#why is there no tags of mr. black and mr. white... how should I tag this then..

[vkoyxgs]

Rdr fandom literally be like: "it's pride month, so instead of trying to use a single braincell and remember about the canonical queer characters/pairs from game we'll be making even more content with fan queer ships that already annoy everyone, and would act like that's exactly how things should be"

I'm so mad how no one even talk about Bill or Mr. Black & Mr. White. Hi? Hello? Why do you ignore the real (canonical) representation of queer people in game?? 'we're not gonna talk about them, they're ugly' you're saying it as if you look a lot more prettier, ₕₒₑ

[pucksandpower]

Glass Houses

Toto Wolff x journalism student!Reader

Summary: you never expected one of the most powerful men in Formula 1 to let you see behind his carefully constructed facade, but when professional boundaries blur into something dangerously personal, you discover that some stories change the writer just as much as they reveal the subject

You are trembling. Not visibly, not enough for anyone to call attention to it — but your hands won't stay still, no matter how tightly you clasp them in your lap. You’ve ironed your blazer three times, pressed the hem of your trousers flat until it looks like you’re interviewing for a job on Wall Street instead of … this.

This is worse than a job interview. This is Toto Wolff.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” the receptionist says, politely. “You’re here to see Mr. Wolff?”

You nod, trying to smile. “Yes. For an interview.”

She gives you a badge. Visitor. Black text, white background. Innocuous. Still, it feels like you’ve been tagged. Like you’re being let into a place where you don’t belong.

“This way,” she says, already turning.

You follow her through white corridors and immaculate glass doors, past framed photographs and that impossible silver car on display, real enough to touch. The closer you get, the drier your mouth becomes. You try to swallow.

Then the door opens.

And there he is.

He doesn’t stand. Doesn’t smile. Just lifts his eyes to you — quick, assessing, cool — and gestures at the chair across from his desk.

"You must be Miss Y/L/N," he says. Austrian lilt, velvet edge.

You sit.

His office is huge. Quiet. Expensive without trying. The kind of space that’s designed to make you feel very, very small.

You set your recorder down between you. “Thank you for agreeing to this.”

He shrugs lightly. “You caught me on a generous day.”

That smile is small. Measured. You can’t tell if he’s joking.

You clear your throat. “You’re aware the piece is psychological in focus. Not just your role at Mercedes, but your views on leadership … decision-making … power.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re comfortable with that?”

He pauses. “I agreed, didn’t I?”

Your cheeks burn. “Of course. I just — most people decline. Especially when they see the outline.”

He raises one brow, curious. “And why did you choose me?”

You hesitate.

“Because I thought you wouldn’t say yes.”

He looks at you, properly this time. Head tilted. As if you’ve said something unexpectedly sharp and he’s not sure if you meant it.

You press on. “You control the narrative. Publicly. Always. That’s interesting to me.”

“You want to know what’s under the surface,” he says slowly. “Behind the press conferences. Behind the Team Principal?”

“Yes.”

He considers that. Then finally leans back in his chair, legs stretched long beneath the desk.

“Then ask.”

Your pulse spikes. You hit record.

***

“Do you think leadership is isolating?” You ask.

You’ve barely started and already your questions are sharper than they should be. You should ease in. But something about the way he looks at you — like he’s already bored, like you have ten seconds to prove you’re worth his time — makes you push.

Toto exhales. Slowly. “Yes,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because people expect strength, not doubt. Confidence, not hesitation. If you show anything else, it’s weakness. And weakness is expensive.”

You write that down. “Is that what you believe, or just how the world works?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Does it matter?”

You glance up. “To me, it does.”

Something in his eyes changes. Just for a second. A flicker. A pause. Then he nods, once. “Yes. It matters.”

You hold his gaze. “So what do you believe?”

“That everyone doubts. The difference is whether or not you can keep moving anyway.”

There’s something heavy in his voice. Not performative. Not packaged for soundbites. Just … human.

You soften. Just slightly. “When did you learn that?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. For the first time, he looks like he’s thinking, not managing.

“When I lost something important,” he says quietly. “And had to keep going as if I hadn’t.”

You blink.

He doesn’t elaborate.

You don’t push.

Instead, you ask, “Do you think grief and leadership are connected?”

“Always.”

“How?”

“Because loss tests who you are. And leadership demands you keep leading through it.”

You nod. Then, quieter. “Is it harder when no one sees that you're grieving?”

His eyes lift to yours again. Dark. Unreadable.

You’re not sure why you asked that.

You just know it came from somewhere real.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then he says your name. Softly.

“Y/N.”

It’s the first time he’s said it. The way he says it — like a foreign word he’s trying out on his tongue — makes something in your chest twist.

You look up, startled.

He exhales, sits back. “You ask different questions.”

“Different how?”

“Less interested in the company line. More interested in the cost.”

You try to smile. “That’s what the thesis is about.”

He doesn’t smile back. “You’ll do well.”

You tuck your hair behind your ear, unsure what to say.

He looks away. Glances at the recorder. “What else?”

You check your notebook. “Are you ever afraid of failing?”

That gets a reaction. A blink. A pause. And then, for the first time, a genuine, unguarded laugh.

“Every day.”

You laugh too, surprised. “Seriously?”

“Of course.” He shrugs. “Fear is a good motivator.”

“But not a good leader.”

He looks at you again. Longer, this time.

“No,” he says. “Not a good leader.”

***

The interview goes longer than you expect.

You came with twenty questions. You end up asking forty. He answers most of them. Not all. But he gives more than you thought he would.

You stop recording when your phone buzzes with the time.

“I should go,” you say. “I’ve already taken up too much-”

“It’s fine.”

You stand. He does too, slowly, unfolding from his chair like someone who forgets how tall they are until they’re towering over someone else.

He holds out his hand. “Thank you.”

You take it. His grip is firm. Warm. You let go first.

“Will you need another meeting?” He asks, neutral.

You blink. “Only if you’re willing.”

He watches you. “I’m willing.”

Your heart stumbles.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll send you the questions ahead of time.”

He nods. “Good.”

You gather your things. He walks you to the door.

Just before you leave, he says — so low you almost miss it-

“Smart move, choosing me.”

You turn. “Why?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just smiles, a little — tight, unreadable.

“Because now I can’t stop wondering what you’ll ask next.”

***

Outside, the wind hits your face.

You walk across the parking lot like you’re in someone else’s shoes. Not because you’re floating. Not because it was a dream.

Because it was real.

Too real.

The way he looked at you. The way he said your name. The things he didn’t say.

You tell yourself it was professional.

You open your notes, already typing. Already outlining the next meeting.

But somewhere, in a corner you don’t admit to, something in you hums with the memory of his voice.

“Y/N.”

***

You meet again.

And again.

The second interview was supposed to be one hour. It stretches to two and a half. The third? You lose track of time entirely until your phone buzzes with a text from your flatmate asking if you’re alive. You smile down at the screen. Apologize. Tell her you’ll explain later.

You don’t.

Because how do you explain this?

That every time you walk into Mercedes HQ, you feel it. That thrum beneath your ribs. Like your body recognizes something before your mind does.

He’s always already there. Waiting. Composed. Jacket off, sleeves rolled up just enough to look casual, deliberate. His office is glass and steel and perfect, but he’s always just slightly undone.

He never rushes you. Never interrupts. But he watches.

Every time you speak, every time you write something down — he watches like you might say something that undoes him entirely.

Sometimes you think you already have.

***

“You said in our last meeting that grief tests who we are,” you say, eyes flicking down to your notes. “What did it teach you?”

Across from you, Toto leans back. He’s quieter today. It’s raining outside. You think the gray suits him.

“That I’m not as strong as I thought I was,” he says.

You look up.

He’s staring out the window, not at you. “People say time heals everything. But that’s bullshit. Time just teaches you how to function with something missing.”

You don’t say anything.

He doesn’t expect you to.

Then he looks at you. Slowly. And his voice drops. “I was fifteen when my father died. Forty-six when my wife did. The first loss showed me fear. The second-” His voice hitches. “-the second one taught me silence.”

Your throat tightens.

He exhales, steadies himself. “You wanted honesty. That’s what it looks like.”

You nod, almost whispering. “Thank you.”

***

After that, something changes.

He doesn’t just answer your questions. He starts asking them back.

“You always listen this closely?” He says one afternoon, after a long pause.

“Yes,” you say. “I like when people surprise me.”

“Do I?”

“Constantly.”

He smiles. Really smiles. It’s rare. It knocks the air out of you.

Another time, he asks, “Why journalism?”

You blink. “Because I never liked being told what a story was. I wanted to find it myself.”

He nods, quiet for a beat. “You’re good at it.”

You flush, unprepared. “Thank you.”

He glances at your recorder. “You can quote me on that.”

***

You notice things.

That he keeps snacks in a drawer and pretends not to notice when you steal one. That he fiddles with the edge of his cufflink when a question hits too close. That he listens — really listens — even when your voice wavers or your thoughts scatter.

You notice, too, that he touches you.

Not much. Not inappropriately. Just-

A hand on the small of your back when he’s leading you through the hallways.

Fingers brushing yours when he hands you coffee. He makes it how you like it now, without asking.

And his eyes. They always linger half a second too long. Not enough to confirm anything.

But enough that it’s undeniable.

***

“You’re not dating that guy, are you?”

The question is sudden. Sharp. You’re packing up your things. He says it so casually you almost don’t clock it.

You blink. “What guy?”

“The one you mentioned. From the coffee shop. The one with the … what was it? The mustache?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why? Are you pro- or anti-mustache?”

His lips twitch. “Very anti.”

You laugh, a little breathless. “Then no. I’m not dating him.”

He nods once. Too quickly. Looks away.

You stare at him. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

“You sound like you do.”

His jaw clenches. “You sound like you want me to.”

***

Your flatmate says you’re obsessed.

You deny it. You say it's for your thesis. You say it’s all research.

But your voice shakes when you say it.

At night, you listen back to the recordings. Not to analyze them. Not really.

Just to hear him say your name. Just to feel that heat again — low, dangerous, electric.

You're in deep.

You don’t know when it happened.

Only that you’re already too far gone.

***

The draft takes a week.

You write it in a blur of black coffee and sleepless nights. Every word feels like an incision. You go back, edit, rewrite. It’s not just about leadership anymore. It’s about him. The version no one sees.

It’s him when he says, “I don’t believe in balance, only in trade-offs.”

It’s him when he admits, “I don’t celebrate wins. I just feel relief.”

It’s him when he breaks, just slightly, and then puts himself back together mid-sentence.

You send it.

Then you wait.

***

He doesn’t reply for two days.

You pace your flat. Reread every paragraph. Convince yourself he’s offended. Or worse — he feels exposed. You debate sending a follow-up email. Decide against it.

Then your phone buzzes.

Voice Note from Toto Wolff – 0:12

You play it. Heart pounding.

His voice is low. Rougher than usual.

“This is not a profile. It’s a mirror. And I don’t know if I can let you hold it up again.”

That’s it. No sign-off. No explanation.

You replay it three times.

You don't know if he’s angry or if he’s hurt.

You just know you feel like you’ve touched something you weren’t meant to touch.

And you don’t know how to let go.

***

The next meeting isn’t scheduled.

But you go anyway.

He lets you in without a word.

There’s no small talk. No recorder. You don’t even take out your notebook.

You just sit there, both of you in silence.

He pours you coffee. Black. No sugar. Just how you drink it now.

You take a sip.

He sits across from you. Leans back in his chair. Watches you like he’s trying to decide whether to say something that could change everything.

“Why did you write it like that?” He asks finally.

You meet his eyes. “Because it’s true.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “You saw too much.”

“I only wrote what you gave me.”

“That’s the problem,” he says. “You saw what I didn’t mean to show.”

You swallow. “And now?”

“Now I don’t know if I can go back to how things were before.”

You don’t move.

He leans forward. Slowly. Hands clasped.

“I’ve let journalists into this office before. I’ve told my story before. But you-” He stops. Breathes in. “You see me. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

You say nothing.

You’re afraid if you speak, the dam will break.

Then he says your name. Just once. Soft, low, careful.

It shatters you.

“I shouldn’t feel this,” he says. “But I do.”

Your voice barely holds. “Me too.”

He stands.

So do you.

There’s a pause. Long enough for the air to thicken with what neither of you should be feeling.

Then he reaches out.

Not to touch you. Not yet.

Just close. So close. His hand hovers near yours, and the space between you hums like static.

“This … can’t happen,” he murmurs. “You’re here to write.”

You nod.

“But I keep thinking about you,” he admits. “In the middle of meetings. At night. I hear your questions in my head.”

You whisper, “You’re in my writing. Even when I try not to let you be.”

He exhales.

“You make me want to be honest,” he says. “And I don’t know if that’s a gift or a threat.”

You look at him. Really look.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” you say.

“I know.”

“And I’m not trying to cross a line.”

“I know that too.”

“But it’s already blurred, hasn’t it?”

He steps closer. Just a breath away now.

“It has.”

***

You don’t kiss.

You don’t touch.

You just stand there, both of you aching with it.

And when you finally leave — when you walk back out into the rain, skin flushed, heart wrecked — you know nothing will ever be the same again.

Not the thesis.

Not the story.

Not you.

Not him.

And part of you hopes, deep down, that he’ll press play on the recording later. That he’ll hear the question you never asked aloud.

What do you do when the story you’re writing changes you?

You wonder if he knows the answer yet.

You wonder if you do.

***

He calls it research.

“You should see it for yourself,” Toto says, voice clipped and professional over the phone. “The paddock. The pressure. It’s different in person.”

You say yes too quickly. Try to sound casual. You pack too carefully. You bring your recorder, your notes, your carefully worded questions. You bring your best pretense of objectivity. But when you step into the Silverstone paddock Friday morning, everything in you tenses like a wire strung too tight.

It’s all sharp corners and white heat — mechanics moving in precise formation, engineers buried in data, reporters circling like birds of prey. But you’re not here for the spectacle.

You’re here for him.

And he’s already watching you.

***

You feel his gaze before you see him. It skims over your spine like touch. When you turn, he’s talking to one of the strategists, but his eyes flick to you, just for a beat. Then gone.

You’re given a pass. A headset. A folding chair beside his in the garage. The team is polite — respectful even — but wary. Like they’ve been warned.

You try to disappear into the role. Ask questions. Take notes. Stay out of the way. But there’s something in the air now, and it isn’t just tire smoke.

Bono looks at you too long. Bradley offers you coffee with a question behind his smile. George hugs you when she sees you. Warm. Familiar. Too familiar?

It’s subtle, but you know the look.

The engineers talk to you like you’re glass. As if you’ll shatter if they say the wrong thing. As if they already suspect what you’re trying not to name.

***

Dinner is at the team hotel. One long table. Bottles of sparkling water, laughter that doesn’t reach the eyes. Toto sits across from you. Always across. Never beside. Like he knows that one inch closer would be too much.

You don’t talk about the piece. Or the late nights in his office. Or the way he said your name like it hurt.

You talk about lap times. Sector data. Strategy calls.

And then he asks, casually, “Still stealing chocolate from my drawer?”

You glance up.

He’s smiling.

You smile back, but your chest aches. “Only the dark ones. I know you won’t fight me for those.”

Someone else is talking, but you can’t hear anything above the pulse in your ears. You look down at your plate. When you glance back up, he’s still looking at you.

You excuse yourself early. Say it’s fatigue. Say you need to review notes.

You lie.

***

Qualifying is a blur of tension. Russell barely makes Q3. Kimi misses it entirely by four-tenths. Toto doesn’t yell. He rarely does. But the silence between radio calls is sharp enough to cut.

You stand beside him in the garage. He leans over your shoulder to point something out on the screen and your breath catches. His hand brushes your back. Just for a second.

You flinch.

Not away. Toward.

You catch Bono watching you. You look down and pretend you don’t see.

***

Saturday night.

You can't sleep.

Your feet ache from the endless hours of standing. Your dress shoes are on the floor somewhere. You forgot you’d even taken them off. You’re pacing the hallway barefoot, the concrete cold under your skin.

You tell yourself it’s just proximity. Just adrenaline.

But your knuckles still tremble when you raise your hand.

Three knocks.

And then silence.

You don’t know what you expect.

You almost walk away.

Then the door opens.

And there he is.

Toto. Barefoot. Hair damp from the shower. Wearing a soft black T-shirt and grey sweatpants like he’s not one of the most powerful men in motorsport. Like he’s just-

A man.

He stops breathing when he sees you.

You’re in a sundress you barely remember packing. Thin straps. Loose at the hem. You didn’t wear it for him. Not exactly. But you didn’t not wear it for him either.

You don’t say anything.

You can’t.

And then, quietly — too quietly — you whisper, “I can’t keep doing this.”

His eyes are dark. Not angry. Just unreadable.

Then he says, “Then don’t.”

And he steps back.

“Come here.”

***

You move like you’re sleepwalking. Past the threshold. Into the quiet. The door shuts behind you with a soft click that sounds like surrender.

You don’t kiss.

Not at first.

You just look at him.

And he looks at you like you’re something holy he isn’t allowed to want.

Then he cups your face. Gently. Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

And he kisses you like a man who’s been starving.

It’s not rushed. Not frantic. It’s slow. Deep. His lips soft but insistent. His hand cradles the back of your neck like you’re breakable. His thumb brushes your cheek, reverent.

When he pulls away, you’re shaking.

So is he.

His forehead rests against yours.

Neither of you speaks.

Then he lifts you — easily, like you weigh nothing — and carries you to the bed.

But nothing else happens.

No clothes are removed. No lines crossed.

He just lies back, pulling you into his chest. Your face pressed under his jaw. Your body curled into the heat of him. His hand finds your back. Strokes gently, again and again.

You breathe.

He doesn’t speak.

Because if he does, it’ll ruin everything.

***

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. You don’t know.

You feel him exhale. Long. Shaky.

And then, quietly, “This is wrong.”

You lift your head.

Look at him.

He’s staring at the ceiling. Like if he looks at you again, he won’t be able to stop.

“Then why does it feel like the only thing that’s right?” You whisper.

His eyes close.

His arm tightens around you.

He doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t need to.

***

Later, you think you’ll remember the details.

The soft thud of your heartbeat against his ribs.

The way he murmurs your name once, barely audible, like it’s a confession.

The warmth of his fingers tracing slow, mindless patterns on your spine.

Not sexual. Not yet.

Just heat. Just need. Just two people holding onto something they shouldn’t want.

But can’t help needing.

***

You fall asleep like that.

In his arms.

In the one place you know you can’t stay.

And when morning comes-

You don’t know if it will break you.

Or save you.

But you know one thing for sure.

You’re already his.

And there’s no going back.

***

It starts with a photo.

One frame.

That’s all it takes.

You don’t even see it at first. You wake up late on a Wednesday — halfway through editing the third chapter of your thesis, a stack of annotated transcripts beside your laptop — and your phone is already vibrating like it’s alive.

Six missed calls. Two from your academic advisor. Four from numbers you don’t recognize. Your heart drops.

There’s a link in your inbox. No subject.

You click.

It’s a candid. From Silverstone. Saturday, after qualifying. You’re off to the side in the garage, headset askew, scribbling something in your notebook. It would be an ordinary photo if not for one thing.

Toto is looking at you.

And not just looking — watching. Like he’s not in a garage surrounded by cameras and mechanics and engineers. Like the world has narrowed into a single point.

You.

The caption is innocuous. “Who is the mystery woman Toto Wolff can’t take his eyes off?” But the comments aren’t. The reposts aren’t. The speculation isn’t.

The angle of his stare. The hand on your back. The shadow of something private, something wrong.

They don’t have evidence. But they don’t need it.

All they need is the look.

***

The email from the university comes that afternoon. Formally worded. Cold.

We would like to meet to discuss potential concerns regarding professional boundaries and journalistic ethics as they pertain to your thesis and its subject.

The department head doesn’t smile when you walk into her office. She doesn't offer tea.

She folds her hands. She uses words like “impropriety,” and “power dynamic,” and “potential misconduct.” She asks if you’ve declared any conflicts of interest. If you understand how this could jeopardize the validity of your research.

You want to scream. But you don't.

You sit straight. You say, evenly, “There is no romantic relationship. I’ve adhered to all ethical guidelines. My thesis stands on its academic merit.”

But you see it in her eyes.

She doesn’t believe you.

***

Toto doesn’t call.

You almost don’t blame him.

He’s probably in damage control mode. Strategizing statements. Blocking questions from press. Calculating how to make this disappear before the FIA catches wind of it. That’s what he does, isn’t it?

He controls the narrative.

You try to finish your edits. But your eyes blur after two paragraphs. You don’t sleep. You cancel the next interview session and tell the department you’re finalizing the manuscript.

You don’t tell them the truth.

That you can’t look at Toto without seeing what the world saw. Without wondering if you ruined everything. For him. For yourself.

***

The summons comes Friday morning.

No subject line. Just a message.

We need to talk. Today. My office.

Your stomach drops.

You don’t eat. You barely dress. You show up at Mercedes HQ with your credentials around your neck and your hands cold from gripping the steering wheel too tight.

You walk through the corridor with the same borrowed confidence you wore on the first day. Only now, it feels heavier. Tarnished.

You knock once.

His voice. “Come in.”

You do.

He doesn’t stand.

He doesn’t smile.

He just looks at you, jaw tight, fingers laced in front of him like he’s holding something back. And for the first time, you don’t feel seen.

You feel examined.

You sit across from him. Not too close. Your throat is tight.

“I assume you’ve seen it,” you say.

He nods. Quiet. Almost clinical.

“And?”

He doesn’t answer right away. When he does, it’s measured. Controlled.

“There’s press coverage. Not just gossip columns. The board saw it. The FIA’s aware. I’ve had conversations I wish I hadn’t.”

You fold your hands in your lap. “I didn’t leak it.”

“I know.”

Silence.

Long. Suffocating.

Then, “Your department called me.”

Your stomach twists.

“They asked if you had been … coerced. If I had compromised your thesis. If I abused my position.” His jaw clenches. “Do you know what that does to a reputation?”

You flinch.

He notices.

Regret flickers in his eyes. But he doesn't soften.

“I told them no. That there was nothing inappropriate. That everything was above board.”

You blink. “Is that what it was?”

Toto doesn’t answer.

You look at him then. Really look. He’s tired. Stubble along his jaw. Lines under his eyes. A man coming apart at the seams and trying to hide the fray.

Your voice is quieter now. “Toto …”

“No,” he says. Sharper than before. “Don’t.”

You straighten. Swallow it down.

He exhales, long and hard.

Then he says it.

“I think we need to end this.”

It takes a second for the words to register. When they do, your chest caves in.

