#every inch of the universe is a miracle

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME: Issue #2

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Your streak of bad luck continues as you find that the universe is not done putting you in harm's way. Luckily, you have grouchy Spider-man to save you.

Word count: 3,500 words.

Content: Slowest of the burn, near death experiences, the emotional whiplash of Miguel O'Hara being a rude bastard and a total softie.

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According to an article that ran in the New York Times: one out of every 40 New Yorkers will have a run in with a Superhero in the time they live here.

That might not sound like much, but considering that nearly 8.5 million people live in this city, it adds up to a lot of people. In fact, most in your friends circle have their own anecdotal story to tell.

I ran into Tony Stark at the Brandy Library and he asked me for my phone number. Bit of a sleaze but he bought our whole table a round of drinks.

Captain America landed on my Fiat on Manhattan Bridge. He dented the roof, but he was very polite about it.

Daredevil was hanging out at the fire escape ladder above the Meatball shop. Gave me tips on what to order.

It's nothing short of a miracle that having lived in this city for as many years as you have that this is the first time you've had a Supes encounter.

It'll be a great story to tell at parties. You fell out of the Chrysler building and were rescued mid-air. It blows all the other stories out of the water. Though, you'll probably leave out the part where he wished he'd left you to die.

You stare blindly at your computer screen. There are endless rows of cells on your excel sheet no matter how far you scroll. Uninterrupted numbers and reference codes for insurance claims that are waiting for your attention. But the numbers and letters all blend into an indecipherable sludge soup. All you can focus on is: 'I should've let you fall.'

Heat prickles your cheek, as you replay his words in your head.

What the hell.

That was entirely unnecessary.

You didn't deserve that.

Over the course of the last 24 hours, you've played the scene on an endless loop in your head, until the memory is worn and scratched like a used up VHS tape.

Did you do something wrong? You must've. Who has ever heard of a Superhero treating a civilian in this manner? You’re just a hapless innocent bystander who fell out of a building due to a supervillain battle they started. To blame it on you and then call it a mistake. Isn't that something a supervillain would do?

Gritting your teeth, you feel yourself seething of the memory of the windows next to you breaking and shattering out of nowhere as a bird-person villain with mechanical wings tumbled past you. Next thing you knew you were tumbling out the window. 

And then he saved you.

Did he mean to save someone else? Is that why he was so annoyed? But, you didn't see any other people falling from the building on your way down.

You replay the memory. Again.

The looming silhouette of his towering frame over yours as he sneered down at you.

He looked at you like he knew you. Like you had offended him with your mere existence. But you don't understand how. You've never met him before. Never met anyone who looked even remotely like him. You would've remembered a man with red eyes, they're not exactly common. Plus, you don't think you've ever met someone quite so tall. Your neck hurt with the angle you had to crane just to look at his face.

What could you possibly have done in your lifetime to piss off a Superhero you've never met before?

For that matter what Superhero is he anyway? You think back at the dark navy suit clinging onto every inch of skin, embellished by that bright angry red in the emblem of a spider.

Spider-man... 

Except Spider-man is known to be a swell guy with a great sense of humor. Not a rude asshole.

Aren't his colors inverted too? You pull up the browser on your screen and google "spiderman outfit". There's over 800 million hits. In all of them Spiderman's suit is primarily red with blue embellishment.

Whoever the guy is, you don't think he's your friendly neighborhood Spiderman that every New Yorker knows and loves.

With a hapless sigh, you click aimlessly on your screen, trying to look busy at work for the next twenty minutes until you can go on your lunch break. You go through the motions of your soul sucking tasks. Tagging each insurance claim into one of the following categories: approved/rejected/further missing information required.

Peering over your cubicle wall to the wall of windows, you spy the section that has been zoned off since yesterday. The broken window you were knocked out of has already been replaced, but there's still shattered glass and debris nearby.

Your stomach drops, the phantom sensation of the ground beneath you giving way. For a brief second you swear you can feel the weightlessness of soaring through the skies without anything catching your fall.

You stand up from your desk, solid ground meeting the soles of your feet to remind you where you are. 

The office.

There's a monotone drone of workers all around you grumbling and sighing just as unhappily. The quiet tip-tapping of keyboards of the working masses.

Is this the life you managed to escape death for?

Is this it?

It's kind of sad isn't it? You nearly died and lived to tell the tale, only to return to a life so unremarkable your brain didn't deign it necessary to provide you with any highlights (cause there are none).

The most exciting thing that has happened to you the whole of this year was being insulted by a grumpy superhero. The most you've wanted to live was during that span of ten seconds when you were falling out of a building to your death.

You glance at your clock, still 15 minutes before noon. You log out of your desktop anyway.

You barely make it across the street from your office. The light is green as you cross Lexington Avenue when the screeching noise of tires tears down the street and rips through your eardrums.

A yellow taxi hurtles towards you at full speed. Through the car window separating you, the cab driver is staring up at you with wide-eyed horror. In that fraction of a second before the hard metal is going to collide and shatter every bone in your body, you only have one thought: Oh god, this is going to hurt.

Life doesn't flash before your eyes. All you see is the familiar blur of shiny blue and red.

Go figure that's the only moment extraordinary enough for your brain to think it's worth replaying before you die.

There's a blunt and forceful shove to the side of your ribs. Softer than you would've imagined a two tonne vehicle slamming into you would be. It doesn't hurt. It reminds you of that time you played football with your cousin and he body slammed you to the lawn. You've heard about this phenomena, the brain will try to protect itself by going unconscious if the pain is too extreme.

But there's no bright light, when you open your eyes all you see is the familiar shiny blue fabric.

A firm weight wraps around your shoulders, and you recognize this, the feeling of being held as you're pulled into their solid chest. There's not enough time for you to look up, you're slammed onto the ground, the solid warmth wrapped around you, absorbing the fall.

The pressure wrapped around you shifts then lifts away entirely. When you open your eyes for a second time, there’s no one there holding you. 

There's no one else there with you. Just the standstill traffic of cars and pedestrians gawking at you.

A concerned woman runs over to you, bending down to help you up on your feet. "Are you okay? That car came out of nowhere."

Your legs feel unsteady, wobbling as you put weight on it to stand up. 

“I’m fine, I think,” you respond, and look down on yourself. There are no scrapes, just a bit of dust on your work-attire from traffic.

"You're so lucky, Spiderman was there to save you."

You blink up at the woman in dazed confusion and it takes your brain a few seconds to process what she's telling you.

Spider-man...

In your mind's eye the flashes of blue and a vivid red invades your vision. It wasn't just your life flashing you by. Not just a figment of your imagination.

He was here. He saved you. (Probably not) Spider-man saved you (again).

A wave of gratitude washes over you. You take back every unflattering thought you had about the man not five minutes ago. Rude? Would a rude man save you, not once but twice in one day? No, of course not, you probably just misunderstood him, or misheard. After all, if he truly regretted saving you, he wouldn't have done it a second time... right?

--

When you get back at your desk, there's a post-it tacked to your computer screen, with an angry scrawl of a handwriting.

'Look BOTH ways before crossing!!!!!'

You stare at the note, and the way the word "both" is capitalized and aggressively underlined.

Rude.

The universe is out to kill you. You're sure of it.

They say that death comes in threes after all. So no one can blame you for being a little bit on the edge after you've gone two for two within the time span of 24 hours.

You stay away from windows in tall buildings. You look both ways, twice, before crossing the street. You try to go straight home from work the minute you clock out from work, turning down any and all initiations with friends to go out after out of precaution. It's just not worth the risk.

And for a while it seems to work. For a while, there are no more incidents. A week goes by and your nerves start to settle and you are lulled into a temporary sense of security before it all goes to shits.

A ceramic flower pot on a windowsill tumbling off the sixth floor of a brown house by Chelsea that would have dropped on your head and split your skull if someone hadn't bumped into you from behind that you weren’t able to catch sight of.

A piece of scaffolding that comes loose and falls from a construction site in West Village as you happened to walk past, and would have been crushed under if you weren’t tackled away at the last second by someone who fled the scene before you could thank them.

A hot dog cart runs amok, hurtling downhill towards you between 184th and 190th street in Manhattan when the cart suddenly out of nowhere, against the very laws of physics like it’s being pulled by an invisible force and changes direction mere inches in front of you, hurtling through the air and crashing into the windows of a bodega instead.

Each and every incident leaves you with an ever growing sense of paranoia that this cannot be explained away by being merely pure bad luck. There are cosmic forces at force that clearly want you dead.

On Thursday, there are leftover cupcakes from a client conference. Mary, the secretary in your team, boxes up four of them for you and tells you to take them with you, because, "you've had a rough week, toots."

It’s not a flattering assessment of you, but when you see your own reflection in the mirrors of the office toilets, you can’t help but think it’s an accurate one. You look rough. Eyes bloodshot with deep furrowed lines underneath. Your face is gaunter than you remember seeing it too. 

You take the cupcakes. 

It's the first good thing that has happened to you all week, and as small of a comfort it is, you take it as a win.

You eye the box from your desk the rest of the day, squirreled away in your tiny cubicle. You are determined not to eat one while at work. Because you'll be damned if Matt from accounting catches a whiff of your cupcakes and asks you to share one with him. You want to properly savor them in the comfort of your home at the end of the day.

But as often is the case when you have something to look forward to, the seconds, minutes and hours tick away with a reluctant drag as if time itself knew you wanted the day to end faster and decided it'd be fun to flip yet another cosmic middle finger in your direction. 

When it's finally time to end work, you get off your chair so forcefully it knocks it to the floor. You are practically jogging through the lanes of cubicles to get to the elevator, and nearly smack the security guard on the other side with how hard you swing open the front door. 

It's pouring outside, which, of course it is. You take off your jacket and cover your cupcake box with it, because you're not going to let the universe ruin the one good thing you've got going for you this week, as you run towards the station.

The moment you step into the damp and sticky station any remaining sense of joy in you evaporates. There's a hoard of tourists swarming the subway paying no attention to their surroundings. Tourists wearing their caps and backpacks and wheelies knocking over a 'Caution Wet Floor ' sign as they gather in a throng in front of the subway map, blocking the way as you hear the train approach.

It's not that big of a deal. A train comes every two to five minutes, and if you miss this one, you'll just get on the next one. It's not the end of the world. Logically, you know that. Emotionally and spiritually however, the world around you has just taken a little bit too much from you for you to concede to this minor little loss.

You are going to make this goddamned train.

Taking a determined step forward, you shoulder and push your way through the throng of people to fight your way to the front of the track.

You push a little too hard. Your feet skid across the slippery tiles, leg buckling from your own weight and you lose control, tumbling forward.

In your peripheral view there's a blinding light approaching. There's wind beating the sides of your face, and you can hear the screeching metal of the train right next to you. Your foot drops into empty space and you are falling into the tracks. 

Oh god why...

Why?

You just want to live.

The cupcake box flies out of your grip, splattered somewhere across the front pane of the train. There's a hard tug on your shirt as an invisible force you cannot see yanks you back, hard.

Your head whips back and for a fraction of a second, there are crimson eyes staring back down at you, you blink and then it's gone.

You land on your ass with a bruising force to your tailbone with a bone-breaking thud. The subway whizzes by with a demonic roar past you, inches from where you're sprawled on your ass on the dirty tiles of the subway station.

In front of your feet, there's a long streak of white frosting trailing down from your feet to the tracks of what looks like a crime scene.

Maybe it's the stress. Maybe you've just had a bad night of sleep (after many successive bad nights with little to no sleep). But something in you breaks at the sight of the frosting smeared across the dirty subway tiles.

Your eyes sting with exhaustion. Chest drawing in tight with a crumbling ache that makes you want to curl up on the cold tiles. You're just so tired.

There are people around you staring at you. No one in their right mind who lives in New York would sit on the floor of the subway.

But your legs are heavy and numb. You can’t move from the spot. Everything tastes like bile. You try to swallow and force it back down but it's no use, your throat has swollen shut. Your cheeks run wet and you press your palms to your eyes to make it stop but that only seems to make it worse. Snot runs down your nose and drips down your wrist. You're crying and you don't know how to stop.

Is this the rest of your life?

In the morning, you wake in your bed with a sore ache that gnaws at your bones. Swollen eyes and a soreness that scratches the lining of your throat.

Your back hurts, and as you try to turn to your side to get out of bed a sharp pain surges up along your entire spine.

Fuck.

It's too bright. The sunlight is offensive. It stings your eyes and makes you sick to your stomach. You only have vague memories of how you made it back home. Feet shuffling through the subway in a daze like the walking dead.

God is that what you are? A dead man woman walking?

You crane your head and catch a glimpse of your clock on the bedside table. 9.13 You're late for work. But that's mind as well, you don't have it in you to make it in.

What's the point anyhow? You hate that place.

Besides, if the subway on the way over doesn't finish off the job this time around, then eventually a taxi will. Failing that the universe is probably going to send over a ninja assassin rat from the subway to come after your life.

There's a soft breeze coming in from the open window that grazes the back of your neck and you turn your head towards it. All you can see from your window is the brick wall of the neighboring building. Even though your apartment is on the sixth floor, you can't see a speck of the New York skyline.

Still the breeze is nice, though you don't remember opening the window last night. You never usually do. It is silly and paranoid. No human robber could possibly climb up your six storey building just to climb into your window and rob you. If they could, they’d find that there isn’t much to rob in your apartment, the most valuable thing you own is a complete Le Creuset Cookware set. 

Your eyes glaze over your work tote bag on the floor next to the window, drifting upwards and spot the pink box sat on the window sill and you stop. 

You didn’t put that there. 

You sit upright in your bed, setting your feet to the floor and force yourself to leave your bed as you pad over to the open window.

It's a fancy looking thing. Baby pink, and chiffon ribbon on its side. Wrapping your pinkie around it, you tug it loose. You perch your thumb against the corner of the lid when you stop.

It's not another one of the universe's assassination attempts is it? You're not going to open it to find a bomb ticking down are you?

You hesitate for another moment, taking a deep calming breath before you gather the courage to finally lift the lid. Inside, there is a gorgeous display of cupcakes adorned with white and pink frosting, topped with strawberries, chocolate shavings and on two of them there's mini macarons.

Way fancier than the day old Costco cupcakes you'd lost yesterday.

Picking up one, you take a bite. The frosting is light and zesty. The refreshing lemon melts on the tip of your tongue as the buttery cream floods your mouth with the rich flavor. It's the best thing you've ever tasted.

Lifting the box, you check the sides of it to see if there's any note left behind, but there's none.

Gladis Bakery. It's from a bakery you've never heard of before. When you google the name the place is outside of New Jersey, 58 minutes away and you would need to take a subway then switch to a tram.

There's no note attached, but you don't need one. The list of candidates who would be physically able to climb up six floors up the bricks of your apartment building to leave cupcakes on your window isn’t a long one. 

Something warm blooms in your chest at the thought, and your fingers linger on the top of the box, savoring the taste of lemon and sugar still lingering on your tongue.

You put your head out the window, not sure what you're expecting to find but find yourself disappointed all the same when there's nothing there. No people in the quiet street below, and nothing unusual above.

"Thank you for uhm... saving me,” you say into the silence with nothing but the traffic noise below to answer you. 

 “And the cupcakes," you add. 

There's no reply. 

~ To be continued.

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[jokeringcutio]

STEPDAD!WILLIAM AFTON X READER “CINEMA” - MATURE/DRABBLE [ 2 ]

FNAF | William Afton (stepdad!) x (f) Reader | MATURE Warnings: Family Gathering, Secret Touching. AN: These drabbles are in no particular order and not necessarily related. But they are all Stepdad!WilliamAfton x !StepdaughterReader Universe

The cinema was dark, the action movie exploding on the screen in front of you. You were on a movie night out with your ‘new’ family. Your heart pounded in your chest as you sat sandwiched between your mother and stepfather, William Afton. Vanessa, your stepsister, sat on William's other side, engrossed in the movie. She still lived with her mom, so you didn’t see her as often.

As the protagonist dodged gunfire on the screen, you suddenly felt a hand on your thigh. You froze, eyes darting to the side to see William's fingers resting just above your knee. He didn't look at you, his attention wholly on the movie. The tension in your body skyrocketed, every muscle tightening as his fingers pressed gently into your skin.

"Can you believe this scene?" he murmured, a smile playing on his lips. Your mother nodded, her eyes fixed on the screen. It was like he wasn't even touching you.

But he was. You felt it.

His hand crept higher, inch by agonizing inch. You bit your lip, fighting the urge to jerk away from him. What if your mother noticed? What if Vanessa saw? You couldn't risk it, so you remained still, a deer caught in headlights.

