#and then it'll be good in the ao3 version

[riftwalker-limbro]

scarred - part 2

masterpost

----

It was another two days before the Helminth let Sufford know that the new warframe was ready, during which they’d managed to gather another dozen of Ordis’ mystery drives. Kelth had let Kali know, but denied its request to come meet the new warframe immediately, just because of the way he had reacted to just Sufford last time. Better not to take any risks setting him off again. Instead, they’d made a plan to gently introduce him to the rest of the team, and talk to him, see if they could establish common ground. If he even spoke the same language as them, that was.

Their foot was tapping a quick, stressed rhythm on the floor in front of where they sat on the couch. Some cynical part of their mind was constantly reminding them of the fact that they’d always been with Sufford for as long as they could remember. Other than him, they’d only ever made friends with Kali, and never had they met a warframe that seemed to act quite like this one did.

“It’ll be fine,” Ordis said reassuringly. “We can always still see if he’d fit better on Kali’s ship, if we can’t make it work- oh, here he is.”

The door slid open, and the strange warframe was the first to step inside. He looked a great deal better than he had two days ago - not actually bleeding anymore and standing upright, for one. The scars were no longer deep rifts in his armour, but had been filled out to sit flush with the original pieces. They looked a little like Sufford’s shoulder wound had, originally, though whereas his had looked more like an overlay of teal staining his armour, these looked like entirely new material. Which Kelth knew they were. They’d raided so many bases to gather enough stuff for the Helminth for them.

At the sight of him, they straightened up, suddenly nervous. He froze similarly, but was promptly knocked forwards a step where Sufford was following a little too close behind. The stranger didn’t look back, but took some steps to the side, letting Sufford pass him without any resistance. He was holding tightly onto the datapad with both hands, holding it in front of him, not unlike a shield.

The plan was as follows. Sufford was supposed to have let him know just now, through the datapad, that Kelth was able to talk to him faster and in a more pleasant room than the Helminth’s, and together, they would introduce him to Ordis. Then, the four of them could talk.

Their nerves got the better of them for a moment, and then Sufford was standing next to the couch, by their side. The strange warframe still stood next to the door, just looking at them, breath still audibly rattling in his chest, and Kelth’s brain kicked back in.

“Hey,” they started, internally cursing the nervous crack in their voice, “my name is Kelth, come and have a seat, let’s talk.”

He looked at them for a moment, then quickly glanced to the unoccupied side of the couch, pointing at it and tilting his head back at them. Great, he understood - one less obstacle to worry about.

“Yeah, go ahead,” they said, shuffling themself further into the edge of the couch that they were already up against. The strange warframe walked over and sat down stiffly next to them, as far on the opposite side as possible, but turned inwards a little, so he could look at them. Sufford took some steps forward, putting the table between himself and the couch, and adopted a relaxed pose, hands behind his back.

“So, welcome aboard,” they started awkwardly, trying to remember what they’d wanted to say, “um, this is Sufford, you’ve met him.”

The stranger looked up as Kelth gestured towards Sufford, who gave a little wave. He did not reciprocate.

“And our ship cephalon is called Ordis, he’s here too,” they said. 

The table’s built-in holo-display activated, and Ordis’ cracked cube flickered to life as he delivered his own little greeting, which also went unanswered.

“Do you have a name we can call you by?” Kelth asked him, hopeful.

The warframe looked back at them again for a moment. Then, shoulders drawn back up, he shifted the datapad into one hand and raised the other, fingers poised above the surface as if to start typing something. He stared for several long moments, and then, shrinking into himself, shook his head, lowered his hand again. Shit. Was that a misstep? Quick, something else-

“O-oh, that’s- that’s fine, that’s okay! How are you feeling, anyway?”

He didn’t even look up from the datapad, but instead just heaved a big sigh and started typing. He hunted for the correct letters slowly, deliberately, only typing a few words before handing it to Kelth to read. “Where am I?”

“You’re on our Orbiter,” Kelth said, a little taken aback that he’d just flat-out ignored their question, but if this was what he wanted to know first, then, fine. They pointed over their own shoulder, where they knew the lounge’s window to be. “In, uh, space.”

The warframe stared for a second, before motioning for them to give him back the pad. They did, and he erased his previous question, typing a new one. “Is the war over?”

“The war?” Kelth racked their brain. Sure, the system was in chaos, but there wasn’t anything as big as a war going on, not that they were aware of. “Do you mean the Old War?”

The other briefly froze. Grabbed the datapad back, shakily just entered a newline instead of erasing his previous message, and typed another question. “How long?”

Shit. “Uh, Ordis? Do you know?”

“A little more than a thousand years,” Ordis replied smoothly.

The warframe to Kelth’s side didn’t respond, didn’t ask for Kelth to give back the datapad, didn’t give any sign that he’d heard what Ordis had said. Finally, he turned his head downwards, towards his feet, and slowly raised his shaking hands to his faceplate, air starting to whistle through his intakes again like it had in the Helminth’s room last time. Shit, was he-

Sufford caught their attention with a snap of his fingers. “Let’s give him some privacy, let him adjust - he’s likely disoriented if the last time he remembers is the Old War. His room was ready, right?”

They’d hastily expanded their quarters with another private room as soon as it had become clear that this warframe getting brought back to life. Kelth was however entirely too unsettled by the warframe showing all the correct body language of a human about to cry to move or say anything, but Ordis had their back.

“We have made accommodations available for you, if you would like to be alone-”

Before he could even finish the sentence, the scarred warframe had stood up from the couch, swaying on his feet, looking everywhere but at the three others in the room with him. Helpfully, Ordis selectively lit up some floor-lights, guiding his path. He quickly followed them, all but fleeing from the room. Down the short corridor, they could hear the door of the new room open and close. The rattles and whistles of his broken breath cut off with it.

Kelth looked to Sufford, wordless, eyes big with alarm and unease. He sighed deeply and signed: “He likely just needs time. We don’t know how he ended up in pieces all across space - might have something to do with that.”

“Sure, but- was this a good idea, at all?” they asked, the same question they’d asked Ordis after meeting this scarred frame the first time. “Should we have done this? Was this right?”

Sufford walked around the table, on which Ordis’ hologram still hovered silently, and dropped himself heavily into the couch next to them. He reached out with one arm, and they shuffled over, leaning into him for the hug. A weak transference connection fizzled to life, and Sufford sent them warm comfort across it.

“I think it was the right call,” Sufford signed, not through transference, but so Ordis could still follow, too. “If he disagrees, though, I’ve heard of some companies doing warframe burials. We can give him that choice, at least.”

“Yeah,” Kelth said. Then, they realised what they were still holding in their hands. “Aw, he didn’t take the datapad with him.”

“I can have the taxon deliver it when he comes back out,” Ordis said. “Sufford, did you show him how to use it beyond writing notes?”

Sheepishness reached Kelth through the connection as Sufford reached with his free arm to rub the back of his neck. Kelth snorted.

“We can write a note and leave that open on the pad for him to see when he gets it,” they said. “Ordis, would you be able to put something together?”

At his “yes, of course,” they put the datapad onto the table, where Ordis took control of it and started writing out a small guide. Text appeared almost instantaneously, and the whole screen was full within a blink of an eye.

“There, that should cover the basics. Ordis will keep an eye on when he exits his room again.”

Kelth nodded and extricated themself from Sufford’s arm. The connection dropped away again like water. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was just the way it was. They stood up.

“Let’s wait with telling Kali about him until he’s recovered from that,” they proposed with a wry smile. “I think it’d be a good idea also to avoid going out until we know he’s stable. I don’t want to leave him alone on the ship just in case he tries anything, and we still don’t really know if he would try anything. The alternative is letting Kali babysit him, and that sounds like a little too much change in too short of a time.”

With no disagreements from either Sufford or Ordis, they made their exit and retreated back to their own room for some meditation practice. They didn’t want to think about either the strange warframe or Ordis’ drives, for just a short while. So much was going on, and they felt like they teetered on a precarious edge - about to discover things which might’ve been better left untouched, but now that they’d had a glimpse, they couldn’t just leave them be anymore. Not just out of curiosity: something about the strange warframe felt deeply wrong to them, but they also wanted to help him, and now that they knew Ordis was missing memories and they could play a part in recovering them, it was hard to sit still or do anything else, anymore.

Trouble, all around them. Breathe in, hold, release.

[bluenotemagpie]

"editing this fic will be fun & easy" i told myself "i'm just going to retype it and add some more grounding in the setting and finesse some of the character arcs and flesh out the middle" i told myself "i don't need to change that much about the opening chapters" i told myself

and then i tripped and rearranged some of the scenes in the opening chapters and now i think i might actually combine two of the opening chapters together and and and

(i am having fun but it is, uh.... not the light touch edits i originally expected to do at this point of the process lmao)

[joelscruff]

is it that sweet? (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

masterlist | a/n i've had no motivation to write lately but this randomly popped into my head the other day and suddenly my brain was like okay let's roll!! let's do this!! let's jump in!! so idk what that says about the current state of my subconscious. anyway this is filth! pls read the warnings! love u. summary: you probably shouldn't let some random middle aged man on the beach take nude photos of you, right? right? rating: 18+ explicit warnings: pervy!joel, age gap, voyeurism, coercion, objectification, sneaky picture taking, nude photos, paying for sexual favors, dirty talk, praise kink, pussy pronouns up the fuckin wazoo, oral (f receiving), nipple sucking, unprotected p in v sex, standing sex, creampie word count: 8.4k ao3 dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍

He's been watching you for about an hour. You'd sussed him out almost immediately after settling onto your beach towel and digging into your bag for your sunscreen, mildly aware of the shape of him in your peripheral vision. He's old, definitely in his late fifties, but certainly not the most unattractive man who could be eyeing you. You're used to it by now anyway, almost feed into the way men seem to gawk at you sometimes now that you've finally thrown caution to the wind and stopped giving a fuck about your beach body. You used to be self conscious about your curves, your tummy, your thighs - you decided this summer that it had to stop.

And you're glad you did. Because now he's staring at you, this unnamed, completely anonymous middle aged man only a few feet away. And it feels fucking good.

Should it feel good? Probably not. Should you tell him to buzz off and leave you alone? Take a picture, it'll last longer, something like that? Probably. But will you? No.

You like feeling his eyes on you.

Older men like you, you've noticed. They stare. They stare more than men your own age - boys, really. Twenty somethings who try to play it cool and more often than not come across as disinterested in their interest. They're cowardly, obnoxious. And you suppose some older ones are too, especially the ones with wives - they want you to be impressed by them, ooh and awe over their high paying jobs and big mansions, their fancy cars that they think make up for their tiny dicks.

But every now and then you'll come across one like this. You can read him like a book, peering at him from over your sunglasses every so often as he lounges behind a vibrant blue umbrella. His eyes caress your bare shoulders and chest, your exposed stomach, your soft thighs. They linger on the places they shouldn't and it makes you tingle. He's appreciating what he sees, basking in it, taking his time.

You could be content just lying here and letting him look. He is handsome after all, greying curls and soft scruff flecked with white, golden skin that almost glows underneath the sun. His legs stretch out over his own towel, long and lean and strong. He's got a soft looking belly, hanging out a little bit over his trunks, and now your eyes linger for a little longer than they should.

But you won't say anything. If he wants to talk to you, he has every opportunity to. You're not going anywhere for at least another hour, not until the sun starts setting and it's time to head back to your friend's vacation home. You've only been in California for a short period of time, but it's like it's somehow molded you into a different person - a more confident, sexier version of yourself that's been dying to get out for years. A version of you who lets this old man stare and get his fill as you smirk and turn over on your towel, arching your ass up into the air.

Oh, he likes that. You can tell because of the way his jaw clenches, neck tightening as his eyes fall to the globes of your cheeks. With a barely there smirk, you arch a little more, stretching and flexing and letting him take in the way your bikini bottoms barely contain them. Your breasts hang low onto your towel, practically overflowing from their own containment, and you have to admit - you're getting a little wet posing for him like this.

He licks his lips, eyes flickering downward again to something closer to him, something in his hand. You crane your neck a little bit to peer around the blue umbrella, and your breath hitches.

He's taking pictures of you.

It's obvious now, should have been obvious this whole time, really. Only one of his hands has really been visible, the other settled low against his side behind the umbrella. Now you can see that he's got his phone angled toward you, the camera peeking slyly out from behind the blue nylon as he repeatedly taps his screen with his thumb. To test him a little further, make sure you're really seeing what you think you're seeing, you push down into the sand with your hands and rise up a little bit on the towel, almost into a lazy downward facing dog. Your tits jiggle below you, threatening to escape, and out of the corner of your eye you watch as the man adjusts the camera to get a better angle. His thumb and forefinger glide across the screen, undeniably - and unashamedly - zooming in.

You're definitely wet now. You know you shouldn't be. You know this has probably gone too far and you should get up and leave, potentially tell someone about the creep on the beach taking photos of women in bikinis.

Instead, you make eye contact with him, settling back down onto your towel with your ass still perched a little in the air. He seems to freeze, eyebrows going up in the realization that he's been caught. In response, you blink slowly at him, pout a little bit as if to say, Really? You arch your back a little more and shimmy your hips, tilting your head as you continue to gaze over at him, eyes going a little hooded.

Come fuck me, you're almost saying, even though you know there's no way in hell you're gonna let him. It's just funny to watch him squirm, phone gripped tight in his hand as his adam's apple bobs in his throat. You arch a little more and then grind your hips into your towel, flattening yourself against it, holding his gaze. You rest your head and smile at him teasingly.

He's getting up and shuffling toward you in no time at all.

"Hi, darlin'," are the first words out of his mouth when he reaches you, and you certainly did not expect a Southern accent to fall from those plush lips. He's gorgeous really, now that you can see him up close - wide shoulders and big arms that strain against his white shirt, strong chest covered in little freckles, chocolate brown eyes that shimmer in the sunlight.

"Hi," you say with a smile, blinking up at him.

"I'm sure you saw what I was doin'," he seems a little embarrassed, voice apologetic as he scratches the back of his neck, "I know I shoulda asked, but you seemed so relaxed, I didn't wanna disturb you."

Bullshit, you only came over because I smiled at you. Any other reaction and you'd have run for the hills.

"I'm Joel," he reaches his hand down for you to take. For some reason, you shake it without hesitation. "I'm actually a photographer, believe it or not."

Huh. You raise an eyebrow at the words, doubt immediately swimming in your mind as you assess him.

"If you're a photographer, where's your camera?"

He chuckles, "Back at my hotel. I just came out here to relax, wasn't plannin' on takin' any photos. But then I saw you, and, well..." he smiles at you sheepishly, "You're just so pretty, darlin'. Never seen somebody like you before."

The words are not special. They're nothing you haven't already heard, nothing he hasn't probably already used on countless other women. And yet... you smile back at him, cheeks warming a little at the way the compliment sounds coming out of his mouth in particular, all Southern and sweet. "Thank you."

His eyes suddenly leave yours to flicker back toward your body again, scanning the length of you. As if on instinct, almost to show off, you tighten the muscles in your ass cheeks and then release, letting them jiggle a little bit under your swimsuit. He swallows tightly.

"Would you be interested in posin' for me, sweetheart? There's a little spot down the beach, outta sight. Still public though, of course. I wouldn't ask you to go anywhere unsafe," his eyes linger on your ass for a few more seconds before he's meeting your gaze again, soft and sincere, "I'd love to get some pictures of you in that bikini, and some with it off too, if you're comfortable with that."

Oh, he's fucking brave. You can feel disgust brewing in the pit of your stomach, a scowl beginning to dawn on your face. This is where you should draw the line. This is where you should get up and leave, tell him to go to hell, tell him he's a pervert and-

"I'll pay whatever you think is fair," he continues, "How's three hundred as a starting point?"

On second thought...

"Beautiful, baby," he's telling you softly, "You're so pretty like that."

You hum in contentment, laying in the sand with a little smile tugging at your lips as Joel maneuvers around you with his phone, snapping pic after pic as you peer up at him through rays of sun. You're a little ways down the beach now, in a sparser area behind some rocks. He was right about it still being public - if something happened, you know you could raise your voice the tiniest bit and be heard immediately by people on the other side. Somehow though, despite his forwardness and slightly perverted habits, you trust that he isn't going to force anything on you.

You've already got three hundred dollars in your purse. He'd given it to you before you'd even gotten up from your initial spot on the beach, placed it in your hand with a grin as your eyes widened. You suppose you could've taken the money and run, but part of you wanted to play it out, test the limits, see what else he'd pay you for.

Which leads you here, laying sensually in the sand with the strings of your bikini dangling a little looser off your shoulders and hips, a little careless, a little more teasing. The poses so far have been pretty basic, and you've tried your best to emulate what you think a supermodel on the cover of Sports Illustrated would do. Based on Joel's responses - excited nods and gentle praises - you think you're doing a good job.

"Turn over now," he tells you with a playful grin, "Put that cute little ass in the air again for me."

It should be demeaning, the way he's talking to you. There's a lot about this situation that should be wrong, and yet you can't help but feel pride swell in your chest at his directions, his compliments. You do what he says, flipping over to dig your hands into the sand and arch your back, turning your head to eye the camera directly with a sultry little smile on your face.

"Perfect," he's murmuring, thumb tapping the screen like his life depends on it, "That's so perfect, honey." You listen to the fake little shutter sounds the phone makes, still wondering if he's even really a photographer. Would it even matter? Wouldn't you have still let him do this anyway?

With this new angle you can feel the loose strands of your bikini top starting to slip, unraveling at the back and trickling gently against your sides. You watch with what should be a worrying lack of urgency as it cascades down onto the sand below, leaving you topless.

He whistles low under his breath, "Well, would you look at that. The girls are out."

"That's an extra fifty," you say with a coy eyebrow raise, "Or else I cover them back up."

"Extra fifty, no problem" Joel echoes, "Can you shake your ass for me again, darlin'?"

You nod, tilting your head and peering back at him as you tighten and release your muscles with a giggle, basking in the way he stares at it, like it's a five course meal he's about to devour. You do it a few more times, arching your back a little more and spreading your thighs slightly to allow for more recoil, more jiggle. He makes an odd sound in the back of his throat and you grin.

"How much to take these off too?" he lowers the phone and peers at you with pleading eyes, brown and soft, "Huh? How much extra to show me this lil' peach, honey?"

You grimace, looking down at the sand and trying to calculate an appropriate cost in your brain. You bite your lip, "You know that's not the only thing that'll show."

"I know," he murmurs, eyes trailing downward again to eye your ass, still perched high and plump, "Your peach and your pussy then, how much?"

Fuck.

"I won't touch you," he promises softly, "You can just tug it down and show her to me, lemme see her up close, yeah?"

Her?

Her.

"Christ," you mumble under your breath. He's filthier than you thought, and not in a bad way - in a fucking hot way. "Another fifty," you decide, voice firm, "And... and I wanna see you put the money in my purse first. And no touching my... her."

"I can do that, sweetheart," he's already digging into his wallet and yanking out the money, opening your bag slightly to place it inside. It could be counterfeit for all you know; this whole thing really might be a completely worthless venture, and yet -

He watches as you reach backward to untie the strings of your bikini bottoms, doing it in one fell swoop and then spreading your thighs again, knees digging into the sand. You arch and press your face against your towel, feeling goosebumps rise all over your skin at the knowledge that he's staring at where you're now completely bare.

You hear him groan, a rough little sound that goes straight to your core, and a few little shutter sounds go off, "Now, that's a pretty little pussy you got there, baby."

Heat rises throughout your body, up through your chest and to your cheeks. You turn a little to look at him shyly, lashes fluttering when you see where his gaze has settled.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, honey, she's so pretty," he breathes, "She's all wet. Leakin' for me, you see that?"

You can't see it of course, but you can feel it; feel the way you're dripping, knowing that he can see it, has a 1:1 view of the way you throb and drool for him. This random old man who about twenty minutes ago you'd never spoken to in your life.

"And your little clit is sayin' hi to me too, babygirl, can see her pokin' out." Fuck. You squirm a little in place as his camera continues to go off, legs spreading a little more unconsciously as you tilt your head downwards and close your eyes. Your clit twitches under his stare.

"Swollen little thing," he breathes, barely loud enough to hear, "Perfect pussy."

Jesus Christ.

"Roll over for me again, sweetheart," you hear him say quietly, "Show me all those pretty parts."

You don't know why, but you whine a little at his words. It's subconscious, a burning desire you can't describe as you slowly flip over and lazily lay back on your towel to show him your entire naked body. He stands over you with his brow furrowed in a gentle kind of way, eyes appraising you up and down like you're some kind of goddess. And fuck, he's kind of making you feel like one.

"Legs open a little bit, baby, that's it." You obey, spreading your legs and looking up at him with lidded eyes, lips parting a little. You bring your arms up to rest behind your head and he takes note of the way your tits bounce for him, shivering back and forth beneath his gaze. "You're perfect," he murmurs, "You're absolutely perfect."

"Stop," you say, unable to stop a grin from spreading across your face, "M'not perfect."

"But you are, darlin'," he shakes his head, eyes full of wonder as he kneels down to get some closer pictures. You watch as he brings his phone down directly in front of your pussy, snaps a few close-ups of your puffy lips and swollen clit. "I'd love to kiss her, honey, if you'd let me."

"N-no," you say quickly, though your voice cracks, "No touching."

"I'll pay you extra," his eyes return to yours, locking your gazes, "You name it, baby. I'll pay anything to taste how sweet you are down here."

You look at him calculatingly, tilting your head. Anything?

"Two hundred," you practically whisper, "In the bag."

You're half expecting him to tell you that he's run out of money, that he couldn't possibly give you any more than the four hundred he's already blown on this. But he surprises you, reaching back into his pocket to grab his wallet and tug out the bills. It's like he has an endless supply, and you're beginning to wonder if maybe this is a hobby of his, something he prepares for, carries money around to be ready to spend on women like you. Maybe he's rich rich, has unlimited money to throw away, and this is just his weird perverted thing he does on the side of something else.

Maybe you should have asked for more.

But he's already kneeling back down into the sand and you're already opening your legs wider for him, allowing him to settle between them and lean his head forward to place his lips gently against your pussy. You watch with heavy lids as he kisses you so softly there, his mouth tender and inviting and deliciously scratchy from his scruff. Without really thinking about it, you reach down and run a hand through his curls, smiling a little fondly as he kisses you again, and again, and again.

"That feels nice," you breathe, watching as he continues to press incredibly slow and gentle kisses to your cunt in an almost respectful way, a reverent way.

"Good," he murmurs, lips vibrating against your core, "Want it to feel nice for you, baby."

You let out a soft moan the second his tongue breaches your folds, wet and warm. You watch as he closes his eyes and seems to get lost in it, tasting your pussy like it - or she, as he'd said - is some rare delicacy he's never indulged in before. He trails the tip of his tongue through the mess you've made, maneuvering your puffy lips and flicking it against your clit. Your hips buck and another moan slips out, quiet and pitiful.

"That's it," he murmurs against you with a little half smile, "So sweet for me, honey." He dives back in immediately and slowly plunges his tongue inside your entrance, fucking into you a few times before carefully pulling back and opening his eyes to peer up at you again. God, those brown eyes are fucking sinful. He gives you one more smile and then reaches down to grab his phone.

"Gonna get some more pics of this messy girl, okay?" he breathes, and you're a little startled when his left hand is suddenly coming down to touch you there, two fingers carefully scissoring you open. You don't say anything, too horny to protest, too intrigued to see what he's going to do. "Gotta open her up a little," he tells you softly, answering your unspoken question, "Wanna take a little peek at what she's hidin' inside her, baby."

A little whimper falls from your throat again as his fingers scissor you wider, holding you open and baring your hole to his camera. You can feel your walls twitching and pulsing, contracting and leaking; you can only imagine what it looks like. Your eyes roll a little when his middle finger taps your clit, another gush of arousal flooding past your opening.

"Look at this lil' hole, huh?" he's murmuring, but your eyes are closing and your head is falling back onto the towel as he plays with you, "Oh, she's alllll messy for me down here, baby. And it's no wonder your clit came out to see me, she loves gettin' played with, don't she?"

Christ, he knows how to talk. His words send another helpless little sound past your lips, thighs trembling as he slowly caresses your clit with his finger, pressing down on it with just the right amount of pressure.

"Aw, you're all sticky here again, baby," he whispers and you whine, feeling your juices dribble down toward your ass, "Shh, I'll take care of it," and then he's leaning back in to lap at your folds, a little faster this time, more desperate, "Tastes so good, pretty girl. So sweet."