“What is this?” You ask, desperate. “What exactly are we ending?”

He hesitates. And that hurts more than anything.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low. Firm.

“We can’t risk your education. Your career. This thesis was supposed to be your launchpad, not your liability.”

You try to keep your voice from cracking. “And what about you? Are you just protecting me or are you protecting yourself?”

That does it. He looks at you then. Really looks.

“I’m protecting both of us.”

You stand. Slowly. Dignified. You don’t let him see the tremble in your knees.

“What we had-”

“We had nothing,” he says.

Flat. Icy.

But he won’t look at you when he says it.

***

You leave without a word.

You don’t cry in the parking lot. You don’t scream. You just sit behind the wheel, your fingers gripping the leather like it might anchor you to something real.

You drive home in silence.

You open your thesis file.

You finish it in two days.

The words blur sometimes, but your fingers don’t stop moving. The voice you use is cool. Detached. Clinical. You remove anything that could be interpreted as personal. Strip the emotion. Sharpen the analysis.

It feels like bleeding.

You don’t go back to Brackley. You return your press pass by mail. No note.

You don’t hear from him again.

***

The day your final grades come in, your inbox lights up with department congratulations. You’ve officially graduated top of your class. First in the cohort. Your thesis is being nominated for an award.

You stare at the email for a long time.

Then you close the laptop.

No celebration. No champagne.

Just silence.

***

People ask where you’re going next. Internships. Fellowships. Maybe a PhD?

You say you don’t know yet.

That’s a lie.

You know exactly where you’re going.

Anywhere away from him.

***

But at night, sometimes-

You still feel his hand on your back.

Still remember how it felt to be held like something precious.

Still hear the voice note he never deleted.

“This isn’t a profile. It’s a mirror. And I don’t know if I can let you hold it up again.”

And now?

You’re holding it alone.

And the reflection’s never looked colder.

***

Hamburg greets you with cold wind and steel sky, the kind that reminds you of edges — not soft ones, but the kind that cut.

You’re wearing black. Clean lines. Sharp tailoring. Your coat cinches at the waist and flares like resolve. There’s a pin at your lapel, a quiet symbol of the academic award you won last month. You almost didn’t accept it.

But here you are.

The summit center is glass and chrome, designed for impact, for optics. You sign in, smooth your hands over your notes, and let the words you’ve written be your armor. You're ready. Or you’ve told yourself that enough times it doesn’t matter.

You glance at the name placards arranged on the long table set across the stage.

Third from the left: Toto Wolff.

You pause.

Your breath doesn’t catch. Not exactly. But it does something.

He’s already seated when you walk onstage, dressed in charcoal grey, cuffs rolled just above his wrists, arms folded. Looking every bit the man you spent months studying.

He doesn’t look at you.

Not when you approach the moderator. Not when you take your place three chairs down. Not even when your voice is checked on the mic.

But you feel him.

That gravity.

It hasn’t lessened.

***

The panel begins. The Psychology of Control in High-Stakes Environments.

The first question goes to an ex-NATO strategist. The second to a startup CEO with bright sneakers and well-rehearsed charm. You wait your turn, hands folded, posture perfect.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” the moderator says. “As a recent scholar whose work explored the psychological mechanisms behind leadership, what do you think control actually costs?”

You breathe in.

Then you speak.

And when you do, the words come out clear. Unshaken.

“I think control is a myth sold to people in power to make them believe they’re safe. But leadership isn’t about control. It’s about clarity. And clarity means looking at the truth, even when it makes you bleed.”

There’s a pause.

And then-

Toto turns.

It’s subtle. Slow.

But the moment his eyes meet yours, it’s like someone’s taken the air out of the room. You finish your thought without flinching. You don’t look away.

“True leaders,” you say, “aren’t the ones who maintain power. They’re the ones who choose vulnerability in spite of it.”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for the rest of the panel.

***

The applause is distant.

Polite. Intellectual.

You walk offstage surrounded by suits and nods, questions about publishing, mentorship, upcoming lectures. You answer what you can, gracefully. You shake hands. You smile when it’s required.

You don’t see him.

You don’t need to.

You felt him.

But when you slip into your coat in the green room, there’s something tucked in the inner pocket. Small. Folded.

A note.

In his handwriting.

My house has too many windows, but you’re the only one I ever let look in. Come if you still want to.

There’s an address in Northamptonshire.

A date.

A time.

You stare at it for a long moment.

Then you fold it back into your coat like something sacred.

***

You don’t sleep the night before you go.

You don’t even pack a bag. Just your coat. Your keys. Your name in your chest like something unfinished.

You drive through rain and nerves. Past roundabouts and green stretches of nothing. His house is half-hidden by trees, modern lines softened by time. You park. You sit for ten whole seconds in the silence of your car.

And then you go to the door.

You raise your hand.

You knock.

It opens before you can drop it.

And there he is.

Toto.

Not the CEO. Not the strategist. Not the face in press conferences.

Just a man in an open collar and sleeves pushed up, hair slightly messy, eyes wrecked with something that might be hope or fear or both.

You say nothing.

Neither does he.

Not at first.

His hand twitches at his side. Like he wants to reach for you. Like he can’t.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he says.

You blink up at him. “I wasn’t sure either.”

A beat.

“Do you want to come in?”

You nod.

He steps back.

You cross the threshold.

The house is warm. Understated. Shadows stretch along wood floors. There’s a piano you didn’t expect in the corner, half-lit.

“I didn’t know what to write,” he says quietly behind you. “I wanted to say more.”

You turn. “Then say it now.”

His jaw tightens. He takes a breath. Then another.

“I am not a man who gives halves,” he says, slow. Careful. “Everything in my life, I’ve built by knowing exactly what to control. What to contain. What to hide.”

You don’t interrupt.

“I thought I could do that with you too. I thought I could fold this thing away. Tell myself it was temporary. That I could manage it like a race strategy or a business deal.” His voice breaks just slightly. “But I couldn’t.”

Silence.

He looks at you like you hold something breakable in your hands.

“I’ve learned something since you left,” he says. “That control means nothing if it costs you the one thing you can’t replace.”

You swallow.

Your voice is soft. “What did it cost you?”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“You.”

The air goes still.

Then — slowly, carefully — you step forward.

Just one pace.

He watches the movement like it’s something sacred.

Then another.

And when you finally reach him, he still doesn’t touch you.

“I’m not here for a half, either,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“I’m not the same girl who walked into your office in borrowed shoes.”

He lifts a hand, not touching, just hovering. “I never wanted you to be.”

You exhale.

And then, finally, he reaches for you.

One hand on your cheek. The other finding your waist like it’s home.

And you step into his arms like you never want to leave.

***

The silence that follows isn’t empty.

It’s full.

Full of what was unsaid, what was survived.

He holds you like a vow. Your face against his chest, his hands slow on your back. Neither of you rushes it. There’s no need. There’s only this.

At some point, he speaks again.

Into your hair.

“I kept your thesis.”

You smile into his shirt.

“I figured.”

“I read it again last week.”

“Looking for mistakes?”

“No,” he says. “Looking for you.”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “And?”

“I found her,” he says softly. “The girl who saw me better than I saw myself. The woman who knew when I was lying. Even to me.”

You press your forehead to his.

“I’m still here.”

He nods.

Then whispers. “Stay.”

You don’t answer right away.

But your arms tighten around him.

And in that moment, it’s enough.

Not a resolution.

Not yet.

But the beginning of one.

***

The house smells like coffee and old books.

It’s too big for two people, technically. But it doesn’t feel like it. There are plants by the windows now — ones you bought at a weekend market and then forgot to water for a week, but they survived anyway. You told Toto that was symbolic.

He’d kissed the top of your head and said, “Then we are lucky. Even the wild things want to stay.”

The kettle clicks off.

You pour water over the grounds in the French press, slow, careful. The way he taught you. It’s one of the many routines you’ve inherited, adopted, made your own. He calls it a religion: hot water, glass carafe, exactly three minutes of steeping.

Toto walks in barefoot, sleeves rolled, still towel-drying his hair.

“Guten Morgen,” he says, voice scratchy from sleep.

You hand him a mug without a word. His fingers brush yours — intentionally, unintentionally. It’s always both.

He leans on the counter beside you and takes a sip. Then sighs.

“I have sixteen unread emails already.”

“It’s 7:12.”

“Exactly.”

You smile into your cup. “Poor man. So powerful. So burdened.”

He turns his head toward you, amused. “You used to be scared of me.”

You look at him. His shirt’s half-buttoned, his hair sticking up in the back, jaw still shadowed with sleep.

“I wasn’t scared,” you say. “I was intimidated.”

“Better.”

You sip again. “Then curious.”

He sets his cup down and tilts his head.

“And now?”

You glance up at him. “Now you leave your socks on the bathroom floor and use up all the almond milk.”

He grins.

You don’t say the rest. You don’t have to.

Now you love him.

***

You work from the sunroom most mornings.

It’s become your office, unofficially. You tried the guest room for a while — kept telling yourself you needed a “real” desk, somewhere that didn’t smell like rosemary and open windows.

But this is where your words come easier. Something about the light.

Toto pokes his head in around nine, tie still hanging loose from his neck.

“Will you be here when I get back?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“How charming you are.”

He raises a brow, amused.

“You kissed me before coffee,” you say. “That’s dangerous territory.”

He walks in, leans down, kisses your temple again. “There. Balance restored.”

You close your laptop before he can see the open draft — an essay about the private cost of public power.

“Love you,” he says, casual, almost thrown over his shoulder like keys.

You look up. “Say that again.”

He pauses. Smiles.

“Love you,” he says slower, firmer.

Like it’s sacred. Like he knows it is.

***

There are rules you never wrote down, but live by.

You don’t attend the races unless it’s work-related. Not because he asked you not to — but because you both know the lines. You fought hard to redraw them. To make this thing you have yours.

Private, not hidden.

There’s a difference.

You write for The Guardian now. Your editor calls you “the quiet scalpel” — because you cut clean, but not cruel. You don’t write about Formula 1. Not anymore.

Still, your worlds overlap.

You’ll be editing on the couch and he’ll walk in, drop next to you, read over your shoulder.

“Too many adjectives,” he mutters.

“It’s a profile.”

“It’s indulgent.”

“It’s artistry.”

He takes your laptop, types one sentence, hands it back.

You read it.

It’s better.

You narrow your eyes at him. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You don’t.

***

You read your thesis again on a Sunday in April. Rain ticking at the windows, Toto in the other room talking to someone in Austrian German.

You’d printed it out weeks ago when someone from your old department asked for a quote. But today, for some reason, you open it just to read. Just to remember.

It’s strange.

The voice is yours, but younger. Hungrier. Sharper.

You wrote it like you were carving something out of stone.

You reach the conclusion, and suddenly, your throat tightens.

Not because you miss that girl.

But because you don’t.

She got her ending.

That’s the part that cracks you open.

You’re still holding the final page when Toto finds you.

“Are you okay?”

You nod. Then shake your head. “Just-” You gesture at the paper. “She didn’t know.”

He crouches beside your chair, looks up at you.

“Didn’t know what?”

“That you would be …” You trail off.

He takes the paper from your hands, folds it carefully, sets it on the table.

Then he pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping around you slow and steady.

“That I would love you?” He says.

You nod into his shoulder.

“That I would ruin everything for you if I had to?” He murmurs.

You laugh wetly. “Let’s not do that again.”

“Agreed.”

You sit there for a long time. Rain outside. Warmth inside.

“I was proud of you then,” he says, low. “But I am in awe of you now.”

You close your eyes. Hold him tighter.

***

Late at night, he sometimes still calls you by your first name. Not the soft German pet names he uses in the kitchen or in bed or when you’re laughing too hard to breathe.

Just your name.

Like it’s something delicate. Something rare.

“Y/N,” he says into your skin, like a prayer.

You look at him, always. Every time.

“Yes?”

But he never follows it with anything.

As if the name alone is the thing. The secret. The offering.

***

Sometimes he asks you questions he already knows the answers to.

“Did you sleep?”

“No.”

“Did you eat lunch?”

“Yes, don’t ask what it was.”

“Do you love me?”

You look up from your screen. “You already know that.”

“Say it anyway.”

You do.

And every time, he exhales like he needed it to live.

***

One evening, you find him at the piano.

He never plays when anyone’s around. You think maybe it’s his version of a journal — something that speaks when he doesn’t want to.

But tonight, he doesn’t stop when you walk in.

He looks at you over his shoulder.

And then keeps playing.

You sit beside him on the bench. Not touching.

He finishes. Silence blooms.

“What was that?” You ask.

“Something I made up.”

You smile.

“You’re not the only one who creates for a living,” he says.

You reach for his hand.

And this time, he lets you hold it.

***

He lets you hold all of it now.

The mirror.

The soft parts.

The shadows, too.

And maybe that’s the most extraordinary part.

Not the grand gestures. Not the whispered promises.

But the fact that he lets you see him. Every version. Every layer.

And never once tries to take the mirror back.

***

There’s no official ending to this story.

There’s just this.

Morning coffee.

Shared silence.

A house with light in it.

And a man who loved control … until he learned that love, real love, means letting go.

[sugar-plum-writer]

No One Else <3

Tags: Creampie; rough sex; cum-play; size kink; over-stimulation; public sex; whored out; spanking; unprotected sex; manhandling; MDNI (18+!); smut; NSFW + NSFW; Public Sex; humiliation; degradation kink; porn with little plot; fem!reader

A/n: Finally I am back from Hiatus~ my college exams over woo-hoo! enjoy this fic~ feel free to send asks and your ideas for other fics~

Synopsis: What happens when your boss- The Gojo Satrou your boss the CEO sees you fucking the manager instead of him? How could you? aren't secretaries of CEO's meant to seduce the CEO's?

Word count: 2.2k

Gojo

Moans escaped your lips as you sat on your manager's lap; you've always been the pretty obedient secretary everyone loved- hell you were always looked up to by the people around you at work. The perfect "secretary" of CEO Gojo Satoru of the multi-billion dollar company "The Gojo Corporation" just their logo the italic fancy "G" was enough for everyone to bow their heads in respect.

Your boss being the most sought after bachelor- tall, handsome, rich, future head of the Gojo Corporation who could manipulate the global market with a lift of his finger. You liked him who would not? though you never confessed as well- why would he ever look your way when top models, actresses, etc where always around him?

"Who knew you were such a natural huh? CEO Gojo must sure love having his way with you", kissing your neck and whispering in a deep voice- his eyes darkened as he smirked biting your neck and leaving hickeys

"Ah- ", your eyes glossy as you grinded on his bulge trying to earn even a little bit of stimulation- "B- Boss Satoru… hah…he never fucked me till now", you blurted out as you panted

You were fucking your manager- scandalous? yes; if anyone saw you right now? Hell, Gojo will chew you out alive and even fire you for breaking the rules. The only reason you were even taking this risk was because the manager was hot and your brain just had lost it today from stress

As you looked into his eyes as you kissed him- the olive green eyes nearly hypnotized you, he could never beat your boss Gojo's hotness but hey? who can blame you for getting the second-hottest guy to fuck you? especially with how frustrated with work you are these days.

Non-stop meetings, travel from one country to another, prepare your boss Gojo's documents, schedule, deal with his affairs and what not

Gotta Blow off some steam cause working overtime for money is not enough to fulfill your needs

"Is that so? hm-", chuckling darkly he grabbed you by the jaw "Well- a secretary as good as you deserve to be fucked we-"

Before the next words could be uttered the door suddenly opened- making your jaw drop in horror. It was your boss- Gojo Satoru the CEO

His Italian leather shoes shined as usual- was it the new Armani shirt he was wearing? your eyes looked him up and down nervously as you got off your manager's lap. Sharp black suit, his white hair swept back making him look even bossier than before- and the cold look in his azure eyes- made you gulp

You are fucked today, aren't you?

"Oh, sir! This-" your manager tries to speak, his hands shaking as got up from the chair, "Fired"

Without batting his eyes he just walked towards you, hands in his pockets- sharp- intimidating- completely different from how he normally was

The look he was giving you made you shudder- your legs nearly going weak

"Boss- this! I can explain-" Coming to your senses you scrambled to explain

"How annoying", he grabbed you by the jaw tilting your head as he gazed at the hickies your manager had left even more pissed, "Is my secretary this much of a whore? Should have added that to your resume tsk"

"S-Sir!- please- I really"

"Really what? my dear secretary?", his grip tightening on your wrist as he dragged you with him outside. The whole office floor was looking at you two awe-struck about what the hell was going on

Why is the secretary's neck covered in hickies today?

How did the Miss perfect secretary get on Mr. Gojo's bad side?

"Do you wanna be fucked that badly?", with a whisper he chomped down on your neck- teeth grazing your neck- over the hickies the manager had left- blood coating his lips as he looked into your eyes- so possessively it was scary

"G-Gojo- ah! it hurt-", wincing you tried to push him away making him only pin you against the wall biting harder- as if ingraining into your bones on who you belonged to

"Gojo- Sir-!" gasping you cling to him as tears trickled down your eyes, "E-Everyone is- hah look-!" Before any words could be uttered, he kissed you hard with his tongue biting your lips and making you breathless

"Hah so?"

"Taking the risk of getting fired for him is fine? fucking me the man who owns the place is embarrassing? huh", pulling back- a string of saliva connected you both; he brought his knee up and grinded against your cunt. The expensive suit probably worth more than your months of salary combined covered in your slick.

"Ah-" you gasped as the sudden wave of pleasure hit you- "Gojo!" eyes wide you dug your nails into his back- your poor cunt was ruthlessly being abused by him right now

"Please- Merc-y! ah-", you squirmed pathetically but he just got even harsher

"Shall we show them all, how much of a whore you are? hm? The oh-so-perfect secretary is a hidden slut?", he whispered darkly sending goosebumps down your spine

It was pathetic how even in such a situation your cunt just kept getting wetter- your slick covered his pants as his knee continued to grind against your pussy. All sloppily and puffy asking for mercy as it dripped in front of the whole office.

"I-I am not a Slu-! ah!" you moaned again as you squirmed, "Then what are you getting even wetter for huh?", smirking he leaned in, "You wanna cum so bad? Shall I make you cum my dear secretary?"

"W-What? G-Gojo please…'tis too m-mu-" Before another word could be said his grinding got even harsher, "Ah- ahh-" gasping you arch your back cumming all over his pants- juices all gushing out dripping all over the pristine floor

"hah- ah..." you panted your brain hazily- hell your legs were still shaking from the intense orgasm- "Gojo…Sir..", you gazed up at him with your glassy eyes

"Fuck…" he whispered under his breath

"Guess I really should have fucked you before huh?", removing his tie he dropped it on the floor while simultaneously he removed his coat- god- he wanted to fuck you till he owned you- the way you were looking at him was better than all imaginations he conjured up while he jerked off thinking of you

"Y-Your heard everything? i-inside?", hearing his words made your eyes widen- goosebumps spreading across your skin after all how long was he standing? how did he know? so many questions swirled your already hazy brain

"I did", with a smirk he spoke, his voice strained by how much he was holding himself back from his ramming his dick into you

"A good secretary deserves to be fucked well right?", with a dark animalistic gaze he leaned in as he whispered- his deep voice enough to make you lose your mind; god have mercy

You don't know why but the way he said it made the walls of your cunt clench tight oozing with desire- You might at this point give in to being fucked in front of the whole office

"Mr.Gojo should have had his way long ago huh? How much of a natural you are", he continued to whisper as his hands went to your clitoris stroking it and making you moan even harder as you held onto him

"Ah-", your brain already felt hazy from the previous intense orgasm, "'toru- please..please..I wanna cum! Please!", the pleasure again was making your brain numb- the whispers, his hand on your clit, stroking it- teasing you while you gasped and moaned in front of the whole office

"I don't think so- after all which good secretary goes and fucks her manager instead of her boss huh?", he smacked your cunt- making it even more puffy as pre-cum dripped out of you

"N-No…Ah! I mean-", whining your grip on him tightened even more- tears spilled out- the pleasure was too good, and at this point, you did not care he was fucking you in front of the whole office

"You keep forgetting whose paycheck you are on dear- what about him even made you think he could give it to you better huh?", pissed he pinched your clitoris making you mewl and cum instantly

It was too much- he was too mean- the pleasure was too much- you were nothing but a mess right now- cum dripping all over, tear-stained face- voice cracked from all the moaning- you wanted to save your poor cunt from more abuse- but it felt so good

He looked so hot hell just when you thought he could not get hotter he just did

The carnal gaze, his icy cold blue eyes looking into yours, tie and coat on the floor, shirt unbuttoned, his hair slight bit messy- while he made you cum again and again- his deep voice- you were melting under him all the while the employees just stood stunned

"If you had seduced me like a good secretary does- you would not be like this you know?", smirking he sat down on the couch kept in the center of the office floor; all the eyes still on you two, "It's time you really show the skills you got darling"

Mind hypnotized by the sheer desire you were feeling right now- you literally crawled to him- legs shaking from the previous orgasms as you looked up at him- embarrassed, shameful, literally you felt so humiliated right now you could die but hey? even god won't blame you right? he was so- hypnotic it's like he just knew how to have his way

"Y-Yes Sir...", pushing your hair aside he brought your face close to his dick, "I don't think I need to tell you want to do?"

"No sir...", hazily you started sucking on his dick dragging your tongue from the base to the tip- he was so big; you knew he was big but this big? the veins on his dick pulsing as his hand gripped the back of your head

"Fuck..", he tossed his head back, "-should have done this long back"

You kept sucking, pre-cum dribbling down your chin as you kept going- tongue swirling around the tip

"Shit- Fuck-" , without a warning he rammed his dick deep into your mouth- deep throating you as he buried your face into his crotch

"G-Gojo- ah!", chocking on his dick tears trickled down your eyes from pleasure. His cum dripped out of your mouth, your face covered in cum as you gazed up at him. Next thing you knew he pulled you onto his lap and rammed his dick into your pouty sloppy and pathetic cunt- he was too big- your poor hole had to work overtime to adjust to his length with how big he was

"'toru..", you looked at him in the eyes with the last bit of rationality gone. You really had lost it today- how will you ever face the office from here on out? secretary letting her boss fuck her in the middle of the office floor and even sucking his dick for him? That too the CEO Gojo Satoru of the "Gojo Corporation" quite the headline for the morning news- the list goes on as you imagined the headlines

"Dragged from fucking manager to boss!"

"What's the relationship between Mr. Gojo and his secretary?"

"Did Mr. Gojo pay her? How much money was involved?"

"Secret revealed! learn to suck Dick from Mr. Gojo's secretary! Exclusive interview from sugar daddy website editor!"

...

