior out of need, made a survivor by the world around her.

Like her father Etoiles who finds comfort in holding a weapon, in fighting a battle. Pomme like Etoiles who looks at her loved ones and puts herself as their protector, who bases her worth on her ability to keep them safe. If she can't protect them, if she can't help them when they need, then what is her worth? Why would they love her if she failed in her only duty? Pomme like Etoiles who takes the burden on her shoulders because she cannot imagine she will be worthy of their love otherwise, because she believes it's what she needs to do even if no one would ever tell her so.

Empanada who doesn't fit.

Like Bagi, a stranger in a strange land, someone to whom people still look at with distrust sometimes, wrapped in the knowledge that at the end of the day everyone else has other priorities, others they will seek first, others they will always love more and at peace with it no matter how much it hurts. Empanada, like her mamãe, used to chase after ghosts of affection, clinging to scraps because for the most part of her life that is all she had.

Like Tina, hiding parts of herself in a desperate attempt to be loved. Chopping away the ugly bits, the things she believes no one wants to see, that no one would ever love, the hard parts, pushing it all away because she is terrified of what they will think of her if they see it. Empanada like her Eomma, who doesn't believe people will love her if they see the darkness inside of her heart, if they knew what she lived through before the Island.

Like Niki, still struggling to find her place, to feel like she is part of everything, feeling that she is always at the fringes of everything, never a part of whatever is happening.

Like Jaiden, the mother she never met. Haunted by the past, alone in her grief and her sadness because she cannot burden her siblings, who all have the same trauma, because they all need to heal even if she stays shattered because it is her job to protect them and she has failed too much already, because she doesn't believe others will offer her support since she is still a stranger to them, Empanada who doesn't know the woman who she shares so much with, who is still unsure if she will ever be accepted by her.

Sunny who clung to Tubbo with desperation because he was there, who tries so hard to be loved, to be accepted, to be trusted, who bases her worth in that. Sunny like her father, feeling like a stranger, feeling left out, desperately trying to carve a place for herself into the hearts of others because she is starving for love but cannot put those feelings into words, cannot bear the vulnerability of truly asking for it.

Little child who like her father never feels like she is enough. Sunny, who smiles brightly, who is happy and energetic, who acts as if she is the best because deep inside she believes she is the opposite. Sunny who takes rejection as a proof of her own failure to be loved, who puts on herself the burden because if they can love everyone else, if they can accept all the children but her, surely she is the problem right?

Sunny like Tubbo who shoves her insecurities as deep as she can, who pretends they don't exist unless she is with those she trusts the most because she wants to be strong, she wants to be good, she wants to be loved.

Pepito who is not as much of a mirror to their parents as they are a glimpse into the past, as to whom they used to be before the world crushed their spirits and mind. Pepito who is loved by people who hate themselves so deeply that they cannot help but hate them as well.

Pepito who just like Roier smiles no matter what is happening around them, who hides everything behind said smile, who doesn't want to let sadness cloud their vision, to damper their optimism, who clings to the good parts, not yet tainted by the betrayals and loss that changed the apa they never saw smile. Pepito like Mariana, like the man they have never meet, the father that is barely spoken of, who pushes pain and grief away, who laughs and ignores the bad bits because it would shatter them, like it shattered this ghost of a father.

Pepito who loves freely, carelessly, who opens their heart to everyone, Pepito who sees goodness even when there is nothing good, who trusts people, who wants to be exactly like this apa Quackity with his sad eyes, who believes they can fix people, that they can make them happy, that has hope that better things are to come. Pepito who will always put everyone else's happiness before their own.

Pepito, who is cursed with the love of people who know loss like an old friend, a constant companion, Pepito who is a ghost of siblings they will never know, forever in the shadows of their loss. Pepito who is loved by people who are just waiting for the moment the world will break Pepito's spirit, for the moment they, cursed as they believe themselves to be, will somehow destroy this child because their hands have proven time and time again that they are not made for softness, for protection. Pepito whose joy is a curse, an offense for people whose hearts cannot stand to be hurt more, who don't believe that goodness and purity can last.

The children are the mirrors of their parents, for better or worse.