He suckles your clit into his mouth and you let out a breathless moan, brow furrowing as he suctions the swollen nub and lets one of his fingers fall to slip inside your entrance. You're so close you can feel it, coiled inside and ready to snap at any moment, his thick index plugging you deliciously as his tongue swirls. You tighten around it, thighs squeezing a little around his head, and then-

He's pulling away, removing his mouth and finger. Your eyes flutter open and you watch as he stands up with a little groan, older age apparent in the way he clutches at his back and exhales once he's upright. You want to tell him to get back down here, finish what he started, but part of you feels like it'd almost be letting him win, somehow. This perverted creep on a public beach that's somehow managed to lure you away and get you naked, take photos of your body and eat your pussy. He doesn't deserve to have you beg for him - even if you want to.

"Can you stand up for me now, honey?" he tilts his head, squinting against the sun and smiling like he didn't just ruin your orgasm.

On shaky legs, you manage to pull yourself up from the sand and stand before him in all your naked glory, legs crossing a little as you squeeze your thighs together. He smirks but doesn't say anything about it, instead angling his phone toward you again and snapping some full length photos. You immediately do your best to go back into Sports Illustrated mode, posing a little and trying to ignore the ache between your legs, the relentless throb of where his mouth just was.

"Squeeze your tits together for me," he tells you, voice a bit deeper, rougher, full of arousal, "Cup 'em a little, show me those cute lil' nipples."

You do as he says, biting your lip and showing the camera exactly what he wants to see. Your nipples are peaked and hard, begging to be teased and tugged, but you refuse to do it yourself - you're not giving him the satisfaction, not after what he just pulled. He takes a few up-close pictures, camera so close to them that you shiver with sensitivity, the smallest bit of air from his movements causing them to tighten even more.

"Those are so beautiful, baby," he murmurs softly, gaze trailing upwards to meet yours, "Can I give 'em a kiss too?" God, his eyes are so fucking soft and sincere, like fucking boba pearls. You wonder if anyone's ever been able to say no to him.

You swallow, keeping eye contact, "For another fifty, sure."

He chuckles at that, "You drive a hard bargain, darlin'."

"I know what I'm worth."

He smiles, nodding slowly, "That, you do." He pulls out his wallet and slips another bill into your bag, then shuffles toward you again. You try to keep your breathing calm when one of his hands comes up to cradle your bare back, pulls you in a little bit as he lowers his mouth to your right nipple. With hazy eyes, you watch as he presses the softest little kiss to it, then does the same to the left.

Part of you wants to pull back and say that's it, that's all you get, just to see what he does, give him a taste of his own medicine. But then he's wrapping his lips around the pebbled bud and suckling, your eyes going glassy, jaw dropping a little as your hands come up to hold his shoulders. Your pussy throbs at the sensation, thighs rubbing together again as he suctions just the right amount and swirls his tongue all over the hard peak. It's impossible not to let a quiet moan fall past your lips, something he returns with a little mmhmm around your nipple, a wordless I know.

It feels so good that you feel your guard going down even more than it already has, feel your head falling forward to rest against his. His greying hair is so soft, so warm from the sun. You blink slowly and inhale, cheek smooshing into his temple as he sucks and sucks and sucks, then turns his attention to the other one. Little whimpers are tumbling past your lips, your hands squeezing and caressing his shoulders as you feel yourself starting to drip down your inner thighs.

It's so fucking intimate, much more intimate than you anticipated. And when he finally pulls away and comes back up to peer into your eyes again, leaving your nipples puffy and a little sore, you betray yourself by leaning forward to kiss him softly, tugging his bottom lip into your mouth and returning the favor with a little suckle. You feel him smile against you, the hand on your back tightening as he brings his other one up to tangle in your hair. His lips are plush and wet - a little chapped from what he's just done to your nipples - and he tastes like pussy.

It's fucking heavenly.

"I wanna show you somethin', babygirl," he murmurs against you after a moment, and you nod a little too quickly, a little pathetically. You're starting to realize that you're losing the battle here, if there ever even was one.

He pulls back a little, eyes still soft. You watch as he reaches down to his swim trunks and unties them, heart suddenly in your throat as he slips his hand inside and comes out with an absolutely beautiful dick. It's long and thick, rounded and full at the tip with an extremely suckable looking mushroom head, as well as a prominent vein trailing up his shaft that makes your mouth water. You both stare at it for a few seconds without speaking, your lips parting but no words coming to mind.

"You wanna take some pictures with my cock, honey?" he asks you quietly, and you think he's probably looking at your face now, watching your expression, but you're still just staring at his dick.

"W-what?"

"Just a few, like...well..." he shuffles forward a bit and very gently presses the warmth of his cock against your bare stomach, letting the tip sit just above your belly button, "Like this."

Your brain is blank.

"That okay?"

His cock is so heavy.

"Darlin'?"

And warm.

He pushes some of your hair behind your ear, cradles your face in his big hand, "I know, honey," he murmurs, "You just gotta say okay."

Okay?

"O-okay," you finally whisper.

"Yeah?"

Yeah. You think it but don't say it, can't say it. You feel beyond overwhelmed, eyes still glued to where his throbbing tip is smooshed into your belly. You can't stop looking at it, ogling it, awed by its impressiveness and girth, the way it leaks a little onto your skin. You've never seen a dick this pretty before. You almost forget that you're standing there without any clothes on, barely aware of the shutter sound as he snaps multiple pictures on his phone.

"Good girl," he murmurs softly, "That's a good girl, just look at it."

Every few seconds he repositions a little, pulling you in closer to capture the way his cock stands at attention between your bodies. Precum gurgles from the tip and makes a sticky mess in his happy trail, dribbling down onto your skin. Without thinking about it at all, completely unaware of even doing it, your arms are suddenly around his waist, holding him close with your gaze still locked onto his cock.

"Yeah, that's for you, baby," he tells you softly, grinding his hips a little bit against yours and essentially fucking his cock against your stomach, "You did that to me."

It's only when he suddenly takes a small step back, holds the base and angles it downward to gently prod the sticky head against your pussy lips, that you finally come to your senses.

"Wait," you gasp out, yanking yourself back from him and shaking your head, "W-wait a second."

"M'sorry," he says quickly, brow furrowing as he puts his hands up. His cock hangs from his trunks almost comically, bobbing up and down as he takes a step back, "Shoulda asked first."

"Y-yeah, you should've," your voice cracks, heat flooding your face, "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me just then, that was too far." Why the fuck are you apologizing to him?

"S'not too far," his words are gentle, alluring, "We're just havin' fun, aren't we honey? You were havin' fun, got lost in it. It's okay."

You take a breath, staring at him as you try to get your bearings. Were you having fun? Is this fun? What the fuck are you even doing right now? Your thoughts are cloudy, hazed with arousal and attraction to this complete stranger in front of you. Are you really gonna let this continue? Is it really worth it? Your gaze falls back to his cock and the question is almost answered for you.

"What am I doing?" you ask aloud, a breathless little laugh escaping your lips.

"You're just havin' fun with a new friend, s'all it is."

You raise an eyebrow at him, trying to ignore the way your hands tremble, "Is that what you are? My friend?"

"I'll be anything you want me to be, darlin'," his mouth turns up at the corners, eyes sparkling, "I sure would like to be your friend."

He peers at you for a moment, waiting for you to speak. Your mouth opens a few times but no words come out, your thoughts scrambled as you try to make heads or tails of this situation. You're suddenly painfully aware of the fact that you're still completely naked, and you quickly peek your head over the rock formation to make sure there's nobody nearby - there isn't.

Why are you checking?

"C'mere," Joel finally says, and you turn back to look at him with your lip between your teeth. He's standing there with his arms open a bit, cock still heavy between his legs. By all accounts, a fucking perv. And yet...

And yet.

Fuck it.

You're back in his embrace in no time, hooking your head over his shoulder and allowing his cock to press warmly into your skin again. You close your eyes and sigh as he brings one of his hands downward to squeeze your ass.

You know what he's going to ask before he even says it.

"Can I put it inside you, darlin'?" he murmurs softly, pleadingly, "Just to get a pic of your pussy all full?"

You don't say anything.

"Won't take more than a minute," he urges, "I promise, baby. Just wanna see it stretched around my cock. Don't you wanna see that, pretty girl? I'll pay extra, whatever you want."

More silence.

"I know you wanna see it," he's relentless, his other hand coming down to squeeze your other cheek and pull you impossibly closer, "You wanna feel that, don't you, baby? Big cock fillin' you up before you go?" His middle finger slides between your cheeks and settles at your pussy, slowly teasing your entrance, "Don't gotta do anything at all, just gotta stand here, we'll do it standin' honey."

"Standing?" you ask softly, pulling back to look at him with intrigue, and your response suddenly has him grinning from ear to ear as he slowly inserts his finger. You shiver, eyes fluttering closed as he fills you with it.

"Standin'," he repeats, "Just like this, baby, don't gotta do anything 'cept open your legs a little for me. You can do that, can't you?" The hand on your ass comes up to hold your chin; he pinches it gently between his finger and thumb and gives you another soft look as he starts to fuck you in earnest, "I know you can, 'cause you're a good girl, yeah?"

"Y-yeah," you breathe, arms tightening around his body.

"Yeah," he adds a second finger, smile faltering into a sympathetic pout when you let out another soft moan, "And you want that cock, don't you? I can see it all over your face, honey. Don't gotta pretend."

"I do," you whisper with a nod, swallowing thickly and trembling in his arms, "I want it, I do."

"So..." he's waiting for you to say the words, to tell him to go ahead and put it in, do what he wants, let him take control. His fingers are relentless inside of you now, plunging in and out at a speed you know he's purposely using to distract you, cloud your decision making.

Which is why his eyebrows go up in surprise when you're suddenly reaching down to grab tightly to his wrist, yanking his fingers out of your pussy in one swift pull.

"Three hundred," you state, "Take it or leave it."

To your surprise, his face alights with a gigantic smile, a deep laugh tumbling past his lips as he nods and digs his hand into his pocket, seeking his wallet one more time, "Yes, m'aam," he grins, "I'll take it."

You've never had sex standing up before. Not like this, face to face and completely upright with your feet planted on the ground. It's a little awkward at first, Joel having to crouch a little to align his hips with yours, one hand gripping your waist while the other grips his phone. God, this fucking phone. You're pretty sure you'll never wanna see a phone case with this ugly shade of cerulean blue again, let alone hear those obnoxious shutter sounds.

Your annoyance is quickly overpowered by the sensation of the warm head of Joel's cock pressing gently to your pussy. You look down to watch, lip between your teeth again as Joel snaps image after image of the way his tip crowds your outer lips, pushes them apart. You have to admit, it's certainly a sight to behold.

"Yeah, look at her open for me, baby," he's murmuring, thumbing the base as he slowly rubs his cockhead back and forth through your folds, "Bloomin' like a little flower."

The top of your head rests against his shoulder, face angled down to watch what he's doing. A tiny whimper falls from your lips when he very slowly eases the head of his cock inside of you, the stretch barely noticeable with how wet you are. He releases your hip to reach down and open your pussy lips with his thumb and forefinger, exposing where you're joined.

"Tell her to smile for the camera, babygirl," he whispers, and while part of you wants to roll your eyes, another part can't help but feel a gush of arousal at his words, soaking his cock even more, "Good, that's good."

He feeds his cock to you slowly, making sure to take as many pictures as he can. Little whines and squeaks erupt from your throat and your hands claw at his back, fingers tangling in the white crocheted material as he fills you up. It's only when he's fully sheathed inside of you that he suddenly tugs his trunks down a little more to expose his balls, heavy and round and full. You stare at them with a longing in your eyes you can't describe, lower lip trembling as you watch them bounce and settle against where you're joined.

"There you go," he murmurs, snapping one last picture before tossing his phone into the sand and bringing his hands up to cradle your back, pulling you close, "All done, baby, that's it."

Your toes curl in the sand as you embrace the feeling of being so full of him, his tip pulsing delicately inside the deepest parts of you. A distant thought in your brain wonders why he just threw his phone on the ground, but it doesn't seem to matter when you feel like this, so full and wet and warm, lost in a hazy glow. You bury your face in his shoulder, letting out quiet little whimpers as he pulls you in tighter. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, seemingly reveling in the moment too as you stand there listening to the ocean waves, impaled on a stranger's cock.

"How's that feel, honey?" he asks you softly, thumbs tracing shapes along your bare back, "Hm? Feel good?" You don't answer, just nuzzle your face against his skin and let out another soft whine, hands clamoring underneath his shirt to grip his back. He chuckles, "Yeah, I know, baby."

You both stand there for what feels like forever, until you finally have enough sense to pull away from his shoulder and get a look at his face. He's watching you fondly, brow furrowed, eyes still incredibly soft and inviting. He really is gorgeous. Pervy, but gorgeous.

"You dropped your phone," you mumble, words faint and slightly slurred.

"Don't need it anymore," he murmurs, "Got my pictures."

"Then why are you still inside me?" you ask softly, eyelashes fluttering, "If you're done?"

He shrugs, smiling, "'Cause it feels good, don't it?"

You stare at him for a few seconds but end up nodding regardless, turning your face a little to peer over at the ocean, "It does," you admit, "Feels really good."

"Mmhmm," he kisses the top of your head again, then your temple, stroking his fingers through your hair. The way he touches you is reverent, delicate, like you're something fragile he needs to keep safe. It's not what you'd expected, that's for sure. But something you're not as sure about is what happens now, where you both go from here.

It doesn't take long for him to decide.

You feel his thumb on your clit, drawing your attention away from the ocean and back to his presence. You peer at him through bleary eyes, a dazed little smile curving your lips as he carefully rotates the swollen nub. His belly caresses yours, warm and soft, and you smile even wider.

"Feel good?" he asks you again - tender, kind.

"Yeah," you whisper.

The hand on your back comes up to cradle your hair, pulling you in close again and allowing you to rest your head against his smooth chest. You moan as his thumb picks up speed, the sound muffled by his tan skin.

"You want me to make you come, honey?" he murmurs, fingers brushing carefully through your hair, "You wanna come all over that big cock inside you?"

"Yeah," you repeat, a little broken this time, "W-wanna come."

"You've been so fuckin' good for me, you know that?" he breathes, barely a whisper, brow furrowed as he continues to rub your clit, "Posin' all pretty, showin' me that soft little pussy, lettin' me taste her," he gives a low whistle, shaking his head, "And now she's all full, huh? She full?"

You nod, eyes rolling a little, "Y-yeah." Apparently yeah is currently one of the only words in your vocabulary.

"She all messy for me?"

Again, you nod, expression blissful as you let out a moan, "Yes, Joel," you whimper, and you're pretty sure it's the first time you've said his name this whole time. It's like you've been trying to be disconnected from it, from him, and now suddenly he's everywhere; inside you, in front of you, above you - there's no escaping him. And you don't want to escape - what you want is him. Badly. Desperately.

He seems to realize this at the exact same time you do, the moment he hears his name fall from your lips. Which is why you're not surprised in the slightest by his next words.

"What if I wanted a pic of my cum leakin' outta this little pussy?" he whispers, mouth suddenly directly next to your ear, sending insane amounts of pleasurable tingles throughout your whole body, "Huh? How much would that cost? Tell me."

"You can't," you mumble, lightheaded, but you're lying to yourself, completely lost in the pleasure he's giving you, the movement of his thumb and the girth of his cock.

"Only take a few seconds, honey, m'already close," as he speaks, you feel his hips slowly begin to buck, cock pulling from you for only a moment before easing back in, making you shudder, "You don't gotta do nothin', 'cept show me how she drools when she's full. You can do that, can't you baby?"

"Joel," you whine again, eyes shut tight as you dig your toes into the sand, holding tight to his back as he slowly starts to fuck up into you. He's so big, so thick, plugging you full and then leaving you again, slow and warm. You can only imagine how it would feel to have him burst inside of you, to fill you to the brim.

"I wanna see her drool, honey," he murmurs, voice desperate again, full of arousal, "Wanna see her push it out."

"Fuck," you moan, high and whiney as you suddenly grip both sides of his face in your hands to peer directly into his eyes, "A thousand," you whimper, your hands clawing at his scruff as his hips pick up speed, as his hands fall to your waist and hold tightly as he starts to pound up into you, "A thousand and you can come in my pussy."

He presses his forehead against yours, lets out a guttural sound and then hisses, "Deal."

And for some reason, you believe him.

Getting pounded while standing upright is a fucking trip. His nails dig into the pebbled flesh of your hips, knees bending and unbending as his cock fucks up into you relentlessly without stopping or slowing. Your hands are still holding his face, eyes locked with his as your mouth pops open in a silent scream, thumbs digging into the apples of his cheeks. Holy fucking shit.

"I know, I know, I know," he's groaning, voice wild and unhinged, groans vibrating in his chest, "Fuckin' take it, s'what you were made for, honey. Knew it the second I saw you, knew you were gonna go wild on that dick."

"Please," you moan out, tears pricking in your eyes, the sensations almost too much to bear, "Please, please." You don't even know what you're begging for, thoughts muddled as you release his face and wind your arms around his neck, "Keep fucking me, keep fucking me, don't stop, please."

"I got you, honey, I got you," you feel his thumb return to your clit as he speaks, the sounds of your skin slapping together almost rivalling the sound of the ocean waves, "You gonna come, pretty girl? Huh? You gonna cream on my cock?"

"Yes," you practically squeal, and before you can really process what you're doing you're suddenly jumping up from the sand to wrap your legs around Joel's waist, ankles tangling together behind his back. He has no issue shifting positions, his arm cradling you and holding you in the air while his thumb continues to ravage your clit. You feel it building in your stomach, tightening more and more with the insistent pressure of his thumb and the continuous thrusts of his dick hitting your cervix over and over.

"Ohh, I feel her, baby," he groans in your ear, "Sloppy little cunt wants to make another mess, doesn't she?" And that's all it takes for your orgasm to hit you, your legs squeezing tighter and tighter and tighter around Joel's body as you moan and whine and cry, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and shaking in his arms. It's like having the wind knocked out of you, arguably one of the best orgasms you've ever had in your life, your eyes rolling back into your head as you sob into his neck.

"Joel," you whimper, pussy pulsing repeatedly around his dick through the aftershocks, "Joel, come inside her, please."

"Oh, fuck."

You feel it then, the twitch of his cock and the warm ropes of his release pumping into you. You sigh almost dreamily, burying your face in his shoulder and listening as he groans, feeling the way his fingertips dig into the soft plush of your ass. It's steady - there's so much more than you thought there'd be, and the sensation is enough to make you whimper again, murmuring his name one more time as he empties himself.

You stay like that for a moment, the ocean loud in your ears, all other sounds seemingly drowned out by the hiss of sea against rock and sand. Eventually, he carries you a few steps to your towel, your ears ringing and his body trembling a little as he carefully lowers you down. You let go of him a bit reluctantly, a pout on your lips as he lays you out and then slowly pulls himself from you with a wet squelch.

"Good girl," he's murmuring - you realize he's been saying it the whole time - "Good girl, that's it, open your legs."

There's no hesitance at all anymore, not after that. You open your legs wide with abandon and sit up on your hands, watching with heavy lids as he grabs his phone from where he'd discarded it, bringing it down to your leaking pussy.

"Look at that," he breathes, awestruck, and your eyes trail downward to see what he sees. You feel heat return to your cheeks when you see the way his creamy white release is slowly beginning to dribble out of you and onto the towel.

"Wow, that's a lot," you whisper with a faint little giggle, eyes coming back up to look at his face as he watches it drip. You're not sure he hears you, intensely focused on where you're swollen and leaking, but you don't mind. You push back lazily on your hands and smile fondly at him as he takes his precious photos. In the afterglow, you find that the shutter sounds aren't that annoying, not really.

"Open her up for me, baby," he tells you softly, "Spread her wide and push it out."

You sit up a little, feeling drowsy and dreamy as you reach down and pull yourself open with your hands. You apply a little pressure, closing your eyes in a daze and hearing the wet little sounds as you push his cum out of you and onto the towel. You hear him groan, hear the shutter sounds again, and you can't help but grin.

"Are they good?" you ask him, genuinely wondering, "Is she pretty?" As you speak you pull yourself a little wider, allow him to take one more picture as close inside as possible before he pulls it away.

He looks up from his handiwork with that familiar soft smile on his face again, brown eyes shimmering in the sun that's already beginning to set, "You're perfect," he tells you, "And don't argue with me, I just gave you almost two thousand dollars."

You snort, releasing yourself and falling backwards onto the towel to stare up at the sky. Your limbs feel heavy, eyelids drooping as you watch Joel in your periphery slipping his soft cock back into his trunks, as well as his phone.

"It's real money, right?" you ask, a little unsure.

"I promise it's real money," he says with a chuckle, walking over to stand over you, "D'you wanna come back to my hotel with me and get cleaned up? Maybe have some more fun?"

You bite your lip, "Would you pay me?"

"I'd pay you."

Admittedly, as reality begins to wash over you, the idea doesn't sound anywhere near as appealing as it might have an hour ago. With a little effort, you sit up again and reach for your bikini, half buried in the sand near your feet.

"Nah, I think I'm good."

Joel reaches his arm down and you take it, letting him help you to your feet. As you put your bikini back on, you watch with a little smile as he digs the rest of your money out of his wallet, slipping it into your purse like it's just second nature at this point - which, it basically is. He stands there then, a little awkwardly, like he's not sure what to say.

"Well, uh, thank you, darlin'," he finally says, taking a step back and nodding toward you with a kind expression, "Not many girls would have, um... not many would've done this. I'd offer you my number, but I get the feeling that's not what this is."

You wince, shaking your head, "Yeah, this, uh- this isn't gonna go anywhere, sorry. But it was fun."

He nods, "It was. And, I mean, those pictures aren't just gonna collect dust, I can tell you that much."

You laugh, walking forward a little to pick up your bag. You stop in front of him and, after hesitating for only a moment, lean forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. Just a peck - a goodbye.

"Have a good rest of your summer," you tell him as you pull away, heat rising in your cheeks again as he looks at you with those beautiful eyes, "And uh- maybe try to be a little more covert with that camera."

This time it's his turn to blush, his cheeks tinging a dark shade of pink as he laughs and tosses you a wave, turning to begin walking away from you. He only makes it a few steps, and then-

"Hey, Joel?"

He turns on the spot, a hopeful look in his expression that makes you wonder, if only for a moment, that maybe you're making the wrong choice.

"You're not really a photographer, are you?"

His blush deepens, a look of embarrassment crossing his features, "No, I'm not. But after today, I just might try my hand at it."

[orcelito]

me sitting on posting ladue chapter 2 bc im going thru edits for chapter 1

honestly it's kinda amazing how much my writing skills have improved in 2 years

[syneilesis]

[fic] Coffee Break

Coffee Break

Love and Deepspace | Xavier (Shen Xinghui) x Main-Character!Reader | G | 1.2k words ao3 link

You buy Xavier a new coffee machine.

A/N: I am so in love with this man. Day 2 of the closed beta test and here I am writing fic lmao. God, I love Shen Xinghui so much. This fic is inspired by his Shimmering Sunlight story. Some spoilers about the main storyline and character-exclusive stories, though nothing too significant. Though I frequently refer to his CN name in my other posts, in this fic I use his EN version -- Xavier.

The box is light in your hands, but the salesperson assured you that weight does not equate to quality. Price, too—because although the Hunters Association is generous with their pay, you don't want to raise flags by taking missions incessantly. Tara's nose for intrigue, of course, is well-known among your circles.

It would be all the worse if Xavier gets in on the gossip too. (You'd have to thank the stars for the man's indifference to workplace drama—and to most in general. Xavier may be airheaded at times but when he's focused on something he is monstrously focused on it. It's impressive, and—well—cute.)

The recommended beans are secured inside your messenger bag. You don't call Xavier this time to give him a heads up. He had, a few days ago, granted you the privilege to enter his home whenever you like, his hand tracing the book spines on the shelf, all the while saying it. He wasn't looking at you, but his tone remained light, playful even, that it prompted you to tease him by pointing out that if he merely wanted an efficient alarm clock, he could just buy one of those state-of-the-art ones sold in major stores. That's when Xavier whirled around to look at you, mirth in his eyes but with a secretive, scheming tilt on his lips.

“I'm coming in,” you announce, regardless, by the door, pushing it in with one hand, and Xavier's voice floats across the hall.

