#how to mangle a prompt in 3k words

[mothman-can-write]

hi !!! i saw u said you were open for prompts, i mean this is kinda less of a prompt really, but like i loved that blackhill mission transcript thing you did a while ago and would be really cool to see some more stuff in the same vein ig ! but also maybe something like a kinda blackhill first meeting kinda thing idk !! i just love your work tho ! you really have the ability to make me feel all the emotions

OOOOO i just thought of this whilst writing this but maybe something like with clint teasing nat ab having like feelings for maria or something ?? idk i just love ur writing ! sorry these are kinda shitty hahah

NGL I took this prompt and mangled it in my hands. I heard first meeting and my brain was immediately like well that could go seventeen thousand different ways, so I sorta mashed in Clint's teasing to go along with it and made it a little more suggestive than outright shippy. Realistically, I think if Natasha is only meeting Maria for the first time, she's probably still in a place where she's not totally open to such self indulgent things as having a crush

Also, this isn't a mission transcript but I'd love to do more of them that one was really fun! I just don't really have any good ideas for the sort of things they'd have to talk about in the field besides dying haha

ANYWAY enough rambling, though you're all familiar with my inability to shut up these days. ~3k under the cut of Clint being a ballache and nat being sceptical but gay

The only person that doesn’t treat Natasha like she’s a project – or a live wire –  is Clint. He’d had his fair share of looking at her with those careful eyes, something behind them that made her teeth itch in her gums like some trained dog. He doesn’t do that so much anymore, not unless she’s in a particular state and doing a very bad job at hiding it. She likes him, she thinks. He might be one of the first people in her entire life that she can truly say she likes. 

Naturally, she finds herself in his quarters more often than her own. She lays on his bed as he works on something probably explosive enough to kill them both if he sneezes, and she ignores the pip of her emails as she braids a small strip of hair under her ear. She’s bored, if she’s honest, but she doesn’t want to waste her first free morning of the past fortnight on something so trivial as emails. Or helping Clint. 

“You not gonna answer her?” he says without looking up from his work. He holds it close to his face, something far too small in his tweezers. 

Natasha’s fingers pause in untangling her braid. “How do you know who it is?” 

He still doesn’t turn in his seat, matter of fact when he speaks. “You have a different tone for Hill.” 

“How did you figure that out?” She tries not to scowl at him, but she still isn’t used to feeling so see-through. Quite frankly, she’d like to be as opaque as possible, but she seems to have grown rather attached to someone with x-ray vision. 

Clint puts his miniature contraption down and turns to her at last. She’s not fond of the smile on his face as he leans over the back of his chair. “You’re not the only spy on the ship. Also, you weren’t trying very hard to hide it.” 

“Her emails are usually more important,” Natasha argues, not quite sure why she feels the need to defend herself on it. 

Clint grins ever wider. “I never asked why. I just thought you had a massive crush on her.” 

Natasha scowls fully this time. “I’ve never met her.” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know what’s in those emails.” 

“Shut up.” 

She reaches for her phone anyway and pointedly ignores the way Clint watches her. The email is much the same as they always are, telling her about meetings and progress and such. She’s overtly professional in every one, but now that she’s thinking about it, Natasha likes the words she uses – just slightly like she enjoyed reading dictionaries as a child. Very, very rarely, Maria will let something slip in her emails that is almost like humour, and Natasha doesn’t tell Clint that she actually does enjoy receiving emails from her just for the fact that she feels a little special when that happens. She’s heard the rumours; she knows not to expect giggles and grins when it comes to the Assistant Director. 

In the end, she doesn’t bother to respond to the email anyway and Clint has already turned back to his work. “Not in the mood to sext her back?” 

She scowls at the back of his head. “It sounds like Laura needs to watch her back.” 

“Oh, god,” he laughs. “Gross. Absolutely not. Not my type.” 

“What makes you think she’s mine?” 

“You need someone to match your weirdness.” 

Natasha wishes she had something to throw at him. She won’t admit that she intrigues her in small ways. She doubts she’s any different from every other CEO and government lead in the world, but some small part of her feels thankful to her faceless emails. She could’ve easily overridden Clint’s choice, could’ve had her put down before she could even think to beg for forgiveness. But she’d given her a chance, and she’d kept in contact despite her supposed overbooked schedule every day since. Maria held her life in her hands at one point, and she’d given her another shot at it. 

Despite everything, Natasha still doesn’t sleep well. Or, rather, because of everything, she supposes. One good month doesn’t erase a lifetime of bad – and she’s really a little hesitant to say that this month has even been good in many senses of the word. She wonders if the nights will ever get easier on her with time, or if she’s stuck with these hours of restlessness and sweat for the rest of her life. It’s not a nice thing to think about, and it doesn’t really do all that much to distract her from the shadows that still play behind her eyelids or the way the shapes of the room still seem to swim around the edges. So, she swings her legs over the side of her bed and scrubs at her face with her hands. She can appreciate, at the very least, that she isn’t handcuffed to her bed here. Somehow, that had been a hard thing to get used to. She still sleeps with one arm by the headboard. 

There aren't many things to do at this hour. Clint has told her countless times that she’s perfectly welcome to pester him at any time of the night if it would make her feel even minutely better. He says he understands, and she believes him enough from the way his past lines his own face, but it doesn’t make it any easier to put into practice. 

She doesn’t have a plan as she steps out into the corridors. She dresses like she’s going to the gym on the off chance that she might be able to sneak into it and punch something until she’s sweaty for reasons more tangible. She wishes the firing range was usable at this hour, but she’s sure that’s much less subtle. Still, there are some nightmares you can only really feel better by shooting at. Maybe she’ll bat her eyelashes into an hour or so at the targets tomorrow. 

She passes the odd agent as she trails around the corridors and considers that the ship never really sleeps entirely. There’s always someone on the night shift, always someone pottering around with something. She thinks it would be nice to work when it’s so quiet. Maybe she should ask about changing her hours. It might be a little soon. 

The gym isn’t so far from her quarters, and by the time she reaches it her shirt still feels sticky at her back and her stomach still feels like it’s alive in her ribcage. Her hopes are low enough to limbo as she presses her hand to the door, and she could almost sigh with relief when the door opens easily. She’s not against breaking in, but she likes to think she’s been doing a pretty good job of building a better reputation lately. Maybe not socially, but Maria’s emails haven’t managed to sound short lately – not since the last time she’d bypassed what she maintains was a criminally simple encryption on one of Clint’s jobs. 

The gym is utterly silent at this time of the morning, which is entirely unsurprising. She doubts anyone else sensible gets out of bed for another hour or two, let alone starts their training regime. Generally, agents are allowed the privilege of breakfast before they’re worked to the bone. Natasha’s never been a fan of food so early in the morning. 

She doesn’t really know when she fell out of the habit of scanning each room on this ship like someone will be waiting to haul her out of it, and she blames it firmly on her lack of sleep and nightmare slurred thoughts when she doesn’t notice the other body in the gym until it’s too late. 

“I did wonder,” someone says, and Natasha’s attention snaps to one of the benches on the far side, half covered from the entrance. 

It takes Natasha an almost embarrassingly drawn out moment to place her features, and she’s sure she only half succeeds in hiding her surprise into an intrigued eyebrow. The Assistant Director didn’t really strike her as the type to be in the gym when everyone is supposed to be sleeping. 

“Wonder what?” she asks instead of every other question that gnaws at her head. She stays firmly planted in the middle of the room. 

“Who would come in at this time.” 

Oh. She’s not wondering about Natasha. She doesn’t really know what that feels a mote disappointing. She hates it when Clint asks how she’s sleeping. Maybe she just doesn’t like lying to him. 

“I thought it would be empty.” 

Maria places her water bottle beside her on the bench and makes absolutely no move to stand up yet. Somehow, Natasha finds it unnerving, even if she’s taller here. “It usually is,” she says simply. 