"Such an incredible stunt," your mother agreed, completely oblivious to your situation. You tried to focus on the movie, tried to ignore the way William's fingers traced patterns on your inner thigh, but it was impossible. Why had you decided to wear a skirt today? Of all times?

Oh, you knew why. You had wanted to impress potential boyfriends. Heading out, even with your family, meant a chance to flaunt yourself. And as a lonely teenager with hormones raging through you, on the crisp of tipping your twenties, you had thought that dressing up like this was the best of ideas. Now you cursed your choice of wear. Because it meant that he could touch you as easily as this. Your breath hitched, and you prayed no one could hear it over the sound of explosions and gunshots.

"Are you okay?" Vanessa asked, leaning past William. Her concern only made things worse, guilt twisting your stomach into knots, but you managed a weak smile.

"Y-yeah, just a little jumpy from the movie," you whispered back. She nodded and returned her attention to the screen.

As the action movie played on, your heart raced for entirely different reasons. William's hand rested on your thigh like a coiled snake, waiting to strike. The feel of his skin against yours made you shudder, but you couldn't escape it. Your mother sat beside you, blissfully unaware. Vanessa's attention was focused on the movie as well. You were trapped.

William's hand moved higher, brushing the hem of your skirt. You held your breath, praying for the movie to end, for some kind of miracle to save you.

"Hey," Vanessa said suddenly, leaning over her father to address you. "Do you want some popcorn or something?"

William's hand retreated at once, like a guilty child caught in the act. You exhaled, grateful for the reprieve. "Oh, right," you whispered, your voice a little shaky. "I’ll have the usual."

"Oh, could you get me a soda?” your mother asked, and Vanessa nodded.

“I could come along,” you offered, stirring to get up. Beside you, William tensed, as if he hadn’t anticipated your action. For a moment, you thought you could escape your stepfather’s advances. Bonding with your stepsister seemed like a much better alternative than staying here and being subjected to this – and all the temptation it brought along with it.

But Vanessa cut your luck down, shaking her head as she moved away. “No, I have this,” she said, smiling kindly. “You just keep enjoying the movie, sis,” and your heart plummeted in your chest.

She was gone before you could get up to follow, and as soon as she left to fetch the snacks, William's hand returned to your thigh, creeping beneath your skirt with a newfound boldness.

"Amazing stunt work in this film, don’t you agree?" he commented casually, striking up a conversation with your mother while his fingers brushed against the delicate fabric of your panties. You clenched your thighs together in a futile attempt to stop him, but it only seemed to spur him on.

"Truly incredible," your mother agreed, completely engrossed in the on-screen action. Her obliviousness drove a spike of fear through your chest.

You tried to focus on the explosions and fight scenes, but every stroke of his fingers against your panties sent electric jolts through your body. He was relentless, smirking as you squirmed in your seat. Your breath hitched, and you prayed no one could hear you over the cacophony of sound from the movie.

"Is everything okay, dear?" your mother asked, finally taking notice of your discomfort.

"Y-yeah," you lied, desperate to keep your secret. "I think I need to, you know… visit the er…”

She nodded in understanding, finally allowing you a chance to get up. William’s hand slipped from between your legs just in time for your mom to notice. You caught sight of the way he wiped his fingers past his pants, not in a way that showed disgust but rather like he wanted to keep it as a treasure.

Startled by the action, you stared down at him. Vanessa returned just in time, her hands full of popcorn and soda. You excused yourself and rushed past them, taking your time in the bathroom and splashing your face with cold water before you returned. As the seat next to Vanessa was empty, you decided to sit next to her, avoiding direct contact with your stepdad.

As the movie continued, your mind raced with a thousand questions. It had become obvious that your stepdad was becoming bold, making moves on you while your mother was there. You realized you were lucky. How much further would he have gone if you hadn't changed seats? That thought sent a whole new shiver down your spine. Because...how much further would he take things?

During the remainder of the movie, you felt his intense eyes upon you. His pleasant conversation with your mom had ceased. And you smiled as you enjoyed your snack.

Let him gawk and be pissed, you thought. You wouldn’t be an easy lay. The old man would have to try harder if he wanted to get his hands on you again. ~

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[misslovasstuff]

“Sweet love”

[Sanji x reader]

author’s note: there isn’t a heavy plot or anything, just felt romantic and wanted to express it with a hopeless romantic. Enjoy ~

His body always betrays him- it blushes, trembles…You kiss the back of his neck, hearing him whispering your name so ever softly.

“Love…”

As the saying goes, only the sun has ever come so close and when it did, there were burns and scars. However, your lips warmed his skin in a way the sun couldn’t. Traces of your fingertips were enlightening dark memories, turning them to light and making any pain disappear from its roots. You were a signature on his skin, now imprinted on his head - a beat, a sign of life in his heart.

Sanji pushes his head backwards as your lips travel from down his ear where you bite teasingly, to his jaw. Your fingers caress his throat, going further down on his chest.

He bites his lip, not to maintain any composure, rather to convince himself that it is real - what he is feeling right now is real.

“Baby…” - he breathes, feeling your hand caressing his chest, stopping right at his heart.

“Does it know, Sanji? - you rest your head on his back, so secure, so safe, so… understanding. - Does your heart know that every beat of it, is a breath of mine?”

Sanji’s gaze softens, grabbing your forearm gently and caressing it with his thumb. His hand slides down to grab yours, putting it right in front of his lips.

“My heart only knows you, dear. - his wet lips against your cold hands make you shiver, clenching your hand on his shirt. - You breathe life into me.”

Beautiful words from your gentleman have once again struck you so deeply. You want to see his eyes, you must. There is a need to tell Sanji that you love him, a love so beautiful like the one earth holds for the stars - never angry when they die or perish, always grieving their place in the sky. And right now, you wanted to find your place in his arms.

“Sanji..” - you call him, voice trembling and cheeks turning red.

The blond raises his eyebrows as he turns back to face you, grabbing your chin worriedly and lowering his head to look at your face. The very moment your eyes meet, Sanji widens his, gulping hard as he feels with every inch of his body how vulnerable he is when your eyes gaze upon his- making him lose a sense of surrounding, wanting to cup your cheeks, so he does.

“My goodness… how can you be so heavenly beautiful?” - he puts a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling, a smile so bright that you take in his warmth like a drug. His thumb caresses your cheek, a love so gentle he always gives.

“I love you, Sanji.” - your lips spill so naturally, as if they were beginning to spell out the love your heart held.

With those words, the chef’s gaze lands on your lips.

“I believe those lips of yours, - he confesses, face coming closer. - every word you whisper to me, every smile, every…kiss.”

You know what happens when a star is born? There are sequences, forces, pulls, fusions and burns… A kiss given by Sanji is like a star appearing on the sky where there is nothing but darkness. You’re lured into it, hypnotised and completely lost in it. The way his hand brushes off your hair, pulls you closer by the waist and draws constellations when holding you like a universal miracle that has bestowed him… is just magical.

When the kiss is broken, you lean in for more…and more… until you find yourself intertwined under a sky filled with stars.

[theladyofthevarioussorrows]

Sunspots

Fandom: Sunshine (2007)

Pairing: Robert Capa x fem!reader

Word count: 6,400+

Characters: Robert Capa (Cillian Murphy), the rest of the cast is only mentioned.

Summary: Alternate universe (duh). Reader is the 9th crew member on the Icarus II as a second physicist assigned to assist Capa; she and Capa started dating at some point during the mission. But, in this story, the mission was successful, and everyone lived to make it back to Earth; the reader and Capa have been together ever since. The story takes place during a solar eclipse two or three years or so after they make it back to Earth, and as to be expected, Capa is excited about and fascinated by the eclipse, and so is the reader. He is set on making it a beautiful and romantic experience for her, especially since it was because of them that they can see it from Earth.

Warnings and additional tags: Fluff, smut (p in v), established relationship, mention of masturbation (m and f), the mission is successful in this (everyone makes it back to Earth in one piece), soft!dom Capa if you squint, Capa is slightly out of character in this (he's happy, he's deeply in love with the reader, and he's a little bit of a tease), mention of airsickness, reader-insert, reader-interactive, reader uses Capa's first name a few times, Capa calls the reader "sunshine" (I think it's fucking cute okay? Sue me. I'm just a girl.).

Notes: This is my first fic in literal years, and it is in two parts...both are in this post. I took a lot of liberties here. Necessary ones I think, but liberties nonetheless. I don’t know a lot about space and space travel. I know very little about it actually. However, I did do some research (if you could call it that) and tried to make it as accurate to the movie as I could. I had a ton of fun writing this! I miiiiiiiiight add to this later on, we'll see! I hope you guys like it!

--->Smut below the cut! NSFW, minors DO NOT INTERACT!<---

He had been planning this for months. Years, to be exact. Up until now, he was convinced that if he made it back in one piece, he would have been alone.

Capa had spent over a year cramped up on the Icarus II with eight other crew members. Kaneda, Searle, Trey, Corazon, and Cassie seemed to take him seriously a good chunk of the time, but stayed mostly neutral towards him. Harvey and Mace tended to direct a lot of their anger towards him. Whether it was out of jealousy, anxiety, or whatever else, it didn’t matter what their reasoning behind ganging up on the lead physicist was. Despite their unfounded animosities, it was Capa’s stellar bomb that would reignite the Sun and save humanity from extinction. Even though tensions were understandably high, Capa was the only person aboard the Icarus II who knew the gravity and the importance of the mission they were tasked with carrying out. In other words, he was the only one who knew how to operate the device to perform such a miracle. It was really no surprise to anyone that they put Capa in charge of the payload; he understood the mission better than anyone else on the ship, and it showed. Mace and Harvey began to back off once it finally began to sink in that their lives depended on Capa, and because of that, they should take it easy on him. Try to, at least.

Of all the other astronauts on the Icarus II, Capa felt the closest to Y/L/N, the second physicist, a young woman wise beyond her years who was assigned to work alongside Capa. She was a bit younger than him and the rest of the crew, but she proved to have a level-headed way of looking at things, while also presenting herself with an air of cautious optimism. Her grace and appreciation of everything each of the members were doing drew Capa to her, something that initially made him nervous. She captivated him in a mysterious but welcome way, and she was nowhere near immune to his unique allure and quiet charm.

She would watch him in awe as he spoke, completely entranced by his intelligence. Every word he said, every move he made…she felt it in her heart, and deep in her core. After watching her perform her duties effortlessly without ever faltering once, Capa began to feel at ease with her, and he caught himself quietly thanking the forces that be for pairing the two of them together.

It took a lot of effort on his part to keep his composure around her, and little did he know, it was just as difficult for her to behave herself around him. He knew he was falling for her, and he tried to keep it down as long as he possibly could, just in case his feelings for her weren’t reciprocated. Even though she did feel the same way about him, she made a valiant effort to stay focused on the tasks at hand, despite the ever-looming temptation.

She and Capa grew close after spending hours alone working out equations or going over calculations, and even just spending whatever free time they had talking about anything and everything, but nothing too wild or personal just yet. After one particularly restless night, she left her quarters and came out to the common area to find Capa at the table, his head in his hands. He noticed her and lifted his face to look at her, a faint smile escaping his lips.

“Oh, hey. I take it you couldn’t sleep either?” Capa asked her, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes as he shifted in his seat. She looked absolutely beautiful to him, still in her sleep clothes that fit her perfectly, the fabric slightly revealing but leaving just enough to the imagination, her hair down and slightly tousled. His gaze accidentally drifted to her thighs and hips, and he looked away suddenly, focusing back on her face. Capa was trying hard to keep his cool as she stood in front of him, fighting back thoughts of how much better those clothes would look on his bedroom floor. He struggled to push the thought away, and was internally failing miserably at it.

She also felt an all-too-familiar feeling between her legs seeing Capa sitting there in his gray tank top shirt, his hair falling on his shoulders in the sexiest way possible. She couldn’t help but notice his well-defined arms, and traced the path of his veins with her eyes. She tried not to stare at him, and swallowed before she answered. “Yeah, unfortunately. A lot to do, a lot to think about, you know?” she answered back as she walked over to the table to sit down next to him. “Do you mind if I sit with you for a while?”

He motioned for her to sit down, welcoming her. “Oh no, not at all, the company would be nice. And yes, you’re right, there’s tons to think about for sure.” He sat up straighter and turned to face her better as he cleared his throat quietly, still fighting with his wandering mind.

She let out a small breath of relief before she sat down. She turned toward him and continued to speak. “What’s on your mind?” she asked. Even though she was concerned and was aware he was under an insane amount of pressure, she knew Capa had everything under control, and she trusted his judgment completely. “We can talk about it if you’d like.”

He takes a deep breath before answering her. “I guess it’s just nerves. You and I have run the calculations countless times now, and we’re on the correct path with everything, the payload is operational and all that…but I’m still a bit anxious about it. It’s nothing crazy, but, you know…” his voice trails off before looking into her eyes. “I just hope everything goes to plan, that’s all. I don’t think we have any reason to think it won’t, but still.”

She looked back at Capa. “Oh believe me, I totally understand.” She moves closer to him in an attempt to reassure him as she rests her hand on his. “But hey, I have faith that we can get it done and all will be well with the universe.” She smiled. “You’re doing amazing, by the way.”

Capa began to blush as he smiled back, softly but warmly. “Aww, thanks. Just doing my job.” He turned his hand over under hers, holding it gently as their fingers tangled together. “You’re doing great, too. We’re so lucky to have you with us…with me.” His heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t believe he said that out loud, but he didn’t bother trying to go back on it either. “I know I am.” His ocean blue eyes looked at her face, searching for any sign of discomfort or apprehension. He was relieved to find neither in her expression, just her smiling and blushing back at him.

She felt his words deep inside her as if a bomb on a much smaller scale was going off within her chest, and his words almost didn’t register with her right away. She smiled and blushed deeply before continuing. “That’s very sweet of you to say…thank you,” she answered. Despite the fact that they have spent a lot of time alone together in recent weeks, the tension in the room was noticeably thicker…so thick that you could slice it in the air with a scalpel. “I try my best. It’s all I can do, really.” She held onto his hand a little tighter as they gazed into each other’s eyes.

Capa broke the brief silence. “Hey…” he began, speaking warily but keeping his smile. “There’s been something I’ve been meaning to ask you. I’ve been waiting for the right time, and I’m not quite sure when that would be or would have been…I hope you won’t take it the wrong way.”

She looked back at Capa, curious but cautious. “Sure, you can ask me anything. What’s up?” He returned the gentle squeeze of her hand and softly grazed his thumb over her knuckles.

Capa took a deep breath, and looked away from her for a split second before directing his focus right back on her. He could feel his face getting warmer, his fair-skinned face turning a faint pink. He hesitated for a beat before throwing caution to the wind to speak his mind.

“Well…you know how we’ve been spending a lot of time together lately? Not just on protocol and calculations and whatever else…but in general?” He continued to hold her gaze while he waited for her response.

“Yeah, of course. Why?” she asked as she looked at him, still smiling and holding his hand, butterflies forming in her stomach. “Is everything okay?” she asked, trying to gauge where the conversation is going without assuming anything or jumping to any conclusions.

“Oh yeah, everything is fine, all things considered. Amazing, actually…” He swallowed quietly before beginning again. “Um…I guess what I’m trying to say is…I feel closer to you than anyone else on the ship…” He paused and chuckled nervously before he continued to speak. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt such a connection to someone. You understand me in a way that everyone else doesn’t, and I really appreciate that. A lot.” He smiled and blushed deeper.

She smiled and blushed deeper as well. “I’m glad I can make you feel that way.” She moved closer to him. “I feel the same way about you.”

He reached his free hand up to gently brush some of her hair out of her face, softly caressing her cheek as he did it. “You’re just…I don’t know what the right word is. Exhilarating? Refreshing, maybe? I guess what I mean to say is…” he trailed off before cupping the side of her face with his hand while holding onto her hand with the other. “I’m falling for you. I mean…I have fallen for you. You’re on my mind constantly.” He gazed at her for a beat before continuing his thought. “I hope that doesn’t make anything weird or awkward.” He searched your face again for any opposition. Yet again, he didn’t find any of either.

Capa wasn’t one to divulge his deepest, darkest secrets to anyone, but it took every ounce of his being not to tell her that he’s seen her face behind his eyelids almost every night for the past two or so months, her name in his throat every time his need for her took over. He let it spill all over himself when he couldn’t sleep, which was unfortunately often. She wasn’t going to tell him that she touched herself to the thought of him any time the mood struck her either, soaking her fingers and her sheets beneath her. The two of them, separated only by a thin wall, had been breathing each other’s names as they reached completion for quite some time, and neither of them had shared any feelings for each other until today. As luck would have it, their feelings were mutual.