“You're really taking advantage of this, huh.”

“Well, a wise man once said that one must seize every opportunity given their way.”

Xavier emerges from a room in all his cardigan-and-sweatpantsed glory, hair mussed enough to indicate that he's just risen from his bed.

“Good morning!” you chirp.

He glances at the clock—two in the afternoon—and eyes the box in your hands. The caution—and curiosity—is obvious in the lilt of his question. “What's that?”

“For you.”

He takes the proffered item and inspects like it'll explode at any moment. You sigh and retrieve it again, and he follows you when you make your way to the kitchen.

“I already have a coffee machine,” he says, confused, as you begin to clean the gift.

“And it brews bitter coffee.” You spare a glance at him to find that he's watching you. You tap the lid of the machine. “This is a more recent and an undeniably better model.”

“I don't recall asking you to buy one for me.”

“That's because you didn't.” There's a pause where you deliberate telling him your next sentence and facing him directly as you say it. You go for it, in the end. “It's a gift. This is a gift from me to you.”

It doesn't register to him at first—it's as if he's waiting for an explanation that requires the mention of Captain Jenna's orders. But after a blink and a shuffle, it clicks, his eyes widening and he's fully awake all of a sudden.

And when he responds, it seems urgent: “What's the occasion?”

You shake your head. “Nothing—or rather, it's the occasion for drinking good coffee.” The coffee beans make their appearance. “Go sit on the sofa or something while I work this thing out.”

Xavier chuckles. “What—now you're ordering me in my own home?”

“And making you good coffee!”

“You're a guest—even I know that it's rude to have the guest make food or drinks for the owner of the house.”

“It's fine! And besides, I'd like to test this out as soon as possible. Refund and exchange policy only lasts for seven days from the date of purchase. I'd want to know if this works just fine.”

Xavier attempts to protest a little more, but you hold firm. Once he trudges back to the living room, you concentrate on the coffee. The salesperson seemed trustworthy enough when pitching the product, and you really can't forget the time Xavier served you a cup of bitter coffee. Not even three sugar cubes could salvage that unholy concoction.

When it's done, the heavenly aroma wafting along your nose, you test a sip from your own mug. It's a success. Placing the mugs on a tray, you head to where Xavier is.

He's reading a book. Though 'reading' seems to be a stretch because his head bobs twice, his eyelids drooping, the edge of a nap threatening his posture.

“Xavier,” you call him, and his head snaps back to attention. You bite your lip to stave off a laugh. Sitting next to him on the sofa, you put the tray on the table and hand him his own cup. “Try this one.”

A sniff and a tentative sip. And then he hums in approval, now drinking it normally. You smile around the rim of your mug, your eyes falling on his book.

“This is good,” he comments, wearing a smile of his own when he turns to you. “Did you use another kind of coffee beans?”

“Yep. The salesman recommended me another one, and it was the right decision. By the way, why are you reading an instruction manual on building a claw machine?”

“It's nothing,” he says, swiping the item away. There's another book on the table—a collection of short stories—and he snatches that up instead. You recognize the title.

“Oh! I've read that before.”

“Is it good? I haven't read it yet.”

“Yes. I particularly loved the titular story. The suspense buildup was done skillfully and the payoff was perfect.”

“I see, then I look forward to starting it.”

Surprisingly, Xavier begins reading it then and there, occasionally sipping his coffee and turning the page. You, beside him, are minding your own cup, thoughts drifting here and there. Your next mission. New strategies in battle. Your next appointment with Dr. Zayne.

It's when a weight has plopped down your shoulder that you jolt out of your musings: Xavier falling asleep on your shoulder, mug empty, the coffee residues pooling at the bottom, book opened in the chapter of your favorite story.

“Xavier?” you murmur, careful not to startle him if he's truly asleep.

He doesn't stir—only burrows further into the crevice between your neck and shoulder, the puffs of his breath close and warm against your skin.

It would've been cruel to push him away, not when he looks comfortable. And besides, you're afforded an opportunity to study him—so you let him as he is.

From your angle, staring down at his sleeping face, you note of his eyelashes, long and thick and seemingly soft, slightly curved upwards, hovering over his smooth cheeks. They frame the blueness of his eyes very well. They make him even prettier under daylight. You're reminded of the time you and he strolled under the blooming peach blossoms, the pink backdrop highlighting the radiance of his presence, statuesque. He as sublime art itself, rivaling that of Rafayel's paintings—or better yet, surpassing them. And when he smiles—

Unbidden, heat crawls across your cheeks and settles there. Oh no. Oh, no no no.

Oh dear, this won't do.

You swallow, and turn away. Against your neck, Xavier sleeps on, unaware of your unfurling realizations. By the window, a familiar bird perches, twittering under the afternoon sun, a small but melodious background song.

[missmonsters2]

Mirror, Mirror | Two

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

PART ONE

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Wanda oscillates between crying and being overcome with confidence to confess. She barely has time to reflect when the devastating news arrives that you have a date, and Wanda needs to formulate a plan—quickly.

Warnings: best friends to lovers. shenanigans. jealousy, jealousy. sexual tension. pining. yearning. sexual thoughts. spicy (tumblr's version). stupid steve. neurotic nat. brat & stinky. bug as in shutterbug.

*explicit version will only be available on Ao3 & will be posted there after series is completed*

Note: cue the shenanigans of date stalking and taylor swift. Put your hands together for the real MVP of this chapter: Yelena.

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Count: ~4.5k

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This week's philosophical question is: Is it gay to think about your best friend?

The short answer is no. The long, complicated answer is that it might be. 

There's logic and reasoning behind this because don't most people think about their best friend? Don't most people plan to have their best friend in the future? If not, then why would they be best friends in the first place?

Sadly, there's a rude awakening in Wanda's wobbly defense. Natasha is the only person to blame for blowing down her defense made of straw when Wanda chats with her on the phone in the evening while you're out for a photoshoot. 

"How's Maria doing?" Wanda asks.

"Good," Natasha answers, and Wanda can hear the tap water running and realizes the redhead is doing the dishes. "She'll be coming to visit during Christmas."

"Oh, you must be very excited!" Wanda beams. If it were her, she'd be ecstatic to be seeing you after so long. 

"Yeah, it'll be good to see her. I think she's bringing her girlfriend, Sharon. They've been seeing each other for a few months, and she doesn't have anyone to spend Christmas with since her grand-aunt passed away.

"Oh," Wanda's voice is low, brows furrowing. "That seems very fast if she's coming to spend a holiday with Maria. How do you feel about it?"

Natasha hums. "Happy, I guess? I haven't met Sharon, but I've been hearing good things about her. She's able to keep up with Maria's busy life as she's got her own, but they make time for each other."

"But what if Sharon's wrong for Maria, or Maria ends up getting hurt."

"Then I'll break Sharon's legs, but Maria's a big girl. I'll be there for her, but she'll be okay," Natasha chuckles.

"But—"

"Wanda, what's with the questions about Maria?" Natasha cuts off. "Is it something with Bug? Are you worried about Raye? She's told me they haven't even gone on a first date yet; why are you so worried?"

"It's not about that!" Wanda said defensively. "I mean—I am worried, but I just don't want her getting hurt. She's my best friend; she deserves someone perfect. Don't you want someone perfect for Maria?"

Even as the words came out of Wanda's mouth, she grimaced because she was nowhere near perfect herself. 

"Of course I do," Natasha sighs. "But unless Maria is hurting, I'm not going to get overly involved with her love life. She'll go at her own pace and update me as she goes."

"But how will you know if Maria is going to continue living away? If she gets serious with Sharon, will Maria still plan to move back here? How will you guys plan on having a wedding at the same time and picking a house in the same neighborhood?" Wanda asks seriously. Her tone is distraught because it feels like Natasha doesn't care about her best friend at all! 

There's a moment of silence on the other line before Natasha says, "We don't plan for that. I mean, I'll be bummed for sure if Maria doesn't move back but we'll always be best friends. We'll visit each other and keep in contact as often as we need, but we don't need to physically be in the same place."

And another realization slides into place. 

"How are you guys best friends?!" Wanda yells into the phone before she hangs up without another word. 

Wanda knows that she'll have to call Natasha later and apologize and say she's on her period or something, but right now, with her eyes hot and wet, she digs her face into her pillow and cries instead.

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"Hey, I need to head out for another shoot today. Do you want me to pick up anything for you?"

Your voice muffles through Wanda's closed door. You've come in a few times, but Wanda had stayed in bed and pretended that she might've been under the weather. 

"No," Wanda says loud enough so you can hear it. "Have fun, though."

"I'll be home soon and make you some paprikash, but there's some chicken soup in the fridge for you if you want some while I'm gone," you reply. Wanda momentarily hears your hand land on the doorknob, but you don't turn it and come in. "Feel better, brat."

You don't wait for Wanda's response even though it is a quiet, "Thanks, stinky."

Alone in the apartment once more, Wanda sighs. She's been all over the place emotionally since she last talked to Natasha on the phone. She later sent a voice memo through text apologizing and said her period just came, which explained all the craziness. Luckily, Natasha was kind enough to leave it be, but they haven't chatted much since then—mostly on Wanda's end. 

Wanda's been caught between wanting to spend more time with you and distancing herself while sorting through her feelings. It was so easy at that moment to leave Vision and feel intense jealousy of Raye, but now in their own little bubble, everything was unraveling like a poorly wrapped present. 

The only saving grace was that you and Raye couldn't align your schedules to go on a date anytime soon. Raye was out of state currently and was supposed to be traveling for work for the next few weeks, and you were confirming projects that were supposed to be for the entire month. 

The extra time was sorely appreciated. 

In short, Wanda has cried 8 times in the last week while equally getting the inspiration almost to confess 7 times. 

There was a nagging fear, though. What if you didn't feel the same? What if Wanda was reading this one gigantic sign wrong, and you simply just liked brunettes with green eyes?

Or, what if you did feel the same and things didn't work out? What if the two of you date, and it goes wonderfully well before it ends? It doesn't matter what causes the end; just what if it did?

In either scenario, things would never be the same, and Wanda would lose her best friend of 10 years. 

Although, Wanda reasons that even if she confessed and you didn't feel the same, she wouldn't actually lose you. Sure, things would never be quite the same, but the friendship would continue. They've endured much worse, and Wanda would probably get over her feelings. 

Probably. 

Because if she didn't, well, Wanda wouldn't know what to do. She's lived too long of her life with you; she can't think of what it'd be like without you. Logically, she knew she'd survive, but there'd always be a part of her missing. 

Sometimes, Wanda thinks there was always a part of her missing until the day she met you. She can still remember 10 years ago like it was yesterday.

"Wanda, it'll be fine," Pietro's accent was thick and heavy, and Wanda refused to say anything out loud to acknowledge it. 

The girls in her class were already making fun of her accent, and her attempts to talk to them were rebuffed with looks as if they couldn't believe she dared to speak to them. 

It was too difficult, Wanda thought. It was too difficult to make friends when she transferred here mid-year, and everyone had already formed their cliques since elementary.

It was hard enough with the growing changes in her 14-year-old body, and she already felt awkward all the time—the giggling behind her back and to her face wasn't helping. 

Wanda wanted to go back home to Sokovia, except there was nothing left to return to. The war had reduced everything to shambles, and everyone else in her family was happy to have been able to seek refuge in America—Rochester, specifically. 

Wanda knew she should be grateful, especially since many of her aunts, uncles, cousins, and other extended family couldn't escape. She never really had too many friends, but the few she did went to Canada, and she knew she'd unlikely ever talk to them again. 

It was a lot of change, and Pietro was the only person who understood her at this new school, but even he couldn't do much since they shared no classes together. Plus, Pietro had still managed to make a friend, and Wanda didn't have the heart to make him sit with her at lunch every day. 

"Do you want me to eat lunch with you? I can ask Sam to sit with us," Pietro offered, but Wanda shook her head. 

"Are you sure?" Pietro asked again, preparing to sit with Wanda anyway, but Wanda shook her head.

"No, it's fine. I'm just going to eat my lunch quick and head to the library to catch up on some assignments," Wanda mumbled quietly, waiting for some girls in her class to pass by before she said it. 

"Okay," Pietro said, sighing since he was conflicted about staying with his sister or heading off to hang out with his friend. But at Wanda's insistence, he merely told her where she could find him if there was anything and took off with one last glance.

When Pietro was fully out of sight, Wanda took a seat alone at an empty table, pulling out her lunch reluctantly. She was quick to notice that the American kids typically brought a plain sandwich or bought food from the cafeteria, which usually consisted of the same foods like pizza or mac and cheese. 

While the comments about the food she brought were also embarrassing, Wanda didn't have it in her to ask her mother to make something else. Money was tight, and asking to add other things to the grocery list just so she could fit in didn't seem worth it when it wouldn't do anything about the fact no one wanted to talk to her. 

So, Wanda pulled out the finomfőzelék with her breaded chicken breast. She still didn't open it and let her containers sit on the table. 

Wanda wasn't quite sure what was causing it. Maybe it was just this specific instance of sitting alone, or maybe it was the last week and a half of enduring this, but Wanda felt her eyes burn and water. She willed it with everything she had inside to not let it fall and took a deep breath. 

"Hi."

The sudden sound made Wanda's head snap up, eyes wide with surprise. You stood there, and Wanda sort of recognized you from her classes. She thought she shared all but one with you. You've never contributed to the bullying but never stopped it or talked to her, either. 

Wanda vaguely recalled you've been sick with a cold the last few days. Her eyes shifted to look behind you, and she could see your friends looking very confused and beckoning you to come back to their lunch table.

"Hi," Wanda quietly greeted you back, wincing at how the accent could even come out with one syllable. 

You sat down suddenly, clearing your throat. "Can I ask you something?"

"Okay," Wanda replied warily. 

"Do you practice witchcraft?"

The question stumped Wanda.

"What?" 

"Do you practice witchcraft?" You repeated, looking serious. 

"No," Wanda frowned, so perplexed that she couldn't even be upset about her accent. "I don't. Why would you think that?"

"Well, Hela has been spreading rumors that you're a witch from Sokovia, and that's why Mr. Coulson passed away suddenly when you came."

Then, it's suddenly so clear why no one has been talking to her. 

"But if you're not a witch cursing people to death, then that's cool," you said, interrupting Wanda's thoughts. "I wanted to ask you that earlier but then I got sick for a few days. So, do you want to hang out with me?"

Wanda just stared at you, her heart racing because finally, finally, she was going to have a friend. "Yes," Wanda replied quickly, smiling. "That'd be...cool," she repeated your slang. 

"Cool," you smiled back before pointing at her food. "Noticed you bring different food every other day. Can I try some? I'll trade you some of my sandwich. Heads up, though, my mom has been experimenting with food. This week was Chinese food, so beef and broccoli might be between the bread."

Wanda smiled at the memory, the ends of it tapering off. You changed her life, and even when Hela made fun of you, you shut her up with a comment about how she stuffed her bra. It was devastating to a 14-year-old. 

After that, the two of you were inseparable. You still occasionally hung out with your group of friends, but you definitely drifted to spend time with Wanda. 

Wanda wonders if it was actually at that moment that she fell in love with you, but at 14, she didn't know how else to interpret it other than friendship. 

You and Wanda didn't meet Nat, Steve, Bucky, and all the others until high school when the other districts were poured into one school. Since then, so much has happened. 

Your parents divorced.

Wanda's mother passed away from cancer. 

You dated Sam very briefly, giving him your first kiss and then shortly breaking up with him after. 

You came out to her, scared, hesitant, and so happy when Wanda didn't care. 

Wanda started to date Vision.

Wanda wanted to go to NYU, and you happily went there with her. 

You confessed you had a crush on Natasha but didn't want to pursue it. 

Wanda's first break-up with Vision. 

You dated Jean Grey and cried when she left you for Scott. 

When you wanted to stay in New York City, Wanda decided to stay here too, rooting her career here with you. 

Wanda wonders if maybe actually she'd fallen in love with you several times over and over but didn't know how to interpret any of her strong feelings for you, categorizing them as friendship just as she did when she was 14.

"I'm home!" 

Wanda hears the apartment door close and the shuffling of you taking off your shoes. She looks at the time and realizes two hours have already passed. Deciding that she's wallowed enough, Wanda decides to get out of bed and leave her room, running her fingers through her hair to tame it.

When she enters the kitchen, Wanda finds you starting the process of making paprikash. It's something you've always done for her when she's sick, feeling down, or homesick. Yet, in this moment, something swells inside Wanda's chest, and she wants to burst out crying again.

"Oh, hey," you turn around and smile as you see her, and Wanda clears her throat and blinks the tears quickly away.

"Hey," Wanda smiles back as she makes her way towards you. "You didn't have to do that, you know. I'm feeling better."

You open your arms for her to dive into a tight hug. You smell like clean laundry and mint, and Wanda wants to bottle your smell. The tension in Wanda lately starts to drain from her body as you rub her back comfortingly. 

"Some paprikash never hurt nobody," you joke. "I'm glad you're feeling better, though, brat. Is it the break-up with Vis?"

"Huh?" Wanda's brows furrow. "No, not really. I haven't really thought about it."

"Homesickness?"

"Er," Wanda fiddles with the back of your shirt. "Kinda, I guess."

"Well, good thing Thanksgiving is in a few months. Your dad and brother are coming here this year, right?"

Wanda nods, brightening at the thought of seeing her family. "Yes, I hope papa and Tony don't get into it again this year."

"I think your dad gets a sick sense of joy of torturing the son of man responsible for all the weapons that destroyed Sokovia," you say dryly. "I think Tony's starting to catch on he's not serious, though."

Wanda chuckles, and you pat her shoulders before you pull away and take out a knife and chopping board. Watch sits on the bar stool, watching you cook, letting things fall into a comfortable silence. 

This was everything, Wanda thought.

Nothing could ruin this moment, and Wanda thought long and hard, building up the courage to say something about her feelings. She wasn't sure what to say, so she might start with something flirtatious, but Wanda would say it more sensually instead of the usual joking tone. 

"Oh!" You say without looking at Wanda, chopping the onion and garlic. "I forgot to tell you. Raye's flying back in a few days before heading out again, and we planned a date this weekend."

Everything is ruined, and Wanda can't tell if the onion or the devastating news is causing her eyes to water.

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"Why did you bring me here?" Yelena hisses.

"Because I can't bring Natasha!" Wanda hisses back. "And be quiet or else they're going to hear us!"

"Why not Natasha? She's your other closest friend," Yelena says, quieter as she grumbles. "You're making me miss movie night with Kate. We're supposed to watch Insidious and you're ruining my chances of making fun of her being scared."

"Because," Wanda exasperatedly says. "I've already had a meltdown with Natasha, and she's going to make all sorts of comments if she knows I'm doing this now. I can't be here alone since this is the type of restaurant only couples go to."

"You think I won't make comments?" Yelena raises her brow at Wanda, looking frighteningly similar to Natasha at that moment. "I thought you grew out of stalking Bug's dates in university."

Wanda doesn't reply, too busy staring at your table. Raye is making some kind of flirty comment, reaching across the table and lacing your fingers through hers. You're laughing—Wanda can tell with how your shoulders shake. 

The restaurant you've chosen to take Raye to is a slightly upscale steak restaurant. You've ordered cocktails, a bottle of wine, and two appetizers to start. 

Raye's biting her bottom lip suggestively before she takes a sip of her wine, her index finger is stroking the back of your hand, and Wanda's wondering if she can bribe a waiter to spill a glass of beer on Raye accidentally. 

"Seriously, I know you're best friends, but this is out of hand. Just confess before Raye steals your girl and they get married."

Wanda whips her head back towards Yelena, eyes filled with indignation. 

"THEY WOULD NEVER—"

"SHHH," Yelena hisses, and they both have to hide behind their menus when you turn around and look. "Jesus Christ, Maximoff."

"They would never get married," Wanda huffs before peeking outside her menu to see that you've returned to your conversation with Raye. But then she turns back to Yelena. "You know about my feelings? Did you always know? Did you—"

"Shut up," Yelena groans. "No, I was just fishing, and you're the sucker I caught. I mean, was there a time I thought you guys were too close? Yes, but it eventually became normal."

The two of them put their menu's down when it's safe, and Yelena seems to be carefully planning how to explain her thoughts. 

"We've all accepted that you guys are very close, but you both kept dating different people—you specifically only dating boys and then Vision. It worked out that we were all going to NYU, but did you know that Bug had an offer to study abroad and do an internship that would've accelerated her graduation and then career?" Yelena carefully looks at Wanda's face.

"What?" Wanda frowns. She vaguely remembers you mentioning the program but recalled you dismissing it. You didn't tell her you were offered a spot in the program. "No, but I mean, she was building her online platform, and it was taking off. She didn't need to do an internship."

"No," Yelena agreed with a shrug, "but it wouldn't have hurt. I suspect she couldn't stand the idea of being away from you for a year. Just like how you turned down the job offer in LA at graduation when you knew she would stay in NYC."

"That wasn't—I just—" Wanda huffs. "I like where I am now. My work is flexible." 

"Yeah, but being in public relations, you could've been making twice the amount you are now," Yelena raises her brow again. "Although, at this point, I suspect you both chose adaptable careers in case one of you wanted to move to another city."

"That's not true," Wanda protests.

"Do you even like being a PR?" Yelena asks. "At least Bug loves photography. You, on the other hand, have a talent for PR, but it'd be just as easy for you to do anything else."

"I do like it," Wanda stresses. "It's easy, and the clients I've got keep me busy enough. Just because I don't spend all my time on it or talk about it doesn't mean I don't like it."

"But—"

"Enough talking, our food is coming, and you better be ready to leave at a moment's notice," Wanda cuts Yelena off as the waiter arrives and sets their food down. 

"Worst. Date. Ever," Yelena deadpans.

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As it turns out, Raye lives relatively close to the restaurant as you walk hand-in-hand back to her place.

And not too far behind, Wanda and a reluctant Yelena trail from a distance. 

"She's not going to Raye's house, is she?" Wanda whispers with a frown.

"Why not?" Yelena grunts, adjusting her leather jacket. "She has casual flings all the time, and by the looks of their date earlier, it went very well."

"Not. Helping," Wanda glares at Yelena. They enter a street filled with apartments, and Wanda is careful about not following too close and walking under the streetlights.

"This is psychotic," Yelena groans. "Can't we go home? I feel like a literal serial killer out here."

Wanda doesn't respond, just staring ahead as they continue to walk. You're swinging your hand back and forth, interlaced with Raye's. There's giggling, and Raye keeps leaning closer to say something to you. 

There's so much sexual tension that it's palpable from here, and Wanda wishes there was a serial killer out here. 

How was Wanda going to stop this? How was Wanda going to prevent you from going home with someone else?

Wanda picks up a small rock and chucks it hard toward your general direction, hoping to spook the two of you apart. Except, her aim is so terrible that it flies completely left and hits the car beside you instead.

The car alarm goes off, setting off flashing lights and a very, very loud beeping noise.

"Wanda, what the fuck—" Yelena is cut off when Wanda suddenly shoves her down into a bush and dives next to her. "Ow, you fucking—" Wanda slaps her hand over Yelena's mouth.

You and Raye look behind, completely perplexed, when no one is there. You try to check out the vehicle, but other than a small dent, nothing is wrong with the car otherwise. Since neither you nor Raye caused it, you continued walking.

It turns out Raye lived in the building just a few steps ahead. You both stand at the door, holding hands before Raye throws her arms around your neck, smirking. 

Wanda's about to pick up another rock when Raye moves in suddenly for a hot, searing kiss.

And when Wanda watches you kiss back, her hand goes slack. Something awful builds in the pit of her stomach, and there's nothing Wanda can do when she watches you go into the apartment. 

Yelena watches Wanda's crestfallen face and sighs. "Wanda—"

"Let's just get back to the car and go home," Wanda mutters as she stands up, not bothering to brush off the dirt, leaves, or twigs from her hair. 

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The car ride home is sickeningly pathetic—a new low for Wanda. 

"PLEASE DON'T BE IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE ELSE. PLEASE DON'T HAVE SOMEBODY WAITING ON YOUUUU—" Wanda hoarsely cries out, tears streaming down her face. She's off-tune, and she's screaming more than she is singing. 

"Oh, god," Yelena sighs, bringing her hand to her face in embarrassment in the passenger seat. They've stopped at a red light, and the car beside them is staring at them strangely. "This is sad for even you, Maximoff."

