#and how do you keep ahold of the old ones as you change

[nettlestingsoup]

i set a boundary with a long-time friend and now i feel ✨gross about it✨

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY ONE

in which you try everything you can to make eddie feel better after his encounter with chrissy - to make him forget, to make him feel cherished, to make him feel worthy.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, a single use of Y/N, smut (p in v), oral (m receiving), voyeurism, edging, good old fashioned ball worship if you squint, maybe some sub!eddie if you squint even harder, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7.3k+

→ a/n: shout out to @hellfire--cult for the balcony idea. i knew i'd get them there at some point, little freaks. and everyone say thank you to @icallhimjoey for the early post 😏

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

21:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

HOUR TWENTY ONE - 12:00 PM

STEVE-O: why do you guys suck so much at providing photographic proof of being alive? seriously

You’ve been staring at Steve’s text ever since the two of you arrived back at the apartment. You’d reply soon enough, but for now, the message was a distraction.

Eddie wasn’t speaking to you.

Not in a brooding sense, but in a way that let you know he was too far gone in his own head right now for you to reach him. When you’d said those words to him, when you’d admitted that you found him worth it, you saw his eyes glaze over slowly. You’d watched in real time as he slipped away from you. It might be that he doesn’t believe you, it might be guilt that continues to gnaw at him for a past that can’t be changed — whatever it is, you hate it.

The easy solution would be to send Steve the photos from the cafe, but you’d already tried that. Your thumb had hovered over that photo of Eddie with a mouthful of croissant, still bright and brilliant before all his waves of self-hatred had gotten ahold of him, and you just couldn’t. It was selfish, it was ridiculous, but you couldn’t share that piece of him with others. Some small, childish, hopeless bit of you needed to cling to the man in that photo and keep him safely inside your chest. It wasn’t a new version to your friends, they’ve always tried to defend Eddie and convince you he wasn’t all bad, but it was new to you. It was all so unexpected and unforeseen, the look behind his golden eyes as he seemingly looked right past the camera and right into you. 

No, you couldn’t send that photo. It was for your eyes only. A souvenir you had greedily stolen. 

Eddie had excused himself to the bathroom when you two arrived at the apartment, and this time, there was no dirty intentions behind it. You left well enough alone — he needed a moment to be by himself and that was fine. You could entertain yourself until he was ready to come back to you, back down to Earth. Right now, you were currently picking apart an almond croissant as if it were the most interesting thing you’d ever laid eyes on. 

Croissant dissection — see? You absolutely could distract yourself in order to give him space. Absolutely no sarcasm there.

You finally sigh when you see a message bubble pop up with three little dots, signifying Steve is typing again. You don’t give him the time to properly finish out his message before you click on your camera icon, snap a shot of the picked apart croissant in front of you, and send a message with the image attached.

YOU: we were eating breakfast, eddie’s been in the bathroom. happy, mom?

STEVE-O: he’s been in the bathroom for an entire hour? 

YOU: oh, you know how you men get with toilet time. 

Despite the playful tone of your texts, your face is completely flat, chest still heavy as you think about Eddie behind the wooden door. Should you be giving Eddie this amount of space? What if it’s doing more damage than good?

You’re about to stand from the stool you’ve occupied for nearly ten minutes now and go try your hand at knocking, try and remind Eddie that you’re still here, when Steve’s next text comes through. 

STEVE-O: stop bullshitting me. what happened? 

You swear you taste metallic blood from how hard you bite down on your bottom lip, staring at the mocking message. You can’t even begin to explain to Steve what has transpired, not just this last hour, but the entirety of the time. The parking garage, the joking marriage, Chrissy showing up, Eddie’s painful vulnerability – you can’t find the words to tell him about any of it. The same as you can’t find it in you to send the photo of Eddie in Betty’s. 

YOU: nothing happened. do you need any more proof than that?

He only reacts to your message with a thumbs up. You assume that means you’re in the clear, for now. 

When you exit your thread of messages with Steve, a new thread that has been started catches your eye. It’s a new number, no contact on it. The only message sent is from you – the photo of you with your coffee, head thrown back and eyes shut with a wide smile boosting your cheeks. 

Eddie’s phone number. 

You look at the photo of yourself for a while, trying to not cringe at your appearance. To you, you just looked ridiculous. You don’t understand why Eddie wanted this photo preserved so badly. Your smile is too wide, your eyes are mere slits from the way your cheeks were squishing up with joy, most of your makeup you’d started the night with has long since faded due to a multitude of activities. You don’t feel like anything special in this photo.

But Eddie had wanted it. He had deemed this moment in time of you as picture-worthy, had gone so far as to send it to himself so that he’d have this memory even if you deleted it from your phone. 

Before you think too hard on it, you tap on that line of numbers and add a proper contact profile to it. 

EDDIE. You keep the contact name simple, eager to get it out of the way as you move onto the next step. A contact photo. You don’t even have to ponder on it – in a flash, you’ve selected the picture of him with the croissant. 

You’re back on the thread of messages – or, at least, the singular message – and don’t stop yourself as your thumbs begin to fly over your keyboard.

YOU: why were the almond croissants almost sold out? 

To be fair, you didn’t even know if Eddie had his phone on him. That green message stares back at you for a few moments before you get your answer. 

EDDIE: Excuse me? 

He has his phone. You lift your head, looking at the closed door of the bathroom before glancing back down at your phone. 

YOU: because everyone went NUTS over them. 

You perk your ears and listen for any sign of life from down the hall. Anything. A scoff, a pitiful laugh, him calling you stupid aloud. You’ll take whatever he offers. 

It takes a moment, and you truly have to strain to hear it, but you can hear the laugh that would better pass as a sigh. 

EDDIE: Is that supposed to be a joke? 

YOU: ‘supposed to be’. excuse me, it was definitely a joke. and a very good one, at that. 

EDDIE: Debatable. 

You find yourself smiling down at the phone. Your neck aches from the way you keep glancing up suddenly at the door, silently pleading for him to come back out. To come out and fight with you, come out and bicker with you, come out and ignore you. Anything, for him to leave the bathroom and do anything but keep that door shut between you two. 

He doesn’t, so you send another bad joke. 

YOU: what did the customer say when they looked at the croissant? 

This time, he plays along. 

EDDIE: I don't know, what? 

YOU: what a BREADtaking sight. 

This time, you hear a more proper scoff come from within the bathroom. 

YOU: i heard that. don’t even try to tell me it wasn’t funny. 

EDDIE: I’m not laughing because they’re funny. I’m laughing because they’re BAD. 

YOU: bet you wouldn’t say that to my face. 

Immediately, you discard the phone, facedown on the counter as you look up to the door with unbridled hope. He could always ignore the comment, choose to not respond and continue to sulk away from you. It’s entirely possible – but you pray to every star in the sky that that isn’t what he’s going to do. 

Please come back out. Please, even if just to sit in silence with me. 

Your prayers are answered.

Slowly, painfully slowly, you hear shuffling on the other side of the door and await for the click of the door unlocking. It never comes, though – the door was never locked in the first place. He opens it, and you realize that the entire time, you could have stormed into the small room with him and demanded that he not hide away.

But you didn’t. You gave him space, gave him patience, and it’s clear he knows this as he comes out. 

His eyes are red. As if he’s been crying. 

“Hi,” you meekly say, taking in his face past those red-rimmed eyes. The tip of his nose is a fading shade of pink, as if he’s been rubbing it incessantly, and he sniffs for good measure as he turns the bathroom light off and walks to where you are. 

“Hi,” his voice is rough around the edges as he greets you back. He won’t look you in the eye once he’s within reach – his gaze remains downcast, and you catch him fiddling with a few of his rings. 

You hadn’t considered what you would do if you got this far. In every carefully considered scenario, you’d assumed he’d shut you out. You never expected him to come straight to you, as if seeking out comfort from you, without you having to beg it of him. 

His eyes catch the croissants on the counter, torn apart and lazily picked at. He’s about to open his mouth and say something about it, probably questioning what you had done to the poor pastry, but you don’t give him a chance. You’re quick to snatch up one of the pieces you’d been picking apart to snack on for yourself and hold it out to him. An olive branch, an offering – a reason for him to sit and stay for a while with you. 

He takes it tentatively, finally looking you in your eye again as he takes a small bite. It’s nothing compared to the bite he had taken when you’d snapped the photo of him, mere crumbs compared to that mouthful. 

“Did you just… massacre our croissants?” he questions, squinting his eyes down at the crime scene. 

You shift your body jokingly, failing at blocking him from seeing the mess you made, “Absolutely not. I have no clue what you’re talking about.” 

He almost cracks a grin, “Right. Of course. I must be imagining things.” 

“Wanna hear another pun?” you blurt out, suddenly nervous as he continues to stand before you. You hate the incessant need inside of your chest that calls for you to comfort him, to make this all better for him. 

“I feel like you’ll tell me one even if I say no,” he raises an eyebrow at you, “So, sure.” 

“Why did the croissant go to the doctor?”

He hums, trying to peer over your shoulder again at the croissants you were badly hiding, “Let me guess. Is it because you tore it apart mercilessly?” 

“No,” you scoff, reaching behind you to grab another piece to offer to him as well as one of your own, “It was because he was feeling crummy, dumb ass.” 

A crack of a smile. It’s miniscule but there. It makes that terrible pun worth it, just to see him not looking quite as defeated is worth all the stars in the sky at this point for you. 

You’d certainly been the reason for his unhappiness in the past, and you surely would be again at some point. It all feels so inevitable; just as he believes that he can only bring you misery, you can’t imagine yourself bringing him joy. A belief that strikes something in your chest, something albeit more painful than you’d care to admit, but it’s true. You’ve crossed a line, you’ve changed everything, but the past still remains. 

You aren’t perfect. Neither is Eddie.

Heartbreak is imminent, but for this brief moment, you can make him smile. You don’t need to worry about the next time you’ll piss him off or upset him, you just need to focus on making that twitch on his lips more permanent. 

“I meant what I said earlier, by the way,” you decide to rip off the bandaid as he moves as if to sit beside you. Quickly, your words make him freeze. A bad sign, but you push through, because he needs to hear these things, “You deserve good things, Eddie. Good people, good things- you just… you deserve those things in your life.” 

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

He’s turning away from you. Turning and heading to the living room, walking away from you.

You don’t let him. In an instant, you get onto your feet and follow him, continuing despite him acting as if he’s finished with the conversation. You’re not.

“You’re a good person, Eddie,” you insist, reaching out for him before he makes it to the couch, “Don’t walk away from me.”

He spins easily in your grip. “Just because you say something, doesn’t make it true, sweetheart.”

He’s back to saying it like a curse. Like it’s a harmful title. As if it’s not a privilege to you and all your metaphors to hear that nickname fall from his lips. 

Right before your eyes, his defenses are on the rise. Brick by brick, he’s slowly reforming those walls to separate the two of you. Instead of defeat, instead of acceptance, it just makes you angry.

“Stop doing that,” you say quietly, carefully, firmly.

“Stop doing what?”

“That. Pushing me away. Locking me out,”  you tighten your hand on his bicep and watch the way his nostrils flare, “I fucking hate it.”

“Despite what you believe,” he takes a step closer to you, “Not everything I do is meant to piss you off.” 

“That’s not what I’m saying, and we both know it,” you can feel his muscles tense beneath your touch.

This time, his smile that emerges is cold. But you can still see the rubbage left by his tears — pink water lines and a new puffiness around his eyes. His words and his sudden cool demeanor can’t hurt you when you see it for what it is.

“Clearly we both don’t know it,” he chastised you, “We are very rarely on the same page. This isn’t a damn exception. You don’t have to prove your point, it doesn’t matter.”

He’s a wounded animal, striking out. He’s letting Chrissy’s words get to him.

“You’re worth i-“

“Don’t,” One of his hands shoot out to grip your waist, “Don’t fucking say that. Please. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.” 

He didn’t believe you. 

“I meant it,” you whisper, anger shaking out of your grasp inch by inch as you realize that your words can’t break through to him, “I mean it. You’re worth it, to me, to St-“

“This isn’t about Steve,” he cuts you off, “It’s not about Steve, or Nancy, or Robin, or fucking Argyle. No need to play dumb anymore.” 

It’s about you.

You both know it. For once, contradictory to what he’d just claimed, you’re both on the same page. And like he said, no need to play dumb. 

“You’re worth it to me,” you say it with more confidence this time, “You’re a good person to me.” 

“How can you say that?” he laughs out, void of amusement, “How can you say shit like that after everything we’ve been through?”

How can you not?

You only squeeze his bicep tighter, and he returns the action by gripping your hip harsher. “Because I mean it. I believe it. Whether you do or not.” 

For a moment, the cracks in his armor expose themselves. 

“You shouldn’t,” his voice should waver, “You shouldn’t believe those things, Y/N. You should hate me.” 

“But I don’t,” And I never did.

“But you don’t,” he echoes.

You’ve done the opposite of what you had wanted. His smile is gone, that sadness creeping back up. You hate that. You don’t hate him — you hate that world of mourning behind his eyes, that defeat that brings his shoulders down and makes his grip on you falter. So you do the only thing you can think of to distract him. Make him forget.

“Make me hate you.” 

His eyes widen briefly, “Excuse me?”

“Make me hate you,” you practically beg of him, “Show me why you’re such a bad person and I’ll let this go. I’ll drop the conversation, we can- Fuck, we can forget this entire morning happened. Make me hate you, Eddie, and I’ll stop reminding you that I don’t.” 

His fingers curl back into you, slowly and gently, as his brows furrow. He’s considering what you’ve just said — more than that, you can see him trying to untangle all the hidden meanings behind it.

“And how do you suggest I do that?” his voice is low and calculated. 

You shrug, stepping forward, letting your lips get even closer to his, “Not my problem. Just make me.” 

The fingers are no longer gentle as he pulls you into him, finally catching onto the emphasis you place on those two little words.

Make me.

When his lips meet yours, they’re rough and brutal, taking greedily what they want from you. The only thing on your mind is making him forget. Make him forget, carry the load for him — they’re both more important than making him smile for now. Both these driving needs burn brighter in your chest because it’s clear that’s what he needs. 

You’re willing to give him whatever he needs right now.

“You want me to make you hate me, baby?” he mumbled against your lip, practically drinking in the way you gasp as he starts to pull back, “Is that really what you want?”

It’s what you want. “Yes.” 

And maybe you do too, when he leans back in to bite your lip. There will be another time for you to convince him with words that you find him to be worth it. Both hands from wrap around you and rough start to guide you back towards that fucking couch.

“Not the couch,” you suddenly protest, digging your heels into the carpet at the center of his living room, “Anywhere but the couch.” 

And oh, the way he’s looking at you in that moment might be your new favorite thing. Your new favorite color is his eyes as they sparkle with a bit of life that had been missing since the coffee shops encounter. Your new favorite sound is the silence that encases the little breath he lets out. Your new favorite movie is watching him move in slow motion as his eyes dart behind you, towards the door to his balcony, before his lips finally curl up with a hint of the genuine warmth that had been hidden behind his walls.

“Anywhere?” he teases, beginning to walk you backwards.

You nod, grinning right back at him.

“I think I have an idea.” 

If you had known twenty one hours ago that Eddie Munson, your sworn enemy, would have you out on his public balcony and on your knees for him in only a matter of time, past you would have….

Well, you don’t really care what past you would have done or thought anymore. You’re making him forget, yes, all while making yourself forget. You don’t care what you, twenty one hours ago, would or wouldn’t do as you let the past slip through your fingers so eagerly. All you can focus on is the dig of concrete against your knees, the way Eddie’s hands grip the railing as he leans against it, and the way the early afternoon sun forms a halo around him as you look up through fluttering lashes.

You just want to make him feel good. Every action is intentional, doing everything in your power to erase whatever storming thoughts had been haunting him so cruelly since Chrissy had so carelessly said what she had. You want to make him feel worthy. You want to make him feel loved.

Loved. You certainly didn’t love him — you couldn’t possibly, could you? He wouldn’t let you. You wouldn’t let yourself. But for now, you could play pretend; you could worship his body, drag his shirt out of the way and place playful kisses across his hips, and you could pretend that only this moment exists. 

“You wanna know what makes me such a bad person?” he sighs out as you let your teeth graze his skin, shoulders rolling to shake off that shiver you elicit from him, “This. The fact that this is all I can fucking think about.”

“Hm,” you can only hum in response, nails taking over the denim of the jeans he currently wore. You walk your fingers up his thighs, moving closer and closer to his zipper. Your mouth is nearly watering at the prospect of worshiping him. 

And the fact that any neighbor could walk out at any given moment and catch the two of you. You should probably insist on it being fast, on him being quiet, but the thought sends a thrill through the pit of your stomach. Your thighs clench and your cunt aches at the thought of being caught. 

You want to do more than make him bite back mere moans of your name. You want to make him scream.

Suddenly, a hand tangles into the roots of your hair, pulling back and making you focus on him again.

“Eyes on me,” he instructs. Once you focus on him and only him, he continues, loosening his grip and letting those fingertips rub at your scalp soothingly, “You know why you should hate me? For all the nights I pictured this.”

“Yeah?” you smile innocently, playing along. He can talk all he wants, you know once you get your mouth on him, he’ll be lucky to remember his own name. “How many nights, hm? Tell me all about them, pretty boy.”

You catch the wobble in his knees, the way his breathing picks up, the brilliant shade of ivory his knuckles stretch to. You lean back on your haunches, and the hand in your hair slips as he glowers down at you. 

“What are you-”

“Take off your shirt,” you calmly command.

“Excuse me?” 

“Your shirt. I want it off.”

His hand that was once tangled against your scalp now comes down to your face, movement slow but not hesitant as he pinches your chin. His thumb tugs on your bottom lip, and you let out, even making a show of letting your tongue peek out to tap at it. “And who said you were calling the shots?” 

“I did,” you put it simply, completely removing your hands from him now, “Take off the shirt, or I’ll leave you out here with blue balls.” 

You close your lips around the end of his thumb and his knuckles dig in deeper to the skin below your chin as you suck subtly. He chuckles, but you can hear just how breathless he goes at the small action, even as he keeps up the act with a hard press of his thumb on your lower lip. Your mouth hangs open for him, waiting patiently for his next move. 

A game of chess, an exchange of power, a fight for dominance. All the lines of who is and isn’t in control are blurred. 

“Have you always been so mean, baby?” he taunts, trailing what spit you’d left behind on his thumb along your lip. 

His movement stops when your lips spread into a provocative smile, “I learned from the best, didn’t I?” 

The retort had potential to backfire. You wait for smoke and glory, for him to pull away from you further. He’d slam down a brick right in front of your face, lay the mortar to leave you high and dry. He’d push you away, and you’d have to retreat, tail tucked between your legs in the shame of trying when it came to him. 

No smoke, no glory. He secedes, but makes no move to add to his walls, only removing his hand from your face and taking off the shirt. Just as you had told him to. 

“Better?” he asks as he makes a show of tossing the shirt to the other side of the balcony. It could have even flown over the railing, for all you paid attention to the scrap of clothing. Maybe some innocent bystander is on the streets below, confused to all Hell as to why it’s raining obscure band t-shirts. 

You’re just a bit too distracted to consider that right now. 

With Eddie’s torso revealed, all words seem to evade you. You catch the sweat beginning to gather across his sternum, watching the way he’s flushing beneath your gaze, reveling in the pink chest exposed to you as the blush crawls wider. Instantly, your original purpose is forgotten, the primal urge to pepper kisses and bites alike across his skin almost lifting you up off your sore knees. You want to leave bruises – you want to make him scream, you want to mark him up, you want to make him feel worthy. 

You stay on your knees, but compromise with all your wants as you lift up and stretch a bit. Your lips start their trail a bit lower than you (or Eddie) would have liked, taking their time to get familiar with the spanse of his rib cage first. You don’t nip with teeth, not yet. Just chaste kisses, lining each bone you can hardly feel residing beneath the skin, feeling his lungs expanding against your affection. Your tongue swipes alongside one of his side tattoos, a large and detailed dragon you hadn’t paid much mind to before. Every time you’d seen him shirtless, you’d been a bit distracted.

Not now. Now, you’re focused, determined to learn every curve and dip there is to explore on Eddie. You want to know him better than the back of your hands, memorize him more intricately than your own palms. After all, in order to worship a deity, you must know them. 

You return back to the center line of his abdomen, kisses chasing after one another, even taking the time to suck his skin between your teeth but never bite down. You pause once your lips rest right beneath his navel, the tip of your nose brushing that rough patch of hair that leads down to your end destination. Your hands reach for his belt, toying with the buckle.

Through heavy lashes, you look up at him, staring down at you in awe, “You know, you’re not doing a very good job at making me hate you, pretty boy. Think I might just have to worship you instead.”

A deity of your own making. A deity for your own taking. 

With skill, your hands undo the buckle effortlessly. You unbutton and unzip his jeans as if you’ve done this part a million times, as if you’d spent every single Sunday of the last year right here and doing exactly this. On your knees, worshiping him. This balcony, for all its exposure, certainly knows how to serve as a holy place. 

He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re impatient. You still haven’t left him speechless, meaning you still hadn’t made your point, clearly. 