She leaned into his hand as she looked back at him. “It’s not weird, I promise…I’ve fallen for you too. I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t.” She gazed at him, full of love and infatuation. “You’re all I think about.”

Capa looked back at her with the same intensity. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that,” he replied. He leaned in closer to her still, less than a foot of space between them. “What I really wanted to ask is…” he trailed off as he caressed her cheek and jawline. “I know this isn’t ideal, and I’m sorry about that…but I want this mission to continue with no regrets. I would hate myself forever if I never told you how I really feel about you. With that being said…would you be okay with us seeing where this goes?” His eyes never left hers as he confessed his love for her. “I want to be with you…if you’ll have me. Now, and, God willing, after the mission, too.”

Her heart pounded in her chest as she heard his words. “Of course I will. I want to be with you, too. I want nothing more than to be with you.”

Capa smiled and let out a sigh of relief before he spoke again. “Thank you…really. You mean everything to me, and I want you to know that…I’ll never let you forget it.” He closed any remaining distance between the two of them. He caressed her face tenderly once more. “May I…?”

She smiled at him with admiration and anticipation. “Yes, you may.”

Capa closed his eyes, leaned in, and kissed her gingerly at first, her eyes fluttering shut. She tilted her head as she kissed him back. Their kiss grew more and more passionate as seconds passed. He held her head gently and he ran his fingers through her hair as she wrapped her arms around his neck, their tongues dancing together softly. Capa slowly broke the kiss and opened his eyes. She opened hers as they pulled away, their pupils blown out with love and desire. He wrapped his arms around her as she pulled him into a tight hug, resting her head in the crook of his neck.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long…” he breathed into her hair as he rubbed his hands on her back, inhaling her sweet scent. “Thank you…I mean it.” Capa blushed some more as he took another deep breath. “God, you make me feel like I’m a teenager again.”

“Me too…you’re absolutely lovely,” she replied, hugging him tighter. “You’re the man I’ve always dreamed of.” She broke the hug before looking into his icy blue eyes again. “Does this mean we’re together?” she asked, blushing and smiling.

Capa smiled back at her. “It does…is that okay with you?” He brushed some of her hair over her shoulder before caressing her face again.

“That is more than okay with me,” she answered. “So, what now?”

Capa blushed deeper as he smiled. “Come here…” He stood up from the table and held his hand out for her to take. She accepted his hand and stood up as he put his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck as his plush lips met hers again, kissing her with more intensity and urgency than he had before. She matched his passion as she returned his kiss, tangling her fingers in his long, dark, soft hair.

Noticing her need for him in her movements, Capa moved his kisses from her lips to her chin and jawline, then down along her neck and collarbone, immediately appreciating her reaction as she moaned quietly, tugging on his gray sleeveless shirt. She mused to herself about how effortlessly gorgeous he looked in it again, biting her lip at the thought, instantly reminded of all those nights she fantasized about taking it off of him. Lost in lustful longing, she struggled to get the words out.

“How did you know that I…maybe…we should probably…go somewhere else…” she whispered in between heavy breaths and soft whimpers. “Someone might wonder…what if someone wakes up and…” This is the first time he’d ever kissed her, and he already figured out one of the things that drives her crazy, knocking the air out of her lungs without trying to.

Capa chuckled slyly as he softly shushed her before he agreed. “A wild guess? But yeah…good call.” He gently pulled her with him towards his small bedroom. “We’ll deal with everyone else later. You’re all that matters to me right now.” He opened his door and let her in before shutting it behind him and locking the two of them inside. He looked at her with concern. “Are you okay with this? We don’t have to…you know…if you don’t want to…” His voice was low and seductive as he moved his hands under her shirt, tracing the curve of her spine and her shoulder blades with his fingers.

She spoke as he trailed off. “Yes, I want to…I want you. I’m sure about this. Are you?” she answered, looking back at him lovingly.

“As sure as I’m alive,” Capa answered, smiling back at her with just as much love. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.” He kissed her some more before gently pushing her backwards onto his bed and positioned himself between her spread legs as he laid her down.

They spent the rest of the night making love to each other, over and over, drawing out every single moment to make it last as long as possible, and after at least a few hours, they wore each other out completely. Their first entanglement started out slow and sensual until their hunger for each other consumed them. They tried their absolute hardest to keep the noise to a minimum, but that became increasingly difficult for the both of them as their makeout heated up and clothes started to fall away.

Capa was gentle with her for their first time having sex, leaving no part of her untouched or unkissed, committing every inch of her skin to memory as if it was their last night alive. As far as he was aware, the woman underneath him was nothing short of a goddess. She gladly returned the favor, marveling at his incredible beauty. She was completely amazed at how he looked as if he was carved from stone, his whole body breathtakingly perfect to her. As far as they were concerned, it very well could have been their final night together. Neither of them were worried about that now, focusing solely on each other.

She was tight like a vice and sopping wet around him, and he stretched her so deliciously that he would whisper his praises in her ear, encouraging her. Capa made it a habit to cover her mouth as he took her, something she learned to absolutely lose her mind over. If he wasn’t covering her mouth as he brought her to climax, he would make sure to devour her with hot kisses as she contracted around him, bringing his orgasm forth soon after. As much as he would have loved for her to be as loud as she possibly could, Capa found it incredibly sexy and oddly endearing when she struggled to stay quiet under him, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as he poured himself into her.

She was able to rile Capa up in all the best ways possible as well, and he too had some difficulty trying to keep his voice down. One round turned into two, and then three…and on and on until both of them were sore and exhausted. Once they were able to catch their breath, Capa would make sure he didn’t wreck her too much, and if he did, he’d kiss it all away, and she would follow suit. “I love you” were three little words that neither of them could ever get sick of saying or hearing from the other.

After all of their daily tasks were taken care of for the day, every night on the Icarus II thereafter was spent in each other’s arms, whether in Capa’s bed or hers. On nights when they weren’t ravishing each other half to death with reckless abandon, she and Capa would lay in bed together and talk about whatever came to mind until they fell asleep tangled up in each other. She and Capa were able to keep their new relationship a secret for about a week maximum before the crew found out on their own. They were delighted to discover that none of the rest of the crew were surprised that they ended up together. There was initially some concern, but ultimately the crew accepted it and let it continue, because they knew that these moments the crew had together could be the last they have with anyone, so who cares if two of the crew members fell in love?

Mace ribbed Capa about his enthusiastic nightly activities with Y/L/N, and it was nice that he wasn’t fighting with him for once. It was hard for him to believe that Capa, the usually soft-spoken physicist, had that effect on Y/L/N. He even mentioned to Cassie that he has never seen Capa smile as much as he did now, and Cassie added that Y/L/N had a glow about her. For someone as quiet and reserved as Capa, Mace found it amusing that his new girlfriend could bring him out of his shell like that, and although he would never admit it, he was glad that it was Y/L/N.

Capa was bashful about discussing his relationship with Y/L/N to the others, shying away from the sexual aspect, but he had no issue praising her and giving her credit when it was due. It was obvious that he was absolutely head over heels for Y/L/N, and she blushed anytime the crew teased her or tried to get her to reveal any juicy details about their rendezvous behind closed cabin doors. They were in love, and it brought a new positive energy to the rest of the mission. Kaneda was thankful that everyone seemed to be getting along better and in good spirits, while Trey and Harvey were indifferent towards the two physicists becoming a couple, but thrilled for them nonetheless.

Searle, being a doctor, wasn’t really concerned with it, but was also excited for them. He pretended not to notice the love marks Capa bit into Y/L/N’s neck or the faint scratches she had left on Capa’s shoulders, and especially tried to ignore the way Y/L/N would squirm slightly when she sat down. Corazon, happily content that a relationship so strong could come from something so hellish, reminded everyone that they had a surplus of oxygen coming from the garden due to overgrowth. The crew would still have more than enough oxygen to go around, whether Capa and Y/L/N were “fucking like rabbits” or not, as Mace put it.

After a few weeks of calculations, trajectory adjustments, and protocols during the day and exploring each other and falling in love more and more at night, Capa led the rest of the crew to carry out the mission successfully. Capa made sure everything was done exactly to plan, and he didn’t do anything without his girl by his side, from the ignition of the bomb all the way through the terrifying trek back to Earth.

It didn’t matter how many times the crew had practiced and prepared for the descent back to solid ground, the airsickness still hit Y/L/N the hardest. It was the part of being an astronaut she hated the most, and she never quite got used to it. Capa was well aware of this having seen her go through it during their zero-gravity training, and he felt bad that it was hard on her. He was one of the lucky ones who could handle it well; the worst of it for him was a slight change in equilibrium that left him briefly lightheaded. But now he took care of her lovingly, holding her hair out of the way and rubbing her back as the nausea won the battle against her, never leaving her side until he knew she was okay.

She was embarrassed about it as it was happening, not wanting anyone to see her so violently ill, but was eventually able to joke about it once the sick, spinning feeling dissipated. All of that initial anxiety melted away knowing her boyfriend was right there beside her, making sure she felt well enough before taking care of any other necessary tasks. He reassured her that a lot of people are really sensitive to it, and that it’s nothing to be ashamed of. In an attempt to make light of the situation, Capa reminded her that the reduced-gravity aircraft they used during their weightlessness training was called the “Vomit Comet” for a reason.

As the Icarus II landed, the crew was met with a massive crowd of people cheering them on, congratulating them on their historic achievement, while also mourning the deaths of the previous Icarus crew. Once everyone was back to their normal selves, or as close to it as possible, Cassie, Mace, Corazon, Trey, Searle, Harvey, and Kaneda all went back to their homes in various places around the world.

Meanwhile, Capa and Y/L/N settled down somewhere in the halfway point between their hometowns, close enough to Capa’s sister and her kids in one direction, and Y/L/N’s family in the other. They had found themselves a nice house outside of the city, and the two built their own small planetarium in their backyard together. Their two-story home was modest but just enough for them; not too small, but not too big either. It was there that they stayed happily for the next couple of years.

______________________________________________________________

It was a warm April day, but to Capa, it wasn’t just any typical day. Today was special.

The solar eclipse was happening today. He hadn’t seen an eclipse on Earth in many years. He has seen a few eclipses from the vantage point of the Icarus II in space, but it’s been a long time since he’s experienced one from the ground, and it just so happened that the path of totality was going right over his house he shared with his girlfriend, Y/L/N.

Of course, being a physicist and an astronaut, he knew the date and time of when the Moon was supposed to pass in front of the Sun ahead of time -- months, maybe years in advance -- and he knew he wanted to experience it with the love of his life. Even more than that, he wanted to make the experience as beautiful and as romantic as he possibly could. It was because of the couple and the rest of the Icarus II crew that they were able to view such a remarkable thing from Earth after all.

While Y/L/N was away for a few hours finishing a few last-minute errands, Capa was busy in their backyard in the midday spring air, setting up a massive telescope and a camera. Next to his setup, he spread out a large blanket on the grass, and on it he set a bottle of wine and two glasses. As he was getting the angle of the telescope just right and setting the time lapse to the correct adjustments on the camera, he thought he heard Y/L/N’s car pull into their driveway. As she got out of the car, she looked around for him, but didn’t see him right away.

“Sweetheart, I’m home!” she called out. She waited a second before calling out for him again. “Robert? Honey?”

“I’m in the backyard, baby,” he called back to her. “I’ll be right there.” Capa walked over to her to help her carry the bags into the house. He helped her put the groceries away in the kitchen, and once everything had been taken in and put away, he pulled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her deeply, leaving her breathless. She kissed him back, returning his intensity as she held onto his shoulders. She wobbled a little, but Capa held onto her tight, not letting her fall. He gently broke the kiss, his arms still around her.

“Welcome home, sunshine,” Capa said, his eyes full of love. “I was getting nervous for a second there.”

A little dizzy from his kiss, she giggled before answering. “I’m sorry, sweetheart…traffic was backed up, but I made it.” She kissed him again as she hugged him. “How much time do we have until everything goes dark?”

Capa returned the kiss, gently running his hands up and down her back. “We have about half an hour or so before we can see anything happen.” He smiled at her as he played with her hair lovingly. “Might as well head outside so we don’t miss anything cool…what do you think, angel?”

She blushed as she leaned into his touch. “Sure, hun. Let’s go.” She took his hand as he led her outside to their backyard. He helped her sit down on the blanket he put out for them before sitting down next to her. Her eyes widened at the romantic scene he had created for the two of them, the telescope and the camera, as well as the bottle of wine and glasses, and the string lights he attached to the sides of their little planetarium.

He opened the bottle and poured the wine into a glass and handed it to her, before doing the same for himself. “Here you go, my love,” he said as he handed the glass to her.

She gently took the glass from him and smiled. “Thank you, sweetheart.” They tapped their glasses together before they each took a sip. “God, baby, this is really beautiful,” she said, her voice wavering slightly as she rested her head on his shoulder.

He kissed her forehead tenderly. “Not nearly as beautiful as you are,” he said as he smiled back, wrapping his arm around her. “I love you so much. Forever and always.” he said as he planted another small kiss on the top of her head.

“I love you too. So much. With my whole heart.” she replied, nuzzling up closer to him.

Capa leaned over to kiss her on the lips one more time. “Shouldn’t be too much longer…it’s getting kinda dark, and it’s quiet all of a sudden.” He moved slightly to look through the telescope lens. “We’re really close now, I think.” He pulled away and moved the lens towards her. “Here, look at this…it reminds me of all those eclipses you and I used to watch together on the ship, just smaller and farther away.”

She looked through the lens and smiled. “I’ll never get tired of looking at things like this,” she said as the sky started to dim. “It’s always so breathtaking to see.”

While she was distracted by looking at the interstellar image in the eyepiece of the telescope, he stood up and reached into his pocket to pull out an engagement ring with a sunstone gem encrusted in the center, and hid it inside his hand. The sky was getting darker still, and the Moon was almost completely covering the Sun.

“Y/F/N?” he asked as he stood in front of her.

She pulled away from the telescope, and Capa helped her to her feet with his free hand. “Yes, Robert?” she asked as the Moon moved closer to blocking the Sun. “What is it?” The sky turned pitch black except for the light coming from the Sun beginning to hide behind the Moon.

He swallowed as he chose his words carefully. “You mean the world to me, Y/F/N. You are my world. Being with you has made me the happiest man on Earth.” He slowly dropped down to one knee in front of her, causing her to gasp as he took her left hand in both of his. “I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life right here with you. Will you marry me?” he asked gently and lovingly as tears started to form in his eyes.

She trembled and started to cry tears of joy. “Oh my God…yes! Of course I’ll marry you!”

Tears started to fall down his cheeks as he slipped the ring onto her finger. He stood back up and took her into his arms and kissed her deeply. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back, his tears mixing with hers. Overhead, the Sun appeared as a white circle in the sky, while the string lights glimmered behind them in the darkness caused by the eclipse.

“I love you, sunshine. More than anything else in the universe.” Capa said as he gently wiped away the tears from her face. He smiled as he wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. As they held each other, the sky began to brighten back up. He pulled away from the hug to kiss her deeply again. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart. So much. More than words can ever say.” she replied, kissing away his tears. “I can’t wait to be your wife.”

Capa blushed. “And I can’t wait to be your husband.” He kissed her back, holding her tightly in silence for a bit before speaking again. “So how was that? Pretty awesome, huh?”

She giggled and blushed. “Everything was amazing! Absolutely beautiful! I’m the luckiest woman on the planet to have you.” She kissed his cheek as she held him close.

Capa smiled and blushed as well. “Good, I’m glad. And I’m the luckiest man on the planet to have you, too.” He kissed her back with a little bit more passion than before. “I was thinking…”

She kissed him back, matching his intensity. “Oh? Thinking about what?” she asked, looking into his beautiful cobalt blue eyes.

“I was thinking that maybe we can go to bed early tonight…you know, to celebrate,” he said with an air of seduction in his voice. “And we don’t have anything going on tomorrow…” He kissed her again, this time biting her bottom lip softly and tugging on it with his teeth before letting it go, eliciting a small moan from her.

She kissed him back, feeling a wet warmth pool between her thighs as he ran his hands up and down her body. She moaned breathlessly before speaking. “Yeah? And how should we do that?”

Capa smiled wickedly as he began to kiss her jawline and collarbone before leaving a lingering kiss where her neck meets her shoulder. “Well, I could start there…”

She moaned a little louder. “My God…you know what happens when you do that…” she breathed as he continued to tease her.