Wanda doesn't even acknowledge that she heard Yelena, only belting out, "I'LL SPEND FOREVER WONDERING IF YOU KNEW—"

"Just kill me, just kill me, just crash this car and kill us both," Yelena mutters to herself. 

The house is dark when Wanda returns, not that it should be any surprise. Deep down, though, Wanda hoped you'd return home and somehow beat her to it. 

Wanda's eyes feel tired and raw from crying the entire way home. Yelena gave her a reluctant hug, mustering all her kindness into rubbing Wanda's back and kissing the crown of her head when it was buried in her friend's shoulder. 

Pulling out her phone, Wanda looks at her texts. One from work, a couple of Natasha, one from Vis, and one from Pietro. She stares at your name in her messages, but nothing comes even if she wills it. 

Instead, she shoots you a quick "hey :)" and puts her phone away. You'd unlikely answer, but Wanda couldn't help herself. 

Sighing, Wanda gets ready for the night, trying to not let her mind drift on what activities you and Raye could be doing.

Please let it be scrabble, please let it be scrabble, Wanda thinks as she finishes brushing her teeth. 

As she walks towards her room, she pauses. It's unlikely you'd return until tomorrow morning, maybe even noon. Biting her lip, Wanda turns and walks into your room instead, crawling into your bed under the sheets. She pulls the blanket up to her chin, inhaling your scent slowly.

It both comforts her and makes her heart twinge. 

After an hour, sleep falls upon Wanda easily, and she's nearly in a deep sleep when the lights suddenly turn on, and a yelp is heard.

Wanda wakes up suddenly, shooting up with her heart pounding that it's a robber, but it's just you standing at the door with your hand over your heart and chest heaving. 

"Oh my god, you scared the shit out of me!" You scold Wanda. "I totally thought you were my sleep paralysis demon!"

Wanda rolls her eyes at the comment but frowns as you calm yourself and rummage through your closet for sleeping clothes. "What are you doing at home? I thought you were going to sleep over at Raye's."

"She got a call in the middle of everything. It was her sister or something having some kind of meltdown. Raye says her sister can be dramatic, and it happens once a month, but she couldn't really hang up. I got sleepy waiting, but I didn't wanna crash there to just sleep on a first date," you answer. 

"I'm sure you would've gotten some in the morning," Wanda mutters.

"I guess, but feels weird since it'd definitely be rushed," you take off your jacket and socks before heading to the bathroom. "It's fine, we'll probably reschedule for another date." 

"Perfect," Wanda sighs as she starts to get up. 

"Stay there, brat," you tell her as you stand at the door. "If you're gonna sleep in my bed, you better commit to the sleepover."

Wanda sticks her tongue out at you, which you return before you leave.

Tapping her fingers against the sheets, Wanda smiles. Maybe the night wasn't so hopeless after all. 

PART THREE

[peachsukii]

𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱

( chapter 4 - the grey )

『 ♡ pro-hero fem!reader x pro-hero bakugo; pro-heroes au | friends to lovers 』

status: on-going rating: mature (16+) #✩.hollowheart

꒰ summary ꒱ A glimpse of hope appears out of nowhere, giving Bakugo and Midoriya the lead they needed to pursue your location. It proves to be much more difficult than they imagine, so they call upon some friends for a search party.

꒰ tags & warnings ꒱ mentions of blood/violence, eventual & mild smut, kidnapping/abduction, experimentation, physical & psychological torture, PTSD, implied/referenced self harm, cursing, talks of trauma | angst with happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, regret, mutual pining, friends to lovers, insomnia, eventual romance

꒰ Ao3 version | word count; ~20.6k as of ch.4 ꒱ Master List Chapter 1 | Hurricane [5,092k] Chapter 2 | The Ghost of You [4,799k] Chapter 3| Choke [3,995k] Chapter 4 | The Grey [6,756k] Chapter 5 | The Good Left Undone Chapter 6 | Tourniquet Chapter 7 | There is Fear in Letting Go 『♡』 this fic has a playlist! ✩

"So...let me get this straight," Uraraka ponders, finger on her chin while staring up into her metaphorical thinking space. "She's underground?"

"Yeah, I know, it sounds fuckin' insane." Bakugo shakes his head as he crosses his arms defensively. "But we gotta try. She needs m- our help."

Midoriya nods in agreement and turns to the group. "Sorry to ask on such short notice, but thank you all for -"

"Like you have to ask!" Jiro interrupts, hands on her hips. "She's important to us, too ya know." 

Bakugo and Midoriya had called all of their friends the following morning of your text, gathering an emergency rescue group. Uraraka, Kirishima, Jiro, Mina and Todoroki dropped everything they were doing and met up at Bakugo's apartment the following night. They needed a plan, one that the agency won't catch wind of before they can execute it. It wasn't going to be easy, that much the boys knew, but the consequences did not outweigh the reward - getting you home, safe and sound, was their number one priority. 

"The agency doesn't give two shits about this, so we're takin' it into our own hands. I'm done sittin' around waitin' for a miracle." Bakugo's words are flat as he motions for the group to follow him over to the kitchen table to analyze the diagram that him and Midoriya drafted. He points to the left side to start explaining their plan.

"Ears, we'll need ya to figure out where the compound is located, see if you can hear vibrations or some shit. It's gotta be somewhere in this field. Pinky'll burn a hole to make an entry point for us. They'll keep guard while the rest of us go inside. I'm guessin' it'll have multiple floors, so we'll split into teams to cover it all. I'll take the first floor, Deku and Icyhot take the second while Cheeks and Red take the third. Get in, search for her and other hostages, get 'em out and fuck up anyone in our way." He stands back, shifting his gaze to everyone's faces. "Got it?"

"You sure you wanna go alone, Kat?" Kirishima asks, quirking his head to the side. "Not sayin' you can't handle it, but I wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

Bakugo grunts, casting his eyes to the floor. "It'll be fine. We'll have our comms and stay in contact."

Midoriya knew the reason why he wanted to go alone and didn't dare vocalize it to the group. He trusted Bakugo knew what he was doing, even if it meant going head first into danger by himself. They're top heroes - intuition is one of their strongest feats and he trusts his childhood friend with his life.

"Do we know anything about the drug they're making?" Todoroki asks, directing his question at Midoriya. 

He frowns in response. "Not much, unfortunately. I tried to analyze it in the agency lab and couldn't crack anything about it, didn't have enough of a sample to properly break it down. The only thing we know is that one dosage lasts about an hour."

"Deku, come with me for a sec," Bakugo demands, stomping past Midoriya and into his bedroom away from the rest of the group. Midoriya obeys and follows him down the hall, stopping in the doorframe.

"What is it, Kacchan?" he asks, unsure of what he needed him for. Bakugo droops his shoulders in defeat, palming his face in embarrassment. 

"Izuku, I need a favor." His voice is hushed.

Midoriya walks up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder to gather his attention. 

"Anything, what is it?"

"Don't make me say it," Bakugo grumbles, shaking his head in disbelief that he was asking him for support a second time.

Midoriya knew exactly what that meant. He silently wraps his arms around Bakugo, enclosing him in a soft hug.

"We'll find her, Kacchan, I promise."

Bakugo loosely returns the embrace with one arm. 

"What if I'm not strong enough to save her again?"

Midoriya pulls back to look him in the eyes. "That's not going to happen, we have your back - all of us."

Bakugo knows his friends would support him through thick and thin, but that's not what he's questioning. The possibility of letting you slip away a second time is slowly eating away at him, afraid he'll have to experience you disappearing all over again. A quiet 'yeah' is all he can muster before composing himself.

Bakugo pats Midoriya on the head as he leaves the room.

"Let's get goin'." 

~ TIME: 8:39PM

An hour goes by as the group makes their way to Sector 42, enough time for the sunset to fade into a starry sky and help hide their presence in the night. The seven of them re-group in the same area that you'd previously disappeared in - the barren field. 

"Where did you say the portal opened?" Jiro questions.

Bakugo walks over to a set of rocks, pointing at the area. "Right there. Deku marked it a few days after it happened."

Jiro nods and kneels to the ground. She plants both her headphone jacks to the dirt and focuses for a few moments, listening for any frequencies below them. She hears it straight away, the sounds of metal clanging faintly in her ears. 

"Found it!" she exclaims, unplugging herself from the soil. "About 20 feet deep, and it's a huge facility. I can't quite tell how many floors, but it's big." 

"Knew I could count on ya. Pinky, you're up. Make a big enough hole for us to fit through," Bakugo orders, standing back with the others. 

"Roger that!" Mina gathers a coating of acid around her hands, forming makeshift armored gloves. She began to dig while oozing acid into the ground, carving out a tunnel for the group. The others stood nearby, keeping lookout for any potential sneak attacks. Bakugo can’t help but repeatedly thump his foot like an angry rabbit, his patience wearing thin as he’s forced to wait, not able to direct his anger at anything in the moment. He wanted nothing more than to blow the whole place to smithereens, scoop you up, and take you home. Uraraka notices his fidgeting and pulls him to the side.

"You wanna talk?"

"About what?" Bakugo grumbles, scrunching his brows at her in annoyance. Obviously, he didn't wanna talk about anything at all, let alone his feelings.

"Fair enough. How about I make you a promise?" she says, extending her pinky to him. "When we find her in there, you'll be the first one we call."

Bakugo stares at her, blinking a few times before sighing contently. He wraps his pinky around hers. 

"Thanks, Cheeks. I...really miss her." He lets his hand fall away from hers as she gives his shoulder a light squeeze. 

"Me too. You better make a move once she's back!" Uraraka bats at his arm playfully before skipping back to the others. Bakugo's got his arms crossed and nose to the sky, failing awfully at hiding his flustered expression. Meanwhile, Mina crawls out of the hole she's dug, covered head to toe in dirt. 

"Hah...okay," she pants, out of breath and wiping the sweat off her brows with the back of her hand. "It's wide enough for two people. It takes you to a hallway...that's all I could see. Bit of a drop, so just be careful."And with that, the plan was in motion. The five infiltrators shimmy down the hole one at a time, dropping into the hallway as quietly as possible. Bakugo and Midoriya exchange quiet glances, noting how off-putting the silence is to their entrance. 

"Eyes up, keep a low profile, and call immediately if something happens," Bakugo whispers. "And try not 'ta get hurt."

The four of them nod in agreement at him, partnering up according to plan and going their separate ways.

~ TIME: 9:18PM

Things are quiet in the compound tonight - eerily quiet. It's been days since your distress text was sent to Bakugo, leaving you yearning for escape to the outside world. Did he have a plan? Are him and Midoriya on their way? The lady who helped you steal your phone hasn't returned since that night, not since she took your phone back to the contamination room. Something felt wrong about this setup, that same gut feeling invading your body like the night of your abduction. You can't help but feel guilty about pulling the boys into potential danger, but what choice did you have? There was no possibility of you being able to escape yourself, much to your dismay. It was physically impossible without your quirk. Being helpless has been humbling, but a fucking aggravating experience.

You roll over on the cot, tracing imaginary drawings on the metallic wall as a distraction. The annoying 'beep!' of a keycard sounds from the cell door, but no footsteps follow. You're expecting a barrage of harsh commands, but they never come. Even though that's peculiar, you don't turn over to investigate - you couldn't give two shits about anything in the place any longer.

~ TIME: 9:43PM

Once they've successfully navigated their way through the compound, Uraraka rounds the corner of the steel corridor on the third floor with Kirishima at her side. She stalks slowly down the hall, taking time to examine all their surroundings. 

“Hey, up there! Looks like another cell,” Kirishima mutters, pointing over her shoulder. She silently nods in response.

The two of them approach the glass wall of the cell and carefully peer inside. Uraraka audibly gasps and she scrambles to the door, anxiously fidgeting with the electronic lock. She kicks the door as a last resort and is shocked when the cell door pops open, loosely swinging inward on its hinges. She pushes her way inside, a soft smile crosses her lips when she spots your form on the small cot. You don’t move out of habit, assuming it’s a pissed off guard coming to grab you for another round of testing.

“Found ya,” Uraraka sighs, desperately trying to hide the tears pooling in her doe eyes.

Is that…?

You flip over at the sound of her voice, bewildered at her physically standing before you. 

She’s not an illusion...right?

“Ochaco?” You compose yourself as you sit upright. “Is that…really you?”

Uraraka doesn’t hesitate any longer as she’s rushing toward you, wrapping herself around your frail form. One of her hands makes its way to hold the back of your head, trembling fingers clutching a handful of your messy locks. Her warmth engulfs you and coaxes the emotions to the surface that you previously submerged, soft hiccups bubbling in your throat. You return the hug, squeezing her tightly and shrinking in her arms. 

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m really here,” she assures, quietly stroking your hair. Kirishima comes into focus over Uraraka's shoulder.

"Hope we didn't scare ya!" he says while wiping a tear from his cheek. He strolls over to the cot and takes a seat next to you, gently patting your back. "Good to see ya!"

Uraraka pulls back and moves her hands to your shoulders. Her eyes are glassy as her lips curl into another smile, her signature dimples adorning her cheeks. You haven’t seen the sun in a months time, but seeing her euphoric gleam more than made up for it in the moment. 

“Before we talk about anything, I promised someone a small favor,” she says, nodding her head. She clicks the earpiece that adorned her helmet with one hand while thumbing away a stray tear off your chin with the other.

Promise?

“Hey, Dynamight,” she says over the intercom. The mere mention of his hero name from Uraraka is enough to make the butterflies in your stomach flutter ferociously. You can barely make out his voice through the device, but hear Bakugo’s signature twang when he replies. It makes your cheeks flush strawberry. 

She grins at you as she replies to Bakugo, "I've got a message for ya."

Your heart stops as Uraraka releases her hold on you and reaches for her helmet. Her hair ruffles from underneath when she tugs it away and shifts to place it over your head. She runs her fingers over your hand delicately, urging you to talk to him. 

She mouths ‘go ahead’ while holding the intercom button for you. Kirishima pats you twice on the shoulder for encouragement. 

How does she know?

You swallow, hard. Every nerve in your body is firing on all cylinders. There’s an endless amount of things you want to say to him, but that moment isn’t here yet. You choose to settle on a greeting, praying you don’t start bawling your eyes out. 

“Hey Katsuki,” your voice quivers as his name leaves your lips. 

You hear Bakugo suck air through his teeth over the radio communication, knowing he’s probably cycling through a million emotions over the sound of your voice, too. 

He clears his throat briefly before responding. “Hey…y’doin’ okay, Lite-Brite?” 

You can tell by the way his voice trembles that he’s doing his damndest to keep his shit together. Uraraka continues to hold the button on the helmet, motioning for you to continue talking. 

“Never better,” you joke, huffing out a laugh. “Food sucks here, though. I had to trick myself into thinking it was your cooking to even stomach it.” 

He exhales a quiet laugh. “I’ll make ya whatever you want when we get home. Now get your ass movin’ so we can get the hell outta here.” 

The signal turns off with a click. Uraraka takes the helmet from your head carefully and places it back on her own. 

“You’re gonna have to tell me everything about you two when we get home!” she exclaims, pinching your pink cheeks lovingly. “I’ve missed you - we all have.”

“It’ll be a relief to have you home,” Kirishima chimes in. “C’mon, lets get a move on.” 

He stands from the cot and extends his hand for you to take. Him and Uraraka help you to your feet as you brush yourself off and fluff your hair over your shoulders.

“Are you hurt at all?” Kirishima asks, removing his arm from your back. He takes a look at your arms - they're covered in bruises of varying sizes and colors.

“Not on the surface, no. It’s a long story,” you explain. “The condensed version is they’re formulating a quirk suppressing drug. The experiments they’re running down here are fucking horrific.”

His face morphs into shock and slowly fades into sympathy. Flashbacks of the Overhaul situation from high school come flooding back to him, wincing at the thought of another anti-quirk uprising.

“But you’re okay?” Uraraka asks a second time as she takes your hand in hers, one pinky lifted to prevent her quirk from activating.

You decide to spare her the mental agony you've been through, saving it for later. “...yeah, I think so. Just exhausted. My quirk isn't fully restored, either.”

Kirishima’s earpiece beeps twice when a muffled voice comes through. He turns his head while clicking the button to respond.

“Yeah, we’ve got her. How’s it goin’ up there?” he asks. The voice that responds faintly resembles Midoriya's. He responds once more before clicking off the communicator. "Alright, we'll head up now. Hang tight!"

“There’s one stop I’d like to make before heading upstairs,” you say, knowing you do not want to leave the prison in your current hand-me-down clothes. “It’s around the corner.”

~ TIME: 9:54PM

Once you've successfully retrieved and changed into your hero suit, along with collecting your cellphone, the three of you proceeded to the second floor to meet up with Midoriya and Todoroki. You can't help but notice how the material hangs from your frame and no longer hugs you comfortably. It's to be expected, all things considered. Even though they fed you, the stress was more than enough to cause you to lose weight and muscle strength over the course of the month. If anything, it pissed you off to know you'd have to work hard to build back your prior stamina. 

They didn't bother to wash the damn suit, either. It thankfully didn't smell, per se, but was covered in aged splatters of dirt and grime. Your phone screen was also cracked, hinting that the lady who helped you dropped it "for effect," or some other stupid excuse to inconvenience you.

Your ears perk up at the sound of voices around the corner as Uraraka, Kirishima and yourself are approaching the second floor corridor. 

"There's only 10 hostages here, that's strange," Midoriya explains aloud, presumably to Todoroki. "I thought the reports noted more than 10. Maybe I'm misremembering..." his voice tapers off as he begins mumbling to himself. Oh how you've missed the sound of his rambling, something so minuscule but endearing about him. 

The three of you come into view, catching both of the boys' attention. Midoriya's eyes whip up toward you, emeralds glistening when they widen under the pale hallway lights. He’s charges down the hall to you, tripping over his own steps from the pure adrenaline pumping through his veins. 

"Izuku!" you cry out when his body engulfs yours, gripping onto the back of his costume and squeezing the material as you buried your face into his shoulder. You can't help the tears reforming in your eyes as he spins you around, overwhelmed with joy to see you safe and sound. Before you can stop the tears, you're sobbing into the crook of his neck - a combination of relief and dread. 

"Hey...it's alright, Y/N. You're safe," he soothes. "It's okay."

Midoriya places your feet back on the floor, pulling back and cradling your face tenderly. Not surprising, he's got tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, too. He wipes some of the tears from your eyes with his gloved hand.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?" he asks, dropping your face from his hands while assessing your body for any visible harm. 

"N-no. Couple bruises, but that's about it," you stutter, a sudden tremble taking over your body. "Quirk's not..." you trail off while your vision dilates out of focus for a second. Midoriya doesn't skip a beat and catches you by the shoulders.

"Save your energy, Y/N. I'll carry you upstairs, okay?" his smile is genuine, but you can tell it's laced with anxiety. "We'll get you back to the entrance with Ashido and Jiro, they're keeping watch outside. We'll get the hostages out of here, too."

You nod, the vitality within you draining at a brutal pace. Could it be withdraw symptoms of the quirk suppressant? Is it possible to get addicted to such a drug? You're not sure what in the hell they mixed with the drug itself, it seemed to be different concoctions with each test. You're praying to any deity that would listen to be free of this hell.

Midoriya gives you a quick peck to your forehead before turning around, arms out and ready to lift you onto his back. Uraraka places a hand on your back to help you into his hold, securing your arms around his neck and legs tucked at his sides. 

"Uraraka, Kirishima, come help me gather the hostages," Todoroki notions, waving a hand to the cells at the end of the corridor. 

"Go ahead, I'll regroup with Kacchan upstairs and get her to safety," Midoriya vows with determination. The others hum in acknowledgement as the party separates.

~ TIME: 10:02PM Bakugo's stalking the area of the first floor, seeing a bunch of empty laboratories and rooms with no one in them. No one has reported any sightings of scientists, workers, or anything since they broke into the compound.

What the hell? Ears said this place was rattling with vibrations. Somethin's not right.

He's habitually calm during patrol missions, but now? His nerves are on fire, shoulders tensed from the stress in his heart. Bakugo couldn't shake his intuition, guts churning with unease at the silence of the facility. A faint scraping sound catches his attention, spinning on his heel with an arm raised. Taking careful steps, he makes his way back toward the entrance and into, what he presumed, the large concourse.

"It's about time one of you shows up," a woman's voice calls out, reverberating off the walls. Bakugo jumps back a few feet, gauntlets raised and hands prepared to fire explosions at any second.

"Who the fuck are you?" he seethes, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent his anger from overflowing. 

He hates that his gut feeling was right. ~ TIME: 10:12PM Midoriya is taking his time with you on his back, vigilantly navigating the two of you to the first floor. He's attempting to keep you as steady as possible, even though you've told him multiple times you're unharmed. Your head is tucked against the back of his shoulder.

"You holding up okay?" he asks, tilting his head back toward you.

"Yeah, thank you. I feel like if I let you go, I'll float away," you mutter, bitting your lip to prevent more tears from spilling out of your eyes. You're so fed up with crying, not wanting to be perceived as weak - a damsel in distress. Midoriya would never think you're anything less than strong, and you knew that in your heart, but still can't help feeling powerless in the moment.

He gives a reassuring squeeze to the back of your thighs. "Don't worry, no one will take you away from us ever again."

BOOM!

Midoriya halts in surprise, looking upward as the floor shook. The sound shakes you out of your self-deprecating chain of thought.

"Kacchan?! What's going on?" he asks frantically into his earpiece. There's static on the other line - no response. A few more explosions ring out above you two, increasing in succession.

"Dammit! Hang on tight," Midoriya warns, rocketing down the hallway while green energy begins crackling around his legs.  ~ TIME: 10:14PM "Talk about jumping the gun," the woman taunts Bakugo, sneering in his direction from across the lobby. "Afraid of the presence of a strong woman?"

Bakugo stood his ground, eyes fixated on the woman in the lab coat before him. Was he scared of her? Fuck no, not in the slightest. The thing that frightened him was she was alone - no one else showing their face in the facility thus far. Where was the man that took you away into the portal? Or any of the "henchmen" from that night?

"What an honor to have a top ten hero visit our lovely establishment, especially number four himself."

"Don't flatter yourself, especially 'cause you're alone," Bakugo yells back at her. He's trying to weed out the possibility of a sneak attack and rile up the woman to reveal her hidden defense. He knows she's got backup here, but where the fuck are they be hiding?

"Am I, though? I thought heroes were trained to have keener senses." 

Shadows appear on each side of her as her words hang in the room, revealing two more white cloaked men armed with dart guns. They simultaneously aim at Bakugo, the canisters reflecting the dark liquid in the chambers under the dim lighting.

Shit...! ~ TIME: 10:15PM Midoriya is approaching the open lobby with Bakugo in his sights in the main concourse. You can see over his shoulder that he's standing defensively, presuming that the enemy finally played their ace. 

"Izuku, I need you to launch me in front of Katsuki," you instruct, pointing a finger to his location.

"What?! No! I need to get you out of here," he retorts, shaking his head.

"Izuku. Please." 

Midoriya huffs, knowing you will not take no for an answer. Your heart is in the right place - he's right. You're in a weakened state, you should be rushing to the exit.

But that's not what heroes do. ~ TIME: 10:16PM "It was nice of that naïve little bitch to drag more heroes into our testing ring! Want a sample, darling?" She boasts, one hand on her hip as she points toward Bakugo with the other. "I think he'd benefit from it."

Bakugo hears a dart gun fire, but is distracted by a burst of energy shot out of a nearby corridor, blinding him momentarily with its radiance. He covers his eyes with his gauntlets, bracing himself for a surprise attack from the front as he takes a knee to the ground. He could hear the sounds of feet scuffing in front of him, along with glass hitting the ground, as if someone slid in from the sidelines. 

It wasn't an attack - no, it was a defensive shot. He squinted to sharpen the image of the shadow of whoever rushed to his defense, assuming it was Midoriya.

Time ceases its natural flow as Bakugo realizes who’s standing in front of him. He was speechless, mouth agape as he couldn't help the few stray tears fall from his awestricken eyes and roll over the leather of his mask. 

A glimmering energy shield danced in front of the two of you as you peer over your shoulder, shooting him wink and a smile.

"It's fine now, Dynamight. Why? Because I am here!"

Bakugo snorts, laughing hysterically at the absurd comment. His laugh is contagious and gets you giggling - your heart soars into the heavens hearing his laughter again, his joy curing the darkness swirling in your head temporarily. You never thought a moment like this would return to you anytime soon, and yet here you are, cackling at a dumb joke with your best friend on the damn battlefield. 