Her eyes bore into her in a way that makes the back of her neck crawl. Something about her says that she’s calculating, that she’s looking at Natasha and breaking her down into little bite sized pieces. Natasha has never liked being dissected. Maria’s eyes are very blue. 

“Do you usually spend your mornings here?” she asks, if only to stop Maria from burning holes into her skull and reading her thoughts directly. 

It works, in the way that her gaze flicks away for the briefest moment before pinning her again in that same cool tone. “I guess you could call this morning.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” 

Maria’s eyes soften ever so slightly around the corners, and Natasha would almost call it a squint. “I’ve made a bit of a habit at this point, yes.”

She almost seems reluctant to admit it, and Natasha can’t help the way she wants to pick this woman apart. She has always liked puzzles, and people are just some of the more complex the world has to offer. She thinks she understands the rumours a little more now, even through this uncanny meeting. She wonders if Maria feels her own searching gaze as intently. 

Maria stands at last, and Natasha had almost forgotten how tall she is. She thinks she preferred it when she was sitting. “Don’t let me stop you,” she says, and Natasha is silently thankful for the way that answers her question. Again, not that she wouldn’t break the rules. It’s just much harder to make an excuse when the Assistant Director is the one who catches you. 

“I would’ve expected the AD to send me back to my quarters,” she notes, as forward as ever when it gets her information. She’ll admit this woman seems to be intriguing. She’s curious as to just why she’s indulging her so far. 

Maria’s expressions are all very small, mere suggestions of emotions that only make Natasha want to pick her apart. “That would make me more of a hypocrite than I already am,” she says simply, almost smiling. “Are you getting on okay?” she asks instead , and her eyes are on her like she’s deciphering her again. She’s closer now, making direct eye contact, and Natasha holds it like a game. “Besides the obvious, of course.” 

Natasha tries not to scowl. God, does she hate when people pretend like they know her. “What’s the obvious?” 

Maria raises one eyebrow ever so slightly, her expression caught somewhere to amusement. “Did the Red Room have you in the routine of training at four in the morning?” 

“Sometimes.” They both know that’s not the reason that she’s here, as much as Natasha wishes Maria didn’t. 

Her eyes are almost soft. Almost like she truly cares about her. Natasha doesn’t like to let herself believe the sort of things that might cost her later. “Half of the people on this ship struggle with it, Romanoff,” she says, nearly gentle in the silence around them. “You don’t have to be ashamed of it.” 

She can almost imagine her setting a heavy hand on her shoulder as she says it, though Maria remains in her own space. She’s still slightly too close for what Natasha is used to however, and it’s the first time she realises the darkness under her eyes. Her face is lined, something bone deep that she doubts ever goes away. It lends her a certain sort of…imperfection that makes her seem a whole lot more human. For everything she’s heard, though she knows to take gossip with a healthy grain of salt, she could almost imagine Hill to be some sort of robot, some living excel sheet. 

Standing in front of her, she sort of just looks like a woman who could do with some sleep. She looks like a woman who has spent the last who-knows-how-many hours beating out her own past the same way Natasha intends to. She won’t call it affection. It doesn’t mean Natasha likes the way she looks straight through her any more. 

“You have any tips?” she says, aiming for something playful. She really, really just wants her to stop looking at her like she can figure her out right here in the middle of the room. Maybe if she seems better than she is, she’ll leave her alone. She’d rather her conduct a genuine vivisection out on the boxing ring floor if she’s going to continue to examine her. 

She’s certain Maria almost smiles at that, a tug at the corner of her lips that is almost sad, almost conspirational. She shrugs ever so slightly. “Shooting things usually helps.” 

Natasha tries not to scowl like a child. As if she wouldn’t be there right now if she could get away with it. “I’m on supervised arms training.” 

This time, Maria does smile, though Natasha thinks she’d have missed it if she blinked. “Not from tomorrow,” she says plainly, and Natasha can only watch her walk away without another word. 

The door closes behind her, and Natasha lets herself furrow her eyebrows as deeply as she likes. She is overtly aware that she is not being let off of supervised training tomorrow. She’s aware that she has been seen as a weapon and an explosive since the moment Clint forgot that he was meant to shoot her. Somehow, she doesn’t think that Maria is one to tease. 

It makes it very hard to punch things as effectively as she’d like to when she can only think after Maria. She wonders what keeps her up at night. She wonders what else she does to get rid of the shadows. She wonders why on earth she would let her off of the hook so early. For all they know, Natasha might decide to defect back. She might’ve been biding her time until she could get a hand on one of those guns outside of the range. She’d never even dream of it, of course. She’d rather be supervised for every split second a gun is in her hands for the rest of her life than have to go back to her life before. She wonders just how deep Maria managed to dig. She wonders if she really is all that transparent after all. 

She finds herself in Clint’s quarters again as thoughtlessly as breathing. Every spare minute in her schedule that lines up with his, she’ll spend hiding from the rest of the world. This time, she’s sitting in his chair, her knees resting against the edge of his desk so that she can spin it slightly from side to side. Clint is behind her in his bunk, his arms tucked up behind his head and his eyes closed. It’s only 2pm. Natasha wishes she could have a nap too. 

“Is she always like that?” she says on a whim, her thoughts still stuck on tired eyes and snap decisions. 

“Like what?” Clint asks, completely brushing over her lack of context. 

“So…intense.” 

“Ah, we’re back on Hill. Yes.” He falls silent again, and Natasha listens to his breath. “Hold on.” His eyes open and his head turns on his pillow to face her. “Did you meet her? When?” 

“This morning.” 

“You were at the range this morning.” 

“Before that.”

“You were asleep before that.” She doesn’t answer, and that tells him everything in as little effort as possible. “Natasha.” 

She doesn’t meet his eye. “It’s better than moping.” 

“You don’t need to mope. You can come wake me up.” 

“But then you don’t sleep.” 

“Tasha, do you really think I’m sleeping well either half the time?” 

She stays silent again, staring intently at the dimples Clint’s chair has made in the carpet. 

“How did you even find her?” he asks eventually, giving up the argument for the countless time. “She’s practically booked to the minute.” 

“She was in the gym when I got there.” 

“I’m going to skip over the fact that you’d rather punch something until you bleed than come and bug me. Was it worth it? Was she all sweaty and hot? Did you two finally canoodle in person?” 

She doesn’t dignify his jokes with a response, her thoughts plain in her expression. “I don’t think she sleeps well either. She looked tired.” 

Clint grins a little. “You paying attention to her face?”

Natasha scowls at him. “It’s normal to look someone in the eye.” 

“Mhm…” He retucks his arms under his head, settling back against his pillow. “It’s for sure normal to think about them all morning.” 

“She took me off of probation,” she says, almost in a rush, like maybe this will change the subject – maybe a little bit like she’s admitting something. 

“Oh you definitely have a crush on her. It’s like she’s trying to get in your pants. Remind me never to read your emails.” 

Natasha only squints at him, wishing once again that she had something appropriate to throw. The urge distracts her enough that she never does reject the notion. And when she finds herself imagining Maria’s secret little smile in those few and far casual emails, she decides that Clint doesn’t need to know. She’s not been given many chances in her life, and she thinks she could make space in her life for two instead of one. She wonders if Maria would ever want a gym buddy on long nights and promptly decides not to think any deeper into it. 

[datawyrms]

Responsibility

For Phic Fight 2021, The Lord of Chaos’s prompt c:

Spectra fed off of misery; nocturne fed off of dreams.  The elusive town cryptid that only shows up when people need saving gains a following and Danny finds that he gets a boost from the people who have faith in him, he starts to become aware of them, especially when they needed him.

The rest of the town seeing him as benevolent was a positive thing. The uncomfortable stabs that his ‘parents were right’ about ghosts lessened as fewer and fewer treated him as a monster just as troublesome as Technus. He didn’t need to tense when the news was on, to hear his attempts to help called a ‘savage attack’, or that stupid nickname. He’d slept a bit easier, knowing that people did understand he only meant to help lately. Sure, Mom and Dad might still insist he was an evil ghost, but it was so much easier to ignore that when he didn’t feel he was only one step away from proving them right to everyone else. Clumsy and reckless he could take. Just as long as he wasn’t some ‘evil soul sucking abomination.’