Capa laughed slyly. “Believe me, I’m well aware of what happens, and I’ll never get sick of it. What do you say we go upstairs…” he trailed off before kissing her neck again, his teeth lightly scraping against her collarbone. “I’ve spent enough time exploring the sky when I’d much rather spend all night exploring my future wife,” he murmured, his lips against hers. “And every night after that.”

She swooned at his words, feeling weak at the knees in his arms. “Anything you say, baby,” she whispered. “I’m all yours. Forever.”

“Forever with you sounds pretty fantastic to me,” he said, full of desire for her. Wasting no time at all, Capa took her by the hand and led her into the house. “I’ll be right back, babe. I’ll meet you in the bedroom in a minute,” he said, his voice dripping with lustful need. She didn’t need him to tell her twice as she started up the stairs, but not before he playfully swatted her on the ass on her way up, making her giggle. He practically ran out to bring everything they had left outside into the house as fast as he could, shutting the door behind him with a soft slam when he came back in. He threw the blanket on a chair, leaned the telescope against the wall, set the camera down next to it, and brought the bottle of wine and the two glasses upstairs with him. He entered their bedroom and put everything in his hands on the nightstand.

Capa saw his now-fiancée sitting on the edge of their bed, eagerly waiting for him. “Took you long enough,” she teased him as she bit her lip looking at him. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever come back.” Her voice was sultry as she shifted on their mattress.

Blushing, Capa rolled his eyes in mock annoyance as he smiled, and teased her right back. “I was gone maybe two seconds max…you want me that bad already, huh?” She nodded as he took her into his arms again, kissing her deeply as he pulled her closer. Kneeling on the mattress in front of him as he stood at the edge of the bed, she returned his kisses as she lifted his shirt up and over his head before tossing it to the floor. “Good, because I need to have you right now,” he said, his excitement becoming nearly painful. Capa then started to undo the buttons of her shirt, fumbling with them slightly before giving in. He ripped it clear off of her shoulders, sending buttons flying in all directions, causing her to gasp and giggle in delight. He dragged her ruined shirt off of her shoulders and threw it behind him as he pulled one of the straps of her bra down to kiss her collarbone.

“You asked for it, love…I told you, you know what happens when you kiss me and bite me like that.” She kissed him again as she started to unbuckle his belt. “I think you know by now I can’t behave when you torture me.” She shot him a sexy wink before kissing him again. His breath caught in his throat as she tore his belt from around his hips and threw it to the floor to join his shirt.

“Torture, huh? Are you sure? Because something tells me you enjoy it. Quite a lot.” His voice had a sensual danger about it, and it thrilled her. He held her chin with his forefinger and thumb before dropping his voice to a velvety whisper. “And yes, I know exactly what happens. I want to see how much you can take. I also happen to know each and every thing that drives you wild.” He unhooked her bra with his free hand and took it off of her so slowly that she trembled. “See? Just like that.”

Thank you for reading! I hope you guys liked it, and if you did, I'd be happy to hear your thoughts and my requests are open! <3

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

since dean can escape and be a problem ghost I do like to imagine he pops into the main universe every now and then just to harass sam. never let's sam SEE him bc that would be too much for both of them but he's moving all the furniture in the house a few inches to the left. sam keeps finding foggy mirrors with "NERD" written on them. little dj inexplicably finds a bottle of nair in his room with a note simply saying 'you know what to do'. sam can't figure out how miracle keeps getting into the dog treats he hides on top of the fridge. nanny cam footage of the tv turning on to a scooby doo marathon. sam will be at work and all the sudden is every single hair on his head is standing up from static electricity. dj and and the fitzgerald twins messing around with a ouija board and dean's telling them SO many embarrassing stories. every now and then eileen will watch the alphabet magnets on the fridge move by themselves to spell out "DUMP HIM". beer drinking itself in front of them like ghost bobby used to do. the impala honking randomly in the middle of the night when sam has to wake up early in the morning. celine dion songs sounded warbled whenever sam tries to play them. sometimes he fully just throws a white bedsheet over himself and walks around going ooooOOOOOoooOOoo

[thenightfolknetwork]

Hello!!

I don't know how to explain so I will probably ramble a bit, before, yk, actually explaining.

So, I have this friend, they are of this analogue-to-god species. They look like sapio enough I guess, I'm no expert on this subject and sapios are kind of basic.

Of course, unlike sapios, they have the typical symbols of a deity: hands with wounds, an eye on the tongue and the most beautiful horns, intertwined around the entire skull like a crown and yeah, I also think they're super badass, even without the miracles and powers and everything.

The fact is that they are having problems at university. We don't know who, but someone is filling their dorm room with these most horrible notes about them being a freak or a demon (which isn't bad, but it's said in such an offensive way) and someone just shoved all their books in one of the university lakes and now they are banned from borrowing any more books and I helped them make a formal complaint and still no one will do anything about it! My friend is incredibly sweet and kind, they can't hurt a fly, even though they definitely damaged space time when he was born, but who hasn't?

The thing is, we recently discovered who was behind it and we've come to an agreement: maybe it's time to teach them why they called us monsters in the first place. A little payback? Installing a bit of fear of god on their souls? Nothing permanent of course. Nothing that could be tracked back to us either. But if these bastards think we are freaks, well we can behave like ones.

Still, I don't know. They don't know either. When is it revenge and when is it simply survival? I don't believe that if you break a nazi's arm you're equal to one. I do believe that a Nazi with one arm has one arm less to make Nazi stuff. Anyway, we need advice.

This is an extremely difficult situation, reader, and I'm so sorry you and your friend have been put in this position. I agree, it is a ridiculous bit of rhetorical nonsense to say that anyone acting against bigoted behaviour is “just as bad” as their aggressor. It is one thing to take violent objection to a person's (violent) behaviour. It is another thing entirely to object to a person's mere existence.

All this said, I am simply not in a position to condone violence towards this person, much less encourage you to any particular act. This blog is not a private conversation, and it would be highly irresponsible of me to say anything about your situation which might be construed as encouraging violence.

I must say, I am frankly appalled at your institution's lack of response. Please do double check your university's harassment policy. You have every right to demand action in accordance to that policy, especially if you have evidence of who it is behind these attacks.

If they continue to drag their feet, you might explore other ways of putting pressure on them to act. Peaceful protests, letter-writing campaigns, or going to the press with the story of their failure to protect vulnerable students are just some of the ways you can press the issue.

I also feel obliged to mention the possibility of getting the police involved. This seems to me a rather clear-cut case of harassment, but I understand if your friend does not consider this a viable option. Goodness knows the police have done little enough to earn the trust of the liminal community over the years, and you must be led by your own personal politics.

All of this to say that there are other options here, and I encourage you to explore all of them before resorting to violence. As I said, I cannot possibly condone violence on this platform – no matter how extremely tempting it might be to do so. Besides, if this person were, for example, to suffer some kind of extremely painful and humiliating accident, you and your friend would be the most obvious suspects.

Besides, it would be extremely unethical of you to curse this person to within an inch of their life, causing them never to know a moment's peace, plagued as they are by visions of a world more horrible than they ever imagined. Under no circumstances should you and your friend stand your ground, bare your teeth, and show this revolting excuse for a human being the true meaning of monstrosity. Certainly not.

[randomfoggytiger]

"Doesn't Make Him Less of a Miracle"

(Fictober, Day 30)

Fictober's almost over, and I haven't tackled the very genre that lured me into fic in the first place: S9 AU.

*****

William took after his father in many ways: he was very bright, unnaturally articulate for his age, and immaculately opportunistic: a born-and-raised schemer (though said schemes were often undercut by his innate inability to lie believably-- which Mulder ribbed Scully about, mercilessly.) He was also an incredibly fast runner with a propensity to dive head-first into the nearest kerfuffle. 

And Fox Mulder, the intelligent progenitor of this intelligent child, exploited that propensity to its fullest whenever he needed a few hours of unbroken concentration. Thus, Skippy’s Bouncy Castle and Ball Pit Stadium became the local haunt for the Mulder-Scully family’s operations. 

Alternating his afternoons between sifting through poached documents and worming his way into various mummy or nanny groups, Mulder learned just as much about thumb sucking habits as he did the ever-changing factions and movements of the crumbled Consortium empire. It wasn't a leap to apply his hostage negotiation tactics to toddler tantrum mitigation; and, to his surprise, he seemed more popular outside of the Bureau than in it, constantly getting interrupted by a child or their guardian with yet another situation that needed diffusing.

But like all aspects in life, there were prices to be paid for peace; and little William Mulder-Scully chose closing time on an already hectic Monday to exact that price.

*****

“Willaaaaaaaaaaaaay!” Mulder dropped his hands out of their airhorn position, pivoting to watch, helplessly, as hordes of well-behaved, snot-nosed, and spit-curled children of all ages wobbled out after their parents. The very picture of the Rockwell American dream. Staff members were whipping out mops or picking up stray toys-- one particularly under-tipped teenager glowered at him from her post near the light switch-- and still William did not appear from the midst of the ball pit. 

For a split second the old fear rushed irrationally back, cold sweat breaking out on his neck, "Fox!" clamoring in his mind-- but Will’s sudden outburst of giggles grounded him in reality, shook him involuntarily with relief. Deal with it another day.  Annoyance at his unexpected fear-- and annoyed he was annoyed-- spurred Mulder into action.

"Will, outta the ball pit-- we gotta go pick up food.” ‘Pick up food’: the universal unspoken for quick-and-easy greasy garbage from the nearest burger joint. Another thing father and son had in common.  

His precious miracle cackled. “Daddy, I’m a sea monster. You have to come hunt me.” 

“Sir--”

Mulder jolted at the sudden, vicious tug on his sleeve. Light switch teenager, frosted lips curling even further downward, had somehow learned teleportation and wasted that ability by scaring the daylights out of him. “The ball pit's closed. Grab your kid and go.” 

The ghosts of each and every one of Scully’s long-suffering eyerolls flashed through his mind; and he counted them, likely by tens, in an attempt to remain calm. Losing his cool exterior while hopped up on too many cups of coffee would only damage any potential future discount-- not to mention the years of ammunition Scully would have on him as their son inched slowly towards the plague of puberty.

“Yeah, just a minute, my--”

Losing interest in Light Switch Girl, Mulder covered the last few feet in a light jog, skidding across a wet patch on the floor but recovering his footing with a couple of hairy maneuvers.

Red ball, green ball, blue ball, green, green, blue, purple? Red, blue-- 

Red hair. The sea monster was just submerging on the other end of the pool, upgrading his chortles to belly laughter. 

“William, we can play the sea monster game tomorrow, but we’ve got to leave now.” Mulder was pleased to note that his son’s head paused, recognizing that ‘William’ and ‘got to’ were a big deal compared to ‘Will’ and ‘gotta’. The head bobbed up and down, wavering between losing the battle with honor or fighting the war with outright rebellion. 

Since logic seemed to be winning over wheedling-- a trait Scully would rib him over, mercilessly-- Mulder doubled down. “C’mon, Buddy, the workers have to clean up and go home. They want to eat, spend time with their families. …Watch a movie.” Well, a little wheedling wouldn't hurt.

The sea monster was drifting closer, his thoughtful Scully scowl and blue eyes rising above three green balls perfectly resembling algae-speckled rocks. What are the odds. “Is it… dirty in here, too?” 

YES. “Yeah, Will, it’s pretty gross in there. Probably has a few cooties, too.” 

His son may have had the genes of a scientist, but he hadn’t quite figured out the finer points of germ pathology. William breeched, fast, which gave his dad scant seconds of catch time before nearly faceplanting on the floor. “Cooties!” he chanted while wildly flinging his arms about, forcing Mulder the Triumphant to dodge a few accidental nose wallops.

Cooties really did come in handy. 

“Sir--”

Great. Light Switch Girl was back. 

“--your laptop and bag were moved to the front desk. If you could please grab them, we need to finish closing up.” She crossed her arms, sneered at his wiggling son, and began to brusquely tap her foot. 

In moments like these, Mulder wondered why he bothered trying to save the planet.  

“Thanks.” Readjusting Will-- who was attempting to climb, face first, down his back-- and offering an equally charming lip twitch of his own, Mulder skidded his retreat across the room, sorted and collected his things-- with the hand not currently grabbing his four-year old’s ankle-- and hoisted all of his belongings-- sea monster included-- over both shoulders before making his grunting exit. 

“Willy, I think you’re getting too big to be able to lug around anymore. Soon you'll have to help drag me back to the car.” 

Sea monsters and cooties forgotten, William puzzled this new idea while getting situated in his car seat. Mulder let him pursue it in silence-- another neat wrangling trick-- as he buckled, unbuckled, and rebuckled straps; then, since the gears were still turning in his son's head, he slid the bag onto the floor and slid himself into the front seat. The driver's safety belt was clicked into place when Will jerked upward, waving his hands and beaming at his father in the rearview mirror.

“It’s not me, it's the laptop! It becomes heavier every time you save another part of the world!” 

Mulder chuffed a laugh, enamored with the flawless logic of the young and uneducated. “You’re too smart for your old man,” he assured, proudly. 

“Can we get chicken?”

Just like that-- subject over and burgers out the window. “Sure, buddy. My treat.” 

*****

Fighting Colonization, catching sea monsters, and hunting down KFC may not, exactly, be a day in the life of the average American family; but it certainly enabled him to strum up an interesting moral out of the Flukeman and its excitement to go home. On second thought, Will would probably be incentivized to try hitchhiking to the ocean himself.

Now there's something Scully and I can't take credit for: possible obsessions with sewer tanks.

Somehow, Mulder didn't think she'd like that, either.

*****

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2023 and @fictober-event

[worldsfromhoney]

I’ve been so much on the fence about this that i think i consulted three servers i’m in and had a very reasonable breakdown during an intense convo with one of my best friends.

BEHOLD this is the result of my externalised inner struggle

🥁🥁🥁🥁 *drumroll* 🥁🥁🥁🥁

WiP intro: Imposter Syndrome

A What Shouldn’t Have Been Written short story.

Ok ima face it: idk what to do here so i’ll just wing it and i hope it’s enough 😵‍💫

Status

Will finish the first draft by 10/06

Posting date: 10/09

WiP tags

#wip: imposter syndrome

#wip: wshbw

#oc: del bonnaire

#oc: jo bonnaire

#oc: conn

#oc: mrs. bonnaire

What it on

A horror short story where society has found a way to let people change their skin—literally. And Del Bonnaire has had his eye on a particular one for years. With a dying mother and a grieving dad, what can stop him?

Genres/Themes

horror/thriller

suspense

sci-fi

family

morality and ethics

NOTE: there’s a hella more tags and warnings but they’re available on Inkitt and Wattpad so please look before you read!

Characters

Those who matter anyway ✌️But! They all show up! They all matter!

Del Bonnaire

A daddy’s boy is what Del puts in every social profile he has. And that’s exactly what he is. Recently graduated from university and turned 22 years old. He’s delayed his coming-of-age ‘changing’ for 7 years and has batted away the legal notices. An inch taller than his rugby player of a father, with a lean form (genetics, darling, he’ll say), and rare green-hued eyes—he’s a catch for the skin centre. But there’s a reason he’s delayed and the time has finally come.

Jo Bonnaire

Del’s father and [redacted]. Despite being a sports boy throughout his entire life, barring from going professional, he doesn’t like being put to the spotlight. A devoted husband who attends to his wife’s every want and need, even to the point of predicting it. Very sticky though, as his rugby lads would comment. Recently turned 40 as he got Del early in life. Comes from old money and works as a behind-the-scenes philanthropist. He seems normal enough… right?

Mrs. Bonnaire

Del’s mother and [redacted], and Jo’s wife and [redacted]. She’s a pretty isolated person and neighbours gossip it’s because she got sickly after her first husband’s death. An utter miracle that someone like Jo had taken her in, they’ll also say. No one’s seen much of her family than her father who was seen rowing with Jo one night and never came back. Past schoolmates say she was very different in the past—a political activist against the ‘skin change movement’. Where’s that woman now?

Conn

Del’s childhood best friend. He and his aunt are the Bonnaire’s closest neighbours. Rather than him keeping Del, it’s more of the way around with how others see him always being comforted and apologising after a fight. Like a puppy whining after a particularly slick kitten, the other kids say. Handsome enough in his own right—brunette, grey eyes, dimple—but overshadowed by Del’s dark, tall, and handsome vibe. He doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind much of what Del does anymore.