"Get up already, idiot," you chuckle, turning toward and extending a hand for him to take. His signature shit-eating grin spreads over his lips as he takes your hand with no hesitation.

"You came," you whisper, his hand lingering in your grasp.

Bakugo smiles, his eyes the gentlest you've ever seen them. "You called."

He tugs you into a hug, careful not to crush you too much with his gauntlets. He wants to melt into a puddle with the way you're clutching onto him like you can't get close enough, burrowing your face into his chest. You breathe him in, the faint scent of burnt sugar filling your senses while clawing at the back of his hero suit, not able to contain the heartache of being apart for so long - how it could have been your final days in this wretched hell.

Finally - you're reunited. You've found him, and he's found you. 

Everything's going to be...okay.

"Y/N, Kacchan - watch out!" Midoriya calls from hall, black whip vines reaching for the two of you. 

But it's too late. 

Again.

The energy barrier crackles behind you as it evaporates into the air. Everything begins to fade into a haze, that all too familiar filtered vision returning to you. Soon enough, you're slumping into Bakugo, your feet failing to keep you upright. 

"H-hey! What's wrong?!" he panics, clutching you tighter as your arms go limp, letting go of his back. "Talk to me, Y/N! What's happening?!"

That's when Bakugo peers over your shoulder and sees one of the dart capsules stuck in the back of your thigh, the injection mechanism switched on with an empty vial. There's a set of broken glass nearby, but that was only one of the darts. The second broke through the forcefield, your quirk not strong enough to parry both shots.

You can take it - you've endured it for a month. 

What's one more dose?

"Fuck! Lite-brite, hang on, I got ya," he reassures while taking a knee, lying you down as daintily as he can before ripping the dart from your thigh. You don't react - shit, you can't even feel the needle being pulled from your skin. He watches your eyes glaze over, their usual shine lightless under whatever chemicals are working their way through your system. 

"K-Ka-Kat-suki...," you whimper through broken syllables, unable to form a coherent sentence. 

Bakugo strokes your shoulders. “I’m here, I’m not leavin' ya.”

"Aww, what a lovely reunion!" the woman chimes in mockingly, regaining Bakugo's attention. The guards next to her have sheathed their guns and stand with their arms crossed.

"Color me surprised that she not only has connections to top ranked heroes, but close relationships with them? Talk about luck."

"What did you do to her?!" Bakugo's chest tightens, fury brewing hotter within himself. Midoriya makes his way over and slides to the ground beside Bakugo in a defensive stance.

"Little miss hero has been such an obedient subject, our best results thus far. Her quirk factors are strong - exactly what we were looking for."

"What did you give her?!" Midoriya repeats, eyes narrowing in her direction. 

The lady cackles to herself, proud of her accomplishments in breaking you from the inside out for her own benefit. 

"She was gullible enough to believe I was an undercover hero! I let her reach out so it would be easier to round up more test subjects - especially heroes. These civilian quirks were getting tiresome and boring to study." 

You were so fucking stupid for believing her. How could you be so naïve? The torture of this place was getting to be too much...you needed a miracle, no matter how narrow the possibility of escape looked. The desperation to be free was stronger than the ability to see through her lies. 

"She fell into our laps at the perfect time. Her psionic energy quirk has been groundbreaking for our serums, especially the hallucination and forced quirk exertion compounds. Speaking of, that one should be kicking in any minute now."

On queue, your body begins to twitch on its own, a surge of energy zapping you back to life. It's as if you're being puppeteered by an invisible handler, rising from the ground and to your feet. 

Both boys rocket to their feet, taking a guarded step back from you. Your head hangs low while your fingers flex, a glow emanating from your palms. Before they can ask any questions, your head snaps up at them, a spellbound look in your now flickering irises. 

"-the fuck?" Bakugo mutters, a horrified expression on his face. The pain is excruciating as the pressure of the energy is begging to be released in any way possible. You can't vocalize the pain through your quivering lips, the only hint at the anguish being the lone tear streaming down your face. 

"Now, subject 57 - begin sequence 23," the lady dictates, clapping her hands.

The instinct to fight becomes impossible to ignore, drowning out all of your attempts to regain control of your body. Instead, you're on auto-pilot, launching an attack toward Bakugo and Midoriya. They dodge out of your range, but you pivot lightning quick toward Midoriya, gunning to attack him.

"Hey, it's me! Izuku!" he yells as he weaves through your strikes, thinking it could wake you up from the mind control of the drug. "You know me!"

You successfully land an energetically charged punch to the right side of Midoriya's jaw, knocking him backward before kicking him in the chest and sending him skidding across the concrete. 

Bakugo approaches you from behind while you're distracted, gripping your shoulders firmly. 

"Calm down! We can work-"

You silence him by placing a hand on both his gauntlets, not bothering to turn and face him. Shockwaves of energy come bursting from your hands - his gauntlets shatter into pieces instantly, leaving his arms and face cut open from the shards. Next thing he knows, your fist is connecting to the underside of his jaw.

Bakugo grunts from the impact, gritting his teeth as he's trying to hold onto you a second time. 

"Hey! I know you're in there!"

Should we answer the door, or slam it in his face? 

…who the fuck is in my head?!

The devilish grin settling on your lips is enough to send shivers down his spine - that's not you. Something’s gotta be fucking with you in your head from the drugs. He swallows nervously, not knowing what to do to help you. You shove him away from you with an energy blast to the chest, sending him careening to the concrete like Midoriya. 

Your chest is heaving, huffing and puffing as the drug surges through every avenue of your body. You can barely form a cohesive thought, let alone understand what's happening around you. It's as if you are seeing yourself through a kaleidoscope lens - this unknown version of you  in the drivers seat. 

“What a marvelous display of success!” The woman cheers, hands clasped in front of her happily. “The ‘Overdrive’ serum is exceptional in true combat.”

Something whips at you from behind and wraps around your arms and torso. 

“Stay…still!” Midoriya shouts, pulling the black whip vines taut to keep you in place. You wiggle in its grasp, grunting and thrashing around like a caged animal. 

“Ah, fuck that hurt…Deku! Let her go,” Bakugo calls out as he’s picking himself up off the ground, wincing at the pain in his jaw. “I got her. Take care of that bitch in the coat!”

“But Kacchan, the drug-”

“Trust me, dammit! Let her go before I make you!”

Midoriya retracts black whip as it releases its hold on you. He’s about to leap toward the group of scientists when the rest of the rescue team appears with the hostages in tow, scurrying down the far hallway. He motions for them to keep going to their exit as planned. Uraraka shoots him a nod and thumbs up. 

“Huh? Who opened the cell locks?!” The lady yells, pointing to the rescue team as they disappear down the corridor to freedom. She’s about to charge after them when Midoriya stomps in her path, fists raised in preparation to fight. 

“Your fight’s with me, lady. No matter what, you’re under arrest according to the laws of hero society. You can surrender, or I can make you surrender.”

“It’s gonna take a lot more than a threat to bring us in, hero. We’re making world changing progress that's far beyond your jurisdiction.”

Midoriya winds back and jumps into action against the scientists. Meanwhile, Bakugo’s got his eyes locked on you on the far side of the room, gesturing for you to come over to him. 

“I’m not gonna hurt ya, I don’t wanna fight,” he starts, taking cautious steps in your direction to close the gap between you two. “I wanna help, Lite-brite. I know you're in there.” 

You can't trust him, he's a monster and you're his prey. He's only here to hurt you, to keep you down. Don't let him near us...don't let him near us!

He stops in his tracks when you visibly recoil, clutching your head in your hands with a blood curdling scream. Midoriya whips his head around to the sound, catching him off guard and causing him to take a hit from one of the men. He shakes it off, trusting Bakugo with your well being instead of rushing to your side. 

Bakugo sprints to you, wrapping his blood stained arms around you with no hesitation. You flail, smacking at his arms with open palms, weakened energy pouring out of you with each hit.

Hurt...kill him. Take the monster down.

"Let go of me, Katsuki!" you shriek out of nowhere, hopelessly trying to shove him away from you. 

"No! I'm never letting you go again!" he shouts back, squeezing you tighter. The bursts of energy from your palms are kicking up in strength again as you continue to swat at his body, red marks forming on his exposed skin. 

"I'm not fuckin' losing you a second goddamn time!" 

He can tell that you're spiraling, that this serum is driving you mad inside your head. If only he could go into your mind and pluck out those vicious thoughts, free you of the agony and take some of that weight onto his shoulders.

If you don't take care of him, I'll make you.

"I don't want to hurt you, I can't control this!" You're sobbing, the looming thoughts forcing you to wallow in the pain. "Please...!"

Bakugo grapples the back of your suit, the neoprene material bunched in his shaky hands, locking in his decision to stay put. "I can take it...don't you dare let me go!"

Something in his declaration to stay by your side snaps you back to reality, enough to control the output of your quirk for a split second, stopping the outbursts of energy. The clouds in your eyes start to disperse, clearing the fog from your sight.

You can fight me all you want. I'll always be part of you, waiting in the shadows for you to break again. 

No words leave you as tears gush from your swollen eyes, bawling against Bakugo's chest in defeat. He loosens his grip to pull you away from him, forcibly making eye contact with you. His heart sinks at the sight of your bloodshot stare, but he can see that you're eyes are not as nebulous as before, energy no longer dancing around your pupils. Maybe the drug is wearing off? It's hasn't been an hour, but it's possible this version has a shorter fuse than the normal quirk suppressant.

"No need to cry," he comforts, thumbing away the tears dribbling off your chin. "Everythin's fine. See? Just a few scratches." He points to his biceps and cheek, tiny cuts from the shards of his gauntlets explosively bursting apart. 

That well-known lightheadedness from past experiments returns tenfold, your body's energy depleted to nothing. Bakugo must see the exhaustion in your body language as he helps you settle onto the ground. He takes the mask off his face, untying the back of it. 

"Sit back for a sec."

Bakugo pushes the hair out of your face and runs his hand into your hairline, brushing it back as he stretches the leather of the mask over your forehead. He ties a small knot at the back and tucks it under the remainder of your hair, creating a makeshift headband. Once he's satisfied with it, he taps the earpiece to call into the rescue team.

"Need someone to call the agency, get the cops here an' round up these assholes."

Kirishima responds instantly. "You wanna call the agency? I thought-"

Bakugo cuts him off. "Change'a plans. Get on it, Red! And have Cheeks come back down, need her to lift Lite-brite outta here." He huffs before tapping the earpiece a second time to disconnect the line and casts his eyes toward Midoriya. Two of the scientists are knocked unconscious, the only person left being the witch that started it all.

Bakugo's attention is drawn back to you at the sound of your sniffling. Your tears have dried on your cheeks, faint stains reflecting in the light. He knows you're safe now, no longer lashing out uncontrollably from the fucked up substance in your system. You look like you could collapse and pass out at any moment, but are fighting the urge to let yourself rest.

"Hey," he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear. You turn, head tilted to the side like it's too heavy for your neck to hold, blinking lazily at him.

Even in this disheveled state, Bakugo is aching to kiss you. He knows it's not the right time, not even close to the perfect moment, but the desire burning a hole in his chest is difficult to ignore. Fuck - he didn't even know if he was ever going to see you again outside of his dreams, and here you are.  ~ TIME: 10:38PM "You think you have me cornered, don't you?" the lady jeers at Midoriya. "A revolution is upon us - my revolution. My masterpiece is ready."

Without warning, she pulls a dart gun out of her lab coat, positioning it against her jugular vein. The sounds of her wicked snickering fill the concourse as the dart gun fires, injecting an unknown toxic into her bloodstream.

"Kacchan!" Midoriya cries out, catching Bakugo's attention. "We've got a problem!"

The dart gun clatters to the ground as the scientist convulses, her limbs spasming unnaturally as she wails in pain. She composes herself after a moment, raising her gaze from the floor to Midoriya, her eyes aflame with energy pulsing out of them.

Holy shit. 

She's got your quirk.

"Not so tough now, boys! Now come on, let's dance!"

⋆ ˚ʚɞ — i'm so, sooooo sorry for the delay on this chapter! hopefully it being the longest in the series makes up for it! i honestly just kept writing, deleting, writing, deleting for over a month. but i'm content with this. enjoy the ride! ⇢  tag list! @bakugouswaif @k1tk4tkatsuki @bells2319 @st0nedbitch @deftonianfr @musicbecky @bakubae-by @slayfics @maddietries

[aprilleoblog]

All the prompts were created by @wingstobetorn <3

Welcome! 💙💛

This event is for anything and everything April and Leo, platonic or romantic, your choice! Below are lists of the prompts as well as the rules for participation.

Prompts!

First Meeting / First Kiss

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Rules!

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You also aren't restricted by the number of prompts you want to include or how you choose to include them. Your allowed to pick and chose which days you feel like participating in. But please abide by the rules, this event is SFW so we please ask you not to include any NSFW. Again if you have any questions please message us. Please use common sense and no hate allowed towards any of the members.

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There's no need to sign up, and any form of fanwork is welcome, just simply make sure to use warnings properly when posting on AO3 and post to the collection when event dates come.

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When posting make sure to tag accordingly, be respectful, and just have fun with it! We can't wait to see what you make 💙💛

[lixxen]

I'll tear out your heart, it'll always be mine - The Spot x Male!Reader

I have an idea of what Jonathon Ohnn would be like if he'd be in this situation. He is a bit silly and I love him so much. Gonna cross post on AO3 when I get out of work tomorrow (today? It's 3am).

Send me an ask and I'll answer any questions about this small AU and I'll maybe write more!! (I did. This is an alternate version)

Title is from this song.

Warnings: slight obsessive behavior towards the end. Violence (canon typical). SFW

--

"Oh shit-"

The words came tumbling out as limbs flailed and hands grabbed onto said limbs.

Y/n had been sitting at home, minding his own business in his apartment when all of the sudden a giant black hole appeared and a spotted man came falling out.

The man had landed directly on top of Y/n, causing him to yell and flail.

"Hey, hey! Stop m- stop moving!" The strange man almost cried out, grabbing at the stray limbs that were assaulting him.

A closed fist was thrown at the man's face, which made him yelp. Y/n's hand went straight through the giant black spot on the face and came right out next to the man's head. It barely missed him, but Y/n panicked. He yanked his hand back with a small disgruntled noise.

"Who the hell are you?" Y/n tried to grab at the man's face, going for the white part, but the man grabbed his hand this time.

"The Spot!" The man heaved out slightly, as if he was out of breath. Y/n stopped flailing as he gave the man a confused look.

"Like... That dude who people have been talking about on the radio stealing shit?" Y/n squinted at the man in utter confusion.

"YES! I mean. Yes." The Spot nodded quickly and let out a triumphant noise. "That's me!"

Y/n took a good look at the man on top of him.

His limbs were long and awkward, as if he was stretched out ever so slightly. It was disproportionate to his solid trunk of his body. His skin was a pure white, the type that a fresh Tshirt would be, with inky black dots shifting across his skin.

"You seem so much gangly and awkward in person." Y/n's words came out and he couldn't help but grimace at himself.

"You know, that is so rude of you " Y/n bet that if the Spot had a face, he'd look offended. "Has anyone ever told you to never comment on people's looks?"

Y/n let out a snort and the Spot let his arms go.

"Has anyone ever told you that dropping on top of someone in their home, uninvited, is rude?" Y/n responded and moved to push the man off of him.

The Spot moved to get up, letting Y/n push him off practically. The Spot stood above Y/n and watched as he had moved to sit back up.

"It's not like I wanted to be here."

Y/n did recall that the reports had said he seemed to not know how to use his power quite yet, so that made sense.

"Well" Y/n dusted himself off and looked back up to the spotted man. "I would like to ask you to leave. As much as I'd like to chat, I do have things to do."

"Feisty." The Spot grumbled and pulled a spot off of himself. He flinged it against the wall, where it stuck and grew in size. "See you around."

"Yeah." Y/n watched as the Spot climbed through the spot. "Sure."

--

It had been months since their first interaction, and Y/n couldn't seem to shake the spotted bastard.

More and more frequently, the Spot seemed to show up whenever he pleased. He would simply open up a spot in the middle of the living room, walk out to grab a piece of fruit that was kept on the dining room table, then walk back out.

Sometimes, if Y/n was unlucky, he would actually stay a bit and ramble to Y/n.

Y/n learned that his name was Jonathan Ohnn. He was an Alchamex scientist who had been effected by the destruction of Wilson Fisk's tower and other events in the last year.

Apparently the accident had turned him into the being he is today.

Without a job and family, the Spot just seemed lonely and desperate for any interactions and money. He stole small things so he could pay rent from some shady slumlord that had connections to Wilson Fisk. Nobody else would home some spotted lab experiment gone wrong, so he did what he had to.

Y/n almost felt pitty for the guy. It wasn't necessarily his fault that all of this happened. He apparently just wanted to study alternate realities and ended up aiding in the space time continuum being sliced open.

Y/n had given in by now, letting the man crash at his place sometimes. He would let the Spot sleep on his couch, giving him time to watch the spots slowly disappear from his skin as if his powers were connected to his consciousness.

Y/n was now leaning against the Spot as they watched a soap opera on his television. The skin underneath his felt akin to skin, if not more rubbery and smooth. Almost as if it was a giant scar. He was cool to the touch on his limbs, but his head and rest of the body was warm.

"I don't understand why she doesn't go for Daniel." The Spot mumbled as he shoved popcorn into the large hole on his face.

That hole seemed to be the closest he had to a mouth and eye. It consumed food when he wanted it to and would change size like an iris. It was so odd, as the man didn't excrete anything. Y/n made sure to ask about it. The stuff that went in disappeared, as if his body absorbed it as pure energy and matter.

"It's for the drama." Y/n shrugged and pressed his cheek against the Spot's shoulder. "I thought you lived for drama?"

"Not this kind." The Spot would have rolled his eyes if he could.

"I know." Y/n smiled and looked up to the Spot.

Their time together had given Y/n a soft spot for the man. Today was the day he was going to offer him a place to stay. There was a second bedroom he kept as storage. He could buy a futon easily. He wasn't completely broke, and if push comes to shove then the Spot could steal it.

"Hey, Spot." Y/n started.

The man looked down to him and tilted his head.

"You know you can call me Jonathan, right?" That was his only response.

Right.

"Yeah. Totally." Y/n nodded. "Would you want to move in, Jonathan? You're always here and you won't have to do anything drastic anymore. No more stealing."

Jonathan was oddly quiet. He was only like this if he was thinking. It was almost eerie, especially when the spots on him stilled.

"Yes. Sure. I..." Jonathan put a hand on Y/n's arm. "Are you sure? I'm a freak of nature and I don't have a job. I am a liability and a burden."

"You need to get out of your shitty apartment, so I don't see why not." Y/n shrugged. "You can have my extra room."

Jonathan hummed before sighing.

He looked as stressed as someone without a face could.

"I could. Would you genuinely not mind?" Jonathan turned his whole body towards Y/n, who moved to sit up and put his hands on Jonathan's knees.

"I offered, right?" Y/n offered a small smile.

Jonathan looked down towards Y/n's hands and placed one on top of them. Y/n could tell that something was wrong.

"No one has been this nice to me since this happened." Jonathan looked back up.

Y/n brought his free hand up to Jonathan's face, tilting his head slightly.

"I won't abandon you, I promise. I care about you." Y/n rubbed his thumb across Jonathan's cheek, watching as the spot on his face get smaller as if it was closing.

"Promise?" Jonathan asked quietly.

"Of course."

--

Y/n stared in horror as emergency services cleaned up the rubble that was once his job.

Spider-Man and a villain had came blasting through the window and ended up destroying his job. He had gotten bruised and cut up in the process, which wasn't bad.

But it was the fact that the mom & pop restaurant that he helped manage was destroyed beyond repair that was bad.

"Y/n." The owner, Mr. Giovanni, approached.

Y/n felt a pit in his stomach as he looked up from where he sat. The man looked red eyed as he sat down next to Y/n.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think we'll be able to come back from this." Mr. Giovanni spoke quietly, only for Y/n to hear as people rushed by. "I am sorry. I didn't want you to have to loose a job this way."

Y/n looked away, taking a deep breath and pressing his ash covered palms onto his closed eyes. Emotions bubbled up in his chest and he could feel his eyes water.

"Don't cry, dear child." Mr. Giovanni put a hand on Y/n's back. "I can help you get a new one. I have strings I can pull."

"I... I don't know." Y/n dropped his hands from his face. "Would it be soon enough to keep up with rent?"

It had been almost a year since Jonathan had moved in. A year of supporting two people on one income that was better than what most people in his situation would have. This would ruin their financial state.

"I would hope. But no saying if it would." Mr. Giovanni frowned. "That boyfriend of yours still don't have a job?"

"He isn't my boyfriend." Y/n shook his head. "But no. He has a condition that makes it so nobody wants to hire him."

Mr. Giovanni hummed and whispered how it was such a shame.

The two sat in silence before the fire department walked up with an officer.

"My name is Officer Morales. Could we have a minute?" The officer spoke to Mr. Giovanni.

Mr. Giovanni turned to Y/n before handing him his final paycheck and leaving.

Y/n sniffled as he pocketed the money and got up. The walk home was filled with anxiety and self pity. It bubbled with anger the closer and closer he got to his home.

Y/n stomped up the steps of the apartments, going up two at a time. He unlocked his door with more force than needed, pushing himself in harshly. He slammed the door behind him. The apartment rattled at the force.

"Woah!" Y/n heard Jonathan from the depths of the apartment call out.

Y/n took off his jacket, gripping it in front of him with both hands. His bruised and dirty hands shook as his angered bubbled up.

With a loud scream that ripped through his throat like fire, Y/n threw his jacket as hard as he could towards the wall and fell to his knees.

"Y/n?!" Jonathan called out and there was footsteps running through the small apartment.

Y/n's eyes welled up with tears as he started to hard sob. Hands found their way to his shoulders, pulling him up slightly.

"Y/n, what happened to you? Who hurt you?" Jonathan asked, his voice warbling slightly. "Are you okay?"

Y/n let out a hiccuping sob as he opened his eyes again. Jonathan's face spot was blown wide and did the solar flare that happened when he was upset. His spots were shaking and swirling, coming off his body in the way that he'd seen solar flares reach from and back into the run in videos.

The hands moved their way to Y/n's face, holding him in place and inspecting him.

"Y/n, why are you bleeding and bruising?" Jonathan's voice sounded like it was glitching and about to cry himself.

"A fight." Y/n tried to take a deep breath, but it kept catching on the lump in his throat. "Spider-Man and a villain crashed into my job. They destroyed everything. Spider-Man tried to stop him. But I got thrown by the guy."

Jonathan's face spot shrunk at the mention of Spider-Man and the villain.

Y/n knew he held grudges against the poor kid, as much as Y/n tried to tell him that the couldn't have known.

"They did what?" Jonathan rubbed a thumb against a dry patch of blood on Y/n's cheek. "What villain?"

"The one with the wings. Vulture?" Y/n sniffled. "My job though... It's gone."

"Your job is gone?" Jonathan slowly took a hand off of Y/n's face and put it through a spot.

"The place was demolished. Mr. Giovanni told me that he can't afford to fix everything." Y/n explained as he watched Jonathan pull his hand back to them, with a wet cloth in his hand. "He said he'd try to get me a job."

Jonathan was oddly quiet as he slowly wiped Y/n's face. Y/n couldn't tell what he was thinking as he dragged the cloth across the now scabbing cuts. It stung slightly, but Y/n didn't flinch. He was too focused on the pinprick spot on Jonathan's face.

"Jonathan?" Y/n frowned.

Jonathan hummed in response, the spot flicking upwards for a second towards Y/n's face.

"You're quiet." Y/n stared simply.

"It'll be okay. I promise." Jonathan was oddly vague. "I'll make everything okay."

"What do you mean by that?" Y/n frowned.

"Don't worry." Jonathan took the cloth away and tilted his head. "Now, let's go get you food."

--

Jonathan Ohnn was a simple guy.

He normally wasn't one to step up when someone fucked him over. He normally let things brush by. Why would he fight people when he knew that everything was worth it.

It wasn't until Spider-Man ruined everything that he had felt worthless. His life was suddenly ruined; he lost his job, friends, and family. He felt alone and like his spots were eating him alive. He didn't feel human.

That was until he accidentally stumbled upon Y/n.

Y/n had cared for him, even with how he looked. He became friends with Jonathan over months and then took Jonathan in. He felt tied to Y/n. The two were two strings within an interconnecting web; tied together and forever interwoven.

