#AO3 next chapter

[grunklebongrip]

When a fic doesn’t fit my head canons but it’s well-written

[bonsubear]

You're Dead Everywhere But Here │ Invincible Variants x Female! Reader x Mainstream Invincible │#4

#1, #2, #3, #4, #?

CW: ooc, violence, mild gore

WC: 8k

You tried to use the Invincible variant that was holding you as a stepping stool to give you a jumping leap, but he quickly acted as he grabbed a hold of the heel of your foot.

You yelped in surprise, not expecting a quick reaction as you slipped and fell downwards. Not wanting you to fall, he used his free arm to wrap around your leg to catch you.

You were now dangled upside down in the air, pressed against the variant's muscular body.

You grunted, straining your neck to lift your head away from Mask’s legs so you wouldn't be smothered against them. You pressed against his knees using your hands to create more distance from the lower part of his body, extremely displeased at this bad positioning.

"Wait, wait a minute!" He stumbled; his voice was close to a begging tone as he had a firm but soft grip on you. It was evident that Mask didn't want to hurt you, though you didn't care as you thrashed wildly against his hold, wanting nothing more than to get away from the man.

Trying to loosen the grip he had was strenuous with how this positioning actively worked against you, making it hard to get out of.

It felt like you were a fish caught by a hook—no matter how much you struggled his grip didn’t let up. Hell, it felt like the more you did the more he made sure to hold you even tighter.

"Fucking shit! —Let go of me!" You yelled through gritted teeth as you tried to look up as you kicked your legs wildly, though it was difficult to do so with how close your two bodies were.

"Just listen to me, I won't hurt you—I want to help you!"

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head. "I am not finding out what your sick definition of help is!" You retorted, refusing to even play with the idea of hearing what this blue and black variant had to say.

It would be a very stupid and bad decision to spend one more second with this Invincible variant, especially with how "great" the previous interactions with the others were.

It was really absurd, incredibly ridiculous, and absolutely infuriated you to your core. Being caught off guard and captured, then thrown into a dingy prison basement, and then to top it all off being used as an asset against your will was already upsetting.

But it didn't just stop there—your supposed opponents that the G.D.A told you to fight were some deranged, mentally ill freaks that wanted nothing more to push their delusions onto you because they apparently had a relationship with—well, you?

When you went searching for Invincibles to kill and find the perfect murder method for your own Invincible, you were expecting a fight. A brutal, disastrous fight where you were crowned victorious in the end.

That’s how all fights go—how all fights should go. It was the basic formula known to man.

Instead, it was some big reunion where they all drooled over you like a bunch of slobbery dogs looking at their long-lost favorite toy.

You would’ve rather been beaten to death then ever go through that again!  

Each fiber of your being wanted to run away and come back with a flame thrower to kill each single one of them, exterminating their annoying asses to guarantee you’ll never see them again.

Especially that black and yellow degenerate.

"Okay, okay!" He panicked, "I can see how this looks but you have to trust me!" Mask desperately pleaded, a whine scratching at the back of his throat as you continued to fight against him. "I got you away from the others, they're way worse—"

"Oh!" You rolled your eyes, a scoff quick to escape your throat. "My hero, my hero! Thank you so much for rescuing me!"

You clasped your hands together, each word dripping in sarcasm. "Say, what do you want as your reward? Money?" You asked before pausing for dramatic effect. You let out a wild fake gasp. "Oh, of course not! Me, right?"

Mask was taken aback with that witty response, defensive words choking in his throat as his cheeks heated up underneath his black mask. "No! (Y/N)—No, I—that's not what's happening!"

You furrowed your brows, digging your fingernails in his knees. "Either way, I don't want to fucking know what is happening!" You replied, spitting out the curse word with venom.

You brought your head close to his leg, opening your jaw wide. You clamped your teeth down hard, making sure to make it hurt as much as it can. Your teeth sunk into his skin through the thin layer of spandex, the soft sensation yet sturdy muscle meeting your mouth.

The Invincible variant gasped in shock, not expecting the sharp sensation of your teeth to dig inside his leg. His grip loosened, allowing you to finally wiggle out of his grasp.

Even though his mind didn't know how to react to this, his body certainly did. His foot jerked to your face, and before you could raise your hand to block it his foot already contacted the top of your forehead.

It was immediate, and your head swung backwards from the kick.

It didn't take you long for you to hit the ground, the road splitting in half as you were smacked to the ground—rolling like an unstoppable boulder.

You crashed into a fire hydrant that stopped your momentum, but at a consequence of it busting open and water gushing out everywhere. The water sprayed on the ruined road, the cracked sidewalk, and onto you.

Your prison jumpsuit quickly became soaked with water from the broken fire hydrant, the loose fabric sticking to your skin making it hug your silhouette.

At first, Mask didn't realize what he had done—watching you crash into the fire hydrant not registering that he had been the one to be the cause. When he finally realized, he was fast to descend down.

"I'm, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to kick you like that, I don't even know why I—are you okay?!" He hurriedly rushed to your side, crouching as his eyes looked at your forehead that was forming a noticeable bump.

Water still escaped from the fire hydrant, but it turned into a light lawn spray as he looked at you.

Your eyes hazily opened, pushing yourself up using your elbows. You slapped a hand on your forehead, your brain feeling like it shifted with how hard the kick was. You winced, jumping at how there was already a bump forming.

The variant next to you was repeating apologies, reciting them like scriptures. You couldn't really pay attention, your blurry vision taking their time to adjust as your hearing made everything around you, particularly Mask's voice, sound like white noise.

"—let's get you somewhere safe," Mask hurriedly looked around before landing his eyes on you again, "someone might've heard that. We have to go." He spoke with urgency, placing a careful hand behind your back.

Your blurry vision quickly became clear, and hearing returned to your ears, your healing properties finally kicking in and fixing the damage that had been done to you. The bump that was rapidly swelling on your forehead also died down, returning to the same level as the rest of your skin.

You blinked, your eyes finally trailing to the Invincible variant.

He was too close for comfort, and you tensed as you felt the hand that was cupped on your back. Your gaze moved to his face, and his goggles were completely void of glass besides the small remnants that edged the outline.

His brown eyes were on full display, and they looked deeply into yours as if they were the only thing worth peering into. It was clear as day how much blind affection, softness, and worry filled those eyes.

It made your skin crawl to be viewed with so much tender emotions for so many reasons, one of them being that you knew it wasn't directed towards you. It was someone else who was a different version of you that got to experience another life than the one you have currently.

You felt like a second rate to some weaker version of you that died. A version of you that didn't even have powers.

Though you guess if you had to admit you were a speck jealous. Those versions of you probably had normal lives, normal hobbies, normal jobs—normal everything. Even if their life wasn’t that pretty, it probably was better than what your life was right now.

Although that small trace of jealousy disappeared as soon as you remembered they had the misfortune of dating Invincible. The Invincible variants were whack, crazy, and probably made their lives a living hell.

You grimaced and shrunk away as he reached a hand out to you, aiming to caress your forehead with his blue gloves. Your face contorted into a glare, your hand flying to secure his wrist and fling him behind you like he weighed nothing but a grain of salt.

Mask was flung inside an empty cafe, breaking through the brick wall and through the marble counter. A pot of cold coffee that was abandoned at the workstation during evacuation fell on his shoulder, pouring out and staining the side of his suit.

You pulled yourself up, the soaked clothing making you shiver uncomfortably. I need to change out of this.

You looked around to see where you were. Even though the surrounding buildings and structures were decimated and resembled more of an apocalypse than a functioning city—you thankfully were able to recognize what part of Chicago you were in.

You squinted, trying to jog your memory. You had made secret deserted spaces that people and the city itself forgot existed as hide outs, places for you to retreat and hide from whenever you were finished doing your routine destruction and "rough housing" with civilians.

That's how you were able to run and disappear so fast whenever superheroes tried to capture you during your "hobby". It was funny hearing them frustrated and angry when you slipped away, their muffled voices coming behind the entrance of one of your many hideouts whenever they walked past one.

At least, that's how it used to be. Other superheroes seemed to have moved on from you, the only super showing up to stop your reenactment of Godzilla movies on the city before being locked up behind bars was Invincible.

...

It was odd, honestly.

To totally toot your own horn, even though you were a regular menace and an everyday pain in the ass that everyone became "use" to—you were still that, a menace.

You knew that the secret organization sent any hero near your vicinity to deal with you before you could cause any more indirect casualties—but they seemed to have changed their mind one day and only sent Invincible.

Sure, he stopped you each time—but it must’ve not been efficient to send him every time with how quick you were to get to wrecking. There was no way he was the closest to you every single time with how you made sure to pick different spots to remain unpredictable.

If you didn't know any better, it felt like he called dibs on you.

You couldn’t help but think that because there were multiple times where he unknowingly stood near a concealed hideout you were in. It was easy to eavesdrop him conversing with himself, overhearing mutters and incoherent whispers.

His mutters were always along the lines of hoping you were okay, that you'd heal and recover quickly, that he hoped he made a good impression this time, and something about how he should stop running to you?

You got a slow, sinking feeling form into your stomach as you thought more about this world's Invincible.

He was always weird, treating you differently from other villains. You always chalked it up to be a potential hero complex, all superheroes having some mild form of it. That’s what you theorized, anyway.

Saving the city, saving civilians—it's inevitable that a shiny new hero thinks they can save a villain from the mess they are.

It wasn't the first time a super thought they could change you, "fix" you for the better. You always spat out a harsh refusal over and over again until they finally gave up. It was easy, just be an insensitive prick and they wished the kind words they spoke to you were punches instead.

Invincible was the longest, being stubborn about offering you redemption and friendship no matter how much you drilled it into him that you won't budge.

You literally beat it in him with each encounter, but he would show up once again with a smile whenever you were out and about.

You became used to seeing him, even with how annoyed you were each time. It became familiar to just randomly turn around and see him staring at you while you were punching holes inside a building, like a shadow waiting to be acknowledged.

However, he was still a good guy—at least, you think. Experiencing these different versions of him made your head wonder if he had more interest in you than he should have beyond just the potential hero complex and annoying moves for friendship.