Dr. Katz

The doctor assigned to Mrs. Bonnaire’s case. One of the most renowned doctors in the hospital and the only one willing to take on the case. Not because of its queerness or impossibility but because of the two Bonnaires who stand guard day and night. You’re just imagining it, the charmed nurses reassure her, but she isn’t buying it. In the end, she’s right not to.

Snippet

NOTE: the snippet here is from the first draft which is crap so you will be reading crap 🥰

I think I give him an answer but it gets lost as a muffled mumble in his shirt. I’m not ready to let go. There’s a beating heart and a chest that rises and falls properly with no help so near that I don’t want to let go.

…and that’s all for now!

[amaranthine-everlasting]

So I screamed from the moment Crowley grabbed Aziraphale by the collar and pulled him in for a kiss and couldn't stop screaming until Aziraphale pulled away with a devastated look on his face.

I am in love with season 2 of Good Omens. All hail every single cog in the machine that allowed this miracle to happen (and like a greedy thing, I'm now eagerly anticipating a third season).

But with as much joy as this new season brought me, as much as I cherish each new CANON interaction of the Ineffable Husbands like a luxuriously decadently bitter dark chocolate... this new season was Fanfiction from the very first scene with Crowley being an angel of a higher station and having a hand with the creation of the universe, to the very last frames as the credits rolled through.

Don't get me wrong, this felt like it was Great Fanfiction. The kind that you find after refining AO3's filters down to within an inch of their lives, sorting by word count, carefully reading each tag, noting the amount of kudos, double checking the Last Updated date, and peering into the very soul of the Author's Notes for any unexpected surprises. Fanfiction, none the less.

This is not a rant, this is not a complaint, and I apologize that my memory recollection abilities are so subpar that I for the life of me can't provide any fic titles, (but if there are any GO fanfic readers with minds like steel traps....please help a poor girl out in the comments) but:

There are amazing fics where Crowley was a high ranking angel. He was either part of the team that hung the stars or he's even the Archangel Raphael.

I remember reading a fic where Aziraphale and his fellow Soho shopkeepers (granted, this was back when nearly all of the shops were of the eyebrow raising variety, not just Mrs. Sandwich) were a rather tight knit community.

There's a few decent fics with Outsider POVs helping Crowley or Aziraphale realize they love the other. Obviously with the limited amount of characters available to play with, those outsiders tended to be either Madame Tracy, Anathema, or Adam Young/The Them when it wasn't an OC.

We saw the Gabriel/Beelzebub pairing and loved it and never imagined it seeing it become CANON holy shit yes! but I distinctly remember a fic where Crowley was much more female presenting, and Gabriel bought them a dress. Anyways, Gabriel was on Earth and was comfortable with earthly things because he kept having very hot, very steamy encounters with Beelzebub in Mexico (I think), that started out as clandestine meetings to figure out the next Apocalypse.

I remember this perfectly lovely and indulgent fic where Aziraphale closes his bookshop and Crowley sells his flat and they take the Bentley and retire in the South Downs. And Aziraphale joined the local theater and Crowley grew an amazing garden and they raised ducks by the beach and they had the opportunity to be an "us" 😭. And obviously that doesn't happen in the show but us avid fanfic readers, we knew what it could be like for them and so that moment when Crowley confessed and the fight and the kiss I was a mess an absolute mess, but also:

We fans love the drama, love the hurt, love watching the hope leaving our favorite pairing's eyes, so there are quite a few fics where those two fighting after a confession is as emotionally charged as that scene. But to have David Tennant and Michael Sheen really act that out the way they did gave me heart palpitations, it really did.

And last, but not least, this is not main character related but our OCs- I mean, Nina and Maggie- are actually living out a Coffeeshop AU.

Like I said, I'm not ranting or complaining or anything. I am so happy we got more GO content of this caliber on the tv. But it did not feel wholly original. It felt like dipping myself into that 1000th fic with that same trope that you are willing to read about for the rest of eternity (for example: I will read every single fic created about how Hob rescues Dream from the basement in The Sandman, and I will do it with the same enthusiasm I had the first time I read the first rescue fic. It scratches an itch that feels oh so satisfying to scratch.)

Anyways, yeah. Those were my thoughts.

[astroboots]

Heatwave

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Summary: Santiago and you try to occupy yourselves during another heatwave in Florida.

Rating: Explicit, edging, bratty-ass behavior from one Santiago.

Pairing: Santiago x female reader (you)

Word Count: 4,000

Homecoming Universe | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' masterlist

At what point does a spiking high temperature no longer count as a heatwave and just becomes the new average temperature for the local area. Is it after the third or sixth heatwave in a month? And for that matter, how many record breaking high temperatures can one summer have in store for a state that is already known for its hot climate?

Fuck! Why did he move back here again?

Santiago is melting. Lying slumped against the cool flooring of the bedroom where the breeze reaches. He's stripped off his clothes, wearing nothing but his boxers and staying far away from any walls because they are fucking radiating heat. At one point he's pretty sure he saw the edges of the walls wobble from the inferno temperature raging outside... either that or his vision is blurring out on him.

It must be what? 150 degrees, 200?? He doesn't care what the weatherman is reporting, there's no fucking way it's only 110 out there.

Leaning his head back down on the cold wooden flooring for reprieve, he can't remember the last time Florida got so hot. (If it has, he hasn't been here to see it).

Shit, it must be even hotter than that time you drove him down to the airport, what was it now, ten or twelve years ago? It got so fucking hot that the radio was warning about staying away from the highway because the tarmac was at risk of melting.

No one in their right mind would've gone out on the road that day. Except you of course. In your shitty little Volvo, with a broken A/C and a clutch that creaked with every change of gear. It's lucky the old piece of junk made it to the airport at all, and nothing short of a miracle that you made it there in time.

He can still see it in his mind's eye. The way your hair was matted with sweat as you pulled up to the drop off point. Still remembers how his old t-shirt was glued to every inch of his sweaty back as he peeled himself off the passenger seat. How, even as disgusting as the two of you felt, drenched in sweat and smelling like two dumpster diving raccoons, having been trapped on the highway for over an hour in that heat, you had held onto his torso as if you were never going to let him go. Your pinkie wrapped around his, so tightly, he was sure the blood circulation was entirely cut off as you told him in no uncertain terms: "You better fucking come back home in one piece, Santiago."

A smile breaks out across his face at the memory. From a distance he can hear the familiar sound of your footfall from the hallway, followed by your voice echoing all the way upstairs as you call out for him.

"Santiagoooo!"

If it wasn't for the heat, he'd call back in response to you. But all the strength is zapped out of him. Plus, he suspects that the reason you're calling for him is to rope him into helping Frankie with the latest crazy home project the man's set on finishing this weekend (and in this heat Santiago's not going anywhere near that).

"Honey." The endearing nickname has him smiling even wider. His mouth parts, just about to respond to you when he hears the rest of your sentence.

"Frankie needs help sanding down the fence."

Bingo.

No way in hell he's responding now.

He can hear you opening and closing doors all over the house in search of him. You'll find him eventually, but it doesn't mean he's not going to take his time enjoying the last few moments of being in the safe shelter out of the sun.

There's a soft click as the door to the bedroom opens. From his limited view on the floor, he sees glimpses of your feet from the corner of his eyes as you march in front of him until you're standing above, looming over his form.

"Santiago. I was looking for you everywhere."

He lets the hand resting on his thigh slide down to the front of his boxers without thought and that catches your immediate attention.

There's a sharp and sudden inhale from you, as if the air is spiked. You look like you've forgotten how to breathe properly.

You liked that huh? The corner of his lips curl into a smile as he holds eye contact with you.

"Sorry, must've dozed off."

"Har, har. Stop lounging around half naked and acting like a thirst trap. Frankie needs help with the fence."

"It's 200 fucking degrees. I'm not going to do that. Frankie can finish his home improvement project when Armageddon isn't happening outside."

You shoot him a small frown. Arms crossing in front of your chest.

He pats the space on the floor right next to himself, as he continues. “Come lay down with me for a second to cool down. You look like you might be overheating. Don’t wanna get heatstroke or anything. Frankie can wait a few minutes.”

You don't move from the spot, making no move to join him. "Poor Frankie is doing all the work."

Santiago's itching to retort that there's nothing "poor" about Frankie's situation. Man is having the time of his life out there. He loves doing these projects.

But Santiago keeps his mouth shut. Because he knows if he doesn't, he'll inevitable set you two up for a back and forth of who's right and wrong, who wins and who's losing the argument, trying to one-up each other the rest of the afternoon. And it's not that Santiago doesn't absolutely love doing that with you but...

Peering up at you, the way your lips are swollen with heat and parted as you look at him, Santiago has a much better idea of how he wants to spend the rest of the afternoon with you.

"Just a little bit, sweetheart," he says, doing his best to sweet talk you as he pats his free hand over the same spot on the floor in invitation. "Come sit with me for one minute, and I promise I'll go help Frankie okay?"

Glancing over your shoulder, you throw a quick glance over the window, probably to check in on Frankie.

"Just a minute, okay?"

"Mhmm. Just one."

It doesn't take more persuasion from him than that. Next thing he knows, you're walking over to him. Soft steps and an even softer gaze in your eyes. Then you sink down on the floor and sit down on the spot right where he patted.

That was... surprisingly easy.

He'd expected more resistance from you. Was fully prepared to do a filibuster marathon to try to convince you to join him. Hadn't quite expected you to just... give into him the way you just did. He blinks up in surprise, at your face mere inches away from him. He's not fully sure what just happened. You've never turned down an opportunity to put up a fight with him before.

You stare down at his chest and bare stomach, lingering there. You swallow down reflexively as you take him in with heated eyes.

Huh...

Santiago knows the effect he has on women. He just never knew he had that effect on you.

As arrogant as it sounds, he knows he's a good looking man. Knows that he's charming to boot. But the relationship between the two of you, for all the love that you had held for each other, had always remained platonic back in the day. You don't look at him the way other women do. And Santiago doesn't flirt with you the way he does with other women. Those were the unspoken rules you two had set for each other from the start and it's all you two have ever known.

And while things have changed now. While Santiago's seen the heated looks you give him when he's in bed with you, your relationship has remained largely unchanged outside of it.

You still pull him up on his bullshit when he's earned it. Never hesitate to square up with him in a competition for anything.

This... This is new.

He taps his bare thigh, almost experimentally to test his theory. He doesn't miss the way your pupils dilate with interest, and as always he can't resist the urge to goad you.

Not when you're eyeing him so appreciatively, in a way that you've never done in the past in all your years of friendships until recently. He figures he's earned the right after all this time to be a little bit obnoxious and revel and preen in the attention from you.

"Cariño," he calls out, until your eyes pulls back up to his face. "Eyes up here," he teases.

You roll your eyes, smacking him in the chest. It's supposedly a playful gesture, but you do it with enough strength that it knocks the breath out of him.

"I know," you retort, but your eyes drift back to his chest and then continue downwards and the attention has heat spearing through his limbs.

"You're still looking," he teases, and his hand snakes down over the plane of his thighs, reveling in your attentive gaze. "Didn't know you were such a perv."

By now you'd usually retaliate or cuss him out, but you don't.

Instead, you continue to stare, eyes blown wide as if you've been cast under a spell, mesmerized.

He palms himself through the front of his boxers, and he can feel the rush of blood rushing down and away from his head as his cock stirs to hardness. If Santiago was considered full of himself before this, it's nothing compared to how he feels in this moment with the way you're looking at him. Your expression blank, like the sight of him has made you lose your ability to speak. Mouth parted, the glistening pink of your tongue peeking out, as if you would devour him if he'd let you.

"Should I give you a show then?" he asks.

After all, if you want to look, he's more than happy to give you something proper to look at.

You nod with an eagerness that has your head bouncing up and down like the bopping bobble head toy Frankie keeps on the dashboard. Santiago lets out a laugh that's more breathless than he had expected from himself. He blames it on the heat.

Dragging down the edge of his boxers, he keeps his eyes on yours as his fingers wrap around the base of himself and his cock jumps in response to the touch.

Shit, that's good. A sweet spike of pleasure runs through him at the languid touch, and he feels breathless with it. His cock is slick with precome that drips down the length with each slide of his hand.

Running his hand up the rigid length, the calloused skin graze against the sensitive skin. Pleasure ooze and drips inside his chest and down his limbs, until his legs tremble with it. Santiago's touched himself countless times before but it's never felt like this before.

Maybe it's the heat that's getting to him. Or maybe it's the way you're inching closer with each passing second until you're practically straddling him on his lap. You and your soft and perfect thighs pressing down on his own, keeping him pinned onto the floor as he tries to keep going. The heat he can feel from between your legs, through the thin layer of cotton that's pressed onto his bare skin. Yeah... maybe it's that.

Santiago goes slow and languid as he touches himself for your benefit. And as ridiculous as it sounds it is for you. Because if it wasn't for you, there's no chance in hell he'd be going this slowly. He'd be fast and almost sloppy, squeezing down on his cock until the desperate need that's riding his spine lets go with his climax. If you weren't here, gorgeous eyes all focused on him, with a look that he wouldn't even let himself dream of in the past, he wouldn't want to prolong it the way he is.

Even now, with the strained effort of taking it as slow as he can possibly stand, he's not entirely sure how long he'll last. He feels like he's on a precarious edge, his climax taunting him, swelling up and simmering with a slow burn in his stomach.

Your torso tilts forward, squirming in his lap, with the tiniest movement every time his hand moves upwards, in time with his strokes.

You're practically riding his thigh, and Jesus fucking christ, that isn't helping Santiago's situation right now. At this point you're both going to come dry humping each other like horny clueless Mormons on their wedding night.

"Sweetheart, wait--" he tries, but you press yourself down on his thigh all the same, and he can feel your sweet slick drip down on his thigh and coat him with it. All he's capable of is a deep and shameless moan.

His cock twitches in his hand, and for several alarming seconds, Santiago thinks that's it. That it's already too late and he's going to come right then and there, spilling himself all over his hand and stomach.

Santiago squeezes down hard around the base of his cock to stave off the needy sensation.

"Shit," he hisses. "Fuck. fuck. Sweetheart, gonna need you to--" he doesn't finish his sentence. Can't spare the seconds it would take to properly think. One hand is already reaching out under your dress (thank god you're wearing a dress) wedging your panties to the side, his other pulling you closer by your waist until your pussy is lined up with the swollen head of his cock.

He doesn't even have time to move his hand in place to grip at his cock before you push down on him. Heat streaks through his insides until his lungs feels like they're burning. Your perfect pussy envelops all of him, every single throbbing aching inch with slick warmth and perfect pressure until his vision whites out.

Fuck, why is he so fucking sensitive.

He can't... fuck, he can't hold on. A desperate groan tears out of his throat and he buries his face into your neck to hide from the sensation that has him surrounded.

He thrusts upwards, canting his hips until you're taking all of him.

Pleasure singes his entire spine, and it burns him alive with it. The heat is unbearable, sweat is plastered to his back, but it doesn't matter. Santiago's skin is damp and sticky, but he's still pressing you closer. Wants every inch of you, warm and gorgeous and so fucking soft, pressed against him in every way he can have you, and he's still not sure if that'd be enough.

Wants to make up for every year, hour, minute and second that he'd wasted of his life, being away from you. Wants all of that even if it kills him.

Planting his feet on the wooden floor for leverage, he grabs your hips to force you down as far as you can take him. Until your head throws back with a high-pitched whine, palms pushing down on his chest as if it's too much for you to handle, and he lets go, sinking down his hips back towards the floor, until only the tip of him rests inside you.

He gives you a handful of seconds to catch your breath. Then he grabs your waist and push you down on his cock. Again, and again. To the gorgeous sounds of your keen moans and whines all blended into one, as you're sobbing out his name.

Forceful, deep thrusts that has tears pushing in the corner of your eyes. He keeps going as the sweet aching heat has him drunk and euphoric on you, with each and every rise and cant of his hips.

He's not going to last. Shit, shit, he's not going to last like this.

But that's okay. Because judging from the way you're grinding against him. Needy and desperate. Your cunt squeezing so tight around his cock it makes it hard to breathe, you're not going to last either.

His hand strays down below your stomach, sliding between your legs until his thumb catches at your clit, slippery and wet, and absolutely dripping for him. You sob at the contact, wracked in shivers as he continues to rub smooth little circles over it, and he can feel just how close you are.

You're perfect. Eyes squeezed shut, head tilted back in surrender, a high-pitched whine escaping your throat and oh fuck Santiago was not prepared for this.

His brain stalls out, hand stopping as his movements comes to a still to take in the sight before him because...You are so fucking beautiful like this.