Smirking he started stroking your clit again rubbing your clitoris- fingers moving in circles teasing you so much you could hit him- too bad your whole body was shaking right now. The smirk that always made your heart flutter, was making your heart flutter even now; though you tried to bury the feelings it never worked and certainly not right now

"You really are quite the piece of work~ huh dear secretary?", he whispered as he continued to jerk you off while his dick kept ramming into you, "'toru! ah! 'tis too much...I can't!...I really can't!", digging your nails onto his back you continued to moan

"You can, you are a good secretary of mine aren't you? be a good girl and cum", increasing his pace he stretched your folds making you curl your toes from pleasure and intensity your vision went white for a minute you though you could see the gates of heaven

"I-'m cumming!...ah! 'toru!" burying your face of the crook of his neck you came again at this point you had no idea how many times you came- all you knew was just pleasure in your hazy mind as you knocked yourself out exhausted

Little did you know Gojo in the mean time you were asleep on his lap- continued to make the employees work unbothered of everything that happened as he carried you in his arms- all security footage and everything was over-ridden and edited- you were all his after all- and only he get's to have his way like this with you

As for your Manager may lord have mercy on him, how dare he think he could lay his hands on you?

"Just say the word and it's yours after all- there is nothing I Gojo Satoru cannot do all you gotta do you open your mouth darling~"

Link to my Masterlist!

[theatercatklio]

OC Intro - Klio

(click image for better quality)

"I'll change this world for the better. Doesn't everyone want to live in a fairytale?"

RARITY: ✦✦✦✦✦

⭒♬ Titles/Aliases⭒› Lady of the Theater, High Court Magician, Patron of Heros

⭒𝄞 Path⭒› Emanator of Enigmatia

⭒♫ Faction⭒› The Grand Promethean Theater

⭒♬ Combat Info⭒› 5 Star, Fire/Harmony

⭒𝄞 Species⭒› Grimalkin (species info to be added)

⭒♫ Planet⭒› Bacharach - Laurel Wreath Galaxy (planet info to be added)

@miscellaneouslibrary @raven-starlight hope you don't mind me tagging you two, but you both seemed interested in knowing more about her :D

COMBAT:

pretend XX is a number I'm too lazy to figure out what it would realistically be T-T

⭒𝄞 Basic ATK⭒› Cutting Words

Deals Fire DMG equal to 50% of Klio’s ATK.

⭒♫ Skill⭒› Lights, Curtains, Action!

Increases the ATK of a single ally equal to XX% of Klio’s ATK for two turns. At the same time, Advance Forward the targeted ally’s action by 20%

⭒♬ Ult⭒› Final Bow in a Full House

Creates a field that lasts for two turns, decreasing by one at the start of Klio’s turn. While the field is active, increase DMG done by allies by XX%. Additionally, while an ally’s energy is full inside the field, gain Patronage, lasting until the Ult is cast. Ults cast while Patronage is active use up less energy and deal increased damage.

⭒𝄞 Talent⭒› A Tough Act to Follow

After a character uses their Ult, their next attack deals XX% more DMG 

⭒♫ Technique⭒› Shifting Stargazer

....I'll figure it out later its late and I'm tired

LORE

Introduction

A playwright and Emanator of Enigmata who wants to make the world more like one of her shows (really taking the phrase "all the world's a stage" literally huh) She's revered for her storytelling and her status in high society as a patron of heros.

Personality

Eccentric and dramatic, Klio usually follows her heart over her head. She's very emotional and rarely seen being calm or serious. At worst, she's childish with a dangerous amount of power at her fingertips. At best, she's playful and happily uses her status to uplift others.

Character Stories

(to be added)

Voicelines

Voice Claim - ok imagine Furina's voice but 1) slightly deeper/mature and 2) slightly Italian boom done

First Meeting: "I've been keeping up on your journey, Trailblazer. If you ever want a stage adaptation, you must let me know at once!"

Greeting: "I've been running into you a lot...hey, this isn't a ploy to get free tickets, huh?

Parting: "Leaving already? Well, if you must leave so soon, make sure you come to see my next show!"

About Self - Book and Pen: "The book records and the pen rewrites- it's simple enough."

Chat - Intelligentsia Guild: "While the Genius Society is too busy to focus on me, and the IPC likes me enough to leave me alone, some members of the Guild have nothing better to do than bother a lady on her rest days- the day they stop messing with me will be the day I keel over dead!"

Annoyances: "Too often I have to wake up early for events- why can't they set them for later in the day, when people aren't asleep?"

Hobbies: "In addition to writing the scripts, I compose the music for my plays as well. It's rather relaxing, you should try it sometimes."

About Mr. Reca: "We disagree on some points, but I can always count on him to give me good feedback- that's why he always gets the first invite to my premieres."

Trivia/Fun Facts

About Dr. Ratio: "What was it he called me? Ah, yes- "a hedonistic fool who delights in obscuring the truth." Well, I was made an Emanator, and he hasn't gotten so much as a glance- let me ask, which one of us is the true fool?"

⭒› She was originally designed to be a Masked Fool who was Elio's sister, and her first design was purple and black instead of red, white, and gold

⭒› VERY picky with her food, she's very gourmet and dislikes processed food. Her favorite food is sweet crêpes, she likes how versatile they are.

⭒› Despite being powerful magically, she's a coward, squeamish, and bad at most kinds of physical combat. No wonder she gets other people to fight for her!

⭒› Her last name is Vittorio, meaning winner or conqueror. She picked it out for herself after seeing it on the inside cover of her book.

⭒› Her and her planet are based on the Baroque period

[mjonthetrack]

fe 3

Kamaya wasn’t at work Friday, nor did

she show up for boxing that afternoon.

Jey showed up to Sami’s after his workout

but to his disappointment the woman hadn’t

shown up to the diner either. The two

discussed the violent money laundering

king pin who’d targeted his diner and his

recent sitings at the nightclub on fourth and

main. Jey thanked his friend leaving out

to catch the male pin out in his outings.

He’d arrived at the club nodding his head

at his cousin who ran security at the club.

It was only after talking to a bartender who’d

been verbally harassed by the Mr.Jones that

disclosed some beautiful woman had

interrupted the assault and left the building

with the man in question, that made Jey

hurry out of the club assuming an innocent

woman would be at risk.

“Yes master you’re so intelligent, how

lucky I am to be in the presence of such

a strong leader,” the woman uttered sensually

as she sprawled out on the hotel mattress. Her manicured nails tapped on the skin at her

thighs with an impatience. The man appeared

from the bathroom his white skin red from

the alcohol in his system,” you’re such an

obedient little black whore, if you play

nice I will reward you with some cock.”

Kamaya felt her skin itch with the fire beneath

the surface, she despised these types the most

and it was beyond her why she let it play out

as long as she was. Kamaya waited for the man

to sit on the edge of the bed, she positioned

herself behind him sitting on her knees. Her

hands worked out the tension in his shoulders,

the man groaned out pleasantly,”you’ve got a

magical touch, I can’t wait to see if you’re

worth what you say you are.” Kamaya glared

at the back of his head,” you really have a way

with women sir,” she waited for him to relax

enough to slip his wallet out of his pocket. She

took out the pistol from his waistband tossing

it behind her. Her fingers carefully unbuttoned

the cheap business shirt he had on, leaning

forward she whispered above his ear,”close

your eyes big man.” Mr. Jones settled in his

spot having relieved himself of his slacks

preparing himself as he closed his eyes.

Kamaya moved to stand in front of him

she felt her hands scorch to the surface. The

smell of burning flesh filled the room along

with his screams. “You should learn to be

more careful with who you allow into your

bedroom Mr. Jones, you don’t have a clue

the monsters out in the world.” The man

cried out at his freshly castrated manhood,

he screamed as she stood collecting his

license and slapped it to his forehead melting

it to his skin. Kamaya tsked taking the cash

in his wallet shoving it into her pocket. After

thoroughly scrubbing her hands in the

bathroom and sending a pointed slap to the

man’s head she was out the door and

down the side fire exit.

Jey arrived moments before the police

to realize he’d been too late to serve the

man some justice of his own. He gagged at

the scent of the burning flesh as he’d

wandered down the hallway to the source.

Wincing at the scene he took in the sight

of another man’s crispy remaining member

and the id on his forehead, the signature

Sami had mentioned to him weeks ago. He

scoffed at the whimpering man begging

for help. The man rubbed at his beard dipping

out of the balcony exit when the sound of

police sirens came in the distance. He

motioned with his hand, water emerged in the

room flooding it, destroying any connecting

evidence to the woman’s handiwork.

Jey thought to her reprimanding him against

the brick wall and suddenly the memory of

beating his dick off at home in the thought of

her fiery rant seemed to send a spark in his

system. Though after what he saw in the hotel

the thought of his own dick being rendered

from his own body made him shudder and

regret his solo shower moment the night after

he’d been yelled at. He’d spent time trying

to tag team with intel from Sami who often

knew about local crime organizations due to

his diner in the middle of the rough area. Now

his own work load had lessened because of

a certain hot head and he wasn’t sure how

he felt about it. He’d been aware of his

own gift since he was a child along with

his twin Jimmy who’d been granted

earth based gifts. Then when his brother

went and married a woman who’d had a

certain affinity with air and flight he’d

started feeling a bit lonely.

It was as Jey got older he realized that

their gifts weren’t limited to the three of

them, he met Sami whilst busting a drug

dealer the man was bulletproof. He was

twenty at the time and the pair had made

up their own league against what darkness

came to the city. When Sami got married and

had his baby girl with his wife who wasn’t

one of them he felt more isolated. Just as

his brother he wasn’t upset they’d found their

better half’s but it meant he went out on his

own. Sami helped when he could but mostly

with intel, he couldn’t risk his wife getting

involved in the dangers of their world yet alone

his baby girl. Jimmy as well as Trinity always

offered to help but he didn’t take them up on

it, they would just be in the way.

His brother was always so caught up with his

wife and the pair were always busy, Trinity had

ran her own law firm protecting their kind as

well as the low income individuals who’d

fall victim to evil schemers. Jimmy worked

with his wife but more of a security detail

at most to keep his wife safe which left his

hands tied most of the time. In truth

his sister in law’s airy free spirit and his

brothers grounded laid back attitude meshed

well as if their gifts were meant to connect.

Jey on the opposite end couldn’t imagine

his work as his own brand of justice getting

messed up by some normal. He was happy

for Sami who was always solid in his stance

but he wouldn’t want to be constantly

hiding his own gift. It was bad enough their

kind lived in the shadows, yet alone solved

most of the crime the local police department

were often entangled in.

Kamaya returned to the club with her shades

on, returning to her spot at the bar she

waved the same bartender from earlier. The

woman grinned waving, tossing her towel

over her shoulder, she went over to Kamaya.

“Thank you girl for earlier, that man is always

in here bothering the staff.” Kamaya took an

order on a glass of dulce taking her wallet out

she gave the wad of cash to the woman,” oh

no that’s too much the drink isn’t even ten

dollars.” Kamaya waved her hand,”nah it’s for

you, for all your hard work, don’t worry about

it” The bartender’s eyes watered,”thank you

so much, this is the nicest anyone’s been to

me.” Kamaya asked for the bottle and though

she took continuous swigs from it watching

the tv where the Lakers were playing she knew

no matter how she drank the fire within burned

away any chance at her getting drunk.

Kamaya sighed fishing out some cash

sliding it into the tip jar and shrugged her

jacket on feeling silly in the fur lined piece.

Her attempt to leave was interrupted by a

familiar face who sat beside her,”you weren’t

at Tito’s earlier.” The woman raised her brows,”

if this is your way of letting me know you stalk

me then I would advise you against it.” Jey

couldn’t help the smile on his face ordering

them a round of shots,”seems like you had a

busy day, I suggest the next time you make

sure nothing can trace back to you.” The

woman spun in her bar stool eyeing him,” what

do you mean by that?” He shrugged,” just

an observation, though if you ever get caught

up my sister in law is an attorney.” Kamaya

furrowing her brows dismissed the shots,”

I’m good on the alcohol, I don’t drink.” The

man had a grin on his face seeing the empty

bottle she left behind.

[zushigirl]

In honor of Come What May…a three part story of how I wish things would turn out… Enjoy! I’ll be posting the full story on AO3 as we go :)

I Take My Coffee Black: Part I

Now…Metro General

“What the hell is this crap?”

Frank practically spits the hot liquid back into the flimsy white paper cup.

“Get off your high horse. It’s Folger’s Instant. Same stuff we used to drink in the desert.”

Curtis takes a sip of his own coffee, studying Frank under the brim of his USMC baseball cap. Curt’s blood shot eyes are a dead giveaway that he – like most of New York – have been up all night. Watching with bated breath as Daredevil and a host of superheroes take on Fisk’s minions.

With a sigh, Frank takes another sip of his coffee. “Goddamn - ”

He hisses slightly, the cut on his lip stinging. Curt had done his best to patch up both Frank and Red after the firefight with Bullseye. Makeup covered most of Frank’s bruises, but it couldn’t conceal the worry in his eyes. He can tell by the way his former medic keeps glancing at him… then at the door across the way.

“This is the best Metro General can afford?” he growls, trying to distract himself.

“At 0500? Yes, it is.”

Frank frowns, looking down the stark pale green hallway. Men and women in blue scrubs walk by at a leisurely pace. Unaffected. Unaware that the bravest, ballsiest woman on the planet is in critical care. Recovering from a gunshot wound.

Mourning the loss of her best friend.

“Foggy!”

He can still hear her scream the Counselor’s name. He can feel her panic, panic he never wanted her to feel. David’s feed made it sound like they were two feet away… instead, it took twenty minutes to get to the bloodbath. Even with Lieberman driving like a maniac.

Goddamnit, we should have gotten there sooner.

His eyes trace the entrance of the recovery room. One of those flimsy blue hospital curtains blocks a small window above the door handle. An added layer of privacy. Damn thing feels more suffocating than any red line.

“She’s gonna be fine,” Curt assures him. “They patched up the exit wound and the broken rib. That maniac may be an expert marksman, but she beat him at his own game.” He pauses before adding, “Karen Page must be a pretty special woman…to make you choose here instead of another war.”

You could choose…you could just choose…

Ocean eyes flicker in his memory. Why hadn’t he told her the truth that day, when he was the one in the hospital bed? He thought leaving her was the right thing. He thought…

Frank stares blankly into the distance as he takes another sip of bland coffee and tries not to think about what could have happened.

Thank god Karen clipped Bullseye’s right hand. The fucker was in custody now. Good thing too. If that psychopath ever made it out of prison…none of Red’s preaching would keep Frank from unleashing hell on Benjamin Poindexter.

Red…

The warble of Channel Five news can be heard from the TV at one of the nursing stations. A flicker of worry rises in Frank’s belly. He wants to be pissed at Red but at the same time…

“You were right Frank. I was just one bad day away. Please don’t let her’s get any worse.”

He can’t shake the hollow sound in Matt Murdock’s voice off of him. Can’t shake the image of the other man standing there in blood. His best friend’s blood. Karen’s blood.

Fuck.

“Mr. Castiglione?”

He turns. A new nurse has come on shift, name tag reads Temple. Her dark brown eyes hover on his cut lip. He gets the impression she takes no bullshit.

“Yes ma’am?”

The nurse sighs, pursuing her lips.

“Karen’s going to be okay.”

She says the name with a warm familiarity. Frank immediately wonders how much this woman knows.

“Blood pressure and heat rate are stable. No signs of any complications from surgery.” Temple hesitates… “Your wife’s a fighter for sure.”

Frank doesn’t meet Curt’s gaze, just prays the other man’s eyes aren’t bursting out of their sockets. There hadn’t had time to brief him on the plan. He was just thankful David was quick to pull some strings. A fake marriage license and a passport may be their only ticket to safety.

The woman pauses, eyes narrowing in the silence.

“I know I haven’t been back in town that long, but I’m kinda miffed no one invited me to the wedding. Thought I would have heard about from Matt or Fog…”

She catches herself, sadness flashing across her face.

“Fuck…I’m sorry.”

“No – uh – he’d…he would have wanted all of Karen’s friends to know.” Frank feels his throat tightening. “He loved her too. Probably better than me or… Re…or Matt … if I’m being honest.”

He remembers the look of stricken panic on the Counselor’s face all those years ago. When he’d asked Karen to stay. What would the man’s reaction be to what he asks now?

An older nurse approaches, waving his clipboard at Temple. “She’s up,” he gestures towards Karen’s room. “Threatened to pull out her IV if I don’t get her a real cup of coffee. Told her it’s water only for the next twelve hours. She wasn’t happy.”

Frank chuckles despite himself. “Atta’ girl,” he murmurs.

“Are you coming, Mr. Castiglione?”

The way Temple sizes him up conveys that she trusts him even if she doesn’t believe his story.

He feels his pulse jump. They’d seen each other in the midst of the fight but they hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t spoken since that horrible day when she walked out of his hospital room barefoot. What could he say to her? How could he possibly ask her to –

“She’s waiting, Frank.” Curt’s voice is one of gentle reassurance.

He takes a deep breath, turns on his heels, the stops. “Curt… go home. You’ve done enough. I’ll stand the watch.”

His friend frowns. “You sure man?” I don’t mind staying.”

Frank pauses before answering, a memory flickering in his mind’s eye. Karen and Nelson, sitting at the hipster coffee shop across from their law firm. Sipping coffee and going over case notes. He’d watched from the roof two streets over, not proud to admit the number of times he’d checked on Karen from afar.

“Proof Coffee opens at 0800. Can you come back tomorrow morning with a real damn cup? Make that two. She takes hers black with a sprinkle of cinnamon.”

The nurse seems impressed that he knows Karen’s drink of choice. Curt has enough ware with all to keep a neutral face.

“I’m on it. I’ll let Lieberman know your staying here. See you in 27 hours.”

He spins on his heels and walks down the hall.

Frank watches him go, then follows nurse Temple across the waiting area. She opens the door to the recovery room, pushing back that damn blue curtain quietly. Then she gestures for Frank to step in front of her.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound of the vitals monitor is a steady hum. It’s oddly comforting.

And terrifying.

It means Karen is awake. It means he’s about to speak to her for the first time in… far too long.

He finds the courage to look forward and he sees her. Sitting upright in the bed. Face turned to the window. The sunrise casting her in a celestial glow. Her expression is a haunted one Frank knows all too well…but not the shock of someone who’s new to trauma.

He realizes in that moment that his gut instinct was right. Karen’s felt this kind of pain before.

“Karen, your husband is here.” Temple’s voice is gentle.

A quiet feels the air. Time stops. In the void, Frank wonders if his heartbeat is loud enough for Red to hear all the way across Manhattan.

He watches Karen turn her head. Watches her eyes widen in confusion at the word husband. Then recognition. Then something he’s too scared to name.

They’re both silent for a moment, not noticing as the nurse slips out. Then tears are welling in Karen’s eyes and Frank is falling to his knees by her hospital bed.

“Hey, hey,” he chokes out. “I lied. I lied. Okay? That day…Karen…”

Soft fingers grab his trembling ones. He places his free palm over hers, holding with two hands now.

“I know you lied, you asshole,” Karen says between sobs. “You’re such an asshole…but I…” Her ocean eyes are bright with the words they won’t say yet.

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, I am.”

“Please tell me you brought real coffee.”

The sound of footsteps silences Frank’s answer.

*

27 hours later…

“I’ll take three drip coffees,” Curtis Hoyle smiles at the barista, waiting for a response.

The bleary-eyed girl with wild auburn tinted hair and a cut-off t-shirt reading MJ just blinks at him.

“Cool. You want room for milk or cream?”

“No…uh…actually, can you sprinkle some cinnamon in one of them.”

The girl gives a half nod as Curtis swipes his card. He sighs, stepping to the side of the cheerful yellow counter. He knows he’s getting old, but whoever Proof Coffee’s manager is could have done a better job with hiring. MJ has the bedside manner of cardboard; not great for 0800 on a Thursday –

Piiinnnggg!

The girl passes three paper cups to Curt, hurriedly grabbing her phone from its charging station. He takes a few sips of his cup, watching her agitated movements.

“Peter! Jesus Christ! Is everyone okay…”

Her hazel eyes widen in relief and Curtis feels guilty for judging her. MJ’s been worried.

“News. Alright. I’ll take a look. Be careful.”

The call’s barely over before the teen is swiping on her phone. Curtis takes a final swig of his own coffee while grabbing to-go lids, trying to look casual.

“Everything good? You seem a little stressed.”

MJ bobs her head, flipping her phone in Curtis’s face. Apple News.

“Shit,” Curtis mutters as he reads the screen.

He turns to leave, then thinks twice. Grabs the two coffees. He may need them as an excuse to sneak back into the hospital.

“Thank you, Miss!”

He leaves MJ staring at her phone. At the headline…

FRANK CASTLE, THE PUNISHER, REPORTEDLY SEEN AT METRO GENERAL.

[goldenteaset]

If I may, why do you prefer Stampede and '98's versions of Wolfwood then?

Related to this ask! *Ponders this one too*

I fully admit that 99% of it is personal taste and interpretation, anon. XD; I just prefer Big Bro Nico (with the same overall guilty conscience), who stubbornly finds joy where he can even if in his heart he still hates Gunsmoke/No Man's Land, over metaphorical "well preserved dead guy" Nicholas the Punisher who seems to be frantic to escape the very manga he co-stars in.

'98!Wolfwood in particular has this, dare I say, "salt of the earth" feeling to him that I just really like a lot. He's the most Western feeling of the main cast, to me--giant cross aside, you could plop him down in something like The Magnificent Seven and he'd feel right at home. He's not a total "white hat" paragon of justice, but he's not a nefarious "black hat" either. He's just a very human, flawed guy that'll swindle one man to help out another over the same chess game, and be mostly telling the truth when he says it was just for his own benefit. (This is part of why "Escape From Pain" is one of my favorite episodes, warts and all. :D)

Trimax!Wolfwood, meanwhile...I mentioned in that previous ask that he has "the soul of a '90s comic book character", but I wasn't sure how to explain that. Now I can: just like most of those characters (Animal Man by Grant Morrison for example), he feels like he just wants to hop on his Angelina II, crash through the ink and pages, and go literally anywhere else. Rereads haven't changed this feeling, either. I keep waiting for him to suddenly turn toward the panels and start shaking them like jail bars, yelling "Let me out, damn it!" He'd take the orphanage with him if he could, and that's a point in his favor.