It seemed like all his variants so far did, having some sort of romantic relationship with your counterparts. You didn't want to think it but—did your Invincible hold some sort of affection for you?

Of five variants of five realities, Invincible liked you in each one of them.

What's to say this reality was any different in that regard?

What's to say that he didn't view you more than a criminal?

What's to say that your Invincible wasn't like them?

You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to snap out of your train of thoughts.

That just wouldn't make sense, Invincible viewing you in a romantic way. It just logically wouldn't. You treated him lower than dirt more times than you can count—he'd have to have his own form of delusion to form lovey dovey thoughts for you.

You had to hold out hope that your Invincible was a good, weird, but normal superhero. If the Invincible variants were searching for you—you needed help getting them off your back until this war blows over somehow.

"Don't fucking touch her!" You heard Mask shout, and you turned around to see what he was screaming at. As you did, you were met face to face with an Invincible variant that had sneaked up behind you. They wore a similar get up to your Invincible's suit, but they had washed out colors and bigger goggles.

Your eyes widen, looking behind the newly appeared variant to see Mask approaching fast with his arms out. You were fast to sidestep, the newly appeared variant getting pushed to the ground where you previously stood.

You heard someone land behind you, and you turned around in a defensive stance to see that another Invincible variant had shown up.

Before he could get the chance to say anything, you jumped at him—socking him in the jaw. Twisting on your heel, you used the small momentum to kick his side. The variant was kicked to the ground, the wind knocked out of him.

You jumped backwards, your back hitting someone else's. You looked over your shoulder to see that it was Mask, his fists raised ready to fight the variant he had roughly pushed aside.

Shifting your head to look at the sky. There were two more variants that were preparing to throw themselves at you, both having different versions of the yellow and blue Invincible suit that strayed far from the original.

You clicked your tongue, pressing your back further into Mask's as you knew if you fought them all by yourself, you'd be in deep shit. "If you're serious about helping me—then you'll help me get out of this alive. Then you'll fuck off and leave me alone."

"I can do the first one but..." His voice was muffled behind his mask, hesitance clear in his voice. His brown eyes flickered behind him, your hair in his view and the press of your back sending shivers down his spine.

Mask breath wavered, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from you to refocus on the Invincible variant that was picking themselves up from the floor.

"I won't do the second one. I'm sorry. I'm not leaving you."

Mark huffed, trying to fight off the exhaustion that was threatening to overtake his body. He didn't know how long he was fighting these evil versions of him, but it must've been less than an hour with how the sky didn't shift to a different hue at all.

They were doing a number on him and to each other with how they were all strained in some way. Ragged breathing, minute slower movements, and taking any opportunity to catch themselves before jumping back into the chaotic fight.

The only variants that didn't seem completely worn out were Viltrum and Sinister—but even then, the two seemed out of it like the rest of them were.

"Are you kidding me with this bullshit!" Mohawk Mark screeched, his snarky voice making every variant pause. "Why the fuck are you fighting us?" He pointed, hovering next to Omni-Mark whose red cape was half torn.

Mark jumped, not expecting everyone to collectively stop fighting to look at who Mohawk was pointing at—which was him.

They all took in Mohawk's words, being interested to know the answer to his question. Either that or they were taking advantage of the rare stillness.

"What, what do you think!" He stuttered out, his voice squeezing as his body became more agitated than it already was. Mark felt on edge, like each nerve of his body was exposed. "You all think that you can just kidnap (Y/N)! She doesn't belong to either of you!"

"She doesn't belong to you either." Omni pointed out, his eyes narrowing at Mark with haughtiness. "Please, remind me again, what relationship do you two have?" He quipped, tilting his head in amusement.

Mark felt a lump form in his throat, his whole body feeling like someone had just ripped off his skin. Being reminded that these evil versions of him had something that he didn't have was painful—like he was being punished.

To add more salt to the wound that the red and white variant had opened, Mohawk jumped at the opportunity to rub it in Mainstream Mark's face on what he didn't have and ever got to experience—you.

"She was my girlfriend—got together senior year of high school and continued dating when she went to college." He let out an airy laugh, gesturing at the lower part of his body with both hands. "Suck it."

Viltrum took the surprise pause of the fight to add in his own relationship with you, tone flat but lighthearted—an invisible smile on his lips. "She was my wife. I met her the first time I went to Earth on the rooftop of her apartment complex."

His eyes flickered to the punk-style Invincible, the mention of college making him remember something. "... It was after she dropped out."

Sinister laughed, a playful grin gracing his lips. "Pfft, those are stupid. My bunny was an inspiring journalist who wanted to bring me to 'justice'—oh, how it was practically destiny that she landed herself to be my plaything." His hands twitched, thinking back on the first time he met you.

A smug, almost shit eating grin danced on his lips. "I could tell it made her feel alive, even through her senseless wailing. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, that bitch enjoyed me as much as I enjoyed her."

Omni shook his head, waving his hand as if all the words that the others spoke were meaningless. "She was my pet, the only perfect thing that could be my wife.

His lip quirked upwards, recalling the first time he saw you. "It was a long process to domesticate her, but it was worth everything." He chuckled before his smile faltered, transitioning to a frown.

"Oh, and we had a child together." He shrugged his shoulders before continuing, speaking casually like it was nothing too extraordinary.

He seemed displeased to have remembered that fact, his expression turning sour. "Shame there wasn't much use for it. Got in my way more than being convenient."

Mark choked on nothing when he heard that, his soul feeling like it got kicked out of his body as he tried to recover from the shock.

He burned his stare in the variant that resembled the suit his father once wore like he had just grown two heads.

"Child? —Child?!" He screamed, shaking his head as his mind was swirling with all this information that hit him at once.

Viltrum huffed hearing that, avoiding looking at Omni. "(Y/N) and I would've produced a child eventually." He murmured, defending himself like it was some sort of competition to who hit more milestones with you.

"Ugh, that's pointless! Why have a child?" Sinister rolled his eyes, thinking that it was absolutely absurd that his counterparts would think of having an offspring. His posture was relaxed as he voiced his thoughts. "Her body should only be available to me, not something else."

He hummed, as if agreeing with Sinister, "It was a good enrichment for a while, then the thing got annoying." Omni explained. "Didn't want to keep it around anymore."

"Anymore? The fuck that's supposed to mean?" Mohawk questioned, both hands settled on his hips. With how he phrased it, he didn't think it was farfetched to assume that his counterpart did something horrible to the child.

Omni-Mark stayed silent, not responding as he crossed his arms. That earned a raised brow from Mohawk, suspicion surfacing through his sharp features.

Mark finally snapped out of his shell shock, interrupting the variants' small conversation. "Fine, maybe I don't have a relationship with her like you guys had." He began reasoning, his eyes blinking fast behind his lens.

"But that doesn't mean I don't care about her, that doesn't mean I don't want her just as much as you all do—probably even more!" He gestured, shaking his head frantically as he raised the volume of his voice the more he continued his speech.

"I want to be close to her, I want her to be mine, I want her to..." His voice died down, closing his eyes before opening them again, "to feel for me like I do for her." Mark confessed in a hushed tone.

The words escaped from him faster than he could think of them. "I like her." He admitted, the complicated feelings that he had dealt with for so long surfacing brightly without being pushed down into the void of denial.

It was like a wave of clarity washed over him, crashing down on him so unexpectedly.

The first time he saw you, intense feelings bubbled up in him that he never experienced before. It only became worse the more he saw you, being consumed with the feelings that overtook his thoughts.

Mark Grayson began secretly begging the world to let him hear that you're out there so he can chase after you—the light at the end of the tunnel that only shows itself every once in a while.

Whenever he was with you, it was like his whole body was alive. He never felt like he ever truly lived before meeting you, each part of him waking up as soon as your presence basked his soul and body like sunlight.

It didn't make sense, there was no rhyme or reason why he felt this way. It was so wrong, but so endearingly right.

It felt so right just to be near you, look at you with so much affection and adoration that it was unmeasurable.

He drowned in thoughts about you that hijacked his mental space, each nook and cranny of his mind tied to you somehow. Each time he resisted and pulled away; he rushed back in with a tighter grip than before.

This pull never happened with Amber, his first girlfriend and the first person he'd ever been intimate with. As well as confess his superhero identity.

He liked her—loved her, cared for her and had feelings for her, but it wasn't the same. She just wasn't you.

Amber didn’t make him feel like his whole life purpose was fulfilled by just watching you do whatever, tracking your movements like he was writing them down in the folds of his brain. The physical contact he received from you, mostly violently, didn’t cause his body to soak up each centimeter of it like it was starved for it.

That subconsciously seeped into their relationship. He put so many things above Amber, missing so many places that she wanted him to be present because he was her boyfriend. He put their relationship on pause countless times to be a superhero, saving the world and saving lives—it was hard to drop it for her.

Though it came easy when it was for you, not for Amber.

Then there was Eve. She was a great person, helping Mark to understand what it truly was to be a superhero. She was there by his side and understood the hardships that the world relentlessly threw at him, giving him an open shoulder to talk about his problems.

It made sense their natural friendship blended into something more. She pulled him in—but not in the same way.

Eve didn't compare to you, not even close. Mark wanted her to, grounding himself and swallowing down this claim that she was the one—his girlfriend, his everything, his.

Everything else came secondary when it came to Eve. That was until he heard you were out there again instead of safely locked away, and suddenly it became easy to leave Eve behind when he was so adamant about staying with her.

He was so immersed in so many things and with Eve that when you were in that cell made by the G.D.A, his mind didn't wander to you so frequently anymore.

Mark didn't have to worry about the next time he'll see you again, always constantly on his feet ready to fly over to you.

Mark didn't have to worry about whether the last time he saw you was the final one, paranoid that you'll suddenly disappear without a trace, the chance to earn a mutual connection with you completely gone.

Mark didn't have to worry because he knew where you were and knew you were okay, safe, alive, and waiting. When things slowed down, he planned to visit you and show you that it was okay to give him a chance.

He wanted—no, he needed to earn your trust, earn your interest. That he could change your mind about rejecting him, even if it meant being a broken record that was on repeat.

