#BANGS MY FISTS LOUDLY ON THE GROUND

[love-shutdown]

what does love mean to you?

something you hold onto

you hold onto love like it's anchoring you to earth, and maybe it is. but why is that? do you fear that one day all this love you've found will somehow disappear, or that one day someone will just decide you don't deserve it? what if i told you that all this love isn't finite, that no matter who you are and who you become, love will always exist for you in so many forms. it will find you regardless of how worthy you think you are of it, you don't need to hold onto it so tightly out of fear of it leaving. you don't deserve to be abandoned, i'm sorry if love ever taught you that you deserving of that. but real, sincere love won't abandon you. the people who love you? they really do really love you, they aren't lying. and you can continue to hold onto this love, just trust that you don't have to grip it so tightly.

[amandagardendee]

Confession Booth

I’m a whore for priests. I wanna bang John Ward from Faith so bad. Anyways, uhh, DO NOT READ if you’re not into priests, places of worship, mpreg, birth, etc.

Summary: a heavily pregnant priest gives birth in a confession stand. Enjoy.

A sinner. Matthew was a sinner. He had forgotten how it happened, but he had this huge belly to remind him it DID happen. He kept it on the down low: kept insisting it was just weight gain so no one would find it suspicious. That was until today.

Of course he didn’t see a doctor about it. Of course he didn’t know his due date. But he knew he needed to get out of there when he started having contractions during a sermon. The feeling of his stomach tightening was almost alien like. His words were cut off with a choked back groan as he gripped the stand, his knuckles going white. “Hoo…” he breathed softly, glancing down at his huge stomach, hidden beneath large robes. He ended the sermon early as he ran off as fast as he could (more like waddled). Contractions were coming faster and so was this baby.

“Hnngh! Gh!” He leaned against the door of a confession stand and groaned as a contraction ripped through him. As quickly as he could he got inside. “Oh, Lord… please— AGH!” He let out a yelp and flung his head back as fluids gushed out of his asshole, staining his clothes. Shit, was that his water?!

“Ohhh!” He fell back into the seat of the confessional, not bothering to hold back his moans anymore as he felt the baby’s head sitting in his rectum. Desperate, he undid his belt and black pants and pulled them down, spreading his legs as he felt more juices coming out. He heaved and pulled up his shirt, looking at his pulsing belly. Another contraction hit and he felt the urge to push.

“Hooooohh…” He moaned as he pushed down, feeling the baby move further into his ass. Desperate, he took out the cross necklace he wore around his neck and gripped it tightly in his fist. He situated himself onto his knees, cramped between the door and the chair as he clasped his hands together and looked up. “Oh, God, please- NGGHHN! I can’t- ohh…” He began to pray in broken words as he grunted and continued to push, spreading his legs farther apart on the ground. “My Lord- AH! S-Save me… Oh-“ He gripped the necklace tighter again as he felt his asshole widening to let the baby come out. He whined softly as he took a hand down to his ass and spread his cheeks, allowing the baby to move out easier.

“Oh, Jesus- HNNGGHH!” He gritted his teeth and bore down again, his tight asshole spreading more as he moved his other hand down to rub his belly, the beads of the neckless rubbing against his skin and the cold metal of the cross making him shudder. He panted as his eyes, still raises to heaven, began to water with the pain. His shaking fingers reached his asshole, where they could feel the head of the baby trying to make its way through.

“Please, Lord- Ple-“ He was cut off as another contraction tore through him, causing him to drop his cross as he flung his head back and loudly groan, both hands pulling apart his asscheeks as the baby spread him further apart. “Ohhh! Oh, God- Oh, God— No- please-“ He whined as he took off his robes and held them under his birthing asshole. He folded his arms over the chair of the confession stand and laid his head into them, his groans muffled as he rocked his hips side to side to help ease the pain in them.

He let out another low groan as he pushed, trying to spread his legs further apart but his pants around his ankles making him unable too. “Lord- Ah! Lord above, my God- I have sinn-NNGHH!” He bore down again, gripping the waistband of his pants as he felt the baby near crowning.

“Please- Fuck- It’s coming—“ He situated himself again and bore down, sweat pouring down his face as the baby began to crown. There was a pop than a gush of fluids that stained his robes as he finally crowned.

“Oh!” He yelped, feeling the head with his shakey hands. He whined soflty and muttered a soft prayer. “Lord- Lord, my God, forgive me- Nghh! For- using your house of worship for- GHH! s-such a sinful deed. Forgive- meee- Ohhhh!” He bore down again, the shoulders lodged against his asshole.

Panting and trembling, he desperately reached for his cross again that had fallen to the floor. But before he could reach it, a scream tore through his throat as his hands reached the babies head as the shoulders slipped out, along with the rest of the baby.

The poor priest gasped in relief as he caught the baby, wrapping her in the robes that were stained with his bodily fluids. He slumped against the door of the stand, panting as he looked at his pale, bloody, wailing baby girl and questioning everything in his life. Was this all he really got?

[ultralightpoe]

S-L-U-T 2 - Eddie Munson

Authors Note: CAN BE READ ALONE, but if you want there is a first part on my page.

Word Count: 5038

Warnings: this is just pure porn with very little plot. Good luck

(Thank you for the gif @gayshipsandanxiety )

Enjoy!

(Last warning. This is pure porn with very little plot. Turn back now)

Never in your life did you expect to be in a situation like the one you’re in today.

Tarzan Boy, a random pop song, playing on the stereo of the vans speakers as said van rocked quite a bit under the movement of the two people in the backseat.

It had started out as Eddie driving you home from school, which lead to the both of you arguing over the music choice, him wanting his classic rock and metal music and you begging for anything else. He had been mean, not mean enough to elicit an actual fight but just mean enough to lead to you lifting your tiny skirt to your hips and flash him your panties as he drove. You were going to to teach him a lesson today.

He had, no shocker here, swerved to park his car in the woods and followed you into the back of the van where you ended up straddling him with all your clothes still on. He was leaning against the wall, eyes wide as his hands gripped at your hips harshly, looking panicky and awed all in one go. His lips swollen and open wide in an “o” shape as you dug your clothed heat down onto his own clothed tent, enjoying the feeling that fizzed through you.

“Eds���.” You mewl, another swipe of your hips that has him moaning loudly, feeling him tense under you. The van rocked, squeaking a bit as you kept riding him through both your clothes. “Ed’s…….”

“Oh fuck.” He growls, eyes cinching shut as his hips rise to grind against your own, his hands pushing you down to add pressure as the somg keeps playing.

His breath came out in heavy pants, and while one hand dug its fingers into your skin the other fisted in your dress as if the cloth was keeping him grounded. You made sure to lean down, your hot breath blowing on his ear as you moaned out a simple “uh huh…”

And he tenses more, thighs clenching as he tries to pull you close but you’re too quick, immediately lifting your hips from his that has him crying out and opening his eyes with a frantic “no!”

You had been playing with him for close to an hour now, had edged him more times than you can count, and he was beginning to fray. But you had yet to get what you needed from him.

“What do you say?” You pant out, leaning back as his hands tighten in an attempt to keep you close.

“C’mere.” He pants, teeth gritting together.

“What. Do. You. Say?” You try again, hand moving to his chest to keep him still.

“I’m sorry.” He whines out, bangs clinging to his forehead. “I’m so sorry baby. I’ll fix my attitude I swear it.”

“What a good boy.” You smile, leaning your hips down to his own, and just at the mere touch of your clothed heats together once more he groans out.

“Iswearit” he whines out as you beginning moving your hips back and forth again.

“You want it slow or fast baby?” You offer, watching him struggle beneath you. You already know his answer, he’ll say fast. That he wants all of you, every ounce of power you have.

“Use me.” He moans. “Gimme everything.”

So you do, smiling and biting your lower lip as you press your hips together, humping him in the back of his van like it was the only thing keeping you both tethered to this earth.

His moans and growls were constant now, one hand sliding up to paw at your breast in a skilled manner, pulling the flimsy material covering it off so he can pinch your nipple which makes you shudder above him.

“M’ close.” He snaps, canting his hips into yours as the van rocks some more.

“Me too.” You moan out, leaning forward the same time he does as your bodies press together and your arms wrap around eachother, letting your hood keep moving as your lips meet and clash.

He moans through the kiss, his tongue making its way into your mouth as you shudder and come undone above him, making him cum in his own pants soon after.

Even after your hips finish riding our your shared highs you stay meshed together, chest to chest as you make out in the back of his van.

When he pulls back to breath his hair is completely messed up and his jaw is red from your hands rubbing at it, lips swollen and red themselves.

“We switch music back and forth then?” He asks, hands rubbing circles on your back slowly.

“I mean…. If you want.” You blush, avoiding eye contact.

“Baby, you just made me cum in my jeans over it. You won.” He laughs, pulling your jaw to look at him once more. “Don’t get all shy and docile. Own that shit. Own me.”

“Yeah?” You laugh, playing with his hair. “Then when can I have you?”

His face shudders at the memory of his rule he made a month ago, when you had dragged him back to your room to show him what you wanted and he had declared it.

“I will not fuck you until you’re ready.” He had said, and you had laughed asking what he meant.

Eddie would not be fucking you in that final way until he was sure you were ready and comfortable to tell him what you wanted or needed. He claimed that he wanted you to learn your sexual life at your own pace. Which right now included a lot of dry humping, and that sucked for laundry but boy was he in heaven.

And just like you had the last time you both did this you brought up the rule and he felt lame and ready to fuck you.

But then he remembered that you hadn’t had him finger you since that original night, and there were plenty of other things in between that he wanted you to experience.

She’s rushing.

“It’ll be worth the wait when you’re ready.” He smiles.

“For me?”

“Oh no. For me baby. You’re gonna hate it.” He jokes which pulls a laugh from you that has his heart melting.

-

“Did you do the homework for English?” A voice blurts to your right, drawing your attention away from where you were searching through your locker for one of your books.

Your head whirls to find Wes from your class smiling at you, leaning against the lockers by your own and taking up too much space in general.

“You mean the homework we got last period?” You ask, raising an eyebrow and risking a glance over to the lockers across from your own where the boys of Hellfire (Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, and Paul) had been waiting for you to head to lunch.

The three boys pretend to be looking anywhere else, giving you privacy but you see all their fists clenched. Eddie however watches carefully from his spot, a soft smile on his lips as you make eye contact.

“Hello?” Wes snaps, actually snapping in your face which has you blinking.

“I’m sorry? What did you say?” You rush out, feeling a little guilty he had asked you a question and you hadn’t been listening.

“I asked if you wanted to get together to do the homework later.” He sighs, irritation laced on his features before his eyes cast down to where your cute dress showed off some cleavage. His eyebrows raise slightly and a red adorns his cheeks before he looks back up at you with excitement, irritation suddenly gone. “Say my place around 7?”

You risk a look down, wincing when you see that your nipples were now visible through the dress from your little staring contest with Eddie.

“Can’t tonight. I’m busy.”

“Oh? Doing what?” He laughs, moving a little closer and reaching a hand out to play with your hair. “I’m sure you can make time.”

“Ready to go?” Eddie interrupts , smiling softly at you as you close your locker and grab his arm to lead you away.

“Fucking slut.” Wes sneers and within a moment Eddie has him pinned. It’s a flash of leather and chains, whirling to follow his figure as he shoves the jock into the lockers.

“Watch your mouth. You hear me?”

“Fuck. Fine. I’m sorry!” Wes grunts as Eddie’s forearm shove into his throat. “I’m sorry man!”

“Not to me. To her.”

And just like that Wes whirls to you and repeats the words. You grab Eddie’s arm, pulling him softly.

“Come on baby.” You whisper.

“You two dating now?” Steve asks, shuffling closer with a wide eyed look. You hadn’t seen or spoken to him since last year and he looked entirely different, nicer now if that made sense.

“Yes.” You bite out.

“Easy. I was just asking. Came to make sure you were okay.” He smiles and holds up his hands as Eddie walks past, keeping his arm held at an angle you could hold onto.

When you both are a decent enough distance he shakes his head. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Say you’re dating me.” He mumbles and you panic.

“I’m sorry. I assumed and I- well all the ….. stuff and I just-“

“Hey hey. No don’t think that.” He rushes to stop you, hands on your jaw to pull you close. “I just meant even with all the mind blowing stuff we do I want you to have options. Don’t feel the need to be tied down to me, okay?”

“Will you be seeing other people?” You blurt.

“God no. I wouldn’t be able to get it up if I tried.” He smiles.

“Then I won’t either. I want to date you.” He smiles at your words, leaning to kiss you before the rest of the boys are there pushing you both into the lunchroom.

-

The bowling alley was a terrible make out spot as you’d come to learn, not because of the music or the smell, no. It was terrible because it was everyone else’s make out spot as well which frustrated you beyond belief.

Friday nights at Hawkins there was nothing much to do so a lot of the teens ended up driving to neighborhood towns to check out their own places. Shadyside bowling alley was one of them.

Shadyside had an extremely bad reputation, one that ended up being wrapped into some insane conspiracy of a witch cursing the land and that’s why tons of kids from this town ended up slaughtering one another.

You had been a little nervous when you found out the boys were all going and they were all begging you to come with them, well all but Jordon who still made snide comments about your attire to this day. Not in front of Eddie because he would pummel him and you never bothered to tell your boyfriend because you didn’t want him having to kick out the kid from their dnd game.

But nonetheless they convinced you which had led to you attempting to bowl as everyone around you drank and had fun. A couple hours in you decided that you had enough to drink and now you wanted nothing more than to kiss your boyfriend so you did. He enjoyed it, humming pleasantly as he deepened it before pulling back and giving you a knowing look.

“Hey guys. We’re gonna go smoke. Switch up teams for next round.” He mutters, pulling a cigarette from his pocket to place between his lips as his hand grasps yours and he leads you away. Gareth smiles and flicks your forehead as you pass, which makes you laugh until Jordon glares harshly and you trip over yourself a bit.

Then the issue of finding a nice spot became apparent, because every corner was taken by couples that seemed to have the same idea you two had.

“Fuck.” He grunts, kissing your cheek. “There’s the van?”

“It’s cold out.” You shake your head, watching him nod in agreement. Warming up the van for a quick make out session would take far too long and wouldn’t be worth it.

So he chooses to kiss you lightly with his hands rubbing your back softly. “Okay. Let’s go back. We can catch another game-“

But then you’re tugging his jacket and he grunts out as you lead him into a stuffy closet that smells like mold and has terrible lighting.

“Is making out really worth the black lung we can get in here?” He laughs, only to get cut off when you pull him in for a deep kiss, moaning into it a little.

Then he realizes what this is, excitement filling him a bit as he pulls you closer. “There’s not enough room in here baby.”

Even as he says it you bump into a mop while trying to move closer. “Jesus. This place sucks.”

“Hey now. Mop closets can be fun.” He coos, rubbing your hips before helping you turn around. “Hands on the door princess.”

Without any hesitation you do as he says which makes him smile, still rubbing at your hips slowly while you use to door to keep yourself upright. Slowly, so slowly, he moves his hands down until he can start shuffling your skirt up a bit.

“Is this okay?” He whispers in your ear, waiting a moment before he keeps doing it for your confirmation. When you nod he shakes his head. “You know the rules.”

“Yes.” You snap, pulling your head back to look at him. He smiles, even with the attitude and keeps working your skirt up.

“I just want your consent princess. Is that so hard?” He huffs.

“If I said no would you stop?” It’s meant to be an off handed jab, he knows this, but the second the words fall from your lips he freezes, not moving a single inch as a quiet rage fills him.

“I’m sorry?” He snaps.

“It’s just….. well wouldn’t you be like… upset?” You ask, gazing behind you for eye contact.

“Did you say no to Harrington or Kelleck?” He snaps, his voice closer to a whisper but still powerful. “Princess if you-“

“I didn’t. Eds I didn’t say no. It was all consensual.” You rush out, trying to move to face him but he keeps his firm hold on you.

“Did they give you enough time to say no?”

“Steve did.” You nod.

“Not Kelleck?!”

“Baby please.” You huff, leaning up to kiss him quickly. “I want you. I don’t wanna talk about that right now.”

“But-“ before he can argue you are grinding back into him which makes him curse out sharply. “We’re talking about this later.”

“Mkay.” You huff, letting him nip at your ear before his hands begin sliding again. They move your skirt up past your hips and you with the waistband of your panties before sliding in.

“This okay?” He asks, fingers moving closer and closer.

“Yep.” Your answer is short and clipped, mostly because you were already focusing on that burning feeling in your lower gut as his fingers slip to begin rubbing through your folds.

Out of basic reaction your thighs try pushing together but his own leg is there slamming between yours to slot them open and give him better access, a loud moan passing your lips as you bend forward a bit so your forehead is pressed to the door.

He slides the pads of his fingers long your folds, leaning to his back was pressed to yours as his left hand comes up to your hip.

“Look at you.” He huffs. “Such a pretty fucking princess for me right now.”

“Eds!” You whine, hips wiggling. Without warning he slots two fingers inside you, making you inhale sharply and shut your eyes as he curls them.

“Are you my pretty princess?” He coos, kissing behind your ear.

“Yes!” You moan back, feeling his hands begin pressing in and out of you at a rapid pace, the metal chain bracelet he always wears pressing on your clit with every movement.

“This is my favorite skirt of yours.” He admits, the hand on your hip punching the fabric. “Your pretty in pink skirt.”

You can’t even find the words to respond and his thumb flicks you expertly , the tight coiling fleeing making you want to close your legs but his own leg keeps them shoved apart still.

“I knew I wanted you then. You know that?” He laughs. “The night you called me? Second I got off the phone and I fucked my fist with the image of you in my jacket.”

“Baby.” You try to catch your breath, but everything is a haze of pleasure. Your arms and legs are shaking.

“My sweet girl.” He mumbles into your neck, adding two more fingers and sending you right over the edge. One of your hands comes to grip his hair as the other scratches at the door as you cry out shaking wildly while cumming on his fingers. “Perfect. As usual.”

You try not to roll your eyes as he brings his fingers up to suck on them, but that feeling in your lower stomach coils again at the image.

“Fuck me….. please.” You whine and he laughs before shaking his head.

“Not in this place. Not even close.” He turns you around and works on fixing you up, setting your panties right and sliding your skirt down before licking his thumbs to swipe your makeup and clean it.

In a last ditch attempt you slide your hand across his abdomen. “I wore the jacket you know….”

“Hmm?”

“On the date with Steve? Wore it the whole time. Even when he fucked me.” Eddie’s eyes widen at that, pressing into you a bit as he blinks.

“Y-yeah?”

“And when we were fucking, I just couldn’t get into it. So I closed my eyes and inhaled your scent…..” you grasp his hand, sliding it up your body before landing it on your boob. He immediately squeezes. “And I imagined you touched me like this as you fucked me.”

“M-me? You imagined me?” He blinks, flushing a bit.

“Uh huh.” You pant, letting him squeeze at your breast.

“Fuck.” He grunts, leaning forward to kiss you before there is knocking on the door that makes you both jump.

“I need a mop fuckers.” Someone grunts and you smile, watching Eddie sigh out before shimmying his leather jacket off and helping you slide it on.

When you enter the lighter side of the door you have to blink to readjust as a blonde kid on the other side smiles at you both.

“Hey Simon.” Eddie grunts with surprise, and you note the nail polish on the kids hands.

“Hey Eddie. Eddie’s girl.” The kid smiles from ear to ear. “You christen my place up nice?”

“Perv.” Eddie mumbles, pulling you to his side as he leads you away.

“How do you know him?” You ask, playing with the chain bracelet as you walk.

“He has a friend named Kate. We both sell for Rick,”

“Sell? Like….?”

“Sell baby. Drugs.”

“Really?” You gape up at him. How did you not know this? “So do you…. Get high?”

“Yep. Why? You want to?” There is a gleam in his eye as you get closer to the group.

“No. Of course not.”’you huff, moving to hug Jeff the second he opens his arms for you.

-

“Oh. My. God.” You mumble, fingers digging into the carpet of his trailer as you lean against the couch, trying to relax a bit. Your eyes are closed, but the room is still spinning into a galaxy.

After a couple moments, you riding out the spins, you feel a tap on your thigh pulling your attention to Eddie. He sits beside you, head leaning against the couch as well, watching you carefully.

“You okay princess?” He mumbles and you can do nothing but nod.

His hand stays on your thigh, thumb rubbing soft circles and you can feel everything, your body rooting you back to this planet and keeping you there. “Keep your hands on me.”

It’s an order, one that makes him smile as you close your eyes. “Don’t let go Eds.”

“Never. Keeping you with me forever.” He grunts, squeezing a bit before you both close your eyes and ride the high a bit. Your head rolls to his shoulder, pressing your lips to his arm as you begin to trace patterns on his skin with your tongue.

