#Making him more than a bit sore and winded- in other words- vulnerable to people who do not pull their punches

[morimess]

I finally figured out what I want to do with the imposter wind waker for TBABS.

[noobsquasher]

How would you feel about a part 2 to "The Suit Stays on" where she figures out its Peter she's been hooking up with?

The Suit Stay's On

Part Two

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected sex, praising, swearing, fluff, angst, etc

Summary: After the rough sex Spiderman put you through, you are determined to figure out who the man behind the mask is.

Notes: Peter Parker x Female Reader

All characters in this story are 18+

After so many requests, I've finally finished writing this fucking story! It's a literal whirl-wind, but I'm so happy for you guys to finally read it. Thank you all for the love and support, and I hope you enjoy reading part two. :)

Read part one, here.

------

The aftermath of the mind-blowing sex in which you and Spiderman had, left you in unimaginable pain.

Your organs felt as though they were about to burst within you, your legs were incapable of walking, and your body was shaking uncontrollably.

Although he left you in a state of vulnerability, you couldn't help but allow yourself to fall even more in love with the masked superhero.

He lived up to your expectations, maybe even gave you more than what you expected from him.

Peter, on the other hand, was very much impressed by how you were able to take all of him, multiple times in one night.

But another part of Peter, the part that wasn't conflicted by the character he portrayed when becoming Spiderman, couldn't help but feel a bit remorseful about the pain that he left the body that he so greatly admired in.

He was a little concerned with how quick you were to fall asleep, how limp your body looked. But he could still sense your heartbeat and was relieved to discover that it was stable.

He left you a bottle of water and some ibuprofen at your bedside, along with a note that read

"Had fun princess. Rest up and take care of yourself. Hope to see you soon again."

-

Eyes fluttering as the early morning sunlight beamed on your face, golden rays covered your room as it chased away shadows lingering around.

Sitting up, you wince as you feel the tense pain in your lower body. Legs can barely move as you try to stretch, groans escaping your mouth.

Your sore muscles just reminded you of what happened last night. It was one of the things Spiderman left for you so he could be a constant reminder that lived in your brain.

The other was what he left on your bedside table.

Your heart fluttered to see what he had left you. A smile stained your lips when you saw the note he left as well.

Eyes scanning the note as you read it. Oddly, the writing looked familiar.

The way he wrote the ‘P’ made your stomach churn.

Where have I seen this handwriting before?

You tried to piece it together, remembering all the places you saw people write in front of you, trying to figure out who wrote like this.

“Fuck… WHO WROTE THIS?!” You scream, frustration washing over you.

After a while, you gave up. You kept the note, wanting to analyze it later. You took three ibuprofens and drank all your water, soon falling back to sleep.

-

Tuesday

Managing to lie to Tony Stark was easier than expected. Just a quick phone call and you were able to get two days off from work.

Although you had to go back tomorrow, you’ve spent the last few days taking warm baths, popping ibuprofen, and analyzing the note Spiderman left.

You’ve come up with plenty of theories to make your case, but none have made any sense.

The only thing was how familiar he seemed.

His kindness, generosity, and appreciation all held a special place in your heart. It was a place in which you cherished, a place where you were able to fixate on the idea of who the man behind the mask was.

Whoever he was, you were determined to find out.

-

Eating dinner while sitting in bed and watching your favorite television show was something that you happily enjoyed.

Well, partly enjoyed it. The bed was now leaning sideways thanks to how hard Spiderman fucked you.

As you were taking a bite out of your food, you heard knocks coming from your balcony door.

Heart pounding as you flipped around, wondering what made that loud sound.

You nearly dropped your plate when you saw spiderman himself, standing outside, waving at you.

Plate clattering on your nightstand as you immediately got out from bed, wobbling over to open the glass door.

“Spidy? What- what are you doing here?”

“Came to check up on my secret admirer. Although, I don’t think it’s a secret anymore since I’m sure everyone in the building heard how loud I made you scream on Saturday.”

Your eyes widened before you let out a laugh, admiring his cocky-ness.

“Yeah… I’m sure we traumatized some of them.”

He chuckled, leaning against the doorframe.

“How are you, princess? I hope I didn’t immobilize you for the first couple of days.”

“Oh, you did. I’m eating ibuprofens like candy right now.”

“Sorry… sometimes my super strength has its downsides.”

“It’s alright. It’s not like I didn’t enjoy it… we both know that.” You spoke with a smile at the end.

“Well, I’m glad to see you still alive. I thought I nearly killed you last time. I had to check your pulse to make sure you were still breathing.”

“Awe, how thoughtful…” you teased, “So, even though the city of New York needs their savior, Spiderman, you still came by to see me? Am I that special to you?”

He chuckled.

“Don’t get it twisted. I was just in the area.” He replied, shooting down your question.

“Oh…” you spoke softly, heart feeling as if someone popped it.

He noticed your demeanor change, quickly feeling guilty.

“I- I’m just playing. Of course, you're special to me princess. I wouldn’t be here right now if you weren’t.” He professed, moving his hand to your waist, squeezing it lovingly.

You gazed up at him, eyes twinkling.

“You’ve been on my mind for a while now… you practically live there.”

You chuckled.

“That makes two of us.”

He smiled under his mask, pulling you closer to him.

“How do you manage to get prettier every time I see you? I can’t help but drool each time you're near me.” He purred, finger caressing your chin.

“Oh, stop it…”

“It’s true! Today, I was apprehending these stupid college kids for grand theft auto, and I nearly forgot how to do my job because you were all up in my head. Even when I’m fighting crime, all I can think about is you…”

Blush flooded your cheeks as he spoke, heart melting when his thumb brushed against your jawline.

The familiar wetness between your thighs came back, making you squeeze them together.

“Do you tell all your girls this?”

He chuckled.

“You're the only girl I get to tell this to.”

You smiled, giggling like a child as you filled with immense joy.

Your smile was contagious, and Peter couldn’t help but catch it. He held you tighter, hand rubbing the small of your back.

Infatuation filled his veins as he watched you smile and laugh at his words.

Gosh, I am so in love with her.

“Hm… so you caught some college kids trying to steal a car today?” You asked, interested in his dangerous lifestyle.

“Yeah, they tried to steal a Mercedes down on fourth and seventh. I mean, a Mercedes? In the middle of rush hour? Stupid if you ask me.”

“I mean college is pretty expensive when you're not born with a silver spoon in your mouth. God knows how much debt I’m still in from college.” You replied.

“Tell me about it. I had to drop out of college. I couldn’t handle being a student and spiderman at the same time. I did it all through high school and I wasn’t really up for doing it again for another couple of years.”

“That’s understandable… you know, your someone with many responsibilities. Your life would be too stressful if you had to take on college, all that work, the annoying professors, and all that. Sometimes, you gotta focus on your priorities.” You explained.

He gazed at you.

“Thank you for understanding. And of course, I need to focus on my priorities… like you for example.” he admired.

You playfully rolled your eyes, lips perking up into another giddy smile.

“Your priorities are watching over all the citizens in the city. Not me.”

“You live in the city which automatically means I need to watch over you, which technically means your my priority, princess.”

You gazed at him, lashes batting as you basked in his presence, a sense of familiarity suddenly biting at you.

“Hm… you seem familiar, you know that? As if I’ve known you for quite some time. I dunno, you have some sort of spark to you.” You brought up as you touched his vibranium suit, finger sliding down his chest.

Peter’s body went cold, stomach feeling as if it dropped.

Suddenly, he started laughing nervously.

“What? What do you mean?” He asked frantically.

“I feel like I know you. You just have a personality that I just can’t ever forget.”

“Nah, I’m just a regular guy from Queens! What are you talking about?”

“Well, Spidy, I’d remember some regular guy from Queens…”

Peter stared at you, terrified at what just came out of your mouth.

He cleared his throat,

“Well Princess, I’m sorry to end this so soon, but I gotta go. There’s a robbery down in The Bronx that I gotta take care of. But I’ll see you soon, alright?”

You sighed.

“Yeah… go save the world for me.” You spoke with a wink at the end.

He smiled.

“Anything for you, princess. Stay safe.”

And off he went, jumping off your balcony with grace as he shot a web out, swinging away.

-

Wednesday

You were finally back at work.

You spent the entire day checking off itineraries, making appointments, running errands, and doing Odin know's what for Tony as usual.

Exhausted already, you sat down in the communal kitchen, putting your head down on the table as you took in what little time you had to rest your still sore legs.

“Hey Y/N…” you heard someone say.

You lifted your head to see a face who you surprisingly missed.

“…Hey Pete.”

“You alright? You’ve been gone for two days.”

“I’m okay. Alcohol poisoning. Tequila and I don’t mix well.” You lied.

He chuckled, his chocolate eyes admiring you before he sat down.

“Alcohol poisoning… is that right?”

“Yeah… they gave me that um… that charcoal drink so my organs could get a cleanse.”

“Mhm… well I hope you're okay now.” He spoke contently.

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

“So, did your plan with Spiderman work?” Peter asked, not making eye contact with you.

You debated on whether you should tell him.

Sure, Peter was your work friend. He annoyed you sometimes, but you still stuck around him. He had some sort of spark to him which intrigued you.

But, should you tell him about your rendezvous night with Spiderman, himself?

You took a deep breath.

“Peter… promise me you won’t say a fucking word if I tell you this, okay?”

He gazed at you, eyes widening.

“I promise. I keep secrets, you know that.”

“You have a big mouth. We gossip all the time, but you cannot tell anyone this, alright? Pinky promise me.” You spoke, holding out your pinky across the table.

He glanced at your pinky before holding his up, intertwining his with yours.

“Pinky promise.” He spoke.

You stared into his eyes.

“I had sex with spiderman.” You confessed.

He gazed at you, demeanor unaltered.

You wondered why he wasn’t surprised, lashes batting at him.

“How was it?” That was what he said after.

“It was… it was good. He um… he has a fat cock.” You spoke with a laugh at the end.

A chuckle left his lips.

“What else?”

“We had sex three times! I- Peter… his cock tore me up! I didn’t get alcohol poisoning, I had to stay home because he fucking broke my entire body!” A smirk stained Peter’s face, “And it was literally the best sex ever. Yeah, he broke my bed- which I’m gonna make him pay for, but I honestly wouldn’t ask for anything else. I told him to fuck me, and he lived up to his word.” You explained, the filthy scenes from Saturday replaying in the back of your mind.

He smiled, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed.

“Wow… you really did it. I didn’t think you could get him to end up in bed with you, to be honest. But, with a pretty face like yours, it shouldn’t be hard.” He flirted.

Your brows furrowed. Never has Peter talked to you like this, flirting, being cocky. It made you feel a certain way, your sticky arousal staining your panties.

Who is this and what did he do with Peter?!

But, If we’re being honest here… you liked what he said. You even wanted to hear more of it.

Your eyes stared at him, not knowing what to say. You were too far into your head to say anything.

He stared back, waiting for a response.

“Um… okay…” was all you could think of. The space started to feel uncomfortable. The two of you sat at the table looking like stick figures.

“I- I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to um… make you feel uncomfortable.” Peter apologized, losing all confidence.

“It’s okay. You- you have a pretty face too.” You replied, trying to make him feel better.

He gave you a small smile, eyes twinkling.

Shit, If only I had the mask on…

Lunch resumed, the awkwardness remaining a bit.

Suddenly, your mind wandered to the conversation you and Spiderman had when you first met at the party.

“Hey… Spiderman told me that someone had told him that I was his crush. I was just wondering if it was you?” You asked.

Peter's eyes widened.

“Uh… no. I didn’t. It w-would be weird to like tell a superhero that, especially since I work with him and all.”

You studied him.

“Hm… maybe it was Nat then.”

“Maybe…”

-

Friday

Waking up today without any pain between your legs and the absence of Tony felt like pure bliss.

Your boss had to go do some unexpected traveling so you were left with the whole weekend to yourself.

But, after a couple of hours, boredom seemed to overcome you.

You thought about what to do. You could go for a swim in the pool, go out to eat with some friends, call your parents… but all that seemed uninteresting.

Suddenly, a person popped up in your head.

Peter.

You wondered what the nerd would be doing right about now.

Grabbing your phone, you dialed his number.

“Hello?” He spoke.

“Hi. I’m bored, you doing anything?”

“I’m uh- I’m at the lab.”

“You at the tower?” You asked.

“Yeah, working on some things for my- for the… for the person, I am working for…”

“Um okay… who are you working for?”

“Spiderman.” He replied.

Your eyes widened.

“I’m coming down.”

You wondered if you would see Spidy again, hoping if he was with Peter in the lab. Sadly once you got there, you just found your favorite dork.

“Hey, Pete! Anything I can help you with?”

He was working on some sort of device, looked like it projected something out of it.

“Hey Y/N. Could you pass me those tweezers?”

“Sure.”

You handed him the item, curious as to what he was doing, working fastidiously.

“What is that?” You asked.

“Well, it’s a web shooter. Spiderman asked me to help fix them because the webs- look-see here…” he pointed to the core of the machine, you leaned forward, “the wires here are fried, I need to replace them so the accuracy and precision of how the webs shoot out are correct again. They were shooting out all weird and it wasn’t helping Spiderman do his job.”

Peter was getting sick of talking in the third person.

Meanwhile, you were practically drenching your panties as you listened to Peter talk about things you knew nothing about.

You wondered about Peter and Spiderman’s relationship, questioning if they got along or if they were just colleagues.

“You like Spidy?”

Peter blushed at the nickname, a small grin pricking his lips as his eyes tried focusing on his work.

“He’s alright. Cool guy.”

“That’s all?”

“He’s really nice. Smart.”

You wondered why he wasn’t being more detailed.

Something within you decided pry with Peter, figure him out.

“Hm… you got a girlfriend? Boyfriend?” You asked, grabbing a seat in one of those spinny chairs and rolling up to him.

He chuckled at you, watching as you spun around like a child.

“Uhh- no. I don’t. I’ve been single for a while now.”

“Why?”

He took a deep breath.

“I don’t have time.”

“Time? You have all the time in the world Parker, the thing is, how your gonna use it.”

He glanced at you, honey-brown eyes twinkling.

He took in your words, wondering about his own concept of time.

“What about you? You got a boyfriend? Girlfriend?” He asked, still continuing to toy with the web shooter.

“No. I’m still single.”

He grinned.

You tilted your head, mind wondering what compelled a grin from Peter.

“What? Why are you smiling?”

“It’s amusing how someone like you is still single.” He spoke, eyes now marked to yours.

Your brows furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m just wondering how nobody has yet to swoop you up yet…”

You chuckled, wondering the same.

“I’m wondering why you are still single Peter. I mean, your smart and kind and not ugly so…”

His eyes narrowed.

“Oh wow, thanks.”

“No- I mean your good-looking Peter. I hope you know that.”

“Me? I’m just a regular guy from Queens.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up from the chair.

“You got potential Pete. Don’t forget it.” You spoke with a grin.

He gazed at you, eyes softening.

Before his mind could wander in your eyes, he returned to work.

You took a glance at him before you started walking around his work area, taking interest in what he had displayed.

Random tools, his computer, notes, and more filled his desk, everything disorganized.

“Pete, do you ever clean up your desk?” You asked, immediately starting to put things back together.

“Uh… when I’m done with my work. And I’m never done so, no.”

You had nothing else to do so what better than to clean up his mess. You grabbed loose pencils and pens and placed them back into the holder, grabbed all his books and put them into his little bookshelf, threw wrappings and crumpled paper into the trash, and organized all his notes.

You found some sort of satisfaction cleaning up, making everything neat again.

As you were placing his notes into his designated binder, you were caught off guard when you took a glimpse at his handwriting.

Peter Parker

Eyes narrowed, trailing down the crisp handwriting.

Suddenly, it was as if the whole world stopped moving, neck hairs standing on end as all the puzzles on the puzzle piece solved themselves.

“I’m just a regular guy from Queens.”

“Word got around that you like me. Said you wanted me inside you…”

“You weren’t nervous when you said that you’d be on your knees for me in a heartbeat…”

“Yeah, working on some things for my- for the… for the person, I am working for…”

“Well, Spidy, I’d remember some regular guy from Queens…”

Holy. Shit.

Of course, you would remember some regular guy from Queens.

That’s why he’s so familiar, why he didn’t react when you told him you slept with Spiderman, how he already knew you liked him, why his P’s look the same…

You were almost certain that your heart had dropped, realization immediately punching you in the face.

You dropped the binder onto the desk, hands shaking, breathing staggered.

Peter instantly felt the shift of the room, eyes targeted on your anxious state.

“Y/N? Are you okay? What happened?” He stopped working and he came up to you, wondering why your heart rate skyrocketed.

You gazed at him, eyes filled with disbelief.

“Hey… what’s wrong?” He placed his hand softly on your waist.

There it was again, his familiar touch.

You realized that this entire time, all those months wondering who had saved you, who your heart had fallen for, who you thought about every single waking minute of the day, was standing right in front of you all along.

“Y/N?”

“Your Spiderman.”

Peters face stood stone cold.

“What?”

“Your Spiderman. It’s you. Oh my gosh… it’s you.”

Peter felt his brain go numb.

“It’s you! You- your Spiderman…”

“No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are! You're the one who saved me!”

“What are you talking about?! I’m not Spiderman!”

You felt anger bite you. You grabbed his notes, shoving them in his face.

“Look at the way you write your P’s! It’s the same way you wrote princess when you left me that note after we fucked! You, Peter Parker, are Spiderman!”

His mouth was left wide open, eyes filled with complete shock.

He wondered if you would still love him after realizing his true self.

“Why didn’t… why didn’t you tell me? You… you had sex with me!”

“You are in love with Spiderman! You are not in love with me! You could never! Who would ever love Peter Parker? Some annoying, weird, anxiety-filled, nerd who only gains confidence when hiding behind a mask! Nobody, nobody could ever love someone like me. Everyone loves the man wearing the mask. The hero. New York’s savior. I couldn’t- I couldn’t tell you… I couldn’t disappoint you like that. Not- not after the night we had. Not after falling in love with, you…”

His eyes were pricked with tears.

She’ll never love me. Never.

You stood staring at him in complete shock, your mouth feeling empty.

He glared at you, salty tears trailing down his face.

“See? You're not even saying anything! You're disappointed. You- you expected someone else! Someone who-“ His degrading was paused by an earth-shattering kiss to his lips.

You both thought fireworks had exploded behind you, the instant spark of your lips touching felt like pure ecstasy. It was as if your lips were crafted for one another, tongues dancing as they moved in sync.

Peter’s heart has never heated this fast in his entire life.

His tears immediately faded as he kissed you, feeling like the only people in the world as you two finally got to experience your first kiss.

Your fingers ran through his soft brown curls, lips making sweet love.

He nearly wined when you parted away.

You took a moment to embrace his presence, feeling an intense devotion rush throughout your veins.

“Never say that nobody could ever love you, Peter. Never. Because I do. I love you so fucking much. I’ve always loved you. Since the first day, I met you. Not Spiderman, you. Since I met the fake intern, I’ve been in love. Your everything I’ve been expecting.”

A heart-throbbing smile-stained Peter's face, cheeks blushing as his doe eyes took in your love and affection.