His jeans hang loosely as they creep down his thighs, abandoned for a moment as you occupy your mouth against his hips. The hips you once thought would look so pretty properly decorated. You decide you were wrong – they don’t need ink burying into the skin, they need your teeth digging in. 

You cover that skin with mirroring images of bursts of purple and pink, flowering bruises that you take your time to mark onto him. With each suck and bite, Eddie rolls his hips into you, head leaned back and throat straining with each moan he swallows down. 

With the last hickey finished, you finally lean back, proud of your masterpiece as Eddie whimpers above you. Blooms in the shape of your lips mingle with faint and quickly fading teeth marks. 

“Fuck,” he gasps out when your fingertip stops trailing over your markings and comes down to apply the softest pressure over the straining bulge in his boxers. 

“What was it that you said earlier?” your finger traces over where you know a vein is – you know it because you’ve felt it, been driven insane by it – before circling around the wet patch now forming. He’s desperate, hips bucking again and a moan finally escaping. You think he’s bitten his lips hard enough in an attempt at self-restraint that they might be bleeding, “You said I’m not calling the shots, right?” 

“You’re not,” he pathetically grits out, hands forming tighter fists on metal railing, as if the moment he lets go of it they’ll find their way home to you. 

You lean forward, breath washing over his crotch before you place a feathery kiss to his clothed tip, “I’m not?” 

You are. You both know you are. A constant battle of control, an ever-growing fight for dominance. 

He lets out something crossed between a sigh of relief and a whine of protest when you remove your lips and hand from him completely, only to let out a sharp yelp when your finger curls into the waistband of his boxers and pulls back the elastic, letting it snap back into place sharply. 

“Say I am,” you barter, “Say I’m in control right now, and I’ll put my money where my mouth is.” 

You don’t expect him to break so easily. You’ve underestimated just how tightly you’ve caught him beneath your thumb.

“You’re in control,” he gasps out, head hanging low to meet your gaze fully, “You’re in complete and utter fucking control of me. You’re calling all the shots, baby. You always are.” 

He didn’t have to sweeten it up with baby, but it spurs you on. 

You shove his boxers down, watching his cock spring out for the taking. And you do as you promised; you put your money where your mouth is.

You start softly, taking your time as you gingerly suck on his pretty pink tip as you had his thumb. Hardly hollowing your cheeks, letting your tongue circle his slit to gather up the precum. You let the taste of him completely cover your tongue, even hum in satisfaction when he lets out a loud groan. It motivates you, feeds your fervor as you let his tip fall from your mouth and trail the tip of your tongue down the underside of his cock. That vein you’d traced with your fingertip, yours for the taking, covered in a faint line of saliva as you let it rest on your forehead and graze your lips against his ballsack. 

He can’t hide his shiver, even as his fist flies to his mouth to bite down on. 

“Have I ever told you how cute you are?” you say low enough for just him. You can hear the sounds of traffic, a dog barking, birds singing — all reminders of the outside world and the looming threat of being caught. Warmth floods you again at the reminder of that threat, thighs clenching closer together in a desperate search of friction, “Just falling apart for me, acting so tough for so long until I got you alone.” 

He whimpers your name. It’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

You wrap your lips around the sensitive skin, sucking and pecking away on one side before moving to the next. His reaction throttles your movements. When his hand loses the fight of resistance, coming down to the back of your head, you laugh breathlessly against the now wet skin. 

“Let me make you feel just how worthy you are to me,” you praise, pulling back finally, letting your nose brush against his sack as you do so. The hand that was once merely resting now tangles up in your hair — a warning. 

You let the velvet skin of his cock drag down your cheek as each movement is deliberate, taking your time and in no rush. You want to savor him like this. Imprint him to memory. 

You want to make him forget while making yourself remember. 

You want to remember the way his hand flexes at the base of your skull when you finally kiss his tip once more, remember the way his abdomen tenses as you sink him further into your mouth. You want to remember every little sound that escapes him as he hits the back of your throat, as you constrict around him, as you moan around his base and the vibrations have him slipping out of control. 

Your nails dig into his thighs to balance yourself, eyes watering as you look up at him. One subtle nod. He doesn’t need more than that.

Your jaw goes slack, trying to steady your breathing through your nose as you let him take control. His hips thrust at their own pace, gentle enough that he only grazes the back of your throat rather than bruise it. The issue is you want him to bruise it. You want him to mark you from the inside out. Until there’s no part of you left untouched by him. 

You gag again, and he slows. Your fingers that grip his thighs immediately tap against him, and he mistakes it as a signal to pull back completely before you chase after him, pressing him onto your tongue until your lips are snug around his cock a mere inch from the base. Your nose is grazing those pubes in the dead center of all your love marks. Shapes of semi-permanent scars that whisper, you’re worth it to me. I want this. I want you. 

The last thing on his mind was Chrissy Cunningham and her words alluding to him not being worth it. 

You make sure of it when you finally release him from your mouth and begin to pump with an eager fist, ducking down and returning to pay attention to his balls once more. You nuzzle the soft skin, let the tips of your canines graze them before you suck them onto your tongue as you’d done his cock. He’s no longer containing his moans – they flow freely along with curse words, chants of your name, sounds you’d love to capture and play on repeat until the end of your days. 

“Oh my God,” he groans out particularly loudly, “Fuck, baby. J-Just like that, please- Fuck. You’re doing so good for me. Such a good girl, just for me.” 

Your hand is still wrapped around him, slowly coming up to squeeze hard around the tip as you whisper up to him, “Only for you.” 

“Yeah? Only for me?” 

You don’t know how to explain to him that it’s true: you’re only ever that mean for him, you’re only ever this eager for him, you’re only ever this desperate for him. 

You don’t answer him with words. There are none. Instead, you take him back in your mouth, and you solely focus on bringing your deity to climax. The man you were worshiping, the man who was worth the ache in your knees that surely told you they would be left bruised, if not skinned. 

“Is it just like you imagined?” you question as you break your lips off him. He’s close, leaking precum excessively and entire body taut, “Was it worth it? To picture this, to want this so badly?” 

He almost can’t answer you, but somehow manages between pants, “It was. It is. You’re- fuck, you’re worth it.” 

“Good,” you drop your hand from him, leaving him right on the edge as you rest both sticky palms on the tops of your thighs. You look up at him with relinquished control – the perfect image of submission, for him. “Then you get it. When I say you’re worth it, you get it.” 

He’s clearly still reeling from you bringing him so close only to leave him hanging, teetering on a cliff as he stares you down. 

His chest heaves as he questions, “What was it you wanted me to do earlier?” A deceiving hand comes down, tucking any baby hairs behind your ear and cradling the side of your face. One moment, his thumb is stroking a soft arch beneath your eye, the next that hand is pulling you up, “Make you?”

You know that if you hadn’t been so eager to follow his touch, you’d still be on your knees. Even as you watch him take the reins, you know you will always call the shots – just like he had said. 

“You really think you can make me hate you?” you whisper once you’re standing tall in front of him, leaning your cheek into his touch.

“I shouldn’t have to make you hate me,” he corrects, the thumb back to gentle strokes, loosening the touch to be more tender once again, “You should already hate me.” 

“Why?” 

He flips positions immediately, your lower back now curving into the railing as he presses himself up against you, his achingly hard cock between your bodies, “Because of this. Because I always want you on your knees for me. Because of all the fucking filth I want to do to you. I want to bend you over, right here, and take you where anyone could see. I want to have you screaming my name loud enough that every single person on the streets of this city hears you.”

With each word, a knot ties inside of you, desperate for release. 

“Because you’re fucking right,” he leans down, lips going straight for your neck, not looking you in the eyes, “All it fucking took was for you to get me alone for one night, and now? I’ll never get enough of you, I’ll never get clean of you,” he takes a deep breath, and suddenly, his lips latch onto you, sucking the skin between his teeth and biting hard. You can’t stop your fingers from latching onto his curls, tugging hard, body rolling into his. It hurts, it stings, you need more, “Everything changes. And that includes me.” 

His face finally leaves the crook of your neck, pulling back to look you in your eyes. Doe brown eyes search yours, wide and honest and pleading. You let everything else melt away; for a moment, it’s only him and only you. The tension, the last twenty one hours, the last year — you let it disintegrate and focus on him.

It never mattered if everything changed. 

It only matters that he’s changed, irreversibly, and so are you.

“How can I hate you for those things?” you press into him again, this time less desperate and more consciously, “Do it.” 

“Do what?”

“All of it,” you trail a hand up his chest, “Every single thing you just said. Fucking- Do them. Bend me over, make me scream, change me,” your voice breaks, shaking with anticipation and need. 

It’s all the encouragement he needs.

Every single thing he wanted, he craved, he does. A flurry of him properly discarding his jeans as he unbuttons yours to shove them down, spinning you and shoving you hard enough into the railing that it digs into your abdomen and leaves you breathless. You’re hardly aware of the way you step out of your pants and kick them to the side, looking out to the city skyline but not seeing it. It’s all a blur as you focus on the way your shirt rides up and he grabs your hips, bruising you finally as you have desperately needed. 

You wanted to be left haunted by the end of these last few hours. You wanted to see him every time you looked in the mirror for the next week, to remember the map of where his body molded to yours. You want to dream of the way he stretches you as your underwear is ripped to the side. You want to be followed by the sounds of his skin slapping against yours as he snaps forward with intention.

Changing you. He has no idea that he’s already ripped you open from the inside out, has already rewired your entire chest and set flames to your brain. 

Everything changes, and sometimes, everything is only two people. Just you. Just him. New versions that would have never met had it not been for this stupid fucking bet.

“Eddie,” you nearly sob, nearly choke on, his name burning in your throat like kindling embers. 

His hand walks up your spine, trailing wildfire even with a layer of cotton between you two. Burning and singing away all you’d assumed for far too long. When he reaches the nape of your neck, he takes care in wrapping your hair around his wrist, tugging back hard and forcing you to stand from where the railing had been bending you in two.

“Say it again,” his lips brush you ear with every gasping breathing, timing with the way his cock is sliding in and out of your warmth, “Say it louder.” 

“Fu-“ you start to moan, cut off by him pulling even harder on your hair, making his point so that you cry out, “Eddie!” 

He thrusts harder. You swear you could feel him in your throat. 

“Scream for me, baby,” an arm wraps around your torso, firm and solid for you to cling to rather than the warming metal of the railing, “Tell them who’s making you feel so good. Let them know. Be a good girl.”

Even when he claims to have control, it’s your actions, your reactions, that call the shots.

It’s the echo of your voice that spurs him on as you chant his name over and over, as if he were your only God. Primal worship dripping from every syllable. It’s the tremble in your thighs that has him pressing deeper into you, chest glued to your back as if he could never get you close enough. It’s the clench of your cunt around him, a vice that sucks him in as you drag him closer to the high he’s been dizzily chasing since you first dropped to your knees in front of him. 

It’s you. You’ve changed him, as he’s changed you.

He pulls your hair until you rest the back of your head against his shoulder, back arching and feet still spread as he only maintains his quick and brutal pace, leaning down to whisper in your ear one last time.

“You know the real reason why you should hate me?” he grits out between to particularly forceful thrusts, “It’s not just because I don’t deserve you. It’s because I’ve wanted you for so long,” you’re right on the edge, fluttering around his cock as his movements stutter. A tell tale sign. “I- fuck, fuck. It’s- God, I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.” 

You shatter around him in waves. Your entire body tenses as the words dig claws into you, piercing through vines and blooms. His body stills, warmth flooding you deep within as you continue to see stars. You can’t make a single sound, fingerprints surely left behind on where you clasp onto his forearm. 

I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.

When the waves recede, when the high has passed its peak, you both freeze. Your body tensed in his hold, struggling to process what he’d just said. 

Loved you. 

He’s frozen in place, scrambling to figure out how to undo the damage just done. 

I’ve loved you for so long.

He slips out of you, his spent dripping down your thighs. His forearm drops from you. Your hands don’t even try to stop him.

I’ll never be fucking worthy.

You should be worried of neighbors coming out to see the two of you on his balcony. If not worried, you should be embarrassed, or aching at the thought once again. Anything. You should feel something.

You turn slowly to him, entirely numb as you catch his rueful expression.

Loved you. He loved you.

His regret turns to pain as you whisper, “What did you just say?”

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

[syrupfog]

Hmmmm Sanji keeps his dress from Kambakka but one day when he’s looking for something deep in his locker the dress falls out and the crew get ahold of it. 

They think he’s stolen it from some poor girl and they scold him for it, how dare he actually act on his perv tendencies?

And Sanji like. Feels real weird and sad and upset and doesn’t understand why. Just grabs the dress and throws it overboard in a huff. Doesn’t explain to them where it came from because why would he. 

But he. He dwells on it. He’d kept the dress because he liked it.

Well. The dress was ugly. But he liked what it did to him. Made him feel… soft inside. 

But he can’t buy another one, not now. He knows, intrinsically, that it would be soul destroying for the crew to find a second dress and connect the dots— that they would realise that the dress is for him. That they would call him perverted for wanting to actually wear the dress. 

It’s one thing to yell at him for stealing a dress. It’s another thing entirely for them to yell at him for owning it for himself.

He doesn’t know why. Just knows that it would hurt. So badly. For them to associate perverted actions with his desire to feel that… softness again.

So he doesn’t. He doesn’t dare buy anything like that again, buries that self down deep for years. 

Maybe it’s after Luffy’s become pirate king. Maybe it’s after everything has settled down a bit. The crew meets with the Revolutionary Army and Iva is there.

And damn him, Iva just KNOWS things he shouldn’t, can strip someone bare with just a look. But when he looks to Sanji his expression is so SAD and it makes Sanji angry. How dare he be disappointed in him? Sanji’d never promised him anything, any change.

Maybe Iva takes him aside and Sanji’s ready for a lecture or a fight but all Iva does is say that if Sanji wants, he can raid Iva’s closet anytime. He’s welcome to anything in it. 

Sanji knows that there’s a lot of fishnets and leotards in there, but also… those dresses.

And maybe, I mean, they’re in a public place, maybe Zoro overhears. 

And he’s close enough to clock Sanji’s expression. He’s known the cook long enough to know what yearning looks like on him.

I dunno! I dunno what happens next! Probably that Zoro watches Sanji a lot because that’s what he does! Probably that he reevaluates small things like the way Sanji gazes in shop windows! Probably he does something really stupid like makes brazen comments at dinner

About how the revolutionaries could probably teach Nami a thing or two about clothes and even the guys look good in those romper things and skirts or whatever. 

He’s probably real bad at it!! He’s saying dumb shit and Nami gets mad because she dresses just how she wants shut up!

Man. I dunno it prob still takes a while. But this is still before Sanji and Zoro are together. Because I think that Zoro supporting Sanji as a member of the crew is nice, that Sanji never worries that this is Zoro being blinded by love and willing say do things he doesn’t mean.

Like this is gruff annoying Zoro who fights with him and argues with him but Sanji sees the openings he gives. 

Maybe the next time, another 6 months or a year down the line, that they see Iva, Zoro drags Sanji to her closet. Says “come on cook she could teach you some lessons in fashion, the suits are getting old.” 

And maybe that’s the first time in three or four years that Sanji considers it. Puts on a dress that’s tight around the waist and it’s not tailored well— all his suits are tailored perfectly— but he gets that soft feeling again.

And it’s so fucking embarrassing to cry in front of Zoro so he doesn’t. 

Or at least Zoro doesn’t comment on it. 

And Zoro insists that Sanji takes it. He grabs a few others and throws them into Sanji’s arms and he’s somehow managed to pick out the most hideous ones that Sanji can imagine, but he’s overwhelmed and touched. 

And maybe he starts small, back on the ship, but Zoro acts as a guard dog against the idea of anyone saying anything. Only has to actually snap at someone once (it’s Brook. Come on, man.) about how it’s not a perv thing get your eyes fixed (yohoho I don’t have eyes!) and Sanji takes a bit to recover from that but he does. Eventually. 

And dresses aren’t an all the time thing they’re impractical and sometimes just not what his brain wants.

But maybe an extra bit of lace on his suits is good sometimes. Or a bodice under his collared shirt, just for the shape it gives him. 

Or, on very rare occasions (when most of the crew is off exploring for the day) a miniskirt. 

Maybe some days it’s nothing.

It’s fine. It’s all fine. It just gives him that soft feeling inside, that settled, good feeling. 

It’s just, you know, a quiet happy ending.

(Also yeah he and Zoro start hooking up and then get together and all of that is messy as HELL and full of fights and crying and two day breakups and getting back together but that’s a different thing. Totally unrelated).

[brain-rot-central]

Hey Jealousy

Rating: M/borderline E? (for now) Pairing: Spawn!A/Fem!Tav Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: NON-CANON, 18+, degrading speech, somewhat dubcon for certain parts but not totally?, adult themes, mentions of past sexual relationship, alcohol mention, alcohol use, blood mention, possessiveness, jealously, stalking, dry humping, ANGST, some fluff, bitter petty nonsense overall tbh

Summary: Astarion and Tav split at the end of the game due to a huge miscommunication. She tries desperately to move on, Astarion not so much. He finally gets ahold of her, aaaaand some messy feelings come out.

A/N - 1/28/24: Reuploading this! Not much has changed; mostly pulled it for grammatical editing purposes. Hopefully the story flows a bit better now!

The tavern is bustling with the usual weekend crowd. Upbeat music fills the air of the small establishment as this evening’s band continues their set. Drinks cascade like waterfalls into the hands and mouths of the tavern's parched patrons, each desperate for a distraction to drive out the unsettling reality of their lives, albeit for a few hours.

Astarion is perched in a corner of the tavern, circling the tip of his finger around the edge of his wine goblet. The unpleasant flavor of piss and vinegar lingers on his tongue from the spirit, mouth salivating. He sucks his teeth instinctively, trying to rid himself of the taste. 

Reaching into the pocket of his favored violet and gold doublet, he retrieves a small vial of crimson liquid. He pops off the stopper and deposits the contents into his cup, bringing the cylindrical glass to his mouth to lap up the small droplet that rolls down its side.

He hums in satisfaction as the sweet flavor spreads across his tongue, floral and lively, before returning the stopper back atop the vial. Using a single finger, he swirls the additive into his wine, bringing the goblet back to his lips for another sip. 

Ah, much better.

Surveying the bar, Astarion catches the attention of a young elven woman. She's aesthetically pleasing on the eyes - blonde hair with tan skin. Were he here for another reason, he may have tried his luck with her.

Astarion nods politely. The woman then rises from her seat, walking toward him. “Shit,” he mutters to himself, adjusting his positioning. He hurriedly repockets the blood vial within his doublet and hangs his head low just as she takes the seat at his booth, opposite him.

“Well, you’re certainly different from the usual fare,” she says, confidently. “Not often we get you teu-tel-quessir folk in here.” 

Astarion absently swirls his wine. She believes I'm a moon elf?

Assuming that she's a regular of this tavern, this woman may be somewhat oblivious. Were she not, she’d have realized this is his third visit this month alone.

Astarion decides to play into her little game - he’s compelled to see how long he can keep the charade going. “I’m but a weary traveler, just passing through,” he lies. It rolls off his tongue like the caress of an old friend. Creating a fictitious life for himself is something he’s had quite a bit of practice doing.

“Is that so? I, too, happen to be passing through here.” The woman places her elbows on the table and leans forward, giving Astarion better access to the cleavage threatening to spill over the top of her bodice. His eyes fall briefly to the woman’s chest, but he doesn’t look at her face. Not yet. “Got the room rented out upstairs for a couple more days,” she adds, tone hushed.

Sliding her hand toward his, she gently rubs her fingers over the ones he has encased around the neck of the wine goblet. Astarion shudders, not expecting such an intimate touch, and finally lifts his gaze to meet her own. “Care to make a few mistakes with me?” she asks.

Astarion snickers. He can tell part of her story is a facade, though he doesn’t care enough to discern which. 

“My apologies, love, but I’ve made enough mistakes to last a lifetime,” he replies. Pulling his hand from her, he grabs his wine by the cup, bringing it again to his lips. “I’ll have to decline.”

The elven woman softly hums in disappointment, standing up from her seat at the booth. “Such a shame,” she says, “you really are something beautiful.” She raises a hand to her lips, kissing the pads of her fingertips before extending them out toward him. Gently blowing on her fingers, she says, “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Astarion raises his cup to her and she walks off, returning to her group of friends on the far side of the tavern. He groans a sigh of relief.

Wasting little time resuming his attention on the crowd surrounding him, another is quick to catch his eye. He's seen her before - long auburn hair flowing down her back with streaks of blonde scattered throughout. She wasn't dressed in her evening best, but even so, the blouse and slacks she wore left little to his imagination.

She's sitting at the bar in the middle of the tavern, a young tiefling gentleman holding her attention at present. He’s not her usual type, Astarion notes to himself, though he remains transfixed on their interaction.This is the second man he's seen this evening trying their hand at impressing the young human woman. 

A smile forms on her lips as she converses with her current suitor. Astarion once again swirls his goblet of wine before bringing it back to his mouth for another taste.

He knows this woman, rather intimately, at that. He’s held her hair within his hands, traced the outline of her jaw with his fingertips. The smell of her skin is ever present in his mind. The saltiness of her sweat on his tongue as he lavishes her throat, the intoxicating roll of her hips against his as he bites down into the tender flesh of her neck… the rush of blood cascading down his throat.