“What are you doing?”

“I like you without a shirt.” You giggle, not opening your eyes but still able to picture him in his boxers all the same. “I want to see you naked.”

You hear him inhale sharply, hand squeezing your thigh harshly before easing up a bit. “You can’t say stuff like that without warning.”

“Why?” You whine.

“Cause I nearly fucking came right there.” He growls, pulling your attention to him and making you open your eyes before he is kissing you.

You don’t know how long you kiss for, could he seconds or hours, all you know was that everything felt so fucking good.

“Fuck me.” You plead. “Please.”

“Room. Now.” He orders, both of you helping each other there and landing on the bed quickly. You plan on him landing on top of you, only to be surprised when he remains kneeling above you and moving to ship your panties off.

“I’m not fucking you like this.” He grunts.

“Please-“

“No.” He snaps, fingers already sliding against you. You sit up, eyes narrowing at the tent in his boxers before you huff and slam your legs shut, pushing his fingers away.

“What’s wrong?” He mumbles, blinking slowly, too high to tell if you’re hurt or angry. “I’m sorry-“

Before he can back away from the bed your snatching the waistband of his boxers. “Off.”

“No.” He laughs.

“Fine. Then my panties go back on.” He stares yiu down before rolling his eyes and standing to shuck the boxers off. Holy. Fucking. Gods.

He was big. Wayyyy too big. You wouldn’t be able to fit that, he would break your cervix open and-

A hand covers your mouth, looking up to see Eddie breathing ragged. “Give me a fucking chance here doll. I’m about to cum.”

You hadn’t even realized you had been saying it all out loud. He lets go of your mouth, moving up the bed until you are both laying on his pillows against the headboard.

“Touch yourself and I’ll touch myself.” He offers, and how can you fucking refuse?

Within moments you're rubbing yourself, watching closely as his eyes train to your center, his own hand sliding down slowly as his thumb begins rubbing at his length. “Show me how you do it at home.”

“Eddie.” You whine, rubbing faster. One finger slips in and then another, and you try to keep it up but you’re just a little too high to keep anything going. So you let out a frustrated grunt, stopping and watching him instead.

His eyebrows are pinched together as he aggressively pumps his fist across himself. “Don’t stop.” He begs.

“I can’t.” You whine back. “Not enough.”

Just like that he stops, huffing with irritation before he nods and gets up. “I’ll be right back.”

You wait patiently, and watch when he comes back with….. “no.”

“Why not?”

“That’s a tooth brush.” You scoff, watching his face light up with joy when he turns it on.

“No.”

“It’s mine, not Wayne’s.” He huffs moving across the bed to get closer.

“It’s gonna…..” you bite your lip, watching as he kneels before you, moving both your legs over his thighs until you were splayed out for him.

“You trust me?”

“Yes.” You admit. Watching a smile crack out on his face before he plunges the vibrating toothbrush into you and turns it on, keeping his thumb right on your clit so the vibrations move throughout.

A moan slips from your lips, watching as he spits in his hand before beginning to pump himself again, eyes wild at the scene before him.

Everytime he pumps his fist he shoves the toothbrush back into you, starting a rhythm that has you moaning loudly.

“You’re gonna be so tight when i fuck you.” He grunts. “Arent ya?”

“You’re so big.” You coo, the high from the drug’s heightening your pleasure as you arch off his bed. “There she is. There’s my good girl.” He smiles. “You gonna be this good when I’m ramming into you?”

“I will.” You nod. “I’ll be so good.”

“Swear it?”

“I swear it. I swear it dungeon master.” You nod, watching in real time as his eyes widen at the name and white spurts explode from his length all over your thighs and center.

“FUCK!” He yelps, eyes slamming shut as his high racks through him. “FUCK SHIT FUCK!”

“You’re so hot.” You whine, leaning up to continue pumping and milking him. “You’re such a good-“

He pushes you back quickly,‘throwing the toothbrush across the room so hardly you hear it slam and shut off at the impact while he readjusts himself so his face was shoved between your thighs.

Next thing you know he is lapping at your cunt.

“OH MY GOD!” You gasp, immediately grinding up into his face, shuddering as his nose pressed to your clit.

He stays down there, devouring you like a madman and finally your high comes. Paired with the weed you feel like your spinning, thighs clamped around his head as you spiral before it ends and you try to back away. But his own hands snatch you to stop you as he keeps going.

“Baby?” You ask, overstimulated and whiny.

He looks up at you, face gleaming with yours and his juices as he growls. “Mine.”

“Uh huh.”

And just like that he goes back to it.

He doesn’t let up until you finish 4 more times, a sobbing shaking mess that he gets to cuddle.

-

You suck him off in a double feature of some weird Star Wars movies, sitting in the back row.

You had grown bored of the shit film quickly and took to kissing around his face, over and over over as he closed his eyes and moaned out in the nearly empty theater. Not that anyone could hear him anyways.

His hand slides across your thighs and to your center before you slap it away. “Watch your movies perv.”

He huffs a laugh, pulling his hand back to keep watching the film before your hands undo his belt.

“Woah.” He huffs, gulping down. “You sure?”

“Want it so bad.” You giggle, immediately leaning over to take him in your mouth once he is freed. He hisses through his teeth, hand immediately flying to your hair and you suck on the tip, licking in circles before sliding your tongue along the slit at the top which makes him hiss and thrust up.

“Baby-“ you whine and he whispers an apology before you take as much as you can in your mouth, gagging a bit as you blow out your cheeks.

As the background music and shooting of those weird blaster guns fills the theater he begins thrusting up, using your hair to pull you up for down with his thrusts and your eyes water in a good way.

He grunts out when he feels your hot tears fall onto the exposed skin of his pelvis, pulling you off so he can look at your tear stained face.

A wave of panic consumes him thinking he hurt you before your sliding to the ground on your knees, taking him into your mouth again, allowing him to begin thrusting once more as he cums in your mouth while Luke fights Vader.

-

(This next part might not be for everyone but sometimes sharing is caring so )

You ask so blow Jeff at the Dnd meeting 3 weeks later. You had been straddling Eddie in his seat, playing with his hair when Jeff came in early, eyes wide as he said hello.

He was always so respectful, even when he pitched a tent.

So you turned back to Eddie, leaning in to whisper “can I take care of him?”

“Only if you want to and he wants to.” Eddie smiles. “You know I won’t be mad baby.”

And so you smile, sliding off his lap and moving closer to a Jeff who stares at you with wide eyes.

“Can I help?”

“Shit- I’m sorry. I’ll go.” He rushes out, thinking it’s a trap until you stop him.

“I can help,” you smile. “Help me learn how to please Eddie bit more too.”

And just like that your friend is nodding, watching as you readjust his chair so you can slide down and undo his pants.

“I’m sorry eddie.” Jeff whines when you free him.

“Don’t be sorry.” He laughs. “You want me to leave for a little?”

Jeff doesn’t answer, so you turn to nod at him to help relax the boy. eddie winks, leaning to kiss your forehead and drape his jacket around your shoulders before getting up and shuffling off.

“You really don’t have to princess.” Jeff breathes out. “Really this was enough in its own.”

“You don’t want me to?” You coo, tracing your finger along his hip bone. “I wanna be Eddie’s slut.”

“Oh fucking Christ.” He moans, head falling back as you take him in your mouth.

-

That night eddie eats your out like his life depends on it, fingering you and lapping at your folds as you moan and squirm beneath him. “I want you so bad. Please!”

And he gives him finally, smiling from ear to ear and he crawls up your body and leans to his nightstand to grab a - shit. Where were the condoms.

“Baby.” He moans. “We might have a problem.”

“What?”

“I don’t have condoms…..” you glare for a moment before you both start laughing loudly at your luck, moving to hug eachother.

“I can suck you off and then we can watch a movie.” You offer, kissing along his jaw. “We can get some condoms tomorrow.”

“I’m in.”

{The request for this wishes to remain anon so hope you enjoyed it and don’t ever feel nasty about requesting cause sometimes we all need just pure filth. ;) }

[tenderlyrenjun]

Playing Video Games

"Jisung, this is so difficult," you huff, tossing the control on the couch, narrowly avoiding his face.

Your boyfriend rotates his head 90-degrees on your lap, backwards, to look up at the deep frown settling in your eyebrows.

"I don't understand why you like it" you pout, sinking deeper into the cushions.

Jisung laughs (and you frown deeper) and grabs the controller before sitting up with you. "It's the thrill of the game, baby." He takes both your hands in his and adjusts them neatly across the joysticks. You wiggle them under his fingers, clacking them loudly until he laughs again. "See, you know how to move them. You just have to get the timing right."

"You just have to get the timing right," you mock, with an exaggeratedly high pitch that doesn't quiet match your boyfriend’s deep voice. You sigh and let the controller drop into your lap again as you bury your face in his firm chest. "Can't we do something else? I'm sorry for making you die in Wizard 101 last night, okay? Next time l'll patiently wait for you to fuck me in your bed after your tournaments."

Jisung laughs once more at you, the entire sound vibrating through his heartbeat, shaking you out of his arms. "First of all, baby, it was Overwatch." He squishes your cheeks in both hands. "And second, this is just me showing you something that I like - not Overwatch, but it's something I think is fun."

You scrunch your nose. "Now I feel bad for making fun of it." You slap his hands off your face. "How am I supposed to know the difference between Overwatch and Wizard 101? Are they the same thing?"

Jisung gasps. "Baby. I love you,” he says, almost as if reminding himself. He picks up your hands and stares into your eyes. "Please don't make us go through computer games tonight too. I don’t think we’d be able to sleep.”

And you snatch your hands back too, rolling your eyes to the ceiling.

"Jisung, I'm serious," you whine, drawing out the last syllable. “I don't get why you like these games."

"Remember when we had sex in my car?"

"What does that have to do with anything??"

Jisung kisses your knuckles. "Babe, please."

You roll your eyes again. Incorrigible. "Yes, I remember every time we've had sex in your new car since you bought it this year."

"’Cause it’s fun!" he reminds you. "It's like a video game." he emphasizes. "We're sneaking around and getting the adrenaline pumping."

"I get that" you tell him, "but I know how to have sex with you." You point at the TV. "I don't know how to play first person shooter games."

"Maybe, you're just not getting enough adrenaline."

"What is that supposed to mean - Park Jisung!" you gasp.

Jisung situates himself on the ground between your legs, his large hands pushing open your thighs. He gets your underwear off your ankles, leaving you in just a t-shirt and restrictive bra. Your breathing labors, just watching him, as he runs all his fingers up and down your pussy. His middle finger barely strokes from your clit to hole, leaving phantom feelings in its wake.

“Jisung, love, what - what are you doing?”

He puts one of your knees on his broad shoulder. Instinctively, you tighten behind his neck, dragging him forward.

“Giving you a little adrenaline,” he says with a boyish smile. Jisung gently pushes your other thigh more open and situates himself a little taller, breath exhaling through his nose onto your nerves. He really does have a perfect nose, perfect face - perfect lips that kiss and bite and pull at your clit, all so gently. You scratch your way into his bangs, brushing back all his hair until you can fist his crown. But he stops you. He pecks your wet pussy airily, giving you suction-less pressure before looking up at you with that same boyish smile. “Grab the controller.”

“Huh? What?” You close both your legs around his cheeks. “Jisung, you can’t be serious.” He just smiles at you, eyes sparkling like Puss in Boots. And you groan, picking it off the cushion. “What now?”

“Now”, he emphasizes, unzipping his own hoodie to show off his defined chest and yanking your hips to the edge of the couch, “you play the game.” He slips his third finger inside your hole, ring and all, knuckles hitting your lips. “You’ll see why I like you giving me head during my games, baby.” He wetly kisses your clit and slips in his middle finger as the video game music picks up.

You throw your head on the couch, shutting your eyes at the ceiling for a second. His two fingers find a steady pace, gradually sheathing all the way inside. And when he does, Jisung twists his wrist ceiling-side up, and chafes your roof with the pads of his fingers.

“Baby, you’re gonna die.”

“Huh?”

Jisung rubs your hip with his free hand and lifts off your cunt with a smack of his lips. “In the game, baby. You’re gonna die in the game.”

"Jisungie," you pout. There are so many better things to be doing right now, at this pressing moment.

"Come on, baby." Jisung mouths your pussy, hot breath evilly replacing his tongue. "You'll like it, promise. Just try. You’ll see why I like it.”

And see, you do.

You hate that he's right. Only a little though, because you make him swear that you will cum by the end of the round. He just smirked at you, saying something about how he wins entire tournaments before you even finish.

Jisung balances between directing you through the first campaign and fingering you. His words breathing hotly down your ear. He moved you onto your stomach sometime between your second respawn and your first orgasm, finding it difficult to help you win from the ground.

"Baby," he grunts, shallowly thrusting to get your attention. Jisung straddles behind your hips, pushing your ass cheeks up for a better view of your cunt taking him so well. “You have - you have to hide around the corner. There’s a chest there, too, and - shit, stop clenching, you need to heal.”

Your character runs in circles, almost glitching the game as your thumbs toy with the joysticks, simply flicking them back and forth. “Jiji,” you whine again, mouth parted. You pause the game and drop your forehead onto your arms. “Can I cum first? Please? I’ve already done so much. I think I’m better at the game now.” Or you would be, if you could focus. Though, now, you understand why he skips out on the winners' ceremonies and literally throws you on his bed; he is never really, otherwise, so rough with you.

"Just a little more, baby," he shakes his head. "You're so close to the end."

"I'm so close to cumming."

You bury your face in the cushions and dip your back a bit lower to push his dick further inside your pussy. Jisung only really has one thing to focus on right now: you. He guides you through the game, noting every detail about your game and body, telling you where to go and how to react. But it's hard. It's more difficult than when you first started - sitting on the couch with his head in your lap. He would kiss your knee every time you missed a shot or give you a slight praise whenever you respawned. And he keeps it up, while fucking you.

Jisung plants his fists close to your hips. He leans down to your ear, gently biting the helix before whispering, in his deep, raspy voice, "Pick up the game, baby. You're. Almost. There, fuck." He punctures every syllable with an inch of his dick until all of him rests inside you again.

"Jisung," you sniffle. "I'm gonna cry, please just let me cum."

He only smirks, pulling out slightly. "Cute."

Ugh. You groan into your wrists, biting superficially into the bone. Your boyfriend - the freak - would probably enjoy that - you crying, and you know he has no problem withholding those sharp dancer moves. So, you listen and obey, and pick up the damn PlayStation controller.

As you restart the game, someone steals the first aid chest that Jisung told you to grab, eliciting a snarky 'I told you so' in your ear and forcing you to endure the rest of the game on quarter health. You run around random buildings, biting your lip to not moan too loudly and ruin your own concentration. But still, you can feel your heart rate beat erratically and your cunt abrade the dip in the couch cushion. And fuck, he's right. Jisung is right. Each time you narrowly dodge an attack or finally make your own kill, your entire body tingles; your pussy throbs; your nipples get more sensitive, regardless of what Jisung does - not to say that he doesn't do much.

Your boyfriend steadily pounds your cunt, grinding his pelvis on your ass each time. His balls somehow sneak under your thighs, hitting your clit at each thrust. And he gets as affected by the game as you do. Often, when you are the one on your knees, under his gaming desk, Jisung will accidentally bang his thigh on the keyboard drawer, followed both by rapid clicking and shoving his cock deeper down your throat. You only partially understood it, that he wanted the game over as soon as possible to fuck you for being needy and impatient. But this shows you a whole other side. The urgency and thrill mix together, prompting you to find the metaphorical finish line. It's like a test of patience, and wow, your boyfriend has a lot.

You narrowly miss the last shots at your character and run through a nearby checkpoint, before throwing the controller on a decorative ottoman.

"Good job, baby," Jisung praises.

You quickly push him against the backrest, sinking down completely on his cock cowgirl style. He watches you with pretty eyes, lips parted slightly, waiting for you to fuck him the exact way he fucks you after his games. You grab his neck kiss him breathlessly.

"Oh, I am going to fuck you so hard tonight, Park Jisung."

You can feel him smirk.

“Wanna make it a game?”

[hornyfor-redacted-onmain]

Finally Together

Pieces of My Heart - Chapter 12 Stray Kids OT8 x reader, Soulmate AU

Masterlist | Next Part

The lights were off when you sneaked out of the bedroom, tiptoeing your way down the halls. The lights from the tv were the only thing allowing you to see the dark shadowed shapes sprawled across the couch and floor, and while you didn’t recognize the movie, the sound was loud enough to cover up the sound of your footsteps and it held the attention of everyone except Chan, who watched you from the armchair where he sat.

He flashed you a grin as you slowly moved towards the back of the couch, ducking down when something bright flashed on screen and lit up the room. From behind the couch, you heard someone shift, but nobody peeked over the couch so you assumed you were in the clear.

You stayed there for a moment, your stomach twisting in a combination of nervousness and excitement. You peeked your head back over the couch, only to find your face an inch away from the back of someone’s head, and you blinked. You turned your gaze to the side, towards the end of the couch. Jisung was leaning up against the armrest, Felix sitting on the ground below him, his head resting against Jisung’s legs. Next to Jisung was Hyunjin, and none of them were looking at you.

Safe.

Changbin, the owner of the head in front of you, was sitting next to what you thought might have been Jeongin, but you couldn’t be sure since his face was pressed against his fist. From your angle you couldn’t see the other two, but your thread told you they were on the floor in front of the couch, hidden by Changbin’s frame.

Feeling particularly mischievous, you quietly blew on Changbin’s ear, but he just tilted his head. You bit on your tongue to keep from laughing, and did it again. This time, he reached out to rub at his ear, but still didn’t look.

Chan let out a short laugh he disguised as a cough.

You rolled your eyes at him, and then decided to go a step farther. You slowly shuffled a step to the side while keeping a close eye on the people on the couch to see if they would notice the movement out of the corner of their eyes, but they were enthralled with the movie.

Hyunjin had an arm leaning against the back of the couch, so you reached over and touched his finger. He let out a smile, probably thinking it was Changbin, so you decided to reach out with your hand and slide your palm over his hand and towards his palm.

“Yah, Hyung-“

You gripped his arm tightly, and pulled.

It just so happened that the universe had the best comedic timing ever, because at the very moment you pulled Hyunjin’s arm, something banged loudly on screen, and the combined effect of the loud noise and the harsh movement caused Hyunjin to scream.

Loud.

Hyunjin yanked his arm away so hard he fell over into Jisung’s lap, which then caused the young rapper to yelp in surprise. Either Hyunjin or Jisung knocked Felix over, and he let out a noise of annoyance, but he was cut off by Hyunjin’s gasp of surprise as he spotted you, and then he was yelling again. If the others hadn’t been clued in by Hyunjin’s scream, they definitely looked when the blond dancer was throwing himself over the back of the couch and into your arms with a yell of your name.

The sound of the movie was immediately drowned out by yells of your names and confused yells from those who had yet to spot you. Hyunjin squished you against him tightly.

“When did you get here?!!!” He cried, in Korean. You were once again proud at the fact that you understood him.

Someone hugged you from behind, and you couldn’t tell who it was because the overlap of voices coupled with your face pressed in Hyunjin’s chest made it hard to tell where everyone was. A second pair of arms joined in holding you, and then another pair appeared around Hyunjin.

You didn’t expect the sudden welling up of tears as you were overwhelmed with feelings of love and relief at being surrounded by your boys.

“Shit, are they crying?”

“Yah, what did you do?!”

“I didn’t do anything!”

You let out a wet laugh, pushing your face back into Hyunjin’s shirt and shamelessly wiping your tears and snot on him.

“I’m okay,” You told them, and then you repeated it in Korean. “I’m okay.”

“They’re just happy to see you,” Chan told the others, and you lifted your head to try and catch a glimpse of him. He was standing next to the couch, watching the group with soft eyes.

You felt warm and loved. Although, a little too warm. The combined body heat of who knows how many men was making you uncomfortable, and you wiggled in their grip. Your elbow accidentally hit the side of the person behind you, and Minho let out a grunt at the impact.

You tilted your head to the side and beamed at him. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” He reassured you, and finally let you go.

While Hyunjin didn’t want to move away from you, his hold was loose enough that you wiggled out of it, to the complaint of the rest of the boys. You stood up, stretching out your legs from where you had been crouched, and Jisung pushed past Hyunjin to wrap his arms around your shoulder in another hug.

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere,” You reassured him.

“I missed you,” He argued, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “So much. Don’t ever leave again.”

Minho sighed. “Jisung, give them some space-"

“It’s okay,” You reassured him.

You had a feeling that Jisung cared about the hug more than you cared about the extra warmth. Hyunjin seemed comfortable on the ground, staring at you with wide eyes and a wider smile, and Felix had taken to grilling Chan about your appearance.