"Santiago, what the fuck, make me—" you're slapping his shoulder, voice high pitched and desperate that makes his spine tingle as you grind on him. "Fuck make me cum, don't be an ass."

Fuck what is he doing?

Santiago's not sure. Not sure why he's stopped, even as every nerve and muscle in him is screaming for him to chase after the pleasure until both of you are coming.

Not sure why he's just sitting there dumbfounded. Except, this is everything he's wanted for so long that he's denied himself and he realizes that right now— it's here, landed in his very lap. You're the woman he's loved for so long, no matter how much he's denied it to himself, and he just wants to make this moment last.

All he knows is that he doesn't want this to end.

"Wait, sweetheart," he murmurs, even as you squirm from his grip pinning you in place. "Just give me a second. Want to remember this," and he means it with more sincerity than he ever thought he had left in him as he stares up at you in complete awe.

He wants it to last.

Not just out of a ill-placed sense of pride. Not just because he knows you're going to give him shit for coming too fast.

He just wants this to last. Wants you in his arms like this. Wants you to look at him, just like this, like you need him to survive, more than your next breath. This. This. This. He wants it to last forever.

You don't listen to him though. Of course you don't, because you never make it that easy for him. Your hips roll against him, grinding with desperation until his cock nudges something devastatingly perfect that has him convinced his brain is melting.

Shit, he has to stop. Oh fuck oh fuck, he's too close—

"Stop stop," he warns, hand gripping down on your hips to stop you "Boa, Stop— fuck you're gonna make me—"

But it's too late. It's already happening. He can feel his cock pulse and throb as he spills himself inside of you, shuddering through his orgasm— and fuck this was not how it was supposed to go down.

Everything slows. It's everywhere, rushing through him with a chaotic frenzy as it wrings him dry. The euphoric sensation overcrowding everything else, and his head feels like he is going to split with it. He can't think. Can't breathe.

But even in his post-cum haze he knows you still haven't come and he can't have that.

Santiago grits through it. Biting down and clenching on his jaw to ride through the over-brimming sensation that threatens to burst out of his skin as he continues to thrust into you.

Oversensitive and overstimulated. Every slick slide of your perfect pussy has him gasping for air. It's too much. Like live wires are running through his skin and every cant of your hips against him sets every receptor in his brain on overdrive. His cock is so sensitive, he can feel every fraction of you wrapped around him.

And it's perfect and it's good. And it's just so fucking much.

You're burning hot. He feels feverish and on the brink of delirium from the heat. Like he's inside a live furnace, but he doesn't want to stop. Can't stop. Not until he's seen your eyes roll into the back of your head. Not until you've come apart for him.

Locking his arm over the small of your back, he flips you over, onto your back. Pushing his free hand between your bodies until his thumb is rubbing rough little circles on your clit again.

He keeps going, pushing inside even as every nerve at him is screaming for respite. Santiago doesn't stop though. You're so close, and he just has to hold on even as each flutter and squeeze of your cunt is pushing him over the edge of too much.

Doesn't stop even as your gorgeous eyelashes flutter dramatically, your eyes rolling back as you kick your leg out and finally, finally comes on his cock.

The sensation of your climax punches the last breath out of him. He can hear himself whine pathetically into your neck.

The overwhelming tightness of you, your pussy squeezing and clenching down over and over, as if you're trying to wring and empty him out of anything he has left him. It brings him to his knees and collapses into you.

Everything feels sticky and clammy. Both of you drenched, as he's pinning you down with his weight. He feels weightless and heavy all at the same time. It doesn't make sense and shouldn't even be possible. But it certainly didn't help him in his efforts to move

To the protest of his exhausted limbs, Santiago rolls over to lay on his back next to you there on the floor. Both of you sweaty and panting.

God this might have been a bad idea.

It was too fucking hot even before all the physical exertion, now it's like an inferno. He's seconds from passing out. But at least the floor is marginally cooler against his back than the surrounding air, while you're laying there catching their breath.

Every inch of him thrums with pleasure, and his body practically tingles with the afterglow of his climax. But he can't help the scowl on his face. He's mentally cringing.

He came too fast.

Shot his load like some overeager virgin.

And there's no fucking way you wouldn't have noticed that he came before you. It's only a matter of you catching your breath, before you start giving him shit about it.

He lies there, staring up at the ceiling, preemptively trying to come up with some kind of defense or comeback but nothing comes to him. The only thing that fills his head is the image of your eyes from seconds ago, gazing down on him, looking at him the way that deep down, through all those years of platonic friendship, for all the way he's tried to repressed it, he's always wanted you to look at him.

It's so fucking stupid, but his stomach flutters pleasantly at the memory.

"Hey, Santiago...?"

He closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face trying desperately to pull himself together. Because even though he knows it's coming. Right now he feels too naked and raw, without protection to brace himself at whatever joke you're sure to make next at his expense.

Feels a little bit too exposed after that perfect moment of having everything he never let himself acknowledge that he wanted right there in his arms.

He swallows, bracing himself for the witty remark, as he responds to you with a weak, "Yeah?"

You don't say anything.

Instead, he feels just the barest touch against his hand, and he looks down. Your fingers slides against the heel of his hand, searching for his hand before you find his pinkie and curl around it. He drags his eyes back towards your face and you have the softest smile on your sweaty, gorgeous face.

"I'm glad you're here," you say, there's no sarcasm there. Your voice is soft and quiet, and so sincere.

He doesn't know what is happening to him but his chest constricts and is drawn so tight it's painful. And suddenly he's blinking back tears. Call him dramatic, but for a brief moment Santiago swears the chest pains are a sign of cardiac arrest, until you grip his pinkie tighter and the pain eases.

"Yeah...." Santiago nods. Has to clear his throat before he can get the rest of the words out from the lump that is lodged in his throat. "Yeah, me too. Sweetheart. Me too."

Sweat sticks to his back, and the heat is unbearable. But he doesn't want to move. Doesn't ever want to leave this spot with you lying next to him.

He'll never admit it out loud. But he knows why even though he hates Florida with every inch of his soul, he'll always find his way back here. Why no matter how far away he goes, a part of him will always be left behind here. A long long time ago in the drop off zone of Miami International, on a disgusting hot and sweaty day just like today, he made a promise. He promised that he'll always came back home to you.

Dedication & Credits: To my dearest @thirstworldproiblemss who came up with that DEVASTATING concept of the pinkie holding post-sex.

Follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Empyrean Angel

CR 20

Neutral Good Large Outsider

Bestiary 5, pg. 24~25

Happy New Year! I hope you all have enjoyed the look back at the various Good deities we’ve featured over the years on this blog! And now, looking forward into the light, why don’t we start off right?

Among the most powerful of the angels in existence, the number of Empyreans in creation is believed to be incredibly small in comparison to the countless lesser angels. Rather than being created from the soul of an ascended mortal (as is the case with other celestials, including the actual highest tier of angel, the Solar), the Empyreans are born directly from divine might and the pure Good essence of a deity, fully formed and ready to serve their creators until time itself comes to an end. Thus, the number of Empyreans is directly tied to the number of Good-aligned deities in existence--the more powerful the god, the more of these angels they can sustain--and cannot rise higher than this threshold... and, to the endless frustration fiends and villains, it’s incredibly hard to lower it below this threshold, and KEEPING it low is another challenge in and of itself, as Empyreans will split like cells undergoing mitosis to refresh their numbers should one of them be permanently slain.

And let’s get something out of the way first: It’s hard to permanently slay an Empyrean. They’re outright unaffected by ANY hostile spell of 3rd level or lower thanks to their Protective Aura, which also prevents summoned Evil Outsiders from coming within 20ft of them or touching them with their natural attacks (as if it were a Circle of Protection From Evil). While they’re vulnerable to death effects and ability score damage/drain, those are more or less the only ways the forces of Evil have to slay them. Why? Because they have a modest Regeneration 15... that is only suppressed if they’re damaged by an Evil-aligned Artifact. Even the Solars don’t have health insurance that good! For the forces of Evil, this more or less means Empyreans need to be imprisoned rather than killed... but they’d be doing much better for themselves if they just avoided the divine servants altogether.

Why? Well, to begin...

These holy warriors are packing some serious magic in their pockets, and I don’t just mean their spell-likes! IN ADDITION to all their spell-likes, they have the casting power of a 20th level Cleric in the body of a 20th level heavy armor Fighter that can fly. While they’re vulnerable to many unfortunate maladies, anyone hoping to inconvenience an Empyrean for more than a round had better not give it a single inch of breathing room, because they have every curative spell (Neutralize Poison, Break Enchantment, Dispel Magic, Remove Curse, etc) available to them as a spell-like ability at will. If that isn’t enough, they have Heal as a spell-like ability 3/day and Heal AGAIN as an actual true spell on their list, Mass Heal as a spell, MIRACLE as a spell... and, because Miracle on its own isn’t enough, Wish as a spell-like 1/day just for the extra icing on the cake.

And did I mention Lesser Restoration at will, Greater Restoration 1/day, and both Death Ward and Freedom of Movement available as spells? Empyreans don’t truly need a long list of immunities because they already have them, they’re just hidden in their spells instead of being freely available. If you can’t kill or disable them in one round, all your efforts are a single standard action from being undone. While it may seem like a waste of actions for the Empyrean to just spend its turns removing whatever you do to it... it is. But that’s what it wants.

In a supreme case of irony, Empyreans aren’t created to be fighters. Using their shapeshifting power and their vast array of spells and spell-likes, they’re used more as spies. Whereas the more powerful Solars are used to take the fight directly to the forces of evil, Empyreans work behind the scenes, keeping relatively low profiles as they steadily loosen Evil’s grip on the universe by providing fair health, divine boons, and other forms of subtle or magical assistance to the mortals under their god’s care. The book even notes that Empyreans rarely, if ever, begin any fight, only drawing their weapons and using their buff spells on themselves when battle becomes inevitable... and even then, they offer second chances. They have Mass Charm Monster 3/day and Overwhelming Presence 1/day as spell-likes which, if they don’t quell the hostilities entirely, give them enough time to do as 20th level Clerics do, and absolutely load themselves down with whatever buff they have. And they have a lot, their bevy of spell slots meaning they can afford to Quicken most of them to save time.

Even unbuffed, Empyreans are nasty. They fight with their deity’s sacred weapon sized for their Large body (or Huge, if they’ve buffed themselves with their Quickened Righteous Might), with the example angel using a halberd, its Full-Attack being four attack that deal 2d8+16 damage each. With Dazing Assault they can lock down single targets and rip into them round after round, their Furious Focus feat allowing them to use the full might of Power Attack without losing any accuracy. The Lucent Arms of an Empyrean infuses every weapon they wield, granting them the Holy (+2d6 damage vs Evil targets) and Merciful (+2d6 flat damage, but all weapon damage becomes nonlethal) at the angel’s whim and will; it can shut off the mercy if needed, but they prefer to knock out foes and brand them with a Mark of Justice when possible.

Lucent Arms also causes the Empyrean’s attacks to pass entirely through metal armor and shields, ignoring their presence entirely, making their attacks far more accurate than they appear to be and usually letting them Power Attack on every attack without fear of missing. While their melee is scary, their ranged attacks are even more terrifying, their composite longbows dealing 2d6+11 damage per shot, ignoring armor, and carrying Holy and Merciful as needed. Able to fire arrows of pure light without needing to reload, Empryeans can make full and terrifying use of their Manyshot, Rapid Shot, and Deadly Aim to make six highly-damaging arrow attacks from the safety of 100ft in the air.

You may see that their weapons are meager +1 weapons, but there’s a reason for this: Lucent Arms is an Extraordinary ability, not a Supernatural one. Why is this important? Because it means they function and retain all their powers, even armor-piercing, under an Antimagic Field... which they can cast as a spell. Y’know, in case everything else wasn’t enough, now you’ll have to fight them without any magic.

And how about a fun closing note? As servants directly created from a god’s essence, Empyrean’s Heed No Call. They’re impossible to call or summon unless they wish to be... but because they have Commune at will, they can maintain a constant connection with their fellow angels.

And they have Gate as a spell.

You think dealing with an Empyreal on its own is bad? Do you think dealing with one is bad? Wait until it punches a hole into Heaven for reinforcements.

You can read more about them here.

[buckttommy]

Safest Haven

6x06 Episode Coda. I was rewatching Tomorrow and couldn't stop thinking about Bobby closing his eyes when they thought Karen was gone. There are a lot of implications in that one, tiny little moment and it stuck with me. So now I'm sharing my feelings with you guys.

1.2k | read on ao3

It never gets easier.

Bobby supposes that that is the nature of the job—that, in some way, watching, hearing spouses grieve is never supposed to get easier. He’s heard it a thousand times before, the old sentiment that once it stops hurting, it’s time to stop doing the job. He doesn’t know if that's true or not. What he does know is that his empathy keeps him human, and that the echo of grief he carries in his chest whenever he watches husbands and wives crumble beside the cooling corpses of their spouses, here only moments ago and now cruelly plucked from existence as gracelessly as they were dropped within it, reminds him what it means to be alive. Reminds him that every day, he has the rare and precious opportunity to give to others what he never had: a chance; hope, fleeting, even if just for a moment.

But it never gets easier.

Hen compresses her wife’s chest, over and over in a macabre rhythm he’s seen before.

One, two, three, stay with me.

One, two, three, what about our kids.

One, two, three, please don’t leave me.

It all smells acrid in his nostrils, tastes like ash on his tongue.

Once upon a time there was a boy who torched everything he loved and walked away without a scar…

It never gets easier.

He closes his eyes, just for a moment. He wants to pray but he’s not sure what to pray for. Does he pray for Karen’s healing? For her revival? That she will open her eyes and suddenly be well again? Bobby’s been on this earth for too long, has seen too many miracles to discount the possibility. But they’ve shocked Karen’s chest three times now, have reached the point where to shock her again feels like a cruel debasement of someone once beloved—always beloved. So what does he pray for? Does he pray for himself, that he be granted the words with which to console Hen? He can tell her he’s walked this path before, but she knows that, and it’s not something she’d want to hear from him anyway. The slip in perception between Bobby the Captain to Bobby the Widow is not a transition made lightly, is a transition Eddie still struggles with on the occasions that they talk about love and loss. So what then? Does he pray for Hen? For her strength? He knows from experience that no amount of holy undergirding prepares you for the death of your spouse, the severance of half your body.

The legends say that soulmates were originally one being, cosmically split and destined to find each other over the course of the universe, but Bobby’s not sure that’s true. Or if it is, everyone he has loved and loss has been, in some way, his soulmate—his wife, his kids, himself. He thinks sometimes that maybe it’s not so much that two human beings are singular parts of one whole so much as it is we are all, in some way, apart of each other. But that doesn’t help him now, and that type of philosophizing won’t help Hen either when she takes her son by the hand and once again steps foot in a house made for three that now only fits two.

It never gets any easier—figuring out what to say, what to pray, how best to ask God to drop something timely and divine in your hands.

But then Chimney catches a pulse. Then, Karen’s eyes open and her hand weakly moves to brush against her wife’s pants, and Bobby thinks that, perhaps, God listens to confusion as much as he listens to sonnets.

Athena pulls up to the hospital only moments after Hen accompanies her wife inside. She takes one look at him before pulling him aside, far away from the prying gazes of the men and women he leads into battle, and folds him into her arms. She is smaller than he is, shorter by more than a couple inches, but he is the one who always feels small in her embrace, cocooned by her warm, honey-soaked presence. He sinks down, knees pressing into the cement, and leans his forehead against her stomach while her fingers carefully scratch across his scalp.

She holds him for several long moments, does not speak or question the occasional, tear-less hitches of his breath. Instead, she hums a wordless tune while he stitches himself back together, a melody half-remembered from the gospel stations he used to hear on the gas station radio when he was a boy. Bobby lets himself sink into the memory of youth and childhood fantasies, visions of following in his father and grandfather’s footsteps just as clear to him now as they were when he was a boy.

I want to be a captain one day, he said one summer, gapped-tooth and sure in the way most children are about both the ridiculous and the sublime. I want to run into fires and lift people up and save lives just like you, Grandpa.

There’s a lot more than being a firefighter than just saving lives, boy, his grandpa always used to say, a mouthful of chewing tobacco in his the pocket of his cheek, staining his teeth. Sometimes you’ve gotta save yourself too.

Bobby didn’t get it then, but he gets it now. Oh, does he get it now. Every breath he takes, every moment he does not allow his grief to send him careening into finding relief at the bottom of a bottle is an act of saving himself. Toward the end, Grandpa was senile, barely able to remember his own name much less anything else. But he was right about that—always right about that.