“I love you too.” He whispered before he caught another kiss on your soft lips.

-

A couple more kisses and a very interesting conversation later, and you and Peter were back in your bedroom.

“You gotta fix my bed…” you spoke as you laid across, Peter placing his saccharine kisses across your bare chest.

“Later, princess. For now, we’ll just break the other side to make it even out…” His tongue wrapped around your hard bud, getting a needy groan from you.

Leaving love marks and kisses as his lips trailed down your body, making way to your candid core.

A devilish grin erupted on Peter's face once he saw the wet patch on your panties, mouth-watering as he inhaled your scent.

“Fuck… I did this to you?” Fingers hooking onto the thin straps, pealing them off with a groan once he caught sight of your slick folds.

“Damn right, Spidy.” Lips perking with a grin.

He chuckled, thumb circling your little bundle of nerves.

“I didn’t get to taste you last time,” tongue sliding down your leaking cunt, getting a taste of your nectar, “…mm, so fucking sweet.”

His licentious words felt like pure pleasure to your ears as each syllable vibrated against your skin.

You felt his tongue lapping in your juice, tastebuds savoring your rich ambrosia as he sucked and slurped your velvety folds.

Never has Peter tasted anything so luscious, so pure.

Your euphonious moans made his tongue dive deeper, lips circling your throbbing clit.

He needed to make you cum, needed to hear those pretty little whines from you as you drip onto his tastebuds.

“Pet- Peter- I- fuck…”

Your hands intertwined with his curls, gripping harshly each second, his tongue fucked you.

You were panting as Peter kept on devouring you, the jolts of the mattress near your feet soon informing you that he was humping it to relieve his strained cock.

You wondered when he was going to come back up for air, wanting a kiss on your needy lips.

Your soul nearly left your body as Peter's fingers dipped inside you, immediately caressing your heavenly core.

In under a second, your bedroom filled with cries, whimpers, mumbles, and Peter knew that soon you would crash.

Your veins filled with ecstasy, the string within you about to snap as all your nerve endings convulsed at once.

Your orgasm hit you before you could warn Peter, eyes rolling back as your body trembled, thighs locking in Peter as he kept working his magic on your swollen folds.

He missed how your moans sounded so exquisite and pornographic at the same time, missed the way you came so easily for him, how your pussy obeyed his every order.

At that moment, Peter knew that he was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you.

Meanwhile, Peter was admiring you, stars were dancing around you. It was as if time stopped, how marvelous your orgasm was.

Lost in your high, you didn’t even notice the tip of Peter's cock grazing your delicate folds.

You came back to earth when his lips caught a kiss to yours, a groan escaping from you when you tasted your own arousal on his tongue.

“You alright?” He asked, with a smile.

You nodded, sniffling as the tears from your last orgasm stained your face.

“You sure?” He wiped away the remains of the salty teardrops.

“Y-yeah. That was really… really good.”

“I could tell,” his lips placed tiny kisses on your neck, “…you nearly ripped my hair out when you came.” Soft words slipping into your ears.

“S-sorry.”

He chuckled before another sweet kiss was placed on your lips.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you look when you cum?” thumb caressing your jawline, “How precious your cries are? Do you?”

Your lashes batted at him, doe eyes filling with affection.

“If not, I’ll make sure you know…”

A gasp slipped from both your lips as Peter’s thick length slowly inserted inside you, pussy contently wrapping around his angry cock without effort.

He took a minute for your folds to mold around him before thrusting, moving steadily.

You missed how he filled you up, how you could feel him in every single cell in your body, how his cock was practically made for you.

Peter decided to take his time, remembering how you told him that he had all the time in the world. He was going to savor this point, take in every single piece of you, spare the way you felt.

Save the moment he fell in love with you again.

He thrust into you with much care, cherishing the build-up.

Your head jerked back, eyes closed as his tip grazed your cervix. He was so huge that even slow fucks led to his cock kissing every crevice inside you.

“Keep your eyes open, look at me, baby.” Hips moving with rhythm.

You forced yourself to look up at him, although the view was something you could stare at for eternity, the bliss of his sweet love prevented you from locking eyes with his chocolate orbs.

“Shit, Peter… oh gosh…” you mumbled.

“Feel so good princess, gosh I missed you.” He dived back in for another tender kiss.

“W-why are you being so gentle with me? I like it w-when you’re rough.”

Even though his steady thrusts left you stuttering, you missed how rough he was, how he used your body as a toy last time.

“I wanna take my time… take you in,” kisses stained your shoulders, “don't rush me, baby, I gotta take my time with you just like how you said.”

His cock shut you up once he started pounding your tight cunt again, he still went at his pace, but his hand trailed down to your already obliterated, sensitive bud, light circles sending you into a spiral.

You lifted your hips to him, serving the hint that you wanted him to speed up the pace. It was the sweetest torture, feeling him so deep, so huge, every thrust electrifying your aching body.

“My good girl… doing such a good job, milking my cock…”

Like clockwork, you felt all your muscles tighten, the feeling of the dam within you about to burst.

“You gonna cum for me, princess? Gonna let me feel you?”

Your walls clenched around his thick cock, “YES! PETER, YES!”

The coil inside you twisted, every single one of your nerve endings exploding with bone-shattering force.

Peter’s name played like a mantra on your lips, chanting like a prayer as white flashed behind your eyes. Hands gripped forcefully onto his shoulders, leaving crescent shapes on his soft skin.

It was the most earth-shattering orgasm you’ve felt in a while. He was right, taking his time with you just made everything feel a hundred times better.

Peter soon came after, your walls milking his cock as he filled you up, hot seed painting your insides like a canvas.

His eyes rolled back, movements slopped as he gave you his all.

He slowed to a halt only when your body went limp beneath him, heavy breathing circling you both.

You were covered in sweat, hair messy, tears staining your face, and yet… Peter thought you still looked like an angel.

“I fucking love you Y/N.” His lips smashed onto yours, teeth clashing, tongues dancing.

You couldn’t deny how madly you were in love with Peter.

He saved your life, you owe him the world. Your love. Anything. He deserved everything. And you were going to give it to him, no matter what.

Suddenly, a gasp tore the loving moment when you found someone standing in the middle of your bedroom.

“Wow… you finally realized it was him? Took you long enough.” Natasha spoke, arms crossed as she had a slick smile across her face.

You and Peter’s faces were held with shock and embarrassment, wondering why or how the hell Natasha was in here.

“NATASHA?! GET THE HELL OUT!” You yelled, trying to cover you and Peter’s bare bodies.

“I made a bet with Tony to see if you two would fuck yet. He gave me until the end of the week. It’s Friday, so I win.”

Peter started laughing as you were mortified at the fact that your co-worker and boss made a bet against your love life.

“ROMANOFF, PLEASE LEAVE!” You screamed again.

This woman has some serious fucking issues.

She let out a giggle, walking towards the door.

“Oh, and can you two keep it down? The whole building can hear your cheeks being clapped and I’m trying to do mission reports.” Natasha teased before she closed the bedroom door.

You and Peter gazed at each other before letting out a loud laugh, goofy smiles staining each of your faces.

“I seriously hate her…” you joked.

“I wonder how much they bet against us.”

“With Natasha, she probably bet him his entire company. She’s gonna be the new CEO.”

Another round of laughs filled the room, the two of you giggling like children.

Your eyes twinkled at Peter’s heart-warming smile, blush flooding your cheeks.

“I love you too, Peter. With all my heart, I love you.” You professed, hand caressing his cheek.

His never-ending smile stood as his big brown eyes filled with infatuation.

“You wanna go for round two? Piss Nat off so she doesn’t finish her reports?”

“Gladly.”

———

Copyright © of noobsquasher 2024

[queen-of-the-vampires]

Don’t Mess With The Queen

Characters: Klaus Mikaelson x Hybrid!Reader

Word count: ~1.7k

Warnings: none

Request by anonymous: Could u do a imagine where the reader is friends with the mystic falls gang and is a werewolf and finds out that she and klaus r mates?

Summary: People who you want to call your friends are planning on killing the love of your life. It’s your job to show them who’s really the boss.

Author’s Note: This is a female!reader. I did change this request a tad, but I hope you like it! I haven’t written for TVD in a while now, so please bear with me on this. After asking a few people, I have decided to end this on a fluffy note. I did write an angsty alternate ending, but I don’t know if the anon who requested wanted that or not.

No one knows why you’re really here. They all think you’re their friend, so they feel comfortable disclosing their plan right in front of you. You want to be friends with them because they seem like genuinely nice people, but they are so fueled by rage and revenge that they’ll do anything to get it… even plotting against your mate, your sire, the love of your life.

Stefan and Damon have spent their entire life fighting each other and putting their noses in places where it doesn’t belong. Elena and Caroline have always been the people who want to fix others, to make them better even if there is nothing wrong with them. Bonnie is always stuck in the middle of everyone’s problems, putting herself and others in danger for no reason.

“So, what’s the plan here?” Elena asks, taking out the last bit of weapons she has stashed in the Boarding House.

“First thing we need to do is pick a location. When is Klaus most vulnerable?” Stefan asks.

“Yeah, the last time we did that, Elijah betrayed us. That moonrock or whatever was our only chance to get him at his weakest.”

“You were one of Klaus’ bitches. What do you think?” Damon asks and turns to you.

“What?” you ask, pulling back from your own thoughts.

“You spent over two years sired to him before Tyler saved you. You must know things that can help here,” Elena says.

What she says is true. You were sired to Klaus for two years, but not in the way they believe. You were sired to him in the beginning when you were first turned by Klaus’ mother. You were a werewolf that was in the same village as Klaus and his family. You two became fast friends, always leaning on each other whenever his abusive father and your abusive mother decided to make you two their toys.

Everything was going fine until one of your own decided to kill the youngest member of the Mikaelson family. There was a family friend of Esther, Tatia, that she used her blood in a spell that would make them the Original vampires. Klaus wanted you to have the same thing, so without his parents knowing, he gave you some of that wine. You were the first-ever turned hybrid that came from a spell.

You and Klaus have spent every moment together ever since. What the gang of Mystic Falls doesn’t know is just how old you are. They think you were just another hybrid that he made with Elena’s blood, stuck with him against your will. Tyler found your pack in the mountains and proceeded to unsire every single one of Klaus’ hybrids. When Tyler got to you, that’s when you started to catch onto what he was doing.

If Tyler wanted to desperately to save you, then you were going to act like you wanted to be saved. You came to Mystic Falls and befriended the vampires in the town. Now, they all think that you hate Klaus as much as they do when really, you’re just as in love with him as you were when you first met him.

“He really liked hiding out in the woods, though, they’re usually on werewolf territory, so good luck trying to get there. It’s probably why you can never find him. The werewolves will get to you before he does. He hears chatter in the wind and he moves to another pack site.”

“That’s smart,” Caroline comments.

“Yeah, so you’re not going to find him there.”

“Guys, we need to figure out something, or else more people are going to get hurt,” Elena says. Sometimes, you really want to kill her so you don’t have to hear her speak. “Klaus needs to die.”

Hearing them talk about killing the love of your life enrages you a little bit. You could take every single person in here without breaking a sweat, but you don’t turn to violence just yet. You take out your phone to let Klaus know exactly what they’re planning. You’d be a bad girlfriend if you let them attack without warning him.

They’re planning on killing you, my love.

It’s cute if they think they can.

They seem hell-bent on figuring it out.

I’m not afraid of them if that’s what you’re worried about. They can’t hurt me even with their best player.

I’m worried someone is going to get very hurt. What should I tell them?

Tell them where I am. Let them come. If it’s a war they want, I’m only happy to provide.

Are you sure?

I’m always sure, love.

You put your phone away and look at the small group, getting up to join the elite circle.

“I do know where Klaus lives.”

“That would have been nice to know a little earlier, don’t you think?” Damon sneers.

“Damon, don’t,” Stefan butts in. “Where is he?”

“New Orleans. That place is crawling with witches and vampires, but he and his family are stationed there.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because he took me there once. The witches will know once you arrive, but most of them are scared of Klaus anyway that they’ll help you blend in. Everyone from that town knows the Mikaelsons are royalty, but their castle doesn’t have a lot of guards protecting it. If you want to get to him, that’s where you want to do it.”

“How do you know all of this? This seems awfully suspicious for someone who isn’t sired to him anymore.”

“He still thinks I am. He’ll call me every day and ask for something. He figures if he has a hybrid in another state that I can do his dirty work for him elsewhere. You want to get Klaus? That’s how you’re going to do it.”

“She does have a point. Better to take this fight to his turf than ours. He’s more comfortable there,” Stefan points out.

Now that they know a location, it didn’t take long for them to come up with a plan of attack. Of course, you told everything to Klaus as soon as you were on the plane to get to New Orleans. He told you not to worry about a thing because he’ll plan a little something for their arrival.

No one messes with the King and his Queen.

When you land in New Orleans, the gang is eager to carry out their plan of attack. Just like you said, the town is crawling with witches who sense you the minute you landed. Every single witch knows you by heart, so they’re confused why you’re with them and not with Klaus. Your love must have only told them the basic information instead of what was really going on.

“Okay, where is this son of a bitch?” Damon asks.

“The French Quarter is where he likes to hang out. You’ll want to start there. Caroline and Elena will blend in more since they’ve never been here, but you two might stick out like a sore thumb. Just be prepared. If anything, I know these guys so let me do the talking.” You pause right in front of the group and turn to Bonnie. “And Bonnie? These guys know you’re a Bennett witch. Try not to do magic unless absolutely necessary. Klaus has a thing with witches.”

You lead the group into the French Quarter while keeping your head down to avoid conflict. The group follows your lead until you reach the middle of the place you call home.

“Stay here,” you say and leave the group on your own.

You approach the small bar within the Quarter, and lean over the counter a tad, looking at the bartender.

“Is Klaus here?”

“I’m right here,” you hear your lover’s voice. You and the Mystic Falls gang turn to see him standing in one of the many doorways that enter the French Quarter. “I hear you’re looking for me?”

“Where in the world did you hear that?” Damon asks, giving you a side glare. You step away from the group and speed over to Klaus, standing just a tad behind him. He smirks and doesn’t break eye contact with the older brother. “Traitor.”

“It isn’t a betrayal if I was never on your side to begin with,” you state.

“What are you doing? You’re not sired to him anymore,” Stefan tries to appeal to you.

“My sire bond wore off in the tenth century. I’m a lot older than you think I am. I really did want to be your friend, but you’re all so driven by rage and revenge that you can’t leave us alone until we’re fixed to the standards set by you. Next time you plan to kill someone, you should think twice about who you let into your home.”

“We should get going,” Elena whispers.

“Always the level-headed one, Elena. Too bad you can’t,” Klaus grins.

Stefan and Damon try to leave using their vampire speed, but they are blocked by the spell put there from the witches in this town. It’s like a big spell to trap the four vampires and the one witch inside. Caroline steps into the sun and immediately screams in pain, seeking the shade to calm her burning skin.

“My daylight ring isn’t working.”

“Yes, you’re all trapped here. For how long is still yet to be determined. Welcome to the French Quarter ladies and gentlemen,” Klaus chuckles.

“I can’t use my magic,” Bonnie panics.

“The next time you even think about going after Klaus, I won’t be so nice,” you say.

Klaus wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close, whispering something into your ear.

“Pardon us, we have other business to tend to.”

Klaus leads you away from the group, and only when you two are alone, does he turn you so that you’re facing him.

“You can relax, Klaus, no one is going to hurt you. Not as long as I am alive.”

“I can take care of myself, love,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, but isn’t it better when I do it?”

“Tenfold.”

“Always and forever, my love,” you whisper.

You lean in and press your lips to his, showing him just how much you love him.

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[scattered-winter]

so I've been thinking lately about musical instruments and how each one is so unique and personal.....and so of course my next thinking was "let's make this batfam"

(I know some of them Do already play something in canon but I'm disregarding all that and going off of Vibes)

Bruce

piano. he's a rich kid with rich parents who could probably afford lessons and a massive grand piano. after they died, he stopped playing for quite some time, because the memories were too painful, but he's slowly starting to pick it back up again. piano is an instrument that is, above all else, volatile. it can be soft and gentle, or longing and sad, or violent and angry; its a good reflection of Bruce as a person. he's so complicated, with a lot of complicated emotions and ideals, and it shows in the way he plays. he loves faster, driving, emotional pieces, the ones that let his fingers just fly across the keys and his thoughts just melt away until there's nothing but music. the manor is filled with the climbing notes and it doesn't feel quite so empty anymore

he sings, too. not very often, but at times when he's at his most vulnerable. your voice is a very personal instrument. it's literally you, in a way that other instruments just can't match. he sings very quietly, sometimes to help his kids sleep, or when he visits his parents' grave. his voice is higher than people expect; a pure, gentle tenor that rises above the gravestones like leaves on the wind

Alfred

flute. it's a gentle instrument with a high, clear sound. it looks easy, but it actually requires quite a bit of skill and finesse to create the correct sound. there's more to this instrument than meets the eye, much like Alfred himself. he doesn't play as much as he would like, but sometimes the soft, high notes can be heard from deep inside the manor. everyone knows not to disturb him

he also sings, while he's working in the kitchen, or humming while patching someone up after a hard patrol. he's surrounded by so much darkness and grief, but he still finds a way to sing through it. his voice is very clear and strong, a gentle baritone that cuts through the noise and chatter like a balm. sometimes his voice is the only thing that can calm them down after a particularly hard day

Dick

cello. like the piano, it's a volatile instrument, capable of producing a wide range of emotion. when it's played, it sounds like the instrument is crying. dick plays whenever he's feeling a lot of emotions. he hardly ever uses sheet music; instead, he puts the bow to the strings and just plays. he can play for hours, sometimes, until his fingers are blistered and sore, and his body seems to be frozen in that position. he feels lighter and freer, as if he's on the swings once more

piano. they had an old piano at Haly's Circus that would play their show tunes, and dick used to sit down and learn chords. he never learned much more than that, but sometimes he'll sit down at the manor's massive grand and play some of those chords he learned. they're all in major keys, sounding bright and cheerful like the circus music always had been, and he sometimes makes up songs with funny lyrics to go along as he plays. on the good days his siblings might join in with silly voices, throwing cuss words in every now and then just for fun. on the bad days they might gather around and just listen to the cheerful chords as they echo through the manor

Jason

drumset. it's a loud, large instrument that looks ridiculously easy to play, but is actually one of the hardest. it has so many pieces and parts that anyone who plays it has to know what they're doing. it's also the most important instrument in any band or group. it's the pulse, the heartbeat, the driving force, the lifeblood. Jason picked it up on the streets by watching street performers play on buckets. he even used it to bring in some income before he met Bruce. he plays whenever he feels his emotions boiling over, when he just needs to hit something and let it out. after he died he forgot how to play. it was one of the things he lost in that particular fire. but one night as he's patrolling the darkened streets he notices a pile of buckets stacked in an alley. he sets them up and plays for the first time in years, and suddenly he finds a piece of himself that he'd lost

he sings, too. when he's lonely, when he's sad, when he's happy, when he's bored. before his death his voice was soft and sweet; it hadn't changed yet so he still had the voice of a little boy, gentle and angelic. after his resurrection his voice was deeper, hoarser, rougher. he sung less after. but sometimes during slow patrols he'll softly sing under his breath, his voice drifting up to meet the moon in the middle. anyone who happens to be patrolling with him on nights like these hold their breath until he's finished. it's so very rare for him to sing