“You could have said something!”

“Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise!”

You glanced to the other side, where Seungmin was filming you. You flipped him off, and he let out a laugh. Jeongin, still sitting on the couch behind you, gave you a beautiful smile when your eyes met. From next to Seungmin, Changbin was giving you heart eyes.

You felt shy under the combined gazes of your soulmates, gaze falling to the floor. “I’m happy to see all of you.”

Jisung squeezed you tighter. “I’m happy you’re here.”

[princesspastel8]

Chapter 14: Escape

Third POV

Alcor holds his hands out, white slick gloves appearing onto them. A long demon like tail growls from the tail bone, bat like wings growing from his back. Alcor snaps his neck, cracking his knuckles.

"Now let's go greet the pines family." He chuckles darkly, melting the metal door down.

The demon slowly walks up the stairs, leaving a trail of yellow flames behind him. Once he makes it to the back of the vending machine, he touches it lightly. The machine crumbles loudly, morphing into a tiny metal box.

"Mable, get back! It's dangerous!" Alcor hears Stan shout from the living room.

"Go into my lab and get more weapons! Make sure not to talk to Dipper!" Ford orders.

"Sir yes sir grunkles!" Mable said, rushing into the kitchen. She freezes, eyes clouding with fear at the sight of alcor.

A wicked, amusing smile forms on his lips. "Ah, so you're lively Mable I kept hearing in this boy's head, huh? You don't look like much. Heh, to think they favored you...." he said, frowning.

"Wh-wh...what are you?!" She forces out, her body trembling and voice cracking.

"Oh, Satan, your voice is so loud. And the look in your eyes is disgusting. Where's that joy? That care free spirit I keep hearing so much about? Huh?!" Alcor shout, taking slow menacing steps towards her.

"St-st-stay back!" Mable shouts, pulling out a ray gun from behind her back. With shaking hands, she aims for his head, firing the shot.

Alcor eyes widen. He quickly moves out of the way, his smile returning. "Oh shit! You almost got me there, little brat. And what aim....that aim could cause issues for Bill and Dipper." He ponders. "Now, how do I fix this...issue? Any ideas, little brat?"

Mable answers with another shot, this time aimed at his stomach.

Alcor chuckles, a hole forming in his stomach before the blast could hit him. He looks down at it with a pout. "Oh dear....you're no fun. I guess I'll have to come up with all the ideas." He shrugs.

He points his finger at Mable, slowly lifting her body off of the ground. Mable gasps, feeling pressure tighten around her neck. Alcor balls his fist, causing her body to remain still and stiff.

"Let's take a trip to see those old grunkles of yours, shall we?" He laughs, walking out of the kitchen, a floating Mable next to him as he continues to leave a trail of yellow flames behind him.

Alcor walks into the living room with a heavy sigh. The former mystery twins are nowhere to be seen. His ear twitches, picking up a loud banging sound coming from outside. Alcor goes to investigate, raising an eyebrow at the scene before him.

There stands the grunkles, trying to get Bill's minions away from the shield that's protecting the shack. They all punch, kick, and blast at the shield, not leaving a single scratch. Alcor claps his hands in a slow, mockingly manner.

"Wow! What a show! You pesky little useless minions can't even break a simple shield? Haha! And on top of that, two old humans are kicking your asses! I can't - this is too much!" He shouts, bending over from laughter.

Ford and Stan quickly aim their weapons at the unknown powerful force. Before they can fire, Alcor raises his index finger in the air.

"Ah ah ah!" He chuckles, waving his finger from side to side. "You wouldn't want to harm a demon in glasses, would you?" He jokes, a pair of big black glasses appearing over his eyes.

Stan and Ford do not look amused, instead annoyed with their fingers set ready on the trigger. Alcor rolls his eyes, Mable now in front of him.

"Jeez, tough crowd. How about....if either one of you fires at me, her heart will be at your feet. Understood?" Alcor smiles, it stretching from ear to ear.

Their eyes widen, shock and fear taking over their being. "Who the hell are you?! Another one of Bill's puppets?!" Stan shouts in distress.

"Drop those toys of yours, and I might answer." Alcor fires back with a boring yawn.

Ford stares at the creature, analyzing its appearance. His mouth hangs open in disbelief. "N-no... you can't be....AXOLOTL banished you to the Milky Way billions of years ago!"

Alcor looks at Ford with interest and mischief. "My my...someone's been doing their research...you knowing who and what I am could be a issue...sigh! So many issues!" He pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. He then shrugs, waving his hand in the air, causing the weapons to fly out of the grunkles' hands. "Good thing I know.....a few ways to deal with these issues."

Yellow colored chains shoot out from the palm of his hand, wrapping around Stan and Ford tightly. The two fall to the ground with a loud 'tud'. Alcor forces Mable onto her knees, her head facing up at him. He lowers himself slightly, placing a hand over Mabel's cheek.

"Shhhhhhh. Why do you humans cry? Is it out of fear? Anger? Frustration? For whatever reason, to me, crying is annoying." He said darkly, a eerie sound lacing his voice. He glances at the grunkles, a sinister idea popping into his head.

"You know... it's been soooooooo long since I had a taste of human flesh! And why waste this delicious meal for a disappointing soul? Hope you two enjoy this...lesson on how to butcher a human. Live torture is the best torture, after all." He hums.

Alcor quickly plunges his gloved thumb into Mabel's right eye, scoping it out perfectly. The sounds of her agonizingly screams and blood pouring from her eye socket, egging him on. A simple white plate appears next to her head. He places the eye on the clean plate, his other hand forcing Mabel's mouth to stay open.

He tightens his grip, smiling wickedly at the sobbing human. He forces his hand down her throat, gripping her tongue. He pulls it out swiftly, laughing at the sounds of her choking on her blood. He places the tongue on the plate, pushing her body to the ground.

"Eh, that's enough for now. This will do." Alcor hums, salt and pepper shakers floating next to the plate as well as a fork and a knife. He sprinkles the seasonings onto his meal, grabbing the fork and knife afterward.

The grunkles can do nothing but watch in horror while Bill's minions watch in shock & amusement. "The tongue of a liar and an eye of a deceiver....this should be good!" He licks his lips while cutting into the eye.

He picks up the piece with his fork, taking a slow bite. He sighs is  satisfaction, "Wow! For a foul human, you sure do produce some goodies!" He geeks, eating more of his meal.

Mable whimpers, slowly losing consciousness from the pain. "You monster! I'll stop you!" Ford shouts with determination.

"Yeah! What poindexter said! You'll pay for hurting our great niece!" Stan shouts, struggling against the yellow chains.

A napkin appears in alcor hands once he finishes his meal. He wipes his mouth clean, the other objects disappearing. "Oh really? And with what?"

The grunkles notices the burning shack, coated in yellow flames. Alcor laughs, walking towards Ford. "You really think you know everything? You know what I am, where I'm from yet...I don't think you know how to kill me. Do you?" He questions, his demeanor changing as he places a hand on Ford's shoulder.

Ford cowards back, swallowed by fear and helplessness. Alcor chuckles darkly, leaning forward to whisper in his ear. "Yeah, I thought so. Hope you enjoy jewelry, you old brainiac." He said as Ford's body quickly turns to a gold colored stone.

Once Ford is turned to stone, Alcor shrinks him, tying a string around Ford's small neck. Alcor then places his newly made necklace around his neck. He turns his attention to Stanley, surprised at how collected the old hag appears to me.

"Hm....no fear....I'm sensing so much pride from you. So much so that it's disgusting....you could be an issue too..." Alcor sneers.

He places his hands onto Stan's head, chanting incantations. Stanley's eyes slowly roll to the back of his skull, his eyes crying tears of blood. His body begins convulsing, a sign that the spell is working. Alcor pulls back, smirking at Stan's motionless body.

He smiles at his work, taking mental images and storing them into his memories. He hasn't had this much fun in millenia. He looks at his fellow demons on the other side of the shield. "Ah yes, Bill sent you to get his poor little pinetree back. How romantic!" He mocks in disgust.

He places his hand on the shield, watching it slowly melt into yellow colored magma. He laughs at the demons expression. "It wasn't that hard! You demons must be seriously weak if you couldn't break down that simple human-made shield! Bill has honestly lost his taste in 'friends'." He declares with air quotation marks.

"H-how do we know your Dipper?!" The female creature questions with a stutter.

Alcor rolls his eyes, clearing his throat with a cough. "Oh Bill~, I'll do anything for you! Just use me like one of your broken toys!" He mimics in Dipper's voice, making everyone laugh except for Pacifier.

Alcor notices and frowns, waving his index finger up, causing the demon to float. "Aw.. someone didn't appreciate my little joke! Now, why is that?" He smiles, but his tone conveys differently.

Pacifier quickly regrets his choices. "N-no reason! I just didn't hear you is all." He lies.

Alcor frowns, his hand now a fist. He places pressure onto the demons throat. "These petty and disappointing lies are really....really annoying to me. Lesson one! Never ever lie to me." He voiced, waving his hand in the direction of Bill's castle sending pacifier flying.

"Wow....nice shot." The demon with an eight ball for an eye said.

"Thank you. So to prevent any more misunderstandings, let's have a little lesson while on the way to dear old Bill's Palace of horror! Sounds fun?"

Everyone quickly agrees. Alcor smiles, clasping his hands together while slightly floating off the ground. "Good! Now on we go!"

[wildelydawn]

🦇 Trick ~or~ Treat! 👻

My Atlas <3 Once upon a time, years (a year) ago, I wrote (parts) of this in my messages with Shou. And now, my dear, my friend, you get the full glimpse of my KimChay WIP, titled, "Chay Punches Kim."

-

“You should punch him in the face.”

Porchay and Macau turn towards Vegas. “What?”

“Your brother punched me in the face,” Vegas says casually, as if Porsche went around punching people for shits and giggles. “It really solidified that I should apologize to Pete."

Porchay folds his arms. “I’m not gonna take advice from the guy who kidnapped me.”

“Suit yourself,” Vegas shrugs. “I’m not sleeping alone tonight.”

“Ouch,” Macau whistles. Porchay nudges him, but Macau shoves him playfully. “Oh, please. You’re the one always complaining about how Kim has the emotional range of a circus clown. My brother, on the other hand, is completely pathetic-”

“Hey!”

“He cried in front of Pete the other day over-”

Vegas clamps his hand over Macau’s mouth. “As my brother was saying,” Vegas cuts in cheerfully. “Kim’s love language is violence. You should punch him. Then he’ll understand.”

-

Porchay is outside Kim’s apartment. He hasn’t been here in months, and quite frankly, it’s a little hard to even look at Kim’s door.

Would he even answer?

And am I really going to do this?

Before he can talk himself out of it, Porchay knocks loudly on Kim’s door, thinking that if he can’t hit Kim, at least he can yell at him.

And when the heavy gray door swings open, and Kim’s face comes into his view, the younger Kittisawat’s mind goes utterly blank. They stare at each other for a brief moment before Porchay remembers he’s supposed to be hitting Kim. So he draws back his fist, and thwack.

Porchay’s fist awkwardly makes contact with Kim’s chest. Kim barely flinches, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. And Porchay is so aware that his punch was nothing like how Porsche must have punched Vegas, because Kim is looking at him as if he's butt-naked and covered in chocolate sauce.

An even worse awkward silence falls between them before Kim clears his throat. “You can do better than that,” he says, before closing the door.

“What?”

“Try again,” Kim calls out from the other side.

This makes Porchay even angrier. How dare Kim treat him like he’s… like-

Porchay bangs on the door. Kim swings it wide open, and Porchay draws his fist-

Only to see Kim gracefully dodge, once, twice, and when Porchay swings again, Kim steps backward, and Porchay falls forward, right into Kim’s foyer. 

Kim has a smirk on his face, or at least a laugh, and it just makes Porchay’s chest ache, seeing Kim all happy while he’s suffering alone in the Main House.

So Porchay kicks Kim, right in the shin.

Kim immediately drops to a knee, crouched over and holding onto his leg.

Porchay is on the ground with him in seconds. “Oh, God, P’Kim! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Kim looks up, grins, and sweeps Porchay’s leg. Chay falls flat on his back, and before he can blink, Kim collects his wrists, holds them above his head, wedges a knee between Chay’s legs, and leans in close to his face.

“Never assume your opponent will fight fair.”

Chay’s face warms over. “L-let go of me!”

Kim does, only to have Chay crash right back into him, his head banging painfully on his hardwood floors. Now Chay’s on top of him, the victory on his face looking quite attractive as Chay sits on Kim’s hips.

“You were saying?”

Kim holds up his hands and turns away from Chay. “You win, you win. Just get off me-”

“Why? Why should I ever listen to anything you have to say-”

“Chay, please-”

“You’re the one who made my life-”

“Chay.”

“What!?”

Kim doesn’t say anything: just keeps his face turned away. But a pink flush overcomes his cheeks, and suddenly, Chay is very aware of how close their hips are, and how Kim’s dick is quickly hardening right under his ass.

“Oh.”

[moose-muffin]

yo, i think i have some for Velvette and Charlie ig

Velvette is a very teasy Ler and a bratty Lee

Her worst spots are her underarms

She LOVES to Target Vox ever since she found out he was incredibly ticklish

I SWEAR she is the one to Bang her fists on the ground because "it tickles so Bad"

She squeals while laughing loudly. No Questions asked.

She WILL and CAN Target your worst spots.

Her laughs become really high-pitched if You Target her underarms LOL-

Teases You all while wrecking the living hell out of ya.

As for Charlie-

She adores tickling Vaggie, they often get into Tickle fights

Speaking of Tickle fights she and Lucifer always had little Tickle fights when she was little, for fun OR when she was feeling down

Her worst spots are her belly and Ribs

She on rare times takes the role of the Tickle monster (or most times)

Well that's all i have for now!

You might recognize me with this.

-🐝

OH MY GOODNESS???? THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THESE THEYRE SO PRECIOUS HELLO!!!

VELEVETTE IS ACTUALLY AN ICON I LOVE HER SO MUCH AND HER LER STATUS IS ACTUALLY EVER PRESENT LIKE!!!

AND THAT SHOWS IN HER BRATTY LEE VIBES TOO HEHE UR SO RIGHT!! SHE IS SO COMBATIVE BUT ALSO SUPER GIGGLY!!! I LOVE THAT SHE WOULD BANG HER FISTS, MIGHT I ADD SHE WOULD KICK HER LEGS TOO? I THINK ITS ENTIRELY POSSIBLE

ALSO YES SHE TICKLES VOX ALL THE FUCKING TIME AND LETS JUST SAY EVEN THO HE S A Y S HE HATES IT, WE ALL KNOW HES A LIAR AND A DECEIVER ☺️

SHE IS SOOOOO TEASY!!!! AGREED 1000% I WOULD SAY SHES VERY MUCH A FAN OF TEASING THEM ABOUT JUST HOW TICKLISH THEY ARE?? SHE LOVES COMMENTING ON THEIR REACTIONS TO THE TOUCH. SHE MIGHT TEASE YOU ABOUT LIKING IT (especially if your name starts with a V and ends with ox)

(Very quick Valentino mention, feel free to skip if it’s not ur thing. not a Val apologist, I have just always been a villain enjoyer. his character is very interesting. Also four arms) Val and Vel teaming up as lers is actually a crazy collab that would send Vox into an early grave or I guess you know, just make him very flustered. see how I add Vox to everything i am so sorry please don’t worry about it 😍 (i am so horrendously lee and ler for that man)

BUT YES! VELVETTE IS DEF TICKLISH! I HC SHE CAN KIND OF TURN IT OFF? LIKE PRETEND SHES NOT TICKLISH! SHES REALLY GOOD AT IT TOO, BUT IF YOU GET HER ARMPITS… SHES COOKED 😚 OR ALSO I FEEL LIKE HER KNEES ARE HELLA SENSITIVE TOO!! GOD I LOVE HER!!

CHARLIE!!!!!!

MY BELOVED, SHE LOVES TICKLES ALL DAY EVERYDAY!!!!

HER AND VAGGIES TICKLE FIGHTS ARE THE BEST?? BC VAGGIE KNOWS CHARLIE LOVES IT AND SO THEY HAVE LIKE BIGGGG TICKLE FIGHTS. LASTS FOR LIKE THE DAY SOMETIMES (THEY DO LIKE HIDE AND SEEK TYPE STUFF. CHARLIE ENJOYS THE BUILDUP AND THE IDEA OF TICKLE GAMES AND VAGGIE IS HAPPY TO OBLIGE WHETHER IT BE GIVING OR RECIEVING!)

One time they got into one of these and of course ended up getting the whole hotel involved <3 (OH AND NOW IM THINKING ABOUT THIS CONCEPT ON A GREATER SCALE I MIGHT JUST HAVE TO EXPAND ON THIS LATER)

Vaggie def prefers to be the ler but she loves watching Charlie’s face light up when she lets her tickle her (sorry this sounds so busted 😭 basically Vaggie is a softie for when Charlie tickles her bc Charlie gets really excited about it and has a lotta fun)

Charlie is absolutely shameless about loving tickles (kinda stealing from @kt-the-lee hi honey 😽) she is not embarrassed in the slightest and it’s just such a normal part of her identity it’s beautiful

She is also a very gentle ler. She is so excited about tickles all the time but absolutely does understand it’s not for everybody. (If I’m being 100% canon she prooobably had to learn this one the hard way and felt bad but whoever it was gave her a hug and of course forgave her bc they knew she meant well! They also probably tickled her too just to ease her anxiety <3)

The Lucifer one is very wholeosme and sweetie. I’m not big on family tickles personally but adorable nonetheless <3

HER BELLY AND RIBS BEING BAD SPOTS AWWW!! ID SAY TICKLISH NECK TOO <3 SENSITIVE AF AND SUPER GIGGLY IF YOU TICKLE HER THERE!

APOLOGIES FOR TAKING AGES TO RESPOND. THANK YOU FOR THE HCS THESE ARE ADORABLE AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE RANDOM ADDITIONS. IM NOT SURE I KNOW WHO THIS IS FROM YET BUT HIIII OMG

[rebelscums]

You Drew Stars (Hunter x Jedi reader)

Ratings: Angst | Fluff

Summary: A choice will be made.

Pt 9 to You Drew Stars

“Hunter.”

Hunter stood in the doorway of his home, looking at his brother with tired eyes.

“I thought you were coming to see us. To check up on Omega and here you are trying to put us back into a fight?” Hunter crossed his arms.

“It’s not just another fight Hunter. This is Crosshair we’re talking about.” Echo urged as he took a step forward.

“I don’t want to hear it.” The soldier muttered as he slammed the door shut to his home.

It was odd calling a place other than the marauder a home, but the residents of Pabu were kind enough to give him and his brothers separate homes.

Wrecker had a comfortable home close to the sea and it wasn’t too long that Tech moved in with Phee. Hunter and Omega had their home towards the top of the mountain, an easy lookout of the sky and sea.

It was a comfortable home for the most part with two rooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, a dining room and living area. It was odd having this much space to themselves, but they found comfort in it.

At least until Echo showed up to ruin his peace and quiet.

“Just listen to me!” Echo spoke loudly as he banged once against the shut door, “You can’t shut yourself out forever, brother. Trust me, it won’t do you any good. Please. Just come out and let’s talk about her. It’ll help you move on.”

Don’t get him wrong, he was overjoyed to see his brother alive and well after many months apart… He expressed that emotion… On the inside.

On the outside however… He looked like a shell of the soldier he used to be. His face showing nothing more then a grim frown even behind the closed door.

“Just go…” Hunter’s voice teetered on the edge of a sob and yell as his forehead was pressed against the door beside his fist.

“No.” Echo shook his head as he sighed, “She wouldn’t have liked this. She would have cried at seeing what you have become.”

Hunter didn’t respond, but his heart clenched at Echo’s words because it was true…

I know.

…

I could feels the swells from needle holes burning my skin as I laid against the cool stone ground. It was the only mercy I had since waking up three months ago.

I could barely recall the events that have taken place without flinching. Images of doctors, needles, and the glowing lights flashed before my eyes in a blur. The only thing that kept me comfort was my family.

One of which was trapped in the cell across from me.

“Hey.” His voice was gravelly, the sarcastic tone barely there.

I groaned, the only he would get from me right now. I could still feel the bruising grip from the storm troopers who threw me in here only minutes ago. I groaned as I rolled over to face him, the room spinning as I did so.

“You need to stay focused.” Crosshair stated from his cell across from mine.

I didn’t open my eyes to answer him, it hurt too much.

“General.”

I remember passing out and it wasn’t until the sound of a screeching metal tray slide towards me that I blinked my eyes open. I looked at the food, the same thing that I had yesterday. There was a good helping on there. Of course they was, they had to keep their Guinea pigs healthy in some way.