Since, in truth, he wanted you to be his from the start.

It was unreasonable, illogical, but it felt more right than wrong. It was stupid, fucking pathetic even just like how Cecil said—but Mark couldn't help it. He tried to deny it for so long, but he couldn't anymore. It was impossible to.

It was love at first sight with you, and he wasn't going to let you get taken away. Mark wanted you to be his, and he'd push everything and everyone aside to get that opportunity.

He raised his voice again, stern and firm. "And I'm not going to let any of you take her just because you all failed at your chance. You don't get to have do overs with my (Y/N)."

"Aw, cute!" Mohawk mocked, lifting a hand to form a mouth puppet. "Practiced that speech of yours with good ol' buddy right hand?" He let out a forced coo, turning his mouth puppet into a circle—going up and down in a slow motion.

That earned a hearty chuckle from Sinister, but not Viltrum or Omni. It also didn't get a peep out of Mask either, not a single word coming from the masked Invincible variant.

"You almost sound as corny as—" He whipped his head around, searching for Mask who seemed to be not present. His mischievous grin dropped, and the others followed suit in looking around to spot the missing variant.

There were supposed to be five among them, yet there were only four. The yellow and black variant's relaxed posture disappeared as soon as the absence of one of them was brought to his attention, spinning around to confirm that the other's presence was truly not there.

"Jesus, where the fuck is the other one." Sinister growled, snapping his head to the direction of your body. He zoomed past, the others lagging behind to search for your unconscious body.

Mark drifted behind, his heart leaping to his throat.

The place where you were supposed to be—empty. Dried blood and the broken metal fragments of the collar were the only things there, greeting their eyes.

It didn't take a genius to piece together what happened, and it enraged Sinister how foolishly easy it was to sneak off with you.

Sinister fists clenched, screeching at the top of his lungs at a random direction. "You're dead!" His growly voice carried out, dragging his words across the distance.

Viltrum's hand grabbed a hold of the end of Omni's cape, draping it over his neck and pulling it towards him tightly. "Where did he take her." He spat out, eyes darkening as he tugged at the red cape he was using to strangle the variant.

Omni had quickly dug his fingers in between the space of the cape and neck, ensuring that he wouldn't be asphyxiated. "Your guess is as good as mine." He grunted, bringing his head forward before swinging it backwards—smacking Viltrum's face.

The white uniformed variant let go of his hold, and Omni-Mark whipped around to punch him in the chest, knocking him a few inches away.

"There goes the 'alliance!' Not that it was going to last long anyway. Ugh! He could be anywhere in this shithole." Mohawk grumbled; displeasure written on his face with how a deep frown embedded itself on his lips.

Suddenly, all the variants had something thrown at them, pushing them to the ground. A large wall from the collapsed building nearby was on top of them, the heavy weight grounding and crushing them.

Mark floated above them, having gone and grabbed a fallen chunk of a structure to pin them down. It wasn't going to delay them by much, but it gave him a running head start.

Each second counted to go searching for you and find the Invincible variant that stole you from right under his nose.

He propelled himself forward, flying in a random direction. His hair was pushed back as the wind howled against him; his forehead furrowed. Mark brought his hand to his ear, holding the earpiece that Cecil had given him.

"Donald? Donald are you there?" He asked while looking down, flying above structures. The city had been bulldozed by his evil counterparts, making it look more like a salvage yard rather than an international hub.

"-Uh, yes. I've—I've been here the entire time." Donald jumped, clearing his throat. He was surprised at being suddenly addressed, having been silent this entire time.

He had been observing safely at headquarters, watching through the screen. While the cameras themselves didn't have audio, Mark, having an earpiece, allowed him to finally listen to something.

Donald had been overhearing this entire time, and he had begun to think that the superhero had forgotten he was there. He felt out of place, and he couldn’t possibly interrupt him to remind Mark of his presence. He was saying vulnerable things that seemed rude to cutoff.

"Can you try and find (Y/N)?" Mark queried, scanning the streets below him for any sign of you.

He could care less that Donald may have overheard everything he said—it didn't matter. The time was ticking, and he was not going to leave you alone with your kidnapper nor let some other Invincible find you first.

"Mark I-" Donald shook his head, beginning to speak before being brashly interrupted.

"I don't give a shit what you have to say Donald! Just tell me if you can try and find her or not!" He snapped, his question shifting more into a demand.

Each letter of his words was as sharp as a blade, coming out of the blue which shocked the older man.

A static silence overcame the intercom, and Mark back tracked on his words. He didn't mean for it to come out so harsh. "I'm—I'm sorry Donald that's not what I meant. I didn't mean to-" He sucked in an unleveled breath, "Can you try and find her? Please?"

"... Sure thing, Mark."

You hissed, pulling your hand out of the esophagus that you had forcefully slid your hand into. You ripped the tube out, throwing it aside as the Invincible variant fell on his knees—clawing at the gaping hole in his neck.

The blood gushed out like a geyser as you took a step back, your chest rising and releasing a huff.

Your hair was a mess, tangled and mangled together from fighting the Invincible variants that tried their hardest to take you down and submit to them. They were relentless, and you were grateful that Mask mitigated the fight—doing his part and killing two eviler versions of himself.

You looked over to Mask, the variant lunging a rusty metal bar that he got from a hanging sign inside the chest cavity of his opponent. It hit straight to his pumping heart, a gritted gasp escaping their throat before the light in their eyes disappeared.

Small muscle memory jerks remained, but it died down as Mask dug the metal bar harder—twisting it for good measure. He then pulled it out effortlessly, a string of thick blood and cartilage following as he threw it aside.

Comparing yourself to him, you probably looked like absolute shit. There was hardly any blood on him, the only liquid there being was the dried coffee stain and the damp areas of his suit from the fire hydrant.

You, on the other hand, were covered in sticky blood. Your neck was painted in a deep shade of red, it dripped down from your neck to the collar of your prison uniform. It looked like a badly botched tie dye job, minus the metallic smell that made your skin crawl.

The tips of your hair were dipped in the liquid of death as well, the affected hair forming clumps at the end and hardening.

You hated killing—not because of a moral compass, merely because of the smell that made your stomach feel absolutely sick. You could never avoid making a huge mess, so your face was always met with the waft of blood exposed to oxygen.

You breathed heavily as you blinked to look around. All four variants who tried to jump you and Mask were dead, the one you just killed on the ground—the blood gushing out of his throat formed a puddle.

You swallowed, putting your hands on your knees to catch a breath. The odor of blood seeped into your nostrils, and you gagged as your stomach was not taking too kindly to that smell. It felt like you were going to throw up with how it twisted and swished.

“Do you feel sick?” Mask softly asked, hopping off the variant he had just shoved a rod through their chest.

He surveyed the slaughter you both caused, mentally noting the splattered blood along the concrete. “It’s because of the blood, isn’t it?”

You gagged once again, bringing a hand to pinch the tip of your nose. “Kind of.” You replied bluntly, not elaborating more on it.

“The odor I’m guessing?” He continued, and you gave him a funny glance. Mask rushed to explain, “In my world, you also hated the smell of blood. It always made you feel nauseous—I got good at not getting too much on me because of that." He laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

"Ding ding ding." You clapped lazily. "Never been a fan of it. It makes me want to projectile vomit everywhere."

"You did one time. It was on me though." He joked, but not really. It did actually happen when he rushed to the hospital after a fight because he promised to visit you at a specific time.

Mask had forgotten to change out of his blood-soaked suit with how panicked he was to arrive on time. The moment he appeared by your side from entering the window, the metallic smell hit your nose, and you puked all over him without sparing a second to register to face somewhere else.

"I won't do the second one. I'm sorry. I'm not leaving you."

Mask's words echoed in your mind, and you mentally rolled your eyes at the reminder. The only reason why he wanted to stick around was because he wanted to project the variant version of you onto you—all of the variants did.

It was annoying. However, with how more docile and suppressed he was compared to the others, you had the chance to break this illusion of his. It wasn't the first time you've successfully pushed someone away.

You bit your tongue, feeling a dry laugh threatening to escape. "Guess all I did there was be sick and puke on you. Very romantic." You sarcastically responded, looking over to see how the masked variant would react to what you're going to say. "With how weak she was, she should've died sooner."

"..."

"Honestly, she managed to pull the short stick of our childhood." You bitterly mentioned, a small flashback to your childhood played in your mind. "If whatever illness I had didn't take me immediately, I would’ve just done it myself. That would've been the best option."

"..."

"Not only was she weak, but she was also stupid too apparently." You added, continuing to watch how he'd react to your words. His eyes were boring into yours, and you didn't peel away from them as you simply glared.

You were ready to dodge anything he threw at you or came at you with, expectantly waiting to move your legs to dodge an incoming fist.

A second passed, then another, then another.

“... Haha!” He suddenly burst into a small fit of giggles, raising a hand to cover his mouth. Startled, you flinched, your eyes turning wide at this unexpected reaction. You couldn’t gauge if this was some kind of ploy to catch you off guard so he can hit you by surprise, but the more he laughed the more confused you got.

“Is something wrong with you?” You asked annoyed, not understanding why he was laughing. His giggles were dying down, and he brought his hand back down to his side. “You found that funny?” He shook his head frantically, taking a few steps towards you.

“No, no. I just—even though your different from my world you’re still the same.”

You scoffed, taking his statement as a lie. “Bullshit.”

“No, you are! When we first met,” Mask took your hand, cupping it into his. You jumped, but didn’t pull away as you were curious to what he had to say. “You said something so similar about yourself. Looking back on it, you were trying to drive me away.”

He sighed, “You thought that if you pushed out all the worst traits of yourself, no one would want to stick around.” he said in a low voice, almost recalling it in a fond. His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, as if trying to soothe a wild animal.

The smooth texture of his gloves sent goosebumps down your spine, causing you to tense. I’m not listening to this. You thought, but his gaze held your body firmly into place, like a nail driven in wood.

"You were wrong, though," he whispered. "It just made me stay longer."

Your breath hitched, your heart squeezing at those words.