Tim

his parents shoved a trombone into his hands to keep him busy when he was younger. he hated the lessons but loved to play on his own. when he wasn't out stalking batman and robin he was in his room playing. he played until his lips were swollen and sore and he would fall asleep next to his trombone like a child with a teddy bear. it was his companion, his friend when he had none. he plays when he's upset, when he's too tired to sleep, when he's too anxious to do anything else. it's a gentle instrument with warm, gentle tones that always lift his spirits

keyboards. steph once made an offhand comment about how she thinks other percussionists are attractive, and tim took this to heart by immediately learning everything he could about xylophones, marimbas, and bells. it wasn't quite what stephanie had meant but she thought it was endearing anyway. he dislikes bells because of the piercing, too-bright sound; xylophones are acceptable. he likes the cheerful plinking sound. marimbas are his favorite; they're lower, the notes seeming to almost rumble through the air. he learned how to play with four mallets because he loves all the moving parts. he sometimes lets dick or bruce try their hand at it. it's funny watching them try and coordinate two mallets in each hand

Steph

drumset. where Jason's style is all turbulent emotion, anger and turmoil and noise, Steph plays with unrestrained joy. she can get a party moving in seconds, and she just has the time of her life up there. her hair is bouncing back and forth, her sticks are blurring between the drums, and her smile is the biggest it's ever been. it's energy, pure and raw, and joy, so much of it

she sings, too. meme songs at the top of her lungs, often accompanied by dick or tim or duke, as loudly and horribly as they can sing. and sometimes she sings to herself, too, on the nights when the silence is drowning her, when she can't sleep for fear of the darkness, but she can't move because then the darkness will find her anyway. she sings and sings and sings until her voice is raw and the darkness recedes before the dawn

Duke

violin. his father played it all his life, and he passed the skill down to Duke. he loves to play; sometimes, on the bad days when he can't sleep, can't think, can't feel, he plays and plays and plays and plays until his fingers are blistered and his shoulders are sore and his strings are hoarse. he plays for his parents sometimes. he knows they can't hear him, but he pretends they can anyway. he thinks they'd be proud of him. he hopes

he also plays the guitar. he isn't very good yet, but he likes to play anyway. he likes strumming the strings and letting the sound just ring and ring and ring until they fade into silence

Cass

harp. before she could speak, she could play. her fingers could tell stories and express her emotions long before her words could. even with all her training, with all the time she spends holding weapons or being a weapon, the largest and roughest calluses on her hands are at her fingertips from plucking at the strings of her hand-held harp. she rarely plays for someone else; it's so personal to her, this skill. it's something that was there for her when nothing else was, the one thing that reminded her that she was human

flute. Alfred began to teach her to play. she loves the way her fingers dance across the metal, so similar and yet so different from her harp. she loves dueting with him, their twin sounds rising and filling the manor. she loves how complicated that little instrument is, the way it's so small, so soft, yet so incredibly powerful in its smallness, its stillness

Damian

music was strictly forbidden beneath Ra's Al Ghul's leadership, but there were quiet nights when Talia would sing softly to him after a hard day of training, when damian lay curled in his bed wishing he could just disappear. she would sit beside him and hum quietly, so softly that Ra's wouldn't hear. the sound sunk deep into damian's bones. he didn't even realize he'd picked up the habit until one day, years later, when he was in the batcave idly waiting for Bruce to go on patrol. he hummed as he cleaned his blades, the same wistful melody his mother hummed to him a lifetime ago. he wished he knew the name of the song. he hums to calm himself down, to focus his mind and ease his anxieties. he rarely lets anyone else listen; this is all his own, something he keeps close to his chest like everything else

dick started teaching him cello. the instrument is massive, resting between damian's knobbly little knees, but he stubbornly refuses to quit. he loves the way the bow slides over the strings, effortless and smooth as the beating of a birds' wing, and the low, mournful sound that swoops and dives like flight. dick plays with him sometimes, the two cellos in mournful harmony. dick always ad libs his parts, weaving in and around the written music. damian pretends to hate it but he enjoys the freer, more expressive style that highlights and compliments his own

this accidentally turned into a mini fic oops-

[spookysmujer]

All the Stars, O. Diaz

Summary: After having a stressful week dealing with the Santos, you try to make Oscar feel relaxed enough to get him to open up.

word count: 1.3K

warnings: cute s h e t, fluff, vulnerability

a/n: Hello babes, I am putting in some weRk over these next few days! Also who has been super excited after hearing it’s official: ON MY BLOCK SEASON 4 IS HAPPENING. Our papichulo returns! Don’t worry, angst coming up next, some smut and the whole spiel, hehe. As always please: follow the blog, heart/comment/reblog my work and turn on notifications for when I post new content! 

requested by @justatiredfool

(gif belongs to unknown 🥺)

You were told you were silly to move in with Oscar during senior year of high school. That you had to be knocked up. Even though your parents gave you the OK, they always made it their mission to remind you that there are more important things in life than having a boyfriend. But no one understood just how deeply you connected with him. And to those who claimed it wouldn’t last, here you are 5 years later.

And with living at the Santo trap house came with its occasional inconveniences. Such as Oscar having the stress of ‘work’ follow him home all the time. And mostly, there was no problem in solving them. He did his best to separate business and pleasure. But there were days where he couldn’t and it would take a toll on your relationship. Days like today, so you want to help him relax and relinquish any stress.

When he gets home, he stops in the kitchen to press a kiss to the top of your head. He goes to the bedroom and strips down to his white tank and basketball shorts. You take the liberty to get him a beer, he thanks you with a touch when you hand it to him, “Long day?”

He hums in response as you run your hand over his head, he loves the feeling of you touching him. Touch for him is his love language rather than speaking. Which no doubt was hard for you in the beginning considering that for you, you were heavy in verbal communication. You need lots of reassurance and it was a big adjustment to learn that he likes to reassure you in a different way. 

After mindlessly thinking, you reach over and take the remote to turn off the tv. He scrunches his eyebrows together and looks at you, “Com’n, let’s go.”

“Go where? I just got home, com’n.” You gather your purse and go stand by the doorway, looking back at Oscar who is still laying back on the bed. He looks at you, trying to tell you I ain’t going nowhere with his eyes. But your eyes tend to be more deadly than his. He groans before getting up and grabbing his wallet, “You don’t need it, let’s go tortuga.” 

He pinches your behind as he approaches you, you squeal a little as you get away. Though he didn’t want to, Oscar knows there are days where you don’t see him much except for when he climbs into bed next to you. So instead of complaining, he just follows in pursuit. 

You snatch the keys from his hand and jump into the driver’s seat. He won’t admit it but he loves to see you drive his car, it wasn’t always that way but to see you leant back, wind in your hair and head bopping to music, it’s a sight for sore eyes. Oscar keeps quiet as co-pilot and lets you take him to wherever you have planned.

Oscar doesn’t think anything when you pull up at a taco truck, you tell him to wait in the car that you phone ordered food for the two of you. When you get back to the car, he half expects for the two of you to eat in the car. However, you place the bag of food in the back seat and take off again. You drive for a bit more, taking a turn pass the sign that says “Hollywood Sign Ahead”. Most tourists have a designated area to part and hike near it. You know a way to drive up to it. Call it your rebel memory of high school. “Where are you taking me, hm?”

You look over at Oscar and smile, continuing the drive in silence. Oscar quirks his eyebrows when pulled up near a cliffside. He looks to you then tries to look over the ledge, “Com’n.” And when you walk over to his side to pull him closer to the edge, he feels a certain weight leave his shoulders. The sight is literally breathtaking. Los Angeles in a whole view makes everything that has been happening seem so miniscule. He lefts out a breath, closing his eyes for a moment. 

“That’s why I brought you here. That release of breath you just let out that you have been holding in for God knows how long. Up here it’s different from the beach, down there you can release it but still gotta be cautious. Here, there is literally no one to see you be… you.” He keeps looking at the bustling city below. A small smile forms on his lips before looking at you. His hand cups your cheek, thumb gently gliding across the warm skin. You melt into his touch and smile.

So you both get comfy of the hood of his car and get to grubbing on the tacos. It’s nothing but silence as you eat first. You want Oscar to feel comfortable in this safe space. You have learned that the best way some people release all the pent up frustration is in silence while in the presence of others. It seemed out to you when you learnt this but sometimes it’s just another's presence that can be a tremendous help.

He finishes first and you offer your other taco, he denies it and chugs the rest of his drink. “Cuchillos put me second in command. Lots of new territories to cover. More business to handle and it’s been a fucking rough trip so far. Turning against long time allies. Taking fathers from little ones. I knew what I was getting when taking on the job but…” He shrugs, clearing his throat. 

You watch him closely and quietly sighed. Not pushing him to talk more, you wait it out patiently. “I just need to know you can stick it out with me during times like this.” He says and you stop chewing your food, taken back a bit.

Oscar finally looks at you and you swallow. You set your food down to slide off the hood to stand in front of him. He watches as you step between his legs, he looks at your lips as you rest your hand on his thighs. “Remember when we had that pregnancy scare half way into senior year? Or when Cesar ran off from us at the fair? We didn’t know what to expect to have next then, just like you don’t know right now. But we always did something that no matter the outcome we knew we’d be okay, we always stuck together and did our best. I am here. I am not going anywhere, I won’t run when the going gets rough. When every single day life tries to throw us a curveball, I’m gonna be right next to you. I promise you that.”

Those special moments in life that automatically engrain themselves into your brain, the times where it becomes such a significant moment that you can later anchor yourself to. And right now is one of those moments. Oscar knew from the get go that you would remain a faithful companion in his life the moment you took a leap and moved in with him. Unknown where the future could lead the two of you. Here you are in the moment that you never saw coming all those years ago.

“Thank you.” He grabs your hand and presses a kiss on the back of it. You blush as he pulls your arm around him to get a hug. Oscar inhales your scent which has always consisted of vanilla and brown sugar. The feeling of your embrace keeps him at bay with the uncontrolled thoughts. The two of you share a few kisses, “Despite all this shit, it’s not a bad thought you know.” He tells you and you look at him quizzically. 

He chuckles, “A baby, you pregnant. Doesn’t sound bad at all.”

The warmth in your cheeks makes you look away shyly. But the condensation that spread across the windows later showed no signs of shyness. 

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[makoodlesarchive]

learning curve

Yes hello we’re back with another installment of dragon dick kiri lmao sorry if ur getting bored of this but i’m obsessed

word count: 5k

warnings: smut, dragon dick kiri, uhhhh lots of cum?

Tip Jar!           ||      dragon dick kiri masterlist

this takes place in between part one and part two!

                        »»————-　♡　————-««

Intimacy with Kirishima comes with somewhat of an adjustment period. It shouldn’t be surprising, considering his inexperience with sex in general and your inexperience with sex involving cocks that look as though they’ve been pulled from the pages of an overzealous erotic fantasy novel, but your first time together had gone so well and had been so effortlessly sexy that you had come to the conclusion that every time would be like that.

You were, tragically, wrong.

The second time you two try to have sex (four days after the first time, because you had been walking funny for days afterwards) had been cut short because Kirishima had gotten it into his head that he came too quickly the first time, and he was determined to hold out for as long as possible the second time so he could make you feel good. It was incredibly sweet, in theory, but in practice it resulted in him straining so hard to avoid his oncoming orgasm that he accidentally bit through his lip. The sight of blood had set you panicking, and any sexual action was quickly cut short in favour of scrambling for tissues.

The third time, you had thought that it would be a cute idea to join Kirishima in the shower when he had returned from a long day of work. It had started out innocent enough, but then the inevitable hand-wandering had started and before you knew it Kirishima had hauled you up against the shower wall. What you had expected to be an effortlessly steamy experience turned into the two of you snorting with laughter as you realised that every time you rubbed against each other resulted in the most unsexy squelching noises thanks to your wet skin and the spray of the water. Determined to compromise, you slid to your knees and grinned up at him from your position between his legs. You were probably squinting pretty unattractively so you could see through the shower spray, but Kirishima was so excited that he didn’t seem to notice. 

He was, in fact, too excited -- within moments of you wrapping your lips around the head of his dick he shivered hard and swayed a little on his feet, only to slip on the slick wet ceramic tiles in the shower. Having the entirety of your boyfriends vast, heavily muscled body weight come crashing down on you while you were in such a vulnerable position was terrifying, made even worse by the fact that his enormous dick damn near pistol whipped you across the face. You’re not sure who was shrieking the loudest as you both writhed in the perilously enclosed space of the shower, limbs tangled together and blinded by water, but either way the crash from the fall and subsequent screeching was enough to summon Bakugou, who showed his concern by hammering on the bathroom door and roaring at you to shut the hell up.

In the days following that particular incident, a tender bruise blooms across your cheekbone from where Kirishima’s dick had slapped you. It’s pretty sore to touch, but it’s not the biggest deal ever and honestly you find it kind of funny -- plus, it’s not like it’s Kirishima’s fault that he’s got a cock like a lead pipe.

Kirishima, on the other hand, does not find it funny. Every time he catches sight of the bruise on your face his expression twists up into a guilty little grimace and he can’t quite meet your eyes. It doesn’t help that people keep asking about it, and even though you’re able to wave off any questions that come your way with a grin, you notice Kirishima shrinking a little every time. You try to convince him that it’s no big deal and it didn’t even hurt that much (which was a lie, because at the time you seriously thought that it was gonna take an eye out), but he still frets constantly and his new reluctance to touch you is obvious. You can’t lie, it’s disappointing. But as disheartening as your apparent inability to fuck your boyfriend without incurring bodily harm is, you can only imagine that it’s so much worse for Kirishima considering that the amount of times he’s gone all the way with anyone can be counted on one hand, and the amount of times he’s been successful in that can be counted on one finger.

“It’s seriously no big deal, Eiji,” you insist, trying to sound encouraging and positive but instead just sounding wheedling. You can’t be blamed, really, when you’re lying on your boyfriend’s bed in your underwear and desperately hoping he’ll be willing to try again. “Everyone has sex mishaps!”

“I could have knocked you out!” Kirishima shoots back from where he’s standing in front of his closet with his head stuck in a mountain of clothes as he tries to pretend to be busy sorting laundry. You’re not a total idiot though, you can see the little peeks he keeps throwing you over his shoulders.

“Oh please, you could not have knocked me out with a little slap from your dick.” you scoff. You wonder internally if he could, in fact, have knocked you out, and you reluctantly come to the conclusion that he probably could if he hit you in the temples or something. Then again, his dick was insanely sensitive, and you’re pretty sure that the impact of it slapping your face hurt him just as much as it hurt you.

“I gave you a black eye!”

“It was a bruised cheekbone, stop being dramatic!” You sit up so you can look at him properly, but his back is still stubbornly turned towards you. “Hey. Eijirou, come on. Look at me.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you.” His voice is so quiet that you almost miss it, but he finally puts down the socks he was pretending to be preoccupied with and turns to face you. “The first time- it was so, so good, and I don’t want to disappoint you with how… bad I am at all this-”

“Hey, stop.” you slip off the bed, kneeling down beside him in the mound of laundry. “You’re not bad at sex. I mean,” you amend thoughtfully, “You don’t have much experience. No one expects you to be a sex god right off the bat! You’re being too hard on yourself. Plus, I guess with what you’re packing there’s bound to be a learning curve, right?”

Kirishima snorts, and finally turns to look at you. “A learning curve.” He repeats, a grin beginning to play at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah.” you say stubbornly, “We’ve learned lots already. I can’t have your dick in my mouth too long or I’ll dislocate my jaw. You really like it when I suck on the swollen part at the bottom of your dick. Your teeth are really sharp and you should avoid biting at all costs. And shower sex is a no go. Oh, and I should avoid getting clocked in the face by your cock, because that shit hurts.”

That pulls a short little laugh out of him, which is exactly what you had been hoping for. You grin, energised by that particular success, and when he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek you happily wind your hands into his hair. “Thanks for being patient with me.” he murmurs, a little bashful and so, so sweet.

You kiss the tip of his nose in return and wonder if your heart will ever get used to seeing him like this, all soft and smiley and blushy. You hope not; you hope you get to keep these fluttery feelings forever. “Of course,” you say quietly, afraid to break the moment, “We’ve had a few little accidents, but even if I could go back and redo them I wouldn’t. Not every time is gonna be perfect, but who cares? I like you, and I enjoy my time with you. That’s all that matters.”

Kirishima’s eyes blow wide and he clutches at his chest dramatically, lower lip trembling. “Baby… that was so romantic.”

“Oh, shut up.” you pull away, rolling your eyes defensively. Being all earnest and emotionally vulnerable is embarrassing; you have no idea how Kirishima can pull it off like it’s nothing.

“I mean it,” Kirishima insists, following after you, “That was really romantic. And I needed to hear it.”

You smile, pleased. “Good. Now stop being so hard on yourself. We’re in this together, and we will figure out how to master sex with your dick.”

He huffs a laugh even as he scratches at the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Need to get on top of that learning curve, huh?”

“The only way to learn is by doing.” you coo at him and then playfully wiggle your hips. You probably look more ridiculous than seductive, but your primary aim is to get Kirishima feeling comfortable.

It works, and a bright smile begins to work its way over Kirishima’s face. When he reaches for you, you press into his touch eagerly. “Wow, you’re really that eager for another sex disaster with my weird dick?”

“Don’t jinx it,” you insist, snaking your hand down the front of his sweatpants until you reach his dick. He’s gone without his usual jockstrap today since it was just the two of you in his room, so you can feel every ridge and bump through the soft jersey fabric. “Besides, I love your weird dick.”

He laughs at that, but presses his crotch into your hand nonetheless. As usual, his dick is filling out pretty rapidly, and there’s a growing wet patch where the head of his cock is beginning to leak precum. “Bed.” he suggests quietly, helping you to your feet and tugging you over to lie down on the sheets with him. When you’re settled comfortably on the bed he pauses, hovering over you and just smiling. 

This is always one of the best parts; the transition from chaste little kisses to heated touches, and the moments in between where Kirishima will look at you with the softest expression of pure reverence. When you reach up and touch his cheek he turns his face into your touch and nuzzles three quick kisses onto your fingers, smiling all the while. You grin back at him, delighted by the relaxed set of his shoulders; you have a good feeling about this. Surely this time will be successful and break the string of bad luck you’ve been having.

Apparently encouraged by your excited smile, Kirishima drops down to give you an open-mouthed kiss. You lean into it, looping your arms around his neck and hiking one of your thighs up over his hip to try and encourage him closer. The soft intimacy of the moment makes your breath catch in your throat just a little; it feels like every square inch of your skin is tingling from the anticipation of waiting for his touch, straining towards him as his fingers skim along your bare thigh so gently that the touch sends goosebumps rippling along your arms. The hand on your thigh adjusts, gripping firmly and pulling your leg further up on his hip so that both of your crotches are pressed together.