“General.” Crosshair called out to me once he noticed me start to move.

My throat was too soar from screaming earlier in that damn chair… But none the less, I tried to answer him, “I don’t feel like myself…” I barely said above whispered as I sat up and leaned against the wall, “I can’t remember things… I can’t remember your name.”

“Crosshair.” He reminded her again.

“Of course you won’t feel like yourself.” Crosshair scoffed, “They’re doing to you what they did us clones… Erasing and reprogrammingyou to follow orders.” Crosshair sighed, “You can’t give in. You’re stronger than us you know. Do what you have to, to keep yourself from drowning.”

I slowly dragged the tray towards me and placed it on my lap. I picked at my food as I waited for him to continue.

“You need to get out of here.” I whispered, “I don’t know what will happen if I completely forget…”

“I won’t leave you.” I could feel Crosshair’s glare as he said that, “I won’t leave my family again.”

I knew there was no point in arguing with the brooding sniper. Instead I let out a soft sigh.

“I’m glad you’re alive Cross.” I looked up towards him, forcing him to understand the words I wanted to say, “We forgive you. I remember that.” I stated firmly, “We never… Never hated you.”

He stared at me before glancing away, his lips curling into a grim frown, “I’m sure Hunter does.”

My breath hitched at the sound of his name. The person whose face was only a blurry sight in my mind, but I remember the feelings I have for him. That yearning just to be near him… I could feel him through the force, just barely… My connection to the force was nothing, but a thin strand of string now. I couldn’t even call out to him if I tried.

I shook my thoughts as I tried to stay focused, “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re here because of me… Because I sent out that message.” He closed his hand into a fist to keep himself from punching his cell wall, “He’d kill me if he found out you were in this state.”

“I doubt that.” I looked at my metal hand, an unsettling feeling filled my gut.

Was this how… I furrowed my brows as I forgot his name. He was a friend, that I know. Was this how that clone trooper felt when he first obtained his prosthetics? I wondered. I knew deep down I would get used to the new feeling, but it still felt like a part of me was gone…

“Besides, if he hates anyone, it would be me.” I said as I focused back on the conversation, “I said I’d come back and now… He thinks I’m dead. Omega thinks I’m dead...”

Force above I missed that bubbly girl so much. She hasn’t left my memory and I hoped that it would remain that way. I wondered if she was doing well without me? I hope so…

“He doesn’t hate you. He never could.” Crosshair shook his head, “Not even if you held a knife to his throat and threatened to kill him.”

I looked back towards him wondering what he meant behind those words.

“Then he doesn’t hate you either and I don’t want to here anymore of how he could because they’re all lies, got it?” I stated and in any other instance I would try to sound menacing, but my voice was hoarse and scratchy.

Crosshair couldn’t help the tiny smirk as he scoffed, “Yes General.”

…

“He’s been like that for months.” Wrecker huffed as he took a big bite out of his cooked fish.

Wrecker along with Echo, Tech, Phee, and Omega sat outside Tech and Phee’s home to have a small family dinner.

Echo sighed, “I was afraid you would say that.”

“She was very important to him…” Tech sighed.

“She was important to all of us.” Wrecker clenched his fist, a mixture of pain and regret painted across his face.

No one could tell if the expressive one of the group wanted to punch something or hold himself back from crying… Maybe it was a mixture of both. After a moment he seemed to collect himself as the soldier he was trained to be.

“Tech said that you know where Crosshair is?” Tech spoke up, trying to steer his brother’s fallen expression to something more hopeful and it did.

Wrecker’s expression immediately brightened as he looked across the table to Echo.

“You know where he is?” Wrecker asked quite loudly.

Echo nodded as he placed his holo pad on the table, “I do. After what happened a few months ago…” Echo refrained from mentioning the General’s death as he continued, “Rex and I went on a rescue mission to export a clone squad out of the empires control. When we arrived they were ambushed and taken by this man here.”

A holo figure appeared on screen of a man none of them have ever seen before.

“Dr. Royce Hemlock. A scientist and in charge of leading the Imperial Cloning Program. He has been behind the disappearances of clone troopers, including Crosshair.” Echo explained.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go get him!” Omega said as she stood to her feet.

“Yeah! I agree with the kid!” Wrecker shouted, his mouth full.

“He doesn’t deserve to be trapped there.” Omega pressed.

“In this case, I agree with Omega and Wrecker.” Tech stated, “There is a high percent chance of rescuing him now that we have solid information.”

“We only have limited time before Crosshair is… Decommissioned.” Echo frowned, “Rex and I located him here in Mount Tantiss.” He pointed towards the cell blocks deep within the mountain, “This is where they are holding him and other clone troopers.”

“It’ll be easy to get through if you get those fancy storm trooper suits.” Phee commented as she looked through the security records, “The only thing would be getting out or if they find you out.”

“Echo can get us some right?” Omega looked to her brother.

“I’ve already discussed that with Rex. I’ll be meeting him in a couple days in Coruscant to get them.” Echo explained, “He says he found out more information about the scientist that could be detrimental.”

“I’m coming with you.” Omega stated immediately.

“No. You’re not.” A deep voice stated behind her.

“Hunter.” Tech acknowledge him.

“Why not?” Omega turned to face him with the sternest expression that she could make.

“Because it’s too dangerous.” He explained as he stepped towards the table.

“How is this anymore dangerous then what we’ve done before?” Omega said frustratingly.

“Because it is.” Hunter grunted, his face stern.

“This isn’t fair!” Omega pushed her chair aside as she stepped up to her brother, “You’ve changed! The old Hunter would have jumped at a chance to save his family! What happened to you?!” Omega pushed at his chest.

He didn’t answer, instead his eyes found his way to the sea once more.

“Tell me!” Omega pushed again.

“Omega maybe you should…” Echo tried to defuse the situation before Hunter ultimately blew up.

“No! I want him to tell me! So tell me! Why won’t you save our brother?” Omega pushed him again with an exasperated huff.

“Because he’s the reason she’s gone!” Hunter yelled.

Omega took a step back with the abrupt shock of it all.

And suddenly, it was like all of his words spilled over and into the sea, “If we never would have gone to that place then she’d be alive right now! Here with us. In fact if he would have just came with us after Kamino, then none of this would have happened! She’d be alive, eating this food, and looking out at the sea.” Hunter fell to his knees.

He placed his hands over his face. Not to cry… But to hide from them, from the planet, from everything. It brought him back to the moment spent at the pond, with just him, Omega, and her… Oh how he wished they could all be back there right now.

“She loved the sea.” He whispered brokenly.

“She loved your spirit.” Phee spoke up through the heartbreaking silence, “She loved your leadership and your protectiveness over your family. Any woman could see it in her eyes with the way she would look at you.”

“We would never want you to lose apart of yourself, brother.” Tech stated.

Echo stood up from his chair, gently leading Omega took take a seat. He then knelt before his brother and carefully removed his hands from his face.

“It is not your fault.” He spoke softly.

“I should have been there.” Hunter stated quickly, “I could have-”

“No.” Echo shook his head, “I know where those thoughts lead you and it is a dark path. I’ve lost a lot of my brothers… Almost my entire unit… My best friend…” Echo closed his eyes.

Echo remembered Fives before he took a breath and focused his gaze back on Hunter, “So trust me when I say this, it is not your fault and you did the best that you could in that situation. No matter if you had the fastest ship, you wouldn’t have gotten there in time. You need to accept the fact that she did what she did to save a member of our family. Do not take her death in vain…”

“We can help Crosshair come home.” Omega spoke softly.

Echo and Hunter both stood up.

“I’m sorry for my outburst.” Hunter looked at Omega with sad eyes.

“It’s okay.” She confirmed with nod of her head, “I understand.”

Hunter looked around at his family. They weren’t perfect, far from it… But they were right… He watched as his family looked at him with hopeful eyes. We are stronger together. All of us.

“We’ll go get him.” Hunter confirmed and his family erupted in cheers.

Tech quickly took over the conversation of Crosshair’s escape as he pointed at a few engine rooms and systems.

While Tech discussed the best way to avoid detection, Echo gently placed his hand on Hunter’s shoulder, “Live to fight another day, brother.”

Hunter nodded solemnly, “Live to fight another day.”

The time it took to arrive at Coruscant was quicker than they expected.

Echo, Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, and Omega all emerged from the ship as soon as they landed in Coruscant’s underground. It was the same garage as last time, discreet and under the nose of the empire. A perfect place for clones on the run now adays.

“Didn’t think you guys were going to make it.” Rex joked as he emerged from the back of the garage.

“Quick witted as ever Captain.” Hunter greeted the old captain, “Nice to see you’re still here.”

“Same to all of you.” Rex nodded.

Rex motioned for the group to follow him to a table with some boxes set up in the back.

“These were hard to get, but my men did what they could.” Rex said.

Wrecker and Omega immediately rummaged through the boxes, pulling out the helmets first.

“How many did you acquire?” Tech asked.

“We acquired three. Of course Omega won’t be involved in the mission and Wrecker is too big for a standardized suit. It’ll be up to you, Hunter, and Echo.”

“Awww come on! I wanted to blow things up!” Wrecker made a fuss as he tossed the helmet back into the bin.

“In all due time brother.” Tech stated, “Just because you can’t infiltrarte the base doesn’t mean you can’t wait on the ship with some explosives on hand.”

“Alright!” Wrecker fist pumped the air.

“And what about me?” Omega asked.

“You’ll be with Phee for this, kid.” Hunter said.

“What?!” Omega began to make a fuss, “He’s my brother too!”

“Omega, you’ll help us more by staying safe.” Echo stepped in as he placed a hand on the young girls shoulder.

“Hunter.” Rex motioned for him to follow.

Rex led hunter a little ways away from the group and towards the edge of the garage. Hunter watched as ships came and went on different platforms as he waited for Rex to speak.

Everything now a-days was quite different from how it used to be. Hunter thought as he watched exchanges be made and cargo be shipped. He never thought for a moment that his life would turn out like this. He always assumed he’d die in a great battle in the war…

“I found out some intel last night that you need to know.” Rex voice was suddenly serious as he spoke in a low tone.

Hunter’s brows furrowed at Rex’s sudden change, “About?”

“The doctor your going after… An informant of mine said he has been working on something dangerous. I couldn’t get a lot of information on it, but it’s called Project Light.” Rex explained.

“What does that have to do with us?” Hunter cross his arms over his chest.

“Hunter, it is said that they’ve been doing testing on any Jedi they can get their hands on… Their reprogramming them like they did to us during Order…” Rex couldn’t bring himself to say the word, “Imagine what will happen to the galaxy if they gather an entire troop of them.” Rex stated.

Hunter took in the severity of the situation and he nodded, “I understand… What do you need me to do?”

“There should be some files or data about what they’re planning to do with the Jedi once they successfully complete the experiment. I need you to find those documents.” Rex said.

“Alright.” Hunter agreed.

“Thank you.” Rex nodded.

That shouldn’t be too hard.

…

“Seems like we’ve gotten everything we can from you given your intricate… DNA.” Dr. Hemlock gaze held a spark to it that made me shrink further back into the cell wall, “Your new life is almost complete General and I believe it’s time for something more… Invigorating.”

I was a general?

I couldn’t keep my eyes on him for long as my gaze kept flicking back to Crosshair and the three storm troopers in his cell. A wire was wrapped around his throat, held by one of the troopers as he awaited his order.

“Please don’t do this.” I pleaded and when my gaze found Crosshair’s again, I saw the stern glare of his eyes.

He clearly expressed his emotion of me pleading with a simple frown on his lips.

Don’t beg. I could hear his thought clearly in my mind.

“Your pleas fall empty little Jedi.” He simply stated as the shield on my cell disappeared, “I already told you what would happen besides…”

I watched him step back to allow two storm troopers to enter my cell.

“You’re beginning to become my new favorite project.” He grinned, “Only a few more tests before your mind will have a clean slate. A fresh start for you, I suppose.”

I don’t want a fresh start… I want back what was taken from me.

“Hm… Maybe now you can feel like you truly fit in among your clone friends.” He motioned to Crosshair.

“No.” I stated and used what little energy I had to send the storm troopers in my cell forcefully against two walls, holding them in place, “I won’t succumb to your control.”

He glared disappointingly at my attempts to flee, “Do you not remember what happened last time you fought back?”

Fleeting memories of Crosshair enduring a shock wave of torture filled my eyes and before I knew it, with just a snap of his fingers, the string around Crosshair’s neck tightened.

“Stop!” I yelled as I heard Crosshair’s gasps for air, “He has nothing to do with this!”

“I told you I would use him to keep you in line… Now obey.” His tone turned dark and I already knew he didn’t care whether Crosshair would die, but I cared… I knew he was family and I couldn’t live with myself if the others knew I was the cause of his death.

I carefully put the soldiers down, listening to their gasps of breath as I stared at the doctor towering above me.

“You don’t know what you’re doing.” I spoke seriously, “I will remember.”

“Oh little Jedi, but you won’t. Now follow.” He stated as he turned and once again I found myself following after the cold doctor.

I will remember.

[optimist-pine]

for a little daryl blurb: color, a dark dusty blue. like clouds during a thunderstorm; lyric, “I owe you a black eye and two kisses.” (crush by ethel cain); noun, remedy.

hopefully there’s some inspiration in there <3

Storm

Warnings: Typical TWD stuff, violence, injury, dark thoughts, implied death

Word Count: 1,085

Era: Unspecific

A/n: Sooo I only re-wrote this like 8 times... Thanks for the request, Anon! Sorry it took so long.

Brakes slam hard with a rusty screech, tires striving for traction on the flooded road. The rain-soaked bark of a fallen tree stares back at you through the windshield, nearly fully obscured by the sheets of water that pour steadily from the sky.

Daryl bangs a fist into the steering wheel with a grumbled, "Damn." You both peer out into the torrent, watching as dark dusty blue clouds roll in fast and low. Hail begins to slam against the windows of the car, half-deafening in its full fury. He turns the engine off and the clangs only grow louder without competition. "Can't see fer'shit anyway."

The intensity isn't just out there beyond the glass - it swells within you, powerful and destructive. Being home soon is the only thing that's kept the thoughts from lingering, but now they're beginning to make a home, rooting themselves deep down into your aching heart.

The wind is picking up, rocking the car with jerky bursts as thunder rumbles loudly nearby. The storm is moving fast and hard and you'll be in the heart of it soon. You try to distract yourself, watching the way treetops bend and bow against the gusts; branches and leaves whipping past, assaulting the vehicle on their way through.

Daryl rummages around the backseat, then pulls the dead man's pack into his lap. Your eyes squeeze themselves shut, fingers wrapping tightly around the door handle. If you try hard enough you can imagine you're on the open seas somewhere far away, deck rocking beneath your feet as salty spray splashes your cheeks. Not confined. Not stuck here with nothing to do but replay the past again, and again, and again. After everything, all of it, it doesn't make sense. Something is wrong with you. That's it.

"It's okay." He says softly. "Ya did what ya had ta'."

Your eyelids crack open, and of course, your gaze glues itself to the blooming, still-darkening skin. It's gonna be one helluva black eye.

"What'aya think? Red my color?" You ask, jokingly holding the ridiculously glitzy dress up against yourself.

He barely spares a grunt, not bothering to even turn around. He's too focused on whatever's in the backseat of the old sedan.

You drop the garment with an exasperated sigh. "Oh, come on. It's no fun if you don't even tu-" A blinding pain explodes across your temple and you hit the ground hard, vision spinning and ears ringing.

You stare at rivulets of rain on the glass. "He was unarmed. I didn't have to, but I did."

"Ya were protectin' me." He replies.

You manage to crawl onto your hands and knees as sticks and stones dig into you; everything's muffled except for the thud of your heartbeat. The sounds of a brawl gradually reach your ears, fists beating into flesh, raw growls, and scuffling gravel.

Daryl's pinned under a wild man whose fists ceaselessly lay into him. Blood is flowing, spittle flying, as his back is pressed down into the rocky roadside.

You shake your head. "I don't know. Maybe I wasn't."

"Ya did." He says firmly. "He attacked us, and ya had my back."

A switch is flipped. The pain in your head is now a hot, boiling rage. This man - this, this threat needs to be ended. He needs to die.

"That's not who I want to be." Your eyes flick to his, but the understanding within them stings, so you pull away to look at the dirty floormat. "I can't-"

"Ya aren't. An' ya won't. If ya hadn't, maybe I wouldn't be sittin' here." He says bluntly.

The power shifts and Daryl has the upper hand now. The other man struggles against the fingers wrapped around his throat.

The pistol is light in your hand. You see it, that flash of panic in his eyes. When his hands fall away from Daryl's neck. When he opens his mouth to speak. But you don't care.

A tear slips its way down your cheek. The anger it's... suffocating...

His battered hand reaches up, brushing away the hair that hangs between the world and your matching swollen eye. His touch is ever so gentle, careful not to bump the tender flesh. Something new sparks in that moment, where his fingertips brush your ear, a trickle of contentment seeps into your soul. The rough edges are smoothed - the chill no longer bites, the pain doesn't scream, and the past relents and releases its hold upon you.

You take his hand in yours, softly pressing bruised knuckles to your chapped lips. Can he feel it too? His eyes reflect such a muddle of emotions, and for the first time, you aren't confident in deciphering what they say.

The longer you study him, it's as if you've become magnetized, gravitating, being pulled in, and before you know it you're inches away... centimeters... you push aside dark hair, and your lips once again touch his skin as close to the damage as you dare.

You pull back slowly and search his eyes again; you have no idea what you're doing. He's breathing heavily, eyes darting to your lips and back up. And then he leans forward quick as a bolt and your lips touch his skin for the third time. He kisses you deeply and yet so sweetly, hand sliding up your jaw and below your ear to steady you. Your own fingers settle at the nape of his neck, tangling in soft locks.

The longer his lips are on yours, the more a peace you've never known before pours into you, washing over every sore and tired place. If you'd known the sort of remedy contained in his kisses you'd have done it so much sooner.

A CRACK booms through the air so powerfully that you jolt apart, bumping noses as you do. You can't hold back the giggle that escapes, your heart pounding in your heaving chest. Daryl's no better off, panting and wide-eyed.

You've come to forget the terror of anything without a human silhouette, but the storm rages on, frightening and fierce. Watching it for a moment while your heart calms, another streak of lightning and earth-rattling rumble rave.

You turn back to Daryl, noticing the telltale shifting of his feet and chewing of his lip. He's nervous. Hell, so are you. But you've tapped into a newfound confidence. An assurance that all you need is him close to you. The rest will take care of itself.

"Wanna do it again?" You whisper.

[zaceouiswriting]

Fairy Prince - Hearts of Leviathans - Ch.17

Character: Sky x male reader, Riven x male reader, Brandon x male reader

Universe: Somewhere in Winx Club/Saga

Warnings: None

By the time the instructor has given us the go, my enemy is already on his way. He's fast. I have to concede to him that. But I only wait, holding my position until he is closer. As soon as he is almost before me, I move, leave my left foot behind, raise my sword to the left side of my body, and strike at the right moment, where I would either block his attack with more force or end the fight immediately.

I move my arms up to slash, my face contorted in concentration. My eyes never left my sword or my opponent. Not even when the blade slips past him. Almost immediately, my eyes widen in panic. And my opponent's face became smug. But we are both amazed when I suddenly fly to the side and land on the ground with a loud bang.

There was no sound for the first few seconds of me lying on the floor until the laughter started and comments I would never say to anyone, so derogatory I wanted to kill them all.

I breathe in and out, trying to swallow my anger and disappointment at everyone else. But at this point, it's tough not to explode in their faces. Before I can even get up, I suddenly feel pressure on my back.

“Just as much of a sore loser as everyone believed. Which also means you’re just as perverted as we all thought.”

Okay, that's it! With a quick movement, I slam my right foot into him. It didn't matter where I hit him. I only have to hit him. The moment I feel an impact, I roll onto my back. I can see he's startled, but that's it. But that's more than enough. After all, I only needed enough time to get back on my feet. I glare at him the second I finally stand back on my feet.

“This weapon is nonsense!” I shout loudly. "How in the name of the Dark Sun can you use these cheaply made weapons for anything?"

I angrily throw the deactivated weapon away from me. Before I can continue, a loud crash echoes across the square, and shortly afterward, a tree falls over. I didn't even notice and stare straight at the purple-haired idiot. But his eyes almost bulge out of his head. He swallows loudly and becomes uncertain right in front of me. I lick my lips, grin, and say, "I didn't even use magic for that."

He looks over at Saladin in shock, but when he nods, it only makes him even more nervous.