He swallows thickly around the memory.

They've been together a handful of times throughout their travels to save the Realm from the threat of the Absolute, but that was neither here nor there, at this point.

The tiefling begins skirting his fingers along her forearm, and she leans into his touch. Astarion seethes from his place in the booth, a rush of warmth flooding his core and quickly spreading outward to each of his limbs. It’s been months since they decided on this new agreement, though his reaction is just as strong whenever another encroaches on her.

Astarion looks on as the red-head gently pats her companion’s arm before standing from her seat. His eyes follow her toward the back of the tavern. After downing the rest of his drink in one quick swing, he’s following her, careful to keep just enough distance not to rouse suspicion.

The music from the band thumps loudly in his chest as he draws closer to the crowd of people gathered before the stage. Lucky for him, they’re so entranced by the show that they hardly notice his mindless weaving, trying not to lose sight of his target. Astarion stops for a moment to refocus, looking around. It doesn’t take him long at all to zero in a glimpse of those fiery locks disappearing down a hallway off to the side.

His feet bring him to the start of the long corridor and he peers cautiously around the corner. The woman is not to be found, likely in the powder room. Astarion sighs, some of the built up tension beginning to wane from his shoulders, and comes to stand with his back against the window across from the facilities.

The residual tension within him is beginning to bleed into anxiety and doubt the longer he waits. His mind is rapidly exchanging scenarios, all of which cause his stomach to become unsettled. Gooseflesh spreads over his arms and the fine hairs covering them stand on end. Why is he doing this? They'd agreed to be friends and nothing more. It’s his fault for not being able to honor his end of the deal, he knew, but by the Gods, he simply does not care.

Since the first drops of her blood spread across his tongue, Astarion knew something within him changed. He wasn't sure if it was due to her being his proverbial “first,” but he felt… compelled by her from that moment forward. Bonded almost, in a strange way. 

In a sea of crimson, her blood would always sing loudest to him. It horrified him in the beginning, recalling memories of Cazador's puppeteering ways. The fear ebbed into compassion, after a time. As their physical relationship grew more intimate, compassion melted into an overwhelming desire to guard her. A want to protect what was his, finally his, after so many godsdamned years of pure, absolute shit.

Their… whatever it was they shared, was his. And he would gladly throw his life on the line any chance he could to insure its sustainability.

He catches a glint of red in his peripheral vision again. The human, oblivious to his presence, begins her trek back to her seat at the bar. The thought barely has time to process in Astarion’s head before his body reacts, reaching out to grab the side of her arm, pulling her back toward the wall with him.

“What the-!” the woman exclaims in shock. Her other hand comes up to begin swatting at the offending appendage. She stops midway as her eyes meet his face, recognition washing over her. “Oh, Astarion,” she says, voice flat, “what… what are you doing here?”

A practiced smile graces his lips as he releases the grip on her arm. “Am I not free to seek my own pleasure, darling?” An uneasiness begins to take root again, mind scolding him once the words leave his lips. What in the hells kind of question is that? 

Astarion clears his throat. “I was simply out for a drink before returning home when I saw what appeared to be a fire in the middle of the bar.” Unsure of what response he's hoping for, he's praying she doesn't catch onto his desperate attempt at recovery.

A quick blush spreads across her cheeks and she bows her head, giving a genuine smile. Astarion huffs out a breath in relief. 

During their time together, Astarion would often tease that her hair reminded him of a raging fire. Eventually, he adorned her with the pet name of “spitfire;” she thoroughly enjoyed solving the majority of her problems through brute force. She favored it, evidenced by a deep blush that would spread across her features.

Not unlike the one rising to her face at this very moment.

Were he honest with her, he’d tell her that this isn’t the first time he’s followed her since they parted - watched helplessly from afar as she rotated through potential nightly suitors. He chooses not to, however. Chooses to not tell her that he’s noticed every man she’s taken home has platinum hair. How they’re always of elven lineage.

She seems to buy his excuse as she visibly relaxes before him. “Oh, no, of course, Astarion,” she sighs. “It's uh, it's been a few weeks, hasn't it?” Her eyes are soft as she shifts her weight onto one hip. “How have you been?”

She's nervous, he can tell. She's doing that thing with her lip, chewing the inside of it. The rush of blood in her veins crashes and bellows in his ears as her blush settles deeper across the top of her chest.

“As well as one would imagine,” Astarion replies, “after having their heart broken.” There’s an air of nonchalance decorating his tone. A well-worn smirk tugs at his lips. He's fuming inside at the thought of another touching her, but he doesn't want to play his cards outright yet. 

No, he wants to see her squirm, wants to inflict just a touch of the torment he's experienced since their parting.

What a spiteful creature.

Her expression falls flat, jaw tensing. “I'm not sure what you mean by that,” she retorts in a meek tone. She pulls her shoulders back. "I-I thought we agreed to be friends, no?”

Astarion glances over his shoulder to see the young tiefling gentleman from before passing behind them. Their eyes meet, Astarion furrowing his brow. His jaw tightens, lips curling upward, and the peaks of his fangs are visible. He watches for the tiefling’s reaction, elated to find that the boy is clearly shaken by his display. The Tiefling turns to speak but decides against it, turning his back to the scene before him. 

Astarion sneers.

Yet another unworthy fool. 

Though… a fool who has touched her. Something he and only he should be privy to.

An inferno erupts within him.

Astarion grabs the young woman by the arm again and leads her toward the supply closet at the end of the hall, making quick work of the lock. Astarion scans their surroundings before opening the door and shoving her in, a small squeak pushed past her lips from the impact of his hand on her back. Quickly closing the door behind him, he yells, “Ignis!” a fireball lighting the lone torch in the room.

“Astarion, what-” she shouts in protest. Before the opportunity arises he’s back on her, pinning her in place to the wall with his hips. His hands fly up to cup either side of her jaw.

"Do you truly believe I meant that?" he growls low in his throat, their eyes meeting in a whirlwind. “That I only wanted to be friends?” he adds, mockingly. 

He's desperately searching her face for something, anything to show him he's not alone in this. Her tense expression stokes the fire raging within him.

Suddenly, he's spiraling.

The small voice in his head, his conscience, is yelling at him to stop - to pull back. She’s made it quite clear how she feels, you love-sick idiot. 

Logic fails him - he cannot form a single cohesive thought. Not when she's looking at him like that.

A doe caught unawares in the middle of a forest. Eyes blown wide, mouth slightly agape. Not unlike those he's hunted multiple times in the past. His chest heaves as he drinks in her expression, a wave of heat rising up within him. 

The compulsion is overwhelming, rapidly losing the battle with the rational part of his brain. Bitterness bites at the back of his throat like acid. 

He absolutely must continue.

“Is that why your home has become a revolving door?” Astarion says, watching her face shift. 

“Excuse me?” the human asks, offense evident in her tone. A rhetorical question, though he pushes forward.

“Of men who look just enough like me?” he continues, driving the thorn deeper into the woman's side.  

Suddenly, she’s stone, cold and unwelcoming. Her face twists into something sour, nose scrunching up in disgust.

“Astarion Anunín… Have you been stalking me?” she nearly yells.

Oh, he has her right where he wants her.

"The color of their hair does always match my own…” Astarion ponders aloud, head tilting to one side. “Have any of them fucked you as thoroughly as I have, darling?" he chides.

Pulling in a quick, ragged breath, the young woman shudders beneath him, her head falling forward. Her hips involuntarily twitch against the knee he’s suddenly wedged between her thighs and she whimpers, biting her lip to stifle the sound. 

“Astarion…” she groans, eyes falling closed. 

She’s upset, he knows. Yet, he’s privy to how she can barely resist the call of his body against her. Why not use that knowledge to his advantage?

A heavy flush settles across her face and she reopens her eyes, looking up at him through hooded lids. Astarion sees it then - the unabashed desire emanating from her. 

How ironic, he thinks to himself, that her eyes have a hunter green hue. At this moment she feels like prey, wrapped up in a delicate satin bow, all for him.

The remnants of his eternally damned soul sing in delight at her unraveling before him. Saliva pools thick on his tongue as he lavishes the thought of pushing forward, closing in on her.

Astarion leans toward her, cocking his head again to one side. “Hells, Tav… Did it really never occur to you that we made love the last time we were together?" he asks quietly, mouth hovering just above her lips.

Tav shivers beneath him, body writhing against the wall she's leaning against. Her hands come up to press against his chest, gripping fistfuls of his shirt as she grinds herself again on the knee between her legs. The flush on her face is so deep, practically matching the color of her hair.

“Y-you’re hardly playing fair,” she huffs out. She moans again, genuine and clear, making little attempt to subdue the noise. Astarion groans in response before closing the distance, finally capturing her lips in a kiss. 

He’s timid at first, wanting to gauge her reaction. Tav doesn't resist nor push him away, giving him the encouragement to continue. Her jaw grows pliant under him and invites him deeper into her mouth, tongues entangling for a quick moment. The kiss is brief - just enough until she settles beneath him. Both of their chests heave as they part.

Astarion’s eyes rest upon her lips before he draws his head back. His hands fall from her face and he lays his palms flat against the wall on either side of her head. 

"My biggest regret is that I lacked the courage to tell you with words..." he admits, voice trailing off. The ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he adds, "so, instead, I used the one tool I'm most versed with.”

Tav's pupils blow wide at the implication of his words.

Of course, Astarion used his body - used himself as an instrument. Again. To him, this is familiar territory. This is safe. 

This is all I’m good for.

"It appears I must have gotten my translation wrong," he quips.

Tav shakes her head in disagreement. “It wasn’t wrong…” 

She adjusts herself against the wall as Astarion’s leg falls back into a normal position, no longer wedged between her. 

“I was so sure… and then the morning after, I- '' She cuts herself off and swallows. “I didn’t know what to think, Astarion.”

Astarion pushes himself off the wall, taking a few steps back from Tav to give her space. 

“I don’t understand,” he begins, folding his arms over his chest. “I thought I made my position rather clear that morning. About…” He shrugs his shoulders. “Us. This.”

Huffing out a quick laugh, Tav shakes her head again, her discomfort in their current conversation mounting. “You started talking about being free, and-” 

She stops herself again, choking back a sigh. “It just seemed so selfish to ask you to be with me. You were just getting yourself back, after so long.”

Tears begin to gather at the corners of Tav’s eyes. Gently with the pads of his thumbs, Astarion wipes them clean.

“Oh, my silly little love,” he says, lowering his face to place a chaste kiss upon her forehead. “How I wish you would have spoken to me first.”

Tav’s hands come up to cover his, removing them from her face. “I think… I think I need to go,” she tells him, urgently. 

Nodding in silent agreement, Astarion lets her dip out from under him, seeing her inch closer toward the door. 

Before she grips the door’s handle, she turns to look at him. “...Can we talk more about this?” She quickly gestures to their surroundings before adding, “In a better situation, maybe?”

Astarion can only sigh, chest rising and falling heavily. “Of course, my dear. Do you have a particular place in mind?”

Her eyes fall to the floor. Tav knits her fingers together nervously, rubbing her thumbs over the other. “Well… where are you staying?”

A quick laugh escapes his throat and he averts his gaze. His voice is soft and tender as he focuses on a broom leaning against the corner of the wall behind her, “...I went home.”

Tav furrows her brow before asking, “What do you mean by home?”

“Home, to Cazador’s,” he states, devoid of emotion. Astarion’s eyes fall back onto her, watching as she adjusts her posture.

“It’s not as though I know much else,” he continues. “I lack the gold or the ability to work. I have only what I’m able to pilfer off the unassuming, and I’ve grown tired of playing such a role.” 

Astarion sighs heavily again before adding, “There are a number of… resources available to me, now that Cazador is gone. It would be foolish of me to squander them.”

Tav only nods in his direction, her expression falling flat. “Alright,” she says, “I’ll meet you… there, I guess.” She unlaces her hands and turns around, heading back toward the door.

“Tavaria,” Astarion calls to her as she wraps a hand around the door handle again, freezing in place at the use of her full name. “If you do decide to visit me, you’re going to need the passcode for the tower door.” 

Looking over her shoulder, Tav waits for him to continue. Moments pass between them, the air growing thick and stale within the small closet. When she doesn’t speak, he pushes forward. 

“It’s spitfire,” Astarion tells her.

He hears more than sees the small inhalation of breath she takes as his words register. Turning her head forward again, Astarion watches her finally twist the knob to the door, pushing it open. Tav steps out of the closet, looking at him briefly before disappearing down the corridor of the tavern.

Astarion slumps against the cool stone of the supply closet wall, light now pouring through the open doorway. His head is throbbing, an uneasy ache beginning to take root deep within his chest.

What a day.

[thatfreshi]

Out of Love (Astarion x reader)

Tw - death, vomiting, assisted suicide, sickness

Recommended Song: Past Hound - Adam Melchor

A couple of moons ago, you came down with a horrific illness. You and Astarion both don't know why, or how. You suspect foul play. After all, you didn't always make friends on your journeys. You wonder if perhaps you were poisoned, someone slipped something into a drink at the bar, changing the course of your life forever. The first month was like a bad flu, high fever, vomiting almost every day, barely able to eat. Over time though, your body started to ache. Astarion knew it was getting bad when you fell in the kitchen, breaking one of his favorite glasses. At first he was enraged, so angry that you could be so careless with one of his prized posessions. Then, he turned the corner and saw you lying on the floor, and quickly reverted his previous sentiments.

You don't remember exactly how long it's been. About two months in, Astarion told Shadowheart and Halsin to come over, realizing this was not going to go away on its own. They, tried, everything. Shadowheart went into a frenzy, reading up on everything she could, trying spells she had never cast before. Halsin got ahold of every other druid he knew in the city, to no avail. Everyone was clueless. The only thing they could determine is that this illness was man-made.

"So some bastard did try to finally get me, huh?"

You smile a little at your own comment, wincing at the pain it brings you. Astarion glares, not at you, but at the idea that someone would do this to you.

"Not funny my sweet."

It's now been four months. Astarion has tried his best to keep up with all the care you need, but it has turned both of your lives to shambles. Eventually he invited all your old companions over, to stay for a while, as they wanted to help with your illness. Despite the fact that he could barely stay awake at times, he would watch over you for hours on end, sometimes twenty at a time, until someone like Lae'zel dragged him out of your room to go lie down.

Gale has cooked every meal for all of you since you've gotten worse. He tries his best to make things from your childhood, things you'd find comforting. Shadowheart and Halsin continue to research your sickness, finding nothing. Wyll, Karlach, and Lae'zel take turns with Astarion, keeping watch over you, tending to your every need. At this point, you can barely get up most days, either from pain or lack of energy. Despite this, you can't ever sleep. If you do manage to drift off, it's for thirty minutes or so, and then you're jolted awake by some pain.

One day though, you're awoken by Astarion and Halsin arguing.

"I'm telling you Astarion, there is nothing I can do. Tav is going to pass. I don't know how soon, but I would start getting things in order."

He tries to hold back tears, to be good with his bedside manner, but it's almost impossible when Astarion keeps yelling back at him, desperate.

"Tav is not going to die. It's not time yet, you have to do something!"

"Please, Astarion. I don't want to fight with you. I know this is hard to hear, but it's over. There's nothing more we can do. There is no cure."

He tenses, ready to spit some nasty sentence about how he must be some great druid if he can't even heal people, but he refrains, wiping at his eyes. He storms off to his study, as all of your friends watch it unfold.

"I knew he was going to react like that."

Gale says sadly, looking down at the floor.

"I'll go take watch, give him some time."

And with that, Karlach comes into your room. You pretend to be asleep.

After a few agonizing hours, it's evening. Karlach brought you some soup that you couldn't bring yourself to even try eating. As the sun sets, Astarion is in the doorway, a grim look in his eyes. Without saying anything, Karlach takes her leave, giving him an understanding nod that you don't see.

When your lover makes his way to the bed, he lies down next to you, locking eyes with your tired gaze. It's as if you've been beaten twelve times over, the bags under your eyes have gotten so dark.

"Hello my sweet."

He smiles softly, trying to hide the sorrow, trying to shelter you from the news Halsin gave him.

"Hello my love."

You smile back, a little bit of pain and pressure in your face at the attempt.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

You snuggle into his side, trying not to move too much. He meets you halfway.

"I'm just... I'm so tired."

"I know darling... I know."

"No, Astarion. I'm tired of this."

"As am I. Shadowheart and Halsin are working steady as always, they'll find something."

You shake your head, a movement he can feel against his chest.

"No. No I... I heard."

You're exhausted, the air barely leaving your lungs.

"Heard what my dear?"

He's not good at playing dumb, the crack in his voice giving it all away. He hadn't thought about the argument, that you would've heard the two of them yelling about how you're going to die.

"What Halsin... what he told you."

And the tears well in his eyes instantly. He thought he wouldn't have to tell you, that he could keep this sacred thing going, that he could hold you without you needing to know it could all go away so quickly. You hear him sniffle, clearly trying to hold back.

"We don't know it's true Tav, they could still find something. They could be wrong."

His throat is coated in desperation, every word stabbing through your brain, trying to find something in you that believes him, even if he doesn't believe himself.

"They've been at it for months my love. I think it's over."

He grips you a little tighter, wishing for your existence, trying to hold the wind back from the embers of a long-gone flame. You both stay silent for a minute, as you try to work up the courage to ask him something. Something you're not even sure he'll say yes to, but you try.

"I want you to feed on me."

He scoffs, almost angrily.

"No my dear, not while you're sick. You need everything you can get.."

You shake a little, perhaps from the never-ending fever, or maybe from the fear, or the pain.

"No. I mean I want you to feed on me until I'm gone."

He tenses, shocked by your request.

"You... you what?"

You start to tear up, which only brings more pain.

"I'm just so tired Aster, and I've fought for so long. I want it to be over. I'm ready for it to be over, please."

You can barely make it through the end of your sentence without choking up.

"I can't do that, I- I won't!"

He sits up to look at you.

"You can't give up, not like this. There's still time, we still have time."

You reach out for his hand, and he obliges. As you squeeze you fingers into the back of his hand, you ask him one of the hardest questions he's ever had to answer.

"What, so you can watch me continue to suffer?"

He hadn't thought of it, that if this was horrific, how much worse could it get? How long was soon? Even Halsin didn't know how much time, not even an estimate, just... soon. He doubles down.

"No! So that, that maybe you can get better! That we can find the bastard that did this and make him cough up the cure. Maybe we can-"

"Astarion!"

You hadn't yelled for weeks, mustering up everything in your body to overpower his pleading voice. The tears continue to fall down his face, and he leans over, bringing your hand to his face.

"I can't Tav. I can't kill you. You're asking me to destroy the only thing I've ever loved, I-"

The thought of it makes him feel like throwing up, the thought of doing something like that to you. Forever ago he tried feasting on your blood in the middle of the night, long before you fell in love. And when you woke up to a strange man, a monster trying to steal your life force, you were kind. You let him drink from you, and every time he needed to after that.

"I love you so much, and I know you love me so much deeper than I could ever imagine, and I am asking you to do one last thing for me, out of love. I don't want to die to some unknown disease that's been ravaging my body, to pass in my sleep without so much as a thought. I want to die with you, right here, while everyone sleeps, where we can be alone one last time."

It's hard to argue with you, but Astarion feels as though ending your life is hardly an act of love. Mortal lives are already so fleeting, and yet you are asking him to cut it even shorter, to let you go. He meets your eyes again.

"Can I at least go slow?"

"As slow as you'd like."

You weakly smile, and he realizes there is no more considering your offer. This is what you want, and only he can give it to you.

"Okay."

He leans down to kiss you, slowly making his way to your throat, hesitating at first.

"I love you more than you'll ever know."

No pet names, no antics, no fluff. It's the first time you think he's ever said something so serious about how in love with you he is.

"I love you too Astarion."

And it's rare that you ever call each other by your first names. He shivers a little, saying you love 'Astarion' and not 'your sweet' or 'your love.' With your declarations out of the way, he pierces your skin with his fangs, slower than usual. Feeding from you is almost always a rabid act, desperate, feral. He's reserved, savoring every moment, knowing this is it, the last time he'll taste your blood, the last time he'll hold you in his arms, the last time you'll lie in this bed together. When the cold subsides and the numbness takes over, you're at peace for the first time in a long time. All you feel is the slow lapping of your blood, and his grasp tight around you. It feels like forever to you, but moments for him. As the flowing river becomes smaller, the tiniest drops coming out of your neck, he feels your body start to go limp, your skin start to get cold. He fulfills your request despite how much he's hurting, and he drinks until there is nothing left, until you're gone.

A wail echoes through the house, waking up your companions as they rush to see what's happened. As Shadowheart is the first to reach the doorway, she sees Astarion clutching your body, sobbing hysterically. She gets up next to him, clamoring on, asking what happened. He can barely speak, and the rest watch in silence.

"Tav- I- I had to- they wanted me to-"

Guilt-ridden, terrified of what he's done despite you pleading with him minutes ago, Astarion can only stutter the same phrases over and over again.

"I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. I- I didn't want to- please."

"Hey, it's okay. Astarion. Astarion?"

Shadowheart notices the blood all over his mouth and the sheets, and the two perfect pin pricks in your neck, realizing what he's done. Astarion looks up for a moment, still clutching your dead body in his hands. And then, he points at Halsin.