You yanked your hand back instinctively, your heart hammering against your ribs in an uneven rhythm. "Don't say shit like that," you snapped, your voice cracking halfway through the sentence. "You don't know me."

“I do.”

“No, you don’t!” You screamed, shaking your head. You stepped away from him, needing the distance like air in your lungs, "I'm not the same as her, I’m different," you muttered, your voice quieter, heavier now. "I'm stronger, I’m powerful—I’m worse."

He tilted his head, the smile slipping away from his face, replaced by something that looked almost like sadness. Not that you could tell with the mask that covered it, but his eyes expressed it. "Maybe you are," he agreed after a moment. "But I’m happy to learn.”

Shut up.

“I love each part of you, even the worse ones."

You stood there frozen, caught between cursing at him and lunging at him—but you did neither. You just stared at him, words caught in your throat and your hands flexing not knowing what to do.

Finally, you turned on your heel, going to the direction of the nearest hideout you owned. “Come on, we need to go.” You called out, walking without checking to see if he was following.

“We?” He repeated, hope filled in his voice as he quickly trailed behind you. Not bringing attention to the fact you dismissed everything he had just said, not bothered by it.

“Don’t misunderstand anything! This is momentary. I’m tired, exhausted, and clearly can’t think straight with how I’m even letting you tag along!” You grumbled; eyes stuck stared ahead. “You’re protecting me from whatever lunatic of an Invincible we come across.”

“I—”

“And don’t talk.” You whipped around, causing him to halt in his steps. “It lessens the chances of you saying stupid crap,” you hissed, referencing his whole cringe speech, “oh and, ten steps back when you’re walking with me—I don’t want you humping my leg.”

“Got it!” He happily chirped, overjoyed just to see you were allowing him to be with you without telling him to fuck off.

“Ughhh, shut up!” You swiveled back around, walking in a faster pace than before. You heard him begin walking at the distance you commanded him to follow, and you dug your nails in the palm of your hand.

This was stupid—you were going back on your word about how bad it was to spend one more second with this variant, yet here you were letting him follow you to your hideout. You wanted to pull your hair out with how you should be telling him to screw himself and to get lost, but you bit your tongue as you merely continued strolling.

Even worse, your cheeks were a tad warm. You hated what he said seemed to affect you. You tried to ignore how your heart was softly rattling against your chest, taking deep inhales and exhales to calm it.

Maybe the forced proximity of being near crazy variants were beginning to rub off their lunacy onto you, making your headspace cloudy.

At least it was only down to one.

An Invincible was standing on the roof of a building, peering down the alleyway that you and Mask were walking in.

He wore an exact replica of this world’s Invincible suit; the one small difference was the fact his gloves were blue at the end of his knuckles. The male also didn’t have the mask on, blood scattered on his face and chest.

His eyes were downcast, his hand over the other, holding it as he stared at you.

It was a way to self-soothe himself, no longer having his favorite person in the whole world to hold his hand anymore. His heart ached at that, breaking more than it already was.

His eyes burned thinking back on how his partner was forever gone—he’ll never see that handsome face ever again, the witty personality, and the easygoing jokes that always made him feel better.

The Invincible would’ve started crying if he hadn’t already squeezed out each tear already. He didn’t think he’d be able to produce any more with how hollow he felt, completely dried out.

He continued to watch intently, having witnessed the brutality you caused minutes prior. He didn’t mean to come across the scene, having been just wandering around aimlessly after doing the orders that Angstrom had instructed him and many others to do.

The variant had stayed silent, watching from a safe distance. He hadn’t expected to find you here, but he supposed it made sense.

The Invincible had been preoccupied thinking about his special one that his mind didn’t think to remind him about you until now.

You were special too. A good, dear friend. You were the second person to truly understand him and be by his side through everything. Accepting who he was and supporting him.

Guilt and grief swelled in his chest as he found himself hovering to you just a few feet away. You were completely unaware of the presence that was stalking you as you silently fumed at the predicament you were in.

Finding you made the emotional weariness drag him down further, like weights were placed upon his chest.

Seeing you made him think of—

“... I miss William...” He croaked out, his voice sounding like it hadn’t been used for such a long time. He whispered out the name William like it was something sacred, holding the name of his dead lover with so much tenderness.

William was his boyfriend and his first best friend, the person he cared so deeply about more than himself.

You were his second best friend, the only other person in his life that he relied on. The three of you were a great trio that protected each other, being brought together by the wonderous work of his late boyfriend.

You died while trying to protect Wiliam, Nolan determined to kill the boy Mark was in love with—saying that having a big of a distraction as William would only hinder him from doing what his life’s purpose was.

There was only so much that you can do against a viltrumite while having the capabilities of being human. You were completely butchered, the overkill that Nolan did was unfathomable. William’s death was less severe, you stood between him and the painful ending he would’ve originally received.

He lost the two most important people in his life that day, dying next to each other.

All three of you promised to be together in the future, live in the same neighborhood so that every day whenever you and William wanted, you’ll all get together and hangout. Him and William would live in a cozy house just for the two of him, and you would be the next-door neighbor with the key to let yourself in anytime.

That’s what you three had promised—before Nolan ripped and tore that promise apart like it meant nothing.

Maskless Mark eyes shifted to the variant that had his face completely covered, squinting his eyes. He was too late to protect you and William, but he wasn’t going to repeat that same mistake with this dimension’s version of you.

William would’ve wanted him to protect you too—protect you from a stranger. He could practically hear his boyfriend’s nagging voice on how he shouldn’t leave (Y/N) alone with a guy, talking about how creeps would take any opportunity to snatch you away simply because you were a beautiful girl.

He would say that you didn’t have the privilege like him and Mark did to just wander around because of the absence of a dick in your pants.

His body was suddenly energized, pacing closer behind you both above the tall buildings. For the first time since the death of you and William, he felt something other than sadness and grief. He felt happy.

It was... nice to be reunited with a friend.  

yawns me when I have to write plot progression🥱🥱

I blinked and suddenly two weeks passed 💀 I ain’t going to get into this habit trust 🤞🏽

UHH BUT BEING FR I LOST TRACK OF TIME MY BAD YALL… feel embarrassed LOL posting this with my eyes closed idc 💔

anyway we ALL CRACKING WILLIAM

Tag List for All Works: @calicocat-ina-tuxedo

Tag List for DE: @1abi, @silkyspiders, @simply-aurora, @pengmar, @amethysttigerfigurine, @blkflowergrl, @byteme05, @itzmeme, @nessielovesfood, @madilynnylidam, @strawberryvermelhos, @zomqiez, @jupiterswrld, @pookiei-bookie, @lizzyzzn, @howaboutthisblr, @m4n-eat3r, @bakugouswh0r3, @anamiranda7383, @sophrickingfunny, @hoonobono, @shin0buk1nn1e, @91-kya, @americanairlinesdotcom, @optimistic-but-very-realistic

Tag Once: @pixviee, @xesper

(If you would like to be removed, just tell me!💕)

[ao3-crack]

(x)

[king-candybug-backup]

“But what if I gain some sort of power-up?”

“Uh, what if ya explode into a bajillion pieces?!”

“Well, it's not like I wouldn't regenerate-”

“DO NOT WASTE OUR SUPPLIES, YOU SON OF A–”

Chapter 12 if bro had let the impulsive Cy-bug thoughts take over HFHGFDSDXGDFCGHHVB

[v4mp1r3viktor]

she oath on my breaker until I say some shit like “the only time you’d want to kiss me is if you were saying goodbye.”

[teainthesnow]

ao3 going down sucks big time of course but can we also appreciate the speed in which it begins to trend on tumblr as we all simultaneously come here to cry about it

[numbuh424]

you and me both (Next in Line AU)

Rated G | 4,320 words | read on AO3

Light Yagami misses the notebook by minutes, allowing him to lead a normal life and eventually succeed his father as Chief of the NPA. Following the sudden disappearance of the first L, Near is rushed into taking up the mantle and continuing his work before the world notices. When a series of murders takes the world by storm, Chief Yagami discovers the truth behind a situation that has been developing in the background of his life for well over ten years. Together with L, they assemble the pieces of a case left behind by their predecessors.

Day 2 of @dnrarepairweek | Prompt: SUCCESSORS

A snippet of my upcoming AU, "Next in Line".

[mantis-bnlts]

Enjoy this hastily drawn bad meme for HOFB

[bubbiethesaur]

LRA Doodles part ??

[starry-bi-sky]

me every single time

[nikonuee]

Shang Qinghua would've done NUMBERS on ao3

[heylittleriotact]

𝐢 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟖

𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐱 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐀𝐔

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐬? 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬.

Read below or on ao3

It was very possibly the best Wintersend she’d ever had.

She slept in late while Emmrich rose early (as always) and did whatever it was that he did in those ungodly pre-dawn hours - yoga or something.

He brought her a cup of coffee in bed around 10:30, gave her a kiss, and left her to take her time waking up amongst the puffy duvet and pristine sheets, leisurely enjoying her caffeine and scrolling through her phone: he had figured out quickly that Rook was not a morning person, and rather than trying to make her into one, he simply accommodated her preference and made her mornings as enjoyable as he humanly could when time allowed.

When his on-call hours ended at noon, they had a shower together in Emmrich’s cavernous natural slate-walled shower that was reminiscent of a steamy hot springs cave: she treated him to a nice sloppy ‘Happy Wintersend’ blowjob, and he'd laid her on her back on the shower floor and licked her cunt until she was no longer confident in her ability to stand. 

The afternoon was spent outdoors, strolling down the serene pathways along the Minanter, only a few blocks away from Emmrich’s house. They took in the crisp winter air, and the bright blue sky, the sun warming their skin when it passed through the shimmering hoar-frost glazed boughs above them; cheeks and noses rosy from the cold.

It felt good to be out and about amongst the rest of the people enjoying the mild weather on the holiday - she and Emmrich had been so committed to keeping their relationship discreet for that first little bit that they didn’t venture out in public together too often for fear of being spotted by a coworker. But now that everything was out in the open, she felt like any of the other couples wandering the shores of the river, hand in hand with their partner, smiling, laughing… it was the most boring, normal - dare she say... grown up - state of being she’d ever experienced, and she clung to every second of it.