Since the fight never ended or paused, it's still going on, but he didn't seem fully aware of that fact. At least, that's what I conclude from how stupidly he looks at me as I run towards him at lightning speed. He even dares to look surprised when I smash my arm against his, knocking the dagger out of his hand. But before I could land a second hit, he put distance between us with an acrobatic jump back.

Smiling, I barely acknowledge his little trick, but he's lost a weapon, and I don't even need one.

Just as I move again to end this pointless fight, something grabs my ankle, a pressure that creates an ominous feeling within me. I didn't need to look down as the green thread is visible. My enemy's smug look reveals the rest.

I let the mana flow through my body to calm myself down, to not smash that stupid idiot into the ground where he belongs. Instead, I bend down and take the thread in my hands. Looking up, I can see him staring at me in confusion. I slightly tug at the thread. He seems to understand what I'm trying to do. At least he thought he knew what I would do. I could have easily pulled him towards me, but I just broke free and threw the gun in his direction.

The second he catches it, I'm already standing before him, my fist ready to strike. He could barely block it with his freshly caught weapon, but I hit him anyway with my left fist. Even though it's not as hard as my right hand, it's enough to knock the air out of his lungs. 

Using the thread between his daggers, I press it against his throat and quickly wrap it around his neck. While never breaking eye contact with him. I wink at him as I trip him over because his stance is as weak as it has been for the whole fight.

He falls to the ground like a sack of flour, and I go with him, not because I had to, but because I want to teach him one last lesson. He looks at me with wide eyes. Apparently, he can't fully understand what just happened. He almost looks cute as he stares at me with his narrow indigo eyes. If he wasn't such an idiot, I might have seen him differently, but the way he is with me, I can't see him any differently.

I could see his left arm moving, certainly trying to attack me, even if this means he tightens the thread around his neck. Does he still not get it? At this point, completely annoyed, I slam my fist on the ground next to his head. The entire ground shakes under the weight of my strength, and the cracking of stone can be heard throughout the training area.

His wide eyes closed. Finally, I'm able to relax for a second. But I didn't take any more than this second.

“Your footwork is sloppy, almost pathetic, your grip on your weapons is too tight, your back is too straight, and there is so much tension in your body that I can't believe you haven't ripped every muscle. You should probably try a different weapon. You may be quick and agile but not relaxed enough to be a double dagger wielder.”

I straighten myself out and sit on the guy's midsection for a second, only to breathe in the air of yet another victory. With my eyes closed, I enjoy the moment because I know that he wouldn't be the only opponent I have to fight, and even though it was over quickly, it was still somewhat fun.

I move a little, stand up, brush the dust off my clothes, and look down at the guy. A bright red blush can be seen on his bronze skin.

Looking over at the instructor, I could tell he is more than shocked. I have heard rumors that this purple-haired guy is one of the prodigies of this time. Honestly, I actually expected more. But what could I hope for? That someone who had clearly just started learning to fight would be an obstacle?

“Do you have a metal sword?”

People look stunned. Nobody could say a word, especially not the specialists and the instructor. Meanwhile, Saladin looks at me as if I just had killed his treasured prodigy.

“We don’t have any because we don’t even use them for training anymore.”

Were his words true? Could people who choose to live their lives by the blade really stray so far from true weapon mastery? But just one look over them told the whole story. The instructor's words were most likely not untrue because their bodies seem weak, even smaller than my own. They may have quite a lot of endurance, but a person who walked the same path as them, with weapons and armor made of iron, could still easily overcome their speed and agility with brute force like all of them just witnessed.

“I see,” I murmur, assessing the instructor closely. "How far out of knighthood has this academy fallen? Perhaps it is time to open a new school to train those willing in the ways of war instead of what you people are doing now."

The intent of my words quickly penetrated the consciousness of those around me, whose eyes show growing anger and contempt for me. Nothing I couldn't live with.

After another silence, during which many specialists grit their teeth at my disrespect for their training, I clear my throat and break the spell of anger, even if it is just for a moment.

"So if you don't have a metal weapon, I can't continue because these inferior weapons you use are simply not compatible with me."

For a second, the instructor seems to think. Just as he opens his mouth, another voice suddenly sounds.

"I found this sword while cleaning one of the many rooms," said the butler who opened the mansion, holding an old, rusted metal sword in his hand.

Even from the distance I stand, I could tell that this sword is something different. An artifact long forgotten by my family, remaining only in the legend of Arengeld, about the second son of our family's first ruler, who defeated Horograd and founded the ancient city of Arengeld. Since the city had been lost for a long time, everyone thought the weapon, which was covered in the blood of the ancient beast, was also lost.

It's strange enough to see this sword here in this old school building, but that the butler seemed to know it was there or found it by accident is almost impossible. I couldn't move because the presence of this sword alone is too strong. But then I heard a quiet whisper out of nowhere. I couldn't understand the words, but somehow I feel the urge to walk closer.

My gaze is focused solely on the sword, blocking out almost everything around me except for the butler's gloves. His sleeves are slightly pulled up. For a second, I can see cracks all over his arms, as if his body was made of something other than flesh. But he quickly pulls down his sleeve, making me look him in the eyes. They look so sad, unlike the dull eyes I've seen on others like him.

Instead of saying anything, I reach for the hilt of the masterfully crafted sword. It may have been full of rust and nicks, but it's still beautiful. As soon as my hand wraps around the handle, a strange feeling runs through me. The whispers disappeared, but that was it. I slowly lift it from the hands that had been holding it. I hold it up and raise it higher against the bright sun. It doesn't shine like in the legends, but I don't care because it's beautiful. I only take a step back and swing it down and then around me, right before the butler. I swung it so hard that the wind tore open the earth and cut a tree in half.

“It feels good,” I murmur quietly.

"If it's not to your liking, I can look for another-"

“Don’t you dare!” I tell him sharply but with a warm, genuine smile. "The sword sits in my hand as if it was meant to be there, and it's the perfect weight." I look back at the sword before gazing again into the shimmering eyes of the man before me. "Thank you very much."

“As you wish, sir,” he whispered as he bows.

For a second, I think he's about to cry because his eyes fill with water, which only confuses me even more. But I'll leave it for now as there are too many people, most of whom don't know my true identity, hopefully for a while, as that would only add to the problems here. Especially my anger at those who I and my people thought were friends.

The butler leaves, but before I turn away, I look after him to ensure he is no longer near the training grounds.

I turn around, holding my new sword in front of me, the tip pointing toward the people around me, and ask, "So, who's next?"

[Masterlist]

[goayda]

Not My Place to Say - Part 1

First part of a Stizzy fic (it was getting too long to post in one go). As previously mentioned in one of my posts, Izzy meets Lestat on shore leave (I'm ignoring IWTV canon because I don't remember much of it, lets just say that Lestat traveled a lot and he happened to be there).

(As usual, set some time after 2x07, Ed is happy being a fisherman somewhere and there was no Zheng fight and no Prince Ricky attack. As usual too, no warnings needed.)

-------------

Izzy had noticed the man the moment he had walked into the tavern, but so had the rest of the people there. The man had been tall, blonde and handsome and his clothes had been colorful, expensive and more surprisingly, impeccably clean, which had made him stand out like a sore thumb.

He had also looked like the perfect victim in a place full of half-drunk pirates so it hadn’t taken long before one of them had pulled a knife on him to steal the noticeable bag of coins the man had been carrying. Big mistake.

The blonde man had known how to fight. In the blink of an eye the pirate had been knocked out on the ground and the stranger had simply straightened his outfit with a slightly annoyed look on his face, not a hair out of place.

The man had looked around the whole room with a cocky smile on his face as if daring any of them to try again, but before things could escalate, the owner of the place, a tough, short woman with more scars than many of the sailors in her business, had banged her fist on a table and had put a stop to it.

“Quarrels on the street!” she had yelled. “This is a serious warning!”

“Of course, ma’am,” the blonde man had said with a charming smile and a noticeable French accent. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, allow me to invite these gentlemen to a drink and put this unfortunate incident behind us. The next round is on me!” he had added loudly for the whole tavern to hear.

Everybody had cheered loudly and then they had gone back to their conversations and card games, ignoring the newcomer as long as they could get free rum. Izzy, who had been sitting alone in a corner while keeping an eye on his crew, had been ready to do the same, but suddenly the blonde man had appeared by his side and had offered him a drink.

Izzy had simply accepted it and god knew why, he hadn’t complained when the man had sat beside him, uninvited. Izzy had caught a glimpse of Bonnet’s frowning face and Lucius’ mischievous smirk then, but he had purposely ignored them as the man had introduced himself as Lestat de Lioncourt and had asked his name in that thick French accent of his, apparently unabashed by Izzy’s glare.

In the end Izzy had told the stranger his name and they had talked for a while and when a bit later the man had offered to share a room in the nearby inn, Izzy had looked at his silken shirt, his colorful jacket and the blonde hair framing the stupidly handsome face and he had said yes.

Still no idea why, Izzy thought as he walked back to the ship in the morning. He had been lonely, maybe. It had been too long since the last time he had allowed himself this, probably. So why the hell not? Right?

They had simply had a good time. The sex had been great and Izzy had enjoyed kissing that smug smile off his face and making him moan. The blonde man had been mindful of his stump, but hadn’t made a fuss over it and when they had parted ways he had not made it awkward or made cheap promises, he had simply smiled and wished Izzy safe travels before walking away.

So the thing was, why was Izzy feeling uneasy now, as he got closer to the Revenge? The image of Bonnet frowning at him kept coming back to his mind, but it was not as if the man, captain or not, could object to what Izzy did on shore leave. He did not have to, and he would not explain who he decided to spend the night with.

But still the image of Bonnet’s annoyed look persisted. Had he hated not being the centre of attention for once? Had he wanted the blonde stranger for himself? Well, it didn’t matter. He didn’t care. Or so Izzy kept repeating to himself as he reached the ship.

[bangtanscumslut]

SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN -JEON JUNGKOOK

Kind of smut? Idk lol. Word count : 1712

Enjoy x

Your eyes strained as you focused on the empty bottle of Pepsi spinning on the ground in front of you. You held your breath as it slowed, the neck of the bottle coming to a stop in front of the person sitting next to you.

You exhaled, relieved that you had been spared the embarrassment of making out with a random stranger sitting at the other end of the bottle. Your best friend Yuri had dragged you out of the house on a weekday to go to a house party at some rich guy's house. You knew his name was Jungkook, but you'd never spoken to him before.

He was sitting opposite you, his black, oversized hoodie rolled up around his elbows. His long hair fell daintily over his forehead, framing his perfectly chiselled face. His right arm was covered in tattoos. He took a sip of his beer and glanced at you. Your eyes connected for a brief moment before you dropped your gaze. You thought he was kind of beautiful.

The room was dark, a purple mood light illuminated the space.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Yuri chanted with the others and banged her fists on the beige, carpeted floor.

The girl on whom the bottle had landed approached the guy on the other end. She made a show of crawling towards him like a cat. Your lips curled downwards in disgust as you watched her throw herself onto his lap, pressing herself to his chest and straddling him. Within seconds, they were making out. At one point, you could swear they had both swallowed each other's tongues.

"Oh my God, look how they're going at it!" Yuri nudged your elbow and wiggled her eyebrows.

"I want to throw up," you gagged.

Jungkook chuckled at your comment. You looked at him, his pale skin glowing under the different shades of purple bathing over him. He smiled, the corners of his lips curling up ever so slightly. You noticed a tiny mole just under his lower lip. You smiled back, feeling butterflies tickling your insides. He was so pleasant on the eyes, you couldn't help but admire him. Your cheeks flushed as you realised that you were staring and that he hadn't looked away from you either.

"Ahem." Yuri cleared her throat, snapping you out of your trance. You tore your gaze away from him and looked questioningly at Yuri who was already smirking at you with one eyebrow raised.

You rolled your eyes, well aware of what would come next. "What?"

"You," she pushed her index finger into your shoulder, "have a thing for Jungkook."

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes again. "I do not." 

"You guys are literally making eyes at each other. Just admit it!"

"Shh!" you leaned into her and lowered your voice to a whisper. "You're being loud." 

She giggled drunkenly before dropping her voice down several octaves, "so you admit that you're into him?" 

"Fine, yes," you huffed, "He's cute. I mean, look at him! Anybody in their right mind would be attracted to him."

"That's all I need to know. Now, let me help you out by being the best wing woman you could ever have." 

She grabbed the bottle and aggressively spun it. You instinctively closed your eyes, opening one slightly after a few seconds to see whom it landed on. Your heart nearly dropped into your stomach as you watched the bottle slow to a stop in front of you. Your eyes followed the other end to the person sitting in front of it. 

Unfortunately, it wasn't Jungkook. It was another blonde-haired guy who was so drunk that he was practically slobbering all over himself. Imagine kissing that...yeesh! He, however, looked thrilled that the bottle had landed on him.

"Y/n and Jungkook!" Yuri suddenly jumped into the middle of the circle and slyly moved the bottle such that it was now pointing in Jungkook's direction.

"Hey!" the blonde guy protested, pushing Yuri aside and staring at the bottle bewildered. "It was pointing at me!" 

"You're obviously too drunk," Yuri fake laughed loudly, forcing the other members in the circle to let out awkward, short laughs as well.

You bit your lower lip as you cringed, not daring to look in Jungkook's direction. 

"It landed on me." Jungkook's voice was stern and demanding. You didn't expect his voice to sound the way it did. It was deep, but not in the way that made it hoarse and unpleasant. It was more of a mixture of commanding yet careful. Like he knew when to turn it on and off. 

Your eyes snapped up to find him already staring at you. His gaze was intense; you could feel it pierce right through you. You felt your chest tingle and heat pool in your armpits. Oh God, he looked so sexy; you couldn't take your eyes off of him. He smirked at you with a knowing expression on his face. 

"We should change the rules from this round on," Yuri announced unexpectedly. "Come on, you two, off you go into the closet."

"Seven minutes in heaven?" the blonde guy gasped with his mouth wide open.

Yuri spun around to face him with an annoyed frown on her face. "Yes, Chad. Now can you please shut the fuck up?"

"Shall we?"  Jungkook smiled sweetly, a complete contrast to how he was practically devouring you with his eyes a few seconds ago.

"Yuri, you crazy bitch. I love you," you muttered to yourself as you stood up and followed him into the closet at the far right corner of the room.

While you normally wouldn't go around following strangers into their closets at shady parties, there was something so alluring about Jungkook that made you want to surrender to your needs.

"I think you're a little too big for this closet," you nervously laughed as you watched him struggle to close the door behind him. 

"Or maybe," he took a step forward, closing the small gap that was separating the two of you, "We're not standing close enough."

The door slid shut with a loud thud, and he smirked down at you cheekily.  "See?"

You could feel his warm breath on your forehead, making you realize how tall he was compared to you. Your breath hitched in your throat as you looked up into his dark brown eyes. Goddamn, he was so beautiful.

"Come here often?" he joked, his lips parting into a broad smile.

You chuckled at his obvious attempt to make you laugh.  "Not really, no." 

You felt the bones in your back press into the hardwood behind you as you struggled not to stick chest-to-chest with him.

"I haven't been able to stop staring at you all night," he confessed abruptly, his voice barely above a whisper as he leaned his face toward yours and placed a palm against the wood next to your head. "I find you mesmerizing."

You gulped, adrenaline making your heart beat a million miles per minute. The butterflies in your stomach ran wild, sending goosebumps up your legs. 

"I think you're beautiful, too," you managed to say as you reached for his face and moved a strand of dark hair away from his eyes.

Your hand lingered over his face for a few seconds. Before you could lower it, he grabbed it and slid his fingers around your wrist in a stronghold. You sucked in a sharp breath as he directed your palm to travel down his body, starting from his jawline and neck, down to his chest, and stopping just above his groin. 

His eyes found yours, and you blinked to make sure you weren't hallucinating. His tongue slipped between his pink lips as his eyes swept over the contours of your face. You could swear at that moment that all you wanted was to slam your lips into his and devour him.

You were standing so close together that you could see the lines on his lips and feel his body heat seeping into you. 

Of course, you wanted nothing more than to kiss him. Also, your hand resting just above his crotch created a thick air of sexual tension that engulfed you. But, you didn't want to be the one to make the first move, so you waited. 

"Y/N..." his fingers released your wrist only to reach for your face as he gently caressed your cheek and jawline.

"Yes, Jungkook?" you sighed, giving in to his touch. 

He let out a throaty groan and scrunched his eyebrows.

"What's wrong?" you asked.

"Say my name again," he breathed, his fingers trailing to the back of your head to wrap around your neck.

You felt heat pool between your legs as his nails scraped the soft skin just beneath your skull. Your body shivered at the feeling and you closed your eyes.

"Please," he begged, his voice needy and arousing.

With your eyes still closed, you obliged.  "Jungkook..."

In a split second, his soft lips were on yours. He let go of your hand that he had held firmly on his lower abdomen and slid his arm around your waist, pulling you further into his chest (as if that were even possible; you were already chest-to-chest). Your stomach did cartwheels as you felt his fingers snake into and tug at the hair at the back of your head.  Your hand balled up his soft hoodie into a fist on his chest as you pulled him impossibly closer, your lips urgently moving over his.  You let out a surprised yelp as you felt him bite down on your lower lip. 

"Sorry," he exhaled, moving away from your lips and placing wet kisses along your jawline. 

You squirmed against the wooden wall of the tiny closet, your hands grabbing at his forearms as you desperately tried to stay standing. His lips made lewd noises as he sucked the area under your ear, earning soft whimpers and moans from you.  You purposefully dragged your nails down his arms. 

"Fuck," he hissed, stopping to look down at his arms, which were turning red. 

You knew at that moment that you wanted him; all of him.  You reached behind his head, grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced him to look at you. You could feel the air buzzing with electricity as you both stared into each other's eyes with morbid intensity.

Your gaze travelled over the features of his face before fixing on his lips.  "I want you."

[finemeal]

Injury

He watches it happen like it’s in slow motion.

The other player slide tackles, cleats first, missing the ball but not missing Katsuki.

Both of them go down, and Katsuki’s head is reared back. Mouth is open in a silent scream as he clutches his leg.

Distantly, Deku hears the fans at this game cheering to “Let him die! Let him die!” It’s not unexpected. It’s an away game, their fans aren’t here to cheer them on.

But Deku’s not Bakugou. He’s not unaffected by the boo’s. Especially when they’re aimed at his … friend. His best friend.

Katsuki’s not getting up, and the ref has whistled for a foul.

Deku walks as close as he can, wanting to run out to him. But Kirishima is already there. The medics on the side are running over as well.

The fans are screaming, yelling mostly incoherently. Most are booing. Glancing up to the corner of the stadium, Deku sees a handful of fans that traveled to watch the game. They look as nervous as Deku feels.

Kacchan still isn’t getting up. Why isn’t he getting up? He always gets up.

Deku’s feet move before he can stop himself. His cleats dig into the ground, un-impeding his way to Katsuki.

“—does it hurt?” Deku catches as he arrives at Katsuki’s side.

Kirishima moves out of the way, allowing Deku to take his spot kneeling next to Katsuki.

“It—” Katsuki hisses, calf flexing as his body shakes. “Right here.” Katsuki brushes his hand against the area of pain, gritting his teeth as he releases pained air through his teeth.

“Can you move it at all?” Deku puts a hand on Kacchan’s shoulder.

If he should need to be moved, Deku will help him.

“Was there a card called?” Deku asks quietly, head tilted to Kirishima as he watches Katsuki shake his head “No.”

Kirishima hesitates behind him, and that’s all the answer Deku needs.

Setting his jaw, he gently wipes Katsuki’s bangs from his sweaty forehead.

“Focus on healing, Kacchan. I’m gonna have a talk with the ref real quick and then I’ll help you to the bench.”

Katsuki’s eyes widen, hand moving to grab Deku’s shoulder. To stop him, probably, but Deku is already out of reach.

His eyes are already on the ref who’s being berated by Deku’s other teammates.

“I’ll be back,” Deku states, fists clenched as he stalks forward.

“Try not to get kicked out of the game this time, dude,” Kirishima’s voice calls after him.

Deku doesn’t respond, knowing it’ll be an empty promise if he says he won’t. It’s not his goal, but it’s not something he’s avoiding either.

“Hey!” Deku yells, watching all his teammate’s eyes widen and take a step back.

The ref turns around, frown on his face and cheeks flushed.

“What, you just call a foul on 24 but don’t pull a card? Are you fucking blind?” Deku seethes, getting into the ref’s face as he narrows his eyes.

“What I saw didn’t constitute a card. He got a warning, and that’s—”

“Bullshit! ” Deku interrupts, flinging his hands up as his heart rate picks up. “He side tackled Bakugou, nailing him in the calf with his cleats! Kacchan can’t even get up right now. Do you know how dangerous that is? Are you really going to set the precedent that those plays are okay? What if—”

“I’ve made my call, and no amount of yelling’s gonna make me change my mind.” The ref moves to walk past Deku, but Deku moves to stay in front of him.