Having Jazz a bit more in the loop had actually started to pay off. She wasn’t as good at catching a ghost as Sam or Tucker, sure, but she wasn’t hindering him anymore either. Honestly, if all three of them worked together, his powers weren’t really needed unless something huge found its way to town. Which his friends had insisted he take advantage of at least once a week, to let them handle the usual patrols and alerts while he tried to catch up on work and sleep. Mostly sleep, to be honest. Focusing on work was almost impossible when his ghost sense went off, even if he knew they didn’t need help. He wanted to go, he had to go; but they were very good at yelling at him for not ‘trusting them’ to handle things. He really did need the break. That’s why he was feeling a little less haggard, a bit more alert. At least, that’s what made the most sense.

Then the ‘lurching’ started. He couldn’t think of a better name then that. It wasn’t like his ghost sense, that sort of just crawled out of him and didn’t give him much to go on beyond ‘there’s definitely a ghost around’. That could go off and leave him rolling his eyes at the box ghost, or fighting for his life against Plasmius with the exact same feeling. The lurching was...different. Like his ghost sense forgot where his windpipe was and decided to escape in a random direction. Inssenantly. It didn’t hurt, but it was annoying, worse than the pang that would pass when he ignored whatever got his ghost sense acting up. It just kept pulling in a direction, but refusing to get out from under his skin. Sometimes it would keep going for an entire class, which just made whatever the lurch’s chosen direction noticeably cold. He was pretty sure he was immune to frostbite nowadays, but that didn’t make explaining things easier if someone spotted his hand looking almost blue from lack of blood flow.

Maybe his core was on the fritz again. Who knew what sort of weird things could happen to a human who spent half his time dead?

Tucker suggested that he was just getting ghost puberty to go with the ‘joys’ of human puberty. Which sure, was funny and they could shove each other around and forget about it for a time. It didn’t feel like the right answer. None of his other powers acted up, honestly he was feeling better after fights then he usually did lately. Less drained, anyway. It wasn’t stopping either.

It just got worse. More intense. More frequent. Instead of vanishing the area the lurch decided to pull in seemed to grow the longer he tried to dismiss it. Noticeably. To the point even Dash asked if he should avoid punching him because ‘that shit looks contagious’. (He privately hoped it was. Dash totally deserved weird pulling that made you frost over.)

He had to ignore it, he couldn’t just drop everything every single time the lurch decided to show up. He’d look completely off his rocker, running in some random direction because ‘my shoulder feels cold to the north-west’. If it was close enough to be a real danger, his ghost sense would just go off!

So Saturday was going to be a ‘lurch hunt’. No more ignoring it, no school or mandatory activities that should keep him from following the strange cold that felt desperate to go after something. Yet even deciding that made his insides squirm. He had to follow it, he should be- but that was dumb. He missed enough class as it was.

So why was it so hard to focus on anything else when it started going? Like nothing else mattered? It wasn’t like he was drifting off or sleepy either.

Jazz said he was ‘fixated’ on something.

But how do you fixate on some weird feeling under your skin? He didn’t even know what it was! Just that Sam and Tucker kept needing to flick things at him to get him to pay attention to reality. One of his best rested weeks in ages, and he was worse off then he’d been focus wise in years. Stupid ghost powers. Saturday took far too long to come. Even when one of the lurches stopped pulling he couldn’t relax. Instead of relief he just felt. Hollow. He’d woken up in a panic, half expecting to be chained down in one of Vlad’s sick laboratories, but he wasn’t cut open. He wasn’t even injured. Safe, in bed- and feeling like the cold ran off with his ribcage.

Something was wrong with him. That had to be it. Once they found the cause, he’d solve it and it would stop. It had to.

Following it shouldn’t make him feel as relieved as it did. Taking his ghost form and flying after some...feeling that wanted to drag him somewhere was more like when Freakshow’s Staff dominated his mind than anything positive. A compulsion he couldn’t help giving in to.

At least his ghost sense went off once he’d followed it long enough, finding one of Vlad’s mutant ghost animals chasing someone through the streets.

Normal. A bit of one sided banter to get it’s attention, a few punches and ectoblasts and it was shoved away in the thermos. No more pulling, and one less ghost terrorizing town. That didn’t make sense. Unless it really was just his ghost sense increasing in range while becoming infinitely more irritating?

That’s what it felt like, at first. He’d follow, ghost sense, find the problem. Except there was something odd. Every ghost he found like this wasn’t just wandering about, or making a mess. They were all actively chasing, stalking or attempting to scare someone. Okay, so it homed in on more ‘violent’ ghosts then? That seemed possible.

Until one of the lurches kept pulling, but there was no ghost sense. The one that kept pulling him towards a man with his back against the wall, fumbling with a wallet. The man who wasn’t being threatened by Skulker, or a vulture, or any of this typical fare. Just another human with a gun, and the will to use it.

This so wasn’t his thing. He fought ghosts, they were half his fault to begin with. So why was his ghost sense leading him to this? Well. It hadn’t. Lurching confirmed for not ghost sense?

Jazz would totally chew him out for tackling someone with a gun. He just had to forget to go intangible at a bad time, and he’d be all ghost. Or worse, go intangible and someone else got a body full of lead. He couldn’t just...ignore it now that he’d seen it though. The chill that hummed below his skin wouldn’t let him.

So the guy was a bit startled about getting pulled through a wall and dropped off the other side. Probably lost some change. He’d expected a bit of fear, at least. Like come on, some ghost just grabs you while a gun’s in your face? That’s still scary.

Yet he didn’t seem bothered. Just thankful. Called him a ‘hero’. For being in the right place at the right time. By just happening to be there because...because he knew? Something in him knew. That was wrong, he shouldn’t just know when people were in danger like that. He vanished without a word, not wanting to stick around and hear more. It was coincidence. Hopefully the guy wasn’t too offended that he just bolted, but he couldn’t stay there. He didn’t like how the complement felt good in a way he couldn’t describe. That the cold in his chest thrummed with a pleasure that made the rest of him feel ill. He wasn’t a hero, he was just some kid. A kid who still wanted to have a life that wasn’t all this, eventually.

He can’t ignore at dinner that he picks at his meal, not from exhaustion but because he’s not hungry. He’s still energized, he’s still full- and no amount of gagging over the sink makes his stomach empty. ‘Ghosts helping humans only do so for their own ends’. He’d ignored and denied that, he hadn’t been getting anything out of being the local ghost punching bag- so why was he now? Did he steal something? Feed on that person he saved?

He hated that his face didn’t even have the sense to look pale at the idea. He looked healthy. Probably better than he usually did. Even the circles under his eyes weren’t as noticeable. Were Mom and Dad right? Was he just...more of a ghost now?

Sam and Tucker don’t buy his ‘couldn’t figure it out’ explanation. Mostly because he refuses to try it again with them along to help figure it out. Even as he grows cold and more lurching keeps gnawing at his attention. He’s human too, he doesn’t need...whatever this is.

Sam kindly tells him he’s being a gigantic idiot.

He’s too distracted by the chill to notice. Tucker explains that after he’s blinking confused at the corn chips bouncing off his forehead. They laugh it off. He’s pretty sure they’re just being nice. They know something’s wrong, but he can’t bring himself to tell them yet. They wait. For now.

He ignores the feeling. He tries to ignore the guilt, that he knows someone out there is in danger. That someone out there needs his help. That all he needs to do is walk out of class and he can go do some actual good. He can’t go chasing after everyone in town. Things happen! He’s just one person! The sooner the lurching in him figures that out, the better. It still ruins his focus, makes him grit his teeth and fidget in place. He wants to go, he doesn’t want to go, he doesn’t even know what he wants. For it to stop. That would work. The tugging stops halfway into his next class, the frost in his blood lifts. It leaves him empty. Starving.