"YOU. You fool, Tav heard us, they heard what you said. They gave up because of you. I had to kill them because of you..."

He starts to sob again, losing the rage, overcome with a sorrow that is inexplainable. Halsin only stays silent, knowing these are words of grief and not truth.

"Get out."

Halsin starts to step aside, believing the comment to be about him. When no one else moves, Astarion's eyes dart across the room at everyone, almost manic.

"Get out, all of you. GET OUT."

"Astarion, you can't-"

Gale is cut off by what is such a guttural scream, he can hardly believe it came from the vampire.

"LEAVE."

He comes back to your body, sobbing into flesh that no longer feels.

"Just please leave me alone..."

Shadowheart quietly gets off the bed, ushering everyone out of the room, softly closing the door behind her. Astarion can barely hear the murmurs outside the bedroom door, as he begins muttering to your lifeless corpse.

"I'm so sorry my dear... I'm so sorry. I should've done more, I should've told you to stay, I-"

He can't find the words, relentlessly blaming himself for your choice, wondering if there was any way to get around this. His mind wanders to that first month, when you dropped his wine glass, how he yelled from the other room, how he scolded you for being careless with his things, and he realizes how stupid life is. Nothing matters, a wine glass doesn't matter, you matter. And you were the only thing that ever mattered.

Hours go by, and dusk turns to dawn. Eventually, Gale comes back to the door, knocking softly.

"I'm coming in."

He's met with Astarion still, lying with your body, the blood crusted on the sheets, and his bloodshot eyes. It's as if he barely moved.

"I think... I think it's time."

While Gale wishes that Astarion could stay by your side forever, he knows your corpse will start to change soon, to become worse and worse as the hours pass by. It takes him forever to pry your lover from your side, eventually leading him to the living room, where he lies on the sofa, curled up, as Halsin begins to prepare your body.

[harveywritings92]

[PART 2 OF THIS]

[After R/n’s calamitous phone call attempt to Simon, she ran a good five blocks before she felt safe enough to breath and think of a plan.]

R/n, sitting on a curb: okay...okay, I really regret not going to the gym with Si now....Shit!

{She swallows hard and looks behind her, the people chasing her were probably a two blocks away that only gave her small window of time.}

R/n: Okay, R/n. You managed to get, ah... Some distance from the guys chasing you, that’s the first thing Simon you told to do...Now next would be to find a place to hide, too bad it’s too freaking sunny out to do so!

R/n: And I can’t hide in plain sight since they know what clothes I’m wearing...

{R/n looks around and recognizes what street she’s on, there was goodwill shop across the street from her, she quickly got up and ran inside; knowing the van was probably around the block.]

R/n: Okay...they’re finding me a bit fast for comfort...

(R/n thinks and looks at her purse/mini-backpack...Could there be a tracker in it? she didn’t dwell on it too long, R/n quickly grabbed some pants a large hoodie, a hat and neck gaiter. she quickly ditched her old clothes and bag; taking just her wallet with her. R/n practically threw the money at the confused clerk as she speed walked passed the checkout.]

Clerk: Wait! ma’am, your change!

R/n, not looking back: Keep it! 

(R/n pulls the hood and neck gaiter up and walks out the back. she exits the alley in time to see the van pull up and two men rush into the good will. the y/ht(your height), woman knew they were not gonna be happy when they find R/n was long gone, and with that R/n calmly walked away towards a more populated area and hopefully she can get ahold of a phone so she can get through to Ghost this time!)

(Meanwhile)

[Ghost and the rest of the 1-4-1 arrived to his house, which was completely trashed, Ghost looked around his livingroom frowning under his mask as he found his wedding photo on the floor. it wasn’t some grand fancy event,  just a small court house wedding with your parents/guardian and couple of your friends, Ghost stomach churned at the memory.

Despite him being the one who proposed in the first place, Simon had tried to talk R/n outta of it...He warned her, he warned her that if they went through with it; R/n would be a walking target, she wouldn’t have a normal life anymore and yet... She still said yes.)

Soap, as he looks at the photo over Ghost’s shoulder: Steamin’ Jesus, he wasn’t fookin wit’ me, he really is married!...(to Price.) Did ye know?

Price: I knew he had a wife. That’s about it, Ghost doesn’t really speak about his home life much.

[Then everyone looked around the house it was clear someone was looking for something...and judging how a good number of Ghost and R/n’s valuables were left out on the dining room table, they were probably coming back...or. 

*The stairs creaked* 

They never left...Everyone freezes as a young man in his late teens to early twenties dressed all in black comes walking down the stairs; talking loudly. He probably assumed the 1-4-1 were his buddies coming back for him and their loot.]

Robber, while holding R/n’s jewelry box: Jeez, you guys took yer sweet time how hard is it to catch a woma...*Sees the group of giant armed men staring at him.* ...aaan?

Ghost: Don’t you fucking move...

[the Robber throws the box at them and tries to bolt out the backdoor! He gets clotheslined by Gaz who was camping around the corner. Cut to the kid being tied to a chair as Ghost stands over him menacingly]

Ghost, cracking his knuckles: Now...Let’s get acquainted shall we?~

[annisassintchaska]

The Little Things: Lewis Hamilton x Black!Reader

Today had been a very stressful day for Lewis as he went through all the meetings and read over all the files that needed to be analysed, not only for formula 1 but also for The Hamilton Commission. He had been off in the office typing and signing away, not even breaking to get some food into his system and his wife Y/n knew that as she had been at home all day resting.

Y/n had recently given birth to a beautiful baby girl named Solay Hamilton who is now one week old. Lewis had brought home his new family just two days ago so everyone was still adjusting to the new addition. Y/n noticed that Lewis had been in the office for over five hours and that he obviously was hungry, so she left her sleeping infant and her four legged brother Roscoe in the nursery and went to make something in the kitchen. Once the food was ready she took it across to the door that had been shut since morning and knocked before entering.

Lewis looked up as he spotted his wife entering with a steaming plate of food and a beverage. “Hey sweetheart, are you and ‘lay alright?” He asked as she rested the plate in the desk before him. “Yeah we’re great, I just noticed you haven’t had anything since breakfast and so I made you some food. Please take a break from all this and get some nutrients and strength back into body. You can’t continue like this Lew” Y/n sighed as she knew how hard it is to convince her highly dedicated, driven and hardworking husband to take a break from anything he’s focused on. Sensing her worries, Lewis saved the work on his laptop before closing it and packing up the papers back into the folder before he drew the plate closer and started eating. He hummed in appreciation as the food did wonders on his taste buds and he thanked her politely.

After his meal, Lewis decided that he had done enough work for the day and so he locked up his office and made his way down the hall, coming to a stop right outside his daughter’s door. He quietly opened the door, finding his wife asleep on the low rock-able loveseat and his daughter asleep in her crib. He went over and lightly kissed his daughter’s forehead before he sat next to his wife, hugging her as he played with her curls.

“Hey, when did you get here?” Y/n asked silently as she woke up to find her husband next to her unexpectedly. “I had done enough work for today so I wanted to hang out with you both. You can go to the bedroom and sleep, I’ll stay here and watch over her” Lewis replied as he gave her a gentle squeeze and a kiss on the cheek before she left the room, bringing back complete silence.

Sitting down in front of the crib Lewis stretched his pinky finger rubbing along his baby’s hand who obviously, unconsciously took ahold of it making him smile. “Hey Solay, I don’t know if you’re hearing me or not, but either way I want you to know that I love you and your mummy very much. You both mean the world to me as you make me feel safe and secure. You are the biggest blessing and gift that I’ve ever received and I vow to cherish you as long as I live. You and your mummy encourage, inspire and motivate me to keep going so much to the point that I don’t even know what I was doing with my life before y’all. I want you to know that you are worth everything that this world has to offer and that I would never let anyone take away the light that reflects from you my shiny little star. I love you with all that I have within me and nothing will ever change.” He conversed with his sleeping infant, smiling at the fact that he had someone who appreciated him for who he was and no matter what life threw at him, he always had his two brightest stars to help him to keep going.

[enchantedflameandflower]

Gavin Magary x reader!

co-written with the bestie CheshireCatSmile

Warnings: none for this chapter but there will be smut, and tons of it!

Summary: When you started working at the lumber mill, you couldn't help but instantly fall in lust with the strong, quiet younger brother. But you're determined to keep it professional, until one work trip suddenly changes it all.

Notes: I'm actually terrified to post this so if you can drop a like or have a kind word, it would mean the entire world! Thank you to @jdms-kus-babygirl for encouraging me to post! @shirley-girly @billybutcherxyou @burntsaltsblog

notes: we have more than 22k words of this already written but it's an editing mess so I will be posting as I can get each part edited, let me know if you want tagged! Always lusting for Karl...

Karl Urban Masterlist

part 1

The early morning sun is just beginning to shine into the little  dusty windows of the office of Magary Lumber Mill, when you hear Gavin’s big boots thudding up the wooden stairs outside. When he opens the door to the little office, he heads straight to your desk without thinking. 

"Good morning,” he smiles at you. His hazel eyes seem to linger for a moment, and it makes your heart skip a beat. “I um,” his gaze sweeps over you again, warming you from the inside, “I like that top...it brings out your eyes…”

You blink up at him for a moment, taken aback by his compliment, but he changes the subject before you can think of how to answer. “How're things looking this morning? My brother in yet?"

Gavin picks up a sheaf of papers and mail you had set aside for him, sorting through them casually. He has on his usual button-up shirt, but it’s already warm and he has the sleeves rolled up, showing off his muscled forearms, tanned from his work outside. A couple of the top buttons are undone, and you can see a glimpse of his broad chest underneath.

“Um yes,” you answer, trying not to sound flustered. “He called this morning and said something’s come up. He wants you to get ahold of him as soon as you got in.” 

Gavin replies with a non-committal hum as he continues to sort through the forms and contracts he has and you watch him for a moment, gathering your courage. “Do you really like this shirt or are you just trying to get me to finish your paperwork for you again?” you tease playfully.

Gavin looks up at you grinning again. "No, I really do like it darlin'. When do I ever try to get you to do my extra paperwork?” He winks at you and his grin widens, showing his dimple.

His smile and his compliment make your heart skip a beat but you’re at work so you clear your throat putting it out of you mind, even though you can’t deny how good he looks when he does smile. He hasn’t smiled very much since you started working here. “Well I would list all the times you have but you should probably go call Jack.”

"Okay, I'm on it. Are the kids okay? Or did he say?" Gavin shuffles through a few more papers and looks up at you with concern in his eyes. He pulls his phone out of his pocket.

He always shows how much he cares for his niece and adopted nephew, you can’t help but wonder why he’s still so alone himself but you push the thought away. “He didn’t say, but he didn’t sound too concerned, so I’m sure the kids are okay. Something about Grace needing to stay home until she has the baby, I think.”

"Oh yeah...he mentioned she might be lookin’ at bedrest. Somethin’ about one of the labs and another ultrasound I think." He sits on the edge of his desk and connects with his brother and you try not to eavesdrop but it sounds like they have to delay a project if they don't look at that old logging road in the forest out toward the north.

You bite your lip as you give up on being discreet and listen to his side of the conversation. If that trip gets pushed back, it’s going to push everything else back as well and the schedule will be a mess. There’ll be no way to keep all the upcoming jobs for summer. He thumbs off the phone with a heavy sigh. 

“Jack can’t go out to Morrow County with you?” you ask, turning in your chair.

He looks up, his dark hazel eyes studying you as though he’s debating something. "No. I...I was wondering...nah, it's too much to ask,"  he says but you can see the wheels turning in his head.

You sit up a little straighter, realizing what he’s about to say. You won’t miss this chance. “I can go with you.” He looks surprised, but it’s the perfect solution. It’s too much for him to go alone and you’d love to get away, out into nature again. 

“Are you sure?” He lifts a brow. “It’ll be almost a week. You don’t have anyone…?” 

You grin at him. “No, it’s just me. I’m all alone. No pregnant wife at home.”

He chuckles a little, but chews his lip before he smiles at you again. "Well if you're sure it wouldn't be too much of an imposition I would really appreciate your help. We just can't afford to put this off. Do you have a backpack you can throw a few things into at home? I already have my gear with me but I can run you home to pack?"

“Yes, absolutely. I used to love going hiking out in the middle of nowhere but I haven’t had time since I’ve been on my own. Just work, you know.” You clear you throat again, a little embarrassed about having shared that with him. Your jobs before had been awful but this one was amazing and paid well and you didn’t want him to think otherwise. “Are we camping, or…?”

"Yeah, I hope you don't mind. Then, quite a ways in there's an old loggers' cabin I want to check out. See what kind of repairs it might need so it can hold a few of the men on their shifts without having to go back and forth every day." He walks over to your desk and looks down at you a moment. "Y'know I probably shouldn't say this but...I’m glad your free without any ties at home…but I can't believe some guy hasn't snapped you up ages ago. Their loss." He clears his throat. "Anyway, um...we should probably head out."

Your stomach flutters wildly at his implication…there can’t be any way…does he like you? 

“Yeah. Yes,” I swallow. “I love camping. It’s been too long. And I’d love to see that cabin.” 

Suddenly you’re more than a little excited. You were down about the upcoming week, expecting it to be dull and awful, all alone in the office, but now… He is so handsome…in his well-fitting jeans (he literally has the best ass you’d ever laid eyes on) and his hard hat, when he gets all serious and hard working. You wonder if this might be your chance to really get to know him better. Yes, he could be a little arrogant at times, and impatient, but you couldn’t help but see the times he thought of his brother or family, or his men first, above all. You know there was some incident and there are people in town that hate him. He pretends not to care but you know it hurts him sometimes. 

“Let’s go,” you agree. He opens the door for you and locks it behind you.

part 2

[kekaki-cupcakes]

hello!! Hope you’re doing well!!

could you please do a Leo x mortal reader cafe au like the Connor stoll one? And could the reader be a Greek mythology nerd also please have a little brother who she’ll randomly quiz about the Olympian gods?

have a nice day 😚😚

heyyy i didn't get your whole request in but i got the vibe dw and also kind of made a moodpboard for it cause I loved the whole aesthetic and no one requests mood boards <3 LISTEN TO EXPRESSO BY SABRINA!

Leo Valdez x Reader--- cafe au

»»————-　★　————-««

“Hello,” you said, looking up from your screen for a millisecond, “what can I get you today?”

When whoever it was ordering didn’t respond, you raised an eyebrow, hand hovering over the digital menu. The boy frowned at the screen above your head where it listed all the different drinks. He had the nicest brown curls, you noticed, and looked back down before he caught you staring. 

He tapped his fingers quickly on the counter. Sabrina Carpenter's new song was playing over the cafe speakers. It sounded like summer.

“How many espresso shots are you legally allowed to put in one drink?” The boy asked with a crackly voice. He had dark smudges under his eyes. And on his hands. Huh. You really needed a camera to look into at times like this, for comedic effect. Like the office.

“About six,” you said, dropping your customer service voice with a shrug, and opened up a new order on the tablet, your bracelets jingling. “What can I get you today?” 

You loved your bracelets. Some were from that second hand store down the street full of goths and grandmas where you’d bought yet another version of the Odyssey yesterday, and the rest were from your little brother. 

You never admitted it to anyone, but he’d made them based on all your favorite Greek gods. The ones you were wearing today had pomegranate seed charms and antler horn patterns.  

His eyes widened considerably. They were brown. And sparkly. “What happened to your voice?”

You squinted at him. Someone else came into the cafe with three little dogs stuffed into their giant handbag. 

“That was my customer service voice.” Your brain was finally receiving enrichment in messing with this cute greasy boy. You put it on again, paired with a fake smile. “What can I get for you today?” 

He chuckled, and hitched a giant canvas tote bag over his shoulder. There was a giant inked cat with butterfly wings on it, and a long metal pipe sticking out the back. You had a feeling this boy would steal your name if he got ahold of it, or trap you in a ring of flowers deep in a forest.

“Uh,” he trailed off, and then winked, scrunching up his entire face. “Surprise me.”

You blinked at him. How entirely helpful. You watched him pull an entire fucking old fashioned pocketwatch out of his pocket to check the time. 

Medium was the most commonly ordered size of drink, so you selected that, and then a caramel latte with whipped cream. You had that knack that every person in your generation seemed to have been born with. 

Selecting random objects and flavors to match someone’s vibe precisely. You just happened to be a barista. 

For instance, this talkative sleep deprived boy was rocky road slices with peanuts in them, and torn open sugar packets, and caramel. Your coworker, Lou Ellen, who was wiping down tables behind the handbag dog man, was those butterfly shaped ice-cubes and home brewed black coffee from a saucepan and dragon fruit juices.                            And that thick book on Greek mythology she’d bought you for your birthday last year [she’d nicked it from the library and peeled the sticker off]. 

“Four dollars and sixty cents,” you said patronizingly, in your customer service voice. He grinned like you had just invented the funniest inside joke ever, and handed over five dollars in fifty cents coins.

“Keep the change.”

You printed out the receipt and reached for a medium sized cup and the ballpoint pen from a uni campus open day, after pocketing the generous tip of forty cents and a paperclip. 

What a gentleman. “Name?” 

“Leo Valdez, super sized Mcshizzle, bad boy supreme,” Leo Valdez super sized Mcshizzle bad boy supreme said happily, as one of the handbag dogs escaped the bag and started chewing on his laces. 

You desperately needed that camera to look into now. You should be the star of a sitcom at this point, with you as the tired main character dealing with silly customers while desperately longing to go home and read your books, Lou Ellen as the hilarious trashy best friend, Will [your coworker who was currently taking out the trash] as the angry bisexual lumped with the night shift crew, and your little brother, who would pop in at random times in each episode to deliver the punchline.  

Instead of letting the credits roll, unfortunately, you scribbled out an unintelligible scrawl to represent the complete nonsense you were supposed to instead. Your smile was strained this time. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Leo [you assumed that was his name] beamed. “Thanks!”

It was only as you frothed the milk and tried not to burn your fingertips on the spout did you realize that the song was still going. Lou must’ve looped it, as she did with every song ever until she got sick of it and hated it. 

You nodded your head and tipped the bubbling milk into the cup, reaching for the tube of caramel sauce. “Soft skin and I perfumed it for ya, I know I Mountain Dew it for ya.” 

“That morning coffee, brewed it for ya.” You rolled your eyes to no one and tipped the extra caramel sauce into it. It was ten o'clock at night, and your shift had just started. Morning coffees meant college students rushing in at two a.m. so they could finish their projects. 

You shook up the whipped cream. “One touch and I brand-newed it for ya.” 

One of the most satisfying parts of your job, apart from spinning around and introducing yourself as the manager [you are not the manager] when someone demands to see the manager [who comes in once a month, looks around, and leaves again], is the whipped cream. The sound of it and the little pattern it makes just itches a scratch. 

You smile as you finish the swirl, which sinks into the cup of espresso shots and caramel milk. You spin around, “now he’s thinkin’ ‘bout me every night, oh…”   

“Is it that sweet? I guess so,” you hum under your breath, and ducking the spray bottle Lou Ellen launches over your head, you stick a straw in the cup and walk to the bench, where Will’s serving the man with three purse dogs a jelly donut. 

Leo’s digging through his bag while you wait, not bothering to rush him and leave the 24/7 rip off starbucks diner empty. 

You pick up the pen and take the lid off with your teeth, doodling a little cat on the blank bit of the cup. The tail comes out all wrong, and one of the whiskers slides halfway around on the plastic with a scratchy sound. 

You add rushed fairy wings to its soft looking back, and hand the cup over as Sabrina Carpenter sings about being a singer. Her voice is so pretty. Like caramel. “There you go.”

Leo grinned at you, and while you watched in absolute horror, proceeded to pour an entire monster energy drink he’d pulled from his tote bag into the perfectly made coffee. 

“Excuse me?” you whisper shrieked. 

He blinked at you owlishly, and you tried not to notice how warm his eyes looked in the vintage yellow lights of the shop that made everything seem seventies. “What?”

“That’s enough caffeine and chemicals to give a water buffalo a heart attack,” you said, pointing at his awful concoction. It started to fizz. You wondered if the building had chemical reaction insurance.

“I’ve got a lot of work to do,” Leo shrugged, and picked up his cup happily. He looked down at it, and a grin split across his face. “I got a drawing!”

»»————-　★　————-««

It was only a few days later when the bell rattled quietly by the door and you looked up to see Leo and smiled despite yourself, fingers tapping on the cup in your hand, wear the ring you’d made from that paperclip sat, did you realize what role he would play in your heart shaped ice-cubes Sabrina Carpenter soundtracked paperback books late night set ballpoint pen sitcom.

The love interest. 

»»————-　★　————-««

[lightasthesun]

Happy Disability Pride fellow spoonies!

As always: mind the tags!!

Push through (until you break) by @guildofscribes

Oneshot | 1,6K | Obi-Wan, Anakin, Cody

Next to Anakin's ease and power within the Force, none of the clones realize just how far General Kenobi is pushing himself to keep up. It's war. And he'll do what he must. Until he can't.

Memories awash with colour by QuickSilverFox3

Chapters: 2 | 4,4K | Cody/Obi-Wan

There is a Spring Festival on Coruscant meant to remember when the city overtook everything and what they had all lost because of it. Obi-Wan and Cody never manage to see it, but they spend the time together regardless.