“Take me out for dinner soon?” She asked while they stood on the pathway and watched a swarm of little kids playing ice hockey on the gleaming ice that had frozen the vast river, halting its meandering flow until spring would warm it again.

He draped his arm around her shoulder and bundled her close, sharing his heat with her.

“I had been planning on it,” he confided, a gleeful smile on his face: smitten, his rich hazel eyes gleaming in the sunshine - he looked downright giddy: if this was love, he wore it well.

She wondered if she looked the same.

They ventured home as the sun began to set on the shortest day of the year, and indulged in a measure of fine oak-aged whiskey to ward away the lingering remnants of their time outdoors.

Even the obnoxious text message she received from a random number didn’t dampen her spirits.

‘Happy Wintersend u sloppy whore … bet ur spending it with old balls sugar daddy huh? Have fun with ur daddy issues’

And then a selfie of Tommy, clearly shirtless in bed with a girl with blue hair who couldn’t have been older than nineteen - also shirtless - and with pupils so blown out by something her irises were nearly black.

Rook was feeling so cheerful and festive she even decided to grace Tommy with a rare reply for a change:

‘Happy Wintersend Tommy - try not to catch anything incurable - she looks a bit sketchy 😘’

‘Bitch’

And then she blocked him.

The hours ticked away filled with delicious drinks, festive music, and a sumptuous cheese fondue shared at the table in the breakfast nook. Emmrich had wanted to set the sprawling ebony dining room table for their dinner in light of the holiday, but Rook insisted on the smaller one: it was more intimate - simpler… the way she liked it.  

The name of the game on Wintersend was killing time with your loved ones until midnight, or more precisely - the middle of the longest night of the year. The darkest hour. The blackest day. On the other side of that twelfth chime was change: the infinitesimal tilt in the planetary axis towards a day that would not be so dark, and a sunrise that would appear only a few seconds earlier than the last, over and over again until the pendulum swung the other way and there was more light than darkness.  

A cyclical reminder - held dear by Nevarrans - that harkened to their deeply rooted appreciation for the order of things: life and death; the changing of the seasons; and the sanctity of those Great Mysteries beyond their knowledge or control.

The stroke of midnight also meant gifts: it was considered bad luck to exchange them any earlier in the day.

Try telling that to a five-year-old who’d spent the entire day getting utterly wired on sugar and anticipation - Rook remembered being small and chomping at the bit before she could even tell time.  

“Soon?” She’d ask her Dad from her cross-legged vigil in front of the digital clock on the VHS player in their living room.

“You asked me that thirty-seconds ago,” he had laughed. “The number hasn’t even changed: it’s still 10:21!”

Things were quite a bit different for a twenty-five year-old who was desperately in love and well into the third bottle of wine that had been opened and shared that night.

She was oblivious to the elegant clock on the wall behind her that read 12:07 as she straddled the skinny hips of the man who’d opened and poured the wine, making out with him like their lives depended on it, their most recent hand of Wicked Grace forgotten on the table behind her.

Emmrich was fucking garbage at cards.

The least she could do to take the sting away from his fourth consecutive loss was give him a kiss - seeing he was so graceful in defeat… and everything else.

She whined against his lips, both her hands woven in his hair, kissing him ardently as he clutched the table with one hand to keep the chair they both occupied from tipping backwards due to her enthusiasm.

He just looked so sad...

How could she not plant herself on his lap and lick the frown off his face?

She coaxed a muffled and rather surprised grunt from him when she rolled her hips against his. His fingers tightened on her ass and he flinched slightly, jolting the table and causing the Bordeaux in their glasses to sway.

He seemed to summon the willpower required to pull away from her at last, and looked up at her, head tipped back enough that his lips were out of her reach.

“Don't you want to open your gift, my dear?”

When he looked at her like that - down his nose with half-lidded eyes… a bit smarmy… no. No she didn’t give a fuck about gifts...

“This gift?” She purred, hand resting over his semi-hard cock.

His head tipped forward, and a few strands of hair that Rook had disheveled slipped over his brow. “As deeply flattering as it is to know that I’m all you wanted for Wintersend, I did think to buy you something that falls outside the realms of wanton carnality.”

“Shame - I was gonna give you sex for Wintersend: a hard, sloppy fuckin’.” She clicked her tongue and shook her head. He pinched her side and her foot jerked up so hard it hit the bottom of the table. “Ah! Fuck! Asshole.”

Emmrich reached past her to steady a wobbling wine glass. “Careful, darling. Wouldn’t want to make a mess, now would we?”

“‘Wouldn’t want to make a mess’,” Rook parroted, doing a ridiculous imitation of Emmrich’s, letting out a clipped yelp when he dug his fingers into her side again, taking full advantage of the exact spot he knew was ticklish.

“Keep that up and I’m not giving you your present at all!” She snarked.

“Ohhhh - so you did get me a gift?” Teeth flashing, he went to tickle her again and she batted his hands away.

“Well… I got one for Manfred. He’s been such a good boy, you see.”

His hand stilled. “Did you really?” 

“Of course I did. Can you imagine being subjected to those sad green eyes while he longingly watches us open our gifts? I can be bitchy, but I’m not mean.”

“Rook…” a sappy smile pulled at his lips. “That’s incredibly heartfelt of you. You didn’t have to.” 

“Don’t thank me till you see what it is."

"Oh dear..."

"Don't worry - it's nothing too dangerous." She slid off his lap and straightened, grooming some of his hair back into place simply to enjoy the softness of it again. "I'll go get it... and I suppose the thing I got for you too..."

He pinched her ass as she retreated - not hard enough to hurt, but with enough pressure to send a jolt of exhilarating sensation up her spine.

She returned moments later from the spare bedroom she had stashed the gifts in upon her arrival, balancing a small box about the size of a hardcover novel atop a much larger package. Both were wrapped with pretty metallic blue paper.  

Emmrich waited for her on the couch, their wine glasses on the coffee table, no gift apparent at first glance - Rook swallowed: she’d jokingly told him she wanted a car for Wintersend.

What if he actually got me a fucking car?

“The big one is Manfred’s,” she set the boxes down. “It’s actually two gifts if you factor in the box, which I’m sure he’ll love.”

There was no doubt in her mind that Manfred’s gift would go over well: the cat was already up on the table, sniffing curiously at the intriguing new items.

Emmrich’s though? Oh she hoped he liked it…

She dropped onto the couch next to Emmrich and he wrapped an arm around her, kissing the top of her head.

“He does have a fondness for cardboard boxes, but he’ll have to exercise patience for a few more minutes…” he produced a package wrapped in elegant black and gold paper and handed it to Rook: it was light, and about the size of a shoebox.

Not a car, then. Oh well.

“Ooooh, for me?” Rook grinned, sitting up straight and surveying the handsomely concealed gift: there was a small envelope tucked into the shiny gold ribbon encircling the box - she had no doubt that Emmrich had wrapped it himself: not a line was out of place or sloppy; not a single wrinkle existed on the paper.

“Indeed,” he crooned.

She could tell he was excited: he loved giving her things; buying her things; spending absurd amounts of money on her. They may have only dated for a month, but it was as if showering her with love wasn’t enough for Emmrich - he had to shower her with gifts at every opportunity too.

Rook pulled the envelope free, flipping it open and pulling out the petite greeting card within that bore a stylized golden embossing of the phases of the moon, eyes sweeping over Emmrich’s familiar and somewhat eccentric penmanship.

My Dearest Rook,

Endless love and good wishes to you on Wintersend. It may be the darkest night of the year, but nothing feels truly dark when you are with me.

May there be many more such nights in the presence of your wonderful company: so long as they are spent with you, I would find myself perfectly content if the sun never rose again.

Ever yours in love and affection,

Emmrich

Oh. It was the most romantic card she’d ever received. So sweet… so thoughtful…

Ever yours…

“This is beautiful,” she said, reading it over again, index finger trailing down the length of the card and the words written there, smiling. “I’ll keep it forever...”

“Forever?” Emmrich chuckled, looking pleased despite whatever he found humorous in her declaration. “It’s only a card, darling, and I—”

“Yeah but it’s from you, and I love it. I love you.” She turned and kissed him so he wouldn’t see her wet eyes - she didn’t know why the simple Wintersend card affected her so deeply, but her heart was full to bursting regardless of reasoning.

“I love you too.” He plucked the card and envelope from her fingers, setting them on the table as her cue to continue opening the gift.

She began tearing the paper away, and angled the box towards Manfred when she felt his weight on the cushion next to her, his front paw pressing into her thigh as he leaned in to take a closer look, pink nose twitching.

“Here buddy…” she lifted a flap of paper with her finger and waved it. “Wanna help?”

Manfred hissed softly in answer and caught the flap of paper with his paw, claws snagging it as Rook moved her finger out of the way just in time.

“There you go,” she encouraged, watching patiently as he batted and nipped at the torn section of paper, tongue and teeth lashing at his intended prey. “Yeah you’ve got it.”

He savaged the wrapping paper enthusiastically, and between the two of them they freed the gift from its concealment.

It was a shoebox, but not a recycled one: this one was black and brand new, free of any labels or branding. Where Emmrich had even thought to find such a thing was a mystery to her.

“Good job, Manfred,” she scratched between his ears and down his sleek back. “I think I’ve got it from here.”

Sometimes she wondered if he actually understood words, because when she said that, he immediately sat back on his haunches next to her and ceased his involvement with the proceedings, merely observing now instead, green eyes tracking every movement of her hands.

She flipped the lid open, noting Emmrich’s silence as she lifted a neatly folded piece of shimmery tissue paper to reveal—

A pair of ducky slippers: plush, and yellow, and adorable.

The exact same ones she was horrified to realize she was wearing the night she impulsively invited him to her apartment.

“The hardwood and tile can be cold—” Emmrich was explaining. “—I thought these would keep your feet warm and comfortable when you’re here, and the first time I saw you wearing them I thought they were rather cute, you see, but if you would prefer something different—”

“No, no— they’re perfect, and I love them.”