The amount of anger and pain that Jonathan had felt when he saw Y/n crying in their foyer, beaten almost to a pulp, had been the worst he had felt since he had lost his life.

It felt as if he had crumbled again. He never wanted to feel that again.

So there Jonathan was, walking into a bar off of 42nd. It was a known villain bar that no one messed with. Something having to do with the sacred ecosystem of crime.

Or something like that.

Jonathan stepped into the bar and watched as heads turned towards him.

"Holy shit." One man grumbled and turned away. "Someone let the spotted one in."

Jonathan didn't care. He looked around the bar until he saw the Vulture.

The man had cuts across his face, a bruise of two littering his arms from the fight that destroyed Y/n's job.

"Hey! Who invited the D-lister?" Some villain in the back called out and others laughed.

Jonathan felt anxiety spike in his stomach, but walked towards the Vulture. He hated hearing the whispers about him, calling him a shitty villain. A joke.

He was getting tired of being a joke to literally everyone.

Jonathan stopped in front of Vulture, who simply looked up with a raised eyebrow.

"What'd you want, dalmatian?" Vulture mumbled into his beer.

"You destroyed Giovanni's." Jonathan simply stated. "You ruined perfectly good people's lives."

A few men around laughed at that.

"What of it?" Vulture sighed and sat down his beer, fully turning towards Jonathan.

"Someone whose very dear to me worked there. You threw him across the room like a sack of potatoes." Jonathan clenched his fist.

"Shit happens. You know that. We've all heard your story." Vulture cracked his neck and turned away. "Now get lost, you joke."

Jonathan took a deep breath and punched the man.

Quickly, a fight broke out. The flailing of limbs and drawing of fists had ended with Jonathan being thrown out of the bar.

He cursed as he watched the bar owner slam the door behind him.

"Fuck them." Jonathan grumbled.

He stomped away, before seeing an ATM sign across the street.

--

Y/n looked up as Jonathan dropped a wad of cash onto the dining room table.

Y/n blinked and frowned. The cigarette burning between his fingers was getting close to the end.

"Please don't tell me that spat you got in with Spider-Man was to get that money." Y/n was hoping Jonathan wasn't going to fall into this slippery downfall.

"No." Jonathan shook his head quickly then paused. "Well. Actually yes. But that's not the point."

"Then what's the point, Jonathan?" Y/n had an uneasy feeling.

Jonathan had came back late. He was acting irrational, mumbling about God knows what. It almost sounded like tongues by how quickly Jonathan was speaking and waving his hands.

"I thought you quit cigarettes a year ago?" Jonathan deflected, pointing at the now burnt out bud.

Y/n held a sour expression as he rubbed the bud into an old and stained ashtray.

"I told you I have one every whatever when I'm stressed. I did quit." Y/n tossed the bud into the nearby trashcan before looking back to Jonathan. "Now, what'd you do?"

"Nothing!" Jonathan held his hands up in defense. "I was doing a job and I ran into my nemesis!"

Y/n hummed and rubbed his face with one hand.

"Y/n, you look tired. Have you slept? Do I need to fix the fan in your room again?" Jonathan kneeled down to put a hand on Y/n's face.

"I'm just. I can't sleep sometimes. Anxiety." Y/n smiled up at Jonathan. "You know how it is."

"I do." Jonathan nodded before taking his hand away.

Y/n watched Jonathan as he took a few steps away, opening up a cabinet and pulling out random items. He was seemingly collecting them for god knows what.

"I do have something to do tonight!" Jonathan's voice was bubbly like normal. He was seemingly excited for whatever he was doing. "It could help fix everything!"

"Do you want to share?" Y/n asked.

Jonathan shook his head quickly.

"No!" It sounded like he would be smiling. "I will need a lot of power though! I have plans for us. I can fix everything and make sure things will go how they need to be."

Y/n felt worried now.

Jonathan had never been like this.

"What'd you do?" Y/n asked again.

"I found something out about my holes!" Jonathan did a little bounce as he walked. "I can access the multiverse!"

Y/n noticed now that his spots were almost all gone. There was his main one, but that was it.

"Where are your spots?" Y/n frowned.

"Used them up. I'm gonna get more, don't worry. It'll all be okay!" Jonathan sat his items in a little basket and turned to Y/n.

"Are you going somewhere?" Y/n stood up.

Y/n had a horrible feeling. Jonathan's hole was warping and flaring. He looked more skittish than normal. Something was horribly wrong.

"Yes. I'll be back! I promise. At least a few hours!" Jonathan grabbed his stuff and turned to the door.

"Please don't leave me " Y/n stepped towards Jonathan, who paused in the doorway. Y/n held a hand out and hoped he would listen.

"I have to go." Jonathan's tone was soft and low. "I'm going to fix everything. I'll be back."

And with those words, Jonathan left.

--

Two days.

He had been gone for almost two days.

Y/n sat on his couch, watching as the news played. He was hoping that if he watched the news closely, he'd eventually see if Jonathan did anything.

But he hadn't.

Not since a building nearby had holes in it and what was called a mini collider being found. Y/n knew it had to do with him.

Y/n sniffled and lifted up the remote. He was about to change the channel, but the news suddenly shifted.

The bar on 42nd that was known for villains was now being live streamed from a helicopter. The building was on fire and many villains that Y/n vaguely recognized could be seen laying outside of the building.

Then, as if on cue, another was thrown out of the bar. Y/n could only imagine the sound of the body blasting through the wooden door and frame, crashing into the cement as bones broke.

It took Y/n a second to realize it was Vulture.

The others villains slowly started to move, but Vulture didn't move at all. Heads turned to their fallen friend before looking back to the door of the bar.

Y/n could see a rippling on the screen, almost as if it was gliching where the door of the bar was. Then the being stepped out.

It was a pitch black, almost warping, figure. The limbs kept glitching and lagging almost as they move. An arm lifted up and an inky hole appeared above the Vulture. Rubble fell through and crushed the villain.

Y/n covered his mouth and choked on the air in his lungs. It was terrifying to watch as police officers shot at the beings, but it did nothing. Then the being looked at the helicopter.

Y/n could now see a giant white spot on the face and a few on the being's body.

Just like Jonathan.

Then it clicked.

It was Jonathan.

Y/n let out a strangled gasped as he grabbed the remote and clicked the TV off. He moved quickly. Pushing himself up and turning his body to move towards his bedroom.

He needed to leave the apartment. What if Jonathan showed up? What if he hurt Y/n like he did to those villains.

Y/n only made it halfway before he heard a crackling.

In front of him, in a blink of an eye, Jonathan appeared.

He was an inky black that never stopped shifting. His white spots were even worse as they never seemed solid. He had an odd crackling noise to him that almost offended Y/n's ears.

"Y/n." Jonathan spoke first. "I'm back."

"You said a day."

It was the first response that came to Y/n's head and it made Jonathan laugh. His voice was warped and crackling like his body. It sounded almost autotuned. Terrifying.

"I kept getting stopped by annoying little arachnids." Jonathan shrugged. "But I am here now. I have to complete my journey before we can have everything."

Y/n took a step back, his eyes slowly watering.

"What do you mean?" Y/n couldn't stand to see Jonathan like this.

"Y/n, I'm doing this for us." Jonathan sounded like he was frowning. "They take me seriously now and I am getting back at the people who hurt you. Who hurt me."

Y/n shook his head as Jonathan continued.

"Spider-Man created me, ruined my life. He ruined your job. I took care of Vulture already." Jonathan held out his hand. "Please don't step away from me. Please."

His voice was pleading as he realized that Y/n was terrified.

"Y/n, please don't leave me. You promised me you wouldn't." Jonathan started to plead. "I know this isn't what you wanted, but I couldn't just stand around and let them do this. The things they said to me. About me. About you."

"You promised that you wouldn't do something like this." Y/n shook slightly as he backed away again.

Jonathan took a large step towards Y/n, who now realized how much bigger Jonathan had gotten suddenly. He was almost a half foot taller. Must be from a power surge.

"I'm doing this for us." Jonathan's voice whined as he took Y/n's face with his hands. "Look at me! I love you so much and I couldn't watch as you spiralled."

His voice had gotten louder, but Jonathan's hold was gentle. What you would call his skin felt like electricity now. It didn't sting, but felt like touching an old TV screen with your hands.

"You mean so much to me. I'd do anything for you and you know that." Jonathan's voice had quieted back down. "You don't understand the lengths I'd go for us to be together and safe."

"Then why did you have to leave?" Y/n was crying now. "We could have been happy here. I could have gotten another job."

Jonathan was quiet. His face spot had stilled slightly, as if he was debating something.

"I have to do one final thing. Then we will be together." Jonathan nodded. "I promise. Okay? Then you can get a job and I'll make sure no one can find us."

Y/n nodded and put his hands on both of Jonathan's.

Jonathan nodded also and pressed his forehead against Y/n's. The two stood like that for a minute before there was a noise outside.

Jonathan's head snapped up at the noise and his hands dropped from Y/n's face. He seemingly glitched as he phased through different spots to reach the window.

Y/n watched as he stuck a hand through a spot and yanked it back.

In Jonathan's hold was Spider-Man. The kid thrashed within Jonathan's hold and Y/n gasped.

"Jonathan! Don't!" Y/n took a few steps forward.

"I have to deal with this." Jonathan didn't look up. His voice was oddly flat. "I will be back."

A spot appeared next to Jonathan and Spider-Man. Y/n sprinted towards them, but it was too late.

Jonathan and the spider had disappeared into the spot. Leaving Y/n alone, once again.

Y/n let out a scream before he fell to his knees.

Nothing good was going to come out of this.

[suzukiblu]

Day thirty of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU. And yes I DID win NaNoWriMo, thank you for asking. ❤ This is the last day of NaNo, obviously, so I'm gonna take a little bit of a break from this fic due to being just sliiiiightly burned out from writing 1k+ a day in it for the past month and all, but I intend to start editing it and posting chapters of it on AO3 in the next week or two, so it'll be both easily bookmark/subscribe-able and updating on there soon!

They go through all the boxes, Tim suffers a bit for it, and Kon laughs and makes him suffer more, the bastard. It’s fun, though, even if now Tim would really prefer to never stick his hand in another box ever again in his life. 

The last box Kon directs him to is full of layers of distinctly cashmere-esque fabrics, and Kon smiles a little and ducks his head again. Tim is disgruntled, but charmed. 

They wander through the exhibits, and Tim feels pretty good about his activity-picking when he realizes Kon’s stopping to look at all of them and actually seems interested in all of them. They have to circle back a couple of times so Kon isn’t doing anything too super-powered in front of other guests, but they do hit all of them. Some of them are more interesting than others, in Tim’s opinion, but Kon still tries them all. Tim wouldn’t complain even if he were bored out of his mind, though, given how invested Kon gets in sorting and mixing the tables full of colored glass beads and making waves and whirlpools in the water fixtures and manipulating the kaleidoscopes and chimes and everything else. 

Kon spends the least amount of time with the auditory and olfactory stations, though he’s happy to try all the little hors d'oeuvres that Tim assumes are supposed to be covering “taste” for the exhibit. Visual he seems generally curious about, but definitely tactile wins. Like–far and away, does tactile win. They spend twice as much time at the tactile stations Kon is least interested in as they do any two of the others. Tim doesn’t mention it in case it’s not on purpose. He still doesn’t want to make Kon feel self-conscious or anything. 

Anyway, the tactile parts of the exhibit were the whole reason he picked this as a date activity, so what, is he going to be bothered by having made the correct deduction or assumption or whatever? Not freaking likely. Actually if anything he’s going to need to privately gloat to himself about this later. Bask in it a bit. 

Also take some notes for future dates and things to buy Kon and whatever else. 

More cashmere, to start. A lot more. 

Tim sneaks a few more pictures of Kon as they walk from station to station. Kon laughs at him every time he catches him and takes one of him too, which is incredibly flustering. Tim cons him into a few selfies in self-defense, which turns out to be a terrible idea because it still involves him ending up in pictures and, worse, involves him ending up in pictures with Kon, who takes the excuse to press in close and kiss his cheek and just be all kinds of appallingly adorable, the asshole. 

Kon uses the first picture he took as Tim’s contact picture and makes one of their shared selfies his phone background. Tim is mildly mortified but also desperately wants to earn lockscreen status, which is a terrible idea because what if Kon ever takes his phone out around the team or Red Tornado or, god forbid, Bruce? 

Tim should definitely make sure Kon doesn’t put him on his lockscreen. 

. . . but like, if he did . . . 

There’s a clay station. Kon stays at that one the longest, making weird little abstract shapes and surprisingly accurate miniature versions of the sculptures tucked away in the corners of the gallery with TTK. Tim hadn’t even noticed him looking at any of the sculptures, but in retrospect he never actually needed to “look” at them, did he? And on that note, Tim guesses the accuracy shouldn’t be any kind of surprising either–Kon must have a really good sense of spatial awareness, if nothing else, and of how things “should” be shaped. 

By the time they get through the last station of the exhibit, they’ve been at the museum almost twice as long as Tim’s most optimistic estimates had allowed for and he’s had to sneak off to the “bathroom” for five minutes to push their reservation back an hour. Tim has absolutely zero intention of rushing Kon, especially if he’s having a good time, so it just makes more sense to reschedule than to put him on a schedule. 

Though he did have to actually make sure to go into the bathroom to do it, since Kon might’ve noticed him not heading that direction. Tim doubts Kon’s paying attention to what anyone’s doing in the bathroom, for obvious reasons, but he still probably would’ve noticed the date he was briefly concerned might be a supervillain just ducking around a corner to make a phone call ten yards away, no matter how Bat-stealthy said date was about it. Like, that seems like a stupid thing to expect him not to notice. 

They stop by the gift shop on their way out–well, Tim detours Kon to it with subtle herding, anyway–and Tim manages to convince Kon to pick out a couple of things. He ends up with a couple of sort of fidget toy-type puzzles and a little three-pack of little tubs of a clay-like play sand in bright colors, which Tim thinks is probably meant to function as some kind of stim toy and was probably something specifically sourced to go with the event, and Tim “accidentally” throws in a couple of fancy candy bars from the front register. Again: Kon needs calories that weren’t directly sourced from cafeteria food from a definitely-not-OSHA-compliant cloning lab. 

Maybe Tim can send Kon a fruit basket or ten while he’s still stuck at Cadmus. Those probably come in tropical themes. 

Alternately, maybe he can just kidnap Kon outright and trap him in a nice new cul-de-sac until he gets used to it. He could get him actual groceries, then. Lots of them. Fruit and vegetables and entire spreads of “things that weren’t made in an OSHA-noncompliant cafeteria”. That’d be nice. 

Also he could send that Hawaiian food truck by on the daily, if they were up for it. 

They share the candy bars on the walk to the restaurant–meaning, Tim takes two perfunctory bites of each and tricks Kon into eating the rest with basically zero effort–and it’s . . . nice, honestly, just walking around together. Just being together. Not that this is new knowledge, after the mall, but it’s still novel enough that Tim can’t help indulging in and enjoying the experience. They don’t usually get much time alone together, much less time that isn’t spent either fighting supervillains or dealing with emergencies. So–it’s nice, yeah. 

Tim likes it, he means. 

They make their adjusted reservation, and Kon peers around the restaurant awkwardly as they’re led to their table. Tim resolves to do whatever it takes to get him to relax, up to and including embarrassing himself in some way or another. He’s probably going to do that anyway, given how most of these meet-ups have been going. 

“Does it qualify for ‘nice’ enough so far?” he asks once they’re seated, and Kon blushes, then flashes him a grin. 

“It’s okay, I guess,” he says, then bites his lip with a brief flicker of insecurity as he glances down at the menu–specifically the prices on the menu. “Um . . . are you sure you wanna spend this much on me, though . . . ?”

“I want to spend my entire trust fund on you,” Tim says matter-of-factly, and Kon lets out a weird little laugh and ducks his head again. It works a little better this time, since he has the menu to hide behind right now. 

“I already like you, man,” he says, which is still inexplicable but not something Tim is actually gonna argue with. “You don’t have to keep buying me stuff.” 

“I like buying you stuff,” Tim says. “I’m gonna keep doing it as long as you’ll let me.” And after that, he’ll figure out a way to sneak doing it. 

“Just because you like it?” Kon says, glancing at him over the top of the menu. 

“Because I like you,” Tim says. “I mean, no offense to the hostess, but I wouldn’t enjoy buying her dinner this much.” 

Kon bites his lip, then ducks his head again. His face is red. Tim feels the urge to kiss him again. He probably should’ve found time to do that on the walk over or something. Or as soon as he first saw him. Or just at any point so far tonight, because the urge is getting seriously distracting now. 

“So when you said you wanted to go somewhere after this too . . .” Kon trails off, flushing darker. 

“There’s a late show at the planetarium about the sun’s role in our solar system and the life cycle of stars,” Tim says. It might be too loose an association, but . . . “I thought you might be interested in checking it out.” 

Kon stares at him for a moment, then turns absolutely crimson and hides behind his menu entirely. 

“Okay,” he manages, his voice a little cracked. Tim’s pretty sure he could’ve said he’d rented them a hotel room and gotten a less embarrassed reaction. So . . . that’s a thing. 

Okay. 

“I really do want to spend the money on you,” he says. “Apartment and all.” 

“An apartment,” Kon says, glancing over the top of his menu at him again. “And bills and groceries and an . . . allowance.” 

“Yes,” Tim says. No point in beating around the bush, he figures. It’s all things he’s already told Kon anyway. 

“And not just because I saved your life,” Kon says. 

“Not just because you saved my life,” Tim agrees. “I just want to give you those things. Or anything you want, really. Which–well, what would you want?” 

“Um,” Kon says, just barely lowering his menu as his eyes skate away. “Well . . . could we like . . . keep hanging out outside the theoretical apartment and stuff? If we did . . . that?" 

Tim feels something absolutely giddy and absolutely painful in his chest, hearing that question. Just–what does Kon think, that he just wants to toss a lease at him and never see him again? Or just only come over to . . . actually, wait, maybe Kon does think–ugh. Ugh. Fuck, that is not what he’s trying to make Kon worry about here. 

“Yes,” Tim says firmly. “As much as you want.” 

“Mm,” Kon says, biting his lip again. His face is still red. Tim wants to give him every single thing the world hasn’t given him, which he knows for a fact is a truly fucked-up and probably borderline-insurmountable amount of things. 

But he still wants to give it all to him anyway, and then think up a few more things besides.

[pockybeagle]

I've got this in my head, and I just want to get it out because if I keep going over it, it'll turn into a fic, and I don't want it to. It's just a phone dialogue, based more or less in the present time, where Alex calls Miles to ask him something:

‘Do you know Ao3?’

‘Conversations start with a hello, Alex,’ Miles replies, with an amused snort. ‘But- yeah, it's kind of like fanfiction and wattpad, isn't it?’

‘What the fuck is wattpad?’ was Alex's reply, which made Miles click his tongue.

"It's like fanfiction and ao3- it's- fuck- it's like- remember that time we found a story where a fan had written that you and her met and fucked? Well, they're all used for the same thing. I mean, not to write things about you fucking fans, but people use them to write their own versions of stories they like, or series, or actors or-"

‘They wrote that we fuck!’ exclaimed Alex, shocked, and all he got in response was a consensual silence, almost as if Miles had stopped breathing. ‘Did you know about this?’

‘Um, yeah, something-something I knew,’ Miles replied, slightly uncomfortable.

‘And why didn't you ever mention it?’ practically shrieked Alex into the phone's microphone, making Miles' eardrums ache. "There's a lot of people who are convinced that we fucked and-!

"Well, Alex, I think we encouraged that rumour quite a bit, don't you? Do a little mea culpa,’ Miles said, with a snort. Alex, again, shrieked.

'It was a fucking publicity stunt, Miles, and yes, the idea was to create that buzz but - but not this, Miles. There are hundreds of stories where- have you read any of this?’ he asked suddenly, in a slightly accusatory tone. Miles felt his cheeks burn.

‘Some things, just out of curiosity,’ he replied, and went ahead to clarify before Alex shrieked again. "I wanted to know if people wrote things about me, yeah? But no, there's a lot of fics about you fucking fans but of me- there's only fics of me fucking with you,’ he said, with a snort that was a mixture of indignation and amusement. ‘I should be the more annoyed of the two of us, at least some of my fans should be fantasizing about fucking me,’ he protested, though he let out a laugh at the same time. Alex must not have found any of it funny.

‘Your fucking fans fantasise about you busting my ass!’ he protested, scandalised, and his almost sanctimonious tone (Miles knew Alex wasn't exactly a prude), made him let out a laugh. ‘Don't laugh you fucking pervert! Why the fuck are them writing this? And why are you always the one who-?’

‘Not always,’ Miles interrupted him, with a playful tone that was meant to relax him, but he must have guessed that Alex was in no mood for laughter.

‘You seem to know too much about this!’ he accused him again.

‘I did my research,’ he replied, guilelessly, even if his cheeks still burned slightly. Alex, on the other end of the line, stood for a long moment in silence.

The silence became too long, so long that Miles began to feel slightly worried.

‘Are you really as good at fucking as they imply in these stories?’ asked Alex finally, always acting completely unexpected, even to Miles who had known him for so many years.

‘I'm indognated by that question, Alex,’ he replied, falsely indignant. ‘Obviously, those stories don't do me justice,’ he had expected a witty or mocking comment in response, instead, all he heard was Alex passing his saliva heavily, he could almost visualise in his eyes his Adam's apple lowering. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Curiosity,’ Alex said, in an all-too-innocent thread of a voice. Alex only sounded innocent when he was guilty.

‘Would you like to-know if it's true?’ asked Miles, taking a too-risky leap he'd been avoiding taking for many, many years but-why the fuck had Alex called him? That fucker never did anything if he didn't have a plan behind it.

‘I know, you just told me,’ was the terse reply. ‘I just wanted to know if you were aware of this, and I see that you are and I'm outraged that you're not outraged,’ he added, resuming his annoyance. Miles clicked his tongue.

‘Oh, Alex, it's almost a compliment,’ Alex's response was a snort that surely summed up several insults. ‘In any case, the proposal still stands,’ Miles repeated, not knowing where the courage to insist came from. Maybe it was the beer he was drinking.

'Proposal?'

‘Yes, if you ever want to know if those stories are similar to reality or not - I could show you,’ Miles replied, also using the tactic of sounding too innocent and casual.

‘Those stories have filled your head with absurd ideas,’ Alex said, snorting. ‘It wouldn't be like that,’ he added, pointing out the absurdity. "They're fantasies, reality is always different. It's like porn and-"

‘It would be fucking better,’ again, silence. ‘I'm sure it would,’ he added, incredulous at his own audacity.

‘You're cocky,’ Alex said with a nervous chuckle, Miles clicked his tongue.

‘Confidence isn't being cocky,’ he replied. ‘We could-’

‘I gotta go, Miles, I'm busy,’ Miles must have expected that, maybe that's why Alex's escape wasn't a surprise.

‘Yeah, sure - keep enjoying your - reading,’ he said, and it was he who hung up the phone, not waiting for an answer.

Alex was going to call back, Miles had known him for twenty years, and he didn't know how he'd gotten into his best friend's head - but once Alex had something on his mind he was unable to get it out of his head until he got it.

And at that moment, that something was Miles. It was a sudden surprise but - fuck, that was his lucky day, wasn't it?

At midnight, Miles was sitting on the couch at home, drinking a beer and watching an unwatched TV show. It was just as the clock struck 00 that his phone rang and he smiled, knowing he had just won a fight he never fought.

‘Hi Alex,’ and just like that, that's how it all started.

[smokeys-house]

⭐️Also available on ao3!⭐️

💫 sequel to TCKD 💫

⭐️ Art by @miranagi, writing by @smokeys-house ⭐️

The Cane King's Daughter: A Story for Another Time

"Ah, Miss Puukko, I thought I'd find you here!" Moominpapa arrived through the kitchen door of Moominhouse, finding his wife and an old friend cooking in tandem for the evening's dinner to come. "The children said they saw you coming down the mountain not too long ago. It's been a while since your last visit!" He smiled, dusting off his hat before placing it right back atop his head. He looked as though he'd been in a hurry to get here.

"Aye, that it has." Puukko was squinting as she struggled to dice vegetables, the counter was quite low for her, and the kitchen quite small. She ducked underneath the stove's hood in order to add them to the pot. She wasn't terribly large, but she'd gotten quite used to living in a house her own size. She was happy to help, albeit much happier when the help was getting something down from up high.