No words needed by jack_a_rose

Oneshot | 2,8K | Cody/Obi-Wan & the 212th Attack Battalion

“It really doesn’t bother me, my dear,” Obi-Wan lied through his teeth, struggling to sit upright on the bed in the medbay after his most recent injury. His arm was in a sling so he couldn’t sign, and Cody could see the frustration in his eyes with every instinctive move to lift his arm, “I have spent years not hearing, it is as much a part of me as my lightsaber is, it’s part of who I am. Yes, my implant allows me to hear and yes, sometimes I do miss the voices of my loved ones, but I am used to it.”

“But you shouldn’t have to be,” Cody signed as he spoke, letting out a sigh, “you chose to get the implant for a reason, to have the choice to hear. And that choice has been taken from you.” “You do not need to worry about me, dear,” Obi-Wan said, reaching out with his uninjured hand to place it on Cody’s knee.

Cody just shook his head and smiled sadly. “I always worry about you, cyare.”

a quiet tapestry by lux_arcana

Oneshot | 2,9K | Obi-Wan & Quinlan

The war had broken Obi-Wan, but he was alive.

Sometimes that was enough.

(Or: The impact of Obi-Wan's strained relationship with the Force after the end of the Clone Wars)

instead i took care of you by CallToMuster

Oneshot | 2K | Obi-Wan & Service Animal Boga & Ahsoka

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes again, he was on the ground and he couldn’t remember how he got there.

[Or: many decades after the successful ending of the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan is still struggling, in ways both old and new.]

heavy off a golden hue by catboydogma

Series | Cody/Obi-Wan (Rex & Qui-Gon)

“And there are some, like me,” Obi-Wan said, voice softening against his will, “who relapse. And relapse. And… and it never quite leaves. I’m afraid I’m rather susceptible to the kind of emotional distress that the flowers thrive in. There is so much love to be had in the galaxy, and I can’t help but… even when it hurts. Perhaps especially when it hurts. I let it get ahold and it’s chronic at this point. Even if I never loved again, I will always have… this.” He spread a hand over his own chest and already, he could feel the stuttering slip of petals and leaves threatening. He kept his breathing slow and shallow, and the threat passed—for now.

Heliotropism by wobblycompetencies

Oneshot | 15K | Poe/Luke (Rey & Wedge Antilles & Mace)

“Really,” he said, to underline the point, because Poe was looking a little doubtful. “I’m in no rush here. Whatever you want to do, or not do, is fine. I’m just...enjoying spending time with you.”

"I’m not in a rush, exactly, I just want – " Poe normally was able to state his mind with little angst or uncertainty; now, he looked faintly exasperated with himself. "I do want to find out what I still can do. Not all at once, though. And I don't know what it’ll look like, or – or how long it's gonna take for me to get there."

Luke reached for Poe's hand where it was drumming restlessly on the tabletop, and squeezed it reassuringly. "Find out together?"

Ni haa'taylir ner'st o'r gar (I see myself in you) by foreverchangingfandoms

Oneshot | 11K | Obi-Wan & Tholme (Qui-Gon, Quinlan, Bant, Vokara)

On a mission, Obi-Wan is seriously injured in a way that could change his life forever. Whilst healing, he finds help from his friend's Master and the one Jedi who understands how he feels.

look after you by piqu3d

Oneshot | 2.2K | Obi-Wan/Cody & Luke & Leia

He’s sitting in his chair, legs turned irreparably inwards leading to knobby knees covered by a loose blanket. The cannula in his nostrils is slightly crooked on its way to the tank attached to his chair. There are pale purple circles under his eyes, and wrinkles wear at his skin around his eyes and his nose. His hair, stringy with sweat, drapes against his pale forehead. His lopsided smile rests on chapped lips, and his hands are lightly trembling where they hover over his lap.

He’s the most beautiful person Cody’s ever seen.

if it's quite alright by piqu3d

Oneshot | 2.2K | Obi-Wan & Leia (minor codywan)

“Obi-Wan,” Cody’s voice filters from the cracks between Leia’s fingers, and Obi-Wan wants to sob. His heart keens at the phantom touches on his shoulders and around his waist as he listens to Cody’s steady, low voice. “Obi-Wan, it’s alright.”

A forced chuckle rips its way from behind his teeth. “Alright, is it?”

Cody’s response is a buzz over the wireless connection: “It’s going to be. You have Leia. Fulcrum and her charge are alive. Just breathe, Kenobi.”

Not Her by dieFabuliererin

Chapters: 23 | 76k | Ahsoka-centric | Padmé/Anakin (Obi-Wan & Ahsoka & Anakin & Cast)

A white-hot warning flashes through the Force, and Ahsoka jumps to the rooftop without hesitating. Whatever Obi-Wan's reason for not defending himself, she can't allow the sniper to kill him. She wouldn't be able to live with herself.

Incapacitation by whitchry9

Oneshot | 3K | Obi-Wan & Stim (medic oc) & Cody

Neuromuscular incapacitation: the disruption of nerve and muscle function by a targeted electrical stimulus.

Or, Obi Wan gets shocked repeatedly, and the aftereffects are... many.

Speak No Word (Hear No Sound) by TemporaryUniverse

Oneshot | 6K | Obi-Wan & Ahsoka and Anakin and Boga

Ahsoka wasn't sure what she was getting into when she was assigned to Master Kenobi and sent to the front lines. She didn't even know he was deaf.

Being captured together gives them the chance to get to know each other a little more. For better or worse.

dancer in the dark by catboydogma

Chapters: 3 | 10K | Cody/Obi-Wan & Dooku & Anakin

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan said. “Anakin, what’s Bly’s last name?” Anakin blue-screened for a moment. “Uh…”

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan said again, sliding ungracefully off the boards with a thump and putting his back to the door. “Is that—tell me that’s not Bly’s father, Anakin.” Good God, he’d never live this down.

“No,” Anakin said after a moment squinting first at the door, then Obi-Wan. A tangled mess of sound was echoing through the room as the newcomers greeted Bly and vice versa, all deep voices with light accenting—Māori, Obi-Wan remembered, slightly giddy. It was a Māori accent, because—“That’s his brother,” Anakin told Obi-Wan. “Cody—”

“Cody Fett,” Obi-Wan said, clutching his cup a little tighter and steadfastly refusing to look over his shoulder. “He’s brothers with Cody Fett, former Olympic gold medalist and—oh, God.“

[sagephilosophie]

Late Night 𖤍

┃ SHIO⃤ Y.

𖦦 ꜰʟɪɴɢ! ꜱʜɪᴏ ʏᴏᴛꜱᴜʀᴜɢɪ x ᴠɪʀɢɪɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

🥂 Tags ₊ ⊹

NSFW, virginity loss, Yakuza!Shio (canon), GN!Reader, dark themes disguised with humour, Neurodivergent-coded reader, awkward first meetings, heavy social inequality themes, usage of "(name)" twice, Shio being canonicaly egotistical, personality change, hook-ups, manipulation, threats, Sexual coercion, Virginity kink, necktie used as handcuffs, protected sex, fingering, Dacryphilia, rough kissing, switching between soft and rough sex, bleeding.

🥂 Word count ₊ ⊹ 2602

"This way, miss."

You were a little lost even after the bodyguard invited you in, it was your first time being invited to one of those rich poeple parties, who would have known you even could be seen by them.

You made your way inside the giant mansion, passing by all the bourgeoisies with their branded outfits and thinking how fake they must be, you stopped when a butler offered you a drink from the tray, you took a glass of champagne and thanked him, wondering how much it could've cost you if it wasn't free.

The voices of men cheering from the casino table caught your attention, you got closer to see the game better when you noticed a charming bulky man with black and yellow strands hair and rolled up sleeves that exposed his full arm tattoo, from the distress of the other player, he was most likely winning.

"DAMMIT YOTSURUGI!!!!! I'M NEVER PLAYING ANY ROUNDS WITH YOU AGAIN!!!!!"

The tattooed man made no reaction as he claimed his money and the entire crowd of expensively dressed men rooted for him, "That's enough for today, see you next game with my money."

You glanced at him one more time, he took a glass of whiskey from the man behind him, likely a bodyguard, and walked away from the sulking loser. You followed him with your eyes before you managed to get ahold yourself and drifted your attention back to the boring party that you had no idea what you could do in except judging poeple.

You took a look around you and everyone was either talking to their old acquaintances, gambling away all their money, or getting drunk off their asses, you clearly didn't belong between them, the fact you were standing alone with your glass of champagne was proof of that.

A hand reached out to touch your shoulder and you jolted in surprise, only to see the man that catched your eyes earlier was right behind you, "Lost ?"

"...i'm sorry ?", you caught on to what he said late, or you were too busy admiring his physique, there was no way of telling which was it.

"You seem lost.", he stated and you stared at him inattentively only replying with a plain "huh?", unaware how it proved his point, the man opened his mouth to speak then shut it again and finally asked, "Can i get you a drink ?"

You raised your glass to signal already having one, the gentleman almost facepalmed at the awful communication, "let me rephrase that, would you like to keep accompany me through the night ?"

'Oh... Awkward...', "I'd... love to! Thanks!", 'Thanks?! Are you serious?!'

The man chuckled and held your hand bringing it closer to his lips, "I'm Shio Yotsurugi, fancy meeting you..."

He waited for your introduction and you looked at him cluelessly until you realised, "oh, (name)."

"How lovely, enchanted.", The oldest Yotsurugi leaned to place a kiss on your hand and grabbing it with all gentleness, "How about we talk somewhere more private, (Name) ?"

You were about to remark that everyone was busy minding their own business but by that time Shio was trailing you behind him out of the room, on a certain angle, it seems like you're getting kidnapped, yet on another this could be how rich poeple hit on others, you weren't exactly sure but hoped it was the latter.

You found yourself being dragged upstairs to an empty room, now there is no doubt you look like you're getting abducted, when Shio opened the door it revealed a suite with five-stars qualities, with an extensive sofa, a table full of snacks, a bar counter, a huge jacuzzi in the corner, and a king-sized canopy bed, the luxury interior design marked the master of the house as someone who must have a really fine taste.

You had a feeling this was going too quickly, you just met the man and he already led you into this gigantic room and headed to the counter to pour himself a second glass, "Want a refill ?"

"Wouldn't the owner be mad ?", you queried innocently.

Shio's grin turned into laughter, with the stoic expression he had earlier, seeing him laugh was an odd scene to witness, "What's so funny ?"

"This is your first time here, isn't it ?", his laughter gradually stopped to take his drink getting past you and sat with his legs crossed on the sofa

"Yes... is it that obvious ?", you seemed confused at this whole situation, all he did was gesture you to sit down next to him and you hesitantly obliged whilst keeping your distance.

"So, from whose side did you come ?", Shio kept eying you down, you on the other hand tried to guess what he meant on your own, whose side... he is likely asking who invited you.

"My boss! i just got promoted into executive manager!.", you answered him with a bright smile.

"Congratulations, you kept your job with that kind of focusing skills."

"What ?"

"Nothing. Go on."

"Well, he said i must attend this guy's party to celebrate... i forgot the name though, he sounds like any typical billionaire."

"Really ?"

"Yeah, from his name alone i can tell he is one of those filthy rich old men who throw parties to show off and make up for their tiny dicks."

"You think ?"

"That's how they all are, ugh! i can't stand the likes of my boss honestly, i know that he just invites his workers to look charitable in front of these other wealthy old men, who also act noble by inviting poeple to their odd ritual-like lifestyle, while in reality they're all heartless perverted douchebags that care more about getting their dicks wet than actually doing something useful with their life, such as this guy... the name is on the tip of my tongue... ummmm y-ya- yo- Yot-"

"Yotsurugi ?"

"That's it!!!! Yotsu- oh...", You looked down trying to avert his eyes, "...I'm sorry... i didn't really mean what i said..."

Why would you think ranting about your ignorant boss to Mr. Moneybags whom you just met was a good idea ? Now it turns out this is his property you're on too, and you just insulted him and his friends, you can bid your career goodbye, if he's kind enough to let you leave with your head attached to your body.

"I wasn't told my name was so expressive before.", he said finishing his beverage and putting the glass down loudly, the sound made you flinch, "i said i'm sorry, i swear i didn't mean to offend you..."

Shio clicked on his tounge and you just wanted to burry yourself alive, instead, the only option left is to engage in small talk and then exist at the first possible chance, "...sooo... this is your room then ?... it's...nice..."

"Indeed, this is where i usually like to get my dick wet.", your face scrunched in annoyance, "okay i'm done here, it was nice meeting you."

You tried to walk away when you've been pulled back by your wrist, Yotsurugi had a bruising grip on it, "You're staying."

Trying to break free from his hand was no use, his size came in his favor, "Let go!"

"I don't think so, we still have a lot of talking to do.", the guy was seriously starting to freak you out, but what came out of his mouth next was the real scary part, "If you think you can easily get away with insulting my name, you're dead wrong, in case you weren't told, i'm the king around here, i'm the chosen one.

A nobody like you calling me a manwhore casually, ruins my mood, and when my mood is ruined, you start begging for your life."

Great, he is delusional and you hurt his ego, what a perfect conclusion to this terrible party, he seemed normal a few moments ago, why did you have to speak ? Why ?

"Sir... you're hurting my wrist... let me go and i won't run away... i promise...", obviously, you planned to do the opposite and run for your life but the cold-blooded glare he shot you as soon as he lost contact with your arm made you freeze in your place and oblige unwillingly, "...What do you want from me now ?"

Shio sat in a position where his fist was on his cheek and he fully turned to face you, "Well, let's get straight to the point, i brought you here to hookup...", how logical, of course that's what he wanted, "...And i will forget about this whole thing if you agree to that."

You blinked a few times in confusion, keeping up with his personality changes was difficult, did he seriously want sex as a repayment for accidentally offending him ? Or did he want you to sleep with him all along ?

"I don't understand... So you're not actually... upset with me ?"

"I am.", 'reassuring', "However, agree to have sex and i will happily let it slide, deal ?"

"And if i don't ?"

"In that case, it's your choice and you can go home, just for now...", you didn't have time to feel relieved when his face came so close you had to move yours further, "...but i won't let the disrespect slide, and if i hear of you putting foot on my territory again, this will not end well."

The situation you are put in is pure unluck, you have never engaged in any sexual activity with anyone in your life, and currently, you have the option to lose your virginity to an egotistical maniac who happened to be a man of power - a yakuza - Or you can keep living in fear of when you will slip up and suffer the consequences of your big mouth.

The answer was needed immediately, due to that the pressure was getting to your nerves and you were drenched in sweat, the negative vibes in the air were not helping, feeling suffocated from the burden, you told him what he hoped, "I'll do it..."

You gasped when the same masculine hand that bruised earlier held your hips and drew you closer, "Smart choice~"

His lips traveled to yours, feeling every inch of your mouth with bliss as his veiny hands massaged your back, fighting for the sudden approach you got out of the kiss to inform him, "Wait!"

To your surprise he did stop, but keeping you in place not to run away, "Just so you know... this will be my first time- i'm a virgin..."

The handsome heir's expression remained the same, unlike how you assumed his reaction to be, he almost fooled you into thinking he couldn't care less about such information, until you made the mistake of looking down, that visible bulge was not there before, you would know that because you've been taking peeks.

A gasp left your throat when he picked you from the couch bridal style and there was nothing else to grab on except his collar, you thought he might throw you off the window at first, and on the contrary, your head hit a soft velvety mattress, now caged under Shio who straight off removed his dress shirt leaving his tattoos in full display.

You felt something inside you wake up when he twisted his necktie around his hand and crafted it into handcuffs that hugged your own tightly, and soon enough hugging the headboard too.

"This was supposed to be quick but for your first time, i will make it special."

Your gaze followed him towering over your figure to grab something from the nightstand, in a clearer view, turns out to be lube and condoms he layed beside him to most importantly undress you.

With the useless pieces of fabric out of the way, the yakuza zipped down his pants to release his hard cock, "Not as tiny as you expected, is it ?"

You gulped and muttered a quiet 'No' under your breath, with your arms unable to move freely, you relied on your orbs to observe him closely put the condom on and the lubricant falling down on his index and middle fingers, your eyes shot up to the sky sensing the cold liquid by your entrance, Shio's fingers pushing it inside, thrusting them in and out slowly at first then at just the right speed.

There was no helping the noises of unfamiliarity coming out at being touched for the first time, your own form adapted before you could and opened up to him, releasing more fluid than the lube, he took out his fingers at that and left you feeling uncomfortably needy, "Seems like you're ready for me."

With one swift movement he moved your thighs to his sides, positioning himself near your hole, a shiver ran through your body when he shoved the tip inside, your inexperienced body can feel the stinging pain of every force he puts in to fit his whole thing.

Once he was all in, the euphoria urged him to devour you, when tears fell down your cheeks, his thumb was quick to brush it away, you realized after he tasted it that he was almost certainly into that, despite already knowing it wasn't his intention to soothe you at that stage.

Shio soon puzzled you by setting a reasonable pace in contrast of your expectations, the warmth was unlike his fingers but way more consistent and filling, and the gentle thrusts confirmed that he kept his words to guarantee you had a good first time experience. On occasion, you felt a little uncomfortable, but overall, you were too busy whimpering with delight to pay attention to it.

After a few minutes of adjusting to his size, you hesitated to open your eyes completely, only to discover that the massive man was sweating heavily and holding on to both sides of the mattress like his life depends on it.

Like all millionaire men, he within minutes had enough of woke roles where he wasn't the one benefiting the most, abruptly, you sensed his grip on your chest, and he shifted the rhythm, pounding into you so roughly that the bed began to shake.

You moaned simultaneously with the skin slapping sound, instinctively, you tried to free your arms, but his deep thrusts and the tight knot around your wrists made you weaker than you ever imagined. The man slipped a hand under your ass, looking all hot and sweaty and like he was having loads of fun taking your virginity. He caught you struggle and grinned before his slams became sloppier and diving into your mouth with such eagerness that even you knew he was going to come.

When he reached his climax, his crushing weight fell on top of you, you can still feel his condom laying inside, the tie was starting to bruise you and you didn't get to finish yet, "...Are we done here ?"

His yellow eyes shot up at you before he unknotted the cuffs and picked you up, Upon being carried, you were at this point depending on him to keep you from falling and to hold on to his shoulders when Shio suddenly started pushing up again and you threw your head back in pleasure at the better position that hit just the right places until your cum was dripping down.

He put you back down on the bed, removing the bloodied bedcover and coating your panting body with a blanket, offering you a bottle of water he took from the cabinet.

"Am i free to go now ?"

"Go where ?"

"Home..."

"Oh, no, you belong to me now."

                             @sagephilosophie

[oftenwantedafton]

the new hire - steve raglan x female reader

rating | explicit

part 9/9

words | 3.6k

cw | minor blood and violence

ao3 link

You stare at the yellow rabbit, and the yellow rabbit stares back at you.

A standoff, of sorts, like one of those old western movies they played on the weekends in the early morning when you’d been a kid. Awake when you were supposed to be asleep. You wish this was a dream right now.

The mascot’s head tips to one side, considering you. Your flashlight is still on the floor, where you’d dropped it, shining uselessly on a set of steel shelves loaded with equipment. You find the rabbit’s own illuminated eyes too bright to look at for too long, your gaze darting around the room for something, anything, to aid you. You still don’t know if this thing is friend or foe.

Why did I leave the office?

Too much energy. Nervous about seeing William in the morning.

William.

The mascot inhales and exhales. There’s no mistaking that a part of it is alive, at least. You don’t see the chestpiece rise and fall, but the air exchange is clearly occurring nonetheless.

Why does a robot need to breathe?

The figure is so massive, towering above you, so broad it blocks most of your possible escape from your position tucked between a work station and a filing cabinet. You could try to make a run for it, but there’s no way it couldn’t just grab you if it wanted to.

What does it want?

Maybe you should start there. Ask that very question. It’s never spoken, but that doesn’t mean it can’t.

“What do you want?”

Silence, other than that steady breathing. The golden furred animatronic has not moved an inch since it’s blocked your path.

“I’m not going to interfere with whatever you’re doing, alright? I think if you wanted to harm me, you would have done it already. So I’m just going to head back to the office. And you do…whatever it is you’re doing. Deal?”

No response. Well, you’d tried talking your way out. That only left one other option.

You lick your lips, finding them parched. The air in the room is stale, musty, and feels almost humid, for some odd reason. It reminds you of a basement. You want out, and you want out now.

You choose the narrow space that’s closer to the room leading back to the hallway, or at least, you hope it is. Not that it really matters, because you bang your hip badly on one of the shelves during your attempt, dislodging several items and sending them clattering to the floor, and the rabbit’s metal hand closes over your arm easily, pulling you off balance. You stumble and go down.

Concrete. There’s nothing to cushion your fall in here. You find yourself scrabbling backward much as you had in your previous encounter, unable to get your footing, and this time, there’s no police, no William to come to your rescue.

Your hand closes over something metal, some sort of thick rod. You keep ahold of it, struggling to stand. You make it back on your feet. The rabbit hasn’t begun pursuing you yet, but you know that can change at any moment.