The outline of his cock through his sweatpants is hot and heavy, and when he starts up little rocking motions of his hips the hard length of it rubs up against your clit. Even through the fabric of his joggers and your panties the stimulation sends frissons of heat arcing up your spine and leaves you wound up and impatient for more. Luckily, you know you won’t have to wait long -- Kirishima loves winding you up, but his dick is so sensitive that once he gets started he finds it difficult to hold back.

With his free hand, Kirishima reaches up to play with your tits. Rather than waste time trying to unclasp your bra, he just pushes it up so that the bra cups no longer hinder his access to your chest. You try not to laugh as his fingers press into your breasts, because you know that he just likes the feeling of the squish when he squeezes them. He ducks his head and kisses each one, then licks a stripe over your nipple and sucks at it. You’re starting to feel tingly and very sensitive when he pulls back, your tit dropping from his mouth. The air against your wet skin feels too cold in the absence of his mouth, and your nipple is hard and sensitive to the point where it almost feels raw. “Hey,” he says, pulling your attention to his face. His eyes are fever bright, his face practically glowing with anticipation. “I want to eat you out.”

“Yes please.” you say rather stupidly. In all honesty, Kirishima could have asked to do anything at all to you in that moment and you would have been hard-pressed to say no. He looks so cute like this, his expression so open and soft and excited, any lingering unease or nerves being replaced by his desire to please and be pleased. He grins at you as he slides down your body, pressing a kiss to your belly button as he goes. Your panties are removed with one swift tug, but then he pauses just to look at you. “Quit staring!” you complain, clamping your thighs around his head to try and distract him.

“Ow! Hey, I’m just admiring the view!” He laughs, shaking his head free from your legs. “I’m not allowed to admire my beautiful girlfriend?”

“Gawking is not the same as admiring!”

“Gawking?”

“It’s embarrassing!”

“I’m gonna be inside you in a few minutes, but you’re embarrassed by me looking at you?” Kirishima sounds genuinely confused, but shakes it off with a laugh. “Okay, okay, fine. Want me to close my eyes?”

“No,” you laugh, still grinning down at him as he kisses the crease in your thighs, “Of course not. It’s just embarrassing to be stared at.”

“I like looking at your pussy,” he says with a shrug. His tone is conversational, as if he’s chatting over a cup of coffee rather than gazing up at you with his head between your legs, “It’s nice.”

You fold your arms over your face, fighting hard against the wave of self-consciousness that threatens to overtake you. “Right.” you manage to say, “Well. Okay then.” You hear him chuckle, but you stubbornly keep your eyes covered. Even without seeing, you know he’s taking you all in. Your body grows hot with embarrassment as you fight the urge to close your legs; seriously, you can’t figure out why he’s enjoying the view so much. You know there are better pussies out there. 

When his fingers trace over your outer lips you jerk, the touch catching you by surprise. The sudden movement causes him to make a rumbling sound in his chest, almost like a warning, and you still. You can feel his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and you shiver just a little when he kisses along your outer lips. It's the anticipation that’s getting to you more than anything, every nerve firing as you wait for his next touch. 

You sigh happily when he starts getting into eating you out for real, your hips twitching into his mouth. He’s just so good with his tongue, it makes your breath stutter and rattle in your chest. When he sucks at your clit, you sit up on your elbows so that you can watch him. He meets your gaze and throws you a cheeky wink as he laps at you, and you just know that he felt you physically react to it by the way he laughs a little into your cunt. “Shut up.” you grumble without any heat, grinning helplessly at him.

The smile he shoots back at you is extra shiny thanks to the fact that the lower half of his face is covered in his spit and your own slick, but he looks so dopey and happy that you feel your heart and your pussy clench at the same time. It’s a particularly disquieting sensation, but even through it you recognise the heat of an oncoming orgasm building in your lower belly. When he dives back in face first, he laps and sucks at you so eagerly that you fist your hand in his hair reflexively as you twitch against him. All you can do is hang on for dear life as he devotes everything he has to eating you out. 

Some part of you distantly wonders how his tongue hasn’t cramped up yet, but that thought vanishes when you catch sight of the way his hips are moving as he humps the mattress. He’s gone down on you like this countless times long before you found out exactly what he was packing, but this is the first time you’ve ever seen him actually actively engage in seeking his own pleasure while doing so. It’s hotter than you could have expected, and when he grinds down hard and whimpers into you, you very nearly lose it.

“Eijirou,” you gasp, tugging at his hair. You’re trying to pull him off you before you come, but apparently he really likes having his hair pulled because he moans delightedly against you, “Eijirou! Wait, stop, I’m gonna cum-!”

“Stop?” He parrots, pulling back to stare wide-eyed at you. “You don’t want to cum?”

“I do,” you hurry to assure him, struggling to catch your breath. “But I want you to fuck me first.”

Kirishima’s face goes on a journey of expressions before settling on one that’s distinctly delighted. “Yeah. Yes.” he says, “We can do that.”

You settle back against his pillows eagerly as he reaches over to his bedside table for the lube. You’ve been stretching yourself pretty much every day in the hopes that this exact situation would happen, so when Kirishima brings two fingers to your entrance they slip in with ease. He breathes out sharply and adds a third, using his thumb to rub at your clit as he presses his fingers all the way inside you. You take the opportunity to quickly take your bra off and throw it to the side, and then lie back as Kirishima finger fucks you. He hones in on the spongey area at the front of your inner walls like there’s a homing signal there, and your toes curl as he massages at it and your clit at the same time.

“Eijirou-!” you gasp, growing impatient. His fingers feel so good, but they’re not enough.

“Yeah, I got you, baby.” Kirishima murmurs, then sits back on his ankles. For the first time since he started eating you out you manage to actually get a look at him, and the sight has your thighs clenching together as you swear you nearly cream yourself on the spot. The front of his sweatpants are ruined -- he must have been dribbling copious amounts of precum the whole time he was going down on you and humping the bed, and without his usual cup he’s soaked through the grey cotton.

When he notices you looking he flushes, obviously embarrassed, and opens his mouth, but you speak quickly before he gets the chance to apologise or try to put himself down. “That’s so hot. Shit, you’re so hot. Fuck.”

Your words are simple, but it’s impossible not to notice the subtle straightening of his shoulders as he shucks his pants and shuffles over closer to you. “I, um. I really like eating you out.”

“Yeah.” you breathe with a grin, reaching out to stroke his dick. It’s sticky and messy with his own precum, lying impossibly hot and heavy in your hand. The base of it is already flushed and swollen with cum, and the entire length of it strains up towards his belly in a truly awesome display of gravity-defying physics. “I can see that.”

He shudders and presses into your touch as you rub over the raised bumps and the bulbous head. You kiss his shoulder, sweet and fast, then spread your legs to give him some room as he settles in between them. The tip of his cock skims along your pussy lips and prods at your entrance, but doesn’t go any further despite your squirming. “Ready?” Kirishima asks, as though you’re not writhing against the tip of his dick like a cat in heat.

“Yes!” 

The chuckle Kirishima gives at that is breathless and excited, and it cuts off as soon as he starts to press into you in favour of a drawn out groan. The stretch and the sheer size of him isn’t as much of a shock as the first time, but you still lose your breath as he pushes inside in increments. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the overwhelming stretch, the subtle curve, the ribbed bumps and swirls rubbing against every part of you. Even when you feel impossibly full he keeps going, and soon he’s over you and around you and inside you and it seems like your whole world has narrowed down to the points of contact where you’re touching.

His fists clench in the bedsheets by your head and his shoulders hunch over you as he visibly fights the urge to just rock into you all at once. “Fuck.” he grunts, biting his lip as he tries to hold back. Hit with immediate flashbacks from the second time you two had tried to have sex and he had bitten through his lip, you quickly reach up and kiss him in a desperate attempt to avert another disaster. When you pull back, he seems to have collected himself somewhat, despite the slightly glassy look in his eye. “You okay?” he asks, the muscles of his abdomen clenched tight as he holds himself back.

Honestly, with his cock splitting you open like this you feel as though you’re about to crack in half. Every couple of moments his cock twitches and flexes inside of you as it dribbles more precum, and you can feel it inside of you. It’s all just on the border of too much, and you’re desperate for so much more. “Yes,” you say at last, throwing your head back and trying to push further down onto his dick, “But baby, please move.”

Kirishima must have been waiting for that, because as soon as you ask it of him he begins rutting into you with a rough pant of “Oh, yeah.”

Every time his hips drive home the tip of his cock presses into your cervix and the subsequent achey jolt that shoots through you borders on pleasure and pain. It feels good, but you just need to- you need-

You shift under him and tilt your hips up, and the next time he ruts into you has you nearly yelping like a kicked dog. The swollen head of his cock hits against the spongey part inside of you, and the ridges rub deliciously along it every time he pulls out. You think your eyes might actually cross from how good it feels.

Kirishima doesn’t even seem to notice, nearly mindless with need. If you’re being honest with yourself, this is your favourite part; feeling him completely lose his mind just from being buried inside of you, watching his eyes lose focus at the heat and tightness of your pussy as he whines and moans even as he rails you into whatever surface you’re lying on. Kirishima whimpers as his cock jack-hammers inside of you, the soft little sound completely at odds with the strength of his thrusts and the way he’s holding your hips in place with his hands as he fucks into you. His movements are frantic, but he still manages to hold his strength in place, never moving hard enough to hurt. “Oh, oh, I love being inside you so much, baby, oh god, you make me feel so good-”

One of his hands comes to rest on your lower belly, and when he presses down you feel like you’re about to break apart. The subtle pressure of his hand makes every thrust so much more intense, as though you can feel him grinding in your belly. Every time he ruts into you it forces the air from your lungs, but you try to reply anyway, pushing the words out even as they almost catch in your throat, “Feels- feels good-!”

“Yeah?” he pants, kissing eagerly at your neck. His hand wanders down from your belly to your clit, and starts rubbing quick circles into your clit. His coordination is totally off but if anything that makes it so much hotter. You can feel how desperate he is with every clumsy jerk of his hand and every frantic snap of his hips.

The combination of his cock rubbing and grinding against the soft spongey part inside of you and the messy stimulation of your clit has your legs trembling and heat growing rapidly in your belly. It feels like you’re being strung tighter and tighter as your orgasm draws closer, and your breath begins coming in rapid pants. The pressure in your abdomen feels a little different than usual, and you take it as a sign that you’re about to come really hard.

You just manage to get out the words “Oh, yes-!” before the pleasure growing in your belly crests and your back bows as you start to cum. It feels like the most cathartic orgasm ever, like all of the pressure that’s been building up in your body is set free with the sweetest release, made all the sweeter by the fact that Kirishima keeps rocking into you the whole way through, the heavy head of his cock grinding hard against your G-spot the whole time. 

It feels like an oddly wet orgasm though, and you just have time to wonder disappointedly if you had missed Kirishima cum when he looks up at you, bewildered, and yelps “Are you peeing on me?”

“What?” you sit up so fast that you nearly headbutt him, and moving your body so quickly comes with the unintended side-effect of contracting the muscles inside of you. The abrupt squeeze of your internal muscles proves too much for Kirishima, and he starts to cum even as he pulls out of you, his hips humping furiously into the air as thick ropes of cum begin to splatter your skin. 

You’re busy trying to wrap your head around the fact that you apparently just squirted -- it had never happened to you before, and though the surprise of Kirishima’s question had lessened some of the intensity, the aftershocks of the orgasm are still shaking their way through your body -- so it takes a solid moment for your brain to get back with the program. It takes yet another moment to realise that Kirishima is cumming a lot. Like, more than usual, which is saying something.

His face has gone slack and his eyes are unfocused as his cock practically streams cum in jets, the swollen base pulsing as his whole cock twitches. You can’t deny that it’s unbelievably hot seeing him lose himself like this, sweaty and wanton and twitching, but he’s also getting cum everywhere - it spills all over you, all over him, all over the bed.

“Oh, shit” is all you can think to say, trying to catch his cum with your hand in a failed attempt to minimise the mess. It strings stickily down your arms, viscous and thick, and you’re pretty sure that if you hadn’t just had one of the best orgasms ever this would have you creaming yourself. “Holy fuck, babe, stop-!”

Kirishima doesn’t stop. His hips keep jabbing into thin air as his cock flexes with every dribble of cum. You reach out and grab his cock without any real thought, but your touch only seems to drive him wilder because he moans wildly and tries to fuck into your hand. It must be because he had been grinding himself into the bed while he ate you out; you don’t think he’s ever actually worked himself up before, considering how desperate and mindless he gets when he’s about to cum. At a loss for anything else to do, you just try to stroke him through it. Every pull on his cock results in more cum stringing over your wrist, the glide of your hand against the thick length of him wet and slick.

It seems like he cums forever, but at last it tapers off until his cock is twitching fruitlessly and his whole body sags as though he’s gone suddenly boneless. The two of you sit and stare at each other, shell-shocked, covered in various bodily fluids. Even the silence sounds confused.

At last, you blurt the only thing you can think of to say. “I did not pee on you.”

Kirishima’s laugh sounds like it comes from deep within his chest, and then suddenly he’s best over and laughing so hard he goes wheezy. “What-” he gasps in between exhausted and breathless giggles, “the fuck just happened?”

You join in on his laughter, unable to help yourself. The two of you are sticky and damp and sitting in a veritable puddle of cum, but you crawl over the mess and climb into his lap, sighing happily as his arms come to wrap around you. “I’ve never seen so much cum in my life.” you point out stupidly, “You’re gonna have to get new sheets.”

He grins as he flops back limply on the bed, taking you with him. “So, so worth it.” he sighs, raising your knuckles to his face so he can kiss them. His face twists up when he realises that your hand is still covered in cum and that it’s now on his mouth, which makes you erupt into cackles again.

“No injuries, so I’d say that’s a win.” You kiss his chest and stretch out on top of him. You’ll have to move soon, because the cum is starting to dry flakily and feels kind of gross on your skin, but for now you’re happy to ignore it in favour of being close to him.

“Hell yeah,” Kirishima playfully punches the air with one hand as the other strokes your back. “We totally crushed that learning curve, right?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, “Crushed it.”

[square-blunt]

The hardest part of this is leaving you

Hey so i don't know if y'all remember this fic bc i sure do and i wanted to magnify one part of that which was Scott's bit. It's flower husbands angst. And it emotionally scared me to write this. also yea that's a my chem lyric as the title once a killjoy always a killjoy sue me.

TW- MCD (major character death), sacrifice, Gore, (blood/bleeding out), Angst, 3rd life mentioned. WC: 1288 words Ao3: p a i n

The first rule of battle, at least as Jimmy was taught, was to never be caught off guard. But he thinks he can get away with it just this once. Cradling Joel's heavy head in one hand, holding tight into Lizzie's cold arm with his other, he grieves. His grief overrides his guard. He's even got the cod head off. He can't get more vulnerable than this. He's alone, without allies. Katherine was nowhere to be seen, Gem was on the other side, Scott- Scott was Scott. He wasn't on Jimmy's side, he was against Sausage.

That was different.

Jimmy couldn't trust Scott as an ally, only as an enemy to his enemy.

He couldn't put trust in him.

Everyone he put trust in is dead.

He doesn't even trust himself.

He's surrounded, body and soul, by people who could easily kill him. Those who wouldn't-

The whistle of an arrow cuts his mind's voice in two.

Jimmy turns away from the noise, looking down at Joel's face.

He smiles.

The arrow finds its target with that familiar, sickening crunch.

He knows the piercing sting of an arrow, enchanted, imbued, or not.

He knows the pain that accompanies the sound.

Why, then, did Jimmy not feel it?

He looks up, eyes catching on the arrow before the face of his savior. The arrow is lodged in the side of their neck, in the break of their armour. The white and gold collar peeking up is already stained with red, turning the fabric into a bright crimson.

There's the sound of a sword thumping against dirt and rock. Of armour clinking against itself. The Codfather is hyper aware of the wind, how it sounds, the smell it carries. The smell of blood. Jimmy stands up, much too quickly, his vision blurring, but he races forward anyways to catch the man that saved his life.

In his arms, he holds Scott.

Scott's breathing is rapid and irregular, Jimmy desperately looks on himself and on Scott for any potions that might help, but he freezes when he feels Jimmy's hand cover his own.

"Sc- Scott?" Jimmy whispers. There's no need, there's no one around them- alive to hear it, at least.

"D- don't-'' Scott murmurs out, taking in a deep breath that makes his face contort with pain.

"What- Scott- Why? You took that arrow for me- why?" Jimmy asks.

"You really don't remember then-" Scott says, voice fizzling out onto coughing. Jimmy shifts to help him become more comfortable. If Scott had nothing to help, or didn't want to be helped, then Jimmy wouldn't take anything away from him.

"Remember- I don't really- I thought you hated me-" Jimmy can't remember anything from before… this, waking up in the jungle, sore from sitting on the cobble throne, alone. Once he got set up, he felt a strong pull to Joel, who turned out to be one of his closest allies, but to Scott as well, but when Scott never showed that they were close friends, Jimmy just… let it go. Until now at least. Scott, hand shaking, reaches up to cup Jimmy's face. Jimmy helps him, pressing his face into Scott's palm- cold. His hand is so cold.

"You were my voice. It's funny, I- I got shot in the neck- you got shot in the head. I was your mind," Jimmy laughs lightly, sounds like him alright, "and you were my voice." Scott sounds so quiet, and far away, like it's taking any strength he has left to tell him this.

"I- wh- whatever happened, Scott, I'm so sorry I let you down now. You deserved so much better than what I could've given you and I'm so sorry- please- let me- there has to-" Jimmy says, gripping Scott's hand tighter. Jimmy doesn't remember what Scott's talking about, but he remembers feeling something. Almost as if this was a repeat of Scott's memories, but the roles being reversed. Jimmy wonders if he died in Scott's arms. That's what he asks. Scott can't help but smile.

"No, I couldn't get to you in time. But you looked so beautiful that day, and even still when I went back for you." Scott runs a weak thumb across Jimmy's cheek, bringing his attention to tears that had formed. "Don't cry, morning glory, I couldn't bear to see you die again."

"Again- Scott- I-" Jimmy parrots, before Scott cuts him off, Jimmy immediately lets him speak.

"You have nothing to be sorry-" Scott coughs again, blood staining his lips, Jimmy's eyes stinging. "-about. I thought if I avoided you, you'd be safe, but- I can't live without you, Jimmy. You still mean everything to me, hyacinth, and I- ugh-" Scott stops and huffs, Jimmy can tell he's still him. Under the shaky breaths, and the red, white and gold- he can see that it's still the snarky, sarcastic Scott he'd spent another life with. "It's cold. I don't remember it being this cold-" Jimmy immediately curls around Scott, trying to warm him up- keep his blood going, good god, trying to keep his blood going.

"Why did you do this? Why?" Jimmy whispers hoarsely.

"Because I loved you. I still do, Jimmy, My rose, I still- do…" 'Scott murmurs, voice fading out- no, no- Jimmy just- Scott's just told him this and he knows Scott is telling the truth- he knows- he also thinks some part of him… still-

"You loved me?" Jimmy says, kissing the inside of Scott's palm, a part of him still loves Scott, too.

"Jimmy? Jimmy, are you there? Are you- I- I can't-" Scott says, voice fragile, panicking.