Everything tastes bland. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Even his favourites barely seem worth the effort of snagging off a table. He’ll eat, he can’t have Mom and Dad looking at him like Sam and Tucker are now, but it just feels heavy in his stomach. A brick he’s decided to try digesting for fun. He’s hungry, ravenously so, but doesn’t want anything.

He knows exactly what he wants and hates himself for it. Stupid ghost half. He doesn’t need that, he doesn’t want to be some...leech. Seeking out trouble just to benefit from it. It’s wrong, he hates it, and if he could grab his core and slam it on the table for a few hours he would. Just until it remembered that they helped when they could. When it was close by, when it was a ghost problem. Not every bit of danger in town!

Misplaced aggression goes to the nearby ghosts. Which it often had,  really. It’s normal. He’s just making sure people don’t get hurt, ignoring the humming of MINE coiled in his ectoplasm. The other ghosts feel it. They hear it when he hunts them down and wants to keep swinging even when they put claws or hands up in surrender. He doesn’t trust himself to banter with them right now. He doesn’t want to hear the words his ghost side wants to say. He shoves them back into the Ghost Zone, and the smarter ones stay away. A stronger ghost is already feeding here. There’s nothing for them to take.

He’s running on autopilot. Days are meaningless. He can’t focus in class, his notes are nonexistent and his patience is beyond frayed. He can’t sleep, the cold is too much, the emptiness hurts and fewer ghosts show up. He can’t even blow off steam by kicking the Box Ghost through a wall. He won’t follow it, and he’s fairly sure it’s going to kill him. That or his parents will. Even they have to notice how he barely eats and won’t focus on anything short of a horn section in his face.

Sam and Tucker sit him down. Force the issue. They know he’s a mess. They don’t have answers. How could they? His choices are to starve this ghost instinct out, or to just give into it and completely ruin his human life. He’ll be fine. It’ll stop eventually if he keeps ignoring it. Then he’ll be able to focus again. It’s all he can cling to.

He’s stubbornly ignoring the prickling awareness of other thoughts. Ones not from his brain. Ones that get louder when the lurch grips him, that practically overwhelm his own as fear and panic grows. Maybe he’s just gone a little off the deep end. He doesn’t hear voices. He refuses.

Jazz has her concerns. That he can’t ignore it. She knows more about Mom and Dad’s research, more about classifications of ghosts. She tries to be gentle, nudging him to be aware that stronger ghosts were more...like a concept then an individual.

He doesn’t want to be some sort of ghost concept of problem solving. She’s worried he won’t have that choice. Some part of him already knows she’s right.

He seeks out Valerie. For help. She’s confused, baffled and suspicious. After all this time he spent convincing her he’s not evil, he’s begging her to call him that. To convince other people he is. To make them fear him and his help. He doesn’t want to be a hero like she is. He just wants to be himself, doesn’t want to hear the people begging for help when he’s trying to sleep.

She doesn’t understand, but understands one thing. He’ll feed on those who rely on them. She has to stop that, doesn’t she?

They fight, and often. He does poorly, lets her save people while his misfires cause damage and chaos. It makes him want to scream each time. Some of the thoughts and voices dim. Not enough. Too many are understanding, too many can see the regret and pain that wrack him with each failure. He’s always hungry. He wants to try again, but everything in him rebels against it. The ghost hunter avoids him. It’s ‘not a fair fight’. He’s ‘not himself’. His green eyes are more dead then they ever have been. He can’t maintain his legs.

As a human, all he wants to do is sleep.

Mom and Dad notice. He collapses and his eyes flare green when they try to help him. Just automatically sensing them as danger, against him, not someone that calls for him. They think he’s possessed, and he wishes they were right.

He half considers not telling them the truth. Let them think of a way to let his ghost half quiet down, to stop hungering for validation he doesn’t want.

Jazz tells them before they can do much of anything. Pinches his ear for being stupid- that getting experimented on won’t help him.

Their hugs make him feel bad. This should be a good moment, a time where he feels safe and accepted. But his mind is not his own, not with the others whispering in his skull. Their warmth and love feels like a drop in the empty barrel of his hunger.

They want him to be healthy. They want him to be happy. He can’t be happy if he needs to abandon his life to be healthy. He tries to explain it, the emptiness, the voices (Jazz cuffs him again for hiding this, which seems fair.) and they promise to try and figure out why, maybe find a way to limit it or separate himself from whatever connection his ghost half seems to have made with the town. Until then- they encourage him. To go ‘help’ people. To feed the clawing cold taking over his existence. He’s not sure if they really mean it. It doesn’t stop him from listening.

It’s hard to feel guilty when it feels so good. To have the fear quiet and be replaced with thanks. Someone’s out of danger and happy, and he feels less hollow for a time. Mom and Dad switch him to home school. They say it’s a better fit, to be able to stop and start based on when he’s not being dragged away by his own instinctive need to protect people.

It feels like giving up. Admitting he’s too much of a freak to live like everyone else. Dad tries to compare it to his special classes when he was young. Different to fit his learning style, not failing. The pulls and voices aren’t nearly as distracting when he’s full. Food actually tastes like more than sand again. Sam and Tucker don’t need to try as hard to smile now that he isn’t looking like death warmed over. He doesn’t like not getting to see them as often. He can’t deny he feels better this way, and can actually pay attention now. Even if most of the time he just wants to nap when the hunger stops. Go ‘back into hiding’ as the town thinks he does.

It’s getting better. Slowly. Not in a way he wanted it to. Better nonetheless.

[harringrovetrashrat]

Intercrurral prompt: Billy’s been harassing Steve all year, and it’s taking everything Steve has not to think bisexual thoughts about the guy he HATES. But one night, wrong place and wrong time, where they run into each other in the woods while Steve is on demodog patrol and Billy is escaping a bad run-in with Neil. Things boil over - the biggest imagery I have is Billy harshly whispering in Steve’s ear “Tell me you want this. TELL me you want ME.”

Okay, okay, okay

Here we GO.  Alright.  It took me a moment to find just the right way to do this, but I finally got it.

And it somehow ended up over 3k, whoooops. Let’s hope the read more actually works this time lol

TW for one use of the f-slur and misogynist language from Billy.

--

Steve ran a hand over his face as he stomped through the trees.  The cold February air bit at his skin, made his nose run.  Steve sniffed for what felt like the millionth time, still unable to stop the jittering in his bones.  He couldn’t go home.  Things felt too still, too quiet tonight.  Something was going to happen.  Steve could feel it.

He twirled the bat again, stretching out his fingers.  The trees were dark against the snow, the cloudless night allowing the moon to shine in through breaks in the trees.  Steve bit his lip, thinking about the day.  It sent a spike of warmth to his gut and he frowned, annoyed with himself.

It wasn’t much different than normal.  He spent the day tailing after Nancy and Jonathan, ignoring Tommy when he passed him in the hall, and trying to keep his dick to behave whenever Billy pressed up against him.  Or pushed him.  Or teased him.  Or fucking looked at him, jesus.  Steve had a problem and he really didn’t want to have it.  He’s looked at guys before, done stuff before, but of all fucking people, his dick had to be interested in Billy fucking Hargrove.

He’d prefer his dick be interested in Jonathan.

There was a snap from a few meters ahead in the trees and Steve froze, all thoughts exiting his brain.  His blood pumped through his veins and his pulse skyrocketed as he adjusted his grip on the bat.  He quietly made his way forward, looking through the brush for anything weird.  Anything slimy.  There were some dark spots on the ground that Steve followed, panic clawing its way into his chest.

“Fuck!” He heard someone hiss.  The sound came from in front of him and Steve relaxed minutely.  It wasn’t demodogs.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t still a threat.