But I've never known what to do with characters like that--if even they don't want to be here, why should I stick around to see what happens to them? By all means, Mr. Well Preserved Dead Guy, run away to a baseball manga or something! You'd clearly be happier there. ;_;

Stampede!Wolfwood is in this precarious position where he could go either way on my internal sliding scale, but as it stands? He's very good. More brasher and boyish than '98, he feels like he has a lot to learn in the best way possible. His arguments with Vash feel like ones he'd actually have and make under his specific (and yes, very melodramatic) circumstances. As a bonus, having his dynamic with Livio established this early helps a lot for getting us invested in them for the long-term*. Legato aside, they were actually why I finally watched Stampede. (Sorry Vash, I like you too. XD;)

...I hope this makes sense, anon? Tagging this will be interesting. ^^;

*It also helps Livio feel less like Wolfwood 2.0, and while on the whole I hypocritically do prefer his '90s flavor, I'd still rather he stand on his own.

[dom-bastiansmythe]

A Good Welcome || Sebastian & Diego

TAGGING: @dom-bastiansmythe & @domdiegotorres TIMING: Friday, August 25th 2023, evening hours. LOCATION: Sebastian's penthouse. SUMMARY: A welcoming evening. NOTES: M/M smut

Diego had to admit he was kinda nervous. There was something about Sebastian's confidence that reminded him that he sometimes wasn't as confident as he should be. Sebastian was everything Diego aspired to be, the male was handsome and confident and it attracted him a lot. He made it to campus and announced himself to the guards, who maybe were used to Mr. Smythe having people over because Diego caught one of them smiling knowingly. He shook his head and smiled as well, making his way over the doors where Sebastian told him he would be waiting for him.

At exactly 8 o'clock that evening, Sebastian walked out of the dorms building, and he stood at the top of the steps to see if Diego was already there, which he soon did, spotting the other coming down the path that led there. Dressed from head to toe in black, trousers and a half sleeved shirt, with a low V-cut which left his chest somehow exposed. Slowly, he made it down the steps until he was standing right in front of the other, his hand extended for the other to take. "well, well… Your pictures don't do any justice to you."

Diego saw a figure in all black standing at the top of the steps and he knew it was Sebastian, the male was fucking handsome and somewhat intimidating. He smiled as he watched him making it down the steps and he extended his hand as well, taking Sebastian's "I can say the same, fuck you are gorgeous" he blurted out because Diego's mouth usually worked faster than his brain. He was dressed in some yoga pants and a white shirt and he kinda felt like a homeless person.

Sebastian grinned, then pulled him closer so he could whisper in his ear. "I know I am. But you have seen nothing yet, guapo" he said softly, then stepped back and motioned his hand so that Diego would follow him up. "No elevators though, and I'm all the way up to the top floor, you don't mind, do you?" He held the door open for him, then they started to make their way up. "So…? How are settling in Lame Town so far?" he said with a soft chuckle.

Diego the way Sebastian whispered in his ear gave him chills, the man knew how to be sexy. He chuckled and followed the other male inside and up to the stairs "I don't mind, the exercise is always needed, keeps the stamina going" he said and rolled his eyes "I don't understand why you all lot hate this town so much, it's an adorable town" he exclaimed and smiled his big wide smile, even when he didn't know if Sebastian could see him or not.

Sebastian chuckled. "That's for sure! The more you meet the people here, the more you will see we're all in great shape, and these stairs had a lot to do with that. That, and the kickass gym we have for ourselves here, that also helps." He chuckled and shook his head. "Oh my god, we have ourselves an idealist here, don't we? I can coincide it's not all that bad, but when you come from a big city, a place like this… just doesn't cover all expectations, you know?" He turned his head around a bit and gave him a curious look. "And what have you seen of it so far that you find so adorable?" They were soon making up the last flight of stairs before getting to the penthouse level of the building.

"Well, it's four floors building, if you don't keep in shape with this" he shrugged and thought about it "Well, I'm from a big city, and yes, the town is small compared to it, but it has amazing people in it" he nodded and kept following Sebastian close behind "There's no annoying trafic or anything, the air is even more pure, you are a few minutes away from nature, and of course… the people seemed friendly enough, aren't you friendly Sebastian?" he asked

Sebastian rolled his eyes playfully, then made his way down the hallway to where the door of his penthouse was. "Alright, alright- You don't need to sell it to me, Diego. I agree about it being quiet and solace most of the time, but sometimes one just needs a little more excitement in life, don't you think?" He pushed the door open and stood aside, in a welcoming manner. "I'm your friendly neighborhood asshole. Does that answer your question?" He winked at him, then leaned against the door and closed it, after Diego walked inside. "Make yourself at home."

Diego chuckled, he was indeed trying to sell the town to somebody who knew the town. "Well, there's always things to do that can be exciting, right?" he nodded and made it inside the penthouse. He whistled appreciatively "Damn, nice place" he said turned around to face Sebastian. "And a very nice view" he raised his eyebrow looking at the handsome male.

Sebastian smiled. "Thank you. That's what you get around here once you get a claim. Not that the suites are not suitable, but this was definitely an upgrade." A smug came to his face, his head tilted to the side a little. "What a coincidence. I was about to say that my view isn't that bad either…" he said with a flirty, teasing tone, then he pushed himself from the door and headed into the kitchen. "Would you like something to drink?"

Diego nodded "I didn't know you got a claim. I do too, her name's Riley, but we aren't the typical Dom/sub relationship you might say" he explained and looked down when Sebastian praised him. "Mmmmh" he followed the other with his eyes and smiled "Scotch? I need something strong" Diego chuckled, trying very hard to not stared at the other's ass.

Sebastian pulled two glasses from one of the cabinets, then took the bottle of Bourbon from the bar. "I do. His name is Elliott, and he's on, shall we call it, a leave of absence. His father got sick, and it's bad, so I gave him permission to go and be with him. I didn't want to come along because that's a family thing, and I-" He shrugged. "Family dramas are not my thing. I have my hands full with my own family." He poured the alcohol in the two glasses and handed Diego one. "Riley, huh? Cute name. Why aren't you a typical Dom/sub thing?"

Diego nodded, he knew about family dramas because Riley had gone through the same thing and now they were in some sort of a break. "Ugh, family dramas are the worst, I too have my fair share of drama with my father" he sighed and reached out for the alcohol. "We are also in some sort of break, you could say. We were paired up when we were way too young to understand the meaning of everything. She is now in the big city making herself of a name and I'm here" he tried to explained.

Sebastian chuckled when Diego mentioning also having his share of issues with his father. He somehow doubted it would be the same kind of issues he and Ollie had, but that certainly wasn't the moment to talk about their fathers. Talk about killing the mood. "Ah. Well, sorry to hear that, but sometimes some things happen for the better." He took a sip of his drink, looking at him curiously over the rim of his glass. "Okay, really- I have to ask. Why here, of all the places in the world? I mean, you just don't end up in a place like this out of pure luck."

Diego shrugged one more time, it was still a mistery to him why Riley's and his parents wanted them together. "Yeah, we are good friends, what can i say" he smiled and sipped on his own bourbon. "My father… guess he had some sort of fling with somebody here, or I least I found out when I was already in town. He decided I needed a name of my own and this was the place to start" he frowned a little bit.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. "Heh… A secret affair, huh? I bet this town has a lot of those. Here's to new beginnings then" he said, raising his glass and taking another sip. "Well, how about I show you around now? I mean… that is why you came here, right?" A grin curled his lips, then he wiggled his finger at him. "Follow me- You've already seen the kitchen, living room over there, dining room on that side…" he pointed around as he walked in front of Diego, then he turned a corner and went down the hallway. "And here are the rooms. Four in total. That right there at the end of the hall is the master bedroom, and that one is out of limits to anyone who's not me, Elliott, or my brother Oliver."

Diego chuckled and raised his glass at Sebastian. He followed the handsome male and looked at the rooms, whistling when Sebastian mentioned the amount of rooms "Damn, those are a lot of rooms" he chuckled and nodded "Oh, I haven't met Oliver, I have talked to him, but not in person" he added and started walking towards the living room once again. "So, you wanted a show? You said something about my ass" he laughed softly.

Sebastian chuckled and nodded. "There are, but they all serve their purpose, like…, one of those is actually a playroom, where I keep everything that I need for good time." He grinned. "I already know he will eat you up when he gets to meet you in person, and trust me… He is worthy of all the time you are willing to give him." He raised a brow at him and reached out to play with the hem of his shirt. "You were the one who decided to give a peek of it in public, and I am as human, and as curious as the next." He fisted his shirt and pulled him close until there was only a small gap between their lips. "You want us to go into th eplayroom, so you can give me that show, guapo?"

Diego opened his eyes in surprised when Sebastian mentioned what Oliver would be in person. "Well, now I'm curious, it's all an adventure meeting you, I can't even imagine about Oliver" he chuckled and took a step forward meeting Sebastian's close and very sensual personal space. "I would really like going into the playroom" he admitted and before Sebastian turned away from him, he grabbed his head and pulled him for a searing kiss.

Sebastian grinned. "We're pretty much the same, and also very different. We're quite the puzzle for many men." He gnawed on his lower lip as they stood close like that, his green eyes looking directly into beautiful, dark brown ones, then he grinned. "Wise choice. Come with me" he said, and he was about to take Diego's hand, when the other man did that himself, their lips soon pressed together in a hungry, greedy kiss, his other hand clutching on the fabric of his shirt, and he moved back against the door, with Diego fully pressed against his body.

Diego had to admit he liked kissing Sebastian, because even when both of them were Doms, their fight for it was fierce and very sexy. He grabbed Sebastian's hair and intertwined his fingers in it, his tongue slipping inside the Smythe male as he pressed him against the door, the sound of kissing the only thing that could be heard.

Sebastian moaned against Diego's mouth when he felt his tongue sliding freely over his own, his hands now grabbing him by the hips and pushing him harder against himself. At some point he pulled back a little and chuckled, a bit out of breath. "Wow… Someone does taste delicious" he said, his thumb swiping the man's lower lip, then he kicked the door open behind him and led them both inside, his hands now grabbing him by the shoulders as he crashed their lips together again.

Diego chuckled when Sebastian praised him, he was out of breath as well, because their kiss had been amazing and there was some sort of dominance fire between them. He was about to say something as equally good to Sebastian, but he forgot about it when the handsome male crashed their lips together again, his body following him inside. "Fuck, this is going to be so good" he muttered in between kisses.

Sebastian moved his hands up and grabbed onto the dark mop of curls, pulling on it hard as he pulled back from the kiss. "Oh, I can already see that… But first- I was promised a show" he said, the grin big on his face as he let go of him and stepped back, knowing by memory where everything was in his room. He stepped backwards to where his red couch was and sat down, legs spread open as he leaned back, curious for what Diego would do next.

Diego thought Sebastian was going to forget about the show, but he didn't… and he wasn't going to dissapoint the Smythe male at all. He watched as Sebastian sat down on the couch and looked at him with those sexy green eyes of this. "Okay" he chuckled and pulled out his cellphone, choosing 'Beggin' from Maneskin. As the song started, he closed his eyes and started moving his hips sensually

A smug came to his face when he heard the chosen song, but he had very little to think about that, because when the time came when Diego begun to dance, his focus was solely set on the way his body moved. He should had known that, being a latino descendent, rhythm wasn't something he lacked, and he was surely proving that.

Diego loved the song, it was fast but he decided to move at half its tempo. So his hips swayed at the rhythm, his hand tracing his own body at the same time his body 'begged' Sebastian for more. He turned around, only to show the other male his ass and he moved it sensually "I should have been a stripper more than a lawyer" he said as he turned around once again and walked in between Sebastian's legs, never missing a beat.

Sebastian licked his lips, his eyes soaking on every move the other man made, which were definitely well thought of to show off his body. He looked up at him when he got closer and grinned. "Oh, I would've paid good money to see that. But you know… Strippers wear a lot less clothes than what you are right now…"

Diego laughed and then placed his hands on Sebastian's shoulders while he kept moving his hips "True, and that can be arrange of course" he smiled and took a step backwards, reaching out and pulling up his shirt so his upper body could be seen. "Maybe I should finish the song naked?" he chuckled.

Sebastian looked up and grinned. "I'm glad that's the case, because I'd like to see much more" he said, then his eyes darkened when Diego took his shirt off and he could see the chiseled, perfect shape muscles of his chest and stomach. "Fuck… You really are fine…" he said, already feeling his cock stir inside his pants.

Diego the song was coming to an end and he smiled, his hips kept moving as well as his entire body. "Mmmmh, I'm glad you like it" he murmured as his hand found the hem of his pants and pulled it down, Diego only in his boxers and he could already see his hard cock. He knelt in front of Sebastian and hid his face in the other's pants "Let me suck you"

Sebastian bit his lip down when Diego finally was wearing nothing but his briefs, his obviously hard cock tenting the fabric there. A wicked grin curled his lips when he saw the other kneeling in front of him, his fingers sliding through the soft curls. "How can I say no, whne you ask so nicely" he said, fisting a handful of curls and pulling his head close to his crotch.

Diego was hard and ready to have Sebastian into his mouth. He usually didn't kneel in front of anybody, but there was something about the other male that screamed even louder than his own dom nature. "Fuck, yes" he whispered as Sebastian's hand tugged onto his curls and pulled his head into the covered crotch. He undid the other's belt fast as well as the buttons of his pants and slid his hand into them. "Mmmmh, yummy" he whispered looking up at green eyes.

Sebastian groaned and licked his lips when he felt the man's strong hold around his already hard cock. "Wait until you try it, handsome. It gets even more yum" he said, winking at him.

Diego almost growled in return when those green eyes winked at him. He helped Sebastian moved a little bit so he was now holding his hard cock, he licked his lips, a wet sound filling up the quiet room and licked the lip, moaning at the salty taste.

Sebastian inhaled deeply when he finally got to feel the warmth of the man's mouth on the tip of his cock, which was already throbbing inside his strong hold. "We have ourselves a tease, don't we? Keep that up, and I'll show you how to be good." He grinned, then pulled hard on his hair.

Diego cursed when Sebastian tugged onto his hair, part of him trying to get loose from the other male but the other one, ready to blow up Sebastian's mind. "Asshole" he whispered and opened his mouth, taking all of the male's cock, breathing through his nose.

Sebastian chuckled. "I warned you, didn't I? You can't say I didn't…" He let go of his grip on the man's hair and leaned all the way back on the couch, his hands now behind his head, as he took on the full enjoyment of Diego's mouth working on his cock. "Hmm… You're fucking good at that."

Diego started moving his head, while his hands found the base of Sebastian's cock, moving at the same rythm that he was doing with his mouth. He let go with a pop and smiled at the handsome male, saliva dripping from his mouth "I'm good at many things" he chuckled and took Sebastian once again.

Sebastian licked his lips when he saw his own slick dripping from the corner of Diego's lips, such a big, imposing man being so hungry for his cock, the biggest turn on of them all. "Hm.. I'm curious to see just how good you are at all those things, handsome." He slid his fingers through his curls again but he didn't force his movements or led them, but only stroked his scalp, a soft motion of encouragement.

Diego had to admit how sexy Sebastian was, and it made his cock ache with want. He hummed softly and kept moving his head finding the right angle to get all of Sebastian's cock into his mouth at the same time he moved his hands. His tongue was moving and taking all of it, his eyes fixed on those green eyes.

His head fell back, his mouth hanging open with how the heat was rushing through him. Diego knew exactly what to do, and how to get what he wanted, there was no doubt about that, and the way he was now going down on him left little doubt about that. "So good… Do you want me to cum inyour mouth, or you would rather see how good I can make you feel too?"

Diego let go of Sebastian and smiled "Mmmmh I want that, you inside me, while I ride this massive cock" he moaned and moved his hand easily onto the slicked cock. He stood up and removed his briefs, now naked in front of Sebastian and ready for the other to fulfill his promise.

Sebastian grinned. "Great minds think alike" he said, then when Diego stood up he did the same, his eyes zeroing on the man's perfect, hairy ass. "Fuck, that has to be delicious" he said, then he grabbed Diego by the wrist and pushed him face down on the bed, pulling back him so he was on all fours at the edge of it. He patted his buttcheeks playfully, then slapped them hard before getting himself on his knees, his hands spreading his cheeks so he could massage the rim of his hole.

Diego hummed appreciatively as he watched Sebastian stood up. He was suddenly thrown into the bed and he moaned when he was slapped hard. "Fuck!" He exclaimed and helped the male by spreading his legs wider. "Come on asshole, fuck me already"

Sebastian chuckled and slapped Diego's ass again. "What part of your current situation exactly makes you think you're in control right now in any way, guapo?" he said with a low voice, almost like a whisper, then he stood up and slapped his hole with his cock a couple of times, before he slowly pushed the head in, letting in slide on its way as the other man's body took him in.

Diego chuckled because it was the truth, he was currently in his fours ready to be fucked and he was demanding Sebastian to do it. He was not prepared to receive the head in, but he took a deep breath and relaxed until Sebastian's big cock was inside of him. "Fuck, you are big" he murmured.

Sebastian was well aware of how big he was, and so he took his time to make his way into Diego's tight heat. "I know I am, and you were the eager slut who didn't even give the chance the prepare you properly-" he said, then reached out and grabbed on his hair again. "So now, you have to breathe… Come on… Take it in, babe…"

Diego smiled through gritted teeth "I'm not complaining, but fuck…" he whispered as he relaxed his body until Sebastian was fully in. "Don't you fucking move for a bit, asshole" he joked and tried to get used to the massive cock inside of him. He was thankful he had lubricated the other's cock properly so it had been a little bit easier.

Sebastian snickered, but did just like Diego was asking, even if at times, when he looked down and saw his dick half buried inside of him, it took every bot of strength not to simply slam all the way in. There was a time when he would have done just that, not caring much for nothing but his own pleasure, but that was in the past now. He put his free hand on the man's ass and caressed the sensitive skin there.

Diego whimpered when Sebastian caressed his ass, it was going to hurt later, but right now it felt so good. "So fucking full" he whispered and gasped as he shifted a little bit and turned his head to look at Sebastian "Do it, fuck me, asshole" he chuckled and spread his legs even wider so the other male would have even more room to move.

Sebastian managed to bent over on top of Diego, and he dragged his tongue all the way up the man's spine, until he reached the back of his neck. "So fucking tight" he said in response, then chuckled. "What a bossy, slutty thing you are, guapo" he said, and while he stayed on top of Diego like he was, he pulled his hips back, so that his cock almost slid out of him, then he wrapped his arm around the man's neck and slammed his cock in, now fully thrusting and pushing himself forward, their skins slapping together and filling the room with the most obscene noises.

Diego shivered lightly when Sebastian dragged his tongue all the way up to his spine "Fuck, you feel good" he cursed one more time and then Sebastian was pulling out of him and impaling him with that big cock of him "Shit, yessss" he hissed and kept moaning everytime the handsome male thrusted into him. "Fucking asshole, you are way too good"

Sebastian pulled hard on Diego's hair, hard enough to make the man's head to lean all the way back. "Hmm… Calling me names to rile me up. You sure know what you're doing" he said, his hips doing a full twerk on top of the man, as he kept in fucking him into the bed, his hold around his throat tighter the harder he fucked him.

Diego breathed through his nose, and he smiled. Riling up Sebastian was something he liked to do very much and he was discovering it made the other male fuck him even harder. "Fuck you" he muttered before Sebastian tighten his hold around his throat. His own cock was harder and he wanted to touch himself, but he knew it would infuriate the other male.

Sebastian cackled and smacked Diego's ass hard. "I thought I was already" he said with a teasing tone. He could feel the effect both him fucking the other man and also the hold around his neck had, and it all echoed around his cock, feeling the way the man's body clenched around him harder, holding him in, and tight.

Diego rolled his eyes at Sebastian's teasing tone. He wanted to cum so bad, and he knew he needed to wait until the other male was satisfied to relieve himself. He placed his hand over Sebastian's one around his neck and started to meet the male's thrusts more erratically.

Sebastian groaned, his face now buried against the back of Diego's hand, while he kept on fucking him mercilessly. "Hm, fuck… I can feel you… You're so close… You want to cum, don't you..?" he breathed over his skin, then gave the side of the man's neck a slow, long lick, his hand turning to lace together with Diego's. "Come on… Let go then… I want you to…"

Diego groaned when Sebastian licked his neck, it felt so powerful and he wasn't used to it, but he liked it a lot. And as if on cue, he let go and cum, spurts of liquid out of his cock and he thought he was about to die from cumming so hard. "Fuck" he growled as he arched his back, his cock looking out for more friction to ease the pain of cumming without being touched.

Sebastian groaned when Diego came, the rush of his climax making him clench tighter around his cock, and it only took him a couple more thrusts before he was coming too. He laid on top of Diego while they were still riding their high of their orgasm, then he pulled out slowly and laid on his back. "Hm.. Fuck, that was so hot…"

Diego was completely out of breath as they both recovered from their orgasms. "This will totally hurt in the morning" he chuckled and looked to the side, smiling at Sebastian. "As soon as I can stand up, I will go clean myself" he chuckled to the handsome male and took another deep breath. "I can already tell you are kicking me out of here soon"

Sebastian chuckled. "It will mean we did it right then" he said, looking back at him with a sly grin on his face, then he shook his head and turned on his side, facing him. "Your senses must be off then, because I wasn't going to kick you out. We have a good hour before you have to leave because of curfew, so we can simply lay here for a while, if you want."

Diego chuckled and stopped when his ass hurt from laughing. He looked intensely into those beautiful green eyes and nodded "Oh, you are a sweetheart, then?" he smiled and shook his head, standing and trying to sit without luck, falling onto the mattress again. "Okay, I will lay here for a tiny bit" he smiled and looked at Sebastian's lips "I wouldnt mind some kisses, you know?"

Sebastian grinned. "Not even a little, guapo" he said, then laughed earnestly when he saw Diego falling when it was obvious he couldn't stand, or walk just yet. "Hmm… I love the sign of a job well done" he said with a sly grin, then he pulled him close and climbed on top of him, his arms holding on Diego's shoulders. "So you're a cuddler, huh?"

Diego shrugged, "You have fucked my brains out, the least i deserved is kisses and cuddles, asshole" he smiled at the last word and brought Sebastian's face closer to him. "Come on, your lips taste awesome" he whispered and kissed the other male hard.

Sebastian smiled into the kiss, then went on to fully kissed him, claiming his mouth with hunger. "So I'm told… In fact, some people consider my lips to be addictive" he whispered against his lips, then he moved his mouth down the man's neck, nipping on the skin. "What do you think about that, hmm?"

Diego moaned softly as he finally kissed Sebastian, their mouths claiming each other as they kissed hungrily. "Mhhh, I agree, totally addictive" he said between kisses and then moved his neck so the handsome male would nip and kiss onto his neck. "Sebastian, if you keep doing that you will have me rutting against your leg in no time, and I don't know if my body could handle another round right now" he chuckled.