The very next one. Fast. You always forget how fast it can move. It doesn’t make sense, it looks so bulky and awkward, but it has no trouble advancing. You swing whatever it is you’re holding onto; scrap metal, tool, it doesn’t matter which it is. It makes contact with a dull thud somewhere along the rabbit’s left arm and it freezes, probably more surprised that you’d retaliated than from you actually inflicting an injury. It’s no good swinging it like a baseball bat. The intruder had done something similar, and look where that had gotten him.

You change your hold on the metal, this time positioning it forward like a spear. Like jousting, trying to aim. One of those tears in the mascot suit is where you’re aiming for, and you don’t have a lot of time to set it up. The rabbit lunges forward and luck seems to be with you suddenly. You’re rewarded with a very loud gasp of sound, but any triumph you might have felt quickly evaporates when the other end of your makeshift weapon is wrenched from your hand.

You’re done trying to fight back. Now you’re just going to make a run for it. You turn, seeing the outline of the open door and the light spilling in from the hallway, a beacon to guide you. It still seems so far away. You start towards it, hearing your enemy just behind—that’s what it’s become, surely—and feel the heavy, metallic hand reaching for your shoulder, the tips of those synthetic digits just missing, brushing your work shirt as you manage to make it back out into the hallway.

Your shoes squeak on the linoleum as you rush back to the security office, barely managing to slam the door shut and lock it before you see the handle futilely turn, that gesture somehow more terrifying than the pounding on the door. The thing was intelligent.

And strong. You’re not all that confident that the door is going to hold up under all that battering. The sheer weight of that animatronic alone is probably enough to make it cave in. You grab the phone off the desk, hurriedly punching in William’s number. The noise from the hallways abruptly ceases. It’s no longer attacking the barrier between you. It’s…listening?

“Will, come on, for fuck’s sake, not now.” Deja vu rolls over you. Again, he’s not available when you need him most. “Fuck you, William.” You slam down the receiver and then dial 911. You’re done playing. Fuck this job and fuck the rabbit and fuck William most of all.

The operator answers and you hurriedly say you’re being attacked, conveniently leaving out the part about your pursuer being a rabbit, of course. No need to get into that detail now. You try to keep your voice calm and your words clear, struggling to remember the address of the restaurant—it’s not like you had occassion to use it, once you knew the location, your mind had considered that useless information—as you keep your gaze alternating between the monitors and the door. You can’t see the rabbit, and you can’t hear it. You’re not sure if that makes it worse or not.

“There’s a patrol car in that area. They’ll be there shortly.”

“Okay.” You sink into the office chair. Your hip is still throbbing. That’s going to be one hell of a bruise. Your arm where it had grabbed you will probably be marked up, too. But you’re alive. At least there’s that.

You see the flashing lights outside the main entrance and sigh in relief. You’re not sure how well the police are going to manage against a seven foot tall mechanical homicidal rabbit, but at least they have real weapons. Tasers. Guns. Something that has to do some kind of damage, right?

Only the one car that you can see, and now, just one officer. Female. She looks familiar. Maybe that one you’d caught of glimpse of the night that man had broken inside the pizzeria. Must be her usual route. Lucky her. She must have pissed somebody off to get stuck doing this.

The buzzer sounds and you jump, startled.

“The police are here. One person. At the door. I have to let them in. I don’t know if it’s safe to leave the room, but…hello? Operator? Are you fucking kidding me? Again?” Silence on the other end of the line. No dial tone. No service.

The police officer pushes the door button several more times and the harsh sound sets your teeth on edge. You hesitate, glancing at all the monitor displays. Nothing unusual. But still. The thing has to be out there somewhere.

Is it always there? Just waiting? Why is it never around when William is here? Why does it only appear when I’m alone?

The buzzer sounds again and you make your decision. Another sprint down the hallway and around the corner to the front door. And you’re not sticking around, either. The hell with that. Let her call for backup. You’re not a tour guide.

I should never have taken this job.

It’s the final thought before you unlock the door and poke your head into the hallway. Nothing. Three…two…one. Go.

Back down the corridor and a quick dash to the right. You burst through the doors of the employee restricted area and aim for the front door. Fuck. You still need to unlock it. Keys on your belt where you always keep them.

Taking too long. You flip the switch and turn the key in the slot and shove the door open, brushing right past the cop.

“You’re going to need more men. That thing is still in there,” you pant, dragging lungfuls of fresh air inside of you. You lean against the side of the building and wince, remembering your injury.

“What’s going on?” The blonde woman looks calm, and sure, that’s probably a good demeanor to have in her line of work at times, but now isn’t one of them.

“There’s a…someone is in there, trying to kill me. You’re going to need backup, I’m telling you right now. Can’t you call for…”

Your voice trails off when you see the look on the young woman’s face. She’s still standing in front of the glass doors of the entrance, staring at something inside.

You reluctantly push off from the brick and mortar, turning warily. The yellow rabbit is on the other side of the doors.

“Fuck. We need to get out of here, now. Do you have a weapon? A gun? Yeah, you do. We need to go, we need to…” Your voice trails off. She hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a word, merely staring at the mascot. It’s not fear etched on her features; it’s sorrow. “Officer…Shelly,” you say, squinting to read the name printed on the gold bar pinned to her uniform. “I’m leaving. You should, too.” No response. Well, you’d tried.

The rabbit’s hand closes over the door handle. Your eyes dart to the gun in the holster on the police officer’s waist, the button securing it already lifted. You’ve handled a weapon before. Target practice. That’s what your father had considered quality time during your childhood. Hunting, even worse. You could never bring yourself to aim properly, missing on purpose. He’d known, you thought. Disapproving. Disappointed.

You can’t miss now.

You grab the weapon and make sure the safety is off, bracing your arms. The door starts to move. Your supposed rescuer is still frozen, immobile.

Where do I fire? What will do the most damage?

You squeeze the trigger, and even though you’d tried to prepare yourself, it still terrifies you, still makes you cringe and wince, shocked at the feeling. You see the bullet shatter the glass and lodge somewhere along the rabbit’s left shoulder—a terrible shot after all, then—before you feel the woman next to you finally moving, pulling the gun from your fingers, pushing you back towards the parking lot. “Go,” she says, and it’s your turn to stare, transfixed, watching as the rabbit seems to melt back into the more shadowed recesses of the dining room. “Go, now!” You rush to your car, thinking you’ve run more tonight than you ever have, fumbling to get the car door unlocked, then again to turn the ignition. You dart one last, frantic glance at the restaurant in your rearview mirror, seeing the blonde woman actually stepping inside the building—brave but foolish, certainly—and then you return your eyes to the road, saying a silent prayer that the officer survives.

***

You don’t know why you drive to William’s house.

He’s the absolute last person you want to see right now, and yet, you’re so furious, you need to let it out, all these emotions you’ve kept pent up for the past several weeks. You’re so tired of the head games, the back and forth, the teasing and mockery and that stupid, condescending smirk of his. You hate yourself for ever trusting him, for letting yourself feel for him, and that, right there, gives you pause. He had been kind to you. Just a couple of days ago, he’d made you breakfast and cuddled with you and made love to you for hours. How could he go from that, to the other, that indifferent, cruel, cold man? He’s been making you think all along there was something wrong with you, but that’s not it at all. It’s him. There’s something terribly, terribly broken inside of him.

And you still want him. Even now, even after you’d almost lost your life tonight. Maybe cost someone else theirs. So maybe there is something broken in you, after all.

The driveway is empty when you arrive. Not home, in the middle of the night, yet again. You park along the curb and switch off the engine, swiping at the tears that have been spilling over your cheeks. Now what?

You wait. That’s what. Because that smug bastard has to come home eventually. You get out of your car and slam the door, walking to the front porch and sliding down onto the top step. Your last stand. This is where you’re making it. You’re going to quit, and you’re going to leave. Not just his house. The area. There’s no place for you here, either. Nowhere you belong.

***

You roll your head from side to side, hearing the fluid being pushed around as your body protests at sitting so still for so long. You stretch your legs briefly, trying to get comfortable, glancing at your watch. Three thirty. It’s been a couple of hours since the incident at Freddy’s. The neighborhood has been quiet. No lights and sirens. No backup heading to the restaurant.

Headlights grab your attention. A car. You recognize that throaty sound. William’s vintage sedan. It pulls into the driveway and you stand, descending the stairs, your hip throbbing anew and your lower back on fire.

He exits the car, frustratingly slowly. The door creaks as he shuts it and you hear the key turning in the lock. He approaches slowly, the porch light spilling over features that look paler than usual. His hair falls in damp locks over his forehead, and there’s something a little stiff and awkward about the way he’s moving.

He stops just in front of you, not looking surprised to see you, and although his voice is soft and low, you recognize it for what it is: that dangerous calm before the storm.

“Why are you here?”

“That’s what you’re asking me? Seriously? Not: am I fucking okay, because once again, when I need you, you’re not around. That fucking rabbit tried to kill me tonight, and don’t even bother telling me it’s not real, because we both know that’s bullshit. I had to call the cops, and Officer Shelly showed up, don’t even know if she made it, and I had to be the one to shoot, because she was just standing there—”

“—Vanessa is fine.”

“What?”

“The police officer. She’s unharmed.”

“Oh.” Well, that was one thing off your conscience. “How do you know?”

“Because I was there. I saw what you did to the door.”

“Oh, fuck the door. Are you kidding me? Are you even listening to me? I almost got killed tonight. In that stupid fucking pizzeria. I quit, by the way. That’s what I came to tell you. I fucking quit. Give me my money and I’m gone.”

You can feel your eyes burning again. You’d thought you’d been all cried out earlier, but maybe not.

“Come inside for a minute.”

“What? No.”

“If you want to get paid, you have to come inside.”

“Oh, bullshit. You owe me. It’s against the law to withhold wages.”

“Please come inside.” He grimaces and you see another bead of sweat roll down his cheek. He really looks unwell.

“Fine,” you snap, waiting for him to unlock the door. He has a difficult time making it up the stairs, leaning heavily against the doorframe. You frown, watching him rest his back against the door to close it, heaving another sigh.

“This night…did not…go as planned,” he murmurs, sounding out of breath, his keys dropping to the floor.

You bend to pick them up, tossing them onto the table nearby. “What the hell is wrong with you, anyway?”

He starts to chuckle, the sound turning ragged as he coughs. “That’s the question…everyone always asks…sooner or later. Later…for you.”

The pauses between words are growing more and more pronounced. His breathing sounds awful.

“To answer…your question, though.” He grabs the bottom of the dark button front shirt tucked into his pants and drags the hem free, exposing a dark purple blotch along his ribs, then shoves impatiently at the neckline, dragging the material aside to reveal a bandage that’s soaked in blood. “And another…in my arm. Gift from…my daughter. Nicked artery…I think.”

“What…?” You stare at the injuries, not comprehending what’s happening. “We need to get you to the hospital. I’m calling an ambulance. Where’s the closest phone?”

“Are you…sure you want…to do that?”

“What do you mean…look, I might be pissed at you, but this isn’t a joke. I don’t know what happened—”

“—Your aim…is poor. But you’re…strong. Stronger…than I thought. For the record…” He winces, then bends over. “I wasn’t…trying to kill you.”

“What…”

“Lucky…springlocks didn’t…go off. Or unlucky…maybe…I might…pass out soon…”

“Christ, William.” You reach for him just as he collapses, keeping his head from striking the floor, only barely. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re even talking about. Just tell me where the damn phone is.”

“Come closer. Want to…tell you…”

Your hand clutches his sleeve, finding it damp and sticky. So much blood. Why was he being so difficult? You’re just going to go to the kitchen. He has to have a phone in there. Or the living room, or…

“It’s me.”

The pale eyes meet yours, and you feel a wave of nausea roll over you. The injuries. The rabbit. You lean back in horror.

“You get it…now.” His lashes flutter. One final movement and then his eyes shut.

***

You finish the final question on the multiple choice exam and hand it into the instructor before exiting the classroom.

You’re pretty sure you aced it, but there’s still a little lingering doubt. Some of the questions had been tricky. Sometimes more than one answer seemed correct. Other times, the right decision had been crystal clear.

It’s always easy to find William’s car in the parking lot.

Modern cars are so much rounder and wider. That vintage sedan is all boxy corners and long lines. The nose of it juts from between a couple of SUVs and you walk towards it, finding the bearded driver leaning against the passenger door, arms folded across his chest.

“How did it go?”

“I think I did well.”

“Hmmm.” William lifts the handle and pulls the door open for you, but doesn’t move over, still blocking your path.

“Really? We’re doing this again?”

“It didn’t go so well for you last time, did it?”

“It didn’t go so well for you either,” you return.

His lips twitch. “Alright. Hop in.”

You reach between the seats to drop your backpack into the rear of the vehicle while the older man settles behind the wheel. The familiar rabbit’s foot hangs from the keyring. Luck. Is that what it all really came down to? Just sheer random happenstance? Everything that occurs a matter of chance, of percentages? If you’d chosen another town. If you’d seen a different career counselor that day.

If you hadn’t made the call to that ambulance and saved his life.

But you had. You’d been the one with the greater power in the end. The greatest power there is.

You don’t talk about the yellow rabbit.

Don’t talk about Freddy’s, about what happened the last night you’d been employed there.

You don’t talk about William’s past at all.

You’d resolved to be done with him, once you’d committed that generous act of granting him his life. You’d been certain you’d be moving away as soon as possible.

But it hadn’t happened like that.

You do kind of like this town, and as for William, that fucked up man that enjoyed playing those head games with you, using every bit of what he’d had on file against you, well…

Maybe, in some twisted way, he had been exactly what you’d needed. The worst of him bringing out the best in you.

So now you’re attending classes at the community college. Working in a safe, clean office, during sunlit hours. And during the evenings, you’ve got William beside you. More scarred than ever. Seemingly humbled, though you don’t entirely trust this new submissiveness. Sometimes there are sparks, brief flares of his previous demeanor, like he’d just done right now. Testing. Seeing what he can get away with.

“Where are we headed? Hungry?” William’s voice drags you back from your reverie.

“Starving, actually.”

“Okay.” He turns the key in the ignition, then glances over at you. You know that look. You nod slightly and he leans over to kiss you. It’s meant to be a brief one, but you startle him when your tongue prods his lips apart, your fingers curling around the nape of his neck as you greedily swallow that little moan of surprise.

“Let’s make it take out instead.” You’re rewarded with a smile, and another lingering kiss. You know it’s broad daylight and you’re in a very busy, public space, but you want more.

You always want more of him.

[astyrial]

you vs spiderman tasm!peter parker x fem!reader (fluff) synopsis: you find someone in your kitchen word count: 1.2k warnings: fake breaking and entering, taller!peter parker, kissing masterlist | requests are open

    you awake to the sound of something clattering in the kitchen, a pot or pan falling to the floor. the sharp noise instantly flairs your instincts, your hand reaching for anything you can fight with. it reaches a disconnected alarm clock, one that you'd been meaning to get rid of.

  with a short squeak in the bed, your feet reach the flooring. the wood planks luckily making no noise as you take far too many steps to reach the door. the night light drifts in through the windows, adding a little light to your room. very slowly, your hand twists the doorknob, the sound causing your face to crinkle.

  you open the door quickly, hoping to eliminate the creaking that typically come from your door. down the hall, in the kitchen, you can see the shadow of someone. peter... peter said he would be late getting back. but typically, he would've texted you first or something (which would’ve been easy to know if you thought to check your phone first).

  instead of hoping for the best, you prepare for the worst. with a hope for a long life and that your self defense training (which peter very much encouraged) would help you, you make your way down the hallway. it's rather short, a bathroom on one side and a closet on the other. 

  however, it takes you forever to muster up the courage to finally get to the end of it. you keep your back to the wall, your head peering across the corner and noticing something dangling from the ceiling... dangling from the ceiling? you hold the alarm clock up like a brick and turn around the corner.

  there, hanging in your apartment kitchen, is THE spiderman. his hand is reaching down to grab the pan, a web suddenly flinging from his wrist and grabbing ahold of the handle. "holy shit!" you shout, your eyes wide with confusion. 

  "get out of my kitchen!" you shout again. normally, you would've expected to be more scared. but considering he's called the 'friendly neighborhood spiderman', it was hard to feel overly anxious 

  he spins around, his body instantly falling to the floor, his unmasked self no longer facing you. despite the fact that you saw a glimpse of his face, all you could tell was that he's got a lighter complexion. his hair is the typical young adult style, brown. 

  spiderman lands about a foot from the pan, his hand reaching over and grabbing it while he stands up. "sorry... uh, sorry about that, ma'am," his voice changes a little as he speaks, as if he's hiding the sound of his voice. 

  "sorry? you're in my kitchen! how did you even get in?" you raise your hands in frustration, your feet moving quickly to get you to the front door. "now get out of my apartment or i'll shove you out myself!" 

  maybe you weren't the most intimidating person... peter's shirt that's a little too big for you, shorts that nearly hide beneath the length. and your fuzzy socks with some design etched into them. what makes it worse is the small chuckle leaving the hero's mouth. as if he couldn't even imagine you fighting him. 

  when you cross your arms, your eyes looking over the hero, he throws the mask back on. something about him seems so familiar, his laugh, his stature, his hair. he turns around, his wide eyes sewn into his mask staring back intently. 

  "i can see myself out," he holds his hands up, his laugh still trickling out through his words. it all feels too familiar...

  you nod, your fingers still gripping the old alarm clock, your eyes still staring right back. "yes, you should do that... and, and never come back here! no breaking of the windows or destroying of my kitchen!" despite your heart moving quicker than you want, you stand your ground. 

  the man nods back, quickly walking towards the hallway. he turns around for a second, his heels turned a certain way, his head arched back towards you. and in this moment, you realize why everything seems so familiar. it's peter, spiderman is peter parker. 

  you walk out after him, watching as he starts running towards the stairs, "peter! come back here!" 

  the door shuts behind you as you gain speed towards the staircase. just in view you can see spiderman's head turned and now facing you. his shoulders have dropped and he sighs. 

  "peter, spiderman... what the fuck?" you question, your eyebrows raising in question, your mouth a little wide as you watch him make his way back up to you. 

  he pulls his mask off, revealing his soft brown eyes. peter has a cut on his cheek and another adorning his eyebrow. suddenly, he gives you a soft smile, his lips pursed on his face. you resist the urge to immediately run up to him, wrap your arms around his waist. 

  "i'm sorry for not telling you sooner, it's just... i mean if you can't tell it's crazy. i can't even come stay the night with my girlfriend without being threatened," peter laughs a little, his head hung low; clearly in a little pain from whatever occurred a little earlier in the evening. 

  you shake your head, a soft smile even making its way to your face. "i was threatening spiderman, not peter parker. but now i might, considering you let me think you were some stranger in my kitchen," you narrow your eyes at him, turning around and walking back to your door. 

  peter quickly follows after you, his long legs closing the distance. he watches as you grab the handle of the door, you attempt to open it, but unexpectedly, it's locked. you reach your hand into the fake plants adorned on the door. unfortunately, the key that you normally put there, is gone. 

  you groan, leaning your head back. peter rests a hand on your back, his other hand holding up the key, "uh, you wanted to know how i got in... well..."

  you crinkle your noise, the smile on your face becomes a little giddy. he smiles back, not being able to help but love the look on your face. he adores you and how capable you can be. "really, y/n, i'm sorry. i should've told you sooner, it's just dangerous."

  "i know peter... how about to make it up to me you can tell me how it happened? and you let me fix up that pretty face of yours, parker?" you tilt your head at the boy. maybe you should be more mad, but you can't help it. 

  he instantly nods, shrugging his shoulders, "i can absolutely do that. and i can make your favorite smoothie, which i know you love. will that work for you, l/n?"

  "oh that works and more," you lean up to the spiderboy, your hand grabbing a hold of his shoulder as you give him a kiss on his cheek, then his lips. they're a little chapped, a little rough, like your relationship. but isn't every?

  he leans back, his eyes looking down at your shirt and back at your eyes, "by the way, that physics shirt is very threatening. and very attractive on you."

[piedpiperart]

Phantom of Gotham 13

Chapter 12

Meanwhile, Jason and Tim met up in the cave after Danny had gone to bed early. “How come you weren’t at dinner?” Tim asked casually. Jason sent him a look. 

“Wanted to look over the newest case,”Jason grunted. “Goldie and the old man took down Mr. Freeze trying to bring that blizzard to Gotham. So, the snow should be letting up soon.”

Tim nodded absently.”And that means Danny’ll be leaving soon.” 

“Bingo,”Jason grunted. “We know the kid is involved with Phantom somehow, and most likely has some kind of meta abilities. There’s no telling exactly what he can do, but it’s possible that he could be one of the Halfas that Phantom’s been protecting.”

Tim groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “We could ask Phantom? If we come out and ask him about Danny he might help us help the kid. Or at least keep him off the streets. You said there’s more than the Fentons hunting them?”

“The GIW and the Fentons are hunting ghosts like Phantom. Apparently they don’t know about Halfas, but that could change. We don’t know why Danny left Amity Park, and if any of it is because of Phantom,”Jason said. The two of them thought for a moment before Jason spoke up. “I think we should talk to Phantom.”

“Yeah,”Tim sighed. “We’ve already determined that he’s an ally, so it’s a good chance that he’ll let us help now that we know most of the details. It might help segue to the whole treaty between the Infinite Realms and Earth thing that I’ve been working on.”