Steve did his best to make sure his shoes didn’t crunch too much in the snow as he approached a clearing.  Someone was sitting on a log, hunched over on themselves, but they looked human enough.  There wasn’t any weird smell, nothing too obviously weird, so Steve lowered the bat.

“Hello?” The person on the log jumped, standing and whirling around, fists up and ready.  Bruised as well.  Which was why Steve wasn’t surprised to find himself looking at Billy Hargrove.

A messed up Billy Hargrove.

He had a black eye and a bloody nose, with what looked like a small cut at his hairline.  Steve kind of wished he hadn’t said anything.  Billy relaxed minutely, face scrunching into a sneer.

“Harrington?  What the fuck are you doing out here?  Mommy and Daddy playing house?” Steve ignored the sting, flaring his nostrils as he flexed his hand around the bat.  Billy’s eyes darted down before widening.  “What the fuck?” His voice lost it’s teasing edge, verging into actually scared.

“Oh,” Steve said, not wanting to drop the bat in case he needed it.  For whatever reason.  “Just-- On a walk.”

“On a walk?” Billy droned, unimpressed.  “Really?  Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?” Steve bristled and whatever was in the air that night pressed him forward, made him confrontational.

“Maybe,” he replied.  Billy tensed up, nostrils flaring as he grit his teeth.  “Smart people don’t come out here at night.” Billy barked out a mean laugh.

“S’Why you’re out here then, huh?” Steve stopped a few feet away, slinging the bat over his shoulder.  Now that he was closer, he could see that Billy’s cut was still bleeding.  Could see that his wounds were fresh.  That he was shaking.

“Seriously,” Steve said.  “The woods around here aren’t safe.”

“Safer than other places,” Billy grumbled angrily.  He looked up at Steve, eyes sharp.  “If they’re so unsafe, why are you out here for a walk?” Steve’s mind went blank as he grasped for a reason.

“I-- Well, I mean--”

“You out here meeting some fag lover?” Billy said, smile sharp and mean.  Steve clenched his fist, cheeks going ruddy.  Billy tilted his head, pushing his cheek out with his tongue.  Steve couldn’t help the way his eyes were drawn there.

“No,” he replied, stony.  “Honestly just out for a walk.”

“Really?  You and Creep Byers don’t meet up when Wheeler’s being too much of a bitch?” Steve gripped the bat tightly, scowling.

“Don’t call her that,” he snapped.  Billy snorted, hiding a grimace, and rolled his eyes.

“She left you, man,” he said.  “And you follow her and her new boyfriend around like a fucking lost dog.” Steve felt his cheeks heating up again, felt a blush creeping down his neck.

“Fuck you,” he said.  “It’s called having friends, ever heard of it?” Billy sneered, getting up into Steve’s space.  It made it a little hard to think, having him this close.  Close enough that Steve could see where Billy would freckle in the sun, how blue his eyes were, could fucking smell him.  He pushed the thoughts down, ignoring the heat in belly, just from having Billy close.  Stupid dick.

“You think you’re so above everyone, everything, don’t you?” Steve rolled his eyes, letting the bat fall to his side.  Billy wasn’t a threat, not really.  Not worthy of the bat at least.

“What’s your issue, man?” Steve asked.  Billy shoved him a little, making Steve take a step back.

“You’re my issue, Harrington,” he snapped.  “And I told you to fucking plant your feet.”

“What the fuck did I ever--”

“Your fucking existence fucking pisses me off!” Billy shoved him again, harder this time, and Steve let out a grunt, dropping the bat.  “You’ve got a fucking family that gives a shit, you’ve got fucking money, you’ve got fucking everything, and you--” Billy punctuated each reason with a shove, pushing until Steve was back up against a tree.  When he cut himself off, something flashed over his face.  Worry, fear, Steve wasn’t sure, but it was gone as soon as it was there.  “You, Harrington, just piss me off.”

“You don’t know shit about me, Hargrove,” Steve snapped, trying to push him off.  Billy pushed back, pinning him against the tree.  Steve let out a grunt, freezing up as Billy’s pressed up closer, getting into Steve’s face.  This was… dangerous.  Steve was already chubbing up in his pants and he swallowed thickly, giving some more frantic shoves to Billy’s shoulders.  “Fucking get off,” he said, voice high and pitchy.  Billy sneered, shoving Steve to the ground, standing above him.

“You’re such a fucking pussy,” he sneered.

“At least I’m not some fucking violent freak,” Steve said, sharp and cutting and cruel.  It’s what he wanted to be, in that moment.  Billy did that to him.  Brought out the King Steve who was mean, alone, and hurt.  And the words worked.  Billy snarled, jerking Steve up off the ground.  Steve grabbed at Billy’s hands, stumbling.

“Fuck you,” Billy hissed.  He gave Steve a shake, shoving him into another tree, slamming a hand next to his face.  Steve’s chest heaved with anxiety and, unfortunately, arousal.  He kind of had a thing for being manhandled.  At least, being manhandled by Billy.  The blonde pressed close, hurt shining in his eyes behind the fury.  It threw Steve for a bit of a loop.  “Fuck.  You.” Billy repeated, voice wobbling.  He pushed at Steve, pressing him up against the tree, before pausing.  His eyes widened and Steve flushed.  It was bound to happen, but Steve had held out some childish hope that Billy wouldn’t notice he’d been sporting a boner for a little while.  “What--”

“You’ve made your point--” Steve tried, tense as he tried to sink into the tree.

“Are you hard?” Billy asked.  Steve swallowed and closed his eyes, wishing the world could swallow him up.  “Seriously?”

“I’m not talking with you about this,” Steve squeaked, trying to move away.  Billy pinned him even more against the tree, sliding a leg between Steve’s thighs.  He let out an involuntary whimper.

“You are,” Billy said, almost with wonder.  Steve opened his eyes, meeting Billy’s blue ones.  They were calculating, stripping him down, and it made Steve shiver.  Billy’s tongue flicked over his bottom lip and his mouth curled up at the side.  “Is it from the lack of pussy?  Not enough girls begging to wet your dick?”

“Why are you so gross,” Steve breathed, closing his eyes again.  “It’s not-- Just drop it--”

“Oh, so you only get like this,” Billy trailed a finger over Steve’s clothed dick, making him let out a choked cry, “For me?” Steve’s eyes snapped open and Billy grinned.  There was something hungry in his eyes that made something hot curl through Steve, made him breath a little harder.  But, well, this was Billy.  He was probably fucking with him.

“Fuck off,” Steve breathed out, finding it hard to control his voice.  He tried to push at Billy’s shoulders, tried to avoid those piercing eyes, but Billy caught his face in one hand, making Steve look at him.  He slowly pushed his thumb into Steve’s mouth, pulling it open.  The salty taste of his skin on Steve’s tongue made him breathe harder, chest heaving, pupils dilating.

God he was gonna get the shit beat outta him for this.

“I thought I was,” Billy began, trailing off.  He pulled his lower lip into his mouth, tongue peeking out as he looked in Steve’s eyes, at his mouth, still open and panting.  Gripped Steve through his pants, making his legs tremble.  He was grateful for the tree behind him, that was for sure, otherwise he might have stumbled from his legs turning into jelly.  Steve’s chest heaved, nervous and aroused, and Billy exhaled heavily through his nose.

“Thaw yoo were wha?” Steve asked, breathy and mangled from Billy still holding his mouth open, thumb pressed against Steve’s tongue.

“The way you look at me,” Billy said, eyes heated now, hungry, almost rabid with want.  “Thought I was imagining it.  But this,” he rubbed over Steve’s erection again, making him tremble, “Suggests that maybe I wasn’t.” Steve stared at Billy, dick throbbing.  Billy licked over his bottom lip, almost unconsciously.  His eyes flicked down to Steve’s bulge, a weird groan escaping him.  It made Steve’s dick twitch in his jean almost painfully.  Billy’s eyes widened and his eyes snapped back up to Steve’s.

“‘illy,” Steve tried, still unable to speak clearly with that thick fucking thumb on his tongue.