Sebastian grinned against his neck, then placed one more finger on it and pulled back. "It's a good thing we have another hour or so then." He rolled on his back and put his hands behind his head. "As for me being addictive, it's well known that once you've had a Smythe brother, you can never go back." He looked at him and winked.

Diego chuckled and sighed, maybe what Sebastian said was true, well he hadn't been with Ollie yet, but judging by the way his brother was talking, maybe he wasn't being modest at all. "Maybe I can have them both? For scientific purposes of course" he nodded and looked at Sebastian's reaction. Maybe the other male didnt want to share his brother or something.

Sebastian looked at him with an honest shocked look on his face. "Oh, handsome. A Smythe sandwich is something many men dream of. But you're more than welcome to make any scientific notes and… measurements, as you see fit." He grinned at him wickedly, then shrugged. "I'm always down for a good time, so if you should talk to him about it and ask if he would like that."

Diego nodded, "Of course, it's all in name of science" he smiled at Sebastian and looked at him "I will talk to Ollie, I mean, we haven't talked more than a couple of words but something tells me he might be in, with or without you involved" he shrugged and slowly, he sat on the bed.

Sebastian sat up on the bed and caressed the spot on the center of Diego's back. "There's no way my brother would pass having a good time with you, like the one we just had tonight. If you want my advise, enjoy your time with him alone first, then we'll see what can happen."

Diego sighed softly, smiling because it seemed Sebastian could be nice with him and he relaxed under the other's touch. "You are right, I will have my sexy times with him first and then we can talk about it" he nodded and slowly, he stood up, trying to get all his clothes that had been scattered around.

Sebastian laid back down, then reached for a tissue from the box that was on top of his night stand to clean himself up a bit, not really wanting to stand up for the time being. "Are you trying to sneak out, Diego? Oooh, you're making me feel so dirty right now-" he said and chuckled.

Diego rolled his eyes and turned to look at Sebastian "I'm not sneaking out, Sebastian" he sighed and put on his briefs "I just don't wanna get clingy and all of that stuff, you know?" he shrugged and went to where the glass of bourbon was, drinking what was left in it. "I was thirsty too, you now?" he smiled at the handsome male.

Sebastian also fixed his sweats back up, though he did take his shirt off to be more comfortable. "That's probably a good idea. We don't want to burn ourselves out all at once. I mean, this could be the first of many times we enjoy together." He chuckled, then sat up on the bed, while he waited for Diego to have his drink.

Diego tried to not stare too much at Sebastian's naked torso, reminded himself it was bad to stare at people. "True, I'm sure we will get together soon" he said and walked towards Sebastian, leaning down and kissing the other male. "I should go, right?" he chuckled after the long tongue filled kiss.

He grinned. "You can bet your tight ass we will" he said, then he had Diego's lips on his again, and he moaned softly into his mouth, his sinful tongue twirling with his own hotly. "Hmm… You wouldn't want to get me into trouble, would you?" He placed his finger on his chin, then let it run down the man's chiselled chest. "Yes, you should go" he said, looking right back at him.

Diego chuckled into the kiss "Right, curfew, I forgot you had one of those" he smiled and finished getting dressed. "Maybe we could get together another time at my place, I don't have nasty curfew there" he shrugged and hissed a little bit as he looked for his shirt on the floor. Once he was dressed ,he looked at Sebastian and smiled. "I can find the exit myself" he said and before leaving, he took a step towards Sebastian, pressing a soft kiss into the male's lips.

Sebastian nodded. "Yeah… It's amazing to stop to think why in the world would fully grown up people would need curfew at all, but I suppose it helps keeping things under control, I guess?" He stood up and crossed his arms over his chest. "That sounds nice, but I still have to be back here at ten. But until that time, there's a lot we can occupy time with" he said, giving him a small wink. "I know you can" he said, then chuckled softly against his lips, and stepped back. "Go. Before I change my fucking mind."

Diego found bossy dominant Sebastian very sexy, all tall with his arm crossed was a view he wanted to see again sometime. "I know, I'm leaving!" he exclaimed and went to the front door "Bye, asshole!" he called out before making its way down the stairs and until the front of the campus where he saluted the guards "Right on time, gentlemen!!!" he said and walked to his house, a big smile onto his face.

END SCENE.

[irondad-defensesquad]

Kid Arachnid - Chapter 2

You can read chapter 1 here!

Also posted on AO3.

--

EARTH-19999

Alright, let’s do this one last time.

My name is Miles Morales. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, and for the last couple months, I’ve been the one and only… Kid Arachnid.

Well, there’s not a lot to say. I’ve saved many people, sure, but I never gained a lot of attention. Until now. Apparently, I also saved Iron Man’s family the other day. But the thing is… everyone thinks I’m Spider-Man, when he disappeared years ago, along with half of the Earth… including my dad. At the same time I’m being praised as someone I’m not, I’m also being accused of many things. “Where was Spider-Man this entire time?” “Why didn’t he save those who dusted?” “What if this is a random guy just pretending to be Spider-Man?”

It’s hard. I’m new to this. But I have to keep trying, right? I have to be there for the little people of New York, like my dad was, like Spider-Man was. I have to fight for those I love, and make sure no one else gets hurt.

But now… I found out that the Prowler, the guy who has been terrorizing everyone with dangerous weapons… was my uncle this entire time.

And someone got hurt because I was a coward.

It’s all my fault.

I never asked for this.

–

“... he’ll be okay, you saved him.”

“No, you don’t get it! He got hurt because of me! If I weren’t so stupid, I could’ve–”

“Miles, it’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is!”

“He’s going to be okay, I promise,” the woman still soothes the boy, sounding motherly and patient despite his lashing out. “You didn’t mess up.”

He starts crying.

“I-I’m sorry.” Soon, a door slams open.

“Miles!”

Everything is dark and blurred.

And Tony is blacking out again.

–

“... Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark, can you hear me?”

He can’t see very well. His eyelids are heavy and he has to force them open.

“Please…” someone sobs. “Please, don’t go. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

It’s… a boy.

Tony is weak, the nanotech armor somehow crushing him. But all he can see in front of him… are white eyes staring deep into his soul. The teenager is calling for him, begging him to stay.

It’s…

It’s him, isn’t it?

Tony tries so hard to see clearly, to see his kid’s face again. He thought he’d never see him again… But he’s here now.

With all his effort, the man raises his arm, reaching the boy’s cheek. He can tell the mask is covering his skin. It isn’t cold like his suit. The teen is frozen, however. Tony never touched him like this, did he?

He should have.

“... Pete?” Tony calls him.

The boy tenses. “What?”

He sounds confused and scared.

Where was he this entire time?

Why didn’t Tony ever come back for him?

He rubs the other’s face with his thumb.

“Peter… I’m…”

For a moment, Tony realizes he can’t see the red he so deeply missed. It’s black with some thin red around his eyes.

“... I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know what exactly he’s apologizing for.

The darkness prevails and takes control again.

He can’t hold him anymore.

The last thing he hears is the kid crying out for him. And Tony, oh does he wish he stayed.

He’s a failure.

It’s all his fault.

–

The light is on, and the walls are blue.

Tony is… in a hospital bed. His chest is bandaged, but it doesn’t hurt very much. He’s alone in the room, and yet he can feel something missing. Someone. A face.

The boy. Where is he?

Was it even real?

A door opens.

“Oh, you’re finally awake.”

That voice…

It’s a nurse, a dark-skinned woman with dark brown hair, almost black. She must be younger than Pepper, but her exhausted look might say otherwise.

“How are you feeling?” She asks. When she’s close enough, Tony is able to read her name tag – Rio Morales.

“Huh… never been better.”

“We reached your wife, Mrs. Potts will be arriving shortly. You’ll be home by tonight.”

Although this is good news, Tony just wants to understand what happened. How did he end up here?

“How…” he tries to word out his confusion. “Who brought me here?”

Rio’s smile falls for a moment as she looks to the side.

“Someone very brave,” she describes in admiration. “I think you’ve heard of him, right? Kid… Arachnid?”

The name is no stranger to him.

“You mean…” the black and red fabric, the white eyes… “That new Spider-Man?”

Rio hums. “As far as I know, he’s not really Spider-Man.”

So, they really weren’t the same boy.

I’m sorry. I’m not Spider-Man.

“Do you… know where he is?” Tony wonders.

Rio sighs, “He left hours ago.”

She seems to know the Kid Arachnid, judging by her genuine, motherly concern.

…

Miles.

That must be his name.

“He’s so young… Everyone is pushing him, pressuring him, accusing him of horrible things…” The nurse looks like she’s talking to herself, but then she’s looking at Tony with a pleading gaze. “He needs someone to look out for him, but he’s all alone.”

Tony doesn’t know what to say. Not when Rio reminds him of someone else, another nurse who did her best to raise a mutant kid. Sometimes she would come to Tony and they would figure something out.

Like Peter, she was gone, too.

Tony couldn’t protect him. He couldn’t protect her, either.

Rio is seeking his help.

He promised to stay away from this life, to focus on what he has now. But time and time again, he has been ruled by regret and mistakes he could never make up for. He can’t keep turning away from people who need him.

Tony takes a deep breath, even if it hurts. It’s necessary.

“I’ll find him,” he promises, “once I’m out of here.”

Rio’s tensions disappear. Still, she doesn’t give him a grateful smile just yet.

“As much as I have my concerns about you… I think you’re the best person that can reach him right now.”

He understands that.

“I will.”

–

Admittedly, he has been keeping in touch with the news lately. He has known about Kid Arachnid and all the accusations thrown at him. It was no different from when Peter was Spider-Man, but the weight of his legacy must be making things more overwhelming for this kid.

Tony was keeping a distance up until this point. He didn’t want to get attached again. He didn’t want to keep his hopes up. After all, Kid Arachnid isn’t Spider-Man. He’s a boy named Miles. Miles Morales. According to Tony’s research, he lives in Brooklyn and studies at a school similar to Midtown School of Science and Technology, Visions Academy. Apparently, Miles only lives with his mother, while his father… died along with half of the universe a couple years ago.

It’s really no wonder why Miles must be feeling so much regret, from the little Tony has known him.

Pepper already suspected he was keeping an eye on Kid Arachnid. As much as she’s worried about Tony’s well-being, she knows he won’t rest until he does the right thing. She knows he can’t let another kid suffer the weight of being a vigilante. So, she understands when he decides not to go home just yet.

Tony is searching all over Brooklyn, hoping to find Miles. According to Rio, he’s not at his uncle’s nor at his best’s friend’s. He must be out there, haunted by his demons on his own.

Yet in the middle of the darkness and paleness of New York…

He stops at this colorful mural.

A beautiful graffiti of Spider-Man shooting a web towards the viewer. It’s red, blue, and yellow gold. Tony is captivated, as it’s the most heartfelt depiction he’s ever seen of Spider-Man.

Then, the man sees someone near it. Sitting on the roof miserably, many spray paint cans lie on the floor. And whoever is there, is holding one.

But the artist is looking down, not even acknowledging the beauty they’ve made.

As Tony approaches, slowly, he sees that it’s a boy. A black teenager. He can’t see his face so he can’t really recognize him for now. He knows this is a complete stranger, but… whoever he is, he admires a true hero.

“You made this?” Tony asks all of a sudden. Obviously, the kid jumps in surprise.

“M-Mr. Stark?”

The panic in his voice, though… doesn’t read as mere admiration.

Tony doesn’t have to rely on his technology to read through him.

“You’re ali-? I mean, yeah, sure,” the kid shrugs. “It’s nothing much.”

The man hums. “Great job, kid.”

“Never thought Iron Man would compliment my work.”

“I know good art when I see it.”

“Heh.” Miles still doesn’t internalize it, much like in the hospital when his mother told him it wasn’t his fault.

They stand there in silence, until Miles decides to sit again. He throws away the spray paint, which is apparently empty judging by the sound of it hitting the ground. Tony is still flying in the air, not sure how he’s going to land and how he’s going to help this kid he doesn’t even know.

This is nothing like before.

Tony has to accept that and be there for the present.

Finally, he joins Miles and exposes his face. That way, he gets to see clearly.

Like the way Miles is holding onto… what Tony judges to be a sketchbook, but the former doesn’t let him see most of it. It must be a comfort item.

“So, what’s young Basquiat doing out here late at night?” Tony tries to lighten him up.

Miles just sighs sadly.

“Nothing.”

Tony watches him.

“Shouldn’t you be home?” He asks gently.

“Shouldn’t you be home with your family?”

Miles might sound a little harsh, but his gaze begs for someone to stay.

“Well, I’m just… looking out for the little guy, that’s all.”

The boy seems to catch on, as his brown eyes widen slightly. He avoids eye contact altogether.

“I know sometimes little guys have a lot of responsibilities, and they’re alone in this big world… but they don’t have to be. I wanna make sure he has someone for him, you know?”

Miles slowly relaxes. Of course, that only gives out the sadness he must be dealing with.

“It’s just… all of these expectations piling up, they’re too much,” he explains. “All these changes I’m supposed to deal with… it’s hard to be strong all the time.”

Tony nods, a gesture for him to continue.

“I… I lost my dad. I wasn’t there for him when he was gone. I couldn’t do anything to stop it.” Miles hugs the sketchbook closer. “And all of a sudden, I got these… these powers and I thought, maybe I could do things differently. I couldn’t just not use them. I could hear people screaming, I could hear them crying and grieving in my sleep. And all I could think was how my dad fought to save lives, and how he never gave up. So, I got out there, I did my thing. But now everyone thinks I’m Spider-Man, or even someone who’s trying to steal his credit, and to make things even worse, I found out my uncle has been selling these huge weapons and it happened in the worst way possible. Tonight.”

Tony frowns, mostly at the last part.

“Wait, your uncle?”

Miles nods, ashamed. “He’s the Prowler. I thought he stopped selling weapons but… turns out he was lying to me this whole time. But he doesn’t know I’m the one chasing him. I wonder what he would do if he found out. He almost killed me. And I just froze, like I always do.”

Tony reconstructs the whole thing in his mind, as to why all of this is familiar…

“... that’s when you showed up, Mr. Stark,” Miles lowers his voice, regretful.

The light. The laser.

It all becomes clear.

Tony found traces of alien weapons in Brooklyn again. Knowing his past mistakes, he thought of going there himself. He was surprised to see Kid Arachnid again, but he didn’t think twice before jumping in front of him to save his life. Now Tony understands why Miles didn’t get out of the way.

“... You could’ve died because of me,” Miles sniffs.

It sounds blaring to his ears.

“Miles–”

The boy shivers at the mention of his name.

“I messed up, I know.”

“No, no, this isn’t your fault.”

“You would’ve been okay if I weren’t–”

“But I am okay. I’m here, talking to you. You saved my life, kid.”

Miles simply doesn’t believe him.

“You found out your uncle wasn’t the great guy you thought he was, right?” Tony interprets. “You froze and you had every reason to. Nobody is made of iron. Heck, not even me.”

The kid looks at him with those big, sad eyes.

“But maybe if I knew before…”

My dad would still be here, he would’ve said.

He doesn’t say it. But Tony hears it anyway.

“You couldn’t have known, Miles.”

The teen starts crying more properly.

“I’m just tired, Mr. Stark.”

Tony gets it.

He lets the boy mourn.

“I know how it feels,” Tony says. “To have no control over something, and when you realize… everything goes to shambles.” Despite this, he doesn’t cry. “When you have powers and you don’t do anything… the bad things happen because of you.”

Miles is probably listening, since he quiets down a little.

“But Miles… we can’t always predict them. Like what happened to your father. You were just a kid going on with your day. How could you have known the entire world would collapse?”

The other is looking at him again.

“And your uncle? You love him. You never expect these things from someone you love.” Tony pauses. “And you did your best to save my life. You wouldn’t have known I would do what I did. I’m sorry for scaring you like that, kid. That wasn’t on you.”

Miles doesn’t reply, only contemplates. He at least calms down.

“... was that how he felt, too?” He asks.

“Who?”

Miles gestures at the graffiti facing them, watching over them.

Tony sighs, this time remaining silent.

He notices that Miles is touching his cheek.

“Were you there when he…” The question is never finished.

Tony looks away. Miles can probably tell the answer.

“I know what it’s like,” the latter sighs. “When you lose your family.”

The man feels that laser cutting his heart in half again.

“It’s so empty without them, isn’t it?” Miles adds.

Tony’s eyes might burn, but nothing comes out. The void in his heart cries for him.

He and Miles share this silence, one so heartbreaking and consuming, and yet so… comforting and relatable, when they realize they’re not alone right now, having to put up appearances.

Miles glances at his sketchbook, and for the first time a small smile comes to him.

“You know…” he says, “we’ve actually met before.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Miles nods. Tony feels like he’s seen that sketchbook before…

“I got this on my tenth birthday,” the former narrates. “Somehow, my dad got Spider-Man to come. I think it was the best day of my life.”

Tony gasps. “Oh! I remember you, Peter- Spider-Man was so excited, it was the first birthday he was invited to.”

“Yeah. I also remember when you showed up to help him when he was hurt that one time. You guys just… argued for a good five minutes.”

Tony sighs affectionately. “He was stubborn, alright.”

Miles smirks, opening the sketchbook to the very first page. It’s not at all touched by drawings or sketches – just what appears to be autographs.

To my best friend Miles, from your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man!

And another one that complements,

And his super buddy Iron Man.

Turns out it’s a Moleskine sketchbook Tony and Peter bought together. Tony remembers that day very clearly. Peter really wanted to make this kid’s birthday the best it could ever be.

While Miles stares at the autographs with tears of joy, Tony realizes how much he changed. He used to be so small. Obviously, it’s been a few years since, but he wonders if his spider-powers changed his body, too. Miles might as well be taller than Tony.

“It’s… weird knowing that my two heroes are both gone,” the boy says, his enthusiasm gone. He closes the sketchbook once again. “My birthday was the only time I got to spend the day with them.”

Tony clearly wishes he could make his sadness go away. Which is, unfortunately, impossible.

“This is all I have left,” Miles’ voice breaks, as he hugs his beloved gift again.

Despite the heart-to-heart, Tony has been keeping his distance, respecting Miles’ space. But this vulnerability, this deprivation…

For the first time, Tony puts a comforting hand on Miles’ shoulder, much to the latter’s surprise, but not disgust or hesitance.

“You have me, Miles,” Tony reassures him. “If you want.”

“Really?”

The older man smiles at him. “I can help you with everything you need. We can make a suit for you, give all the resources necessary.”

Miles’ eyes appear to sparkle like stars. But then…

“Are you sure about this? I’m… I’m not Peter.”

Tony pauses.

Then, “I know. I genuinely just want to make sure you’re not alone, kid. Because you aren’t.”

Miles eases at this.

“Okay, Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s fragile smile cracks. But instead of letting it break and leak, he just pats the teen’s back. “You can just call me Tony.”

(You might as well hear a “please” in this sentence.)

Miles nods. “Okay, Tony.”

“Yeah.”

Together, in this lonely night, they appreciate the influence Spider-Man had in their lives. Now, they have to go on without him. But at least, again, Tony and Miles are together in this.

[moonlightreal]

Witch Mountain: the man and his books

The plan back in November was to finish the Witch Mountain posts and then swing over to some more Night World. But the Night World came to us and rearranged my plans. thank goodness for tags!

We’ve seen the faces of the actors in our mysterious Witch Mountain series but there is another face we should see. This guy:

Dapper fellow! Love the pencil mustache! This is Alexander Key, and this whole Witch Mountain thing started with him writing a book. The books will be the next post but for this one I want to tell you all a little more about who this guy is.

First of all, he lived from 1904-1979, so he was born into the world of Edwardian Farm, but in America. He lived his young life in Florida, where he sadly lost his father when he was six and his mother nine years later. He lived with other relatives until he was old enough to strike out on his own. It’s hard not to think that this early loss inspired Mr. Key to write about orphans and youngsters navigating the world without adult support. He ended up in military school in his teens and, according to Merri, enjoyed it! An unexpected attitude for a man whose written works are aware of the horrors of war—but he hadn’t yet seen those horrors himself at that point in his life.

At seventeen he went to the Chicago Art Institute to become an artist. His art is simple pen and ink drawings, reproducible in black and white for printing in books.

Searching for Alexander Key’s books will often bring up some that he was the illustrator for, causing a bit of confusion. During this time he also started writing, mostly stories for pulp magazines like Argosy. The two that I’ve read are both tales of the Florida coast, and not of much interest to me. There is an Argosy Archive, and perhaps someone should comb through it and see if there are treasures to be found.

Mr. Key married a fellow student, Margaret Livings, and they lived in Apalachicola, Florida where they are remembered. You can even see their house on Zillow. It’s a beautiful house; artists must have made more money back then! We don’t know what work Margaret was doing, but Mr. Key eventually did quite a lot of illustration work as well as writing for pulp magazines so he must have been able to make a living that way.

World War 2 broke out and Mr. Key was stationed in San Francisco. He was a “boarding officer” which google informs me means boarding ships and making sure they are doing what the official record says they’re doing. These days mostly it’s inspecting for drug smugglers but in wartime I expect it would be more interesting. I think this means Mr. Key would have been in port in San Fran, not going out and blowing up other ships.

Whatever the job was, he had enough free time to meet the lovely Alice Towle. Exactly how and why the divorce and remarriage occurred is their business, but Mr. Key seems to have stayed friends with his first wife, and she held great affection for him even after the marriage had ended. She was responsible for preserving his early papers which are currently held at the University of Southern Mississippi. They are “non circulating, available for research” which means you can make an appointment to go there and read them if you want to. Original manuscripts of the books! Maybe notes for unwritten books! I want to go!

After the war Mr. Key and his second wife moved to Franklin North Carolina. On Wayah Valley Road according to this article; the road seems to have become Wayah St, a short stretch of road with mostly mobile homes plus one house with serious columns out front. Was that fancy place their house? Probably not, but I can’t resist googlemaps-creeping. The town is in the Blue Ridge mountains where Escape to Witch Mountain is set. They welcomed a son, Zan, and lived in a house in the mountains with a studio. We see a glimpse of the family’s life in the book The Strange White Doves, a nonfiction book about semi-mystical communication between animals, presented as experiences Mr. Key had himself and stories he heard from neighbors. These stories may be a little bit fictionalized but they show a life in the mountains, surrounded by nature and animals.

After that, there’s not much else to know. Alexander Key lived in Puerto Rico for a bit apparently, and lived in Eufaula, Alabama where in 1979, he passed away.