"Scott, Scott, I'm here, Scott- Scott- I'm here, Scott please-" Jimmy says, cupping Scott's face with one hand, and holding Scott's to his with his other hand. He can feel his pulse under his fingertips, its beating, but getting weaker, he can't- Jimmy can't lose him- not after he just got him back- he can see flashes, flower forests, cows, starlit skies- nights awake, much longer than they should be, talking, and laughing. He can see a ring in his hands, Scott's surprised, but overjoyed face- and he remembers the way he felt when Scott said yes. He feels the warm ghost of a hand on his shoulder. He can't- Jimmy just got him back- "Scott- please? I remember now- I do- Scott, poppy, please- I- I remember- no- no, no, no- Scott don't- don't you dare- don't you dare- Scott please-" Jimmy can't feel Scott's pulse anymore. He lets Scott's hand slide from his to cradle both sides of Scott's face. He wipes the blood away from around the side of his mouth. Tears stinging his eyes again, his chest and throat growing tight- why, why did Scott do that? "You- why- why, why, why, why, why? Scott," Jimmy chokes back a sob, and lets his head hang, "I was supposed to be the one to die for you, not the other way around- why, stupid, beautiful, selfless, why? Daffodil, sunflower, starshine, why- I just got you back- please- it's it's not- i- it's not fair-" he sobs again, ugly and brutal, nothing like Scott, nothing like Scott, "I just- how- why are you being ripped away from me again- you- i- we- we could've left, we could've- you and me- we could've left and made something because we were alive again- I don't- I can't- Scott- I'm so sorry-" his body shakes, he can't take it- knowing their past together, and now have to face his future without him- it was-

Maybe he wouldn't have to live without him much longer.

There's a sword tip pointed at the back of his head.

And just inside his vision-

Gem.

[sonnetthebard]

for one shots maybe a Princess Bride AU of Spies Are Forever? "Life is pain, Mega. Anyone who says differently is saying something" (maybe a Westley!Owen? there was an ask about it and it is now stuck in my head)

Oh yes. Yes yes yes yes yes. You have no clue how happy I am. I had a whole Westley phase, now I'm having a whole Owen phase. Perfection.

Genre: Angst/ Fluff/ Romance

Words: 2055

TL;DR: Curt's encounter with Dread Pirate Roberts does *not* end in the way he expected it to.

TW: Mentions of death and grieving, violent thoughts

Yes Curt is Buttercup, no I will not be taking questions. Also a lot of this dialogue was borrowed from the movie.

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How Curt had let himself get here was beyond him. He was exhausted. Truly. He'd had quite the past few days. Why anyone had decided to kidnap one of the kingdom's most valliant knights was beyond him. Why him? Of what importance was he? But even worse (and really more embarrassingly), he hadn't actually been able to overcome his captors. To be fair, as tiny as the man who had kidnapped him was... his two henchmen were more than capable of keeping him right where they needed him. One was very large, and another (a girl no less) was very good with a sword. Better than he was. God, he wished he was home. He wished he hadn't been alone that night, vulnerable to any kidnappers. And that's when all the thoughts he had been trying to push away made their way into his head.

Owen. That's what would have made this all better. Owen. Owen could fix just about anything.

But Owen was gone. Owen had sailed away on a ship, and... that ship was overthrown by the Dread Pirate Roberts and his crew. He was dead. Never to return. In a way, it almost paralleled how Curt was never to return to his days on the farm. Especially not now that the Prince had taken a fancy to him. He didn't exactly fancy the Prince. But hey... it wasn't like Owen was going to come back. At least the Prince was someone to take care of him. Not that he was taking very good care of him in the moment.

No. Curt had gotten a bit distracted in the recounting of his situation. He was not, in fact, captive at all anymore- well... depends on your definition of captive. He suposed he technically still was. Just not by little Von Nazi of Germania and his henchmen. Now, he was being dragged by the arm by a man in all black. His feet were sore, and he could barely keep up the man was walking so fast. He's stumbling, and honestly he could fall any second now. He wouldn't be surprised at all if he simply collapsed. He was hungry. He was barely getting the chance to breathe. His head hurt. Curt was done. Just at the moment Curt feels like he could crash, the grip on his arm is released, and the gravelly voice of his captor pulls him from his thoughts.

"Catch your breath." The man almost seemed to spit it out, as if ever word was bitter to him.

"Please..." Curt panted. "If you stop this... if you let me go... the Prince will pay my ransom. I'm sure of it."

"You're sure, are you?" The man laughed spitefully.

"Yes!" Curt nodded, desperate. In his exhaustion, he almost thought the man might be talking genuinely.

"You're certain?" The man continued on his spiteful tangent. Curt nodded. "Who are you to be certain of anything, good sir?"

"Pardon?" Curt blinked, confused.

"I said who are you to be certain? Are you a god? Or a scholar? Are you, in fact, the prince in disguise?" The man asked coarsely. Curt shook his head, still a bit dazed. "I thought not. I would advise you, good sir, not to make promises you cannot keep."

"I was just giving you the chance to release me willingly." Curt told him bitterly. "You think you're going to be able to escape the Prince? Oh no. He and his men could track a falcon on a cloudy day. He'll find you. And when he does, 'good sir', you are a dead man."

"You think your dearest love will save you?" The man in black seemed to taunt.

"He is not my 'dearest love'!" Curt protested, still trying to catch his breathe. "He's not even my 'love'! He's just my Prince. But yes, he will save me. And, I will add- before you say another word- that he would do the same for any of his knights. We are his family."

"You admit to me that you do not love your liege, then?" The man smirked menacingly.

"He knows that I don't love him." Curt nodded defensively.

"You mean that he knows you are incapable of love." The man in black sighed. Why did everything that came out of this man's mouth sound so bitter?

"I am more than capable of love!" Curt protested. "I have loved more deeply than a wretch like yourself could ever dream!"

"Wretch... that's a good one." The man laughed softly, still bitterly. He grabbed Curt's wrist with an iron grip, and Curt hissed in pain. "Let that be a warning to you, fair sir. I have no tolerance for liars."

And so they were walking again. And walking, and walking, and walking. Far away. Until Curt's feet were so sore that he couldn't feel anything but the pain. The pain consumed his thoughts. Pain, and how odd this man was. He had figured out precisely who this was. With that wit, and that cruelty... It had to be the Dread Pirate Roberts. The man who had killed Owen. A man who Curt had wished dead for years. A man who Curt was going to kill the first chance he got. All of a sudden, that was the thought that consumed Curt's mind. With every step he took it got stronger. And the stronger it got... the happier it made him. God, he knew that was sick, but... revenge would be so sweet. Suddenly, Curt felt himself dropped.

"Rest, sir knight." The man sighed. Curt fell to the ground, propping himself up, unable to move.

"I know who you are." Curt blurted out, filled to the brim with anger. That seemed to amuse the man. "Your cruelty... it gives you away."

"Oh? And who am I?" The man smirked.

"You are the Dread Pirate Roberts." Curt stated plainly. "Admit it."

"Proudly." The man bowed grandiosely. "What can I do for you, sir knight?"

"Die." Curt spat. Dread Pirate Roberts' brows raised in amusement.

"A bit harsh, don't you think?" Dread Pirate Roberts mused playfully.

"Not nearly harsh enough." Curt glared at him. "If it were up to me, you would be torn limb from limb."

"Hardly complimentary, sir knight." Dread Pirate Roberts chuckled. "Why loose your venom on me?"

Curt took a moment, sighing. He didn't want to talk to this man, but he supposed he had been the one to initiate the conversation. And to admit his same-sex attraction to his captor... he could die. Though he had already seemed to guess it, implying that he loved his Prince. Perhaps things were different for pirates. He took a shaky breath.

"You killed my love." Curt croaked quietly. Curt wasn't sure whether the pirate looked more or less amused, but the look on his face had certainly shifted- as had the mood. There was silence for a moment before Roberts responded.

"Perhaps." He admitted. "I kill a lot of people. Who was your love? Another Prince? Pompous, poised, and cold?"

"No... he was a farm boy. Poor." Curt admitted. "Poor, and perfect. With eyes like melted chocolate, and hair to match. Your ship attacked his, and... everyone knows that you take no prisoners."

"Well, I can't, can I?" Roberts reasoned. "People will think I've gone soft! And then any respect they may have had for me goes right out the window."

"You mock my pain!" Curt fumed, sadly and frustratedly.

"Life is pain, sir knight. Anyone who says differently is selling something." Roberts stated. "I remember your lover. Was it not four years ago that he perished?"

"It was." Curt sighed.

"He died with his dignity intact, if that's any consolation to you." Roberts sat next to Curt. "No blubbering, no tears. Only a simple plea: 'Please, I need to live'. I asked him why. And do you know what his answer was?"

"True love." Curt sniffed, looking to the ground.

"True love indeed... I can only assume he meant you, sir knight." Roberts sighed. "He talked of a man of boundless beauty, undying heart and unsurpassable faithfulness. Consider yourself lucky I killed him before he could see you for what you truly are."

"What I am?" Curt blinked in shock.

"Well, good sir... he talked of your unsurpassable faithfulness, if you will remember." Roberts almost seemed to scowl. "Did you run stright to your prince when you heard of his death? Or did you wait a few hours out of respect?"

In that moment, Curt snapped. He was unsure of when he had even registered his surroundings or if he had even fully taken it in. He was on the edge of a hill. He barely remembered thinking about a single thing other than the fact that this man had insulted both him and Owen in one single bound. He stood up, pulling the pirate ith him. Where he found the strength he did not know. Perhaps it was Owen, from beyond the grave. Or maybe it was simply the fortitude of his heart. But there was a fire in his eyes as he looked directly into those of the Dread Pirate Roberts, who stared back in total and utter shock.

"You don't get to insult me or my lover, for on that day I died with him!" Curt growled. "You can die too, for all I care!"

And with that, he let go of Roberts, shoving him over the edge of the ravine. He watched as Roberts tumbled down, a pit growing in his stomach. Why did he feel so terrible? He had just saved his own life and killed Owen's killer. He should feel relieved. The wind seemed to ring in his ears, his hearing acute. So naturally, he heard it more than clearly when Roberts said the words that made his heart stop.

"Curt Mega... you're going to be the death of me!" Roberts called up.

Curt's blood seemed to stop flowing, and he lost any colour he had.

"Owen? Oh, god!" Curt breathed, not thinking twice before throwing himself over the edge of the ravine. Before long, he too was tumbling to what could be his death.

About ten minutes later, Curt regained his consciousness, groaning. It seemed he wasn't too far behind Owen- who was grimacing, starting to stir. Owen crawled slowly, painfully, towards Curt. Curt did his part, trying to prop himself up on his side. Owen got closer to Curt, doing the same and running a hand through his lover’s hair. Curt reached an arm out, wincing, pulling Owen's mask off and taking a look at his lover's face for the first time in four years. It may have been the exhaustion, but Curt started to cry tears of joy.

"Darling... hey, love..." Owen cooed gently, soothing him. "It's okay. It's okay, love."

"You're here..." Curt sniffed, a bit embarassed.

"Can you move at all?" Owen asked.

"Move? You're alive!" Curt started to laugh happily. "I could fly!"

"Why did you move on so quickly from me?" Owen asked him tenderly. "I told you I would come back to you."

"I never moved on, Owen. Never." Curt assured him, still beaming. "I never will."

"Then you really don't have anything going on with the Prince?" Owen asked. "There are rumours, you know."

"Never." Curt shook his head. "He's so far from being my type..."

"Good." Owen sighed in relief.

"You were dead..." Curt sighed, still in shock.

"I'll explain later." Owen chuckled. "Well... I suppose there's a lesson to take from this, 'sir knight'."

"And what would that be?" Curt smirked playfully.

"Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for awhile." Owen smirked back.

"I will never doubt you again." Curt promised him.

"There will never be a need." Owen promised him in return.

And with that, they sealed their agreement with a kiss. It was tender, loving , and gentle- a representation of all of the wonderful things about love. It had been a long time coming... But oh, was it ever sweet. Both tangled their hands in each other's hair, taking in every moment they could to its fullest. And with that kiss, they knew that their love was stronger than anything that any prince, king, or fireswamp could throw their way.

[aeoncryptic]

Arthur Week Day One: Firsts

Words: 720

Pairing: Arthur/Serena (My OC)

This was written for Arthur Week which was started by @scummy-writes. Thank you for providing the prompts and the event!

Story after the cut.

I scrapped the first story idea so I apologize if this one seems a bit rushed... ;-;

Her Laughter lights his path

The flowers of the garden seemed to dance as the wind blew around her. It was a beautiful day, Arthur thought, standing before the door. He spotted Serena sitting at the fountain, her light pink hair rustled by the wind. With a smirk, he strode towards her. His jacket was billowing with the breeze, his hair getting blown into his face. As he approached her, she turned to look at him, her expression as neutral as it always was. Not even a smile graced her lips. He resisted the urge to pout at her.

She had been here for over a month and had not once shown them a glimpse of how she truly felt. She had explained to him before that she felt her emotions left her feeling vulnerable. He knew she would allow him in at some point, allow him to glimpse that side of her. They had spent countless days on cases helping other people.

“Good afternoon, Arthur. Are you on your way to the pub to catch another ‘pretty skirt’?” She tilted her head as she asked, her tone still balanced. He wished she would show some emotion. Jealousy, happiness, even wished she would dislike him outright. Anything to get her to be more than a blank slate. However, she never pushed him away nor did she hold him at a distance. Even seemed to welcome his presence around her.

“I already found a pretty little skirt I’d love to spend the evening with~” He winked at her, hoping to at least cause her to blush. I want you and only you. Reaching his hand up, he brushed her bangs out of her face and gently cupped her cheek. She still showed no reaction. “Blast. You’d be a great companion for poker. Have you been told that, luv?” He shook his head and tossed his hands up in playful defeat. Just as he’d ‘given up’, he heard a musical sound. A sound that almost made his heart beat out of his chest.

Her shoulders were shaking, her gloved hand covering her mouth, her laughter filling the air. “I’m sorry Arthur, but it’s so fun to tease you. When you make it so obvious you want to see me as I am, it makes me want to hide it all the more.” Her hand left her mouth, showing him a sight for sore eyes. Her lips were pulled into a playful smile, the corners having the cutest dimples he’d ever seen. She was giving him a gift; Allowing him to see her ‘vulnerable’.

“My- Your smile eases all my burdens, poppet~” He leaned towards her in an attempt to get a closer look. But she turned away from him to look out at the setting sun once more. He moved closer to her, wrapping his arm around her waist. Once he didn’t receive a protest, he laid his head upon her shoulders praying no one else was around to see him so vulnerable. A feeling they both shared, truly. Neither one wanting to give up their facade, their mask, for anyone but each other.

“Arthur? I have a request.” She hesitated, another way of showing him her trust in him. “If I’m your skirt for the night, would you at least grace me with a dance?” He chuckled at her innocent question. He didn’t want to leave his comfortable position beside her, but if she wanted to dance, he would gladly do so.

Arthur stood and gave an elegant bow, bending at the waist and holding his hand out to her. “Would you be kind enough to allow me a dance, mademoiselle?” He gave her the most enticing smile he could muster. She laughed again and took his hand as he helped her up from the fountain. With a tug, he pulled her into his embrace.

He wrapped his arm around her waist to lead their dance. Her skirts swirled with each twirl. Just holding her in his arms made the darkness ebb away. She had allowed him to hear her laughter; shared the musical sound with his ears. Even as the sun set and the moon rose, they continued their dance. After all, she shone the brightest in the dark. She was his firefly.

[zet-sway]

Spiritual Shrios Summer - Release

This is a prompt fill for @rosenkow's Spiritual Shrios Summer! Prompts | release | oasis | moan | delirium | pray | sweat | whisper | afterlife | contaminated | skin | worship | incense | godless | petals | taste | nectar | caress | mirage | ripe | sundown | hallucinate | salt | intoxicated | soul | embrace | hunger | wet | adrenaline | breathe |

PROMPT WORD: RELEASE - | - WORDS: 2686

Rated: "E" for Extremely Spicy - not for children AO3 Link: "Singing Southward" Pairing: Thane / FemShep Summary: "But her blood is singing southward, and that's a good thing, right? A reassuring, human reminder that maybe she's still Shepard - a woman - not just a Cerberus machine."

Full disclosure, this prompt fought me and kicked my ass the whole way. I can't look at it anymore. I hope it's more enjoyable for people who haven't been looking at it for like two weeks lmao. Many thanks to Rosenkow for that excellent playlist that really inspired my Shrios muse.

The heavy thrum of battle is where she loses herself. Shepard would take sweat and the pounding pulse of combat any day over the silence between stars.

Swirling winds whip sand across her face and body. It crunches in the joints between her armor and she hates the sound but it's easy to ignore as she slams another heat sink into her shotgun and charges into the last remaining crawler. It's thrown by the impact, the momentum of her body splits the carapace against her armored fist. The smell of viscera in the air, the humming of biotic barriers. Her body sings. She feels untouchable. The keystone slams the ground again.

The ground beneath her feet rumbles and she hears an unholy sound. A thresher maw. Her battle-lust is broken instantly and she snaps to attention, every sense laser focused.

Her shotgun and fists will be little help to them now. She exchanges glances with Grunt and Thane, waving them toward cover while she hunkers down on point, grenade launcher at the ready. It's not the biggest thresher maw she's ever seen but their size isn't the only thing that makes them dangerous. Positioning is critical when fighting something that can burrow and spit. Her combat HUD tracks its movements through the ground and she directs their movements, their gunfire to its next point of exposure.

But there's a problem. Her visor's sensitive electronics were never meant to be used in a sandstorm.

The maw dives again and this time the data is wrong, pinging across the arena, indicating wildly different trajectories that conflict with the laws of physics. Not great, but there's nothing she can do about it now. Adapt, improvise.

She tears the headset from her face and makes her best approximation of where it's going to appear next, signaling the team. They open fire, it dives again. Then the rumbling stops. Her best is not enough. There's a split second of silence before the beast bursts forth not twelve feet away from her position. Dust and debris erupt in a disorienting cloud and she can tell by the shadow cast over her that she's in deep shit, struggling to find her footing on the fractured, quaking ground.

A scorching heat envelops her and her vision goes dark. There's a shout in her comm, a weight pressed upon her, and the grenade launcher is wrenched from her hands.

Then a burst, an explosion, a blinding flash of light. Acid sizzles against her barrier and it pops, the sound rattling her ears in the darkness.

The orange sun of Tuchanka blinks back into existence as the dust begins to settle.

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

Thane slumps into the stinking puddle of meat and organs, still clutching Shepard's grenade launcher. His scales are stinging and the pain is growing more intense by the second. Beside him, Shepard is calling in an evac while she rips at the panels of her hardsuit. Her under armor is a patchwork of holes beneath, and her skin is a frightening shade of red where the fabric is being eaten away. Thresher maw bile.

He's never actually seen a thresher maw before, much less fought one - he's more shaken than he would like to admit. Her voice is his anchor. By the time she's done shouting for Grunt to maintain a defensive position, she's torn the suit at the waist and stripped the top half from her body. She uses it to wipe the viscera from his head, chest, and hands before tending to herself.