Moominmama chuckled softly at the sight of the large moomin stooping in her kitchen. "Why don't you help papa set the table? I can finish up in here." The pair left Moominmama to her cooking as they brought dishes and silverware into the dining area. Moominhouse was calm, quiet, and now filled with the aroma of a nearly ready home cooked meal.

"Miss Puukko, forgive my er, uh, impatience, but uh, I do believe last time you were here you had said you had a story for another time." Papa began organizing each table setting.

"Aye. I believe I did."

"And it would appear, er, uh… that it is another time. Isn't that right?"

"Hmm… I'm thinkin' ye might be right. Can't be sure. Now what was it?" She playfully rested her snout in her hand with her arm crossed beneath it, striking as contemplative a pose as she could muster.

"I believe you were telling us about how you got caught. After Marion had joined your crew." Mama said, entering with a steaming tureen of stew, and setting it upon a potholder on the table.

Puukko eyed the other table settings. "I'm afraid that one's a bit impolite. Mightn't be good fer the young ones."

"The children are out camping this evening, I've just seen them off before arriving." Papa said, taking his seat. "They won't be back for at least another two days, if the weather holds."

"Then why'd we set the whole table and cook all that extra stew?" Puukko asked.

"It'll be nice in case they come back early. If they get rained out I'm sure they'll want some stew to warm them up." Mama smiled as she sat at the head of the table adjacent to her husband.

"I see… It's still not the nicest o' stories I fear. I think it can wait fer after dinner at least." Her reticence was apparent, as she idly fiddled with her utensils. She was seated across from Moominpapa, next to Moominmama.

"Nonsense, go right on ahead! No need to spare us the details, we're all adults here." Papa said. He was eager to hear the rest of the story, his repeated encouragements were evidence of that enough.

"Well… I s'pose ye earned it after sittin' through the first part. Ye know where it all started, but some time after that…"

–

Years had passed since Captain Whetstone had become legend in Marseille. Stories and songs alike featured a fearsome and dashing rogue doubly wounding a wealthy rum purveyor. The Cane King, as he'd taken to calling himself, had grown rather fond of his reputation after thoroughly scrubbing it of any misgivings. Each version of the tale was told a bit differently, but Jules Cartier, the man himself, was eager to remind the public of his own sanitized version.

There was always a pirate by the name of Whetstone. She was often depicted as devilishly handsome, and highly capable. Just as often, though counter to the first, she was depicted as monstrous, or drunk and oafish. Regardless, one thing was certain: she'd steal off with the Cane King's daughter. The fight that occurred at Cartier Manor was witnessed by many, though few spread the truth of Jules' cowardly actions following his defeat in the duel that day.

In the time since, Captain Whetstone and her now first mate; Marion Cartier, had plundered many ships associated with the Cartier family business. If there was a crate with the Cane King's face on it, the crew of The Honeyed Word was not far behind. Despite this brazen and rampant piracy, the age of swashbuckling sailors seemed near an end. Those that still engaged in the splendors of piratical adventure hung their hats in Nassau, living a free life off stolen coin. Legends had risen and fallen just like the waves they'd sailed upon, and yet few remained afloat.

"Cocoa?" A fillyjonk woman with a soft voice knocked at the door of the Captain's cabin. She entered just after.

"Ah, no thanks. I'm afraid it doesn't mix well with pipesmoke." Captain Whetstone replied from her seat at her desk.

"No, I mean as in the last bit of your name. Ko-Ko. It's cute. It makes for a good nickname." Marion was, as always, earnest to a fault. "I've just seen the quartermaster, he and I feel we've taken on all we can for the time being. That last haul was a big one!"

"Aye…" Whetstone said, taking in a deep breath before continuing. "Don't ye be callin' me that where the crew can hear, lass. Not but one knows me by Puukko these days. And that'd be you."

"But Whetstone's no fun for nicknames, cap!" Marion teased. She never seemed freer than when dressed for a day's work aboard a ship. Despite having her life upended all those years ago, it seemed she'd finally found where she belonged. She'd long since abandoned her garish trappings, finding herself far more comfortable in clothes fit for salted air.

"Nassau." The captain stood from her chair, smoke gently drifting from atop her pipe. "That's why we're sailin' fer Nassau. Dump the lot on the usual friendly faces." Her voice had grown raspy and deep over the years, but not without charm. She approached Marion, casually resting her paw upon her lover's cheek as she cleared the hair from her face. She took a moment to look into her eyes. Sapphire blue, and bright like stars. For all the time she'd been hardened as a pirate, she'd thought nothing could make her feel quite so soft again.

"Captain?" Marion stood awkwardly, blushing brighter with each passing moment. She beheld the captain's face, rugged, yet kind. Jules had given her quite the scar, a large streak bereft of fur stretched across her left eye.

"Marion.. I been doin' some thinkin'. Ye been talkin' of want fer t' see the world, and I been thinkin'... maybe I could be the one t' show it to you." She hesitated a moment, searching for the right words. "Whaddaya say after we clear the haul, you n' I find somewhere’s quiet fer a while. We could be t-"

"Crosstrees, captain!" Shouts erupted from the top deck. "Nigh on in range!"

Captain Whetstone tensed, balling her fists. Both her and Marion made for the top deck. Whetstone retrieved her spyglass, extending it to view a ship fast approaching.

"Pirate hunters." She said, laden with disdain. "I know this lot. Spanish privateers." She collapsed the telescope, turning to face the crew. "Full sail! Catch as much wind as she's able! We make fer Nassau!"

The crew got to work with haste. Every member of the crew knew exactly what they were to do, and did it fast.

"More and more of them these days, it seems." Marion said with a sigh, taking up a position near her moomin companion. "Do you think there'll be anyone taking patrol up near Nassau?"

"I'm countin' on it. Maybe a ship 'er two out 'n about. If not, well… it'll be fireworks fer the lot of 'em if they end up close enough to that ship old Hornigold beached."

"They ought to know better than to sail into these waters. They're getting bolder."

"I fear ye might be right." The captain took up the helm, stern and stalwart. The wind was fast and favorable, and The Honeyed Word took to it, sailing fast as she could. Several loud thumps forced their way through the humid air as smoke billowed like rain clouds from the gunports of the hunter ship, sending cannonballs hurtling toward their target.

"Git down!" Whetstone shouted a warning to all that could hear. Everybody laid still on the deck, covering their heads. Within seconds the sea was shattered into fine mist against the shot, narrowly missing the hull.

"No hits captain! Just out of range!" One of the crewmembers came up from the gundeck.

"Prepare to return fire, but hold! We're makin' a run fer it! Man the rear swivels!"

The hunter ship closed in on the port side, narrowing the time left for an escape. They fired another volley. Cannon after cannon fired near in unison, the majority just barely missing their target. Wood splintered violently as the iron round shot disrupted its shape, tearing through railings and walls above the waterline of Whetstone's ship.

"Booble's beard! I think she means t' board us!" The captain shouted as she got back to her feet once more. "Give 'er all we got, lads!" The crew fired on the hunter ship as it came within range, blasting the hull in several places.

"Good hits, Cap'n! But she's still on us!" A young man from the gundeck shouted.

The Spanish ship was gaining on them, and the Honeyed Word's cannons would not be ready for another volley until after the privateers had time to close in for a broadside. Whetstone's crew rushed to load their cannons as fast as they could, while others scrambled to get to their weapons and prepared to be boarded. The two ships were rapidly approaching the waters near Nassau, both focused on one another rather than their course. The hunter ship began firing grappling lines in high arcs in an attempt to catch the railings of their quarry.

Pff! Pff! Pff! BOOM!

The comparatively lesser blasts of the boarding guns were interrupted by the sound of over fifty cannons firing almost simultaneously. Captain Whetstone watched in awe as the ship that was just chasing her was sundered in a matter of seconds. The ship was there one moment, and then in its place lie only flotsam. The grappling lines that hung from the railing went limp, falling into the sea. Everything was for a moment, silent, save for the rolling of waves beneath. They hadn't gotten within range of Hornigold's safety measures, and yet their attackers were dealt with all the same. She looked ahead, utterly confused to see a Man O' War of the king's navy anchored just outside what she had known to be the haven of all pirates.

"Strike the colors, boys!" The captain shouted in disbelief. She looked around and took in the scene. "Hoist the white flag. This ain't a surrender, but I'll be damned if we get blasted t' smithereens like those fellers did."

The crew sailed slow to their destination, and were not fired upon. The Man O' War was too big to slip between the sandbars and would run aground if it sailed any closer. The Honeyed Word anchored a careful distance from shore further in than the hulking giant of a ship that had nearly shot them down. Several of the King's smaller ships were anchored nearby and otherwise sailing the area, but none of his men were seen immediately ashore save for a party of three now discussing something with a pirate down on the beach.

"Marion, I think it likely fer the best if you and the crew stay aboard fer the moment. We might be in an awful hurry t' get outta here afore ye be knowin' it." Whetstone eyed the conversation through her spyglass. The tension was high and visible in all those involved, but had yet to boil over.

"What are you planning on doing?" Marion asked.

The captain checked one of the pistols in her brace before tucking it right back in. "Just gon' ask a few questions is all. I'll be back before supper, worry ye no'."

"Just be careful. Ruth won't be here to save you like in Marseille."

"There ye'd be right, but there ought t' be at least a few dozen what sail a black flag still ashore. Can't 'ave all been shot down on the way in." She shrugged.

A short while later, the captain had arrived on shore as the tender her crew had brought her in on made its way back to the ship. The conversation she witnessed had come to its conclusion seemingly without a fight. She wandered into Nassau proper, aiming to avoid the eyes of the King's men. The veritable shanty town that encapsulated and surrounded the proper buildings of Nassau were usually alive with scores of merchants and merry-makers, instead they were filled with a tentative silence. Great change was coming, and its harbinger was anchored just on the horizon.

Canvas covered tents and makeshift shacks led onward into the heart of town, and it remained just as quiet. Captain Whetstone trod what once felt a familiar path in caution, an uneasy feeling in her gut as she took in the emptiness.

"If yer here fer nonsense, you'll assuredly find it this day." A voice like tumbling stone called out from a hammock tethered between a post on a house's porch and a palm tree.

"Calico Jack." Whetstone sighed in response. "I'd have thought you busy with yer own brand o' nonsense as usual. What in blazes is goin' on here? Where's everyone gone? Why's there a behemoth of a ship skulking outside Nassau?"

"Like I said. Nonsense. The King's come a'callin' fer a pardon. Any pirate that's wanting fer an out can get back into the good graces of his majesty, loot untouched. Everyone's holed up or arguing amongst themselves about where to go from here. Seems too good t' be true, but old Benji boy seems quite taken with the idea." Said Rackham. He gave himself a push off the ground with his foot, swinging his hammock a bit. "And them that don't sign their name?" He dragged his thumb across his throat.

"Hornigold? Ain't he practically the founder o' this place? Why give it up? We've got real freedom here."

"Founder and mayor, or so he thought himself. Among others I s'pose. The King's seen t' that, too. You be knowin' a man by the name Woodes Rogers? Failed privateer or some such. He seems to know you."

"Aye, I know of him." She thought of the moomin in the powdered wig at Cartier Manor. She chose not to bring it up.

"That'll be yer new mayor. Appointed by the crown and everything." Jack seemed as carefree as ever despite the news, his arms thrown behind his head. "Hornigold seems to think the place he built up on stolen gold could grow into something proper. I think he's gone dotty in his age an' just wants fer a statue of himself." He coughed out a coarse laugh, wheezing a moment as he wound back down.

The Captain's mind began to wander. If it was true, she could get the quiet life she wanted with Marion, away from the rigors of life at sea. She'd be free, but would Marion consider it freedom? She'd been too nervous to ask her, after all, it was Marion's dream to sail and do as she pleased. A pirate's life suited Marion better than it ever had herself, and her stint as a pirate had only just begun. Retirement had been Whetstone's goal until she met the fillyjonk she loved, but could she do so without the guilt of clipping her wings? Could she give her the freedom she'd always wanted without the risks of swashbuckling and seafaring? Each of her thoughts peppered her mind, the circular nature of it causing her to lose focus.

"You should go see Hornigold. Make of all this what y' will with yer own peepers. I'm going to take a very long nap… to clear my head." He placed his hat over his face.

"Where's he supposed t' be?" She asked. In response, Jack loudly pretended to snore. The captain tapped the underside of the hammock with her foot. "Rackham. Where's Hornigold at right now?"

"I'm sleeping!" He shouted as he turned over. The scent of booze surrounded him as he shifted. Whetstone kicked him again, harder this time. "I'm sleeeeeeping!" He sat up and sang loudly. A pewter mug flew out the top floor window of the building he was anchored to and struck him squarely on the head. He yelped, covering his head as he lay back down in his hammock.

"Damn it, Rackham, you lout! I know you ain't do much of it, but some of us is tryin' to think!" A woman with dark hair in a green waistcoat leaned out the window. "If yer looking fer Hornigold, he's up at the old fort overlooking the shore. Seems to spend an awful lot of time there these days. Nice seein' ye by the way, Whetstone. Wish it were under brighter circumstances."

"Thanks, Mary. Glad t' see some folks still got their wits about them." Whetstone said, happy to see a familiar face with some thoughts behind it.

"Careful up there. He's like to have Rogers with him. Don't let him force ye to sign something you ain't thought about."

Captain Whetstone had never really been to the old fort save for wandering by, but she had always seen it on her way in. Last she'd seen it, the fort was mostly dilapidated and deserted. It hadn't seen use since before Nassau was Nassau, and the defenses that had been put up focused primarily on the inlets rather than the surrounding sea. It seemed as though it had been worked on recently, with new bricks having been laid in some areas and a few spare cannons brought over. Supplies, crates, and tools were strewn about the fort, and new doors had been placed on a few of the scant interiors. Men of the King's navy armed with rifles lined the walls, closely and silently watching the captain as she searched around. She tucked her paws into her pockets as she walked, uneasy in the open space surrounded by unfriendly eyes.

"Hornigold?" She knocked on the new door, pressing her ear against it to listen.

"Enter." A voice said from within.

Whetstone pushed open the door, revealing that the interior had been decorated, although sparsely, with furniture and the trappings of an office. A stone spiral staircase led down on one side of the room, and a closet mirrored it on the other. Daylight poured in through the gaps in the window's impromptu cabinet doors, highlighting the peeling paint on and splintered wood within.

An older snork man sat in a chair behind a desk. He had short brown hair combed neatly to the side, fitting just between his ears, atop pristine white fur. His frock coat was gray and well maintained, beneath it was a clean and spotless white shirt. He removed his reading glasses and set them aside, before clearing his throat and folding his paws on the desk.

"Captain Whetstone I presume. A pleasure to meet you, I'm Governor Woodes Rogers."

"I knew that bastard hired a phony Rogers…" Whetstone thought aloud, just below speaking volume.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothin'! Nothin' important anyway. Ain't I supposed t' be the one beggin' fer a pardon?"

"No, I mean, I don't know what you just said."

"So there isn't a royal pardon?" It was almost never clear if she was joking or not.

"There…There is, yes. Sit down, please, and we can discuss matters further." He was clearly already very tired of dealing with pirates. The captain sat down, not wishing for any misunderstanding with several armed men just outside.

"His majesty has decided to extend his grace to any who have committed acts of piracy, they need only sign their name, give up their ways, and they are free to go. Any who do not accept this offer are to be brought in as criminals and or hanged given the severity of their crimes. No tricks, no games. We've enough trouble with the war as is, and needn't have the constant fear of pirates alongside enemies of the crown."

"So it's be pardoned or get blasted to bits by that Man O' War on the way out, is it?"

"No. Everyone's free to leave. They've all got till the fifth of September to turn themselves in, and after that they'll all be hunted down." Rogers spoke sternly and plainly, but not unkindly. "You, on the other hand…"

Just as Rogers finished speaking, Benjamin Hornigold rose from the stairwell, a flintlock pistol in his paw. His round hemulic silhouette was cut short by the sharp angles of his coat, and the broad shoulder pads within it. He pointed his gun right at Captain Whetstone, who immediately stood and reached for hers.

"Still as a sandbar, Whetstone! Don't get grabby with anything shooty 'er sharp." Hornigold pulled back the hammer on his pistol. He entered the room fully, but just beyond the range of being tackled to the ground. He'd seen much and done much in his day, and moved with purpose.

"What in blazes are ye doin' Hornigold?!" Whetstone raised her paws in the air. She eyed her surroundings as best she could, not taking her focus off her supposed ally. Rogers remained completely unfazed, sitting calmly at his desk.

Hornigold whistled loudly. "Right, boys! Kindly relieve Miss Whetstone of her belongings. She won't be needin' em much longer."

Two of the navy men from outside answered the call, entering and slowly approaching the captive captain. They flanked her on either side, while Hornigold kept his aim on her.

"Why are ye doin' this? There's a pardon, Hornigold! We can be free again!" Whetstone said. While not committed to the idea yet, her renewed hopes were being dashed before they had a chance to grow.

"Because we cannot have you roaming free anywhere in a civilized world. Most of these men became pirates out of a loyalty to country or kin, and can be reformed. You fight for nothing. You work for nothing. You do nothing but take for the thrill of taking!" Woodes Rogers slammed his fists on the desk as he stood. "I was a privateer… I traveled for five long years around the globe. My own brother was killed at the hands of scum like you. Do you know what happened to me upon my return? I was sued by my own crew for lost wages." He paced the room, the tension was palpable as he did so. The men that had arrived to disarm the captain had not yet made an attempt, instead listening to Rogers' story.

"I was badly wounded the day they took my brother. I had barely recovered by the time I arrived home. I had praise for my accomplishments, to be certain… but I was destitute and alone. Some time later I hear of some… would-be folk hero pirate– who showed up in France and stole away with some pompous fool's daughter." His composure was beginning to break as the volume of his voice began to rise. "My exploits are many, and yet no songs are sung of me. No plays written after me. My legacy exists only in a book I penned myself! I've fought to be remembered. And you… some lazy, layabout nobody… you've captivated the hearts and minds of countless men, women, and children. Tales are told about you and your purported skills and the things you've allegedly done. Doubtless riddled with lies. And to top it all off, you've roped me into your shenanigans by placing me at your duel in Marseille. You billed me as a coward and a buffoon." He turned his back to her as he paced, paws folded behind him. "You are a pox! Upon this world! A blight on the name of sailors everywhere!"

The man to the captain's right reached for one of the pistols in her brace, slowly removing it. Just then, she struck the man to her left with her elbow square in the nose, knocking him unconscious. He grunted hard as he fell to the ground. She took the other man's neck in her raised right arm, spinning him to her front as she drew her other pistol.

tst-BOOM!

Hornigold fired at the captain, instead wounding the man she captured in his shoulder. She tossed him aside and went to rush Benjamin as the navy man stumbled to regain his footing. Hornigold threw his spent gun at her, deftly backstepping as he readied a second pistol from the small of his back. Whetstone fired back, missing by a hair as she batted the thrown gun aside and sprinted toward him. He managed to bring his second gun to bear before she reached him, stopping her in her tracks.

"Enough!" He shouted. "Don't make me shoot you, Whetstone." His voice betrayed a hint of regret.

Several more navy men poured in from the door after hearing the shots. They pointed their rifles at her in practiced formation from the rear.

"Nassau's future depends on this! We can't win a war with the crown. I won't be givin' up what I've built here after so long!" Hornigold tightened his grip. "Just give it up. Please. I want a part in Nassau's continued growth. Rogers won't let that happen if yer still knockin' about."

The captain balled her fists as she growled. She was surrounded thoroughly, with no chance of escape.

"You are to be taken to England and hanged as an example. An omen to those who'd fly a black flag rather than accept the pardon and live as honest sailors. If the legend of Captain Whetstone is to be told with me in it, it will be told with a definitive end." Woodes said, sitting back down in his chair. "Your crew has already been captured, overpowered by mine and Benjamin's men. They'll be tried, and likely hanged as well. Take her away."

–

Puukko took a moment from her story, and along with it a sip from her glass. She'd hardly touched her stew, despite its enticing aroma. She found it hard to speak about those days beyond the stories worth telling. The rest of it ate at her all these years, her piled regrets folded neatly like so much laundry. She scanned her hosts’ faces. She hadn't reached the grim parts of her tale, and yet already she'd felt she'd cursed the valley with recountings of such hot blood. Neither Moominpapa nor Moominmama seemed to be put off by the story so far, each listening attentively as they ate.

“Spent weeks aboard Benji's ship. I were tied down below deck with nothin’ but me fur and a scarce bit o’ food n’ water here and there. Spent the whole time dreamin’ up revenge plans while I rotted away, but by the time I'd been brought into a private cell somewheres, I'd given up hope. M’ crew’d all been held someplace else, somewhere they usually hold pirates afore their trial I s'pose. I was put in some guarded camp with a myriad of small outbuildings, probably cells in each of ‘em. Pirate after pirate took pardons, and it were as close to the end of the golden age as you could put a point on. Word got out of my capture and soon-t’-be execution ‘round England. Sounded like the bells were tollin’. Spent maybe a day ‘er two in that cell starin’ at the moon through the bars too high fer me t’ reach. Just sat there hating myself for what I'd done to Marion. The sentence I'd sold me crew and t’ her most of all. Head was full o’ hate. Hate and fear and sorrow and all sorts of other things…”

Puukko set her spoon delicately atop the thick stew in her bowl, the surface tension holding it a moment. She watched it sink. Her eyes were distant, heavy with the fog of memory. She continued once again.

“Rackham and Read had taken the pardon. First thing they did with their new found freedom was t’ pinch a crate o’ hand grenades. Weren't sure if that part were part o’ the next bit, or if they were just feelin’ like celebrating with a bang.” She chuckled a little, though in a somber, almost mournful manner. “Anyhow, they tracked me down an’ blew the cell wall out. Quite the jailbreak. Mary took a bullet to the calf fer me then, on the run out. Not sure how we pulled it off, but after we'd made it out she'd spilled her beans about how she were fixin’ t’ save me crew, too. Whole lot, Marion included. Trouble was, she were part o’ that plan, but now she'd been shot she weren't able to do nothin’ and the execution was just a few days out. She gave me all she knew about Rogers and comp'ny an’ who what where an’ why, but it would be up t’ me to pull it off. Plan was half-baked at best, but then again I never was good at followin’ a plan.”

–

“I have had enough of fancy manors an’ fancy folk.” Whetstone said, crouched behind a hedge alongside Calico Jack. The evening air was taught and cold, but thick with the sound of a dinner party from within a mansion across the way. Similar large houses dotted the area, sprawling out from the city.

“Least you won't have to do any running tonight, missy. If ye can stay quiet, that is. You look like a bear, and smell like one, so I'm hopin’ ye can climb like one. Anyway, dear captain, I fear I've work to do! See you on the other side of all this mess.”

“Thank you, Rackham. Give Mary m’ best. In case I don't be seein’ ye.” Despite the tense atmosphere, she couldn't help but wonder just how Jack of all people would know what a bear smells like. She shook the thought out of her head.

The original plan Mary had laid out involved fine clothes and playing at being high status to get into the manor, but without Mary's wit and relatively unrecognizable face, they'd have to make due. Jack wandered off into the street, feigning a drunken stupor. He approached a duo of guards stationed at the gate, bottle in hand. Each were stout looking hemulens with constable attire and billy clubs to match.

“Oh, don't ya just hear the old man say? Goodbye fare ye well! Goodbye fare ye well!” Jack sung slurredly, now stumbling directly in front of the guard on the left side of the gate. The captain watched in quiet anticipation from her hiding place.

“Make tracks, piss-pot! This ‘ere ain't another pub for you to crawl into!” The guard shouted as he shoved Jack back into the street, nearly toppling him.

“What’s is he sayin’? That he don't… that he dun’t like my song?” Jack pouted looking over at the other guard, who was clearly bored with his duties. Rackham began singing again, practically shouting. He wandered straight into the open gate, scanning the area as he sang. “Oh don't you hear the old man say! Hurrah! Me boys! We're homeward bound!”

“Invite only! Back to the bars with you!” The constable dragged Jack out from his shirt collar, tossing him into the street.

“Meet ya there, mate!” Jack rose up from the ground, and wound up his arm comically far before slapping the guard that shoved him right across the snout, then cackled as he began to run.