What became of his family is, well, their private business but fans have looked into it because of the question of who owns the rights to the books! Zan Key passed away in the... ninties? Eighties? At any rate, he did not live to old age and his death was tragic in some way.

And that’s part of “Why Alexander Key” for me, the same way there’s a “why LJ Smith, because I feel sorry for her.” Because Mr. Key has no family to carry on the legacy so the only people he has are his fans. Well, and Disney, but Disney is a company it’s not able to care about anything but money. Actual caring can only be done by people. So we should care, when we can.

[lucydixon]

Firestarter, Chapter 11

10k Znation x Original Female Character

Summary: Operation Bitemark gets lost in South Dakota and finds themselves scrambling to keep a Nuclear reactor core from exploding. Torch and 10k hold hands.

CW: Swearing, Cannon typical violence, Zombie apocalypse typical weapons, Violence, Death

South Dakota

“According to this Map,” Warren looked down at the crumpled paper in her hands two weeks after Torch had caught a bullet “We’re in the Black Hills of South Dakota.”

“I miss the truck.” Cassandra groaned, pulling herself over the end of the hill while Torch grumbled in a similar manner at her side.

“At least we’re out of that damn horde.” Warren shrugged, moving far quicker than any of them.

“There’s nothing to kill out here.” 10k muttered under his breath, glancing over at Torch and checking her shoulder. It was halfway to healed, no longer bandaged, and making him a little nervous.

“That’s fine by me.” Murphy piped up from behind him, earning a sharp look from the boy.

“We need to find a place to make camp soon.” Doc panted “My dogs are getting tired.”

“Well,” Warren sighed “There’s supposed to be a little town called Edgemont. I’ll take a compass reading up at this next ridge here.”

“Can’t we just take a break?” Murphy begged, staggering along beside them.

“A quick one.” Warren said sternly once they reached the ridge, still looking down at the map.

“Oh my god,” Cassandra muttered loud enough for them to hear “look.”

Torch cocked her head to the side, unsure what she was looking at. The mountains before them had faces carved into them and it looked like someone had taken a can of spray paint to them.

“Who the hell would do that?” Doc frowned.

“Some daredevil with a sick sense of humor.” Murphy scoffed. “This is why we can’t have nice things.”

“Probably the same jackass that tagged the liberty bell.” Doc shook his head disappointed.

“I think it’s awesome” 10k grinned, looking back at Torch, who still just looked confused.

Doc gave him a soft shove and rolled his eyes.

“If I ever catch whoever did that,” Warren sucked her teeth “They’re catchin’ a whoopin’.”

“Come on,” She said “Let’s find that town, it’ll be getting dark soon.”

“I thought we were taking a break?” Murphy whined.

“Break time’s over.” Torch shrugged, following along.

“How’s your shoulder?” 10k asked, falling into step with her

“Same as it was five minutes ago” She rolled her eyes, a little amused, but mostly tired “s’fine.”

“Are you sure?” He frowned “Because we’ve been moving around a lot and I don’t think Doc’s checked on it at all today and-”

“10k.” She laughed, cutting him off from rambling “Seriously. It ain’t hurtin’.”

He squinted at her for a moment and then sighed.

“Fine. but you’ve gotta tell me if it starts to.”

“Sure.” Torch shrugged unconvincingly.

“We’ve been walking for hours,” Murphy complained after another couple of hours. “Admit it Columbus, you’re lost.”

“Oh, give it a rest Murphy,” Doc sighed in exasperation “Warren knows where she’s goin’.”

“You know where we’re goin’ Warren?” He thought he should ask

Their leader looked around and sighed

“Well,” She frowned, “We should have hit that town by now.”

“And for the record.” She turned to Murphy “Columbus was lost when he found America.”

“Yeah.” He scoffed, “And look how that turned out.”

“Y’all ain’t seein’ that?” Torch asked after a while, nodding towards a white warehouse poking out from the trees.

“That’s not a town.” Murphy grumbled.

“No shit.” Torch scoffed, “But it’s somethin’.”

“Well now, being Mr. Brightside for the moment” Doc stepped between them to mediate “maybe there’s something useful inside.”

“Yeah.” Warren bobbed her head “Let’s check it out.”

“Hell yeah.” Torch muttered under her breath, palming her gun and ready for some action.

Warren led them onto the lot with her gun raised.

“You know what?” Doc looked around “This might actually be a safe place for us to rest and load up on supplies.”

“I could use an hour of sleep.” Cassandra sighed dreamily

“Somethin’ ain’t right.” Torch frowned “too quiet.”

“Hey,” Warren nodded to the oldest member “Doc, get that door.”

“Why do they still lock doors?” The old man groaned after rattling the handle a few times. “Luckily,” He grinned, pulling a crowbar from his back and holding it out triumphantly “I have a skeleton key.”

Warren led them through the open door while 10k brought up the rear, not far from Torch, who was disappointed to see that the building was full of tanks and not anything cool.

“Well,” Doc sighed “Being Mr.Darkside, we are not gonna find much food or ammo in here.”

“Yeah,” Torch frowned “If we were lookin’ for industrial pipes though?” She whistled “We’d be in luck.”

10k and Cassandra chuckled on either side of her.

“I don’t like this.” Murphy whined but perked up when he found a gallon of water up on a platform.

“Hey, hey, hold on!” Doc stepped in before he could get a sip in “You can’t just drink that. What do you think this is? The local piggly wiggly? That could be some type of, I don’t know, Industrial water that’ll rot your insides!”

“Oh, spare me the details.” Murphy scoffed before taking a swig and shrugged, deeming it safe.

“Over there.” Cassandra nodded towards an approaching glow.

“Woah,” Torch watched the glow-in-the-dark Z in wonder, taking a step forward only to be tugged back by Warren.

“Take cover.” She hissed when the girl shrugged her off quickly “Come on.”

They all tucked in behind a wall while Warren stood guard, gun ready.

“Everybody sit quietly.” She told them, narrowing her eyes at Torch, who was trying to sneak a peek. 10k grabbed her by the wrist and kept her from blowing their cover.

Not even a half-minute later, Murphy made a face and passed wind.

Everyone groaned, shuffling away from him.

“Sorry.” he grimaced “It got away from me!”

“If I die cause you farted,” Doc raised his crowbar and shook his head “I’m taking you with me.”

Warren shushed them, peering around the corner.

The Z rounded the corner and Doc brought his weapon down on its head, dropping it in one swing.

Torch managed to shake 10k loose and dart closer to the mysterious being.

“What in the living hell?” Doc circled it “It’s glowing.”

“It’s like a Zombie ghost” 10k’s voice in her ear startled her.

“Cool” Torch breathed, looking at the glowing zombie with wide eyes “D’ya reckon we should be so close to it?”

“Probably not.” Doc hissed, pulling her back a little “That can’t be good”

“Why is it glowing?” Murphy stayed back, sounding uneasy.

There was a snarl down the hall and they all sighed heavily.

“He’s got friends,” Warren warned, stepping back into the hall, and firing once before her gun clicked empty.

10k tried to step in but froze when the door busted open and two people in hazmat suits burst in through the door.

“Don’t touch them!” A voice shouted and they all took a step back.

One of them fired at the remaining Zs, but one slipped past them, so 10k rammed it into the wall with his weapon.

Torch lunged towards him, yanking him back when the Z was shot by the strangers. She grunted in pain, straining her shoulder, and had to rest her forehead on 10k’s shoulder blade in a moment of weakness.

“Hey,” He turned around carefully, trying not to jostle her too much. “You okay?”

“Yep.” She nodded stiffly, leaning back so she wasn’t touching him anymore, cradling her arm to her chest. “Fine.”

“No, you’re not.” 10k frowned, “Your arm should really still be in the sling-”

“Christ.” She groaned “I ain’t puttin’ it back in the fuckin’ sling.”

“Just-” He sighed “Just be careful, alright?”

Torch just nodded, trying not to scowl too hard while he hovered.

Doc reached down to touch one of the glowing Zs despite the warnings.

“Don’t touch them!” The man repeated harshly.

“Are they contagious?” He asked, not looking nearly as concerned as he should’ve.

“Radioactive.”

“Ah, shit.” Torch groaned “Why’s this type of thing always happenin’ to us?”

“Radioactive?” Warren repeated, “How is that possible?”

“I’ll show you.” One of the strangers removed his mask and waved them outside.

The group of survivors shared a look before following him out, trampling through the trees, single file until they reached a far bigger building a quarter mile away.

“There you go.” The man nodded towards it.

It was round and looked like it was leaking steam of some sort.

“What the fuck is that?” Torch breathed, tilting her head back to get a full view.

“It’s gonna be one of those days, ain’t it?” Doc muttered

“Yep.” Warren sighed from behind them.

The man and his daughter walked them back towards town, stripping themselves of their suits from the waist up. Nobody uttered a word until they found their way to a road.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” The man asked them, leading the group “what were you folks doing wandering out there near the reactor?”

“We were lost,” Murphy answered.

“We were not lost.” Warren corrected, sending him a pointed look.

“I think we were a little lost.” Torch muttered to 10k while they brought up the rear.

He chuckled and shook his head.

“Our vehicle ran out of gas twenty miles from here “ Warren explained “We took a shortcut through the woods so we could avoid the Zs.”

“You’re not lost anymore” The girl up front shrugged.

“Welcome to Edgemont, South Dakota.” The man swung an arm towards the building in passing. “Population three.” he held out three fingers “Not including you.”

“Names Wilbur Grady. This is my daughter, Amelia.”

“Nice to meet you.” She smiled.

“Nice Meeting you.” Warren nodded tightly “I’m Roberta Warren, this is Murphy, Doc, Cassandra and that’s Torch and 10k in the back.”

The man started coughing and staggered over to a gas pump to steady himself as he hacked brutally. His daughter was quick to rush to his side, muttering to him.

“Is he okay?” Warren frowned.

“No.” Amelia straightened “Radiation poisoning.”

“I’m fine.” Wilbur breathed shakily. “Let’s get you folks checked out and get you some food. Our place is down the road a little ways.”

The man and his Daughter led them to an airplane hangar, where he scanned them with a machine that was making a god-awful noise. Torch scowled the entire time they were getting checked out.

Amelia passed each of them a pill.

“What’s this?” Doc was the only one who asked while the rest stared down at theirs skeptically.

“Iodine.”

“Oh,” his shoulders slumped in disappointment.

“It’ll keep the radiation from accumulating in your thyroid.”

“Sold.” Torch muttered, throwing hers into her mouth and swallowing it dry.

“Looks like you’re still within safe levels.” Gilbert told them, setting his machine down on one of the wings of the plane “But, you’re lucky we came when we did. Most of the Zs around here are highly radioactive.”

“As if brain-eating zombies wasn’t bad enough.” Doc scoffed.

“Okay,” Murphy stepped forward. “Question.”

“Shouldn’t we be in one of those suits too?”

“Radiation levels aren’t too bad out here” Wilbur chuckled “You’ll probably get cancer in twenty years.”

“Somehow,” Warren sighed, “that’s way down on my list of worries.”

“Yeah,” the man frowned “but, that’s not our immediate problem. The reactor core is melting down.”

Torch started gnawing on her bottom lip.

That did not sound good at all.

“We don’t fix something soon, everything within a 300-mile radius will be glowing.”

“Not just the Zs.” Murphy nodded tightly, starting to look panicked “Okay, well. Been nice meeting you” He swiped his bag off the floor “We’ve got places to be. Places at least 300 miles away.”

“Good luck with that.” Wilbur scoffed, “Every car in town is broke or can’t be driven.”

“Then I guess we’d better start walking.” He urged

“We ain’t gonna make it 300 miles on foot.” Torch rolled her eyes “Not in time at least. How long we got till we start havin’ problems?”

“Less than 48 hours before the core melts down.”

“Ah fuck.” the girl cursed “That ain’t good.”

“Why are you still here?” Cassandra asked.

“Because there’s still a chance.” Wilbur insisted “To shut this thing down and save a good chunk of god’s country from being irradiated for the next ten thousand years.”

“Besides,” He coughed, looking down at his hands “I’m already a goner.”

“Well, what about your daughter?” Murphy snarled “Did she sign up for this suicide mission too?”

“I’m sticking around to help my dad.” Amelia stepped in.

“I told her, I don’t need her help, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“I’m a pilot.” She admitted “I’ll fly us out of the hot zone.”

Something about the look on her face didn’t sit right with Torch.

“Well perfect!” Murphy sighed in relief “we’ll just hitch a ride.”

“I ain’t gettin’ in no plane.” Torch scoffed, earning a nudge from 10k.

“Scared?” he asked, looking amused while the conversation continued.

“Never been on one.” She admitted “I ain’t tryin’ it in this dinky lil thing. Sides’ it don’t look big enough for all of us. Imma take my chances down here.”

“I’ve never been on a plane either.” 10k shrugged, examining his gun. “If we’re stuck here when it all blows, at least we’ll be together.”

Torch peered at his through the strands of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail and wondered if he was having a hard time with his feelings too. She guessed not, considering what he'd just said so casually.

She looked away before he could catch her staring.

“Okay, here’s the plan.” Wilbur panted, drenched with sweat after the short walk. “I need to get to the control room to see if I can figure out why the fuel rods aren’t dropping down to the cooling pool to stop the reaction. I haven’t been able to get in there ‘cause of this gauntlet of zombies”

He coughed.

“That’s where I need your help.”

“Killing zombies,” Warren shook her head “That’s what we do.”

“Radiation levels are only slightly elevated outside the containment building, so you should be safe for at least two minutes. Long enough to get me to the door before you have to retreat back here” he nodded towards the gate they were rounding on.

“Use whatever you have to keep the Zs from getting too close.” He warned “They’re very contaminated. One hug, and you’ll be dead in hours.”

“Don’t hug the zombies.” Doc nodded, piking one of them through the fence. “Got it.”

“You two stay here.” He nodded to Murphy and Amelia “10k, you cover us from up there.” She pointed at a slight hill to their left.

“If we don’t get back. Get him to California somehow.”

Torch inventoried her knives and jumped when she felt a hand on her uninjured shoulder only to find that it belonged to 10k.

“It ain’t smart to sneak up on people when they’re holdin’ knives.”

“Just,” He sighed, looking worried. “Be careful. Okay? Don’t get too close and watch your shoulder, don’t push it.”

“Yes Sir.” She gave him a mock salute and a teasing smile.“I ain’t too keen on hugs, so ya don’t gotta worry ‘bout me.”

The boy rolled his eyes before sending her one last fleeting look and taking off to get into position.

“Torch.” Warren called her over “You ready?”

“Sure am.” She nodded, positioning herself at the front gates, palming a knife in each hand despite having promised to take it easy.

“Let’s do this,” Doc shouted, slamming the gate open before darting inside.

Warren took the lead, clearing a path while Doc and Torch flanked Wilbur on either side, keeping the dead away while Cassandra brought up the rear, taking out anything that could sneak up on them.

Torch grunted, hurling one of her knives into a skull before repeating the action two times. She pulled her gun, realizing that she wouldn’t be able to retrieve her knives afterward. She wasn’t nearly as good of a shot as 10k, but she did what she could while he picked off anything she missed from his position. Every time the recoil sent waves of vibration up her arm, she winced, but pushed forward.

Wilbur limped on, far slower than they could afford until they burst in through the doors.

“You’ve got one minute left!” He called out breathlessly, unable to stop to catch his breath.

They ran down the hall, a little wary of the lack of Zombies.

“Glow stick on the stairs,” Torch hissed, pulling a buck knife from her belt and using the elongated blade to pike the Z, letting it fall over the railing without touching her.

Warren and Torch darted up the stairs, closely followed by Cassandra, who was half dragging Wilbur along behind them. Doc stayed at the top of the stairs once they reached it, peering down in search of any threats to their exit plans.

Warren sliced through two glowing Z’s and Torch sidestepped them as they fell, trying desperately not to brush up against them.

“Time for you to go!” Wilbur coughed, pointing back towards the stairs. “You got to Go! Go!”

Torch spotted an incoming Z and stepped towards it, waiting till it was near the railing to kick it off the ledge.

It went over the railing and landed with a satisfying splat.

They all ran to look.

The elevator dinged and Wilbur ran for it, staggering back when a Z lunged at him.

“I got it.” Warren piked it, stepping back so the man could run for the closing doors.

“You’re out of time!” He told them “Get out of here.”

“You have to Go!”

“Godspeed” Torch nodded to the man before following everyone back to the stairs, which they thundered down in record timing before sprinting for the doors.

“Go!” Torch held it open before catching up, slowing to a stop just outside the gate and narrowly avoiding slamming into 10k, who’d been anxiously waiting for them.

“That was more than two minutes,” he told her while she was hunched over, catching her breath.

“Barely.” She scoffed. “I’m fine, ain’t I.”

“I’m almost at the control room.” Wilbur’s voice crackled through the radio, grabbing all of their attention.

“Great” Amelia spoke into the receiver “Keep going dad.”

All they could hear was the muffled sirens coming from inside the building.

“Now what?” Murphy asked, gaze fixated on the building.

“We wait.” Amelia nodded.

Torch pulled a lighter from her pocket and started flicking it on and off, leaning up against the fence with 10k next to her.

“You know that drives me nuts, right.” he told her, not looking away from the doors

“What, this?” She moved a little closer to him.

“Yes, that.” his eyes darted down to her face as he lowered her arm gently.

“Like it doesn’t grind my gears when you’re takin’ your gun apart all night and puttin’ it back together.” Her brow was raised.

“How am I supposed to know that If you don’t say anything?” His hand rested against the fence over her head, way closer to her face than usual.

She swallowed hard, looking up at him through her lashes.

“Hey, Here he comes!” Doc shouted.

10k took a good step back and raised his rifle, steadying it on the fence so he could pick off the few remaining Zs before they could get anywhere near Wilbur, who was staggering forward, stumbling over every rock or indent on the ground.

“Dad!” Amelia darted into the enclosed yard and ran for him.

From the way he was moving, Torch couldn’t tell whether or not he was alive and rested her palm on the gun at her belt.

“Dad?” The girl pleaded, catching him as he fell, laying him on the ground. “Dad?”

“Dad? Look at me” She shoved his helmet out of the way, “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t make it.” He croaked, reaching out for her with a gray hand.

“No. No. No” Amelia muttered as he started to fade “Hold on. Hold on.”

Her pleading only got louder when his chest stopped rising and when he turned, Doc had to grab her and pull her away while Warren jammed her knife in the base of his skull, being as gentle as she possibly could.

Doc lowered the sobbing girl to the ground, while the rest of them stood around, unsure what to do next.

“I’m sorry,” Warren said finally, “Let’s bury him.”

So, they did.

“So, That thing’s still ready to cook off?” Doc asked, nodding towards the plant after they’d buried Wilbur and left Amelia for a moment alone at his side. “Well, I’d like to know what we can do about that.”

“Can’t run,” Cassandra shook her head, looking thoughtful “We’re still in the blast zone.”

“We go in.” Warren shrugged when nobody else had anything to offer.

“And do what?” Doc frowned. “Grady was the only one who knew how to shut that thing off. I’m a doctor dammit! Not a nuclear scientist.”

“What about the other dude?” Torch spoke up.

“What other dude?” Warren asked while Doc and Cassandra went to talk to Amelia.

“He said the population was three. I don’t know about y’all, but I only counted two.”

Warren nodded, shooting the girl a grateful look before heading over to see what the grieving girl knew.

“Homer Stubbins.” Amelia nodded. “He was the chief engineer at the plant for twenty years. He was Dad’s boss.”

“Boom.” Torch shrugged “That’s our guy.”

“He’s been held up in the woods since the apocalypse.” She shook her head.”He’s armed and dangerous. He became a recluse after he lost his son.”

“How do we find Homer?” Warren asked gently.

“He won’t talk to you.” Amelia insisted.

“We have to try.”

An hour later, they found themselves standing at the edge of the man’s property, staring at the barbed wire fences and the skeletons strung up in them.

“We have to stop here,” Amelia told them

‘We’re still 50 yards away.” Murphy frowned.

“My dad said the place is booby-trapped.”

10k and Torch exchanged a look of crazed excitement before dropping down to the ground to inspect the terrain.

“I told you. Homer’s crazy.”

“Have we entirely given up on the idea of making a phone call?” Murphy sounded uneasy.

“Hey,” Warren said to Torch and 10k “This is your kind of setup. What do you think? How do we get in?”

“Without getting us killed.” Murphy interjected, “Yeah, I’m talking to you Torch.”

The girl raised her middle finger without looking, still focused on the lawn.

“Well,” 10k sighed “Homer’s setup is aimed at stopping Zs, not a team.”

“I think if he went and made those mines as obvious as he did, we’re gonna have a few surprises along the way.” The girl cocked her head to the side. “Just let me go first and then wait a minute to make sure I ain’t blown to shreds before followin’.”

“I don’t like that plan” 10k interjected, grabbing her by the elbow before she could take a step. “I’ll go with you. Get another set of eyes out there.”

“It ain’t that big a deal” she rolled her eyes, but let him keep hold of her arm “Fine.”

“We’ll be fine.” Torch nodded to Warren.

“You four, wait here.” Warren instructed “I’ll go with them. We’ll flank him and come up from behind.”

“Heard.” They both nodded before leading the way.

“I kinda wanna set one off just to see what’d happen” Torch muttered under her breath as they crept through the heavily guarded yard.

“We’re not doing that!” 10k hissed “Do I need to hold your hand?”

“You offerin’?” She asked without thinking and both their cheeks burned.

“Not the time.” Warren chimed in, softly smirking to herself when 10k grabbed the girl’s hand before continuing on.

10k hopped over a railing and crept along the side of the cabin while Warren and Torch took the opposite side, stepping out just in time for the man to kick Doc to the ground, gun raised.

“I wouldn’t do that sir.” 10k popped up behind Mr. Stubbins and held a blade to his throat.

“Go ahead.” The man snarled “Do me a favor. Just don’t leave me a Z.”

“I’d never do that Mr. Stubbins.” 10k told him “We just need your help.”

“Hello to you too.” Doc called out, still on the ground.

10k let the man go once he lowered his weapon. The man led them into the house, unfazed by their reaction to the abundance of supplies inside.

There were bins full of rice and flour, canned foods of every kind, and camping gear slewn about like it was nothing.

“Grady was a good man,” Stubbins told them, patting Amelia on the shoulder sympathetically. “If anyone could SCRAM that reactor, it was him.”

“SCRAM?” 10k asked leaning up against the kitchen counter, where Torch was sitting.

“Safety Control Rod Axe Man.” He nodded “Goes back to the first reactor. The only safety system they had was literally a man with an axe, whose job in the event of a meltdown was to cut the rope holding the fuel rods over the cooling pool.”