Carefully, Bobby rises to his feet, his eyelids slipping closed while Athena’s thumb brushes the crows feet at the corners. He is getting too old for this, he thinks absently. The humanity of the job, the crash of feelings with no respite, twenty-four hours of blood-spattered, brain-matter, agonized and condensed grief is a lot upon the body and soul. Too much for one man to bear, when carrying the load of others' stifled grief as well. But when Bobby opens his eyes, his wife is there. Not the wife of his youth, for she sleeps underneath the gentle folds of the earth along with his daughter and son, but the wife of his tomorrow, the wife of his forever. Athena stands tall and strong for him just as he has stood for her, a pillar of holiness in herself.

She squints up at his face, sun beating against her eyes, and cups his jaw. “Ready for duty, Captain Nash?”

Bobby nods. He captures her wrist and slides it toward his mouth and presses a kiss to her palm. “Ready,” he says against her skin.

He leans in and presses a dry kiss on her lips, warm and lingering before stepping out of her atmosphere. With every step he takes back to the truck, he sloughs off the veneer of weary husband and replaces it with the cape of stalwart captain, the spines of his crew straightening up when they see him approach.

It never gets easier—the grief, the reminders of all he’s lost, and the way loss always tastes like alcohol and smoke in the back of his throat. But as Bobby leads his team into the hospital, a battlefield of gruesome uncertainty unto itself, with his wife by his side, he thinks that maybe it doesn’t have to get easier, so long as he always has shelter against the brutal press of the storm.  

[bluebirdsongs16]

genuflect: To bend the knee, esp. in worship.

440 words of smutty/fluffy Aziraphale/Crowley under the cut 👀

Oh, how many times had he imagined Aziraphale knelt in genuflection before him, worshipping his corporation as the humans did to each other? Way back when, in Biblical times, he could have gotten off on the blasphemy of it alone, never mind how he expected Aziraphale’s strong, steady hands would hold him fast by the hips while that quick, clever tongue worked miracles between his shuddering thighs.

Who could have thought that angelic cupids-bow mouth pursed with divine righteousness hid such desire, such an urge to claim the pleasures of the world for himself and indulge?

Crowley knew it. He knew it the moment he saw how the look in his eyes shifted from curiosity to ravenous hunger at the first taste of rich ox rib slow-roasted over the fire, thick fat crackled and the meat barely clinging to the bone.

But never, not once in the 4,500 and some odd years since, had he imagined it could feel like this, with his angel worshipping him not for the idea of him but for who he truly was. Every brush of gentle fingertips, every caress of lips, every murmur of praise—the unceasing hymn of Crowley, my dearest; Crowley, my beloved; Crowley, Crowley, Crowley—threatened to untangle the charred, desiccated knot of self-loathing at his core he hadn’t dared touch since he dragged himself out of the boiling pit of sulfur and looked back up at Heaven far above from his new vantage point so far below.

It was all too much. When his angel coaxed his human faculties to their absolute breaking point and then swiftly beyond it, Crowley pitched and shuddered, crying out a wordless prayer of his own despite his greatest efforts to keep it all inside. But Aziraphale had dented his armor, chipping away at it until finally he rent it to pieces. His pent-up feelings welled up within him and found the gaps, escaping into the scant, liminal space between them in trembling fingers and choked-off sounds full of the words he couldn't say. "Angel...!" Just as he started to feel too exposed, too vulnerable, Aziraphale was there, offering sanctuary. Crowley pressed his face to the juncture of Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder, hiding private tears that stung like sulfur but felt like benediction.

He never thought he could feel like this, not ever again. But then Aziraphale came along and restored the part of him he’d thought broken and twisted beyond recognition. How could he even begin to express what that felt like? Not in 10,000 or a million or a billion years could he find the words to encompass what Aziraphale had done for him, what his angel meant to him. The universe wasn’t big enough. And yet all the humans, on every inch of earth at every time in their history knew as if by instinct what to say. Crowley whispers three little words against the shell of Aziraphale’s ear.

[their-destinys-writer]

Akuma Flashpoint - Chapter 3

Rated: M

Chapters: 3/?

Chapter Summary: The Sidekick enters the picture.

Info: Canon compliant up to Season 3, Episode 'Ladybug'. Miracle Queen never happened. Canon divergent from that point forward, but might borrow a few details from later seasons. Very loosely inspired by DC's Flashpoint Paradox (the animated movie). Updates on the last Monday of every month.

Ao3 | Wattpad

A/N: Sorry for missing updates. Life suddenly blew up at the end of October and for the entirety of November. So now I'm attempting to get back on track.

First | Previous | Next

Getting Answers

Ladybug felt dizzy. Ready to collapse any moment. She resisted all urge to ask herself if this timeline could get any worse. The last thing she needed was to break down, or for the universe to show that it could, in fact, get worse.

“No,” she muttered. “No, no, Nino is not—”

“You know what?! Fuck you, Marinette!” Shoving her middle finger in the air, Rena Rouge turned around and jumped down to the street, letting out a battle cry.

Meanwhile, Ladybug finally fell to her knees. Nino is dead, she thought over and over again. She could not imagine a universe without her shield. She thought back to all the missing numbers in her contacts. Were all the missing numbers dead friends?

Ladybug shook her head, pushing those thoughts away. That didn’t matter, because once she was done with these villains, she would turn everything back to normal. And Nino would be alive and well again. And Alya wouldn’t hate her. And Adrien would be her fiancé once again.

“Lucky Charm!” she yelled with determination. On her hands landed a very long HDMI cable. Her eyes scanned the giant monster and noticed the two television sets it used for eyes. “Got it. Don’t worry Nino, I will bring you back even if—”

BEEP BEEP

She jumped several inches in the air at the unexpected sound coming from her earrings. A sound she hadn’t heard in over a year.

“What the hell?!” she questioned. “I’m an adult, why is this beeping?! Ugh, whatever, I can do it under—”

“LOOK OUT!”

A black blur collided against her torso, just in time to avoid a falling refrigerator. She had been so distracted by the beeping miraculous, she forgot the sentimonster was still hurtling equipment all over the city. Ladybug used the cable she had just gotten to grab a lamppost and slow down their fall from the building. A fall she suspected whoever saved her would not survive.

They landed hard on the sidewalk, but not hard enough to break any bones. And lucky for her rescuer, they landed right on top of her. It wasn’t until then that she noticed whoever it was, they were wearing a hoodie and a facemask. It had to be that other person Tikki mentioned.

“Thank you for the—”

The person in black grabbed the HDMI cable and threw it as far as they could, right before they got up and started sprinting towards the sentimonster. Ladybug blinked.

“Gah! You hate me too?!” she complained, still laying on her back on the concrete. “Ugh, does anyone like me in this timeline?”

With a long, frustrated sigh, she got on her feet, taking hold of the cable. Although that had been rude, it seemed their only intention had been to slow her down for only a moment. Why they did it, she had no clue. She only hoped they wouldn’t get in her way.

As she reached the sentimonster again, she noticed Rena Rouge was back on the creature’s shoulder, fighting the akuma. Meanwhile, on the ground, the person—a man, she finally deduced—in black was leading people out of a building nearby. One woman grabbed him by the arms, seemingly hysterical. Apparently, someone was still stuck somewhere because the man in black ran into the building.

She had to do this fast, before Hawkmoth or Mayura decided to call back their champions, and all their efforts would be for nothing.

Ladybug jumped from ledge to ledge, up the monster, directly towards the akuma. She didn’t even bother to ask Rena Rouge for any kind of help. She wouldn’t get it anyway. So she slammed against the akuma, bringing her to one of the sentimonster’s ‘eyes.’ With the cable, she wrapped the akuma against the popping television and used the ruler she had to break the screen of the other one.

The sentimonster let out a loud scream and that was when she saw it: a raspberry pi inside the creature’s mouth, blue with the peacock logo on it. Without missing a beat, Ladybug dove into it, much like she did with the T-Rex in her first year as a superhero. Except that the sentimonster was not very keen on eating her. Just as her fingers wrapped around the small box, the sentimonster grabbed her and pulled her away.

The giant hand slammed against a building, demolishing almost an entire apartment living room. As the infected object flew from Ladybug’s hand, she heard a scream. She whipped her head to see the man in black with his leg pinned by bricks and debris… and the raspberry pi right next to him.

“Hey, HEY!” she called. The man turned his gaze to her while grunting and panting. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?” He nodded. “Okay. I need you to break that little box at the same time as I break this ruler. Can you do that?”

The man nodded again, taking a sword attached to his waist, and holding it with the hilt of it above the object. Meanwhile, Ladybug grabbed both ends of the ruler, yet waited for Rena Rouge to dislodge the television the akuma was trapped in. As soon as she saw the vigilante about to take a running jump with the victim, she turned back to the man.

“On my count,” she said, as he nodded in agreement. “One, two, THREE!”

SNAP

CRACK

The butterfly and the feather were instantly swept by Ladybug’s yoyo and released, purified. As the sentimonster disappeared in a blue mist, Ladybug wrapped her weapon on a rod pocking out of the broken building, and swung towards the open apartment, landing in what Nino liked calling a ‘superhero landing,’ with a knee and a fist on the ground.

Dammit, Nino, she thought, still not believing what Alya said. She shook her head and stood up, hoping everything would be fixed in a moment.

“Whoa,” someone near her breathed. Ladybug turned to find the man in black staring at her, with a shine in his eyes. She frowned at his reaction, not used to citizens being amazed by her anymore. She had been Ladybug for years, after all.

Either way, she shrugged and gave him a quick smile, before turning back to the giant hole, looking for Rena Rouge.

“I’ll fix you right up in a sec,” she told the man as she saw the HDMI cable lying on the street. No Rena Rouge and no victim to be found. One swing later, she was standing above it on the pavement, and a thought occurred to her: Was this the answer to her troubles?

Ladybug looked at the Lucky Charm in her hands. This had to be it.

“Miraculous Ladybug!” she shouted, throwing the object as hard as she could into the air. It burst into millions of ladybugs that started spreading around the city. Ladybug closed her eyes, hoping it would work.

She felt the rush of magic flow through her, and immediately opened her eyes.

Ladybug was still standing on the street. The debris was gone, people were healed, and the building was fixed. Everything went back to normal. Only it was this other reality’s ‘normal.’

“Shit,” she cussed under her breath. Truth be told, she had known it was a long shot. Neither of the villains she had just fought caused the shift of reality. If she wanted that fixed, she needed to find The Genie and defeat her.

“Thank you, Ladybug!” A young woman suddenly had her arms wrapped around her, making her stumble. “Thank you for saving everyone! I can’t remember the last time you fixed the whole city!”

“It’s my job—Wait, what do you mean—”

BEEP BEEP

She cursed again as her earrings gave their final warning and started prying herself free from the random woman, along with several other citizens. In the process, she scanned the area for nearby hiding places, catching a faraway glimpse of orange leaving the scene. She also managed to briefly lock eyes with the man in black, having exited the building fully recovered, and gave her a two-fingered salute before running off.

Finally, Ladybug found a spot just in time to swing away from prying eyes and detransform. Marinette let out an exhausted sigh as she slid against the wall of the alley, a cleaner one than the previous.

“I can’t remember the last time I had such a hard time in battle,” she panted. “I do not miss the damn timer.”

“How did you do that?!” Tikki asked, floating up to her face. “How did you fix everything?!”

Marinette stared at the kwami, baffled by the question. “I-I—I defeated both villains, that’s how I fixed it. How do you not know that? It was in the Grim—” She gasped. “Of course you don’t know! If Adrien was not Chat Noir, then he didn’t have Plagg, meaning Plagg wasn’t able to phase through the safe, and so Adrien never got the Grimoire and took it to school, for us to steal and take it to Master Fu.” She took a deep inhale. “No wonder everything is so messed up! Adrien was such an integral part for defeating Hawkmoth, not just as Chat Noir.”

“You really are from a different timeline!” Tikki said in awe. “There’s so much we need to talk about. We could finally win! And get my friends back!”

“We definitely do,” Marinette agreed. “Hopefully we can figure out a way to restore my reality. Before that, though, I am starving. We should get some breakfast, especially for you. Wanna get something from the bakery?”

Tikki cringed. “Uuum…”

Marinette’s shoulders slumped.

“What now?”

***

Don’t say it, Marinette thought as she stood in front of the building. She could feel her hand slightly shake. Her heartbeat thumped against her ears. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it.

“SERIOUSLY?!” she yelled anyway. “WHY? HOW?!”

“Insurance didn’t cover magical damage,” Tikki lamented, as if it was the most normal thing to see her childhood memories abandoned. Tattered and destroyed. “And they simply couldn’t afford to fix it.”

“But moving to China?!” Marinette said in a shrill only dogs could hear. Going by what Tikki told her when they arrived there. “We have so many friends, we could’ve raised the money.”

“A lot of them were dealing with the same thing,” Tikki explained. “And the city won’t hurry up in approving the Akuma Damage Control Fund. So, they felt they didn’t have much of a choice.”

“I can’t believe I let this happen,” she breathed, looking at the damaged building.

All the windows of the bakery had been blown. There was a giant hole on the third floor, with a plain view to the tattered living room, with wind swaying whatever was left hanging from the walls and ceiling. However, a lot of the pictures and other personal belongings were missing. Probably salvaged by her parents.

Marinette took a shaky breath, as she dared to step through the broken front door. The ground was littered with squashed boxes, torn paper bags, and dirt covering the bakery’s logo on the trash. Most of the glass displays were also broken. And if not, they were at least cracked. Deep in the kitchen, she could see a giant robotic hand that seemed to have been propelled like a rocket. The fridge and oven were crushed by it, rendering them useless.

The place was simply unrecognizable.

“I can’t go upstairs,” she said quietly, already feeling the tug of anxiety attempting to drown her. “I can’t. This is…”

“Marinette?” Tikki whispered.

The woman tugged on her jacket, her breaths having a hard time getting through her nostrils. After several failed attempts at steading herself, she turned away and marched out the horrid building. She could hear Tikki calling her name, but she couldn’t stop.

“I need to fix this. Now.” Marinette said at last, rendering the kwami quiet. She then frowned. “But where do I even begin?”

***

It took a mile long walk and mindlessly buying mediocre macarons from the first place she found for Marinette to finish processing the fact that her life was one giant tragedy in this timeline. Even her parents were gone, living far enough that she couldn’t even call them without spending euros she didn’t have.

She refused to live in a world this messed up.

That was why she headed straight to the place that was her apartment in that timeline. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Marinette cleared out the large corkboard nearby her desk and started printing pictures of all the people she knew, plus created drawings of every miraculous.

“What are you doing?” Tikki asked, inspecting each drawing.

“If I want to find The Genie, I need to know everything about this timeline,” Marinette explained. “Who are my allies, who are my enemies, what else was affected by Chat Noir’s absence, who’s still around, who’s gone. Everything. Maybe I can find a pattern, or a person who’s not supposed to be around, suddenly showing up in my life.” She sighed. “This would be easier if I had Alya.”

“We could try to convince her about the situation,” Tikki suggested. “She hates Hawkmoth and Mayura, and I think she would do anything to change things.”

“That’s a good call,” Marinette agreed. “Good thing she’s still Rena Rouge in this timeline. Even if she looks and acts different. The fact that I still have you means she doesn’t hate me enough to turn evil.” Marinette started her project by pinning Alya’s and Rena Rouge’s photos side by side. Underneath it, she placed a paper with the word ‘Ally’ on it. She then remembered the drawings and placed the Fox necklace between the two pictures.

“Okay, so that’s Alya,” she said. Her attention then turned to a blurry picture of the man who broke the amok. “What about the guy in black? Who was that?”

“That was the mysterious sidekick I told you about,” Tikki pointed out as Marinette placed the picture on the corkboard. “He started showing up about two years ago.”

“Clearly he can tell I’m way over my head here.”

“He’s actually been very helpful. Whether it’s getting people to safety or fighting a few minions.”

“I see.” Marinette leaned towards the picture and squinted. “How is it that I don’t know this guy’s identity after two years?”

“You decided attachments were not good for hero work, after what happened to Carapace.”

Marinette’s gaze lowered, her hands slowing rising to hold her arms.

“I still can’t believe this reality doesn’t have a Nino anymore,” she said quietly, shutting her eyes. “But I can’t dwell on that too much. Once I find that akuma and purify it, everything will go back to normal, and Nino will be alive again.”

“How can you be sure that you didn’t simply lose your mind?” Tikki asked again.

“If there’s anything I’ve learned fighting all these years, it’s that anything is possible with akumas. But most importantly, as Ladybug I can’t lose hope. If I lose hope, I lose my will to keep fighting. And that’s just no good for anyone.”