“Alright. Suit up then and we can try to find Phantom. Maybe we should get him a phone now so we can get ahold of him,”Jason grumbled. 

“Anyone else coming?” Tim asked, glancing around. He wasn’t sure if Burce even knew about their plans or much about Danny in general. 

“I hope not,”Jason grumbled, steering Tim toward the cave locker rooms. “B’s got his hands full with some stupid Gala in a few days anyway. So have fun going to that later,” Jason joked. 

Tim groaned. “Maybe I can use Danny as an excuse to miss it. We have a lot of information to go over and plan for. I doubt Bruce would care if I came anyway as long as Damian joins him.”

Jason snorted. “He’ll have his hands full with the demon brat, you’re probably safe.”

“We can only hope,”Tim sighed. 

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

Three hours later, Danny woke up refreshed and ready to blow off some energy. Looking at the time, he was happy to note that it was only 10, just in time for the Gotham vigilantes to start their patrols. If he was fast he could probably catch up to them, he thought. 

Danny pulled the covers back and stood up to stretch, relishing in the sickening pops coming from his back. Jazz had always shuddered and gave him a look of horror whenever he did it in front of her. He bit back a smile just picturing her face. Then he frowned at the thought. It’d been so long since he’d seen Jazz. 

Shaking his head, he put the thoughts behind him as he transformed and flew out of the manor invisibly. Danny distracted himself with loops and twirls until he spotted a speck of red on the roof of a building. Still invisible, he glided down and saw Red Robin and Red Hood quietly discussing something on the rooftop. Feeling mischievous, Danny hovered right next to Red Robin and phased a hand through his shoulder. 

Red Robin gave a full body shiver, grimacing at the sudden chill. “Phantom?” He called. Red Hood seemed to perk up at this. Danny hummed, the noise sounding like an echo. 

“Uh, we need to talk to you,”Red Robin hedged, and Danny made a questioning noise. At this point he trusted the vigilantes to not turn him in to the GIW or hunt him down. Not so much Batman, but Red Hood he especially trusted.. 

“It’s about Danny Fenton,”Red Hood cut in impatiently. Danny froze, his core thrummed with chills at the name. 

Abruptly, Phantom dropped his invisibility, floating closer to the two startled vigilantes.”How do you know that name?” He demanded. Were they looking into him? Why? Did the GIW come to Gotham? “Is he in danger?” 

“No, no, he’s fine. He’s safe,”Red Robin reassured. “We’ve just.. Noticed a few worrisome things about him and uh,”Red Robin trailed off. Phantom narrowed his eyes at him.

“Is he the Halfa you’ve been protecting here?” Red Hood asked. Danny pursed his lips, nodding hesitatingly. “Okay, thank you for telling us. We’re trying to protect him, but some things about his behavior is a bit worrisome.”

They were watching him? Danny thought abruptly. He was pretty sure he’d only met Red Hood as Danny. The only people who really had the chance to observe him were the Waynes. Did they tell on him to the vigilantes? Did they know? Danny floated around them cautiously. “What do you mean?” 

“How does being a halfa affect his health? He doesn’t eat much, he barely sleeps but he looks tired the time, and he has a slower than normal heart rate and body temperature,”Red Robin listed, much to Danny’s surprise. “Is that normal for a halfa? Can he get sick? Does medication work on him?” He continued to ramble. 

Oh. Danny’s eyes widened. They were worried about him. That was… something he was admittedly not used to, but also made his core thrum with warmth. If anything they sounded like the Wayne’s when they were trying to get him to eat. He took a breath of relief and straightened. “He’s okay, promise,”Danny reassured, holding his hands out with his palms towards them. “Halfas are more or less an unfamiliar species, so we don’t know exactly what his baseline is supposed to be. From what the medical ghosts in the Realms observed-” Or what Frostbite had-” he normally has a lower body temperature, heart rate, and doesn’t need to sleep or breathe as often as a regular human. It affects his appetite to where he doesn’t really feel hungry anymore, so we aren’t sure if he still needs to eat human food or just absorb ectoplasm or emotions, but we have been keeping an eye on it.” Danny explained. He was definitely lying about keeping an eye on it though. Absently, he thought maybe he should go see Frostbite for a checkup. He’d only been there a few times when he’d been really sick, like with his core developing. Other than that though, he’s never been sick with things he used to before he turned ghost.

“Okay, that… makes sense. Half ghost would probably mean lessened functions of his body,”Red Robin rambled, typing on his computer. Danny being not only half dead but also a different species is definitely going to make medical treatment difficult, Tim thought absently. Though some of the symptoms were reminiscent of Jason’s back when he still had the pit rage inside him. Though there were a lot of differences, like that Jason had a higher body temperature than normal instead. “Making sure he eats enough is probably the most important concern..”He trailed off and continued typing. 

“What would we do if he gets hurt, or sick?” Red Hood cut in. He kind of reminded Danny of Jason for a moment. Very direct, but still concerned. 

“He heals a bit faster than usual humans, and uh. His blood is a bit… ghostly? Radioactive maybe? His molecules sort of got rearranged during the.. When he became a halfa,”Danny said, rubbing the back of his neck. He was not doing a great job of explaining this. To be fair though, he’d only found out most of these things by trial and error. Once he’d gotten blood on his jeans once and it burned a hole through the fabric after a few hours. “So don’t touch his blood directly just in case. Medication doesn’t really work on him unless it’s from the Infinite Realms, but we haven’t really been able to test it on anything stronger in the human realm. And uh, I guess stitches don’t work well on him either. They dissolve,”Phantom concluded, and the two vigilantes looked mildly concerned at the information. 

“Alright, so possibility of meta-level medication working on him, radioactive blood, and no stitches. Got it,”Red Robin noted. The other two could tell he was thinking through a bunch of options in his head. 

“You said he became a halfa?” Red Hood asked lowly. Danny bit his lip, fangs poking his lip harder than usual. 

“Halfas are… rare,”Danny started hesitantly. He wasn’t sure how much he should share, but they seemed to have good intentions. “You have to understand that if the GIW know how a halfa is made they’ll just try to create more, right? It’s not a painless process and halfas can be dangerous. I don’t want this information out and have more portals to the Zone showing up.”

“A portal?” Red Robin’s attention snapped back to Phantom at the mention. “Don’t the Fenton’s have a portal?”

“Listen,” Hood cut in. “This information won’t get out, and we’ll respect any boundaries you have with Danny. We only asked in case Danny had any specific traumas related to it. I know dying isn’t pleasant, so I can’t imagine what it took to become half dead all the time.”

“Ah,”Phantom grimaced. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Should he tell them? They’re helping him so far, but what if they just want to know for bad reasons? Danny shook his head, dispelling the thoughts. No, they were worried about Danny’s health and well-being, and haven’t pressed about anything else. His core hummed and he felt like he could trust them. “Yeah. He uh… The Fenton’s portal… it didn’t work until Danny tried fixing it, and it… turned on with him inside,” He said quietly. Red Robin and Hood were silent, but he could see Red Robin’s lips turn into a thin line. Hood on the other hand had clenched his fists together so hard his gloves made a slight creaking sound. “But uh, the other halfas happened more slowly. With Danny it was instant.” 

Red Hood was silent for a moment while Red Robin peppered Phantom with more questions. “So his parents- the Fentons- they didn’t know he was a halfa? And they hunted ghosts. Is that why he left?”

“Yep,”Phantom said, trying not to think too much about it. “M- Maddie and Jack found out and long story short he’s hanging in Gotham until… well until things calm down or he finishes school.”

“About the GIW,”Red Hood cut in. “They know about Danny right? Since the Fenton’s have been working with them? We read that the Fenton’s think you kidnapped Danny.”

Phantom barked out a laugh,”Nah, I didn’t kidnap him. He and his sister, and two of his friends had a plan in case his parents or the GIW ever caught him.”

Red Hood exhaled harshly, “That’s fucked up,” He commented dryly. To be living with people you were terrified of for so long, Jason thought. He might have to pay a visit to the Fentons after they take down the GIW. 

“And its exactly why we’re trying to take down the GIW and establish a treaty between the Infinite Realms and the Human world,”Red Robin added. At this, Phantom’s pointed ears perked up and he stood straighter. “Would you be willing to introduce the rest of the bats to some ghosts? You mentioned there was a Ghost King, do you think he’d be interested in a treaty?” 

Phantom’s eyes were wide and he suddenly stopped floating, his bright white boots landing softly on the rooftop. “You’re serious?”

The two vigilantes nodded. “They’re already going to be in trouble when the Lantern Corps hears about this from the league. The GIW is basically committing inter dimensional genocide with no one else knowing. That’s a crime. If we could start by meeting with people from your realm to talk about how to form an alliance it would be great.” 

Phantom nodded enthusiastically. “I can arrange a meeting between the ghosts. If you’re serious about this that is.” Phantom paused, looking pensive. “I just… don’t want to involve the Halfas just yet. If the GIW or the Fentons know how a halfa is created…” he trailed off but the two vigilantes grimaced in understanding. They didn’t need more people being experimented on. 

After a half hour of back and forth about the potential alliance of the Human World and the Infinite Realms, the two vigilantes went back to the cave, while Danny continued to fly around invisibly throughout the city. He was thrumming with energy, mostly excitement and dread about what this meant for ghosts. With the alliance, they’ll be able to come to earth with no threats of being torn apart molecule but molecule. The ghosts acting out in the human realm would be punished by the ghost king and handled by a team of experts appointed by said king rather than a mysterious government agency.

Not only that, but the portals would be restricted and only a few allowed access through. Humans wouldn’t be able to come and go either, but Danny thought it might be okay for scientists- actual scientists- to study the realm safely. He knew a lot of lost artifacts, worldly treasures and sometimes places ended up in the realms. Time moved differently there and so Ancient Greece and Egypt still existed and thrived. 

Phantom flew around towards the manor and thought about their next meeting. It was going to be a few more bats at a warehouse tomorrow night. Danny just needed to think about which ghosts to bring. Frostbite obviously, but maybe Dora too. Clockwork he knew was hit or miss, but that was a lot of the ghosts too. Wulf or Cujo might be helpful to open a portal too. He’d have to think on it. 

Surprisingly though, was that the two vigilantes actually listened to him. They trusted him to bring unknown beings to meet with them, and that the ghosts really wanted peace with the humans. Danny conceded that he was also giving them a lot of trust in telling them about himself, or halfas. They already knew about the Fentons weapons, and despite being one phone call away, the bats still didn’t put Phantom or Danny in danger. He liked that they waited til they had all the information before making a decision. 

Red Robin in particular was focused on gaining any little bit of information he could on Danny's health. It was a bit endearing, and reminded Danny of Tim. Hood on the other hand was quick to think of ways to protect Danny, which was nice. He’d only ever had Jazz and Sam and Tucker to do that for him. Hence the whole moving to Gotham plan. 

Eventually after Danny finished catastrophising and coming up with a plan of action, he headed back to the manor. It was only 3am, so he floated to the library to grab another book. He’d finished the last one and had started on a series with demigods. It amazed him to think that he’d never read books like this ever since his accident. Danny’d always been too busy with school and ghosts to read for fun.  He took the book invisibly back to his room and for the next few hours he read. It was easy to get sucked into the book and forget about everything that was about to happen. 

Somehow, Danny had fallen asleep in the midst of reading, and had slept through breakfast. The residents of the manor had all come to check on him, but once peering into his room to see the boy laying face down on a book, they decided he needed more sleep. 

Tim on the other hand noted that maybe Danny had trouble sleeping and read until he felt tired. Jason did that a lot when he couldn’t sleep. Thinking back to everything Phantom told them, Tim couldn’t help but think that Danny really didn’t know how his sleep schedule was supposed to change. He thought maybe Danny finally felt relaxed or safe, and that’s why he’s able to sleep more, but it was just a theory. The same went for his appetite, and Phantom had said Danny literally didn’t feel hungry anymore. He was glad Danny hadn’t outright stopped eating, but it was still worrisome since Danny looked like skin and bones. 

He’d have to keep an eye on Danny’s eating habits and sleeping patterns in order to gather data, Tim thought. Maybe he could rope Alfred into helping him. Either way, Danny sleeping the morning away allowed Tim to brief the rest of the household on Danny and Phantom. Jason in particular was sticking around, probably out of worry for Danny, but he didn’t contribute a whole lot to the conversation. 

“Do we know what kind of powers Danny has?” Bruce asked, and Jason scoffed. 

“Not really,” Tim pondered. “Phantom only told us the medical stuff, which wasn’t much. Danny might have more ghostly attributes too, since we know Phantom has invisibility, intangibility, flight, and super strength.”

“Doesn’t really matter if the kid has powers,”Jason said, “He still needs help. The kid basically got turned into a different species with no instruction manual. If he does have powers, he might have trouble controlling them.”

Damian clicked his tongue. “Folson has shown me that he has the ability to manipulate ice during our snowball fight,”He reported, only for the cave to go silent as everyone stared at him. 

“And you didn’t inform us of this before?” Bruce narrowed his eyes, and Damian bristled. 

“I highly doubt making snowballs is worth reporting,”Damian scoffed. “Danny had told me in confidence because he trusts me,”Damian preened, before sneering at the others. “I am only telling you as a courtesy. He is unaffected by the cold temperatures but from what I observed unable to create or stop something like the blizzard. He is secretive about his powers and used them minimally, but he could be hiding others.”

“Aw, you two are getting along so well!” Dick cooed, moving to wrap Damian in a hug, but was dodged by the scowling kid. They stepped further from the group as Dick attempted to cajole Damian into talking about his feelings.

“We won’t mention his powers, Damian,”Tim reassured, looking sternly to Bruce. “I’m not sure how ice ties into ghosts, but it might come up later. We can ask Phantom tonight.”

“He’ll be bringing a representative from his dimension?” Bruce clarified, and Tim nodded, bringing up the notes he shared with everyone. 

“Phantom said he was going to contact one of the Ghost King’s regents. They’re choosing to trust us here, with their people’s existence and Danny’s safety, so we can assume they’re not going to ambush us,”Tim reported, and Jason gave a stern look to Bruce.

“Think of it like a diplomatic Justice League meeting, but in a dingy warehouse in Gotham,”Jason snorted. Then he stretched, making to leave. 

“Where are you going?” Dick called, looking a bit sad. Jason waved him off. 

“Chill out, I’m going to find Alfred and see if the kid’s awake yet,”Jason said, heading to the stairs. 

“He’s really gotten attached to the kid,”Dick mused with a small smile. 

“I heard that!” Jason called, voice echoing in the cave. 

“Danny and Jason did sort of die,”Tim muttered, turning to his tablet. 

“Danny and Phantom seem close,”Bruce commented, and Tim rolled his eyes at the lack of communication. 

“From what Jason and I gathered, Phantom is only in Gotham to keep an eye on Danny and look out for the GIW or Fentons,”Tim said.” We don’t have a way to track Phantom, but he didn’t seem to know who Jason or I was under the mask. He might be keeping track of Danny through other means though.”

Bruce just grunted. 

“Hold on,”Dick interrupted, and Tim turned to see Damian sulking behind Bruce while Dick was messing with Tim’s tablet. “He has radioactive blood? Like acid blood?”

“Not.. exactly?” Tim groaned. “I’d really have to test it but Phantom made it seem like their blood had more of a lazarus pit consistency. It’s better not to risk contamination though.”

“I am more worried to how Danny was in danger enough to know stitches wouldn’t work on him,”Damian scowled. Tim made a thoughtful face at that, and Bruce’s mouth stretched to a thin line. 

“Well,”Dick sighed,”He is on the run for a reason. We just have to protect him from now on so it doesn’t happen again.”

“Clearly,”Damian crossed his arms,”Those buffoons in the white suits will not be coming anywhere near Danny while I am around.” 

Bruce cleared his throat.”There’s been no sign of the GIW in Gotham, but a tech company in the same area seems to have their sights here.”

“A tech company? Which one?” Tim perked up, head swiveling to Bruce. He had his computer out and ready to type. 

“DALV Co.,”Bruce grumbled. “Specializes in equipment commonly supplied to the GIW and FentonWorks. Run by Vlad Masters, who has invited himself to the WayneTech gala next week.” 

“That can’t be a coincidence,”Dick muttered. “You think he knows Danny? Or Phantom?” 

Bruce just grunted again, which Tim translated into ‘we’ll keep an eye on it either way’. Tim turned back to his computer, eager to run more searches on Masters when Dick grabbed his swively chair and steered him towards the elevator. “Dick-” Tim started, only to be cut off.

“Nope,”Dick cheered, hauling Tim out of the chair with Damian trailing behind. “Danny is your friend and you guys should be hanging out more! I bet he’s already up and Jason’s the only one up there right now.”

“But-” 

“B can handle Masters, but I bet your friend is missing you,”Dick said sternly. 

“Tt. Obviously Danny would prefer my company over Tim’s anyway,”Damian tutted. Tim shot him a look. “He was my friend first, brat,”Tim pointed out. 

“The keyword there is ‘was’,” Damian sneered. “Unlike you, Danny has already shown me his secret powers.” 

Tim frowned at that. “I thought you said he told you not to tell anyone.” 

Damian shuffled guiltily. “I.. It was important to the mission to disclose his wellbeing.”

Tim smirked,”Right, well, I won’t tell him you told unless you distract Alfred so I can make coffee.”

Damian scowled at him. “Fine. But your petty addiction will only worsen and Pennyworth will not be happy.”

“I can live with that.”

Chapter 14

[bokettochild]

if you want to pair wind with someone in "you weren't supposed to get hurt" how about complete the war trio pairings and give him and time some bonding. you have one of wars and time and wind and wars bonding so why not complete the trio?

Consider it done! No, like, actually consider it done, because I finally did do it T-T

Since you asked for me to complete the War Trio, it is Mask and not Time, but minor details, yeah? It's the same person in the long run.

Rating: General

Wordcount: 4,905

Summary: Tired of the new intruder, Mask turns to desperate measures to reclaim his personal space from the other so called hero that Link's become so taken with. Things do not go as planned. Or...well, sort of?

-

  He didn’t ask for this. 

  No, seriously, Mask had never asked for this situation to ever come about. He's sort of given up asking anyone for anything at this point. The goddesses didn’t answer when he wanted to go back, to live the life he had finally begun to grow into, to see the kingdom he had saved and all the friends he had made and the world that was familiar even if it was damaged. No one listened to his wishes when he wanted to go home, only to find that the forest will no longer welcome even his child form. He’s tried; he can’t find the grove, or his siblings, or anything of his old life. Navi didn’t listen when he asked her to come back, and whatever powers existed in Termina didn’t listen when he begged for just one day to rest, or a bit of help, or really any bit of aid that didn’t cost him something. 

  Help doesn’t come for the asking. People only do things for you if they can get something out of it. Life is transactional, and for that reason alone at least, he finds he can respect the strange bunny merchant who’s joined their camp. At least Ravio makes no secret of what he wants, and unlike people who dance around the subject or expect him to know, Ravio states his terms point blank. 

  Link does not.  

  The captain is hard to read, hard to understand. He’s the hero, so maybe he can give without getting and maybe he can serve without reward, but that only counts when it’s for the kingdom. No one asked him to reach out to the displaced figures transported through time, to try and befriend them and make them feel at home. There’s no advantage to him doing so, no payout, and it just doesn’t track. Still, Captain Link tries, and he’s succeeding too. Even despite all attempts to keep the man out, he’s somehow made it past Mask’s defenses with that warm smile and the twisting of his own mother tongue.  

  Maybe it’s the spark of familiarity in those blue eyes. They glitter and gleam like Navi did, and the fae-speak that this mortal hylian man can somehow understand and respond in, scolding and commanding, but also assuring and offering warmth, makes him feel almost at home. Maybe it’s the magic though. He doesn’t think Captain Link knows, but he can feel the tendrils of warmth and strength, a protective magic that weaves over camp as the captain walks and inspects; not unlike a spider spinning a web. It’s different from the Deku Tree’s magic, but similar too. The signature of the setter is the only real change, and the warmth and security of at last being able to bask in that web of safety maybe is the reason he lowers his guard.  

  That’s how the man got in, lulling him into safety and familiarity, a whisper of those lost in that perfect smile, and then Mask was trapped. 

  Love is a dangerous thing, but somehow this man has managed to get ahold of his heart anyways, and he’s holding onto it with such warmth and kindness, protecting it so carefully, that there’s really nothing the once-again-child hero can do, only surrender and accept his defeat. 

  He didn’t ask for Captain Link to adopt him, but he never opposed it either. 

  Maybe he would have, but the man had sat him down and explained that the reason wasn’t because they found him incapable, and that it was still very much his own choice, but that without an assigned guardian who would take charge of keeping an eye on them, all children displaced across time would be sent to the countryside to stay on farms, out of the way of the danger, at least until the war was over. If he wanted to stay, he had to agree to let an adult become his guardian, and Link had offered his own services for his consideration. 

  Saying ‘no’ wasn’t really an option. If he wanted to help, he needed to say ‘yes’. Besides, maybe having some tangible proof that someone wanted him around, was tied to him in some way, was nice. It wasn't a Claim like fairy’s laid, but in the way of Hylians, it was really somewhat similar. He became Link’s son, and while the captain never pressured him to see it that way, there’s a small part of him that finds pride in that. 