“That’s what Dad was trying to do.” Amelia realized.

“How much time do you have?”

“No,” Murphy frowned. “How much time do WE have? You’re in the soup with us.”

“You’ve confused me with someone who gives a damn.”

“According to Grady,” Warren took over “less than 40 hours.”

“And we do give a damn.” She added with a pointed look. ”Now, are you gonna help us or are you gonna sit here and let us all die?”

“Well,” the man sighed. “There’s one thing we might try. I’m going to have to show you.”

“We’re gonna need Weapons,” he continued, pulling a large bag from the shelf and setting it down on the table “Equipment.”

Torch leaned forward so far, trying to sneak a peek, that she would’ve fallen if 10k wasn’t holding onto her.

“Come on,” He nodded towards the bag “Load up. It’s not like I’m gonna need this stuff.”

Torch hopped down once 10k finally released his hold, to crowd around the table with the others while he took a look around, stopping in the next room over to examine a large display of blueprints in what looked like the study.

“You know what you’re looking at?” Stubbins spoke from behind him, drawing his attention.

“The original plans for this reactor?” The boy asked, awestruck

“I was part of the design team.” He nodded before looking away “You’re uh- You’re pretty good with that knife for a kid.”

“Yeah,” He continued, looking like he might cry. “My son… He had one like it, but with a longer blade. You know?”

“Yeah,” 10k nodded sympathetically. “Older model. Got to be good to make it work.”

“Oh, Max was good” The man was clearly trying not to let his face crumple.

Warren started rounding everyone up to leave, so they both turned, but 10k felt like he should say something.

“I heard about your son” He frowned “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Stubbins cleared his throat “There is nothing worse than outliving your own child.”

“Nothing.”

10k watched him walk away, unable to help but think of his own father.

“Y’alright?” Torch frowned, finding him staring off into space while everyone waited for him outside.

“Huh?” He looked down at her, eyes full of confusion.

“We’re leavin’.” She nodded towards the door, following when he moved towards it. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah.” he nodded, looking down as they joined the group, bringing up the rear “Just thinking.”

It wasn’t hard to guess what he was thinking about, not after watching the exchange in the study from afar.

They all piled onto a golf cart and drove to the plant, arriving at the gates with anxious energy all around.

Warren tried to call Citizen Z with a satellite phone she’d gotten from Stubbins but couldn’t get through.

“I don’t know what you want with that piece of junk.” The man shook his head “Nobody to call.”

“We’ve got somebody who might pick up.” Warren shrugged bringing the phone to her ear “Northern Light, come in northern light. This is Delta x-ray Delta. Do you read me?”

The fence rattled up ahead and Mr. Stubbins froze, staring back at the Z trying to claw its way through the chain link fence.

“Something wrong Homer?” Cassandra asked.

“I knew her.” He breathed, “That’s all. Her son was one of Max’s buddies.”

10k looked over at the man and frowned.

“Did you ever go back to the house you grew up in only to see that it’s falling apart and in a bad neighborhood?” Stubbins shook his head “That’s what this feels like, times ten.”

“Well,” Doc chimed in, “where I grew up, the zombie apocalypse only improved things.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Torch scoffed.

They shared a brief look of startled understanding before looking away.

Stubbins sighed heavily and nodded towards the Z.

10k dispatched as quickly and respectfully as he could.

“Alright.” He cleared his throat. ”back to business.”

“From here on," he told them “the area’s hot, right? You’ve got two clean rad suits in there.” He motioned to the bag in Amelia’s hands “One for me and uh… I need somebody to back me up”

“I’ll go.” 10k volunteered immediately and Torch frowned, gnawing on her bottom lip.

“No,” Warren shook her head “I’ll do it.”

“You can’t.” Doc reminded her “Who’s gonna get Murphy to California if something goes wrong?”

Warren looked back at the rest of the group pointedly.

“I sure as hell ain’t gonna do it." Torch held her hands up "I’ll kill his ass before we make it across state lines if ya leave me alone with him.”

Murphy took a big step away from her.

“Don’t look at me.” Doc shook his head.

“Okay.” She sighed, turning to 10k “alright. But remember. You have ammo now. But not an infinite supply.”

“Let’s do this,” he nodded.

10k and Stubbins went in alone while Torch paced the fence and the rest of them milled around, just as anxious.

They were only in there for fifteen minutes before returning, looking disappointed.

“Damn.” Torch cursed under her breath, realizing whatever they’d tried hadn’t been successful

“So what now?” Murphy threw his hands up “Plan B? Or is it C? Give me a DEF-”

“Hey, Hey, hey” Warren snapped her fingers at him threateningly “Not helpful!”

“All right.” Stubbins sighed “Robbie failed, but I can still do a manual SCRAM.”

“How?” 10k asked “The place was crawling with Zs.”

“We’ll go heavier.” Doc suggested, “Take us along this time.”

“We probably only got one more shot at a SCRAM.” The man sighed ‘But we’ll need heavier suits to get into the control room.”

“Where do we find them?” 10k asked.

“In the lab.” He shrugged “Not far from where we lost Robbie. Four can go in. Two in these suits. Me and the kid in the heavies.”

“Okay,” Murphy grumbled “And if plan C doesn’t work?”

“Then, we’re fucked.” Torch told him, shaking her head solemnly.

“Amelia,” Warren muttered, “Would you be willing to fly him out of the radiation zone?”

“To be honest,” She grimaced, “I don’t have enough fuel. I lied to my dad, or else he never would have let me stay behind.”

“Oh great.” Murphy scoffed.

“If I had a few gallons.” She shrugged, “I might be able to get myself and one other person outside the blast zone, if we’re lucky.”

Warren decided that she was going to convert the plane engine to take alcohol instead of fuel and assigned roles to everyone, placing Torch at the gates while she and Amelia took Murphy to the plane and the rest of them went inside.

10k looked down at her before going in through the gates.

“Try not to die in there.” Torch muttered, looking anywhere but his eyes until the last second “Okay?”

“I won’t.” He couldn’t keep in the grin he flashed her “try not to blow anything up while I’m gone.”

“Course not,” She scoffed. “wouldn’t wanna blow the whole plant while you’re still in there.”

“I’ll see you soon.” He lingered for a moment before finally going inside with the rest of them.

Cassandra and Doc came back out fifteen minutes later and gathered around with Torch to listen to whatever was going on through the radio.

“I’m gonna have to go out there and unstick those rods.” Homer’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Be careful not to drop me in the reactor pool. I’ll be cooked instantly”

“Got it.”

“We shouldn’t'a left them alone in there.” Torch couldn’t help but feel a bit panicked. “Give me one of ‘em suits and I'll go back in.”

“That isn’t going to help,” Doc told her, holding the suit away from her “we need to sit tight. Homer knows what he's doing and the kid is awesome.”

“Here I go.” Torch crouched down next to the radio at the sound of 10k’s voice “can you get me closer?”

“Yeah,” 10k’s voice rang, soothing her nerves the tiniest bit “Sorry.”

“I thought everyone your age was a wiz with a remote.” Homer tried to joke.

“Not me.” their sniper replied

“Lower me a little more.”

“Can you get me a little closer.”

“Okay, now hit the switch that says ‘claw release’.”

It was quiet for a moment and they all held their breath.

“One down.”

“Once this is fixed,” Homer rasped, “Shoot me and get out. I don’t want to become one of them.”

Torch felt her heart drop for 10k.

“Two... More… Inches.”

“Hit the claw release again.”

“Almost… There.” He sounded like he was fading fast.

The blaring alarm stopped suddenly and they all slumped over in relief.

“Thank god.” Torch breathed, one hand over her racing heart.

“Homer it worked.” 10k crackled through the radio, drawing their attention.

“How bout that” He grunted “We did good.”

“All right, now let me get you out of there.”

“Shoot me now.”

“I already killed my father, I don’t want to kill you too.”

“Then I’ll make it easier.”

“No, no, no!” 10k’s voice screamed through the speaker “No!”

10k came back out alone, stomping angrily with his eyes glued to the ground.

Torch contemplated trying to comfort him, but she’d heard it all go down over the radio and if she was in his place, she wouldn’t want everyone crowding around her. She knew that he grew attached to people too quickly for his own good and that his father’s death had left a gaping hole in his life that he was desperate to fill. He’d let it happen again and suffered for it.

There wasn’t anything she could say that would fix it.

Doc handed him his bag and 10k immediately threw it onto the ground.

She let Doc try on his own to talk him down and grabbed the discarded bag, but he was shrugged off and yelled at.

Warren rolled up on the golf cart suddenly and 10k stomped off to the side, tugging at the roots of his hair.

She wasn’t listening as they made plans for the next stop, but there was no way of missing Murphy, staggering up the hill looking like he’d been in some kind of wreck.

“Great news!” He shouted on his way up “the vodka made perfect fuel for about ten minutes!”

“What happened?” Warren asked, looking back at him in shock.

“Crash landing about a hundred miles outside of town.”

“You mean to tell me you done walked a hundred miles when I saw your mangey ass a few hours ago?” Torch scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Ten miles.” He shrugged off his coat as he approached the cart “Whatever.”

“It felt like a hundred miles when you're walking” He tore open a bottle of vodka.

“Where’s Amelia?” Warren asked before he could down a sip.

He just pointed in the direction they’d come from.

They all turned as watched as Amelia’s zombified form trudged up the hill, snarling.

“Oh Jesus,” Torch muttered under her breath, palming a blade.

“You didn’t even mercy her?” Doc shouted in disbelief.

“It didn’t feel right, somehow.” Murphy defended

“So you just let her follow you?”

“That ain’t right.” Torch shook her head. “This is fucked, even for you.”

She held out a knife, ready to throw it, but Murphy ran out in front of her, begging her to stop.

“No!” he shouted “She is not hurting us.”

They all blinked at him.

“I don’t know,” He shrugged, “Maybe it’s time for a different kind of mercy.”

“Okay.” Warren sighed and despite not agreeing, they all followed her to the cart.

Torch waited until they were alone to check on 10k.

“Y’alright?” she asked him softly, watching as he barely lifted his shoulders to shrug.

“M’sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” 10k muttered, “this is on me.”

“It ain’t on anyone.” her brows pulled together “he was dyin’ either way. Ain’t nothin' anybody coulda done.”

He knew that in his heart, but he was starting to understand why Torch leaned into her anger anytime she was upset. It hadn’t felt good to yell at everyone, but it had been cathartic in a way and it had pushed them back enough not to make him talk about it.

He thought for half a second about brushing her off, but then realized that he didn’t want to push her away. If anything, he was desperate to get as close as he possibly could to her, so he scooted just a little bit closer so their arms were touching and when the golf cart went over an unexpectedly large bump in the gravel road, he grabbed her hand and she grabbed his back, steadying herself.

Instead of taking it back, she squeezed his hand and kept their fingers intertwined for the rest of the ride, oblivious to the looks they were getting from everyone in the backseat, who had turned to make sure they hadn’t fallen off.

[starrystar]

Alt text in case it hasn’t been done yet:

1

Kind of a sparkly peach background with gold flecks.

The saga of Bob: How I got boob cancer and all I got was this lousy tumor

Speech bubble (SB): Must we?

Caption: So I had a breast lump. But I have tons of lumps. This one felt like all the others, except it was sore.

SB: Dammit, I was bet I’m gonna have to get that drained.

Caption: I ignored it for a month but it didn’t go away.

Shocking!

SB: Don’t you start.

2

Pink floaty background.

Caption: Finally I had some spare executive function and made an appointment to see my doctor. She was impressed by its size.

GP: Holy crap!

SB: I know, right?

GP: Two and a half centimeters. Let’s get you a mammogram.

SB: You can’t just pop it now?

GP: No, you need a specialist for that.

SB: Nuts.

Three weeks later . . .

Note: the GP speech bubbles are tagged GP by a cute little cartoon doctor’s ID card

3

Orange yellow background with veiny lines.

Whirr thunk thunk thunk thunk

Tech: Now take a deep breath…and hold it…

SB: Hhhngh!

Tech: …and breathe.

SB: Hey, what are these wormy looking things?

Tech: Those are lymph nodes.

SB: Do they all look like worms?

Tech: I can discuss anatomy, but that’s all.

SB: So I should Google do lymph nodes look like worms?

Tech: That might send you down some rabbit holes…

4

Mint background with red water bubbles that look disturbingly like blood bubbles in murky water.

Fancy text: Then it was…ultrasound time

SB: But there’s lots fo things that are dense with blood vessels, right?

Tech: Oh, sure.

SB: I’m not worried. If it was a tumor that size, it’d be, like, doing something by now.

Tech: …mmm.

Quotation marks: We need a biopsy.

5

Rose quartz background with some shiny sparkly rainbow at the bottom.

Caption: For the biopsy, they numbed up my boob, then used what sounded like a staple gun on it. Fifteen times.

Bold text fading into the background: Ka-chunk! Ka-chunk! Ka-chunk!

MD: Looks like three centimeters.

SB: I’m not worried.

MD: Mmm.

Quotation marks: Someone will call you back in two business days.

SB: It’s fine. I’m not worried. Also my boob bruised like cheap tie-dye.

6

Pink background.

Bold font: Two business days later…

Caption: I drove to the lake so that I could pretend I wasn’t watching my phone more effectively.

SB: Man, I’m gonna feel so silly for worrying when it turns out to be nothing. Just so silly.

Ring Ring

SB: Hello! Hi! Yes! Speaking! Uh-huh.

The background descends into ink dripping blackness at the bottom.

SB: …oh.

7

Swirling black inky background.

Caption: The nice woman on the phone assured me that breast cancer was extremely treatbale and that most people got a happy ending. I did not make the joke that I desperately wanted to make, but it was a near thing. We made an appointment to meet the cancer surgeon five days later. She told me not to google triple negative breast cancer because I’d only scare myself. I promised I wouldn’t. I lied, obviously. First, though, I just sat in my truck by the lake and

Bold, rough text: Had cancer

Caption: Apparently I’d had it all along

SB: Well, fuck.

8

Light blue background with some gold flecks.

Caption: I went home and cried on my husband.

MR: Oh shit. Oh shit.

Sound effect insert: Gross sobbing sounds

MR: We’ll get through this. I promise.

SB: sniff. I know we will, but I’m too busy to have cancer!

Fancy font: I had deadlines, dammit! Seriously, if the tumor had just scheduled ahead, I could maybe have worked it in sometime in 2025.

9

Stark white background with some gray fragment details

Bold text: Why me?

…No.

I head health insurance and savings and people who loved me. Better than someone who didn’t have that. Besides I was happy and successful and I’d always known sooner or later the universe would notice.

10

Murky green background with veiny lines

It was a long five days

Caption: I googled too many things. I told people. I canceled travel. I cried occasionally.

Bold text: Also I named my tumor Bob.

SB: Fuck you, bob.

Caption: The weirdest thing was that I would go about my life and get groceries and watch movies and in the back of my head, all the time, a little voice kep saying you have cancer. You have cancer. It was like having a song stuck in your head, except, y’know, with cruching existential dread.

SB: Die in a fire, Bob.

MR: Also not a fan of Bob.

End.

Warning: Long post about something very near my heart.

About three inches from it, give or take.

Tumblr, meet Cancer-Bob. (Bob, this is Tumblr. They’re lovely, but they’re gonna hate you.)

I got diagnosed with Bob about six weeks ago. (It’s fine, I’m not gonna die, I’m just gonna have a really shitty few months.) As is the way of my people, I started doing a comic about it. Except it’s not really a comic, because there’s only one picture in it, but it’s more a comic than it is anything else. A comic made entirely of words, I guess?

It’s mostly me screwing around with Typorama and word balloons and the alcohol ink tools in Procreate. I knew that if I had to draw hamsters or wombats, I’d never keep up. My energy levels are, uh, variable. But it’ll tell you the saga, or at least some of it, and I got really into making it, and I commit some spectacular atrocities with fonts.

(It’s ok to laugh, by the way. Some of it’s hilarious.)

(Also I’m very sorry, I can’t do alt text for all these. If someone wants to type them out, I will embrace you as a savior, but it’s just…a lot.)

This is only part one of rather a lot, but Tumblr has a 10 image limit from the app. I’ll put up more tomorrow. And I only just started chemo in real life, so there’ll be more. And then, if fate is kind, someday there won’t have to be.

I love you all, you know that?

[talk-like-boomhauer]

Title: "Usurp My Throne, Dude!"

Scene Opens in the Simpson Living Room Homer sits on the couch, wearing his signature white T-shirt and blue pants, flipping through channels with one hand and holding a half-eaten donut in the other. The family sits around him, except for Maggie, who is sleeping in her crib.

Bart (sitting on the floor, playing video games): “Dad, what does ‘usurp’ mean?”

Homer (without looking away from the TV): “Hmm, sounds like one of those fancy words that smart people use when they’re trying to sound fancy. You know, like ‘ambidextrous’ or ‘diet soda.’”

Lisa (rolling her eyes): “Dad, ‘usurp’ means to take power by force. Like overthrowing a king or a ruler. It’s been used in historical contexts, like in Shakespeare’s Macbeth or when Uncle Herb tried to take over your job at the nuclear plant.”

Homer (nervously sweating): “He did WHAT?!”

Marge (sighing): “Homer, he didn’t. Lisa’s just explaining the concept.”

Bart: “Oh, cool! So if I were to usurp someone’s throne, like in a video game, I’d be the new boss?”

Homer (mumbling with a full mouth): “Son, let me give you some advice I learned the hard way. Never usurp anyone unless you’re ready for the consequences.”

Bart: “What happened to you?”

Homer (flashback sound effects begin): “It was the summer of 1987. The boss of Sector 7G, Carl, had gone on vacation. I thought I could impress Mr. Burns by sitting in his chair and wearing his tie. Then Lenny showed up and said—”

Flashback transitions to young Homer in the power plant Homer, in a tie that’s too tight and a name tag that reads “Mr. Simpsonusurp,” is sitting at a large desk with his feet up. Lenny bursts through the door.

Lenny (panicked): “Homer, what are you doing in Carl’s seat? You’re gonna get us all in trouble!”

Young Homer (confidently): “I’m not ‘Homer’ anymore, Lenny. Call me... Mr. Bossman!”

Cut back to the living room Lisa, visibly annoyed by Homer’s terrible storytelling skills, interrupts.

Lisa: “Dad, that story doesn’t explain anything about usurpation, except maybe why you didn’t get a promotion for twenty years.”

Marge (trying to avoid an argument): “Bart, usurping is a serious thing. You can’t just take over someone’s position without consequences.”

Bart (smirking): “Sounds like a challenge.”

Marge: “No, it doesn’t.”

Cut to a few hours later—at the Power Plant Homer is at his usual workstation, eating a box of donuts, oblivious to his surroundings. Mr. Burns and Smithers walk by, engaged in a conversation about "strategic downsizing."

Mr. Burns (in his usual nasally voice): “Smithers, remind me to inspect the incompetent buffoons in this sector later.”

Bart (whispering to himself): “Time to usurp the throne!”

Bart sneaks into the plant wearing a ridiculously oversized suit and a mustache drawn with a black marker. He approaches Mr. Burns’ office, pretending to be his replacement. Bart’s “disguise” is obvious, but Smithers decides to humor the situation.

Smithers (deadpan): “Sir, there’s... a new CEO in your office.”

Mr. Burns (not looking up from his clipboard): “Oh, another one? What’s this one’s gimmick?”

Bart bursts through the door with his best “corporate voice.”

Bart: “Mr. Burns, I’m here to... usurp your position!”

Mr. Burns (smiling warmly): “Oh, it’s one of those ‘Take Your Child to Work’ days, isn’t it, Simpson? How quaint.”

Bart, seeing that his plot has failed spectacularly, sighs.

Bart: “Man, it’s really hard to overthrow someone in real life.”

Cut back to the Simpson Living Room The whole family is laughing at Bart’s failed attempt, except for Homer, who’s now sulking.

Homer: “Why does everyone want to usurp my power all the time?! I’m the king of this house!”

Marge (whispering to Lisa): “Maybe we should just let him think that.”

Lisa (shrugging): “It keeps him from trying to be a real king. I’d say that’s a win for all of us.”

Bart (grinning): “Hey, Dad, next time I usurp you, I’m totally taking your donut stash!”

Homer (panicking):

[cherrycola27]

Red, White, and Rooster

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Frenemies to lovers, relationship of convenience. Political situations. Allegations of affairs, military and political inaccuracies. Smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

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Chapter 14: A Hen In The Fox House

Your day started out as normal as it could be, considering you were the First Lady. You had breakfast with Bradley and talked about what you had planned for the day. You just happened to leave out one tiny detail.

After preparing for the day, you texted Jaycee to let her know what your real plan for the day was. Normally, you wouldn't, but you had this gut feeling that someone should know where you were going to be.

You made your way to the garage where your newly assigned agent, Alex, was waiting for you. Alex was sweet. He was maybe a year or two older than you and strangely— familiar. His face was one that you almost recognized but couldn't quite place.

After loading up in the car, he drove you to a few of the locations to complete your errands. Around lunch, you had him drop you off three doors down from where you really needed to go. You didn't want him, or anyone else knowing what you were really doing.

Your leg bounced nervously while you were waiting in the office for your name to be called. Once it was, you were taken back to a private room. You took a deep breath, praying your suspicion was true.

An hour later, Alex picked you up on the same corner he'd dropped you off at. You excitedly texted Jaycee from the backseat before tucking your phone and your surprise for Bradley away.

Alex merged into traffic as you headed back towards the White House. You watched the buildings and monuments go by. You couldn't wait to get home to tell Bradley the news.

You saw the turn for the garage approaching, but instead of making it, Alex drove right past it.

"Alex," you called to him. "You missed the turn. The south entrance is closed. We need to go in the east one." You told him. Instead of answering, he kept his eyes on the road before blowing past the road to the south garage entrance and taking a sharp turn.

"Alex, it's okay if you're lost, I know the roads can be confusing. Take a right up here." You directed him, but still no answer. You felt a knot in the pit of your stomach. Something was off. This didn't feel right.

"Alex. Alex, are you listening to me?" You asked him.

"Alex. Alex! Stop the car! I want to get out!" You shouted as you desperately pulled on the locked door handles.

"Alex! Please!" You beg, but yet again, he ignored you. You grab your phone and try to send a message, but it's no use. You don't have any signal.

"If you're trying to call for help, don't bother, I have a signal jammer on." Alex finally speaks as he looks at you through the rear view mirror.

"Alex, please. I don't know why you're doing this, but you don't have to. Please. Just take me home or just let me out. I can wire money to you or someone else. Please. Please don't do this." You tell him as you fight the urge to cry.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Bradshaw, but I have to do this." He says. "Now, you might want to get comfortable. We have a ways to go." He says before rolling up the privacy screen.