“You really are a whole other Marinette.”

The woman opened her eyes to stare at her small friend. It really unnerved her every time she heard about this universe’s Marinette. It almost sounded like she was an awful person. Or simply too broken to function.

“Explain to me one thing,” she said. “How exactly did I end up with a swimsuit as my superhero suit?”

“Well…” Tikki sighed, as if about to spread someone else’s secrets. Even if it was the person to whom the secrets belonged to. “My Marinette was very much a people pleaser. After her failure with Stoneheart, despite the fact that she beat him in the end, she was always worried about what the city thought of her. As she got older, one of the many critics against her was her outfit. Some said that it was too conservative, others said that it looked like a kid’s pajamas, and among other…nastier things. So, she tried to please them, while trying to look more adult. She thought the heels would help with that.”

“Oh, no wonder the other me was such a mess,” Marinette commented. “If I were to listen and follow every critic out there, I wouldn’t even be able to use my yo-yo, because it was considered ‘too violent’ by a group of parents in my universe.”

“My Marinette was actually considering it…”

She slammed a hand to her face. “And I thought I was a mess of a person.”

Tikki giggled. It was the first time Marinette had even seen her smile since she got to this new reality.

“You’re kind of funny,” she said.

Marinette smiled. “Thanks. I try. And learned from the funniest guy I know, even if his jokes are awful and so badly timed.”

“If his jokes are awful, how are they funny?”

“I ask myself the same question every day.” Marinette let out a wistful sigh, as the image of Chat Noir crossed her mind. She shook her head. “Anyway, we need to get back on task. We can assume that the sidekick is an ally, right?” Tikki nodded. The blurry image was moved near Alya’s pictures. As she was about to reach for the miraculouses drawings, a realization dawned on her. “He doesn’t have a miraculous, does he?”

“No,” Tikki confirmed. “It’s why we called him a sidekick. He’s mostly just decently agile and good with a sword.”

“Yeah,” Marinette said, with a hand on her chin as she remembered the beauty of that estoc sword the man carried. Adrien would’ve drooled over a sword like that. “I still think it’s very dangerous for someone without a miraculous to be out there during attacks. Even if it’s mostly as crowd control. If it hadn’t been for the miraculous cure, he’d have a broken leg right now.”

“What are you saying?”

“I just need to talk to him,” she said. “I need to make sure he doesn’t take unnecessary risks. I can’t have a civilian endangering his life like that. We at least need a few rules and communication. And less throwing my Lucky Charms away. Why did he do that, anyway?”

“You’ve tried stopping him from helping in the past,” Tikki explained. “He’ll save you, but he’ll also slow you down from catching him. But not enough to disrupt your job as Ladybug.”

“Funny way of showing it,” Marinette muttered. “Even so…” The word ‘Ally’ was placed underneath his picture. “He might be a good candidate for the one miraculous we have. Though, I think the dragon miraculous would’ve fit him better. Maybe even the black cat’s, but we don’t exactly have many choices here.”

She pinned the drawing of the bee miraculous close to his picture, but not overlapping with it, since he still wasn’t officially a miraculous holder, and she had other choices to go through.

“Okay, so those are all the miraculouses outside of Hawkmoth and Mayura’s hands, right?”

“Plus the turtle miraculous,” Tikki added. “We think Alya kept it, but we’re not sure.”

“Okay, the turtle,” Marinette muttered, placing the drawing of said miraculous near Alya’s pictures. Also nearby she placed a picture of Nino. One that was clearly around three years old. With a trembling hand, she placed one word underneath him: Deceased. “We’ll get you back, Nino. I promise you.”

“I really hope you’re right,” Tikki said quietly. “I miss Plagg so much.”

“Me too,” Marinette said with a sniff, wiping a stray tear. “Even if it’s only been a day for me. But we have to work hard for that to happen. Now, the rest of the miraculouses. We need to figure out which ones are with Hawkmoth and which ones are with Mayura.”

“That will be tricky,” Tikki informed. “They stole them, but they haven’t really used them.”

“Really?” Marinette asked. “I thought they would jump at the chance.”

“Not many people were exactly jumping at the chance of helping the enemies. Instead, whenever they tried giving a civilian a miraculous, the civilians tried to steal them to give back to you. It’s how we got the bee miraculous back, from the one civilian who succeeded. The rest… It did not end well for them.”

“God, everything’s so bleak here,” Marinette said as her phone started vibrating. She mindlessly grabbed to see who it was, and almost immediately yelped. “AH! EW!” The phone flew from her hand, clattering loudly on the desk. Still vibrating with that horrid picture on its screen.

“What’s wrong?!” Tikki gasped.

“It’s Lila,” Marinette said. When Tikki tilted her head, Marinette’s brows went up her forehead. “She lied to everyone, got me expelled, tried to force Adrien to be with her. Did she not do that here? Wait, no, don’t tell me I was one of her believers in this timeline.”

“Oh, well, Lila did lie at first, but eventually she apologized and became friends with you. And I guess maybe she didn’t try anything with Adrien because it was really obvious you and him were smitten with each other when she joined the school.” Tikki squinted her eyes. “It’s almost convenient that she’s bad in your timeline when she’s your current love rival.”

“Are you implying I’m making it up?” Marinette placed her hands on her hips.

“I just think it’s a convenient coincidence that Adrien’s current girlfriend is supposedly a nemesis of yours in this other timeline. Is rescuing Adrien from her part of your plans?”

“I can’t do that, Tikki,” Marinette said quietly. The kwami blinked, so she continued. “Right now, as things are, and as much as it breaks my heart to say it, I-I…I can’t trust Adrien. Not only is he not Chat Noir here, but we don’t know how he lost his miraculous. Add to that the fact that I simply don’t recognize him. My Adrien would never treat me the way he did today. Even as a messed-up ex. And the fact that he probably still doesn’t know about his father, that makes him more susceptible to get akumatized. And whenever Adrien gets akumatized…” Marinette held her arms, averting her gaze. “I don’t think I can even look at Adrien in this timeline.”

Tikki’s paws landed on one of her hands. “I’m sorry for assuming the worst. I’m still getting used to this version of you.”

“Thanks.”

“You should still call Lila back,” Tikki suggested. “We won’t be able to do much if we end up having to worry about a lawsuit.”

Marinette let out a drawn-out groan. “One of my worst nightmares: being nice to Lila.”

“Just try?” Tikki requested, as she took the phone from the desk and brought it to her charge.

Marinette hesitated, but in the end decided Tikki was right. She needed to focus all her attention into fixing everything, and she wouldn’t be able to do that with people she couldn’t trust nearby. Or worse, having to waste time in court or in jail. With a bad taste in her mouth, Marinette took the phone and tapped the callback button.

“Hello, Marinette?” the voice of Lila responded on speaker.

“Hello, Lila,” Marinette said through clenched teeth.

“Thank goodness you’re okay,” Lila sighed. “I tried calling earlier, but I saw there was a sentimonster near your apartment. I thought something happened to you.”

“I’m fine,” Marinette resolved to respond. She felt sick, yet managed to add: “What’s up?”

“Right, so, Adrien told me what happened this morning. I wanted to hear your side of the story.”

Marinette looked at Tikki in hopes of inspiration, but the kwami merely shrugged, just as lost as her.

“U-Uuh, it’s hard to explain—”

“Adrien is very upset about it. He’s seriously considering the restraining order. Please, don’t make me tell him to go through with it.”

“NO!” Marinette instantly cringed at her tone. “I mean, that won’t be necessary. U-Um, it won’t happen again, I promise.”

“I’m starting to get tired of you saying that,” Lila said.

Crap, Marinette thought. “Look,” she started carefully, “maybe I can explain better over breakfast tomorrow?”

“What are you doing?” Tikki whispered, but Marinette just waved her off.

“You want us to have breakfast with you tomorrow?” Lila asked tentatively.

Not you, Marinette thought. “Yes,” she said. “I-I promise I’ll clear everything up.”

“Hm,” Lila responded. “I’ll convince Adrien to postpone the meeting with his lawyer. Where should we meet?”

“You can choose that if you want,” Marinette rushed to say.

“Okay then. I’ll send the details later.”

“Great! Anyway, I’m busy, gotta go, bye!” And just like that, Marinette hung up.

“What are you doing?!” Tikki asked again, louder this time.

“I can’t just go ‘sorry, won’t happen again,’ and expect them to believe me,” she argued. “I have to appear sincere and convince them that not only will it not happen again, but that I won’t be a problem, so he doesn’t feel the need to go through with the restraining order anyway. Even if it means not seeing him again as long as I’m in this timeline.”

“Oh,” Tikki uttered. “You think you can do that?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I have to push him away for his safety,” Marinette reasoned. “Granted, the other times we weren’t a couple yet, but I think I can manage since, technically, we’re not a couple here either.”

“Hmm,” Tikki placed her paws back on Marinette’s hand. “Then I’ll support you in whatever you need.”

“Thanks,” Marinette said. “Who knows, I might figure out a way out of here before we even get to that conversation. But I should figure out what to say, just in case. I would need to know more about this timeline’s me to create a plausible explanation.”

“I suggest you sit down and start taking notes then,” Tikki said with renewed determination, as they shifted their focus to the next day’s first mission. Just in case.

First | Previous | Next

[ao3feed-crimeboys]

Christmas Miracles (Come In All Shapes And Sizes)

by Sunshine_Clouds

A meter or two away from where Tommy had been asleep a moment ago was a brown wolf. A ‘wolf’ that was at least twice the size of a Great Dane, and staring Tommy down like he was about to become its next meal.

And suddenly, the emotions of the last 24 hours crashed into him, and Tommy- Tommy couldn’t help but burst into tears, burying his head into Henry as loud sobs wracked his entire body.

The wolf hesitantly shifted from paw to paw, staring at Tommy with warm brown eyes that felt like a mix of honey and wildfire. Every inch of its body seemed lined with anxiety and hesitancy.

Of course, Tommy couldn’t just be eaten; the universe had sent him a wolf with anxiety- one that would drag it out instead of one that would just get it over and done with.

 Or; Tommy runs away from his foster family after a bad night and is NOT happy with what he meets in the woods. Or; Tommy is big sad, gets even more big sad, and then author decides to give him his well-deserved; How To Train Your Dragon moment.

Words: 1944, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Dream SMP, Video Blogging RPF

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Characters: TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot

Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit

Additional Tags: Foster Care, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Foster Child TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Running Away, he is very sad, Christmas Eve, Christmas Presents, Poor Tommy Wilbur will love all of his plushies, Werewolf Wilbur Soot, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, as fluffy as wilbur, Wilbur actually also has a sad back story, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Soft Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Soft Wilbur Soot, Protective Wilbur Soot, Crack, a little bit of it i think, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, Sad with a Happy Ending, I'm not evil (yet), Oh also, Past Child Abuse

[applesap-fics]

Snake Oil

Part one

FABril day 3 - Alternative Universe, llaneros/cowboy AU, also on ao3

Rated M

--

It was from doña Pilar’s girls that Bruno heard about the concoction first.

Before entering the narrow but bedecked house with its many rooms, he took the chanclas from his belt and placed them over his bare feet. The hostess didn’t like how dirty the llaneros were that frequented her establishment and, though the scathing words of a matriarch felt bizarrely comforting, Bruno wasn’t in for a scolding. Her Andalusian floors were her proud possession, and she did not like the indignity of their feet on them.

What mess her patrons made in the rooms with her girls was par for the course. Though, to their credit, the worn men also didn’t mind getting the llanos grime scrubbed off of them by nice gentle hands after going so long without a female touch.

Bruno wouldn’t know about any of that.

(When Bruno was a teenager and had just started to come along on treks, the older boys had played a prank on him. It had been some sort of initiation: now that Bruno was old enough to come on the arduous journeys with the other cowboys he was regarded as a man, and to celebrate they’d send him off to the girls to get rid of his virginity, thinking they were doing him a favor.

When the lady had slipped off her chemise and exposed every inch of her naked body to him, she had not looked one bit comforting and familiar like his mother and sisters and he’d promptly become sick. She had laughed him out of her room, and he’d stumbled out of the brothel to the playful jeers of the men, who assumed he’d gone through with bedding her if it left him that shaken after spending such short time with the woman. His manhood presumed intact. It was better than if they called him a marica, which was true.)

The next time he entered a brothel to keep up appearances, it was with his hood up, flicking a match, eyes glowing green, and he announced himself with the mystique of a street magician:

“My dear ladies, I’ve come from far and wide to show you miracles. You will think your eyes are deceiving you. You will think I am making it all up, deceiving you with tricks and devilry. But rest assured, the news I bring will change your lives: your future awaits.”

Bruno had a gift, one he didn’t like to waste, but one he couldn’t afford to share freely either, worried about who might take advantage of it in the lawless plains. Some of the Guzmán farmhands knew about it, but like the secret valley that hid them from warfare, it was sworn to secrecy. Whenever they stopped in towns instead of the isolated haciendas on the plains, Bruno offered his services to those who might need it.

The men in the courtyard cooed with women in their laps, a breast in hand. They paid Bruno no mind as he made his way through silks and laughter and up the stairs to the upper deck where there was a tad more privacy. The rooms next to him were occupied, but whatever stranger was in there likely wouldn’t care to listen in.

He took a seat at a table behind the banisters. He laid out his pouch with sand, lit the candle that was already there, and let interested ladies come to him.

The girls here liked the security of his visions. They thanked him with hard eyes when he saw bad things instead of fortunate ones, already used to ‘inevitabilities’. He warned them about harm they were certain they could expect, affirming their own suspicions with his magic. That way they could prepare for their sorrows, have something to hold onto. And whenever the visions were vague, which was often, it gave them hope to escape the cruelties the prophet had seen for them.

Not all of his predictions were bad, though; sometimes he spoke of their children or how well off their families would be generations down the line. Or, more pressingly, where abuelita had hidden her sacks of family jewels.

After he waited for a moment, a group of women joined him at his table and were eagerly listening in on what he had to say without any propriety for each other’s privacy. They had shawls and shrouds draped over their bare shoulders as if they could catch colds from their futures. Their thick perfumes clogged his nose and reminded him a little of Pepa, though she was much more conservative with her make-up. Bruno thought the ladies looked magnificent all dressed up in fabrics and face paints. Immediately inspired, he made a mental note to restock on his own colors if the pulperías in town sold them this nice.

He emptied his pouch with sand on a cloth he'd draped over the table. His ruana hid most of the fierce glow of his eyes as he got to work.

To the relief of the girl sitting opposite him, the baby she was carrying was prophesied to be a healthy boy. She smiled, rubbing the slight bump of her belly. “Makes his life easier.”

Bruno, also a boy, troubled by many things, wasn’t too sure about that. But as he took her downtrodden clothes and the fact that the baby had no father into consideration, he supposed she would know better. The two other women immediately reassured her and gave advice, and otherwise had much to bring in about the matter, chattering away.

Bruno interjected by politely pointing his finger up. “Now, as for my payment…”

The girl eyed him, assessing her peice. Bruno had not much use for money, being a horse wrangling Madrigal. He always asked for a funny trinket or valuable information if his client could not afford to spend any currency on him, which he’d learned not to deny for their dignity. He didn’t mind this unequal exchange.

The girl leaned over to caress the back of his hand, exposing the depth of her breast that Bruno modestly tried to avoid, and gave him a coy cock of her head. “My room is right there, señor.”

Bruno flinched and stammered, but before he could say something through his nervous grin, an older woman scolded her. “Rosa, puta, he’s obviously a maricón. Don’t you think he would’ve shown us a different little miracle first?”

“Oh, woah,” Bruno muttered at her harsh words. “Maybe I’m just nice?”

“Oh, sure, that too.” The woman brushed a curl away from his face, letting the glint of his earring catch in the candlelight, and performatively dropped a few tokens on the table for him.

“Ohh. But in that case,” the girl drawled, and soon dragged the two other women into a conversation about their little wisdoms and products. She put up two fingers to illustrate their point to Bruno. “Makes it so much easier.”

 

Pleasurably enlightened, Bruno parted with the women, leaving a shard of his emerald tablet in the girl Rosa's care. There were emerald mines nearby; having a castaway gem was a luxury, but not implausible. For fear that this put a target on the recipient’s head, he didn't do this often, but he felt for the girl and her bastard child.

What he should have remembered, as he strode through the courtyard and spoke openly about visions near occupied rooms, was that this business was visitor to all sorts of men. Travelers, llaneros, miners, locals. Not all of them were as absentminded when they made love to women.

Least of all when a prophet doled out jewels.