  Now if only Link hadn’t done the same thing for the blasted sailor. 

  Link has a soft spot for kids, and that much is clear. He’s accepted that Mask is older in mind than body, but it’s clear that the child-like appearance does get the better of the man and make him forget at times, and it shows. Also, busy as he is, Link always makes time for all their youngest members of camp, making sure they are handling the events around them well. He’s had help, of course, since Marin and Ravio both make an effort to check in on everyone for him at times, and the island girl in particular is very good at handling them all, including him. Mask blames that weakness on the fact that she looks a little like Malon did when they were adults. 

  Even with all his duties though, it’s clear the captain finds solace in the presence of children, and privately, Mask does think that, maybe once the war is over, Link should settle down and start a family. For now, he doesn’t mind that the man who adopted him likes to be around the actual kids in the camp, letting Agatha talk his ears off about insects and entertaining Skull-kid's games and tricks.  No, in a way, he finds it cute how much Link cares about them. 

  The problem is the sailors. Tetra isn’t so bad; she’s fun and clever and good at what she does. Impa’s taken charge of keeping an eye on her, for reasons that she won’t explain, so there’s no worry about Link trying to take her in. Her hero companion is a different story though. 

  Because Link is the one everyone calls when there’s a newly dropped outsider discovered, he’d been there when they’d found the sailor folk. Because the captain has a bleeding heart, he’d immediately offered a place to stay in his own tent for the younger hero, which is all well and good to start with, because Link is nothing if not hospitable. No, the problem isn’t that Link had invited Tune, it’s that Tune doesn’t go away. 

  What, for a short time, had been his and Link’s space, suddenly has another person in it. Where Link is content to sit quietly and work at their respective tasks, Tune chatters. Where Link will, at the least, humor him about being an adult, Tune flat out doesn’t believe him. Everything he’s just begun to get used to is suddenly changing! He can’t lower his guard anymore, and if he wants to cuddle up to the man who’s legally his father, he can’t without someone seeing and taking it as proof that he’s a child, or that he’s soft or weak or some other offensive presumption.  Worse than that though, is that Link treats Tune with the same warmth and kindness that he does Mask, and try as he might to deny it, it’s become increasingly clear that he can’t stand that. 

  So yeah, Mask is jealous. 

  He doesn’t like to admit it, but he is, and he doesn’t like that Tune tromps all over everything he was just making for himself and pushes himself into the space that had finally started to feel like home. His relationship with Link is a treasure, and Tune is trying to be part of it, and Link is just letting him! Link took him in, took guardianship over him and now he says that that makes the two of them brothers. 

  Mask has had brothers before. He doesn’t want new ones. He’s still getting over not ever getting to see the ones he used to have ever again, still getting used to the idea that maybe in their own way, they’d actually felt something for him, despite all the bullying and mockery. He doesn’t want another older brother, one who doesn’t believe him about anything he says and who, worse yet, Link looks at with respect. 

  There's no shortage of warmth and fondness in Link’s eyes when they turn on him, but when turned on Tune, there’s suddenly some sense of equality, of respect. Tune offers advice and Link takes it, Tune offers help and Link accepts, Tune tells Link to put his things down and rest for a bit and Link does. Mask doesn't have advice or suggestions or really any concept of how to help the man who’s taken him in besides killing monsters. He can’t do anything or give anything back to the person who’s giving him everything, and here Tune shows up and shows him up! Giving and giving and giving and making Mask look like some pathetic mooch! Well, no more! He doesn’t want to have the other around, so maybe it’s time to let that on! 

  The insults and fighting just stress Link out and saying point blank that he doesn’t want the other boy in their tent just makes the captain sigh and sit them down and explain things and beg them to just try and co-exist. The number of times he’s said that he ‘isn’t asking them to be friends, but just to please get along, or just ignore each other’, is getting ridiculous. Yet, every time, Tune nods and smiles and, like the goody two shoes he is, promises to do his best, apologizing for stressing Link out. 

  He’s such a suck up, honestly! Mask can’t stand it! 

  So, instead of involving Link, instead of letting the hylians handle things their way, Mask is going to take the fairy approach to getting this kid out of his space.  

  It’s not hard to figure out. Skullkid, like always, is down for a bit of mischief, and the fairies he presents with his situation agree to be of aid in any way they can. It won’t affect anybody else. He’d had to steal something out Tune’s bag so that the fairies could get a handle on his magical signature, but that’d been easy enough, and the fairies were well willing to help once he’d bribed them with sugar that he’d snitched from the mess tent.  

  Now though, he can walk back to the tent knowing that no matter what Tune does, he’ll get lost trying to find it. It’s the same magic from the woods, less strong, since it’s not done by the Deku Tree, but it’s only supposed to work on one person anyways, so it doesn’t need to be that strong, just strong enough to make sure Tune can’t get back in. Except, much to his disappointment, the only result is that the older boy just follows Link around instead! So, when it’s late, he only has to keep an eye on the captain, and thus is still there, every night, humming and talking as dinner is made and eaten, and even afterwards sometimes. Gone is the silence they used to share, filled instead with the voice of the ‘brother’ he never asked for. 

  So, he tries again. He asks the fairies, he asks Midna, he even tries talking to Ravio to ask him if maybe, somehow, there’s something in the merchant’s wares that could fend off unwanted persons from someone’s space. 

  “Bees,” the merchant responds, sighing. “Wards and runes too, but those are tricky to lay if you’re not practiced, and unfortunately, I’m not. Mister Hero keeps bees though, and nothing and no one can get at his home without first having to get through them.” There’s a shiver that follows those words, a full body one that makes the rabbit ears of the hood bounce and sway. “Awful, horrid little devils they are!” 

  Were they in the woods, he’d start gathering hives and fostering bees all around the area, or at least try and learn how. They’re not in the woods though, and Captain Link likely won’t appreciate having a hive anywhere near his tent. Midna suggested getting a dog, but when he’d explained why he wanted it, she’d told him she couldn’t help any further. 

  “I don’t want any part in a sibling tiff,” she’d declared, and he hadn’t had time to explain that they weren’t siblings before she’d flickered off to another part of camp, most likely to pester Marin. 

  So, he tries again, and again, and tries everything he can think of, but even with all that he’s still left with an unwanted presence in their tent and evenings that are too loud and food too spicy. He wants Tune gone; not dead, that wouldn’t be right, but out of his hair and his space and away from himself and Link would be nice. Why, oh why couldn’t someone else have taken in the other supposed hero? But no, Link and his bleeding heart just had to take him, and now Mask suffers the consequences of it! 

  Well, no longer! Because Skullkid has a solution! 

  “A trap!”   

  “A trap?” He’s fond of the kid, very much so, but he’s not sure how smart the guy is. “Buddy, I’ve tried that.” 

  “You tried a magic trap,” Skullkid corrects, giggling, “but magic only works on magic. You’re working like a fairy against a hylian! You need to use hylian skills to stop a hylian!” 

  “Explain...” 

  “Hylians are bad at magic, very dumb sometimes.” The hat of the skullkid bobs with a knowing nod as he speaks, smile conspiratory. “He doesn’t know you’re trying to get rid of him. You need to leave no question about it! Trap him, then, after some time, come get him out! You can tell him he owes you for rescuing him, or that you set it, but you can trap him and make him realize he’s not so great!” 

  Technically, there are so many ways in which it wouldn’t work, but he’s already tried so much, so it’s worth a shot. Skullkid is willing to help with the rigging of it too, with just enough magic to stop the thing going off on anyone else, and employing the spell already on the tent. The older boy will end up at the back rather than the front, and when he does, he’ll fall into a rather deep hole that is spelled so no one will hear him until Mask or Skullkid come to see how he’s doing. It’s no harm done, just a quick scare and a moment to really drive home that staying in their tent is really not worth all the trouble he has to go through to do so. 

  For the first time in a long time that night, he manages to get Link to himself for a bit. Just quiet, dinner, no chatter, no spicy food, no blabbering and humming hero boy who doesn’t respect his space. 

  And then Link starts to worry. “Where’s Tune?” 

  He shrugs. “With Marin? They hang out a lot.” It’s not a lie. “Maybe he’s staying with her instead.” 

  Link shakes his head, face creasing up in a frown. “No, no, he would have told me.” With that, the man moves to stand, already grabbing for his sword and shield, things he never lets out of reach even when sleeping. “I’m going to go look for him. Stay here, in case he comes back on his own.” 

  Because Link is too tired to have realized the presence of the spell that keeps his other charge from being able to find the tent. He just thinks Tune follows him around, and he’s not all wrong either. Honestly, that’s probably one of the worst ways that plan had backfired, since it meant those two spent more time around each other. But no more!  

  The moment Link is out of the tent and out of sight, all smiles for his men even if his brow is tense, Mask is darting out and around the back, headed towards their trap. 

  Sure enough, Tune is inside. Dirty, tears on his face and cradling an arm that even past his green tunic, Mask can see is horrbly swollen. 

  “Shit.” 

  “Language,” the older answers, as if on reflex, before starting and staring up at him. “Wait, Mask?” 

  He wanted to smirk here, to crow a little at the stupidity it would take to get here, but Tune looks so pathetic, and pained. He’s not supposed to look pained. “Yeah...” 

  “Oh thank the seven!” Blue-green eyes dart skywards. “Someone set a trap by the captain’s tent! I’ve been calling for hours now, but no one’s come!” There’s a hardness in those eyes, a set to the jaw and brows that echoes the captain’s but a moment ago. “I’m glad Link wasn't the one to find it, but we need to tell him about this! If someone’s setting traps in camp, everyone is at risk!” 

  Something in his stomach curls and twists uncomfortably as he looks down at that determined face, streaked with tears and mud, yet still, the other boy is focused more on the men, the captain, and everything other than himself. He’s not even realized this was for him. Worse still- 

  “You’re hurt.” 

  A wince follows the words, although it tries desperately to be a smile. “Yeah. I think I broke my arm when I fell. Where’s Link?” 

  “Looking for you.”  

  He broke his arm. He got hurt. That wasn't part of the plan! He was supposed to get upset, but not...not... Mask’s not sure what he wants here, but this isn’t it. He got Tune hurt. Not just scared, not just lost, not just feeling stupid, but really actually hurt! 

  The sailor groans. “We have to tell him about this.” 

  “Do we?” 

  “Yes?” Like it’s a no brainer, like it’s obvious. “Someone set a trap in camp, Mask. One by his tent! That’s kind of a big deal!” 

  He knows that, but he doesn’t say it. He didn’t want Link involved though, and now Tune will pull him in and there will be a ruckus, because no one would guess that it was the sailor who was the target. Tune isn’t anyone worth targeting, not when Link is right there! 

  “But what if it wasn’t for him?” 

  “Who the-” and he cuts himself off, because Tune sees him like a child, treats him like a child, and refuses to swear in front of him, even though he knows perfectly well that the sailor’s got a mouth filthier than his own. Not for any lack of trying on his part, but Navi never let him stick around when people were using foul language, and he’d never gotten the chance to learn many words. Not in Hylian anyway. “Who would it be for then?” Because he knows too, he knows they aren’t good targets. Mask can’t tell him the truth though.  

  “Someone else?” It sounds desperate, een despite all effort to not. 

  “Who else-” and he sees something flicker, like lightning almost, in those sea storm eyes. “Did you do this?” 

  The accusation stings, but it’s also a sharp blade of truth, and it breaks the dam he didn’t even know was building up. “You weren’t supposed to get hurt!! I just...I- You- I don’t want you around!” 

  A slow blink, a heavy, deep, dangerous breath, like a dragon about to breath fire, but no flames, no words, emerge. Tune just stares, eyes stormy and cheeks red and shoulders stiff, and Mask feels himself beginning to cower just slightly as guilt mixes with the anger stirring up inside him. 

  He feels the need to explain himself, yet also the wish to shout and scream and rage at the intruder who disturbed the life that was finally beginning to settle. He’s not sure what exactly he’s feeling most, but it’s making his heart pound and hands sweat as he stands over the hold in the ground and the hero inside. It twists inside as he watches Tune watch him with dangerous eyes, all while cradling his broken arm. The words don’t come. The words won’t come, and he can’t decide whether he wants them too or not, just finds himself staring as Tune breathes, heavy and harsh for a while before finally mustering himself, forcibly calm, and turning sea-green eyes up towards him again. 

 “You set a trap.” 

  He doesn’t answer. 

  Tune doesn't wait for one. “For me. You tried to trap me, and leave me here for, what? An hour, a couple?” 

  He clenches his hands into fists, heart racing and face twisting up in the same way his stomach does; painful and confusing. 

  “Why?” The sailor blinks up at him. “What on earth did I do?” 

  You took from me, he wants to say. You took away my safe space, you made it yours. You broke what I found and made it what you wanted. You shoved yourself in where you didn’t belong and made me feel out of place. “You stole Link.” 

  For a moment, the other flounders, like a fish out of water, and then his voice explodes with a sharp “What?” 

  “You took Link!” He says it firmer this time. “We were fine, happy almost. I was happy! And then you came in and changed things and you- you-” he kicks at a clump of dirt on the edge of the pit, watches it roll away and crumble like he wishes the complicated feelings inside of him would do. “You took him away.” It’s softer the second time, just a whisper, a weak little thing that he hates. 

  “You’re jealous?” The anger is gone now, just...confusion in that face. “Are- are you seriously just... jealous?” 

  “No!” 

  And Tune stares, blinking up at him, bewildered. “You’re jealous. You, who Link thinks the world of and adores like his own son, are jealous.” 

  “I am his son!” Where in the world did that come from?!?!?! 

  A sigh and the shake of the head. “Okay, get me out. We’re going to talk.” Before he can resist, that stormy sea stare turns up to him again, warning. “If you don’t want me telling Link what you did, then we talk it out without him.” 

  “Gonna be hard to hide it,” he mumbles, even as, reluctantly, he offers a hand to help get the other out. It’s not that deep, the magic is really the only thing keeping Tune there, and now that he’s here, it dissipates quite easily, not halting the older boy’s climbing out at all. “Your arm’s going to give it away.” 

  “Help me set it,” is the easy answer. “I can down a potion and Link will be none the wiser.” 

  Mask stares. “You’re not going to tell him?” 

  Those deep eyes roll, a heavy puff of air escaping chaffed lips. “I mean, I can if you really want. I’ll tell him you got jealous and trapped me in the ground and that I broke my arm while falling down and-” 

  “Okay, okay! I get it! I’ll help.” 

  He does too. They both go back to the tent, and with a fair bit of struggle, they manage to set the broken arm just like Link’s shown them how, tying it to a splint made of a wooden spoon to hold it until the potion takes effect. The moment they’re done though, he’s stuck under that Stare again. It's not nearly as bad as Link’s, but it isn’t fun either.  

  “Alright, so, what made you think  trap was a good idea?” 

  And... and... he tells him. It all sort of bleeds out in a messy amount of word vomit; the frustration and anger and everything. How he’s not keen on having a brother, how he didn’t get a choice or a warning, how its not fair! And Tune just listens, digesting the words quietly as though they aren’t mean and spiteful, as though he doesn’t sound like Mido when he says them. If Saria could see him now she’d be shaking her head, sad and sorry, probably wondering how he turned out like such a rotten little thing even after how hard she tried to teach him to be good and kind. It’s only when he finishes that the sailor says anything, and even then, it’s not even angry. 

  “I get it.”  

  He wants to scream that no, no one does!  

But the sailor smiles, a crooked, sad thing. “Change sucks.”  

 The words hit home. Like they’re everything he was trying to say but couldn’t, and he just finds himself nodding in answer. 

  “I’m sorry I stress you out, but look at it from my perspective,” stormy eyes are clearing, gentling, like a cool and flat lake, “I don't have anywhere else to go either.” 

  “Someone else could take you!” 

  A shrug. “Yeah, they could. But no one else wants to. You’re not the only one who doesn’t want me taking up their space. Not that I blame them; if I was you I’d probably be pretty pissed too, but yeah. Anywhere else, I’m going to be treated like a child, like a kid, not like a hero who knows what he’s doing, who killed Ganon, who did stuff that they’ll never really get. Link doesn’t even get it yet, he’s not there, but he’s the closest I’ve got to someone who knows what it’s like to live our life.” 

  Mask pauses. “Our life?” 

  And there’s that blasted smile again. “Yeah. You? Me? We’re heroes. We beat Ganon, we won, and we went home afterwards. It changes you a lot, and I don’t think most people get that, which is good, because that means they never had to deal with the shit we have, but it does make it hard to find people who understand you. Honestly, I was really excited to hear there were other heroes here, because I hoped maybe we could...” and there’s a faint flush back to the sailor’s cheeks again. He’d already downed the potion, he’s not crying anymore, and there’s no pain or anything, but he’s steadily getting redder.  

  “Spit it out already.” He doesn’t mean it to come out harsh, but it does, huffing out as he keeps his arms folded tight in front of him. 

  Tune sighs. “I hoped maybe I’d find a friend. Someone who really understands.” 

  “Must suck, huh?” 

  Another shrug, a tip of the head. “Yeah. But I get it if you don’t want to. I did intrude on your space, and I am sorry for that. I wish you’d told me it was bothering you though, instead of trapping me like a wild pig.” He has no clue what that means, but he lets it pass, for now. “We could just have sat down and talked about it. You say you’re an adult, right? Well, adults talk about shit that makes them upset, so we can do that instead of...whatever that was.” 

  And it’s not perfect, not friendly and not warm and not a sweet sappy thing like maybe Tune would have wanted, but they do talk. There’s a lot of prodding and pushing, and a lot of yelling, but eventually, they work out something. No one agrees to leave, but lines are drawn. Tune agrees to keep his spices away from Mask and only share if Link asks (which he probably won’t, considering it’s Link). Mask agrees to keep his traps and tricks to himself. If one of them is in the tent, the other needs to make sure it’s okay to come in, unless it’s time to sleep or they’ll be out again quickly. There’s more to work out, and they’ll have to do this a few more times, Tune tells him, but it’s a start. 

  When Link comes back, he doesn’t suspect a thing. Or, if he does, he doesn’t ask. A question of if Tune is okay, a hair ruffle, and then one for Mask too, and then he’s urging them both to bed for the night. Being tucked in is childish, but they accept it. They accept it and they sit quietly while the older hero collapses on his own bedroll and goes out like a light, still fully dressed. 

  “He’s a great guy,” the sailor whispers once they’re sure the man won’t wake. 

  Mask nods. “Yeah.” 

  “We can do this, for him. Even if you don’t like me, and I don’t like you, we can at least make his life a bit easier by not trying to kill each other.” 

  “Deal. Now shut up.” 

  He thinks the other giggles to himself, but no more words are spoken between them. Well, not that night anyway. They have to talk again later, once there’s not the threat of Link walking in on them. It’s not perfect and there are hiccups; there are still yelling matches and squabbles and sometimes it gets a bit more physical, but for Link, they make it work. The least they can do is support their fellow hero as he prepares to face the same hell they know. Although, it really doesn’t feel that way with how intent he is on watching out for them, like he really is their dad or something. 

[narukaminigga]

AYE NIGGA(S) LISTEN UP

back in days of old, rap and hip hop was seen as a foolish endeavor; a moronic art form made by black people. whites did not gaf about it. thankfully while that’s changed… tumblr one of the only social medias i use to keep in contact with the outside world. i’ve seen the dumbest, stupidest posts because tumblr is a white hell. there are basically next to no black bloggers. they’re either dead or they abandoned the site or they were banned during that whole russian bot shit and whatever remains of black tumblr is a decrepit grave that i wish i experienced—but thanks to the hostilities of the white userbase and the staff’s oppressive nature towards blacks first and foremost, most of us are gone. i have been on this site for approximately a year or two and i have only accrued a few black people on this site. every other thing i see is traditionally antiblackness laced in progressive language, clear unbridled ignorance of black phrases, substitutions of “nigga” for the euphemism “f slur” and especially because of kendrick lamar’s beef with drake extending across the entire internet and worldwide; tumblr the “hating” website gets ahold of it. for the first time, people experience the lyricisms of kendrick and the banality of drake on full display…

and then instead, tumblr users (predominantly white) complain about the innate violence of rap, comparing fucking kendrick to LEMON DEMON (nigga who listens to LEMON DEMON????), saying some stupid shit about how rap boring as fuck, etc. etc., and it’s exhausting its so exhausting because so many people on this site refuse to acknowledge rap as a real music form and instead gas up their metal bands basically ran by neo nazi whiteboys and still are terrified of blackness. and even when they dip their toes into the art, they back away. i know everyone rn is flaming each other over this but this website is notorious for it’s systemic bigotry against blacks. we are not property and vehicles for ideological rhetoric. we are not hapless. we aren’t slaves. we are people. listen to our music nigga. you don’t like it? move on. don’t say nothing. don’t go on posts like some people have been doing and going: “oooohhhh rap lame as fuck!”. learn culture bro. and i dont want nobody to feel any white guilt but so many of you on tumblr are just so fucking bigoted for no reason towards black people (even those hardcore marxists on here). i just dont wanna see another post about a white person tweaking out over rap. go listen to black artists and support black people. support black men. support black women. support black transmascs and black transfems. support black intersex people. support all black queers. support ALL black people.