You beat on the screen and windows, but you know it's all in vain. They're blacked out and bulletproof. No one can see you or hear you.

You quickly dig in your purse and find a pen and note pad. You write down everything that you can see and hear. You also write a quick note to Bradley telling him you love him and how you're sorry you didn't get to tell him the good news in person.

You must have been driving an hour before the car exits and pulls into a rest stop. You have just enough time to write down the tag number of the car Alex pulls in beside and stuff your notes in your bag before you're pulled from the vehicle.

A masked figure has a tight hold on you. You're kicking and screaming and clawing, trying to break free. "Take her bag and toss it. Don't want them tracking her phone." The figure says. You recognize the voice but can't place it.

"Stop struggling you bitch." They tell you before you feel a set of zip ties tightened around your wrists.

If you get free, you try to make yourself dead weight. You drop to the ground. Alex and the other attacker try to lift you but are unsuccessful.

They try to put you back on your feet, but you don't get up. Alex and the figure are practically dragging you through the empty parking lot.

"Let me go!" You scream, praying someone is close enough to hear.

"Shut up! Alex, get me the stuff." The figure commands. Before you can determine what they are talking about, a damp rag is placed over your mouth and nose, and then, it all goes black.

Alex and the masked person scoop you up and place you in the trunk of a car before getting in and driving away. Just as they are leaving, a silver Jeep pulls into the empty rest stop. The driver makes a comment to the passenger about how it was weird that someone had just left their car there.

It's almost five in the afternoon when a mysterious call comes into the White House. The person on the other end asks to speak to the head of the Secret Service.

Dante picks up the line. "Hello?" He asks. "Hello. Am I speaking to Dante Rodriguez?" The obviously disguised voice on the other end of the line asks.

"Yes. May I ask who I'm speaking to?" Dante asks.

"You may not. Dante, can you do me a favor? I need you to open the email that was just sent to you." The voice says. Dante looks at his computer to see a new message from an address that is a jumble of letters and numbers. He opens it and almost drops the phone.

It's a photo of you, unconscious and tied up, in the trunk of a car.

"Who the fuck is this?!" Dante screams into the phone. "I'm the president's worst nightmare. Now, please tell Mr. Bradshaw that I'll be calling again at nine o'clock tomorrow morning, and if he ever wants to see his wife alive again, he'd better not miss that call." The voice said before the line went dead.

Dante immediately slams his phone down and gathers the security team. He races down the hall to the Oval Office. Jake sees the commotion and decides to follow.

Went Dante burst into the Oval Office and delivered the news. It almost makes him sick.

He quickly assembles a search team. A team begins to track the email and the phone call. Another traces your phone. As soon as its last location is pinged, officers are dispatched. Jake calls Jaycee and personally goes to pick her up. If someone was bold enough to kidnap the First Lady in broad daylight, he wasn't going to take any chances with his girlfriend.

Jaycee paced nervously in Jake's bedroom as he filled her in on the situation. He explained that they were trying to retrace her last steps. "Jake, take me to whoever is in charge. There's something I need to tell them, and Bradley." Jaycee says. Jake nods before leading her to the situation room.

It's crowded with people. She tries to push her way to the front to speak, but she's cut off by Dante who comes in carrying something.

"Sir! We've found some of the First Lady's belongings. They were dumped in a rest area about an hour outside the city. Her phone, wallet, and a few other things were in there. There was also a note in there. She was smart, wrote down what she saw, and heard. Even got a tag number. But sir, there's something you should see." Dante says. He hesitantly hands Bradley an envelope.

Bradley grabs it and steps out of the room for a moment. He opens the envelope and pulls out a handwritten note from you. He reads it.

"My Dearest, Bradley. I love you more than you will ever know. I'm sorry I didn't get to tell you in person."

Tears prick his eyes as he reads it over and over again before pulling out what else is enclosed in the envelope. His heart drops when he sees it.

He walks back into the room, and everyone goes silent.

"I need everyone to make this priority number one." Bradley says in a series tone. "Because this just went from a rescue mission for one to a rescue mission for two." He finishes.

Before anyone can ask what he means, Bradley tosses something on the table. There's a collective gasp when people realize what it is.

"Holy shit." Someone says. Jake looks at Jaycee with wide eyes. "Jay, is that what I think it is?" He asks her.

Jaycee nods her head. "That's what I wanted to tell Bradley. Y/N she texted me telling me that she was going to the OBGYN today because she wanted to be sure. She texted me this after she left." Jaycee says as she shows Jake her phone.

"Oh my God." Jake breaths out. "She's pregnant."

Taglist: @daggerspare-standingby @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @hecate-steps-on-me @roosterscock @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @seresinsbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @xoxabs88xox @avengersfan25 @blackwidownat2814 @loveforaugust @mak-32 @cottagecori @amysteryspot @heyimmadisonn @princess76179 @bradshawseresinbabe @sunlightmurdock @lewmagoo @cassiemitchell @die-cunt @shipinabluebottle @malindacath @violyn20 @imawkwardlysoc @books-for-summer @blackroseboulevard @recordblues @desert-fern @luckyladycreator2 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @sebsxphia @roosters-girl @diorrfairy @je-suis-prest-rachel @mizzzpink @a-linabean @amklibrary @gretagerwigsmuse @jstarr86 @actuallyazriel @krismdavis @bradshawsbaby @wkndwlff @dakotakazansky

[just-some-random-blogger]

Unturned Stones

Dream of the Endless x Reader

Summary: Even in a world where you would not choose me, I would always choose you.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: gender neutral!reader, angst, teacher!Hob Gadling, typos, etc.

A/N: i nearly broke my keyboard because i was halfway done then i lost the whole thing so i rewrote it 😀 Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @deniixlovezelda @shadow-pancake9

The Sun was kind today. She smiled upon this plane with a golden glow. The green blades of grass gazing up to her, dewy with what remained of midnight rain, glimmered because of her light.

The breeze reminded everyone how sweet it was to be alive. The scent of the lawn across the lot, pricked with red and pink and white and purple, swirled kindly into your lungs to reassure of this.

And as he, Lord Morpheus, sauntered across the brown brick hall, the colors of the Waking World appeared as though they went to die in the blackness of his clothes. The matte velvet of his trench coat and the sheen of his leather shoes seemed devoid of all light.

His face, pale and sharp, however, lit up at the sight of the man across him, the whole reason why he was here at this place to begin with.

"Hey, Mr. Hobz," a group of students spoke as they passed the man. Hob greeted each student back by name and then turned back to his approaching friend.

He laughs heartily, hand patting the black fabric on the being's shoulder, "milord.”

"Hob, it is-"

"Gahh," Hob pulls him into a tight hug, arms sealing him tightly against his frame. The man chuckles as he pulls away, "good to see you, Dream."

Normally, Dream would not return a smile of out of respect, and it was true in this moment still. He did not smile back at Hob out of courtesy, he smiled back out of fondness, "likewise, my friend."

Hob could not help himself as they walked off. He threw his arm over Dream's shoulder and babbled on and on and on about his life thus far, pulling his companion close to him as he did.

When they reached the room Hob's next class would be at, the man pulls away and sets his satchel bag down, "you sure you don't want me to call out to you?" He turns to Dream, "let you speak a couple words."

"That won't be necessary, for your words are my words."

Hob snorts as he pulls out a book from his bag, "you mean my words are a dead man's words." He flips through the pages, looking for the excerpt he would be discussing today. He sighs rather wistfully, "ahh, you know, the bugger would have loved DVDs."

"His words are as much mine as they are his," Dream retorts, bringing his hands behind his back.

Hob turns to him but does not respond as a group of students enter the room and greet him loudly. Dream moves with them as they find their seats in the classroom, with desks on ascending stairs.

And when the hour turned two, Hob was ready to start, but there was something incredibly important still missing. He locked eyes with Dream, wordlessly asking if he should begin regardless of the fact, and with one firm nod from his friend, Hob began to speak.

"Moonlight follows the old laws," Hob said. He spoke plainly yet inspired all the attention to be offered to him. He took a few steps across the platform and continues, "as does sunshine, and all the rays that twinkle in the sky."

Dream, who was sat in the middle of the room, felt his insides swirl at the sound of the oration. He had not heard it in such a long time.

"The darkness sings with the light, which is why many winged creatures reply with song the morning. It is their nature to do so, their will, which coincides with the old laws," Hob says, just as the door to the room opens. All fail to notice this, transfixed on the spoken prose, all save one.

Dream watches you as you silently enter. His form reacts involuntarily, jaw clenching, breath shortening, palms dampening. You were here. Finally.

"What simple minds do not understand is that the laws do not limit, they guide."

You survey the room and find one vacant spot in the center, heading instinctively to it. Dream evens his breathing as you approach.

"The laws serve as the foundation for all who would otherwise act with no thoughts behind their eyes."

Hob finally notices you as you tiptoe across into the row. He notices Dream watching you, then finds himself smiling, "And though I know this truth, and though my mother taught me these laws thoroughly-"

You sit down with a huff.

"- against your love, my dreamer, the laws are mere suggestions to an old fool who cannot understand words."

Dream watches as you place your bag on your lap and pull out pen and paper. You flip the pages of your notebook and lift your eyes to your professor.

Your professor gestures to the class, "I have gone against my family. I have gone against Destiny and Death themselves. For what is their claim on you? Why should they touch you when you belong to me? Why should you leave my Dreaming when you've become my greatest dream?"

You write these very words on the blank page. You rewrite 'Dream' over and over until the ink is thick on the word, and Dream beside you nearly combusts at sight of a tiny heart you adorn beside his name.

"Yet, truly, I was a fool in love. My want to keep you close has become precisely why I could not keep you. For the price of forever with me meant tragedy for you. Existence would not let you be, for they believed you were not mine.

"And I watched my tender kisses fall numb on your grazed flesh. My touch no longer comforted your beaten form. My hubris has hurt you more than anything should have. I gazed upon your form and saw reflected the Nightmare that was I."

Dream stiffened when your shoulders brushed together.

"Desire tricked me, Despair whispered in my ear, and my brother, Destruction, spoke words that pierced my thorax. He asked how you could be mine when you were not a dream, you were blood and bones and flesh and sinew and soul." Hob recited. A line formed on his forehead. He had forgotten the words that came next.

The room watched as Hob walked to his desk and picked up his book. He put on his glasses and looked for the next part of the piece.

When it took a bit longer than expected, Dream whispered under his breath, "your body belonged to-"

"Your body belonged to the earth," Hob spoke.

You turned over your shoulder, hearing Dream mutter, "and your soul belonged to the Sunless Lands."

"And your soul belonged to the Sunless lands," Hob continued.

Dream could feel you looking at him. He could feel as you turned back to your professor who then spoke, "you did not belong to me."

Dream closed his eyes and repeated, 'you did not belong to me.'

"So," Hob tips his glasses and reaches his hand out, "I released you from my grasp." His eyes dart from the page to his students, "but I had already broken the laws to bind your spirit with mine."

You rest your head upon your hand, leaning on Dream's side, making a shiver run down his spine.

"As long as I was, so you were. Your breath would echo mine, even if you no longer knew it, even if it became as though that was never true," Hob lowered his book, "you would walk into a room and sit beside me, never knowing once before I kissed your skin and brushed your hair."

Hob saw you brush your hair to the side, whereupon Dream clenched his hand. The man saw how Dream’s stoic expression hardened, so he turned his gaze and sucked in a breath, "you would listen to me drone about my greatest love, never knowing it was the one I spoke to that I was speaking of.

"You would never know that every dance, sculpture, and ode that felt as though they were made for you were made for you, for I commissioned every poet and every painter to immortalize my love…"

"… my love."

Dream and Hob say this at the same time, one more desperate than the other.

Hob continues, "you would never know the songs you sing to someone else were all that remained of us.

"Though you look upon a face that is not mine with seemingly more adoration, I tell myself I am glad, because at least you were smiling. Though you sigh under the caress of another with words I swore only I would hear, I tell myself I am glad, because at least you were cared for.

"And though you hear these words now and think only, 'what tragedy', 'what poor fellow', I tell myself that I am glad, because at least, now you knew, even in a world where you would not choose me, I would always choose you."

Hob waits for a moment.

Dream eyes are fixed on you, but you did not know.

"My darling Delirium comforts me,” Hob mutters, “because she knows what it’s like to do one thing but want the other. I am glad but I am not."

You tilt your head to the side.

"I am not glad but I am."

The room is dead silent.

Hob offers the room a soft smile.

Dream stands and walks off from his seat. Hob watches him for a moment before turning back to the class, clapping his hands together, "alright, who wants to tell me what the excerpt is about?"

[pedgito]

Eddie with his cute and soft sadistic girlfriend. Just feels right.

author's note: okay, but why is this so fucking cute?? i always have different interpretations of the requests people send in, so i hope it's not too far off from what you were going for.

cw: 18+ (minors, shoo!), fem!reader, threats of violence (words/weapons), sub!eddie (if you squint really fucking hard), breath-play/hair pulling (small pain kink i guess?), aggressive but soft reader (i swear), and more smut, as per usual (heed the tags)

word count: 1.9k

It wasn’t something Eddie noticed at first, just how aggressively you came to his side whenever people were talking shit about him, spreading rumors, it seemed like normal behavior, until he realized there was a different tone to the way you talked to people. 

“It’s too bad stupidity isn’t painful.” You interject one day, attempting to knock Jason down a peg during one of his rants about how this town was turning to shit and it was all because of those damned ‘devil worshipers’—god forbid you wear black, or listen to heavy metal music, or even so much as stray from the normal, clean cut image of the other people in town, because if you did, you were doomed. 

“The fuck did you say, freak?” Jason seethes, eyes squinted. “You think you’re funny?”

“Mm, yeah—actually,” You cock your head ever so slightly, shoving a painted nail in his direction, “what’s even funnier is when I sneak into your room at night to watch you sleep—I bet no one knows about Mr. Fuzzy, right?”

Low blow, but the look on his face is worth it. You found out about his stuffed bear after Chrissy mentioned something to you when they first started dating—“Should I be weirder out that he sleeps in bed with it?” She’d asked, feeling guilty for thinking oddly of it. It wasn’t that big of deal—but he was beyond his normal level of assholery today, and you could give less of a fuck (plus, creeping Jason out was always the cherry on top of an argument with him). Chrissy never told him you were friends, afraid he might view her differently. It was fine, really—Chrissy was a sweet girl and you had formed an odd, but comforting friendship with her, even if no one knew about it. 

Jason grips the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white. He wants to retaliate—physically, emotionally, his fuse was getting shorter and shorter, but so was yours. You shoot forward in an act of defiance, scaring him back into his seat.

“Pussy.” You mumble under your breath, sinking back into your own seat. 

⋆·˚ ༘ *

And then there was the time that Jason thought it would be hilarious to send one of his basketball minions to mess with Eddie, stealing his guitar pick necklace out of his van. He hardly ever took it off, but during a particularly wild sex morning between the both of you he’d set it on the dashboard—it was ridiculous, the length Jason was willing to go to make your life miserable, and in turn, Eddie’s.

You’d caught them after school the next day, huddled up for their evening practice, talking about some party—or girl, or whatever it was that they liked to brag out. 

“Hey!” You call out, fist connecting with Jason’s face. “Where the fuck is it?”

Eddie was hot on your tail, attempting to pull your arms back. But, you forced yourself out of his grip, as difficult as it may have been. Eddie was more scared of you hurting someone, than hurting yourself—but part of him couldn’t find the need to stop you now. So, when you wriggle out of his grasp, he doesn’t try to hold you back again.

“What are you talking about?” Jason retorted, trying to sound nonchalant about it. He looked meek, terrified even. “Get the fuck out of here.”

You couldn’t help but see red, grabbing onto the lapels of his letterman jacket and forcing him against the wall, even Jason was surprised by the upperhand you had. “The necklace, where is it?” Your grip tightened, squeezing around his throat slightly. 

He coughed, hands coming up to grasp at your wrist, forcing you away from him. “What fucking necklace?” He asked, dumbfounded. 

“Fuck this,” You grumbled, pulling out the pocketknife tucked into Eddie’s pants, shoving it at Jason, who immediately retreats away from you, back against the wall, “Tell me or you’re going to have one very serious problem to deal with.”

You weren’t actually going to use it, not really. You knew that Jason was easily subdued when he realized he couldn’t outwit or overpower you—he was scared. You fell into the image of the psychopath he viewed you as, it’s exactly what you needed to have him cowering in fear, embarrassing himself in front of his entire team. 

“It’s in the trash—the trash out by the front entrance of the school.” He blurts out. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Him. He was the problem. 

You took the basketball from Patrick’s hand, slicing into it with the small, sharp blade of the knife before handing it back over, staring directly at Jason.

“If I see or hear one more joke about Eddie come out of your mouth, it’ll be the last thing you say.”

⋆·˚ ༘ *

“You know you don’t have to act like that.” Eddie tells you, curled up against you on the sheets of his bed. “I can handle it.”

“But you don’t, you just let them say all of this shit, even when it’s not true.” You couldn’t understand why it didn’t upset him, not with how strongly it upset you. But, you cared about Eddie, that’s where your weakness lies. “It’s not fair.”

“I stopped caring a long time ago.” His face is blank, staring up at his ceiling. “That shit doesn’t even faze me anymore—it used to, but you just have to embrace that shit, you know.”

“Yeah, I think I might’ve scared Jason into pissing his pants.” Eddie laughed, hand absently stroking your thigh from where it was resting on top of his lap. “Ever since I turned him down freshman year, it’s like he can’t stand the fact that I chose you and not him.”

“Well, good thing you chose me.” Eddie smiles fondly, maneuvering you until you’re resting over him, arms folded over his chest, chin resting against your hands as you stared down at him. “I really don’t think he could handle you.”

“And you can?” Eyebrow raised slightly in amusement, watching Eddie’s expression change. You knew that look. “Prove it.”

⋆·˚ ༘ *

“So fuckin’ tight,” Eddie groans out, fingers in a vice grip around the curves of your waist, watching the way his dick disappeared inside of you, again and again, as you moved frantically above him. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

“Not your sweetheart, Eddie.” You gasped out, the palm of his hand coming down on your ass in a rough slap, bound to leave a mark. His shirt is bunched high up his chest, both of you too impatient to bother taking it off. You twist your fingers in the fabric, using it to rock yourself down onto him, Eddie just as eager as he lifted himself up, hitting something deep inside that had you pulling tighter, moaning out his name, the crisp air doing nothing to cool your feverish body.

“Come on, baby.” Eddie begs, fingers tracing lines up your body, over the sensitive skin of your stomach; a slow, tantalizing trace around your nipple, and then the other, until his fingers were a few inches from the nape of your neck, winding it your hair and pulling it taut. “What’s wrong with sweetheart?”

You would never get over that. 

You laugh softly, feeling the tinge of pain as your neck strained back. Eddie was observing you, still while somehow encompassing the softness he always held with you. 

“You better watch that mouth,” It’s a playful warning; but a warning, nonetheless. Eddie liked to fight back, he always did. 

“Or what?” His free hand came up to run along the slope of your lips, finger dragging down your bottom lip teasingly, until Eddie was forcing his pointer finger inside the wet heat of your mouth, waiting a few seconds before adding another. “Can’t shut me up, not when you’re bouncing on my, fuck—my dick, like this.”

He’s close, his voice tightening, thighs flexing underneath you. You’d spent enough time learning the signs, learning his body. He groaned at the faint squeeze of your walls against his dick, a careful warning that if he kept it up, this would all be over sooner than you both wanted it to be. 

Your hand follows the lines of his chest, up along his neck, moving the thin material of his shirt out of the way and wrapping your delicate fingers around his throat. It was a light touch, barely any pressure at all. Eddie closes his eyes, nodding slightly. He wanted it.

“Let’s test that,” Your voice is dripping with sweetness, but laced with a faint trace of warning, “ready?”

He nods again, hand still in a vice grip, wrapped up in your hair. He’s staring at your breasts, shamelessly, but you needed his attention. You two always had boundaries, despite how far you would take it—you both always had an out, never push the other too far. It was a sacred rule that you both promised to abide by. “Need to hear you, babe—say it.”

“Yes, fuck—yeah, I’m ready.” 

You apply pressure, the lightest, tiniest bit—feeling the pace of Eddie’s thrust slow, losing himself in the feel of your hand around his throat, his dick buried inside of you—so fucking deep, you thought. It was the only thing dragging your focus away from him, the feeling of being full. 

He breathes out, lips curving up into a smirk—he enjoyed it way too much. “More,” His hand grips your hair tighter, the other squeezing your ass as he lifts you up and slams you back down, “I can take it.”

More pressure, his hips faltering in their pace—“I didn’t tell you to stop fucking me,” His eyes slowly connect with yours, “More?”

Eddie nods, whimpering out a soft—“Yeah.”, as his nails dug into your skin, leaving faint crescent shaped marks. Your fingers tighten a fraction—but Eddie can’t make it, the feeling of you around him, all over him—“I’m close, babe.”

You nod, quickly removing your hand from his throat, allowing him to flip you both over. Eddie rearranged your legs easily, knees forced to your chest as he fucks up into you, leaving you to do nothing but take it—crying out from every inch of you being consumed, desperately grasping onto Eddie’s arm.

His hand sneaks between your legs, helping you fall apart beneath him, knowing exactly what you needed. “Good girl.” He murmurs, mouthing along the line of your collarbone, “So cute when you come like that—fuck, love those little sounds you make.”

If there was anyone to soften your hard exterior, it was Eddie. It was always Eddie. It doesn’t take much longer for him to come undone either, groans muffled into your skin, hands gripping onto your for dear life, afraid if he let go he might not make it back.

When he finally recovers, he has the nerve to look amused, a smile creeping onto his face, “Good girl,” His hand brushes a few stray hairs out of your face, “that one’s okay?” You nod, bottom lip pulled between your teeth. “Got it, no more sweetheart.”

“I’m not sweet, Eddie.” It was a fair statement, the description didn’t fit. “I never have been.”

Eddie laughs softly, hand curling around the back of your neck to tilt your lips up to meet his own, tongue swirling into your mouth, pulling a soft squeal out of you when his hand dives lower, squeezing at your ass. 

“And I don’t want you to be.” Eddie never tried to change you or force you to act a certain way. He wanted you for what you were and how strongly you protected the people you care about. Eddie was the only one who’s ever cracked the surface, he knew all of you. The soft center, the hard edges—it didn’t matter to him. “I love you, baby.”

Your face softened, finger coming up to trace the outline of his nose. “I love you too.”