“Well it’s a bad call!” Deku insists, air pushing out through his teeth loudly. “I’m giving you the opportunity to fix it.”

“You want to see a card so bad?” The ref asks, eyes narrowing, hand moving to his pocket. “Here you go!”

A yellow card is raised in the air, camera on Deku as he is given it.

“Now I’m giving you the chance to back off!”

Deku goes to smack the ref’s hand down, uncaring. A hand stops him.

Turning, Deku sees Kirishima and Katsuki. Kacchan’s hand is the one gripping his wrist.

“Come on, Deku. Walk me to the bench like you said you would. We can’t win without our goalie.”

Deku huffs, rage still flowing through his veins, but he moves to Katsuki’s other side.

With Kirishima, he helps lead Katsuki to the sideline. Katsuki smiles and waves at the camera, and to the corner with what fans came, but Deku can see the pain there.

Carefully, they lower Kacchan onto the bench. His muscles are tensed, his jaw is set, but his eyes still burn with the fire he holds on the field.

“Do me a favor, you two. Kick their asses.”

Deku grins at Katsuki, trying to put off more determination than anger. But his muscles are tense, his fists are clenching, and he can tell Katsuki doesn’t believe his act one bit.

“And don’t get kicked out of the game over this, Deku. Keep a cool head, we need you to keep blocking. Kirishima, stay strong on defense. Tell Tokoyami to stay as far ahead as he can. They underestimate him, but once he gets the ball he can take it to the goal. Understand?”

Both of them nod, Kirishima giving Katsuki a thumbs up and running back onto the field.

Deku hesitates.

“I’ll be fine, Deku.” Kacchan smiles and grips Deku’s hand momentarily.

A squeeze, a wider smile, and then Katsuki lets him go.

Deku nods, mouth in a line as his brows furrow.

He runs back towards the goal. He won’t let any balls get past him. For Kacchan.

[siremasterlawrence]

The Side Hustle Part 1

Charlie Parker is the owner of the bar and a very close friend of mine who invited me to his bar and grills major introduction to the world.

Standing in front of the building I agree to go and leave as quickly as possible pushing the door open and entering the room to find him.

He is this tall, nicely muscular built and hot super handsome white male I can’t stops looking at and he caught my attention very quickly.

Ignoring him I head over to my friends table to drop his gift and greet him even thought I can feel his eyes track on me following me everywhere I go.

I head to the bathroom in a huge huff with a heavy sighing fit I realize he is right behind me a hand grabs my waist slowly caressing me.

He spins me around taking my hand in his he leans in yanking me into his arms as we kiss slowly and I feel a deep change within him.

Shoving him back into the wall then I race in to the room back at the table I join the dark lit dance floor spying him in the corner of my eye.

Suddenly his hands touch mine attempting to guide me from the area I head to the pool table and we play a game grabbing a pool stick.

Upon my instructions I watch him sequester the area blocking us in we play a game and I take the first action to secure my control over him.

“What is your name? What do you do in life?”

“My name is Charlie Parker! I am a lawyer “

“A lawyer? HOT!”

“FUCK! Your voice is so calm”

“Soft! Yeah I know “

“I feel a state of submission “

“Self security “

“I need you”

“Only you can provide”

“What do I have to do?”

“Lose this game of pool “

“One more shot “

“I need to lay by you “

“Bath in my body “

“Succumb to me”

“One taste”

“A simple kiss”

“I lose”

“Wwwwwooooohhhhh”

“Take me Master Lawrence “

Charlie sips a expensive bottle of top shelf alcoholic beverage brought to the tiny pool back room table and he takes a sip I can see the glee.

The flirtation is real watching him close all of the doors in the room and he commences by taking another pool tool shooting it into the hole.

The ball scratches a mark on the table in a sharp screech causing us to giggle loudly it filters throughout the whole bar and grill my friend enjoys it all.

My new friend shadows lands on the wall in a bit of excitement I place the candle on the table and slowly lit casting a shadow onto the wall.

His eyes instantly caught his eyes I laugh a bit sliding it across the area his eyes are lost in a facial expression of confusion the fiery candle dances.

The lights flicker in time to see another odd occurrence the owner of the restaurant walk in to the room slamming his fist onto the main pool table.

“Well…well! What’s going on here?”

“Hey buddy! This is my new pal”

“He is helping me, join us”

“Please do lose yourself to the flame”

“It flickers on and off washing it away “

“Everything fades into the light”

“You are consumed and it’s all dust”

“All you here and see are me”

“I am the man in the chair”

“The one who leads”

“You are compelled to obey “

“I am your world “

“You are our world”

“You love me”

“I love you “

“We love you with all our heart and souls”

“We are intertwined, bonded and meant to each other.”

“Two sides of the same coin.”

“Mmmmm”

“I want you to disrobe your clothes, kneel at my feet.”

“Sir Yes Master Lawrence Sir”

Officer Lyle Jackman receives call to come to the joint the car parks as he jumps out onto the ground and case the area before knocking on the door.

He kicks the door open pulling up his gun he points the car in the air moving forward he is on guard as the building has long since been vacated.

Meanwhile, in the pool room I prepare for this incident after seeing Chip his friend with a Cellphone dropping from his hand on a call.

It says 911 I think to myself rolling my eyes at this fools easy trigger response to call the cops and he rips the door aside with one bang.

He stands in the door with his toned and hot muscular dark shadow overcasting onto me but I smirk for a bit and I snap my fingers so quick.

Charlie and Chip fell face forward back onto the floor leaving him in shock and awe at my actions and he pulls his gun on me I pretend to be afraid.

“Someone called into say there was a wild party.”

“It is the premier for Chips new club”

“No smart Alec remarks”

“Fine Officer! Then why is your gun on me but your eyes are glued elsewhere.”

“You are in violation”

��Of what punk?”

“SNAP!”

“Dumbfuck!”

“You are under my power”

“At my mercy”

“Strip and kneel”

“Give me your hand cuffs, I need three”

“Yes Sir”

“Cuff the other two guys”

“Rise to your feet, walk over to me and spin”

“Face your back to me”

“Offer your hands on your waist”

“Your are being handcuffed”

“Now Officer! Remove them from the pool room, and lock them in your car.”

“Close the building down.”

“Then you will drive us home.”

The end

[icyspicy4u]

wading my way through this neighborhood (chapter one)

i literally don't know what to say about this one. i banged out like 10k of an anarcia spider-man au in mmm about two days. so. enjoy!! playlist linked here. ao3 link here.

Anetra is a friendly neighborhood superhero trying not to fall headlong into New York City's tangled crime web while also trying to avoid falling head over heels in love with her roommate. She doesn't really do a good job at either.

Although she’s typically winningly optimistic, Anetra is forced to admit that she might really be in deep shit this time.

She dives to the ground to dodge a punch from one of the men blocking her exit from this alley, and just as she hits the asphalt her phone begins to ring, loudly, because she definitely didn’t need another thing to worry about.

Whenever she wears her suit, she keeps her phone tucked in her bra, against her chest, safe from prying eyes or a damaging fall. Crucially, she also always silences it when she’s out on these little suited-up webslinging jaunts.

Except for this jaunt in particular, apparently.

This time, Anetra forgot to turn her ringer off before leaving, and the ringtone Marcia gave herself (Boss Bitch, by Doja Cat—Marcia swears it was worth the dollar Anetra had to cough up to buy the song) starts to echo through the slim space of the alley she’s been cornered into.

The man in front trying his best to pummel Anetra into the brick walls on either side of him pauses at the sound of the music.

Everyone does, honestly, including Anetra, standing in a defensive position and blinking a little in disbelief behind her mask as Doja spits out lyrics about high-heeled shoes.

“Um,” Anetra says, heroically. The man in front offers up nothing but a threatening crack of the neck, and then he’s lunging for her again, followed by his buddies.

Normally, Anetra would just throw a web up to the sky, land it on one of the roofs of the buildings forming this alley, and neatly pull herself out of this situation. Easy money. However, this alley is barely wider than her wingspan—she’d need more room than she’s got to effectively aim.

Also, with the way these dipshits have been bearing down on her, she barely has enough time to throw her arms up and block the punches, let alone take a step back to use her webshooter.

She doesn’t know who they are, or who sent them, or why they are so intent on rocking her shit.

Over the past six months of being the Spider, she’s made a fair few enemies from sticking her nose where people think she shouldn’t be—she’s learned most of the hallmarks of the underground’s major players that way.

But these don’t look like any of the lackeys she’s used to. They don’t bear the MIB branding across their chests that Mistress’ henchmen are required to wear or the LaDuca crest on the lapel that all of Loosey’s guys have.

It’s disconcerting—Anetra continues running through her mental list of people who most likely want her dead, and these men don’t seem like they’ve been sent by any of them.

With the same repeating thirty seconds of Doja’s voice as a backing track, Anetra drops to a low squat as the man in front swings another wide hit at her head. She takes advantage of her new position to lunge for his knees, then shoves her shoulder into him and wraps her arms tight around his calves to force his legs to buckle—the man’s now-overloaded weight brings them both crashing to the ground.

Anetra rolls away easily from the tackle, gets to her feet to try and assess the situation, but the space she’s clawed out for herself is gone as soon as it was made when the rest of the men charge at her.

“Jesus, guys, can I catch a break?” she asks breathlessly, throws one hand up to catch the fist flying at her face as another guy goes for her ankles and she has to leap out of the way. “I’m serious, here. Could use a breather. What about you?”

“Smart-ass spider,” one of them grumbles, finally breaking the professional silence the whole group has been keeping up until now, and Anetra flashes him a winning smile that she only wishes a little bit that he could see as he tries to headbutt her against the wall.

She’s lucky that these men don’t seem to be actually combat-trained in any way. They’re moving the way most hired muscle does, bear-like and unpracticed, the style of brawling that’s borne out of being consistently bigger than your opponents. They’re used to steamrolling people Anetra’s size easily, so they’re throwing punches that Anetra can block without thinking while she tries to formulate her escape plan.

Her phone has finally stopped ringing, but it chimes to signal a new voicemail as she triangulates a gap to slip through in the wall of muscle.

A brief sting of guilt passes through Anetra. She’s been missing a lot of Marcia’s calls lately.

She’s rarely home now—when she’s not working, she’s out being this strange masked vigilante, and these days it seems like every small crime that she stops leads to another, worse one cropping up a few blocks down.

She already had the suit on under her clothes when she left the apartment earlier, shouting a goodbye to Marcia with some lame excuse about covering some other dancer’s shift at the bar—she was actually headed to an abandoned studio space downtown to fuck around with her web calibration for a while. She’s managed to master some kind of formula.

Again, the suit was already on under her clothes. What was she supposed to do when she heard a scream from the alley, ignore it?

Yes, she thinks to herself bitterly, pinning herself against the wall to barely avoid getting kneed in the ribs.

What had started as an easy job—it was a simple mugging, she could shoot a few webs the guy’s way and leave him strung up easily, let the victim get free—had suddenly transformed into a much bigger problem when several of these men had showed up. She should’ve been home an hour ago.

The guilt twists, intensifies. She’ll buy Marcia dinner later this week, or something. They can get takeout like they used to, when Anetra was fucking normal and couldn’t walk on walls.

Hey, wait a minute.

Anetra scans the too-close walls on either side of her. It’ll be a hell of a Hail Mary jump, but maybe—

While she’s distracted, a meaty fist makes contact with the side of her face, hard enough to make her ears ring. She stays standing, years of practice from gone-wrong taekwondo fights keeping her feet under her, but just barely.

She spits some blood from her mouth against the fabric of her mask, tries to let her vision right itself, but then another hit catches her in the gut and her breath leaves her.

Okay. Okay, shit. She’s kind of losing control of the situation, here. She needs to get her half-formulated plan back on track.

She narrowly dodges out of the way of a third punch, throws a clumsy kick that she feels make contact with flesh, then stumbles backwards until she can feel the bricks of the alley’s back wall against her back.

Her head is spinning, but she tips her head back, ignoring the awful sensation of the blood from her nose and mouth running down her throat.

She assesses the slice of sky between the buildings. Her heightened instincts do the math for her on just how precise her jump needs to be to get her to safety—if she misjudges this, she’s either going to slam herself against the wall and do the henchmen’s job for them, or she’s going to fall right back down to earth. Also probably doing their job for them.

Speaking of which, over the distraction of their second fallen companion, the three remaining men begin their charge towards her. They’re each sporting a grin that says they think they’ve won, probably elated at the sight of blood staining Anetra’s mask and the heavy breaths she’s taking.

Anetra kind of admires the confidence.

With a clumsy wink that they can’t see, she crouches low, and then when they’re almost on top of her she leaps straight up into the air, her best shot, sticking her arms out in the cramped space to hopefully catch on the walls of the building. Pleasepleasepleaseplease—

It’s a near thing. She’s not capable of jumping all the way to the rooftop, but her fingers graze both walls thirty feet up. Just barely, but it’s enough contact to give her purchase on the surface. The invisible hook of her wall-clinging ability catches her on each side, keeps her bracketed between the buildings and out of reach of the men below.

The resulting giggle from her is a little delirious to her own ears, but she hopes it sounds victorious to them.

“Fuck all of you,” she shouts, grinning, curls her knees up to her chest and pushes off to hop up onto one of the roofs—made accessible with the minimized distance—and peer down at them from there. “Tell whoever sent you, they aren’t gonna get my ass that easy!”

Instead of being frustrated at her cockiness, as she would’ve expected, they’re all unnervingly calm. One of them tilts their head like they’re studying her.

“She won’t give up, you know,” that one says. “It’ll end in a lot less pain for you if you come with us now.”

“Hang on, it really doesn’t seem like we’re on the same page here, guys,” Anetra shouts, trying to sound breezy even though the ominous words send something skittering down her spine. “Who is she?”

The man who spoke grins crookedly. Maybe she didn’t sound as breezy as she thought.

“You don’t need to know,” he yells up at her. “All you need to know is that this won’t be over until she has you.”

“Don’t care!” Anetra chirps, maybe a little frantically, and casts a web to a billboard on an adjacent rooftop so she can swing away from the scene as fast as possible.

As the wind whips at her, a little abrasive against her tender bruises and scraped skin under the suit, the threatening words echo through her head.

This won’t be over until she has you.

She’s certainly had to develop a thicker skin since becoming New York’s resident superhero. Between the death threats and the unflattering mid-swing pictures people post online (the latter might genuinely be affecting her more negatively than the former), she’s had to figure out how to shove all of this Spider stuff into a big ol’ box in her brain and leave it there while she lives the rest of her life so that it can’t get to her.

This threat feels too real to put in that box, though. The way it was delivered, the way that man had looked up at her with something like pity in his eyes when she refused to bend—it makes her breath come a little shallower than is comfortable as she thinks about it.

Her heightened senses that came with that stupid spider bite don’t just help her assess the situation in fights, they also tell her when something’s wrong. If she doesn’t attend to the feeling and follow her instincts, the sensory overload of it all usually triggers a migraine.

She wouldn’t be too worried about this mysterious she that sent those men to collect her, but the hair on the back of her neck is standing up and she’s clenching her teeth without thinking about it.

Something about this is wrong, her body is telling her, and she has no idea what.

Suddenly desperate to stop thinking about it, she swings herself to a somewhat secluded rooftop, free from prying eyes, and pulls off her mask to give herself a second to breathe.

The sun is starting to set. She’s chosen one of the taller buildings in the area to rest on, so she can really take in the view, the pink-orange-gold-yellow tone of light shifting every hard angle of the city to something softer and sweeter.

She can see lights turning on in people’s apartments as the daylight fades, can see a few different rooftop bars start to fill up with patrons from up here. It’s a nice reminder that even with the isolation of her extremely unique life experience, she’s not alone. Someone’s always awake, someone’s always looking at the same skyline you are.

With her legs swinging off over the edge of the roof, Anetra pulls out her phone to finally listen to Marcia’s voicemail.

“Hey, it’s me!”

Despite her heart hammering around anxiously from both leftover and still-present adrenaline, Anetra manages a smile at that.

“Who else is it going to be, you dumb bitch?” she mumbles, rhetorical and fond.

“I’m figuring you probably just got caught at work and that’s why you’re not home. I was going to hold dinner for you, but I’m starving, so you snooze, you lose, Neech. Don’t know what to tell you. Your tacos are definitely going to be cold when you get home, and that is karma, is what that is.”

She pauses for a second. Anetra listens to her breathe, think about what she wants to say next. Her nose was probably all scrunched up when she recorded this like it gets when she thinks too hard.

“I miss you,” she says, and then the evening is quiet again, excepting the buzz of voicemail static. “Um. Anyway. Taco meat will be waiting when you get home. Please eat it. Or—just eat something with a modicum of protein. I’m begging you.”

Anetra has a full grin on her face when the message beeps, signaling its end. She swipes over to Google and searches up “modicum”, relying on autocorrect since she has no idea how to spell it, then sends Marcia a screenshot.

TO: marcia 🌸💖💫🧚💕🌷💗✨💝

(The emojis weren’t Anetra’s idea, believe it or not. Marcia gave her very specific instructions on which ones she wanted next to her name.)

[Attachment: 1 Photo]

You had to use this word right

Like needed to

You couldn’t have said “a little bit” or any of the various synonyms available to you, you needed to use that one

FROM: marcia 🌸💖💫🧚💕🌷💗✨💝

AHAHAHAHA

so sorry

Anetra smiles, but it slips from her face quickly as she realizes the fast response time is most likely worry-based.

I’m headed home now, she texts, wanting to quiet Marcia’s anxieties. Only a few minutes away :)

ok yay, Marcia sends back. The bubble appears, then disappears, then comes back again, indicating some rethinking. did the dancer shift end up ok? u just had to stay late?

Yeah

It’s all Anetra can really give her, even though the single-word response will only further Marcia’s suspicions. The doubling up on questions is already enough of an indication of her doubt.

Yara was on my ass tonight, she texts to try and cover. Yara Sofia is the manager at the bar, who lets Anetra come in for a dancing shift once or twice a week after her waitressing hours, and she is on Anetra’s ass all the time, even though it’s always out of love. It’s a real half-ass of a redirection, but Marcia, always graceful and always sweet, follows her lead anyway.

omg what did she do

Anetra takes some time to craft a decently wild story about Yara’s unorthodox marketing methods (she mentions Yara’s vibrant Onlyfans career, which is very real) to provide some scaffolding for her lie about her whereabouts.

Once she’s sent it, she gets to her feet, pulls her mask back over her face, and stretches, taking in the last of the sunset as the colors bleed out of the sky. The artificial lights have flickered on all around her now, doing their best to replace the sun’s warm glow and coming up just a little bit short.

She sends a web out to a streetlight on a parking garage nearby and hops off the roof. Since she’s still a little shaken, it takes her longer to find her rhythm than it normally does.

Cast out the web. Feel the resistance when it catches on a building or a lamppost or a tree. Swing from that node forward, let your body hurtle through the air, almost freefalling but not quite. Release, then cast again.

Cast, feel, swing, release. Cast, feel, swing, release.

She won’t give up, you know.

Cast, feel, swing, release. Definitely don’t think about the person with a vendetta against you who tried to get you killed earlier today. Cast, feel, swing, release.

“It’s Spider-Man!” she hears from below a few feet ahead of her, bringing her mostly out of her head. Within the crowds on the street, more than a few people have their faces upturned to gawk at her, but that exclamation in particular came from a little girl on her dad’s shoulders.

Anetra waves at her as she swings by on a streetlight, and the kid waves back, practically a caricature of cuteness sitting on her dad’s shoulders with her missing teeth and pigtails. Not a man, she wants to correct sunnily, but she stays mute. The public’s general assumption that she’s a dude keeps her cloaked in an extra layer of secrecy, and she can’t afford to shed any of those.

Sometimes she wants just a little bit—a modicum, one might say—of recognition. At least a small sign, somehow, that people get what she’s putting herself through, that what she’s doing isn’t for nothing.

But she understands that that’s not worth sacrificing her identity and her safety for, even if this life feels like it’s grinding away at her slowly. The isolation of it all is hard, but it’s for a reason. She can’t risk any of the Spider’s shit finding its way into Anetra’s life, because then that endangers all the people who know Anetra, tangles them all in the Spider’s web.

The Spider doesn’t have friends who can get hurt. Anetra does.

That man’s crooked smile shines in her mind like an afterimage of a bright flash. She lands hard on her feet in the alley behind her building, his words biting at her heels and hounding her.

Nothing from a fight’s ever stuck with her like this before. Chills travel down to the very ends of her extremities, and sparks scatter across her vision, the very first warning sign of an oncoming migraine.