Rook wasn’t focused on the ducky slippers, but rather the cube-shaped black velvet box that was nestled inside the opening of the left duck.

The cube-shaped black velvet box that was clearly the sort unique to jewelers.

“What’s this?” She inquired, reaching for the box.

“I suppose you’ll just have to open it.”

The remnants of the wrapping paper floated to the floor and Manfred followed, pouncing on it.

Opening the lid of the box, Rook’s breath caught, for resting within was a gold ring with the biggest (and only) emerald she’d ever seen set into the band, flanked by two clearly genuine diamonds on either side.

“Holy shit,” she breathed.

“It’s… it’s not— I’m not asking you to—” Emmrich's eyes rounded as he only just then seemed to comprehend the potential implication of giving a woman a ring on Wintersend. “I’m not proposing—”

“Yeah,” Rook laughed breathlessly, eyes still fixed on the gentle green stone the size of her pinky nail. She’d seen ‘emeralds’ before - costume jewelry. None looked like this one: pale, opaque… the same shade of green as Manfred’s otherworldly eyes. “No, no, no - of course. I know that. I just… holy shit.”

“Do you like it?” He ventured, seeming unsure of himself for the first time since she started opening the gift. “It’s considered imperfect - I could have commissioned a flawless one, but this gem in particular called to me when my jeweler presented it to me and—”

“You had this custom made?!” Rook’s head snapped sideways, her eyes widening further.

He looked somewhat bashful at this and said, “Er… uh… yes. I happen to be a long-standing patron of a well-renowned jeweler in the city, but that’s of little importance, dear: all that matters is that you’re pleased with it.”

“Of course I’m pleased with it,” Rook exhaled and pulled the ring from the lining of the box. “This is… I… wow.”

Words actually failed her: it didn’t happen often, but this was one of the few times in her life where she found herself vacant of any witticisms or quips.

“May I?” His long fingers moved towards the ring and Rook nodded.

He took the ring from her and delicately cradled her right hand in his left, spreading her fingers and slipping the beautiful piece onto her ring finger, his confidence in the motion giving away his sureness of the fit - how he’d managed to figure out her ring size without her knowledge was yet another mystery.

“Maker, Emmrich…” Rook held her hand out and admired the elegant ring on her finger: she was used to cheap bendy things that turned your finger green and broke when you looked at them the wrong way: dull, lifeless metal that took up space but didn’t sparkle: this sparkled. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, darling.” His hand found hers again and the pad of his thumb stroked over the gem, appraising it. "Happy Wintersend."

"You're so good to me," Rook said, resting her head on his shoulder. "How did I get so lucky?"

"You? I think it is I who is the lucky one: baubles and gold only take one so far - but there is an authenticity to you, Rook, that is beyond compare."

"If you're angling to get laid, it's certainly working..."

“I hope you don’t feel that you owe me… things…"

“No, I don’t - but I also don’t hear you complaining about all the blowjobs, either.” She leaned forward to grab the box for Emmrich from the coffee table: there was no way that she could drop the same amount of cash on him as he did on her - and he'd never expect her to - but even so, she felt her paltry gift was a bit... underwhelming in comparison. "Here - Happy Wintersend, handsome."

She watched as he unwrapped the package, taking care not to rip or tear the paper - likely so it could be repurposed another time. His long, elegant fingers lifted away the lid of the box.

“Ahhh… it appears that we inadvertently stumbled upon a theme...”

They had, in fact: she had no reason to suspect that Emmrich was going to buy her a pair of ducky slippers in jest when she had selected the pair of sky blue dress socks covered with yellow rubber duckies and a larger, central rubber ducky wearing sunglasses, the words ‘Duck Around & Find Out’ floating cheerily above its head.

They were stupid. They were ridiculous. Emmrich would never, ever wear them - that is… unless she had been the one to buy them for him.

He might only wear them a handful of times in the year - but he’d don them alright, knowing full well that Rook had paid money for them and bequeathed the novelty socks unto him. He would feel bad if he didn’t.

“They’re errr…” he began, searching for something appropriately gracious to say - an act which was worth the price of the socks alone.

“Adorable? Yes, I know. That’s why I got them for you. But inside the ridiculous novelty socks reside the true gifts, I swear.”

He picked up the socks - felt the weight of the similarly shaped objects in each foot. “Right or left first?” He queried, looking to Rook for direction.

“Mmmm… fuck it: left.”

He reached inside the sock and withdrew a metal tin roughly the size of a bar of soap.

“What have we here?”

“I suppose you’ll just have to open it,” she teased, repurposing his words from earlier.

He popped the lid and inhaled deeply, taking in the intense floral aroma that burst into the air around him with notes of jasmine, rose, and neroli.

“Only half of the gift, I’m afraid,” she quipped. “You do so much for me without even knowing it sometimes, I think… I wanna get you back just as good: I’m going to give you an incredible head-to-toe massage with this decidedly sensual massage bar.”

“Your beautiful hands coated in fragrant oils, wandering all over my skin? Darling… so intimate..."

She could have sworn his ears reddened a little as he brought the massage bar up to his nose again.

“Open the other sock.”

Eyebrow raised, he replaced the lid on the tin holding the massage bar and set it down. He reached in once more, eyes widening when they landed on the object he withdrew.

“Rook!” He gasped, rotating the clear plastic case in his hand so he could make out the J card. “Oh, you shouldn’t have…”

“Leon literally gave me the blank tape for free - so don't worry, I didn’t break the bank.”

It was a joke, but there was a self-deprecating bitterness that veiled itself within the casually delivered words: she’d racked her brain for weeks trying to come up with a fitting gift for Emmrich, becoming increasingly frustrated when she kept drawing a blank: what could she possibly give to a man who clearly wanted for nothing? A Timex was within her budget, and she was sure that Emmrich - in all of his good grace and manners - would wear the cheap watch with pride… and it would serve as an ever-present reminder to Rook that the best she could do for the man who made no secret of how much he adored her was a budget time-piece with brass hands and a fake leather strap...

No - she couldn’t bear that kind of subtle and ever-present humiliation, regardless of how much Emmrich would ardently declare that her gift was the finest he’d ever received simply because it was from her.

A different tactic was required: material goods were a realm that Rook was never going to be able to match Emmrich in, so sentimentality was the name of the game - and it appeared she had struck a chord judging by the way her sensitive lover’s eyes misted over as he studied the hand-written track listing.

“Rook... this must have taken you hours to make...”

“Hopefully it was time well spent - do you like it? They’re all songs that uh… remind me of you, or us. It’s kinda sappy but—”

“Sappy suits me perfectly well, darling, and the fact that there exists a single song that reminds you of us let alone—” his eyes skimmed the track-listing scratched on the insert with blue ballpoint pen. “—twenty-five, well... that’s possibly the most marvelous declaration of affection a man could ever wish for.”

“Oh come on - you don’t need to lay it on so thick…” Rook smirked bashfully. “It was actually pretty hard to narrow it down to twenty-five, but there’s only so many minutes of tape: I could probably make about four more of these, honestly.”

“Who’s laying it on thick now?” He teased before pulling her tight against him and kissing her deeply - slowly, and tenderly… the way she liked best, because she could feel every ounce of his love imparted in the feeling of his lips against hers.

“I didn’t get you a card…” she murmured when they parted.

“I don’t need a card to know how you feel about me, darling.” He raised the cassette tape that was still in his hand. “I daresay this says more than any greeting card ever could. It puts my humble sentiments to shame without a doubt.”

“I hope you like the songs. You know some of them, but some are uh… newer.”

“You don’t need to sell me on it, dear: I’m already sold. I can’t wait to listen to it - of course, you’ll listen to it with me for the first time, yes?”

“I should hope so,” she couldn’t help but laugh despite the doubt that still lingered in her mind - the pervasive notion that he was only saying all of this for her benefit while he inwardly cringed at the fact that his girlfriend could only find it within herself to buy him a six-dollar massage bar, and a pair of novelty socks... topped off with a slapped together mixtape of music he was probably going to fucking hate...

He pulled her legs up over his lap and stroked her shoulder as if he could sense her apprehension.

“You don’t need to buy me expensive things, Rook,” he said softly, gazing into her eyes. “My heart doesn’t yearn for finery and luxurious possessions - it yearns for you… for your affection and your love. With the knowledge that there is a place in your heart for me, I consider myself to be the richest man who’s ever lived.”

That helped. That helped a lot, because there was absolutely no doubt in her mind that he meant it.

“In that case, shall we move onto the next part of your gift?”

Emmrich raised an eyebrow and looked at the large box still sitting on the table. “I thought this one was for Manfred?”

“There may be an ulterior motive involved...” she admitted, coaxing Manfred onto the table. “Shall we let him open it?”

Together, they helped Manfred strip away the wrapping paper covering the large cardboard box that was taped shut. Rook used her fingernail to pop the tape free and opened the flaps so Manfred could stand on his hind paws and peer into the box, tail swishing through the air, brow furrowed with determination to get to the bottom of this mysterious object.

“What is it, Manfred?” Rook prompted, pushing some of the tissue paper inside of the box out of the way.

Manfred gracefully spilled into the box, landing on the paper, which crinkled and rustled as he pawed around, burying his face into it.

“Ooooh… what’s this?” Her fingers wrapped around something and she pulled up, freeing it from the paper with a theatrical gasp that Emmrich echoed. “Could it be? Is it your very own backpack?”

“I think it is!” Emmrich beamed, and Manfred let out a rather haunting trill of joy, his pink tongue dangling out of his mouth as his pupils expanded. “This was very thoughtful of Rook, wasn’t it, Manfred?” He reached into the box and pulled the backpack out fully, dodging Manfred’s claws before he leapt out of the box onto the table. “You’ll say ‘thank you’ of course, won’t you? It’s good manners when someone takes the time to give us a gift because it means we are acknowledging the effort and care that they put into doing such a thing.”

Manfred - if he was listening - was scrambling into Emmrich’s lap as he was tugging at the zippers of the main compartment to grant the feline entrance.