“Oy!” The guard clasped his paws over his nose, recoiling from the sting of the slap. “Get ‘im in irons!”

Both guards began chasing him, clubs raised high and shouting. About halfway down the street, Rackham threw his bottle toward the guards, intentionally missing them. It landed hard, shattering and scattering glass throughout the street and an echo through the air, signaling the waiting Captain Whetstone that both guards were after him, and the courtyard empty.

Whetstone ran as quietly as she could past the gate, heading off to the side before anyone could come out to investigate the ruckus. The manor house was tall and elegant, a symbol of status gifted to Nassau’s new mayor, the man poised to put an end to the golden age of piracy. The occasional shrill shriek or boisterous laugh could be heard from inside on the main floor, the dinner party was as raucous as could be for the wealthy and the powerful. Whetstone looked around for a way up and in. Mary had scouted the place well enough, but her plan had them entering as guests.

Sparks glittered against the night sky following shortly behind a cigar tossed from the rear balcony. It tumbled into the cool grass, smoldering into darkness. The Captain couldn't help her eyes being drawn to it, she traced its path up and to the balcony railing. It stretched out and round hovering above the rear garden, pillared over the patio. The pillars themselves cornered about the perimeter, and stopped nearest to the ornate blackened metal archways supporting numerous decorative flowers which bordered the courtyard itself. She made sure the dagger Mary and Rackham could spare for her was tucked firmly within her belt, over her coarse linen shirt and borrowed slops. She tested her footing on the ironwork, climbing up and over toward the balcony's edge. She pulled herself up as far as she could muster, peeking in to ensure none saw her climbing over the railing. Despite her size, she was quite agile.

The doors were unlocked, allowing guests to enter and exit as they pleased. She snuck in and began checking rooms, hunting for Rogers’ office. She listened carefully, pressing her ear to each door as she passed them. Her heart beat loud in her ears, contested by the creak of each floorboard and the rattling of each doorknob. Her normally steady paws shook just so. The upper floor consisted of several rooms arranged along a boxed hall, each ending in stairs leading down to the main foyer. She'd checked every door alongside the balcony, and had only the riskier side halls to go. She peaked around the corner down the hall, waiting a moment to listen. When she felt it was clear, she slinked around the bend, heading straight for the first door she could see. Just then, a slender young fillyjonk abruptly exited the room nearest the stairs. He wore a hat obscuring the top half of his face, and a white dress shirt with suspenders. He held a cut cigar in his paw, and was heading straight at Captain Whetstone. She tucked herself against the wall around the corner, her heart pounding in her chest as she listened to hear if he'd noticed her.

She heard his footsteps continue at pace. Whether he saw her or not, he was still approaching, and fast. Whetstone's mind raced, she thought of heading back to the last room she checked, but her feet wouldn't move. She froze in place. She felt a pang of guilt run through her, and struggled to figure out why. The thought finally hit her, in seconds that felt like hours. The man approaching looked just like Marion did the night she met her. It was too late to turn back now, he was almost on her. She fumbled a moment for the dagger beneath her sash. The sound of its sharp edges running against the soft leather of the sheathe made her stomach churn. She was all too familiar with the violence it would wreak, but never on someone so unsuspecting, unarmed. Never in such cold blood. Never on a man who simply turned the wrong corner at a party. She'd taken lives before, but never callously. It was not something she did easy, but tonight, it would have to be.

The fillyjonk's arms appeared first, clutching a borrowed table lighter in one paw and his cigar in the other. Then his nose, whiskers drooping just slightly off his face. The captain raised her arm, dagger pointed down from on high. She felt wrong in every inch of her body. Every follicle of each individual hair in her fur felt like a thousand needles. His foot stepped into the hall just past the corner, and in an instant she began swinging down in a forceful arc.

“Henri!” A voice came from just atop the stairs. “Henri, where are you going? We're going to smoke in the parlor, not on the balcony! It is far too cold for a young damsel like me!” A drunken woman with a heavy French accent shouted in an almost flirty tone.

Whetstone's arm stopped hard just after building momentum, her muscles nearly collapsing from the sudden stop. Her arm felt like a ship breaking up on the rocks. Her eyes went wide, and she pressed her empty paw to her mouth to hide the sound of her pain and the sudden wave of guilt and relief that washed over her. Her eyes began to well up with tears.

“Coming, dear! I told you to bring a coat. You don't listen to me as often as you should, you know.” The man said smugly as he turned about face, back down the hall, completely unaware that his life was nearly cut short.

The captain's gut wrenched, she began breathing heavily as she slumped against the wall, tucking the dagger back into its sheathe. A few moments passed before she regained her composure, pushing the thought out of her mind as the reality of her task set back in.

The second door she tried after her encounter opened into a wide, unlit office space. It was Rogers’ study, she was sure of it. Decorated neatly with his accomplishments, and with a massive painting of himself hung center behind the desk. The room was fit for a lounge, with chairs, a table, a globe that was open revealing within a small bar, and taxidermy animal heads lining the walls. She opened a small door beside a display case and found a closet with several coats and hats hung within. She tucked herself inside, and began to wait.

She sat alone with her thoughts. She grieved the man she'd almost killed as though she'd done so, and grieved her crew as though they'd already hung. She grieved the pirate named Whetstone, the legend she'd created and become. Mostly, she grieved the life of freedom she'd stolen from the woman she loved. She pressed her claws into her palm one by one, the urge to pace pulling at her legs. It reminded her of the times when she would hide from her parents when she'd felt she'd done something wrong. It reminded her of the agonizing silence when she tried to speak to them as a child, her voice too quiet to escape her body. She remained trapped in her mind, the past few weeks a near uninterrupted onslaught of memories and regrets.

The door to the study creaked open, and heavy footsteps rolled in. A snork gentleman sighed contentedly as he lit the sconces about the room and the lantern at his desk. Woodes Rogers pulled his chair back from his desk and sat down. Puukko had not even noticed that the party had ended, but the silence from below confirmed it. She steadied herself, ready once again to play the part of fearsome pirate captain.

“Woodes Rogers.” Whetstone stepped out from her hiding place, dagger in her paw. She flipped it idly as she walked to the center of the room, turning to face him at the end of her stride. Woodes scrambled to open the top drawer of his desk.

“Ah! I wouldn't do that.” She said, laughing low and gravelly just after. Woodes pulled a flintlock pistol from the drawer, pulling back the hammer and leveling it at Whetstone. “How much you had to drink tonight at yer little soiree, Woodes? Think ye can kill me in one shot? Even if ye do, a whole lot more folk than jus’ you or I are gonna die if I don't make it outta here ship-shape.” She smiled a wide, toothy grin and held her arms out.

“If it isn't the famous Captain Whetstone.” Woodes sneered bitterly and sarcastically. “Shouldn't you be rotting in a cell before your execution?”

“Yup. Nothin’ left to lose, saw to that one yerself. Been real lonely since ya captured me, y'know. I'm just itchin’ fer a conversation. And I don't know about you, but I find it much easier t’ talk without a gun pointin’ at me.”

“What is it you want?” Woodes set the pistol down on his desk, within reach. “Not one step closer.”

“Just what I'm owed, Woodes. Not more'an that. I come a'callin’ fer an act of grace.”

“Ah! Hahaha!” Woodes doubled over in laughter. “It's a bit late for that now, your execution is already scheduled! Not to mention the crimes of escaping custody and breaking into my home. You've gone completely mad!”

“I'm assuming you can write those last two in there, too. Get yer pen out. Ye got one of them pardons stashed away in yer desk?”

“It's not one per pirate, it's one large document all involved parties sign. Even if I had it here, you'd need to sign it in court, buffoon.”

“Figures. Well let's talk about what we can do here ‘n now, th–”

“I could shoot you. Or you could rot in a different cell from your last one. Or both. I hardly care for the details.”

“Yer fergettin’ abou–” Before the captain could continue, Rogers reached for his gun once again. She flipped the dagger in her paw, gripping the blade before sending it sailing through the air. Just as Rogers readied the gun, the dagger embedded itself into its wooden frame, knocking it out of his paw. She closed the distance, lunging over the desk to tackle him. She gripped his throat, and with her other paw, rested her claws just against his neck. He stopped struggling as soon as she'd had the upper hand.

“Those things are awful noisy, Woodes. I'd prefer if ye could hear what I'm about t’ tell ye.” She pulled up, forcing him to upright himself, then she held him against the wall. “Say, do ye remember the Man O’ War Hornigold beached in front of Nassau?”

“Mhm.” He nodded, mouth closed.

“You were a privateer. How much powder d'ye reckon it takes fer a full broadside from her? All the guns shifted t’ the one side as it were. And how many times do ye figure she were fit to fire before taking on more powder? Bein’ a warship an’ all.” She tightened her grip. “and how much more powder ye think were… donated… to Nassau and her many pirates?”

“You're bluffing!” Rogers' eyes went wide as he put the pieces together. He slackened, and Whetstone let him free to sit atop his desk.

“I wish I were, Woodes!” She bluffed. “You could either be the man who captured and executed the legendary captain Whetstone, or you could be the man who's failures brought the newly civilized Nassau to ruin. And I'll do it again, too. Panama. Curaçao. Anywhere. And it'll be in your name. There‘re folks with torches lit jus’ waitin’ t’ hear that I didn't make it out of here. Or that I did, and that you couldn't work it out. The choice is yers.” She retrieved her dagger and the pistol.

Rogers sat and thought for a while before speaking up. “Wait, captured and executed?”

“Still a few days afore the execution. Plenty o’ time to come up with somethin’. Ye get t’ be a hero, so long as I get to walk. Ye can announce at me crew's trial that the King has shown ‘unprecedented grace’ towards his people and decided to spare them the grisly gibbet, and send them mean ol’ pirates off somewheres else. Sentenced to transportation.”

“And you? I fake your death? And then what, you skulk about England free as a bird to hop back on a ship?”

“Poof! Gone. Forever. A puff of smoke from yer pipe soakin’ into the curtains.” She gestured dramatically.

Rogers began putting pieces together in his head once more, the details fitting together neatly in his mind. “I'll charter you a ship. You're to be taken somewhere else, NOT along with your crew, mind you. No… You'll be sent a world apart from them. And if the ship's captain reports you did not show, there'll be no trial for your men. If I ever see your name or hear of someone that looks like you on a ship ever again, I'll know where to find your people. And I'll have their pardons revoked. They'll be summarily executed.”

–

"Soon after that, Marion an' me crew got sent off to Australia or thereabouts. Sent me o'er t' North America. Figured I'd just cause trouble if I went wherever else they send criminals, so I got shipped out t' the wild west. Did some gunslingin' and highwayman shenanigans. Were a gun fer hire fer a bit. Not at first, though. After I'd lost everything I figured I'd hit the straight n' narrow, work as an honest blacksmith again like I did afore I were a pirate. Didn't get very far, figured I was only good at bein' an outlaw. I were a legend brought low and vanished, a ghost of a person… Hardly anyone recognized me out that way, despite it all. Thing about it is, weren't too much use fer swordsmanship nor sailing in the mainland, and the guns o' the time were a bit harder t' manage fer an old salt like me. Bein' a highwayman an' bandit meant stealin' from folks what ain't deserve it most days, an' bein' a gun fer hire meant gettin' in fights I ain't got a stake in fer a coin. I weren't much good at it neither. At sea, there's miles an' miles o' water 'tween you and thems that know yer face and can do somethin' about it. When ye make too friendly with some feller's wife, er rob the wrong folks, well… small towns. Lots of wide open, sure, but the folk all know yer name and who done what. Us moomins cut a pretty recognizable silhouette I reckon, so I got chased out of near every town I found myself. 'Stead of pushin' further west like most folk o' the day, I kept heading east. Kept runnin' an' runnin' and eventually I realized I weren't bein' chased no more. I spent a lot o' time thinkin'... got real down on m' self. Felt I weren't good fer nothin' and felt I ought t' cut out alone somewheres. I'd been bad, and I'd done lots of wrong. Did a whole lot I ought t' regret. Heard tell of a place called Moominvalley. Set out and hunkered down alone in the mountains. Took a long time 'fore I ever came down into the valley itself… And the rest is history." She sighed and took a moment to collect her thoughts.

"When I met Marion, my only fear was losing her. As soon as I lost her, my only fear was seein' her again... Fer all I've done and fer who I've been, I'm scared. Scared I won't be able t' face her again. I thought of apologizin' an' all kinds of other things. It's the one thing I'm not sure I'm strong enough fer. I spend most of my days living a new life, and it's a life I love. But there are days I think about it all, and think about her. And what she's like now. And what became of her." She idly tore bits of bread apart, setting them in her bowl of stew and watching them swell and sink around her spoon. She hadn't raised her head to look at her hosts since around halfway through her tale.

For a moment, the room was silent. No one ate, no one said anything. The cool breeze halted and the wood of the house dared not settle nor creak. They simply sat, enduring the reality of her story. By now, most of the valley knew she'd been a pirate, but few thought more of it than the romantic stories they've heard over and over. The truth of who Puukko once was and who she became were laid bare. It was hard for the Moominparents to believe that the friend they'd come to know, the eccentric and often grandmotherly blacksmith living in the mountains had once led such a life. She was an outlaw, and a killer, and there wasn't any taking that back.

"I'm too old now to believe that only the good die young. But I sure seem t' have lived an awful long time…" The silence became too much for her to bear. She stood up, pushing in her chair. "I think it's time I got on."

Moominmama stood and grabbed Puukko by the paw with both of her own.

"I'm not sure what brought you to Moominvalley. But I'm glad you ended up here." She smiled, in a reassuring way that only Moominmama could manage. “Whatever you did back then, all we can do is make up for it by living here and now, the best we can.”

"You know…" Moominpapa scratched at his chin. "We visited the wild west once. The whole family, in fact. It's quite the story, if you've got the time! Sit back down, I'll tell you all about it! They used to call me Two-gun Moomin!”

“Dear, I believe only you called yourself that.” Moominmama chuckled softly.

Puukko smiled, returning to her seat. The Moomins had a warmth about them that she couldn't shake, and always seemed to know exactly what their guests needed. They were strange, but they were kind. It'd been an age since she felt that someone truly knew her. She felt a lump in her throat, and a sense of acceptance she'd not felt in a long, long time.

[secretkittywolf]

High Life

Thank you @pokewatcher20 for allowing me to make this!

Prologue

18 players spawned around a fountain. Some new faces, some old but everyone has no clue on what's in store for this new series. An avian with parrot wings steps forward with a smirk. "Welcome to High Life. Unlike before, this season is in a city. There are 18 penthouses, one for each of you. You will be randomly assigned a character backstory and a motive to kill. No one is allowed to know your motive, but you must use your backstory to craft a character. I would also like to welcome Doc to the Life Series" The goat, cyborg, creeper hybrid waves. "I have heard about this and have asked Grian to join for this season. I wanted to join Secret Life, but I was busy on Hermitcraft, so I couldn't join you all"

"Now this time, there is no 3-heart rule" Loud complaints can be heard as Grian raises his hand for silence. "This time is just one. One life. One chance to win. There is also the removed heal feature like Secret Life. You lose a heart, but it'll be reset at the end of each session. But there are some added stuff too. The building behind me is known as " The Tower" and it'll open during the final hour of each week where everyone can join. If you do not kill during the fourth and fifth week, you will die instead. There are not only custom outfits for everyone, but as well as some new weapons" The avian pulls out a pistol as murmers of excitement begin to grow. "Yes. We've added guns to this season as it'll fit with the theme. Now, everyone scatter, find a penthouse and await your backstory. Good luck!" Everyone runs off in different directions, looking out for a building with a penthouse they can claim.

I hope you like this so far! The original idea behind this is by @pokewatcher20 over on @bad-traffic-smp-ideas and I was instantly hooked. The next few will be on the different allies and backstories. Sessions are weeks in this fic.

The characters in this are:

Scott Skizz Cleo Etho Martyn Pearl Ren Gem Jimmy Tango Impulse Doc Mumbo Grian Scar

Bdubs

Joel

Lizzie

(I forgot BigB on accident. Sorry!)

I will be uploading this fanfic onto Ao3, but it may take a while and it's gonna be on here as well. Will add the link to Ao3 when it's ready!

There's a new High Life tag!!!!! I'll be using it for uploads {added 17th Jan 2024}

The ao3 version!!!!

Thank you @animalgobrrr for doing this for me! Will be still putting updates on here so my friend can add them to ao3

[katy-133]

So after yesterday, it's fully dawning upon me that I will have to take time out of my day that I will never get back (I'm not salty, what are you talking about) and watch James Somerton's video essay on Good Omens (through an archived version of the video--I'm not giving this man a cent), just to make sure that I don't recognise that he's plagiarised or stolen work from any Good Omens metas I know about, or even stolen from my own Good Omens metas. Like, this so-called "director" has stolen from a teenager's Legend of Korra AMV edit. Nothing is off the table. If you've written an essay that's fandom-related, it's a very real possibility it'll show up in one of his videos.

After this, I want people who write essays for fun to stop putting themselves down and viewing their writing as something without value. At the very least, even if you don't believe in its value, don't say that aloud, because it's not true. Whether it's people building AI writing algorithms from AO3, or it's James Somerton, there are people out there who want to steal your work because it does have value.

There are people out there who treat your writing and your art like it's a treasure to be stolen.

[phoenixtakaramono]

OPERATION BABYLON - PART VI

aka the butchlander sugar baby AU.

We have the first reader interactive poll for this threadfic! I recommend reading the update to the end (with a detailed breakdown of each choice) before making your decision.

Tumblr Navigation (note I have not shared the prologue here with its premise setup; I’ve only started sharing this twitter threadfic on tumblr starting from the 2nd 🔞 scene): I | II | III | IV | V | VI

Update Schedule: weekly/ biweekly

(You can read the rest of the threadfic update here!)

Keep in mind, all of my AU Butchlander threadfics on Twitter are the unpolished first draft versions of what’ll eventually be polished up into long fics on AO3 under the Shock and Awe series. So you may regard this threadfic as an experimental first prototype and exclusive preview whose contents may or may not be changed in the future final draft version. We’re just loosely playing around with ideas and concepts for now!

If you don’t have a Twitter account, screenshots are provided below the line break so you can read this update on Tumblr as well:

A more-in-depth breakdown of the choices:

A) Tell the truth. To avoid suspicion, Billy lays low and comes up with an excuse that he's booked for the whole day plays hard to get. It'll lead to Homelander running into "William out on a date" with another Supe—and a jealous Homelander running interference lol and sabotaging it, potentially leading to a "private tour" at The Seven meeting room and some 🔞 inappropriate office s*x ;) the setting depends if I decide to have it as a Vought HQ gala event or a Capes for Christ baptism

The payoff: a lead into the investigation The con: Billy's relationship with one of his long-time regulars is irreversibly damaged (it'll come bite him in the arse much later in the threadfic)

B) Homelander wants to be his sugar daddy. So Billy wants to test that and see if he can get our caped crusader to unknowingly fund his little CIA operation by exaggerating his rent and monthly overhead costs to tug at the hero's supposed generous philanthropist heartstrings. It'll lead to the sugar baby/daddy relationship being developed more aka a lil à la Pretty Woman-styled "shopping spree" with Homelander raining gifts on Billy's head say bye bye to Billy's CIA-assigned base, potentially leading to a 🔞 scene for "William to show him his gratitude"

The payoff: a bigger base and money for a more in-depth investigation The con: Homelander will lowkey stalk monitor him, so it'll be harder to keep his covert activities a secret from him or sneak out

C) The cute "Waiting for you :)" type of option. Billy doubles down on the act and reforms himself into Homelander's dream lover. It's tooth-rotting romantic fluff and flirty back-and-forth banter between them, but keep in mind what'll happen when Homelander inevitably realizes the "William who's literally almost perfect in every way and is too good to be true" isn't actually real much much much later as a direct consequence of this early choice.

The payoff: a happy Homelander (speedrun gaining his trust and affection by taking our bbg on dates <3) The con: the future fallout (and reconciliation) will be much more dramatic

Choose your poison! You can also vote on Twitter (link to the poll). I will add the final results together, and we’ll see which story route comes out on top.

A/N: A bit of Billy’s POV as we begin to pull back the curtains. How deep does this rabbithole of deception go? Far. Very far. Did y'all see the twist with Popclaw? Didn't expect that, did ya?

I am, by the way, open to ⚠️🔞 reader suggestions~. I make no promises that I’ll write it, but this threadfic is meant as a shameless excuse to write 🔞 butchlander spice, haha, and provide y’all some content during our butchlander drought. I have one reader suggestion thus far, and it involves candle wax. 🕯️

[nodirectionhome-ao3]

WIP Tag

Thanks for the tag @kay-elle-cee, @alittlebitofeverything23, and @isahorcrux !!! This is such a fun one. :)

List the titles your top five priorities for WIP updates (link your fics for new readers!)

An upcoming scene, event, or detail in each fic that you're looking forward to writing

Bonus: make a poll for your followers to vote on which top 5 WIP they are most excited to see an update on!

Then tag 10 writer friends

Titles

Kindly Stopped for Me: Chapter 33. Lily lives AU, where Lily falls into a coma on Halloween 1981 and wakes up at the end of GoF. Lots of angst and family feels.

The Joker and The Queen: Chapter 3. A Jily fake-dating fic. Shenanigans abound. An "Idiots in Love" kind of story.

James Lives AU (Title TBA): Outline & Chapter 1. Basically a James version of Kindly Stopped for Me. James survives Halloween 1981 in a way that I will not spoil for you, and wakes up later on when Harry is a teenager.

Forever is the Sweetest Con: Short multi-chapter. Jily as con artists who fall in love while trying to con each other.

Fragile Little Flame: A post-war Hinny fic! Most likely a one-shot, but we'll see what happens.

(I’m not including the KSFM Missing Moments that I’m working on in this, since I don’t post them on AO3, but just know that I haven’t forgotten them!!!)

Upcoming Scenes, Events, Details

I've been making some minor changes to my outline for KSFM, so the exact numbers may change, but looking at it from a birds-eye view—Chapters 35 and 39 are two of the angstiest chapters in the entire fic😅 So...in preparation for that...I'm giving you all a slight break from the heaviness of this fic with chapters 33 and 34. I'm hoping it won't feel like a crazy tone switch after the previous two chapters, but I'm excited! Chapter 33 is a bit of a transition chapter (setting up some important things!) so maybe won't be the most exciting thing to read. But it will include Lily watching Harry in a Gryffindor Quidditch match for the first time and the gang celebrating Sirius’s 36th birthday!🎂🎂🎂 So hopefully you all will enjoy that!! And then Chapter 34 will be a Harry POV and will feature some good old-fashioned teenage romance drama😅

Chapter 3 of The Joker and The Queen has taken soooo long to write because it's something I sort of have to be in the right mindset for. (I still don't have a full outline for it because I posted the first chapter impulsively before I really thought about the plot very much lol) But I'm hoping it will be worth the wait!! The chapter will feature Lily meeting Fleamont and Euphemia (and possibly some Potter extended family members too) for the first time. I've never written James's parents before, so I'm excited!

Oh man, oh man. What can I say about the James lives au?? I'm currently drafting multiple vague outline ideas as I work through the timeline that I want it to take place in. But, despite what I've said previously, I'm finding myself starting to lean towards setting it in the OotP universe after all. (but no promises yet!) I'm staying kind of vague about the plot of this since it's still very much under consideration, but I'll just say that Peter's betrayal and its ramifications will be a major focus. The betrayal will happen slightly differently than it does in canon (as some of you have already guessed!), and I expect it to be devastating😈

Forever is the Sweetest Con is a fic that has been percolating in my brain for a WHILE now. I haven't officially outlined it yet, but I already made the banner so it's officially happening! It will be canon divergent, and I'm excited to explore the cat-and-mouse dynamic that I envision when I think about this one.

Fragile Little Flame is a fic inspired by Taylor Swift's "I Know Places" and is also one that I already have a banner and title for, but no outline. It'll be a post-war Hinny fic (I've been wanting to return to writing them!) and will take place in the 19 years between the end of DH and the epilogue. I haven't really thought about the plot in detail yet, but it probably won't be epilogue-compliant. Harry will (probably) be a Quidditch player rather than an Auror, and the fic will explore Harry and Ginny recovering from the war and rebuilding their relationship amongst the chaos of both grief and fame.

Apologies if you've already been tagged! But here's a no-pressure tag to: @suzyq31 @nena-96 @uncertainwallflower @turanga4 @takearisk-ao3 @annasghosts @practicecourts