Her ease of determination has him transfixed. He's trembling from their encounter, but Shepard- he's never seen her more focused. Brows knitted in concentration, voice firm, but calm. Her chest rises and falls with each measured breath. Wearing only her belt, legplates, and a black compression bra, she's slathering herself in medigei, a whirlwind of sand and dirt sticking to exposed burns across the hard expanse of her body.

Her skin is so vulnerable compare to his scales that she should be shrieking in pain. Instead, she seems completely unfazed. Adrenaline, perhaps. Or maybe she's every bit as otherworldly as he's coming to understand she is.

Their evac shuttle arrives and they pile on. Grunt is the first one to break the silence.

"Quick thinking back there, Krios."

Grunt looks at him with the same piercing gaze all krogan seem to have. Thane has always found them hard to read.

"Never thought I'd see a drell dive into the mouth of a thresher maw. You're tougher than you look."

He smiles, then. And Shepard smiles with him.

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

Doctor's orders: 24 hours rest.

Shepard's armor clatters to the cabin floor and she strides into the bathroom, trying not to itch the scabs tightening over her skin. The burns are superficial - irritating, but not serious. In the mirror, they look worse than they feel. The sting is enough to drown out the other weird pains that live inside her reconstructed body. Her ears hurt. Her tear ducts feel swollen and pressurized. Her fingers are sore. There's a constant ache in her sternum and a soft wooshing in her ear. It's from her synthetic heart, and the abundance of blood it requires. But it means she'll heal faster, too.

The water hisses out of the showerhead and she sets to work cleaning the caked on grit and viscera from her skin. When she's focused on herself like this, it's hard not to think about all of the ways her body has changed.

On the SR1, she'd been in shape, perhaps even proud of her body. She'd thought of herself as a well oiled machine. She watched her nutrition carefully, spent just as much time honing nerves as she did strength and endurance. Her body, a product of her own work and service.

What she sees now is not what she remembers.

Notably, she's about 70 pounds heavier, almost exclusively due to her implants and the additional muscle she's put on to carry them. Adapting to the added weight of cybernetics and artificial bones had been an uphill battle since she rolled off that Cerberus operating table. Even her breasts are one cup size larger, and that one change carries perhaps the most bitterness. Her body is no longer her creation.

She sees herself as though through a stranger's eyes - a construct. The Commander they wanted. Not the woman she remembers.

Her new body is all about performance, both in the public eye and on the battlefield. Miranda had already told her she should be grateful for her various "upgrades." Her titanium fingers that never tremble, her artificial eyes that can see colors and details normal human's can't. Heightened olfaction, improved hearing, even joints with a higher range of motion.

A superhuman.

No, she corrects herself, with no small amount of vitriol.

A supersoldier.

The trouble is, being a soldier is what she wants. Control over her body is as much a necessity as a beating heart, and she demands it of herself every way she knows how. The problem isn't the upgrades. It's the autonomy ripped from her hands as soon as she was too dead to spit in their faces.

But this is the hand she's dealt, so she works with it, even if learning how to use her own body is still a learning curve. Testing her limits, evaluating response times, and sometimes... trying out shitty supplementary tech that can't stand up to a little bad weather.

Outside the bathroom door, the remnants of her visor are crumbled together next to her terminal. Thane had crushed it underfoot when he dove between her and the thresher maw. That split second confusion in the field could have cost her life if he hadn't intervened. She hadn't expected a lone wolf assassin to mesh so well with the team.

She towels off and stuffs her armor back in its locker. The automatic cleaning cycle hums to life, and her thoughts whirl with it.

Thane's opened up a bit more since the night they spoke about Alchera. He has a surprising way of coloring the air with his words. And, perhaps most alarmingly, the more time she spends with him, the time she wants to spend with him. She tries to chalk it up to regular team synchronicity, but there are moments she catches herself wondering him on more than just a professional level. Tiny curiosities slither into her brain. Does he kiss like humans do? The very notion warms her blood.

How long has it been since she'd kissed someone? It feels like a lifetime.

And then - just one impulsive little thought, summoning the things she's not even dared herself to think. Does he fuck like humans do?

Almost timidly, she allows her imagination to wander.

Greeting the morning together in the shuttle bay, the harsh fluorescent lights casting dramatic shadows over his body as he bends through another impossible stretch. All that tension coiled within him, the hard planes of his torso, those absolutely delicious ass-kicking thighs...

For a moment, she feels as though he's close enough to share his heat. There's an old, familiar warmth in her blood - exquisite, tiny shivers flickering just beneath her skin - arousal.

Her eyes drift closed. She owes her XO a mission debrief, and she owes her pilot new destination coordinates. But her blood is singing southward, throbbing between her legs, and that's a good thing, right? A reassuring, human reminder that maybe she's still Shepard - a woman - not just a Cerberus machine.

Maybe those obligations can wait a little bit longer.

Scooting up her unmade bed to rest against the headboard, she tentatively rests a hand against her belly and traces a line from her navel to the juncture of her legs, almost as if she's afraid of what she'll find. Her flesh is reassuringly warm, and she passes over her center, teasing and smoothing back over blood-warmed skin, testing its sensitivity. At least here, her body feels like she remembers.

Thane's unfamiliarity excites her. She's never spared much thought for bunking with another species before, but he's more than handsome. Shepard wonders if drell are as introverted as Thane. Likely not, but his guardedness only intensifies her intrigue. The idea of touching him seems forbidden, like a closely guarded secret. She wants to run her tongue over the darkened skin below his lower lip, wants to trace the ridges down the back of his neck and feel the warmth of the flushed skin at his throat.

Her mind fumbles with the thought of him, unclothed and willing. He could be any number of iridescent shades of green under that tight leather getup - by the tantalizing gradient of color across the firm swatch of his exposed chest, he must be. Those dark stripes down his shoulders are trails she's hungry to travel, winding paths across the exotic unknowns of his body. Her fingers itch to follow them wherever they lead - with any luck, all the way down.

And down to what, exactly? For a moment, Shepard considers pulling up the extranet to satiate her curiosity and then decides against it. If he's not biologically equipped the way she hopes, better to find out later, when she's not vividly imagining the shape and color of his erection. Maybe green? But then, he hopefully isn't packing scales down there. No, more likely a familiar blush of color, like the frills of at his neck, or the inside of his mouth.

Her fingers brush carefully over her clit at the thought of his mouth, those gorgeous clit-sucking lips. An excited chill zips down her spine, settling - picturing him in this exact spot, head bowed reverently between her legs to worship her with his tongue. It's been so fucking long since someone ate her out.

The memory is old and faded - breaking fraternization rules with a youthful dark-haired recruit in the barracks. They hadn't even finished basic yet. Shepard had come harder than ever before in her life, only to later discover that recruit had told nearly everyone that they'd hated every second of it. She wouldn't have been upset if Cerberus took that memory from her.

But there's something about Thane. He's nothing if not a gentleman, she likes to think he'd be wickedly good at this. Warm, firm lips, an agile tongue... those fused fingers edging her on.

She uses her own to test that hypothesis, biting her lip at the familiar slick of arousal concentrated in her core.

There was a time when she'd rather be incinerated than suffer gentle lovemaking. She wanted it hard and fast, pleasure so blindingly hot she'd sneak out to the airlock for a cigarette in the afterglow. But her new body is a labyrinth of unknowns. Sex in this new skin, not knowing her limits, how much she can take. She wants to take her time.

Middle finger first, then following with another, she tests her reconstruction. Maybe she's just imagining it, but she feels a bit stiffer than she remembers.

But in the blurry comfort of her fantasy, Thane is a gentle lover. He's slow and patient, giving her ample time to acclimate both her body and her racing thoughts. Her fingers slip inside as far as they'll reach, leaving her palm to flex against her clit. She sighs, luxuriating in sensation.

It feels so good to be touched.

It's been years, in fact, and the roaring flame of her lust is surprising even to herself. To have him here, moving inside her, filling her with every stroke...

When her hand curls against her inner walls, her eyes roll back and an unholy sound leave her throat. Holy shit. Either this is the pleasure time forgot, or Cerberus spared no expense reconstructing her nerve endings. It wipes every other thought from her mind.

She's lost in the fantasy now. Hopelessly spellbound beneath the roll of her own hand - Thane's hips - languidly pushing the heights of her pleasure in body and mind until she's deliberately edging her orgasm because it seems a damn shame to end it so fast. Her head is swimming, discomfort collecting dust in the rational corners of her brain until her nerves are burning with adrenaline and wanting. Scattered thoughts come in incoherent bursts. All that matters now is the caldera of pleasure between her legs. Her mind. His body.

She can almost feel his voice. The words are lost but the sensations are loud and clear, encircling her, flowing through her, filling her. She wants to feel his desire, wants him to come undone inside her, calling her name, riding the high of his climax and all but demanding she come with him. In her mind, they gasp together, his arms tightening around her, his face buried in her neck, her walls clenching around him.

The electricity of release pulses through her nerves - organic, synthesized, and everything in between. For one sweet second, she's weightless. Then the spots are clearing from her vision and she's floating down from whatever far flung corner of the galaxy her soul's been launched to.

In the silence that follows, the gentle hum of the ship is the only sound.

"Fuck," she breathes out into the empty room. He's gone. The reverie slowly evaporates, vanishing into the metal bulkheads of the hull.

The familiar guilt of indulgence tugs at the edges of her fading euphoria. She hadn't banked on masturbating to her crew, but here she is.

It's just a daydream, no harm done.

But as she gets dressed, she asks herself why it's been so long since anyone's crept into her mind like Thane.

Shepard shakes her head, straightening her back. A little movement to clear the errant thoughts trashing her rationality. Her scabs itch. Her mouth is dry. There are more important things to be doing. Things that will quiet the tiny voice in her head that whispers 'no one wants your weird cybernetic body.'

At least she can still show herself a good time. Small victories are perhaps even sweeter during wartime. Maybe she feels just a little more human than she did an hour before.

[burnedastra]

Silence

Summary : A young woman winds up in a small dark and very silent room, with no idea how she got there.

Category : Angst (with kind of happy ending ? It is open to interpretation)

A/n : A friend and I are started a small writing challenge and I thought I could post that first one. (The prompt was same sentence to begin and end the story)

Content Warnings : kidnapping, some curse words, silence and depiction of crappy noises

Word Count : 1.6 K

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You can listen to this while reading

  No one is coming. That thought alone was going on in her sore head. Over and over again, unbearable. She couldn’t focus on anything else, while sitting on that cold, dark and such empty room. She tried to concentrate on any little thing: the bricks of the cracked walls, the discreet humidity smell, that gave her the hint that she was presumably in a basement. The room was completely bare besides that, the big metallic door was locked from the outside - as she realised when she went rushing against it at soon as she woke up in a desperate survival instinct. But what was making her go out of her mind was the silence. Not a single sound made it into that place. The young woman just sat there, her knees against her chest, trying to remember something, anything, that will help her recall how she got there in the first place.

  Think, Talia. Think. She vaguely remembered the night before. She went out with some friends to their favorite bar. She could almost relive it. The laughter, the alcohol pouring, the loud music, the people dancing against each other. But nothing - in her mind - seemed out of place. Nothing out of the ordinary. I’m fucked, she thought while resting her head against the wall. She closed her eyes a little bit, trying to listen to any type of noise that could come from the other side of that god forsaken door. But there was nothing but emptiness. Not a drop leaking from a pipe, not the buzzing of an electric installation, nothing at all. The silence was infuriating and took root in her chest, suffocating her. She tried to focus on her breath, making it more loud, to compensate the void that was settling all around.

  That’s when it turned. The neon light above her head started to flicker, making her stand up in a hurry. Her eyes widened and she clenched her jaw and fists, ready to fight. Talia could feel her heart racing and her breathing sped too, changing from the slow respiration she managed to keep until now. The brunette centered her attention on the rusting entryway, a small whirment coming from right above it, by a little housing she hadn’t notice earlier. It started to emit a shrill echo. Talia backed up against the wall, putting as much space as she could between herself and the only possible exit. The lock started do jingle, letting it open, grinding on the floor. A man came in, not that much taller than her, his shoulders were down and he desesperaly avoided her eyes.

« Who are you ? Where are we ? What do you want ? What have you done to m… » Talia began to ask in a flood of questions before being interrupted.

« Wow wow wow ! Slow down. What an impatient little bitch you make » He said, passing a hand in his dusty blond hair. His voice did not match the rest of his body and gestures. It has something more blunt about it with an undertone that Talia couldn’t quite place.

« So, let’s start from the beginning, Talia ». The girl squirmed at way he spoke her first name. He knows my name. How can he possibly know that ? The mere hearing of those two syllables in his mouth left her feeling vulnerable and really small. « You see, I had to take matters into my own hands since you are so determined to ignore me. »

« Ignore you ? What do you mean ignore you ? » Talia let out, in a worried whisper.

« Oh ! So you don’t even recognize me. That’s just splendid, you keep worsening your case, darling. »

« Don’t call me that. » She said with a disgusted face, her innerself giving her the strenghts to defy him. « What do you want ? For me to notice you ? Just did, let me go now. »

He laughed in a bitter tone and she looked at him, confused.

« Always so forward huh ? That’s not gonna get you anywhere, that’s for sure. Now I tell you what, I just think you should stay here a little while longer, just so you can reflect on it a bit. »

  And on those words, he just left, abandoning Talia to the unsufferable silence. She slid against the wall, shaking. What is happening ? She could not wrap her head around this small interaction. Where could she possibly have recognized him from ? The short hair man was not from her work space nor an acquaintance from a friend, that she was sure of. And there was this odd thing about him. How could someone with such a shy energy could talk with this much confidence ? She replayed the discussion in her head, focalizing her attention on his intonations, but nothing came to her. The light above her went off, putting her in total darkness. She let herself slid to one of the corners of the room, huddling against the dry wall. She closed her eyes, in a failed attempt to make the obscurity less heavy.

  The lights went back what Talia believed to be a few hours later, but had nothing to help her confirm this theory. She pinched the bridge of her nose and slowly opened her eyes. The man came twice that day, punctuating it by bringing her meals. Twice the buzzing went on and the lights flickered to announce his arrival. Twice he refused to say anything to her, not responding to her questions the first time or her slurs the second one. When he left after the latest visit, the lights turned off before the brunette even had the time to finish the dry meat he gave her. Then it continued like that until Talia lost all notions of time. Lights. Flicker and buzz. Meal. Silence. Flicker and buzz. Meal. Dark. Repeat. Every time he came, she tried to make him say something, make her hear anything else than that buzzing and her own breathing. Each time he refused, no matter how sweet or angry she made her voice, no matter how violent or pleading her words were. Between the two meals she walked in circles around the small space, to stretch her legs and make her muscles work. When the light went off, she sat on her corner et when she wasn’t able to fall asleep, she scratched at the brick next to her head. At some point when the man came, she didn’t even stand up nor look at him, losing the hope to have some kind of interaction. She didn’t even touch her meal, the sound of the wall crumbling under her fingers soothing her. She played the previous months in her head in a loop. Scratch, scratch. The different parties, the smiles of her friends. Scratch, scratch. The kisses of her lover, who she had a crush on, even if she refused to admit it. Scratch, scratch. The scrapping of paper as she worked on her office projects, the subway always so full of people. Scratch, scratch. The music, the singing, the concerts, the laughs. Scratch, scratch. The debates, the arguments, the tears. Scratch, scratch. The theatre, the bookstores, the movies, the museums. Scratch, scratch. The restaurants, the bars, the coffee shops. Scratch, scratch. The coffee shops. The damn coffee shops. That’s where she knew him from. He was a barista there who served her a few times. She remembered his shyness, but also his voice, a quiet whisper in the back of her mind. But it was sweeter back then, there wasn’t that undertone that she now assimilated to violence. Scratch, scratch. The brick started to move. Talia looked at it with big eyes, not fully comprehending the meaning of it all. She extended her legs, cracking her sore knees in the process and got a firmer hold on the stone. She fidgeted it, feeling it coming looser and looser with the effort. After a couple of tries, she finally yanked the block free, leaving a small indent in the wall. Of course, there was cement right behind that.

  She looked at the brick in her hands, turning it and frowned. Rage started boiling in her veins and she threw the rock across the room, breaking it in halves. No one is coming, she thought. I’m gonna die here, alone in the silence. She stood up and walked to the pieces of rocks, picking it up again, cutting her right palm in the process. She looked at the blood beading up and roll off of her veins. Then the flickering and buzzing started again. She back down against the wall again in a hurry, putting her hands behind herself, still holding the stones. As usual, the man came in with the plate. His grey eyes looked into her hazel ones. The rest happened in a blur but what she did remember clearly was her hesitation until the very last second. For the rest of it, it was merely putting the pieces back together with what the officers had told her. There was running and pushing. The delicate sound of the plate shattering on the concrete. The fighting and punching. The scratch of nails clawing into skin. The bangs coming from the multiple hits with the rocks. Again and again. The groans becoming small whimpers falling from his lips. The splashing tone of blood. The sobs escaping from her coarsed vocal chords. The rocks hitting the floor in a low tone. And finally the melody of the busy streets. The delightful harmony of the police sirens. The whispers of people. The awful silence of the interrogation room. The candy-coated, angry voices of the detectives. And lastly, her own voice, raw from the lack of talking, explaining in one single sentence why she did what she did.

« No one was coming. »

[sunflowersseemhappy]

Hi! I hope your day is going well! 😄 I wanted to request a Headcannon if they are still open? Could you do one for Lucio with a super affectionate female MC or GN MC if that makes it easier? I really enjoyed the ones you did for Julian and Muriel ☺️

Despite being in isolation my day is going rather well thank you anon! I’m glad you enjoyed my former ones, it felt like a lifetime ago I did them so the formula is a bit messy for this one but I’ve done what I can. I hope you like it!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN and here is my Masterlist!

Lucio tries to play it cool but he’s just so astounded, before his death people treated him with distain and altogether avoided physical contact with him. After his ‘death’ when he was lingering around the palace Lucio came to desperately want anyone to physically comfort him.

Since he's seen the error of his ways he knows he probably deserved it but that first time you gave him physical affection was a moment he’ll never forget.

He’s not one to worry after what people think about him, at least not in first instances, why would he ever care what a stranger thought of him? But as he got to know you and he found himself melting like putty in your hands.

—————————————————————————————————

Lucio’s not afraid to admit he is a glutton for your physical affections, he’s never really had someone to share his desires to be cuddled or held. It’s been a long time coming for Lucio.

There's not a moment he’s not clinging on to you and really he’s never felt afraid of expressing it like some others would, in fact it feels better when he's in your embrace. Like something about you makes him complete.

His real problems came when he realized why, that he needed to be close to you because of that damn ritual, the one where Asra stole the body you are now in from Lucio. Some base desire to own that body.

It made him feel sick, really it did. Lucio withdrew slightly from that physical affection but he couldn’t deny that he instantly missed your hands stroking his shoulders, knocking your knee against his, or your lips pressing fluttering kisses to his jaw.

—————————————————————————————————

Little does Lucio know that inexplicably you feel much the same, drawn to touch him and bring him in close and hold him like no other. You’ve always been affectionate but something about Lucio...