Chattering, purring loudly, and uttering soft hisses, Manfred stuck his head into the bag that Emmrich had laid across his lap, white tail wrapping around his wrist as he explored the inside (which Rook had cunningly dusted with catnip).

“I think he likes it,” Rook observed as Manfred disappeared completely into the bag for a moment before his little white head reemerged from the opening. “And now he won’t have to commandeer mine whenever I forget to put it in a closet.”

Emmrich chuckled, then properly laughed, setting the bag upright in his lap to regard his green-eyed companion staring back at him from within.

It was nothing special - just a brown, faux leather backpack she’d found online. It cost more than all of Emmrich’s gifts combined, but it had to at least kind of match his fancy leather collar, and even still it was only thirty-five bucks.

Worth it, she decided. Entirely worth it for the sheer joy on Emmrich’s face as Manfred’s little chin tipped up proudly as if to say, ‘This is my backpack, isn’t it lovely? It’s mine and not yours.’

"This is a great surprise - for both of us." He stroked Manfred's head and looked to Rook. "I never would have anticipated that you'd think to spoil Manfred like this."

"Why not? He needs to be spoiled - look at him."

Manfred's head swiveled towards her and he hissed.

"See? He's thrilled," Rook laughed.

"As sweet as it is, I'm still trying to pinpoint the ulterior motive you mentioned..."

"Oh! Right: see, ideally, Manfred here will be so enamoured with his new backpack that I'll be able to steal you away and give you that massage we were talking about while wearing nothing but the gold you've so kindly seen fit to give me." She grinned at him, feeling quite proud of herself as she watched the mental image manifest in Emmrich's mind, knowing that it had hit home when he swallowed hard and went a bit pink.

"You really put a lot of thought into this, didn't you darling?" He whispered.

"I'm so glad you noticed. Now leave the cat to his bag and let's go upstairs, shall we? I wanna make you melt."

And she would - she wasn't able to buy him a cashmere sweater or an expensive watch, but Rook Ingellvar was going to give one last gift to Emmrich this Wintersend: he was going to wake up the next morning without a single doubt in his mind about how utterly fucking treasured he was.

They both showered again, and as Emmrich did as he was told and got comfortable on the bed in anticipation of his massage, Rook, spurred on by the wine, decided to try out the intimidating bidet at last, which she was surprised to find was quiet refreshing, if a bit bracing initially - she could see the appeal though, she supposed: on top of the shower, she'd never felt quite so... clean downstairs.

She climbed onto the bed where Emmrich was stretched out on his belly. His eyes followed her naked form as she approached, and lust tempered with adoration dwelled in those hazel depths, marking the ruby necklace on her neck and the glinting emerald on her finger. As she straddled his bare thighs, she noted that he had chosen to keep his own gold on as well, his long fingers still adorned with his many rings - some simple, others downright ostentatious. His gold watch lingered on his left wrist, just visible from where his arms were folded under his head, along with the variety of other thin chains and bracelets that lined his forearms.

“I rather enjoy the sight of you in nothing but gold,” he murmured blissfully into his arm. “It suits you… emphasizes your beauty and calls to mind tales of forgotten goddesses and the benevolent love that they might see fit to bequeath unto unworthy mortal men.”

"You just like seeing your girlfriend naked."  

"There's that too..." he admitted.

"Mhmmm..." Rook hummed, popping the lid of the tin containing the massage bar and settling into the comforting sensation of the backs of his thighs against hers. "Now shush - just relax and let me spoil you for fucking once."

"You spoil me every day, darling."

"Shhhh," she warned squeezing her legs together - he chuckled in answer, and she leaned forward to trail a line of kisses down his neck from the closely cropped line of his hair. "Let me love you, Emmrich... let me adore you."

Heeding her command, he exhaled deeply - a sound of pure contentment, and Rook began working the massage bar against his skin, feeling it begin to melt from the combined heat of her hand and his flesh.

She worked diligently, focused on her task - she was no masseuse, but one didn’t need to be in such a circumstance: this was about intimacy and closeness between two people as she mapped the network of muscles, bone, and connective tissue that dwelled beneath Emmrich’s pale skin.

“I like your trapezius,” she whispered, working the fingers of her other hand into the sheath of muscle between his neck and his collarbone, kneading and squeezing, the oil of the massage bar making her movements smooth and frictionless.

“Oh—!” Emmrich gasped when her fingers found a knot and she began loosening it. “So complimentary, darling—” he drew in a breath through clenched teeth at the feeling of the knot beginning to give way. “T-thank you...”

Her fingers danced over his ribs next, counting each of them in her mind - true, then floating - so easy to discern under his skin as they protruded visibly in this prone stretched out position. She continued quietly naming various muscles and points of anatomy as she spread the sweet, fragrant massage oil into his skin, and Emmrich was silent but for happy, satisfied sighs, hums - and the occasional correction of her pronunciation: he was familiar with the finer points of anatomy, after all.

She set the massage bar down, and her thumbs drifted down his lower back on either side of his spine, and she drew them apart, sweeping over the space just above the curve of his rear.

“Gluteus medius…” she recited, the tips of her thumbs sinking into the thicker layer of muscle and fat - what little he had at least - pressing firm, small circles into the area before moving on to the more robust muscles a few inches lower. “Gluteus maximus…” she pressed the heels of her palms into his cheeks, grinding them upwards in a wholly innocent demonstration of her very qualified abilities as a massage therapist.

Emmrich moaned quietly, slightly muffled by the positioning of his head on his forearm - whether it was intentional or not, Rook couldn’t say, but something about the blissful resignation of the sound inspired her.

She surveyed the small, horizontal wrinkles at the very apex of the backs of his thighs directly under his bum: she had always quite liked these little wrinkles that were less pronounced than the convex delineation on his cheeks: these were subtle and elegant. The thin strip of flesh between these small furrows and the underside of his ass looked sensitive and silky - softer still than the rest of him.

They called to Rook: to be stroked and licked and kissed…

Slowly, she followed the shape of the lines with her thumbs. “Gluteal sulcus…”

Emmrich shivered at her feather light touch, and a high-pitched little whimper warbled past his lips.

“Does that feel nice?” She inquired silkenly, slipping further down his legs and continuing to gently drag her thumbs back and forth over the enticing flesh.

“Mmmm… yes….” he sighed.

“Can I kiss you there?”

“Of course.” There was no hesitation in his voice - if anything there was an aspect of want in his tone.

Rook lowered herself further until her breasts were pressed against the backs of his legs, the sensitive peaks of her nipples hardening even more than they already were at the sensation of skin on skin.

Lips as gentle as the wings of a butterfly grazed the space just under the fleshy part of his ass, earning another delightful little whine. She chased the utterance, trailing small kisses along the crease, and palming his cheeks in her hands, unable to keep herself from deepening the pressure and intensity of each kiss, arousal flaring in her core.

She squeezed his ass, fingernails sinking into skin and wrenching an amusingly taken aback squeal out of him - he even squirmed a little. Was he as turned on as she was?

She wasn’t sure— so she nipped at that enticing gluteal sulcus, pinching until… a yelp that gave way to an undeniably suggestive moan…

Normally, she enjoyed letting him spoil her in bed like he spoiled her everywhere else, but the nude massage was meant to be for and about him… naturally anything else that came of it had to be too...

Of course there was also something deeply intriguing about the squirming and hushed, needy sounds she was coaxing out of him…

Mind made up, she stopped teasing the backs of his thighs and lifted her head so he would be sure to hear her.

“Can I lick your asshole?”

She’d never heard a sound before quite like the one he made then: it was what she supposed someone would sound like if they swallowed a kazoo and then immediately after were kicked squarely in the balls.

“R-Rook!” He spluttered. “Y-you want to—?”

“Lick your asshole, yes,” she asserted calmly, somehow managing to keep the laughter from her voice, but losing the battle with the smile that lifted the corners of her mouth. “Gotta ask, you know? Can’t just… dive in there.”

“Darling…” he breathed. “You don’t have to—”

“You say that every time I try to do something for you - don’t you get it? I don’t feel like I have to: I want to.” She planted a kiss on his ass cheek and grinned. “If you’d prefer a different perspective let's try this: it would really soak my panties if I could smooch your chocolate starfish.”

“Rook!” Reproach and scandal dripped from his voice despite the fact that was she certain that precum was also dripping from his dick, seeping into the blanket beneath him.

She kissed his rear again to stifle a giggle. “Let’s be honest - there’s no wholesome way to propose this. But - no pun intended—”

Emmrich groaned again, but not in an aroused way.

“— I said I was going to adore you, and I intend on adoring every inch of you.”

He was silent for a few moments and Rook was about to point out that if he left her hanging any longer it was going to get awkward.

“Go on then, darling,” he said, and she didn’t need to see his face to know it was brick red.

She peppered a few more kisses over his cheeks and the amusing bum wrinkles, kneading his flesh, and saying, “Just relax for me.”

When she was satisfied that he had - the tension of their brief back and forth dissipating from his frame - she gently spread his cheeks, emitting a pleased hum at the sight of the puckered ring of muscle hidden there.

“I should have guessed that you waxed based on the rest of your grooming standards, but I must admit my surprise…”

She could practically feel him blush harder as she heard the blankets rustle as he attempted to bury his face further into them.

“I have a standing appointment at a local salon,” came his muffled voice.

“Mmmmm… that’s very good to know,” Rook mused. “You have a very pretty asshole.”

“Rook…” he whined, and she couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or impatience.

“So pretty…” she mused, lowering her face and imparting a slow, firm lick against his sphincter: he melted with an uninhibited groan and whispered her name again. “Mmmm… how’s that, handsome?”

“Transcendent…” he panted, and she rewarded him with another long, wet stroke of her tongue, delighting in his reaction as he made another rich sound deep in his throat that gave away the authenticity of his pleasure.

Satisfied that he wasn’t just putting it on for her benefit, she repositioned her legs, urging him to spread his so that she could slot herself between them, granting her better access - not only to his asshole, but to his balls, and his cock that was pressed flat against the mattress - hard as a rock.