“God,” Billy groaned, shaking again, but with restraint.  Like he was trying not to touch Steve more than he was already.  “You’re so fucking-- You want this, don’t you?” Steve tried to shake his head, to deny the fucking obvious truth.  “You want my dick in your mouth?  Stretching those pretty pink lips?” And god, Steve did.  He’d never had a dick in his mouth but god, did he want.  He nodded, weakly.  Billy tsked, pulling Steve’s mouth open more, until it almost hurt.  His dick shouldn’t have liked it as much as it did but, well.  “No no, Harrington,” Billy crooned.  “Use your words.” He leaned in, lips brushing against Steve’s ear as their bodies pressed together.  Steve couldn’t feel the cold, couldn’t feel anything but the heat of Billy’s body pressed against him.  Of his erection pressing against Steve’s thigh.  Fuck.  “Tell me you want this,” he hissed, breath puffing against Steve’s ear, sending goosebumps across his body.  He gave a full body shiver, could practically feel Billy’s grin against his lobe, a wet tongue slowly following the shell.  Steve felt like he couldn’t breathe and he never wanted it to stop.  “Tell me you want me.”

“‘uck , ‘illy,” Steve wheezed, arching his back so their hips ground together, eliciting a moan from himself and a hiss from Billy.  “Ye, ye, p’ease.” Billy’s hand fell out of his mouth, one hand gripping Steve’s hip as the other made quick work of his belt and zipper.  There was a damp spot on the outside of his jeans, the inside of his underwear sticky from where he had been steadily leaking, and Billy’s sharp inhale made Steve groan.  Billy looked at him, eyes hazy with lust as he licked his palm, maintaining eye contact as his gripped Steve’s dick, freed from the confines of his clothes.  Steve’s eyes fluttered closed and his mouth opened in a silent gasp as he tilted his head back, thunking against the tree.  “Fuck,” he whined, hands gripping Billy’s biceps.

“I fucking knew it,” Billy hissed, leaning to press open mouthed kisses to Steve’s neck.  The heat of Billy mixed with the cold, harsh air, drove Steve fucking mad.  His head was foggy, filled to the brim with Billy.  “Every time I shoved you, fucking every time I looked at you, I could see it.” Steve gasped as Billy latched onto his neck, biting and sucking.  It was so different than anything Steve had experienced, even with the guys he’d fooled around with.  Billy was rough, yet somehow still gentle, still attentive.  His hand was slow, leisurely stroking Steve and swiping the head with his thumb.  Steve wasn’t sure he’d still be upright if it wasn’t for Billy holding him up against the tree.

“See what?” He gasped.

“That you wanted me,” Billy replied, breath hot against Steve’s neck.  “Wanted me to shove you, touch you.” Steve was dripping, shaking as Billy teased him.  “You know how long I’ve wanted to do this to you?” Billy whispered against Steve’s skin.  Steve shook his head, unable to make his voice work.  “Since that fucking party.  Wanted to fucking claim you.” Steve found that he really, really wanted that too.

“Then do it,” he rasped, one shaky hand coming up to tangle in the hair at the nape of Billy’s neck.  Billy’s hand faltered before pulling away.  Steve whined, head tilting back down to look.  Billy looked almost feral, eyes wild and face flushed.  He made quick work of his jeans, pulling out his cock, angry and red and hard.  Steve’s mouth fucking watered.  Billy held his hand up, the one slick with Steve’s precum, and ordered,

“Lick.” Steve didn’t need to be told twice.  He ran his tongue over Billy’s hand, getting it wet and spit slick.  Billy watched, breathing hard through his nose, before he pulled his hand away, using the other to turn Steve around.  “Pants at your knees, pretty boy.” His voice was low, husky, and Steve would do whatever he said.  He could feel it, the need to obey.  He’d never wanted to just let someone have their way with him, use him, but he found himself imagining Billy, relaxed as he ordered Steve to please him.  He shuddered at the thought.  Steve shimmied his jeans and underwear down, leaning against the tree and looking over his shoulder.  Billy was stroking himself slowly, letting drool spill down his tongue and onto his dick until is was wet, dripping with saliva.  Steve groaned.

“I’m not--  I’ve never--”

“Don’t you worry,” Billy said, hands gripping Steve’s cheeks as he squatted, pulling them apart.  “When I fuck you, it’s gonna be thorough.  Gonna open you on my fingers until you beg for me to stuff you with my cock.” And then he licked a hot, wet stripe from Steve’s perineum all the way up to his hole, circling the rim.

“Oh holy shit,” Steve cried, hips jerking back.  He felt Billy’s chuckle against his skin.  He lost himself in the sensation of Billy’s tongue, his mouth, licking and sucking at Steve’s taint and thighs until they were slick and wet.  The sound he made, primal and needy, when Billy stood, almost made him embarrassed.  He was too horny though.

“Clench those thighs for me, King,” Billy said, pressing a kiss to one of Steve’s back dimples.  Steve shuddered, but did as he was told.  When he felt Billy’s dick slide against the crease of his legs, he gasped, fingers clenching against the bark of the tree.  The head of Billy’s cock slowly pushed in, gliding through the spit, now warmed by Steve’s skin.  It was veiny, thick, and velvety soft against the meat of Steve’s thighs.  When the tip brushed against the back of his balls, Steve whimpered, biting his lip.  Billy’s hand was tight, bruising against his hip.  The other came and pulled Steve’s hair, tilting his head back so he couldn’t hide any noises.

“Please, please, please,” Steve rambled, mind blanking out except for Billy.  The feel of him between his thighs, the smell of his cologne, fuck, even the rough denim of his jeans against the back of his thighs.  He didn’t even know what he was begging for.  Billy let out a long, rumbling groan.

“Jesus fuck,” Billy said, voice sounding as wrecked as Steve felt.  His hips snapped forward, slapping against Steve’s thighs and ass, and Steve gasped, fingers painfully gripping at the tree bark.  He hadn’t expected it, but the glide of Billy’s dick against his thighs was incredible.  The way the head tickled the back of his balls, the way he could feel Billy’s dick leaking precum, sliding it around as he made Steve’s thighs slicker and slicker.  Steve clamped them as tightly as he could, getting an aborted moan for his efforts.  He grinned as Billy moved faster, hips slamming against Steve, forcing high pitched moans out every time.  “Look at you,” Billy rumbled.  “So fuckin’ pretty like this, Harrington.  Bent over like the needy little bitch you are.” Steve should have bristled at the words, should have pushed Billy away, but something inside him went white hot in pleasure.  Made his cock drip.

Like most things Steve was discovering about himself, it came down to Billy.  If anyone else tried it, he’d hate it.  But, fuck.  Billy made it sound like the best thing in the world.

“Yeah,” Steve breathed out.  “Fuck yeah I am.” Billy let out a sound that made heat burst in Steve’s groin, brought him even closer to the edge.  His hips shuttered, moving wildly until he slammed himself against Steve, curling down and pressing his forehead against Steve’s back as he came.  Steve moved one hand down, jerking himself off almost painfully fast.  The feeling of spit and cum, warm against his skin, cooling rapidly in the air, was almost too much.  Billy moved to pull away but Steve whined, making him stop.  “Just--  Stay there.”

“Jesus,” he heard Billy whisper.  And like that, Steve came, painting the tree in white stripes of spunk.  He cried out, loud where Billy had been quiet, muffling his sounds.  Steve was loud, he knew that, but he reached obscene levels as he trembled, orgasm making him nearly black out.

They stayed that way, panting as their sweat rapidly cooled.  Billy finally pulled away, hands leaving Steve and he missed the feeling immediately.

God he was so fucked.

Steve didn’t turn around as he caught his breath, shakily using the tree to stand erect.  He pulled up his jeans, not bothering to clean up.  Wasn’t sure he wanted to admit to himself that he wanted the feeling of cum and spit sticking to his skin, dampening his jeans and underwear, dirty and so fucking hot.  When he turned around, Billy had his back to him, the sound of his zippo clicking loud in the wake of what they’d just done.