He needs you to be there and hold him, he’s not had that comfort, you know because he’s said it in so many silent ways. You know he’s been crying out for someone to hold since before he can remember, and you can’t leave him out in the cold like so many others have done.

He hasn’t been the best person in the world but you know he can do better because all he ever needed was someone like you to guide him.

—————————————————————————————————

Lucio takes anything you can give him in those most affectionate moments of yours, its like a dance the way the two of you hold and touch each other. He’s cried more than he’ll ever admit.

Compliments fly unbridled from both of your mouths, between them you kiss and smile and Lucio hums under his breath the sound makes your heart hum with it. That grin as you compliment him is so pure.

Its become a game of one upping each other, you take his hand in yours and he’ll bring it to his lips, then you’ll bring his to yours and kiss all over, winning the game.

Chills race through him as you take off his golden arm for the evening and trace the scars there, the vulnerability he felt overwhelming but welcoming as you traced his past.

Devouring lips as the two of you kiss, anywhere, everywhere. You two fit so well together, Lucio knows he needs you too much.

—————————————————————————————————

The day you closed off, Lucio is attending a meeting for once and you’re winding through the halls of the place for no particular reason.

Beyond the corner you can hear Lucio’s voice, he sounds like he’s alone but when you peek around the corner he’s sat against the wall talking to the dogs which would be cute if you had never heard the words.

“Gods Y/N makes me so weak, I wonder if they even know...”

They price your heart, who else would he be talking about? You can’t bear to listen to more and flee through the place with tears burning your eyes, you don’t hear Lucio finish his sentence.

“...I wonder if they know how much I love them for that? My weakness for them has made me want to change, I don’t think I could have done that without Y/N.”

Lucio doesn’t see you for a week, no explanation and no clue where you are until Asra shows up and demands that Lucio ‘fix this’, Asra takes Lucio to the Rowdy Raven and the former count sees you.

You’re staring into your drink when Lucio slides into the booth to sit opposite you, earning curious looks from the patrons at the appearance of the former count in their midst. Staring into your drink Lucio frowns when you don’t acknowledge him, his foot nudges your own but your intense gaze doesn’t waver from the depths of your drink.

“Y/N please talk to me doll,” Lucio’s flesh arm comes to cup your hand but you flinch back and flash a glare in his direction. “Why are you ignoring me?”

“Thought that would be obvious,” you snap, throat sore from alcohol and crying you tuck your feet back under the table so that Lucio’s foot is no longer tapping yours. “Maybe you should ask your dogs, seeing as you’ll tell them how weak I make you!”

Lucio’s silver eyes widen, oh! Oh...

“Oopsie...”

“Oopsie indeed,” you growl hastily sliding from the booth and toward the door, Lucio stumbles to follow bursting out of the door after you.

“Y/N that’s not what you think it means! You didn’t hear the whole thing!”

“I don’t want to hear the whole thing!” Your roar back turning to him as you walk backward and gesture wildly to the air unaware of the canal behind you. “All I want you to do is leave me alone-”

You brace yourself as you fall back, but no icy water greets you, nor cobblestone, just a strong arm under your waist and a hand cradling your head. Lucio’s wounded looking face above you as he sets you on your feet, your hands are limp at your side but his own are checking you over. You brush them away.

“I don’t want to hear a stupid excuse Lucio, nothing you can say could fix this.”

"I won’t say anything then, I’ll just give you this...” Lucio’s lips barely make contact but they find the corner of your mouth and place a ghost of a kiss there. “You do make me weak, if you hadn’t done that nothing would have changed. Weakening me like a fire weakens metal is the best possible thing you ever did because now I’m the strongest sword there is. You made me that...”

Lucio sighs and pulls from your grasp, but your fingers seize his and when he looks up at you, you roll your eyes.

“You’re so cheesy.”

[danlusional]

06 - damn sure

book: My Two First Loves pairing: Noah Harris x Jules Price rating: PG-13 (light making out) word count: 1,301 summary: Despite Mason’s sudden “confession”, Jules know - have known - that she wants someone else. 

The chilly wind bit into her, getting underneath her jeans and sweater as she stood on the front porch to wait for him. It was past midnight and only 13 minutes after Noah’s last text, meaning he had only two minutes left to make it as he promised.

Jules was more concerned about the impending return of her father, darting her gaze from each end of the street, almost anticipating the headlights of his car. As if the world heard her thoughts, something shined its way from the end of the street. She gulped as her stomach bubbled with nerves.

It was a singular headlight and Noah with his red hot bike stopped on her curb. She sighed a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and made her way towards him. “Right on time.”

“I’m a man of my word.”, he casually replied before getting off from his ride. She could see his eyes looking down at her wrapped-up wrist. All the commotion that happened this afternoon seemed so far away already, but the pain and soreness she felt reminded her it was still fresh. “You look badass with that cast.”

“Not as much of a badass as you, though.”, Jules grinned and nudged him softly with her elbow. “How about that walk?”

Noah replied with his signature smirk before starting to walk, expecting her to follow. She fell into the steps next to him, carefully keeping a distance as to not bump her injured hand against him. They walked in silence, letting the soft sounds of wind, crickets, or the streetlights humming above them filled the air. 

Despite the almost complete silence, Jules couldn’t stop thinking. She was glad Noah and Mason could set aside their differences for a moment back in the football field. She was happy to have two people cared for her that much. But she also felt guilty, knowing she led one of them on all these times.

She felt vulnerable. Something she didn’t really like, because being the oldest daughter in the family meant she needed the emotional capability to take care of her dad, Mackenzie, and everything that could go wrong in the household. She had to have control over everything.

Now, with Noah? Everything could happen. She had to trust him and her feelings for him.

Their path took a turn towards a small playground just a few blocks away from where they started. Her eyes gazed left and right, looking for a sign of someone else’s presence, but there was none. She couldn’t risk being seen by one of the neighbors that might snitch about her and Noah being out in the middle of the night to her dad. 

As Jules was still busy with her thoughts, he already stopped and took a seat on the grass, facing the street they came from. She quietly sat down next to him, shoulders brushing as the comfortable silence enveloped them once more. “Can I say something?”, she spoke up, turning her head to face him. 

“I’m being true and honest with you. I like you, Noah... and I’m sorry if it seems like I’m playing games with you and Mason. That wasn’t and isn’t my intention at all.”, she took a deep breath in between with her arms wrapping around herself, fingers gingerly tightened on the sleeves of her sweater. “Yes, I did like - no, love - Mason back then but after he dated Ava, I just stopped and moved on. They were my friends, for God’s sake! Then, I met you and I just liked hanging out with you and now I like you—“

Without saying anything, Noah wrapped an arm around her shoulder to bring her closer to him. Their sides flushed against each other, making her arm had to snake around his waist. “You don’t really have to give me the whole thing.”

“Well, I feel like I do...”, she said quietly, as if she was scared anyone else would be around to hear it. “You deserved my explanation and more.”

“Yeah... Maybe. But, as I said before, I don’t own you, so your past with Jennings or whatever isn’t my business.”, his voice matched her volume and his eyes softened as he looked at her face in the dimmed lighting, only shined by the lamppost at the playground. “Thank you for that, though.”

“Hey, you were the one who helped with first aid today and... Take a beating for me. Sorry if it became a routine.”, Jules could only smile bashfully. Now, she didn’t know what was going to happen next to them. Would they be okay? 

After what felt like a tense moment in her head, Noah gave her a smile. A genuine one that she rarely saw since she knew him. “Nah, Jennings didn’t get anything on me. Him being judgmental is the real pain in the ass.”

They shared a laugh and any questions or doubt she had about whatever it was between them melted away. She was sure about this, about him. He made her feel safe and gave her the confidence and courage she always wished to have. Maybe, just a maybe, she never could be with Mason because she supposed to be with Noah. Jules secretly thanked her past self for never having the guts to confess to her best friend. 

“So, can we continue our little locker room rendezvous? We did say we’d take a rain check.”, Jules flashed him a mischievous grin with her eyelashes batting in jest. It didn’t take a whole second for Noah to closed the distance between them, lips finding hers perfectly in the dark. 

She laced her fingers on the back of his neck, bringing him closer while his own locked on either side of her hips. The kiss was more carefree than the one they shared earlier, with no worry of anyone going to walk in on them. Jules could feel the affection he exuded with each movement of his lips, and the respect he had for her with the way his hands softly traveled up and down her sides. He never wanted to make her uncomfortable and his actions definitely spoke louder. 

Noah carefully guided her to his lap, with a small pause to wait for her confirmation. She gladly let him and let her legs wrapped around his waist. How could she not get enough of him? They were practically pressed against one another, limbs wrapping around each other. Noah Harris drove her crazy, physically, and mentally.

What felt like a while, they finally broke the kiss with a soft gasp. Jules scanned the aftermath of their connection; his lips reddened and slightly swollen, his eyes focused on her as if he was doing the same, and arms still strongly holding her close. “That was definitely better than before.”, she giggled softly while her thumb gently brushed across his bottom lip. 

“You deserve the best.”, he shrugged cooly with a shadow of a smirk on the corner of his lips. “I guess I should take you home before you get into trouble.”

He was right. After the broken wrist commotion, her dad could’ve just put her under house arrest. He didn’t give her any hard time but it was apparent that his way of worrying was to put more pressure and protection. “What if I ask you to whisk me away?”

“Don’t, you rebel.”, Noah chuckled and softly pinched the tip of her nose. “I might take you up on that.”

With much hesitation, Jules sighed and stood up from his lap, wishing wistfully for the what-ifs. What if they could? At least, for the time being, she just wished they could be together with no one bothering them again. 

Well, now it was up to her to make sure it happened.

[synoxshots]

Glue Me

Summary: After the discovery in his meeting with Rogun on Tatooine, Ticcer shuts himself away on his ship. Only Risha can break his silence.

Spoilers for chapter three of the smuggler class story.

One-shot. Cross posted to ao3.

No words were spoken on the speeder ride back to the Firebird. Risha had never known him be so quiet in the three years since they'd met; if anything, the challenge was more getting him to stop talking. Usually he never shied from offering up some daft comment or typical smuggler boast for her to roll her eyes at, like he enjoyed setting her up to make a witty comeback. But this time, nothing. His eyes focused solely ahead, a scowl etched upon his face ever since Rogun's hideout.

They'd gotten closer in the past few months, close enough that they could actually call it a relationship after so long flirting without making commitments. She'd never intended to let things get this far – after all, taking her throne was always supposed to be the priority – but she'd never quite managed to hide the smile that formed every time she heard those familiar footsteps approach her room on the ship. She'd spent all that time trying to resist him for the sake of her future, but truthfully she'd much rather spend time with him than some refined, pretty noble like Merritt Rineld. Ticcer was rough around the edges, about as far away from the ideal king as she could find, yet that drew her to him even more. He didn't worry about sucking up to her, he wanted to be with her before he ever knew about the throne, and finding out didn't change the way he treated her at all. And yes, he was definitely nice to look at as well. Though the trouble was telling him that without getting one of his 'I told you so' grins back.

The mood was different now though. Since the meeting with Rogun and his men, the discovery about Darmas and the senator, a wall had gone up around him. There'd been none of his usual swagger when he took out Rogun and seized his criminal empire for himself, something that should have been cause for celebration. Instead there was an unnerving coldness in his voice that hadn't been there before.

From the moment they started working together, it had been obvious that the Empire was a sore spot for him. He never really talked about his past, or at least nothing before he started smuggling, but she'd run background checks when she first met him and she had her theories. Ticcer was so obviously a nickname that she had to do a bit of poking, after all; and it was best to know what she was working with if they were going after her father's treasure. She traced Ticcer Marzan back to a Ticcanledri Marzan from the planet they'd met and, well. It wasn't hard to guess what had happened to someone growing up on Coruscant at that time. The shockwaves were still being felt in the Republic more than a decade later; it was no surprise that personal scars ran so deep too. There was no need to press him on it. Hating the Empire that way, always having his guard raised, that all made sense.

“Come on, let's get moving,” he grunted, helping her off the speeder before setting off towards the ship at such a pace she had to jog to keep up. The rest of the crew had already gathered in the docking bay outside, Guss apparently in the middle of another story that left Akaavi exasperated and Corso fighting back tears of laughter.

“Hey Captain, where we headed?” Corso tried to ask, but Ticcer marched past him and straight into the ship without so much as a glance. “What's up with him?”

Risha shook her head frantically, firing off warning glares at each of them before they followed him up the ramp. “Don't ask. Don't say a word.”

Ticcer was already waiting in the cockpit when they caught up to him, drumming his hands against his thighs as he paced from side to side.

“Finally,” he said brusquely. “Corso, set a course for Corellia.” His words were sharp, his eyes avoiding the bewildered stares of his crew. He left the cockpit as abruptly as he'd spoken, leaving them all in a stunned silence.

Corso turned back to Risha. “Do you want to tell us what's happening? Are things okay with you two?”

“We are fine. Rogun's dead. But it turns out Pollaran and Dodonna are traitors, all those jobs were to help the Empire, not the Republic.” Corso sunk back, grasping towards his seat at her words, Bowdaar giving a loud growl of anger. Major players in the underworld they may all be these days, but there were still those who had a personal stake in seeing the Empire defeated, just like their captain. Even Akaavi, the most pro-Empire of all of them, seethed with disgust, spitting about dishonour and muttering in Mando'a under her breath.

A barrage of questions followed all at once, but Risha could barely muster her response. The news had been a sucker punch straight into the guts of them all, and of course they wanted to know what the plan was from here. But where normally she had a great scheme to share, now even she was coming up short. Go to Corellia, but then what? And what could a crew do if their Captain couldn't lead them?

She only wanted to find him, comfort him, reassure him – but what could she say to even begin to make things better? Nearly two years they'd worked with them, two years spent trusting the wrong people. Even if he did it to line his own pockets rather than those of the Republic, a betrayal like this was probably the cruellest thing they could have done to him. He wasn't a man to let go of his grudges, the way he'd chased down Skavak had been a testament to that. And this was the Empire, this meant more. He'd never claimed to be a Republic patriot, see them as the good guys like Corso did, but there'd always been a pattern in the jobs he'd taken. Money, yes, but also hitting the Empire where it hurt. It was how he'd always justified picking up those extra jobs the Republic offered, even as she teased him for being their lackey. Hating the Empire often went hand in hand with helping the Republic, and at least he was wise enough to make credits from it too.

She didn't have a personal stake in the same way. He was her personal stake, and there was no way to sugar-coat the pain he was in now, no kind words that could make it all disappear. Watching him shut himself away like this was a struggle, but it didn't even begin to compare to the way he hurt right now.

* * * * * * * *

The Firebird was eerily quiet for the rest of the journey to Corellia. Normally Risha would have been relieved for their antics to die down for just a minute, but now the ship was barren and devoid of energy. Meals were taken in near-silence, none of them wanting to venture beyond small talk. Even Guss had lost his usual spark, refraining from his typically bizarre stories that kept the crew amused on long journeys.

Ticcer hadn't been seen for hours, retreating to his quarters before the ship had even got off the ground. It had been an unspoken agreement among the rest of them that he wasn't to be disturbed. But someone had to break the silence eventually, and that someone had to be her. Bracing herself, she knocked at the door of his quarters. No response. She tried calling his name, but still got nothing back. She was on the brink of giving up when to her surprise, the door finally opened.

He lay perfectly still on the bed, eyes fixed upon the ceiling, with no acknowledgement of her entry to the room at all. He still wore his clothes from Tatooine, not even bothering to remove his boots or take the guns out from the holsters at his hips. It couldn't have been comfortable, but he didn't seem to care. The charm and presence that normally filled a room had been replaced by little more than a shell.

She removed her coat and lay down beside him, placing the most careful of kisses on his cheek. He tensed for a second at the contact, but soon pulled her closer and took her hand in his. His clasp was firm, needing, like he couldn't let her go.

“They've played me for a fool, Rish. All this time, they were just using me,” he croaked, the small voice miles away from the brash, cocky smuggler captain he presented to others. Words usually came so easily to her, but in this moment none were right. He'd never been this way in front of her before, so raw, so vulnerable. They were normally so playful when they spoke, even in a serious conversation, but none of that suited now.

“I can't say something that will make things better,” she sighed. “But I do know you won't let them beat you without a fight.” She cursed the clichéd words of inspiration, that she didn't have something better to offer. He said nothing else, just stroked the back of her hand with his thumb and shifted his stare to where their hands met. Hours could have passed, or perhaps it was only a few minutes before he broke the silence again.

“You being here...it's enough.”

There was no use pushing him further. If he wanted to speak, he would, and she promised herself that she would be there to listen when that moment came.

And if lying here now could ease just a fraction of his pain, she would do that too for as long as he needed.

* * * * * * * *

She hadn't realised she'd fallen asleep until the ship's alarms bleated out, signalling their impending arrival to Corellia. She had to flex her neck after resting on his chest for so long, but he sprung into life straight away like a fresh wind was powering through him. He charged through the ship, startling the crew with the sudden burst of energy, dishing out instructions and barking at them to gather their guns and gear for the fight ahead. He was a general readying his troops for battle, only this was no military fight. This war was one fuelled by revenge and personal pride only.

The rest of the crew descended the ship's ramp, but a hand on her arm stopped her before she could follow.

“Hey,” he said softly, pausing as pale blue eyes met her brown. “Thank you.”

The stare lingered, filled with truth even as the words went unspoken.

“I know.”

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Never say never - Chapter 6

So, here’s the next instalment of this little romcom story...

°6° ~Victoria~

“But, I insist upon apologising to the other people in attendance, again.” Victoria hated apologising, but Martin had been right in telling her off about snubbing people who had done her no harm…this far.

Knowing that it would make Martin laugh, she snatched up a bowl of peanuts and held it in her palms like an offering.

As expected, the man beside her doubled over in hilarity, holding his sides as the wheezing grew painful. The polite but confused looks of his friends and colleagues seemed an endless well of amusement to him.

“Ah, thank you.” Hiddleston took up one of the nuts gingerly and shoved it into his mouth as if it had been a ritualistic offering indeed. “See? The tamest of…beasts.” Martin whispered into her ear, and she was tempted to pat the golden hair on the man soothingly.

Following the other man’s example, Armitage also picked a nut and ate it, keeping his eyes questioningly on her face.

“Look pleased, girl, smile at them.” Martin said in a hushed voice, nudging her in the side gently.

Victoria was almost sure that she was grimacing, her teeth bared awkwardly, but she had never been good at smiling on command and this fraught situation was, unfortunately, no exception to this shortcoming of hers.

“So, tell us, what did you refer to when you called this a “nerd-fest”?” Martin prompted her gently to speak, seemingly understanding that direct exhortations would get him nowhere with her. It was, in general, always best to come at a petrified Victoria sideways, starting a seemingly inconsequential conversation and letting it flow from there.

“There are literally dolls of you.” Victoria scoffed, moving her hands vaguely in front of her body in an imitation of how a child would play with a doll. “Not soft though, hard plastic…” Her hands sunk back, she was making a fool of herself.

“Dolls?” Liza hooted gleefully. “Well, I’ve also seen the theatre productions.” Victoria said, just a moment too late, her voice tinged with resentment again. She hated being caught unawares and being goaded into saying stupid shit.