Laying flat between his legs, she drew the tip of her tongue in a lazy circle around the circumference of his hole, reaching up to fondle his soft heavy balls, and coating the valley between his cheeks with saliva, focused, but aware of Emmrich’s pitched breaths and the way he was grinding his hips into the bed.

She moved southwards, carefully sucking one of his balls into her mouth and gently working it with her tongue, tasting his musk and the faint remnants of the lemongrass scented soap they had cleaned themselves with.

Letting it fall from her mouth with a sloppy ‘pop’ she gave the other side of his sack equal treatment before returning her attentions to his back door, flexing her tongue and parting him for her so she could push beyond the taut sphincter and dip inside. He gasped, then babbled her name, and a few other unintelligible words between mewls and whimpers of various volumes while she thrust her tongue in and out of his hole, which relaxed further for her with each stroke.

She moaned, burying her face deeper between his cheeks - squeezing, gripping… massaging his ass as she ravished his asshole, his balls, and the shaft of his cock.

His arms were no longer folded under him: he gripped the sheets next to his head, fingers curling into the high thread count linens as she devoured his ass with stalwart conviction. His back arched, tailbone tipping upwards as he subconsciously sought to urge Rook’s tongue deeper and deeper inside of him.

Catering to his desperation, Rook grasped Emmrich’s hips and shifted his weight backwards onto his knees, rising onto her own and taking advantage of his exposure, pummeling him with her tongue and letting a thick bead of spit dribble down over his hole.

The next sound that came out of him was closer to a sob than a groan, and she spread the saliva around his opening with her index finger, observing with satisfaction the dark stain of precum on the comforter and the thread of it that stretched up to the tip of his dick like crystalline filament.

When the congenially polite man had held the door open for her on the day of her final interview, she had not envisioned that months later she would find herself in bed with him on Wintersend, tossing his salad to great effect.

“You’re stunning, Emmrich…” she whispered, thumb finding the valley of his spine and sliding her hand upwards to sweep over the smooth expanse of his back, “… beautiful. You know that, right?”

She could feel his thighs trembling beneath him - marked the hitch in his breath at her words.

“Such kindnesses have never equaled the weight of your voice speaking them…” he rasped, “Ohhh– Rook…”

Rook.

The way her name trailed off his lips, inflecting slightly higher in his register - adoration… praise… worship… validation - all communicated in that single hushed syllable...

“A shame…” she opined while she continued to drag her lips and tongue and teeth over as much of him as she could, rose oil and neroli overwhelming her senses. “You should be told such things often… you should be loved frequently… and well.”

The emphasis of the last word was driven home by the way she cradled his pendulous balls and his throbbing cock in her other hand, imparting a tender squeeze as her own clit ached for attention, inner inner thighs slick with evidence of her need. The emerald on her finger caught the dim light as her hand passed over his back again, and she felt the weight of her passionate burden - that need to imbibe and drown herself in all that Emmrich Volkarin was… and could ever be.

Fingertips traced the shape of his arched back and idly drifted around his wet entrance, urging yet another whine from him.

"Please..." He whispered, and Rook's index finger paused against the tight ring of muscle that was clearly the secret to blowing Emmrich's mind. "Please - don’t stop, darling."

She felt herself smile, then fondled the rim of his asshole again, imparting more pressure this time. "More?" She inquired innocently, dipping just the tip of her middle finger inside of him - a fleeting, brief instance of pleasure that was there and then gone... meant to tease.

"Yes!" He hissed through clenched teeth, though not from any place of frustration or reproach - oh no... this was the shattered utterance of a man who was teetering on the brink of a mind-melting orgasm: Rook felt terribly flattered, and if she had to get him there by tickling his prostate a little, she wasn’t going to back down.

“Lube?” She prompted, her suspicions of its whereabouts confirmed by the wave of his willowy hand towards the bedside table. Crawling past him to open the drawer, she couldn’t help but snicker at the sight before her - she’d somehow never taken it upon herself to help herself to this particular cranny, despite snooping through all the others - this was where the condoms lived… that was all she needed to know.

But this was so much more than condoms: it was every possible kind of condom on the market: ribbed, flavoured, studded, thin, latex-free, Magnum, and more - all neatly organized and set out in little interlocking trays with the labels facing up; small bottles of massage oils in peppermint, lavender, and rosemary, displayed with the same deliberate accessibility; two kinds of lube: water based, and petroleum based - each bottle plainly marked; a scented candle, wick pristine; a pack of smokes and a lighter nestled on top of a spotless ashtray that was clearly crystal; a sleeve of Listerine breath-strips; and an unopened box of Plan B.

If the universe had managed to arrange itself such that Emmrich had miraculously and randomly found himself in a scenario where he had successfully seduced Marie Kondo, she would have creamed at the sheer organizational prestige of his fuck-drawer alone.

“These Magnums are looking a bit dusty…”

“In the past I’ve liked to have a variety of options for my dates!” Emmrich blustered, sounding like a kicked pelican. “Inclusivity is one of my core values, Rook.”

“You’re cute.” Her fingers wrapped around the bottle of water based lube, and she slid the drawer shut, sitting back on her knees, and leaning in to make out with his asshole a little more. "How do you want me?" She raised and lowered an eyebrow suggestively and began pouring lube onto her fingertips, the coolness of the liquid on her skin a welcome bit of grounding at that moment.

"I like to see your eyes," Emmrich answered, shifting onto his back, his own eyes half-lidded as he reached up and caressed Rook from collarbone to navel, the simple yet intimate touch one that caused her to shudder and clench around nothing.

"Alright," she said, "But I'm not kissing you - you don't know where I've been."

"I know exactly where you've been– ah!" His breath hitched when Rook's fingers wandered back between his legs, and coated his hole with a generous amount of lube.

"Sorry–" she said apologetically, resting her other arm over his bent knee and urging him to open a little bit wider for her, stroking gentle, soothing patterns against the coarse hair on his thigh. "I know it's cold..."

Carefully, she circled his entrance and eased the tip of her finger inside. Between her ministrations with her tongue moments earlier, coupled with the lube, he was well prepared for her, sphincter going lax with the practiced ease of one who was not a neophyte in the realm of anal play.

"Is this okay?" She asked regardless of the ease with which she worked her finger inside of him, the way his head was tilting back, and blissful utterances dripping from his tongue: how many selfish, grasping, oafish lovers had she taken to bed? Those who had been so focused on their own pleasure that her comfort was little more than an afterthought...

Sex was supposed to be fun - for everyone involved. Now that was a core value Rook could get behind… on top of… inside...

Emmrich hummed, the sound resonating deep in his chest, the corners of his moustache curling upwards with his mouth at Rook’s intrusion. “Yes, darling… keep going…”

Happy to acquiesce, she pressed deeper into his heat; the velvet soft feeling of him enveloping her index finger was a sensation that was altogether arousing by its own merit. Making a pleased sound of her own, she continued until she could go no deeper, drawing her lower lip through her teeth as she took in the sight of his hard cock leaking glistening precum over his hairy lower belly, and the flush of his normally pale cheeks. She moved the finger that was inside of him, feeling his responsiveness to her touch as his asshole clenched around her and another sinful whimper drifted past his lips.

"Another?" She queried softly, maneuvering her wrist and crooking her finger upwards towards his belly-button: the leg she was gripping quivered, and he groaned decadently, confirming that she had found what she'd been looking for.

He moaned again as her finger glanced over that soft, fleshy space once more. Nodded... then whispered her name and stared at her with glassy eyes as if she was Andraste incarnate.

The second finger went in as easily as the first, and she felt the tug of the comforter beneath her when his toes curled into the surface of it as he became accustomed to her dainty fullness.

"Very nice..." she praised, slowly pumping her fingers in and out of him and reaching down to stroke his cock in tandem. "I think I have a new favourite pastime..." both fingers crooked upwards this time to massage his prostate. She swore quietly at the ragged gasp she earned from Emmrich, entranced and wholly besotted by the way he melted for her... because of her. "Are you enjoying this as much as me, handsome?"

“I—! Maker—! Rook… y-yes!” He managed between soft cries and sumptuous moans, fingers twisting into the comforter, hips jerking seemingly of their own accord. Her hand left his cock and pinned his narrow hips to the bed, the lewd squelch of her lubed fingers filling the gaps between his attempts at cognizant speech. His eyes went wide, and he uttered one last wretched and unhinged cry before tightening around her so hard it nearly hurt. His cock twitched once… twice… then drooled pearly white cum all over his stomach, each steady gush accompanied by another wave of compression around her fingers as his thick spend dribbled over the crown of his cock.

She talked him through it - the way that he always did for her: sweet, adoring, encouraging words that wouldn’t have been out of place in the prep room, iterating her love and joy and appreciation until he stopped shaking and his body went slack, his fingers loosely gripping her wrist. Then she made it her business to lick every drop of cum off of his skin, thoroughly… gratefully.

“Where are you going?” He rasped after her when she vanished from him, genuine worry apparent despite his breathless elation. He didn’t actually think she was leaving, did he? She had it in her mind to fucking marry him at this rate…

She looked over her shoulder at him reposed on the bed, twisted on his side to watch her: he was nude, flushed, sweat-slicked, and covered in drying remnants of cum and saliva, his silver hair sticking in every direction...

He was perfection.

“To get a wash cloth to finish cleaning you up with, of course.” She threw him a saucy wink. “And to borrow your Listerine so I can kiss you to sleep afterwards.”

She shimmied her shoulders playfully and continued on to the bathroom, high on love, more certain of one thing than anything else: she had found the love of her life.

Ever yours, he had said...

If you're curious about the contents of Rook's mixtape...

[call-me-strega]

[nshi-ao3]

"Don't you let go!"

(I should be saving posting this future glimpse for a new chapter, but I really like how it turned out!)

[erinwantstowrite]

fanfiction is incredible. right now i'm trying to write a character i know next to nothing about, for a single scene, and realizing i have no idea what's going on. who the fuck hangs out with zatanna? i don't fucking know. i'm gonna put together the most random line up of heroes for this mission because i can do what i want

[rookanisstuff]

Some of these rookanis fics pick me up and shake me up like I’m in a snow globe and then I finish them and just come stumbling out of AO3 like a drunk