Something is coming for her.

She zips up her sweatshirt so her suit is hidden, rips her mask off and stuffs it in the pocket, tries to shake off what’s left of the Spider unsuccessfully.

One shuddering breath is all she has time for before she’s cramming her key in the lock and opening the door, shoving it hard with her shoulder because it always sticks in its frame in the summer with the New York heat.

“Hi!” she shouts. It’s late, but Marcia doesn’t go to bed for at least another hour on weekends, so she’s loud just for the sake of it, just to jog loose the calcified anxiety in her mind.

“Hey!” she hears yelled in a singsong reply from the front room. After quickly making herself a taco from the ingredients Marcia left out, she heads that way with her hands in her pockets, a little more urgency in her step than usual.

On days where she spends more time in the mask than out of it, when the mental box she’s forced around her little vigilante hobby won’t stay closed and terrifying images flash through her mind every time she closes her eyes, she needs to get back to herself again, and Marcia’s always been her key for that.

She knows Marcia inside and out. Marcia knows her outside and in. They’ve been roommates since they both moved to New York, connected through one of those terrible Facebook groups that every desperate person moving to a big city joins on some wild hope that they’ll be able to find everything they need to survive in the posts there.

Anetra didn’t find everything she needed (no one on Facebook knows where to find good Puerto Rican food), but she did find Marcia. On her sappier days, she’ll say that that’s about the same thing.

Marcia is facing away from Anetra when she comes into the living room, sitting on their saggy old couch with her feet tucked up against herself and her laptop balanced on her knees. When she hears Anetra’s footsteps on their creaky-ass floor, though, she tilts her head all the way back over the arm of the couch so she can see her, and then she smiles.

Anetra feels her shoulders relax, and lets out a sigh under her breath. She’s okay, she’s here. Everything is well.

“Hi,” she says again.

“Hey,” Marcia says, repeating herself as well to go along with the bit. She’s still smiling, a few veins in her head popping with the upside-down position. “Oh, good, you found the tacos. You gonna say ‘hi’ again, or can I ask you how work was?”

“Work was fine. Now, sit your ass up or you’re going to pass out with all that blood rushing to your big head,” Anetra warns, hopping onto the other side of the couch and poking Marcia’s calf with her foot.

“Just fine?” Marcia asks once she’s readjusted into a normal seated position, ignoring Anetra’s jab about her head. Usually she’d make a bit out of it, act all wounded and everything. It makes Anetra a little nervous.

“I mean, yeah,” Anetra says, shrugging to sell it. “What, you want all the gory details of how my pelvis got a lot closer to a lot of old men’s faces than I ever wanted it to?”

“No, ew, no,” Marcia replies, scrunching her nose up in disgust. She’s wearing her glasses, so the gesture is a little funnier than it normally is. “No, I just—they’ve been asking you to take a lot of extra shifts, is all. Waitressing and dance. Is that okay? Are you… is, um. Is money okay?”

It’s a clunky way to ask a sensitive question, but it’s always been a clunky topic between the two of them. It’s very simple, really. Marcia comes from money. Anetra does not.

As far as how much rot generational wealth can cause in a brain, Marcia’s on the good side of things: she’s fairly aware of the privilege she’s held and continues to hold in society, lives modestly on her own teacher’s salary without help from her parents, and challenges her peers from youth on their wealth and what they’re choosing to do with it.

However, she still grew up a rich kid, and that’ll fuck a person right up.

There are things she’s never even had to begin to conceptualize because of the many layers of plush societal protection she was swaddled in from birth. It makes her a little dense on certain topics, like service jobs and financial etiquette, even after almost ten years away from her parents’ lifestyle.

“Money’s fine,” Anetra assures her, a little tightly. Marcia knows she’s very lucky to have a gold-lined safety net at the ready whenever she needs or wants it, and she consistently reminds Anetra of its application to her as well.

Never mind that Anetra would maybe rather die, eat shit, and give herself over to the mysterious woman that wants the Spider dead before she accepts help from Marcia’s parents.

Growing up poor’ll fuck you up too.

“Good,” Marcia says, equally tense, sensing she’s overstepped. “Okay. Yeah, that’s good.”

Anetra feels a little guilty. Marcia can be naïve when it comes to money stuff, but she would have good reason to believe Anetra’s hurting for cash right now, with how many times she’s said she’s covering a shift or dancing late when she’s really out tangling webs all over the greater metropolitan area.

“It’s not the money,” she says, gentler now. “I, um. I’m putting in the hours to try and get a better time slot when I dance. Kind of want to go for a more respectable crowd than the ten-to-midnight folks.”

Marcia nods, slowly. She takes her glasses off and stares at them intently while she polishes them with her pajama top.

“Dick move on my part, bringing up money,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no, it’s all good,” Anetra says easily, because it really is. Marcia never means any harm. Her parents are assholes with no intent of ever redistributing their wealth outside of their family tree, and Marcia’s entire adult life has essentially been an exercise in atoning for that in any way she can think of—including offering trust fund money to her club dancer/waitress/general service worker roommate.

Anetra understands making what you can out of your shitty upbringing, she really does. She just tends to prickle at the slightest insinuation of charity. And Marcia is anything but subtle.

“I—You would tell me, if something else was going on?” Marcia asks, gaze still fixed on her lap, her voice a little faint. Her eyes flick up to meet Anetra’s, just once.

Well, Marcia, there was this spider in your coworker’s girlfriend’s lab that we toured that one time, and it bit me, and now I can traverse walls like gravity isn’t even real and I have superhuman reflexes and I can sense oncoming danger and I built myself these gadgets so I can swing all around the city and I’ve been using all these aforementioned abilities to fight crime—

“I would,” she says, cutting off her train of thought as she tries to get Marcia’s eye contact back. It’s a lot simpler than all of those other things she wants to say. It’s also a lie, or a partial one.

Not if it’s going to hurt you.

They don’t lie to each other if they can help it. But Anetra can’t help it, not in this circumstance, not if she wants Marcia to stay safe, so she meets Marcia’s eyes and compels her to believe her answer.

She sells it at least enough to get Marcia to relax, and she smiles again, a little wearier this time than before.

“Well, if stuff does come up, you know you can talk to me,” she offers, putting her glasses back on. “And I hope you get that evening gig. It sounds classy.”

Anetra snorts. “Nothing at Piranha is ever going to be classy.” She’s eager to move away from the topic at hand. “What are you working on?”

Marcia grins, and turns her laptop screen to face Anetra. “Just the choreography for the recital,” she says, the anxiety starting to fade from her posture as she sits up excitedly, shifts so that they’re sitting right next to each other. Anetra can feel the warmth of Marcia’s body through the layers of her sweatshirt and her suit.

“Oh, shit, yeah. Landed on a theme yet?” Anetra asks, clicking through the different tabs Marcia has open.

“Nothing’s good enough,” Marcia sighs, shaking her head and taking back control of the cursor to navigate to the document where she has all her brainstorming laid out. “I don’t want to do another recital where the teacher makes all the little girls dress up like flowers. That’s been done. It’s tired.”

“Oh, for sure,” Anetra says with mock seriousness, and then starts giggling when Marcia shoves her.

Anetra doesn’t really understand this whole world of dance that Marcia moves through with ease. She was a taekwondo kid. This is not her lane.

Obviously, that doesn’t stop her from attending every recital with a bouquet to throw at Marcia when the curtain falls, making it her personal mission to cheer the loudest for the kids out of everyone else.

She also likes to put in her opinions when Marcia brings her work home, like here, now, helping her decide on whether her middle-grade students’ suggestion of “Night of 1000 Beyoncés” as a theme is realistically going to work. Anetra sketches out a few test costume ideas while Marcia searches up some different medleys she can choreograph to.

Eventually, while they’re working side by side, as one in the morning comes and goes and two A.M. swiftly approaches, Anetra feels herself starting to drift off. Her body feels as if it’s melting into the couch, and without the adrenaline from earlier her bruises are really starting to ache. Her jaw feels tender where the guy clocked her with his fist, and she tried to clean off her nose but there’s definitely some dried blood up in there that’s making breathing uncomfortable.

She yawns widely, sticks her tongue out like a cat. That’s usually a surefire way to get a giggle from Marcia, but when it’s met with silence Anetra glances down to her side and breathes out a quiet laugh.

Marcia is slumped over, asleep, her head on Anetra’s shoulder. She’d been silent for a while, but Anetra hadn’t thought much of it, perhaps a little too singularly focused on the Destiny’s Child costume design she was working on instead of her overtired roommate next to her.

“Alright. Bedtime,” she murmurs, mostly for herself, not expecting a response.

First, she has to slip out from under Marcia without waking her, which she manages with a considerable amount of effort. She eases the laptop from the other woman’s lap, then plugs it in and lays it to rest on the coffee table. She moves to the kitchen to put away the tacos Marcia left out for her, feeling a delayed wave of tired gratitude at the gesture as she does, and finally sets the dishwasher to run as wipes down the countertops.

When she goes back to the living room, picking up pieces of paper and assorted trash as she does, Marcia is still out for the count. Her often-worried expression is always smoothed out when she sleeps, the normally constant lines of anxiety at her brow or temples thankfully absent.

Anetra stands there paralyzed for a second.

Something warm and sacred, a feeling that outpaces verbalization, beats in her chest.

Before she can let herself really feel it, Marcia is blinking awake, slowly, stirred by some invisible force, and whatever was striking through the lightning rod of Anetra’s body vanishes, renders her mobile again.

“R’you watching me sleep?” Marcia mumbles, teasing, stretching her body out long from the tightly curled position she had fallen asleep in.

Anetra tosses one of the crumpled pieces of paper she grabbed off the floor at the blonde’s head to take some of the weight out of the air between them. “Obviously,” she says, lobbing the joke right back. “How else am I finally going to achieve my mission of killing you after all these years?”

Marcia catches the paper ball out of the air easily, yawning as she does so. “Playing the long game, I see,” she replies. The bit isn’t worth entertaining further, so Anetra doesn’t try, instead goes to grab Marcia’s arm so she can haul her up off the couch.

“Come on, bed,” she coaxes. “You hate sleeping on the couch. It’s a bad couch, we should get a new one.”

“Nee-trah,” Marcia whines, gone childish with sleep, and Anetra just shakes her head and sighs before bending at her knees to throw Marcia over her shoulder like she weighs nothing.

She does this all the time, it’s a bit between them, but it used to be harder, before superstrength. It seems like an obvious statement, but it speaks to something she’s learning over and over again: her life has been irrevocably changed. She is different now, as much as she doesn’t want to be.

Marcia shrieks out a surprised laugh and flails wildly for a minute, like she always does just to be funny, but then she goes limp so it’s easier for Anetra to carry her.

“Should fall asleep on the couch more often,” she muses appreciatively, her voice getting raspier as she lets her drowsiness creep back over her, and Anetra snorts, jostling her a little bit to at least keep her awake until she can toss her on her bed. “What time do you have to get up tomorrow?”

“Not till nine or something,” Anetra replies, punctuating her statement by throwing Marcia over her shoulder onto her crumpled bedspread, then launches herself into the air to land hard at her side, giggling at the way the mattress momentarily buckles under her. “I don’t work tomorrow. What about you?”

Marcia flops over on her stomach and groans against the fabric of her quilt. “Seven. I don’t have class till nine, but Jan wants me in early so we can talk logistics for the recital at the end of the week.” She turns her head to smile beatifically in Anetra’s direction. “No chance you wanna go in my stead? Deal with Jan’s mania?”

Anetra winces and shakes her head vigorously. “Nope.” She stretches her arms long over her head, then looks over to where Marcia’s pouting and laughs. “What if I bring you lunch? We can eat together after your class.”

Marcia visibly brightens and nods. “Yes, please. Suki’s?”

Anetra hops up off of Marcia’s bed and salutes. “Tomorrow at noon,” she promises.

“It’s a date,” Marcia answers, yawns. Her eyes start to fall closed with the end of the conversation, and Anetra stands in the doorway for just a moment.

She had a crush on Marcia, way back when in those early days, debilitating and whole-heart-seizing. Her mouth went useless whenever her roommate asked her a question, and her heart would pick up to a terrible, pointless speed whenever the other girl leaned over her to plug in her phone or to grab the last egg out of the fridge.

Recognizing immediately that falling for your roommate is a terrible cliché at best and severely endangering your living situation at worst, Anetra never gave the feeling air, since it would’ve been more than a little stupid. She put her nose to the ground and worked her ass off, waitressing at the bar during the day and dancing at night, and eventually, with no time to dedicate to it, the crush died off like an uncared-for plant.

Marcia’s her best friend, and she wouldn’t trade that for anything, but sometimes that crush wakes up a little bit, shifts and rumbles around her chest.

Maybe it was never really asleep. Maybe, by not giving something air, all you do is make it writhe around and become more stubborn, more insistent.

Well. Whatever. She never told Marcia then, and she certainly can’t tell her now. It would be foolish to think something ever could come of it besides losing the closest person in her life.

She’s been working to get over this feeling for years—for years—at this point. She will, she can.

She leaves the doorway and goes down the hall to her room, slamming a mental lid shut on her waxing nostalgia as she does so.

As soon as her bedroom door falls shut behind her, Anetra shucks off the top layer she has on, her sweatshirt and pants discarded so that she’s just wearing her suit, then shrugs her way out of that too. She shuffles down the hall to their shared bathroom just in her bra and underwear, and sits heavily on the toilet lid to assess the damage from the fight earlier.

She sighs as she probes her various bruises with light fingers, flinching at the deep pain she can feel beneath the faintly tinged skin. Tomorrow, they’ll all be vibrant and awful and hard to explain, but for now all she’s got is a terrible ache, with no evidence of its presence. It’s kind of infuriating.

Other than her for-now-invisible bruises, her nose is tender from the hit earlier, but otherwise seems fine, and even though she sustained a few really rough hits it seems like she didn’t break any bones.

Once it’s established that altogether, she’s fine, she exhales, heavy. Heavy enough that her shoulders start to curl inwards with the deflation of her lungs. Her neck goes loose, and her head slumps forward over her chest.

She’s so tired.

It’s a kind of tired that has settled in her bones. She can’t sleep this off, she can’t shake this easily. The only way it feels like she’d be able to rest again, really rest, would be to hang up the mask, sitting in the pocket of her hoodie down the hall, for good.

She’s in too deep with this whole flip-side world to even entertain the idea of doing that.

For a while, she stares blankly at the tile at her feet—it’s cheap New York apartment tile, unevenly discolored and easy to stare at while you get lost in thought—but eventually, her aching body necessitates getting up from the uncomfortable toilet lid and picking her way back down the hall.

As she walks through her bedroom door, she strips off her bra and throws on a shirt to sleep in (it says EVERYBODY GET FOOTLOOSE! in egregiously large letters on the back, leading Anetra to believe that one of Marcia’s show shirts might have found its way into her laundry) before hauling her pained, overworked body into bed.

She’s exhausted enough that her eyes fall closed automatically, but then that memory from the alley today flashes behind her lids like a vision.

It’s the not knowing that kills her. The first few weeks of having powers was like this, too, a whole new world of danger where every other step was a stumble, but there were no consequences then. If she trips up now, with this mysterious woman on her tail, then she’s just going to fall and fall.

She needs to get her feet under her before that happens, she thinks to herself, turning over in bed and yanking the covers up to her chin. She doesn’t work tomorrow, so after lunch with Marcia, she can throw the mask on and snoop around under the radar, see what she can find out about this person who wants her dead. Once she has something like a plan in place, the anxiety’s clawed grip on her neck and chest relaxes slightly, allowing her to slip out of consciousness.

It doesn’t leave Anetra in complete peace, though. Her dreams are flashes of pure horror, painted in wailing, assaulting color, and she jolts awake soaked in sweat and pinned to the mattress with fear.

Her alarm clock reads 8:48. She knows she won’t get back to sleep, so she peels herself out of bed and walks out into the empty apartment with some half-baked idea of making some breakfast. She catches her sallow-looking reflection in the hallway mirror on her way to the kitchen, and points some finger guns at it.

“Lookin’ good,” she jokes softly, for absolutely no audience but herself, and tries to smile. It’s kind of freakish with how bad her eye bags have gotten, so she just stops looking. She makes a mental note to ask Marcia if she can raid the huge tub of different skincare products she has going in the bathroom, see if anything will fix the skin issues brought on by becoming a neighborhood superhero.

Because she has the morning free, she uses the time to take care of business.

First, she dunks her whole suit in a bucket and scrubs at the bloody patches with hydrogen peroxide until the water runs clear, then goes downstairs to the laundry room to chuck the whole mess in a washing machine. While she waits for the cycle to be done, she turns on some mindless show and cleans out the gunk from her webshooters, meticulously picking at the mechanisms with a bobby pin. Once she’s moved the suit over to the dryer, she folds herself up all wonky on the couch and searches up some variation of “femme mob boss new york” for at least an hour until she gives up because she realizes it’s pointless and at this rate she might end up on a watchlist.

She doesn’t have a guy in the chair, okay? It’s just her stupid ass stuck with trying to figure out all this shit. Sometimes Google has answers.

After her pointless search, it’s just a matter of finally changing out of her pajamas, getting her suit out of the dryer and putting it in her backpack, and then hauling ass to Suki’s so she can beat the lunch rush and make it to Marcia’s studio in time.

They’re regulars here. It’s an oft-established pattern at this point, really. Whenever Anetra comes in to pick up lunch, Suki is usually there, and will try to engage Anetra in a conversation in Japanese, which Anetra definitely can’t speak. Then she inevitably switches to English, and asks after Marcia and what bullshit their neighbors are up to this month.

“When are you going to make that girl stop eating only vegetables?” she asks ruefully now, packaging up their order behind the counter. “Not healthy.”

“She’s vegetarian, Suki,” Anetra tells her with a snort, filching one of the mints from the register dish. “It’s a moral choice.”

Suki just clicks her tongue. “She needs meat,” she mumbles stubbornly. “Twig of a thing. You are certainly a bad friend if you aren’t making her eat meat.”

“I’ll let you know how me telling her that goes over,” Anetra replies, rolling her eyes good-naturedly, and opens her phone to check Marcia’s location. She’s on the north side of the building, so she’s still stuck in her first-grade class. The parents are probably bugging her again.

“Oh! I have news,” Suki says eagerly, interrupting Anetra’s idle scrolling, and Anetra locks her phone and puts it to the side, giving the older woman her full attention. “That Spider? On the news? I saw her.”

Anetra feels her body temperature shoot up exponentially, then plummet. She shivers without being aware of it. “Come on. What?” she scoffs, knowing she’s laying on the disbelief a little thick.

“In the alley outside of my apartment a week ago,” Suki says, and nods seriously. “With my own two old eyes. These two fuckers—” Suki prioritizes learning curse words in practicing her English—“were in the alley, breaking glass of my building, spraying paint all over the side of the wall, and then before I could even turn from the window, there she was! Immediately!”

“Everyone thinks it’s a man,” Anetra says carefully. Her throat hurts suddenly. She remembers that day. Two little racist shits, spraying awful words on the wall, a bruised old man slumped against the side of the dumpster who had probably tried to stop them earlier. “Did you see the face?”

“Ah, no,” Suki says, and Anetra’s heart only calms a tiny bit. “If everyone thinks it’s a man and it isn’t, then I can be the only one who is right.”

“It’s probably just some dude trying to be a hero,” Anetra says dismissively, and Suki raises an eyebrow, shakes her head vigorously. “He’s probably already tired of it.”

“Sophie, in my kitchen, she also saw the Spider in an alley. Last night! Last night, she saw her! Sophie, come here!”

A girl in an apron and a hairnet pokes her head through the swinging kitchen door, a fresh black eye ripening on her face, and Anetra’s eyes widen before she can stop her reaction.

The fucking girl from last night.

“Sophie, you saw the Spider! Right?”

“They saved me,” Sophie says kind of quietly, not coming any farther into the restaurant. “Some guy pulled me into an alley when I was walking home, and they—they got him off of me, I was able to run.”

Anetra swallows hard. “Wow,” she says, tries to nod. She’s never seen anyone she’s saved after the fact before. It makes her chest tight, her eyes burn. “That’s—I’m glad you’re okay.”

“See? She saw the Spider too! She is helping us,” Suki says determinedly, jabbing a finger against the countertop. “She is real.”

She’s holding the order in one hand, so Anetra grabs it from her quickly, stumbles backwards a little bit. “I. Um. I have to get this to Marcia, Suki. Sorry. Bye, Sophie.”

Suki eyes her a little too closely for comfort. “Okay,” is all she says. “Have a good day, Anetra. Say hello to Marcia.”