“Uhm,” Steve began, because, like, where do you go from here?

“We can keep this under wraps,” Billy said, back still to Steve.  He let out a cloud of smoke, thicker in the cold air.  Steve noticed the tension in his shoulders, in his voice, and he swallowed, wondering if he’d fucked up.

“Yeah,” Steve said, fingers twitching nervously against his thigh.  “But uh,” he took a sharp inhale, forcing the words out, “My parents aren’t usually home so, you know, if you ever wanna like, let off some steam--”

“Aw, Harrington,” Billy teased, finally turning around.  “You like my dick that much?” Steve wasn’t sure what it was, but something told him he needed to be honest.  To tell the truth, or Billy’d run and never look back.

“Yeah,” he replied, honest.  Billy’s eyes widened and his mouth went a little slack.  But the attraction and want that shone in his eyes let Steve know he’d made the right choice.  “Maybe next time you can let me choke on it.”

[firefly-in-darkness]

Galaxy Princess - 1/3

Characters → Y/N & Peter Quill, Mentions of other Marvel characters.

Summary → After the birth of superheroes, several alien attacks and the blip, you were pretty much ready for anything. That was until you met Peter Quill. He burst into your life at lightning speed and nothing could have prepared you for the way he turned your world upside down.

Word Count → 3k

Warnings → Swearing, later warnings; 18+ Smut, Fluff.

Series Taglist → OPEN - send an ask.

Beta → @princessmisery666 // all mistakes are my own.

A/N → Should have posted this at half 7 but everything seemed to go wrong BUT it’s here now... This is for @crushedbyhyperbole - I am so sorry that this is months late to your challenge! [Prompt: To the moon and back - in Part 3]. And I actually have a schedule for the release for this 3-parter… This is GOTG Vol1&2 Peter Quill set in a post-Endgame world.

Return to: Series List // Marvel List

That Friday feeling was in the spring of Y/N’s step, and how she threw off her stuffy office clothes and traded them for baggy top and sweatpants. It was in the way she put on her favourite playlist, shimmied a pizza in the oven and how she shut the fridge with a pop of her hip. She twirled around the kitchen in between sips of beer, lifting her spirits higher and higher. 

At the sound of the oven alarm beeping, she plated up the pizza, walked through her apartment, and flopped a blanket over her shoulder in preparation for her Friday night tradition. It had been a hard week at work, and she couldn’t wait to unwind in one of her favourite spots.  

She climbed out of the lounge window onto the fire escape, ascending the steps carefully as to not drop her pizza and beer. 

“Careful out there, Y/N,” Stan, her neighbour, said. 

She paused at the window ledge and grinned back at the elderly gentleman sitting in his armchair. He looked over the top of his glasses with a fond smile. 

“I’m always careful Stan,” She winked and carried on with her climb. 

On the rooftop, overlooking the countryside in the distance, Y/N could relax and get away from work. She’d been a temporary administrator at a financial company for six months, but she didn’t seem to fit in with any of her colleagues. She soon discovered that she was often talked about because she was different. ‘Different’ meant Y/N didn't join them for the weekly drinks at the local bar or partake in office gossip. None of it was her thing and, to them, that made her ‘weird.’  

On many occasions, Y/N had overheard them guessing about her private life and it took its toll after hearing the same repetitive comments; she never talks about her family. Or friends for that matter. She needs to get laid. She's a bit of a freak. Too wrapped up in all that alien abduction and sci-fi nonsense.  

And that’s how being on the rooftop, with pizza and a couple of beers, became a weekly tradition and a place of solitude. Unwinding with music and the starry sky above, Y/N could pretend the world below didn’t exist. 

The mellow music drowned out the noise from the street below as she stretched out on the sun lounger. A contented sigh left her mouth as the blanket enveloped her in comfort and the warmth seeped into her bones.  

The sun setting over the woodland in the distance was the perfect backdrop for her to relax as she munched on the pizza. Y/N adored the way the peach glow filled the skyline and silhouetted the trees against the horizon. 

The greasy delight helped to soothe her but couldn’t quiet all the gossip she’d heard about herself that week. Especially the remarks about her sex life. They had no idea if there was any truth to their assumptions, but no amount of beer or delicious food could drown the thought completely. 

Over the last couple of years, Y/N had pretended that she was happy. That she was content with being on her own but deep down she had given up. Her inability to navigate the dating scene successfully was not something she was proud of but then again, she’d had too many awful and lame experiences to count. 

She was a moon without an orbit, drifting in an endlessly dark sky. It was as if everyone else had been given access to this world of love and relationships and she was left alone. She couldn’t recall the last time she felt wanted or needed and it tugged at her chest. 

Her wall of denial had crumbled, and the hot tears slid down her cheeks. She’d been lonely, had been for a while, but when other people noticed, it stung more than she liked. 

The bright sky faded to navy, the stars flickering on in anticipation of lighting the night sky. Y/N longed for whatever was beyond the Earth’s atmosphere, up where those stars sparkled even brighter.  

Y/N had always dreamed of being somewhere else. She felt as if she didn’t belong here that she was destined for more than a mundane office job and daydreaming of the world beyond the solar system. One day, somehow, she knew she’d fly away from this place and find somewhere that she belonged. 

A bright flash streaked across the sky, a shooting star. Y/N grinned, shuffling to the edge of her seat, ready to make her wish. Until she realised the light was getting bigger. Her eyes widened as she watched the flaming ball crash into the woodland in the distance.  

Y/N scrambled to her feet; the blanket was forgotten until she fell to the ground. Knees scraping against the concrete. The tangled fabric was pushed away, and she gingerly rolled up her sweatpants; luckily, it was only a scrape, nothing to worry about. 

She jumped up, grabbed her phone, and rushed down the fire escape. Once inside, she slid on her fluffy socks along the hardwood floor then hopped around to put her sneakers on while trying to grab her backpack. Luckily, she made it out without an accident. 

Minutes later she was navigating the roads to the woodlands, her body hummed with adrenaline and her mind raced with wonder; what was it? A meteor? A spaceship? Aliens? Oh shit. What if it weren’t friendly? What if the Avengers showed up? She wasn’t sure she cared as she swerved the car off the road and into the empty parking lot, kicking up gravel and dust. This was an opportunity she wouldn’t let pass her by.  

Y/N eagerly dived out of the car, made sure her sneakers were laced and her phone was in her pocket and jogged up the main path to the woodland. Before long, her clammy skin began sticking to her cardigan. She pulled it off and wrapped it around her waist. Her eagerness to get to the crash site and all the possibilities of what it could be, she hadn’t realised how far off the beaten path she was. 

The moon was her only source of light, but the towering trees made it seem as if it were playing hide and seek on the ground. She put on her phone’s flashlight, her heart racing as she stumbled along the less maintained route. 

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness as the flashlight remained trained on the ground. Nerves bubbled in her stomach and her legs began to shake as she neared the potential landing site.  

A faint orange glow flickered against the tree trunks, the air thick and sticky with fumes. Y/N picked up her pace, approaching the smoke that billowed from the wreckage and the flames licking at the grass. Light and ash that spit out from the chewed-up metal.  

She raised her arm, shielding her eyes from the bright glare so she could access the wreckage. It wasn’t any kind of spaceship she’d seen before. It didn’t look like the ones from the attack on New York or reported after The Blip. It was small, could fit one adult at most. 

A groan rang out nearby and she whipped around to see a man, a human man, fall to the floor a few meters away. In a flash, she landed on her knees, pain shooting through the already damaged skin, and rolled the person over, pulling at the red leather jacket.  

Y/N placed her cheek near their face and relaxed when she felt their light breath caressing her skin. Her fear subsided, and she was finally able to look at the man, her heart fluttered at his rugged look; the stubble scattered across his jawline, a gash across his cheek and his fluffy dirty blond hair.  