“No, you tell me more about the dolls.” Liza was having fun, but her expression was devoid of malice or ill-will.

“Liza, I have seen those funny movies with the costumes and the creatures and…” Victoria sighed, she didn’t remember the names and she was already at a disadvantage here. She felt caught and put on the spot amidst these people who, naturally, knew those movies so well, down to the very lines of the characters.

“And did you like them?” The good beast, Tom as he had introduced himself with a smile, was grinning at her warmly again. Yes, she could see what Jenna saw in him, he seemed to radiate warmth and a polite friendliness.

“Oh, yes, very much. It was a bit…sad though.” Victoria shrugged. She was not ready to explain to a bunch of strangers that she didn’t like seeing bad family relations and vicious fights, as her reality had enough of those to last for a lifetime.

Liza looked at her questioningly, but after a moment, she understood. She had seen Vic pick up on the most random things, but strained family relationships and weird homosexual undertones were always amongst the things that moved her most. Also, like most soft-hearted, even though Vic was equally hard-headed, women, Victoria hated untimely deaths.

Maybe, her plan would work after all. All she had to do now was to draw back and hope that Armitage had a tad of charm on his own. He had taken the peanut and he was giving them his best constipated smile.

Waving discreetly at her wife, she withdrew, pulling Jenna along with her, much to the chagrin of the young woman.

“That is one good-looking man.” She sighed under her breath and Liza turned around, scanning the room for the person her wife’s employee might have meant by those words. Martin followed them discreetly, coaxing Benedict along with the promise of more cakes and sandwiches (and a prime vantage point to follow the developments of their plan).

“Where are you all going now? What?” Vic called out, distress in her voice. “I’ll be right back; you stay with Armitage.” Liza grinned suavely, physically shoving Jenna along as she dug her heels into the carpeted floor.

Victoria blinked, looking up at the man in front of her until she could feel herself grow slightly dizzy.

“Oh darn it! That’s it. I’m done trying to be pretty.” She cursed under her breath, opened her tiny clutch bag and fished out a pair of gold-rimmed, round glasses that she put on resolutely. Unfortunately, she could not suppress the gasp.

“Oh Saints.” She sighed under her breath as the slightly blurry surroundings became sharper instantly. She had known that these were dangerous men, but she had believed that her myopy and the artistry of the editors had embellished them considerably; suffice it to say that she was shocked to find that she had been wrong.

~Richard~

They had left her alone with that woman. Not entirely alone of course, Hiddleston was still hovering around, but Martin that treacherous weasel had followed the cakes and the gentler women, leaving him stranded with this surprising creature whose eyes made it quite hard for him to find something relevant to say.

She blinked owlishly up at him until he thought that she’d go cross-eyed. To his surprise – another one – she usually wore glasses and when she put them on, an obscene sound of pleasure escaped her half-open lips.

Again, she called to the Saints, pushing the glasses up before they had even had the chance or the time to slip, which told him that she wore her glasses more consistently than him and probably had done so for a long time.

She had made an inane comment about no longer attempting to be pretty, before putting on her glasses but that made no sense at all to him, as her glasses were beautiful and, in a strange way, so was she.

Obviously, pushing up her glasses was a habit or a tick as she did it twice while looking at him as if he was a painting in a museum rather than a real, living, breathing person. Then again, he stood nearly as still as a statue under her forbidding, critical gaze that roamed over his face with detached curiosity.

“Hmmm, how do you find the 1971 Armitage then?” Hiddleston stood next to her, eating peanuts, and joining her in her intense study of the immobile man facing them. No doubt, he deserved the attribute of “stony” now, Richard thought, dismayed to be the butt of the joke after all. He had known that had been a risk and he had walked right into it.

“1971?” She asked absent-mindedly, throwing a quick questioning look at her interlocutor before returning her gaze to him, and Richard flinched a little bit. Why did that man have to lead with his age when talking to a woman that young?

“A collectible, I’m sure.” Hiddleston purred, his voice laden with affectation which made Victoria chuckle again.

Hmmm, if it made her laugh rather than growl and spit, he would be standing there and be mocked for a little while longer, Richard decided. She looked like she needed a laugh.

“Not quite an antique.” Victoria opined, but Hiddleston was quick to reassure her: “Almost though. It’s been wonderfully preserved.” Again, that pealing, throaty laughter resounded, and Richard’s own mouth curled into an indulgent smile.

“This deserves to be in a gallery.” Victoria murmured, her voice devout and strangely vulnerable.

“I am right here; I can hear you.” Richard interjected, without much hope to break up their little game.

“AAAH, as you can see, Ma’am, it is unfortunately haunted. It can tell the time…if you hang it opposite a clock that is…” Hiddleston was quick to take Richard’s intervention in his stride, giving himself an apologetic expression that amused Victoria greatly. “Haunted? A piece of art so young?” She expressed her doubt and suspicion.

“Yes, yes…It’s looking for a good home though, a nice attic or a cellar maybe…” Hiddleston was waving his hands around Richard’s face as if to dazzle Victoria by the speed of his movements, an old trick salespeople used to distract from the inferior quality of their wares.

“I have a home, thank you, Hiddleston. I am not a piece of junk to be sold for 50p in a yard-sale.” Richard growled.

Her face grew grave, and he wondered what dark thought had crossed her mind to make her smile die on her lips. Immediately, he regretted having cut short their fun. He really was the grumpy, old sad sack he never wanted to be.

~Victoria~

When Tom spoke of attics and cellars, Victoria was immediately reminded of the stately house her father had raised her in. She could imagine a man like that one living there, she could picture a painting of a man such as that hanging in the great hall over the fireplace or high above the broad staircase winding its way to the two separate wings of the manor.

He had a skin like the Italian marble that had been so ridiculously slippery and that had made her afraid to take a fatal tumble down the very same staircase. Many people had told her that the idea was ludicrous and overly dramatic, but she knew it to be possible. Her mother had died that way.

Yes, there had been a bottle of bourbon and some prescription drugs in the mix as well, but the fact remained that her mother had fallen down the staircase and died on the spot from a broken neck. Father had replaced that patch of marble, but its veining was different, and they all hated that marred, ugly square that stood out like a sore thumb.

Thinking of her childhood home invariably made her sad; but she couldn’t deny that Richard Armitage would have fitted better into the décor than the little girl she had been.

He would look terribly imposing on the steps of the stairs or sitting in the huge armchairs in front of the roaring fire in the library. He would not be swallowed by every piece of furniture, he would not look out of place in the huge copper bathtub, and he would certainly not blend into the dark corners of the much too spacious rooms when the main lights were turned down. Maybe, she would have to get a painting of him and try to sneak it in to see if her father would even notice.

“Would that he were a painting.” She murmured, a desperate note sneaking into her voice that Tom picked up on immediately. There was pain in this woman, and he could see the gooseflesh on her arms as she tried to keep still. Evidently, she was on the verge of breaking into another run, unable to cope with something that distressed her, a thing that escaped his notice though…which frustrated him, as he really wanted to help her.

“So, you prefer the theatre to the cinema?” He asked, hoping it would be the right path to choose.

Victoria took a deep breath; this was what Liza and Angie had aimed for, for her to meet new people and talk about herself again. “I don’t know, I’ve only been to the movie theatre a few times before. It was a long time ago though.”

She could remember the smell of popcorn and of anticipation as the room grew dark and the screen lit up like a window to another world. Even then, she had been consumed with an absurd fear to be among so many other people; terrified of what they might think of her if she was to gasp or cry at the wrong moment, so she stayed immobile.

The man who would marry and divorce her within 10 years had thought that she had hated the experience and hence had not asked her to go to the cinema often afterwards. Maybe, if he had believed that she liked it, he would have taken her instead of other girls and this shared hobby would have strengthened their bond rather than frazzle it.

Victoria coughed, she had said too much already, and her heart was pounding. She was not ready for this.

“I’m sorry. I have to go home. I’m not feeling well.” She uttered hastily, turning to leave.

She was a terrible person; she had tried to make things right and all she had managed were fits and starts, broken off conversations that would leave a stale taste on the silver tongues of these men.

“I…can’t.” She stammered to no-one in particular as she waved at her friends and vanished before they could make their way back through the room to keep her from leaving like an absurd perversion of Cinderella.

She wanted to say how sorry she was, she wanted to thank them for their kindness, but she just couldn’t…so, she ran, her feet drumming against the pavement and her dress soaking up the moisture of the ground as she made for the next corner to catch a cab.

By the time she arrived home, her chest was heaving frantically, and she was crying with panic and distress.

When she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, Victoria had to admit to herself that she was irrevocably broken. She had had the great honour to meet people so fascinating and charming that many a woman would have torn out her own throat to be in her shoes and yet, she had not been able to shake the ghosts haunting her every breath, dogging her every step, spoiling her every pleasure.

Whatever Angie and Liza had thought they could achieve here, it would not happen, it never could.

~Richard~

That woman was utterly confusing. There were threads of a vibrant, quick-witted, funny person shining through behind a veil of confused anger, but somehow, they couldn’t get a hold of her.

In his mind, he could not reconcile the words he had read on the pages with the wide-eyed distress on her face; there was such a difference between the person he had imagined her to be and the person she had turned out to be in reality.

Now, it was true that his own taciturn demeanour had not been exactly conducive to drawing out the parts of her she was obviously hiding from the world, shielding them like deep wounds or fragile saplings.

Hiddleston however… that man was charming and even he had not managed to make her let down her guard for more than a few minutes at a time.

“What the fuck have you done to her?” Elizabeth stormed over, dismay writ plain on her face.

No, she had been angry before, she has bloody screamed at YOU, Richard thought, you cannot blame us for her leaving…but he still felt responsible and a tiny bit guilty. If he had been a little more open, she might have felt less insecure.

She has made it very clear that she’s afraid of you, he reminded himself, and you have done nothing to assuage her fears. No, you’ve given her your crooked, sharp-edged smiles that must indeed have looked like a predator baring its teeth at her more than the shy warmth he wanted them to convey.

“We were nice, all was well until Armitage gave her one of those cold, snide smiles.” Hiddleston shrugged and Richard felt weirdly hurt and betrayed even though he could hear that it had been a joke. Cold, a thing he had been called much too often and that made him despair within his own heart. He had not chosen his face and even after 50 years of life, he could not outrun its angular repulsiveness.

She had not known him well enough to be prejudiced, maybe, she would have been able to find warmth where others saw ice, but he had not managed to make her see. Also, Hiddleston had not been a great help.

“Awww, Richard, come on!” Martin sighed, disappointed, as if he was pursuing some ulterior motive Richard ignored.

[magnaflourious-nerdity]

But Through Darkened Glasses

(You Need Chaos in Your Soul)

" And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you."

There was a prompt on some Halloween themed fandom challenge for October. Monday's was 'Black Cat' and for whatever reason. This is what happened. Bc im just going with that kind of thing lately I guess, I decided to spit it out here. I didn't beta this thoroughly enough I guarantee bc im lazy and also the fandom is like 20 people big, and generally full of forgiving, lovely, content starved ppl. The last point I am extrapolating from my own experiences of being in the fandom, haha.

_____

It's weird, he thinks, twining in and out of the fence post he's been following for the past few minutes, trying to get his bearings now that he's been saddled with twice his accustomed amount of limbs. It's weird that I'm not more freaked out about this. He pauses, grooms himself briefly and crosses the street under the lamp light. The bulb blows out halfway across. He doesn't even jump this time. Maybe it's a bonus of having nine lives, you don't worry so much about one or two practice runs. His ears twitch minutely as the wind shifts and brings a low, buzzing, sound sighing through the fronds of the willow at the edge of his yard. They're even more sensitive now that he's a cat- the ears that is -twitching at the slightest whisper of a sound in the night.

He doesn't even bother to slow his pace as he hops the fence and passes through his own back yard, simply fixing jade eyes on the window he knows to be Becky's, turning them away again with the knowledge that there's no way she'd be at home tonight. Not on a night where she's basically been given free reign to go full-tilt feral social-climber on every party in town. There's no gaining entrance into his lair in his current state (nor is he particularly keen to meet Rasputin face to face right now either) and his parents are out of the question. Can't guarantee his dad won't be too drunk this late on a Halloween to tie a bottle rocket to his newly acquired tail. Don't really care to see him if he's sober either. Or just in general

Instead, His attention remains fixed on the sound he'd heard in the distance before, as he cuts across lawns and ducks down the well trod neighborhood backalleys, avoiding any heards of desperate, last-minute, trick-or-treaters or gaggles of drunken party-goers he catches wind of.

He's at the point of shrugging off the weird sounds he's been hearing as the result of some sort of particularly lumbering rodent in the underbrush, turning his attention instead to the little flashes of lamp light glinting off of abandoned candy wrappers. Batting at one every now and then non-committaly. It wasn't as exciting as one might think, being a cat. Kind of a snooze even, as far as curses went.

Well, at least it had the wherewithal and the courtesy as a curse to take aesthetics into account.

He was definitely the kind of cat his father would have chased off the lawn with a bb gun, if it had showed up at their door looking for food. He examines the pitch-colored shroud of his newly acquired fur as best as he can, glad- in a removed sort of way -that at least he was a proper Halloween cat. Scruffy and mysterious, not one of those opulently fluffy, pearl-colored, fancy-feast models.

There was dignity in being a black cat on Halloween. There was style! There was pinache!

A whisper, a low hum beyond his perception.

There were secrets. There was power. All of it his for the taking now that the opportunity had been unwittingly granted.

He'd read a legend once- in one of his massive, dusty, volumes on the lore of shapeshifters, dating back to antiquity -that on Halloween, black cats were at the most transient state of their existances. They could- if they could find the right chinks in reality's armour, where the space between things overlapped and folded in on itself like challah -use the threads surrounding and connecting the worlds to perform any number of impossibilities. Assume other forms, be anywhere at once, sew prosperity or discord at a whim.

It was said that those creatures most in-tune with with the pathways could even travel between them all. All of the worlds bookended against and, at certain times like tonight, overlapping their own. Those most-adept cats could slip in and out of dimensions as easily as a shadow slips under doorway.

I mean, I guess now is as good a time as any to test that hypothesis, Merton mused, slit-pupils zeroing in on the slightest movement down the street from Tommy's house, which was naturally where his slinky, purposeful, wandering had taken him. There were no other thoughts to it really. After all. He and Tommy were each other's lifeboats, lashed together to weather whatever bullshit came their way, side-by-side.

At least where finding ourselves on the wrong side of dark magic is concerned. He amended to himself. There was no one else here so he wasn't sure why he even bothered really.

He hesitated silently under a street lamp. The crackling sound of the light flickering above him sounded grating to his sensitive ears. He could understand Tommy's super-hearing-based woes a lot better now at least. With his gaze shifting uneasily between the safety of Tommy's house- the safety of his company, and of his unconditional presence, and of his unwavering dedication to Merton's protection despite the workload that it was turning out to be- and back to the subtle, but suddenly noticeable undulations of the shadows at the farthest edge of the neighbor's hedgerows. An opportunity had manifested itself.

Almost neigh-imperceptably, something shifts in the air, pervading every cranny of the now darkened street.

A moment of choice for Merton. The unexplored possibilities mount in his head, weighed against the cons of breaching the utterly unknowable. He is bewitched, rooted to the spot. Eve on the precipice of the apple, by virtue of both temptation and fear.

He'd gone to more extreme means, on less intel, for far more ridiculous pursuits. This was just a short walk to the end of the street. But he hesitates nonetheless, his own mind overriding the detatched curiosity that grew into him- into his bones -the longer he was attached to this form. He feels the pull of the interstitial static of the spaces between space, it hums and pulses gently along to the music of the spheres. Soft, inviting, unknowable.

He thinks of slipping between the phases of reality. Could he regain his body on his own that way? Could he pick a better one? He pads gently forward, going only a few, cautious steps, questioning himself all the while and trying to brace his senses against the hypnotic call of whatever the netherspace was wordlessly offering to him. He is waiting to see when the time will be right. If it will be at all. What will come of it.

I can fix this on my own for once, right now. He tells himself . I can learn so much. About everything. I can fix so much if I can just...

The pull of the place between is Urgent. Heady. Disorienting, he finds. It beckons him more insistently with each passing moment, and every sound made in the darkness is a soft, sighing, call to action. To adventure. To satisfy all of his human spawned, feline fueled, curiosities alike.

But another sound, this one from inside Tommy's house- still nearly right next to him -severs the tie. It's Tommy's laugh, loud and sharp and as intimately familiar to him as a siren song of his own.

Tommy. His tail lifts up into the air of its own accord as he starts to correct course towards the tree in Tommy's back yard, one which frequent exposure to the Dawkin's household tells him leads to the- usually wide open -2nd floor window landing of his best friend's bedroom.

The whispering from behind him grows more urgent as he turns away from it. Easier to discern from the normal night-music of Pleasantville. It grows in pitch, insistent, like a vulture pecking at the stripped down bones of its roadside carrion.

Despite his growing unease, Merton still feels the gravity of the thin places of the world eying him up, clawing at him. He realizes, with detached horror, that if the last few minutes are anything to go by, in this form, he isn't even sure if he can resist it at all. Much less how long his moment of self possession can last.

Merton, as a cat, finds himself to be mostly a loose collection of animal instincts and a haphazard jigsaw of the the bits of the world that don't seem to want to fit right with himself; all of this sewed up into a body thats more suggestive of physical form than equitable to one. He doesn't know how to even begin to navigate the puzzle of resisting the undertow of the universe as it digs its fingers solidly into the newest and most vulnerable parts of his shared but singular conciousness. The shadows in the hedgerows, the ripples of what's underneath the idea of them, begin to pulsate. They flail. Or it flails, because he can't tell the collective from the distinct anymore, can only watch with awe as the patch of space and time it is currently occupying shimmers, and cracks, and grows, and reaches. Merton swears he can hear it SCREAMING in the back of his head. At the place where his thoughts dissolve into notions less definable by words, and transform instead into a swirling mass of impulses conducted by the now-shrill trans-dimensional, thrumming of the universe's insistent, staticky back beat.

He sees something solidifying in the ectoplasm of that open sore in the flesh of the world. Something besides the thrashing, churning, cult of tendrils reaching out from the places they can squeeze through in the cracks. The sight makes every single one of his hairs stand on end. Which is something, given he has a significant deal more of them now than he usually would. But there is no mistaking what he is seeing being melded together in the eye of that widening miasma. A hand claws its way past the meshing, roiling tentacles of that dark expanse. Pulling itself forward into the physical, out of the theoretical. A set of shoulders struggles past, dragging the other arm in to being along side it, pale and wan. There is a pause, one last still moment before, with repulsion thrumming through every part of him, he focuses on the well of dark magics still spewing forth parts of the creature. He sees the top of a head breech through the dimensional weak spot. The head turns in Merton's direction at his displeased hisses of fright. Merton locks up in immediate, gut-wrenching, horror when the creature gazes back at him, wearing his own face.

‐-----

I'll probably never continue this or even do anything at all w it,, but it was fun! In case you were wondering about the subtext between tommy and merton, yes. gay. Also whats dialague don't know her