Anetra scrambles out the front door, bag clenched tightly in her fist. The box she keeps the Spider in in her head breaks open, bursts free, spills webs and fear and responsibility all over every other thought in her head.

She’s kept the two parts of her life separate for months now, she’s been okay, but now they’re coming together in a way that sets her teeth on edge. Is Suki in danger now? She’s unknowingly closer than a lot of news outlets to guessing who the Spider is. What about that girl, Sophie? Will she be all right? Did saving her once mean that she’ll be a bigger target later?

The streets seem too fenced in by the lofty skyscrapers on all sides all of a sudden, and Anetra feels trapped. She bows her head and walks faster, tucking her chin closer to her chest.

Marcia’s studio building comes rising into her periphery, all light metal and huge panes of glass, but the gorgeous design doesn’t soothe Anetra like it usually does. All she can think is how exposed that building is, how anyone could look in and see her with Marcia on almost any floor of the studio.

When she walks in, though, the panic abates slightly. No one here is talking about the Spider. It’s a uniquely focused atmosphere, the way taekwondo tournaments were for her back in the day. No one is talking about anything but the thing they came here to do, from the tiny six-year-olds enthusing about pliés to their beleaguered parents to the sharp-featured prima ballerina running through her fitness program with her teacher.

Anetra maneuvers through the herds of different layers of tulle to get to the front desk, where Robin, the desk receptionist, hands over a guest pass badge without asking for Anetra’s ID and gives her a tired smile.

“Hard day?” Anetra asks, and it’s settling, to go through this familiar exchange.

“It’s the first day of a camp week,” Robin says dryly. “A million little kids, all sprinting around this huge studio space, and all the upperclassmen think that it’s suddenly my fault that these children are underfoot even though this happens every single fucking year—sorry,” she edits herself, not sounding sorry at all. “Every single year.”

“Yikes,” Anetra says, laughing a little bit.

“Go give Marcia her lunch break, she needs it,” Robin tells her dismissively, waving her hand in the direction of the elevator. “Everyone gets fucked over on a new camp week. She definitely hasn’t sat down all day.”

Anetra gives a little salute. “Will do,” she confirms, tapping the top of Robin’s desk to punctuate her statement. “Good luck not getting fucked over.”

“Honestly, I fucking wish I could get fucked over—I won’t get to see my girlfriend until next week at this rate with the overtime hours they’ve stuck me on,” Robin mutters, slouching in her chair.

Laughing at the other woman’s exaggerated pout, Anetra begins to mime obscenely making out with the back of her hand until Robin screeches at her to stop, and then she hightails it to the elevator while giggling as the other woman readies to chuck something at her head.

She just barely wedges herself into the packed space, and her phone buzzes as the doors close.

FROM: marcia 🌸💖💫🧚💕🌷💗✨💝

SOS!!!!!!!!!

The nine exclamation points are honestly pretty typical for a text from Marcia, but the all-caps is a slight flag for alarm—when the elevator doors slide open to the sixth floor, Anetra steps with a quick pace past all the other open studios to get to the one at the end of the long hall.

“I’m sorry, but I really believe—” is the first thing Anetra hears, Marcia’s voice sounding more than a little exhausted. Marcia is sweet, the sweetest person Anetra knows, but she’s not a pushover, and her voice has taken on that edge that it does when you’re about to cross her line.

“I don’t care,” a woman’s voice interrupts. “You don’t bring this shit into a classroom. That’s for whatever you do at home—Lord knows I don’t agree with that, either, but you will not get my daughter involved in this life you chose.”

She pauses, likely about to barrel into an even more fervent tirade, but that’s when Anetra makes her entrance, unaware of the exact circumstances but ready to roll with pretty much anything.

“Marcia?” she asks, schooling her face into a pout of concern as she pokes her head into the studio space. “Sorry to interrupt, I just thought your lunch break started a few minutes ago.” She holds up the bag from Suki’s, then cuts her gaze pointedly to the clock above the door.

Marcia’s posture noticeably relaxes at the sight of her. A tiny smile flickers across her face.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, ‘Netra, I’m just wrapping up here,” she says sunnily, then turns back to the woman who has a blood vessel popping in her forehead. “I’m so sorry, but as I said, the Pride parade march was a clearly labeled part of this week’s camp, and if your child showed distinct interest that comes from them, not from me. If you’d like for them not to attend, that is between you and your kid and I don’t get involved. If there’s nothing else—” Marcia tilts her head and beams, her eyes flashing dangerously—“I only get an hour for lunch, and I’m going to spend it with my girlfriend.”

It’s a joke, a bit, and one they’ve done more than a few times to get out of sticky situations like this, actually, but Anetra’s cheeks never fail to warm at least a little bit when Marcia calls her that, even if it’s to make a point to a bigoted woman in a kid’s dance studio.

“This isn’t over,” the woman in question grinds out through a clenched jaw, crossing her arms over her chest. Despite her words, she thankfully abandons the conversation and stalks over to the other side of the room where her kid has been chatting with their classmates.

Anetra waves brightly at the woman’s retreating back. “Have a nice day,” she chirps, and Marcia barely manages to suppress a snort of laughter at the false tone as she walks over to meet her.

“Hey,” she says softly, her posture sloping forward into Anetra’s orbit, reaching out a hand to tug at the sleeve of her t-shirt. She’s like this, always; she needs to touch things to get herself back. Anetra has never once minded. She mirrors it and leans in right back.

“Rough morning?” Anetra says, keeping her voice low so the kids still packing up across the room won’t hear their conversation.

Marcia rubs her temples and manages a dead-eyed smile. “No. Why do you ask?”

Anetra slings an arm around her shoulders and traces a soothing pattern with her thumb. “I’ve got an order of veggie rolls with your name on it,” she says sweetly. “Plus we have a whole hour of your break for you to rant about everything that went wrong with camp today.”

“I don’t want to waste your time…” Marcia protests feebly, but it’s just noise and she knows it, knows that they both understand the entirety of lunch will be spent with her complaining and Anetra nodding along gamely. A grin breaks through, a real one, and she rests her head on Anetra’s shoulder happily.

Anetra is watching the last of the kids trickle out the door, waving to the few that are return dancers from last year that recognize her as Marcia’s roommate, when she feels Marcia stiffen next to her.

“Wh—” she starts asking, beginning to turn to check in, but then there’s the light touch of fingers on her cheek that finish the job for her and she’s looking right in Marcia’s eyes, inches away.

The prickle she’s been growing resignedly used to over these past few months skitters up and down her spine, the one that tells her pay attention or something’s up. The noise of it, the feel of it folds easily into the whole-body hum that’s happening under Marcia’s focused gaze, until everything in her is tuned towards the blond standing at her side.

“Trust me,” Marcia whispers, so quietly she barely moves her lips, and then when Anetra has nodded without even entirely being aware she’s done it Marcia is leaning in, kissing Anetra square on the mouth.

They’re two queer roommates. They’re open and generous with sexuality, that’s kind of in the handbook. They’ve made out when they’re drunk before on a dare, Marcia kisses Anetra on the cheek when she gets home sometimes. Casual intimacy is nothing new for them.

This is the same as all of that on the surface—Anetra doesn’t know why she’s being kissed soundly under the fluorescent lights of the studio, she assumes it’s for some bigger reason—but this is the first time she’s ever felt Marcia’s lips against hers when she’s completely sober. This is the first time she can taste that stupid expensive chapstick Marcia always buys, a waxy herbal flavor over top the sensation of spit and flesh.

Marcia pulls away, her eyes a universe, and Anetra’s constant crush is snapping at her heels again. This time, though, she can’t push it away—it’s gained sharper, exigent teeth.

She blinks a few times, and the world around them, which had faded into silence, comes crashing back in with sound and color, the studio space now apparently empty and the lights overhead seeming even brighter in the absence of anyone else in the room.

“Um,” is all she can manage. She casts around for a joke to make, something to make it seem like she wasn’t as affected by that as she was. Marcia is just smiling at her like it’s a regular Tuesday.

“Sorry, that fucking parent’s watching us through the window,” Marcia tells her, inclining her head just slightly, and Anetra whips around not-at-all-subtly to see the woman from before duck out of the hallway when she realizes she’s been caught. “Wanted to give her a little bit of a show.”

“Ah,” Anetra says weakly, the realization that she actually maybe never got over her crush on her roommate making her voice shake a little on its way out. “No, yeah, totally. Stick it to the man. Or woman.”

“Anyway,” Marcia continues breezily. “You have Suki’s for me, and I got an hour. Wanna eat up on the roof?”

Anetra just nods, and Marcia pushes off the wall they were leaning against to go grab her bag from the corner. Anetra takes the time to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth and shut away all of this to be dealt with later.

Being the Spider is hard. It’s the hardest thing she’s ever had to do. But most of the problems that arise from that can be solved with a well-placed punch or a couple webs tangling something (or someone) up.

This isn’t that.

She’s still got to do some reconnaissance on this person who’s got it out for her today. After lunch, she can swing around for a while and hope that a solution to this newly reinvigorated crush appears in the skyline while she does so.

Marcia skips back over to her, smiling wide.

“Ready to listen to me for an hour?”

It was sunny when Anetra left home, but it’s overcast and a little drizzly now. Neither of them mind as they curl up in two plastic chairs sat opposite each other on the roof, the access door propped open behind them with Marcia’s class binder.

Anetra can almost forget the charged moment in the studio, chucking the wrappers of the plastic silverware at each other and laughing at the stories Marcia tells about her kids’ antics.

“Fucking Michael F., then, what does he decide to do? Tries to execute a lift with Marie without telling me first. Not only does that not fit at all with the choreography, they’re also eight. They can’t tie their own fucking slippers up.”

Anetra nods sagely, like she’s also an experienced dance teacher and not some half-waitress half-dancer at a gay bar. “I think—” she starts, but then the access door creaks open.

That prickle, again, at the back of her neck, except this time Marcia shows no signs of suddenly jumping her bones, so Anetra sits up straight, casts an eye around, feels around for her backpack with the suit and webshooters in it.

“Hey,” she hears from behind them, and although her mind relaxes at the recognizable voice, her body stays alert, won’t shut down all her heightened warning systems.

“Hey, Kerri,” Marcia says through a mouthful of sushi, waving with her chopsticks. “Finally got a break?”

“Yes, finally,” Kerri grumbles, shuffling towards them, running a hand over her face.

Kerri is the prima of the company’s production of Swan Lake that they’re putting on this season. Marcia is Anetra’s favorite at the studio, always, unquestionably, but Kerri is raw fucking talent. She’s still young, but moves with the lithe grace of someone with twice her training. She dances so fluidly, all while keeping her eyes locked on some invisible, unreachable horizon. She’s kind of miraculous.

She’s also, at this moment, looking more than a little exhausted when she slumps into one of the vacant chairs by the two of them. Kerri and Marcia continue to chat for a while using dancer jargon Anetra only barely has a grasp of, and Anetra just sits there silently, her whole body ringing in alarm like a sheet of metal someone hit with a hammer.

Her knee jogs up and down anxiously. She has no reason to be afraid of Kerri. She knows Kerri, not well, true, but she’s been in Marcia’s orbit since she was a newbie at the studio. So why is she on high alert?

“You okay?”

Marcia’s voice cuts through the static of Anetra’s overpowered sense input, clear concern coloring her tone.

“Yeah, I—yeah,” Anetra says, shaking her head slightly as if jostling something loose. The ringing in her ears has grown louder. “Yes. Sorry. I just have to get going.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Marcia replies, obviously still worried. She gets to her feet quickly, gathers up all their trash. “I’ll talk to you about being a TA for that technique class next week?” she asks Kerri, and when she gets an elegant nod she smiles. “Okay, great. My lunch break’s over, anyway. Let’s get going, ‘Netra.”

Anetra nods a little weakly, almost unable to hear over the buzzing in her ears. Marcia takes her hand loosely, and she lets herself be tugged down the stairwell back down to the lobby. Every sound is grotesquely amplified, every light feels too bright. The months-old bite on her calf pulses and aches.

“Is it a migraine?” Marcia asks softly, and it sounds like Anetra’s listening to her from several feet underwater.

“No,” she tries to say as normally as possible, tries to achieve how she would normally sound. “No, I think I’m fine. I just need to go home.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Marcia tells her immediately, determined, and Anetra shakes her head again, maybe a little too quickly.

PAY ATTENTION. SOMETHING’S GOING ON; PAY ATTENTION. EYES UP, EYES UP, EYES UP.

She only gets this feeling when something’s about to happen. Usually, it’s an attack of some sort. She’s not endangering Marcia, not if there’s even the ghost of a chance that she’ll get hurt.

“I’ll be fine, Mar. I’ll text you,” she says dismissively, and the words sound small even to her, but they get Marcia to loosen her grip on Anetra’s arm.

“I… okay. Text me. I’ll see you at home?”

Anetra hates that she can hear the new uncertainty in Marcia’s voice. She hates that she knows that she put it there.

“I’ll see you at home,” she echoes, trying to put every bit of certainty she has into this one statement.

Marcia swallows, and Anetra can feel her eyes on her back as she all but runs out of the studio.

Once she’s out of sight of that terribly windowed building in an alley a block or so south, Anetra sinks to the ground, pressing the heels of her hands into her eye sockets.

“Ow,” she mutters. “Jesus Christ, this cannot be useful.”

She tucks herself behind a dumpster, strips and then pulls on her suit and mask. Her mind throbs.

She sprints up the wall, gets to a roof, and tries to breathe, gives in to the alarm bells her powers have been sounding off for the past few minutes straight. Her body tenses into a ready position instantly—she’s discerned over the past couple weeks that this feeling is most similar to a panic attack.

The adrenaline spike is overwhelming, but it’s all intentional, directed, pointed towards a prerogative that she hasn’t been clued in on yet. Sometimes, when she’s too scrambled, when she can’t follow the thread being led out for her, the heightened senses misfire and she ends up with a debilitating migraine.

She can’t afford to be laid up for the rest of the day; she needs to solve this, now.

“Okay,” she mumbles aloud to herself, darting up to the roof easily and casting a long, searching look to the streets below, letting her senses take over. “Okay, what are you trying to tell me?”

She cuts through the ambient noise of the city without effort to zero in on whatever anomaly is present, ignoring yelling children and car horns and—there.

A tug in her lower gut, not dissimilar to the feeling when a rollercoaster is about to drop, as she’s honing in on an alley in Midtown.

She’s swinging her way there before she even makes the conscious decision to do so.

When she lands hard on the ground in an abandoned stretch of sidewalk, she can feel her heartbeat in her teeth, every single cell in her body screaming at her that something is going to happen.

She rounds a corner, makes it to the alley she felt her hackles raise for, and the awful feeling somehow intensifies.

This is the alley from last night. Her blood is still drying on the wall a couple yards down.

Immediately, she’s up on the balls of her feet. If those fuckers from last night are back, she’ll pull absolutely no punches this time. This was a trap, that’s why, that’s why the space behind her eyes feels like it’s imploding.

She runs farther into the alley, fists up and head low, but no one bursts out—she stands there in the wind-whistling silence, tensed for a fight that isn’t coming.

Her shoulders drop. She’s breathing hard under the mask, and a spill of light blooms in her left eye, signaling an impending migraine.

“What do you want?” she screams to no one, and of course no one answers. She whirls around, ready to just punch the wall behind her until her suit tears and her knuckles bleed, but what she sees painted there makes her stop dead in her tracks.

A too-clean, too-perfect graffiti painting of her mask.

COME FIND MOTHER is painted in large, stark, even letters under the enormous paint job, a signature, a command.

Oh, fuck.

The dizziness that comes with all her migraines hits her in a terrible wave, and she has to sit down, staring up at the likeness of her face on the wall as it stares right back, the red slash painted over the left eye of the mask just like it is in real life.

Mother, she thinks through the oncoming fog, racks her brain and comes up with nothing. No one she knows of would use that as their moniker—it’s too old-fashioned, too traditionally powerful.

This development is newly unnerving. The city’s underground power structure is against the Spider, obviously, but none of them have actively singled her out yet besides this new player.

Mother isn’t like the rest of that structure, anyway; Mother is an unknown. Anetra doesn’t know what she’s capable of. And that makes her a hell of a lot more dangerous than the slimy mob bosses she’s used to fucking with, and this callout becomes a lot more fucking substantial.

Anetra stands up, her left eye beginning to black out with the migraine, and she stumbles a little bit. Home. She has to get home.

Unable to brave the subway in this state, and even more unable to walk the many, many blocks home, Anetra hobbles her way to the nearest northbound L tracks, casts a web to swing herself onto the top of the oncoming train and just hunkers down once she’s landed.

The wind is cool through her mask, soothing against the rising temperature of her skin, but it does nothing to calm her thoughts.

She feels stupid and small.

When she was a kid, and she wished for superpowers in the same way that every kid does, it was a fantasy about finally, finally having some control over her little life. No one can tell you what to do if you can punch through walls or fly at the speed of light.

The thing that her child brain couldn’t comprehend, though, is that your problems grow at a speed that outpaces your ability. If you could fly at the speed of light, then some time-space continuum thing would probably crop up that you wouldn’t be able to fix even with that speed. If you could punch through walls, then maybe you wouldn’t be able to punch through walls fast enough to save anyone.

And if you can swing around on webs and have a sense for danger, maybe someone will hunt you down for it, and you’ll have no idea how to stop them or who they even are.

Her migraine begins in earnest right as she stumbles through the front door, managing to lock it behind her as she walks through the house, closing all the curtains before the pain gets unmanageable.

“Suit,” she mumbles to herself. “Suit’s gotta come off.”

She flings it over her chair in the corner, then chucks a blanket over it as an afterthought to keep it hidden. Even that small action makes her head pulse. She grabs Marcia’s pajama shirt she threw on the bed this morning and tugs it back on before falling over top of the pillows, unable to even cross the room to close her own blinds.

She doesn’t sleep—she never can when she has a migraine. She just lays there until it passes. Usually, she feels the warning signs and prepares, grabs a cold rag and fills her waterbottle, but now she’s in the thick of it and all she can do is brace her body and wait for it to end.

Her door creaks open quietly after about an hour, and the small sound may as well be an ice pick above her left eye. She makes a small, pathetic, embarrassing little noise at the sensation.

Once the sharp ache dips back into a dull thud of pain, there’s soft footsteps over to the side of the bed, then the heavenly sensation of a cold towel being pressed to her neck—Marcia, Anetra thinks, and feels her whole body relax, just a little bit.

“You’re okay, baby,” Marcia murmurs, barely a whisper, the noise not aggravating the thrumming pain under Anetra’s skull. “I’m gonna close these curtains, make it darker in here.”

The word ‘baby’ sticks with Anetra for longer than it should.

Marcia closes all the blinds as quietly as she can, Anetra sighing at the slight relief it gives her, and then she comes back over to the side of the bed with Anetra’s waterbottle in her hand.

“You should drink water,” Marcia commands in her soft voice, and Anetra just sits up slowly, trying not to whimper at the pain the movement causes, and lets Marcia tip the bottle for her to drink from.

“‘M sorry,” she manages once she’s had a few sips.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Marcia murmurs automatically, then chews on her cheek for a second, just watching her. “Just… why didn’t you tell me you were having a migraine?” she murmurs, her expression unreadable in the dark room. “I would’ve walked you home.”

Anetra doesn’t have the brainpower to lie, so she slouches back down among the pillows, curling up on her side.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” she mumbles into the fabric of the sheets.

Marcia’s confusion is palpable. “No one was gonna hurt me at the studio if I walked you home, ‘Netra. I—camp is stressful, but it isn’t—you should’ve told me,” she says, then flinches when she realizes she spoke too loudly near the end.

“Yeah,” Anetra whispers. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Tell me next time,” Marcia says, her voice near-silent. “You shouldn’t have to—you have people who will take care of you.”

Anetra says nothing, her words all spent, so Marcia’s footsteps quietly retreat towards the door. The door handle turns softly, and without being fully aware she’s speaking Anetra hears her own voice—

“Stay?”

There’s nothing but the sound of two people breathing for a moment. Then, Marcia’s footsteps start again, this time coming closer to the bed, and Anetra feels the mattress dip as Marcia lays down, her body warm at.

“Is this o—” she hears Marcia begin, softly whispered then broken off into quiet, and instead of saying anything Anetra laces her fingers with Marcia’s and holds their hands together over her stomach.

Gently, Marcia’s thumb rubs over the fabric of Anetra’s pajama shirt, an unconscious, comforting movement.

“You’re okay, baby,” Marcia murmurs again. “It’s all right.”

It’s a running joke between them that Marcia is always right, about everything, for all time.

Everything is not okay, not in the grand scheme of things, but in this present moment, the world shrunk down to just two people, Marcia’s right.

Anetra’s okay. It’s all right.