The crackle of the flames and the metal whining behind caught her attention again. She hauled him away from the ship, afraid they were in danger of being burnt. After a few tugs, she fell backwards onto her bottom. Another groan came from the man below her and she hoped she hadn’t hurt him. She looked down at the handsome spaceman, his head rising from her lap with a deep frown and eyes scrunching with confusion. 

“Hi,” Y/N spoke softly, hoping not to alarm him. 

He shuffled slightly, trying to turn and brace his hand on the ground but gripped her thigh. She watched the realisation dawn on his face, he looked up at her and back down between her legs, a huge grin across his face, “Well this isn’t a first.” 

Y/N shoved him backwards and scrambled away. 

He planted his arms to avoid face planting the ground and turned to the wreckage. “What the hell- Oh man, look at this,” He jumped to his feet and began inspecting and discarding chunks of metal and wires. “No, no, no!” 

Y/N was frozen to the spot, her thoughts blank as she watched the man dash around the wreckage, throwing items over his shoulder in obvious frustration.  

After a moment, she stood up and raised her arms in defence. “Maybe you should sit down, you did just crash landed.” 

“I need to get back to my ship.”  

He may have looked human, but if he had a spaceship, he clearly wasn’t. Oh shit, I’m talking to an alien.  

“I can help,” she stuttered before clearing her throat, willing herself to not sound so defenceless or unsure. “But please don’t hurt me,” She pleaded. 

He stopped mid-throw, the mangled metal hovering over his shoulder, and twisted on the balls of his feet to look at her. His piercing blue eyes alert, an exaggerated gape in his mouth before he spoke, “I’m not going to hurt you, you turd blossom.” 

Y/N blinked at his insult, uncertain how to process being called a turd blossom. He walked towards her and she stepped backwards as he grew closer until her back was against a tree. He rested his arm above her head, leaning against the trunk, a cheeky grin forming on his face. 

“So, I’m a little stuck and need a little help with contacting my ship.” 

Y/N shoved him away, “Your smoldering isn’t going to work on me.” 

“Smoldering?! I was not smoldering.” He stuttered and held up a mangled item that looked like a walkie talkie. “Do you have anything that can help fix this or a way I can contact my ship so I can get off this crappy planet?” 

Y/N paced back and forth, she wasn’t sure what to say or do, her mouth opened and closed. Of course, she had a radio back at her apartment, but she wasn't going to let a stranger into her home. Y/N knew it was crazy, but she had to help him. She spun around and pointed at him, he looked from side to side as if looking for someone else. 

“Yes, you! I will take you somewhere that has a radio. But no funny business.”  

He crossed his heart, dramatically and she rolled her eyes. “Follow me.” She spun on her heels, “Are you coming or - what’s your name?” 

He jogged up to Y/N’s side and matched her speed, “Starlord.” 

She paused, mid-step, chuckling, “Is that your name?” 

“Yes! I’m a famous outlaw.” His brows furrowed and his jaw set. 

“A famous outlaw that calls people turd blossoms,” she chuckled, “what are you wanted for, crappy insults?” 

He scoffed and from the corner of her eye she noticed him smirk though he sounded offended, “a whole list of things that if you knew about, you’d be shocked.” 

“Got it, you're a real bad guy, Starlord.” 

This time he really was offended, “do you have a better name?”   

She snickered and couldn’t help herself, “Galaxy Princess.”  

He laughed loudly up at the sky, “I like you Galaxy Princess,” he admitted.  

She dropped her head to watch her feet and tried to stifle the happy grin that wanted to break out on her face. 

One short car journey filled with awkward silence later, they were in Y/N’s apartment, and inside the box room. A desk and computer on one side, the opposite wall filled with pictures, newspaper clippings and maps of Earth and the solar system. Embarrassment tingled on Y/N’s cheeks as she began to clear the mess of takeout containers and used coffee cups that were on her desk. 

The radio unit was pulled forward and she passed the mouthpiece to him. Noting how dazed he was by all the assorted items in the room, picking them up and inspecting them as he’d never seen a tablet or Bluetooth speaker before. Then she remembered, alien. His technology was far more advanced. 

“Here, if your spaceship is in our atmosphere it should pick up this signal.” Y/N flicked at the switches and turned the dials; white noise unleashed into the room until it went almost silent apart from a faint buzz. 

Starlord stared at the equipment and muttered under his breath, “I can’t believe that I actually wish Rocket was here.” 

Y/N ignored the comment, he hadn’t wanted her to hear what he’d said, “Do you know what frequency your ship uses or anything that would help connect to the comms unit?” 

“Of course, I know what frequency my ship uses.” He stepped around her and started to fiddle with the dials, white noise filling the room once more. He winked and gave her a lopsided grin, like the one earlier when his face was in her lap. “It’s my ship. I know the frequency. Yep.” 

To save Starlord the embarrassment of having no clue, Y/N turned her focus to the broken device he had brought with him. Metal scratched, wires exposed and broken. With enough technical knowledge, she realised it was more of a transmitter than a radio. 

“I think I might be able to fix this, but I don’t have anything that resembles these parts.” Y/N didn’t realise he was right behind her and bumped into him with a surprised yelp. 

“Woah there!” He steadied her with his hands on her arms, “Didn’t mean to make you jump,” he said as she turned to face him. She felt the blush spread over her cheeks and he smiled, “Unless you did that on purpose. Considering you like my smoldering,” he winked.  

“I didn’t say I liked your smoldering, I said it wouldn’t work on me.”   

Y/N hoped that he didn’t have superpowers otherwise he’d hear the pounding of her heart but what unnerved her more than his proximity, was that she couldn’t work out if she was scared or captivated. It was definitely the latter. His thumbs rubbed softly and sparked a shiver. Her thoughts caught back up to her and she led them into the kitchen and grabbed the first aid kit off the shelf. 

“So how did you end up in an escape pod?” She asked, moving into the lounge. 

“Ha. I don’t think you’ve got time for the long story,” he said as she perched on the couch. “So, I’ll give you the short version.” He joined her and reclined back into the cushions. 

“I’m happy with either,” Y/N offered, turning to face him, with an acute awareness of her knee brushing against his thigh. “May I?” 

Starlord glanced down, noticing their closeness and her fiddling with the box. His chest inflated, proud and a smug smile; he was eager to let her tend to his wounds and talk of his heroism and escape from evil.  

He cleared his throat before sinking further into the couch, “I’m more than willing to oblige a beautiful woman with my stories, sweetheart.”  

Y/N snorted and began to clean the gash on his cheek while he explained how his crew’s mission hadn’t gone to plan. It was supposed to be simple; get on the spaceship and pick up the wanted person then to collect the bounty. Y/N watched him tell the story in between winces of the antiseptic wipe; the way his eyes lit up as he retold the plan and mentioned his companions; Rocket and Groot.  

She wanted to know more but she was distracted by his animated expressions. Gosh, he’s handsome, Y/N blushed at her thoughts, “will you stop moving. I can’t fix this if you don’t hold still.” 

Y/N was grateful for him not seeing the embarrassment and refrained from moving erratically so she could apply the butterfly stitches. He continued with how he hadn’t expected the spaceship to have a bunch of Kree and Sakaarans on board. She bounced in her seat, the excitement taking over at the mention of the alien races. 

Starlord chuckled at her enthusiasm, “I’ll tell you more about them bastards later. The escape pod was my only option, but it malfunctioned after it took several hits from the attack shuttles.” 

Y/N clamped a hand over her mouth, in fear and amazement that he’d managed to land it somewhat safely and without extensive injury. She felt shy under Starlord’s scrutiny and the way he was likely to judge the brightness in her eyes, the intrigue she had for life beyond earth. 

“Now I’m stranded on Earth and have no way of communicating with my crew back on the Milano.” He shrugged his shoulders, “Luckily I had a beautiful woman come to my rescue.” 

Y/N pretended not to hear those words as the weight of the night’s events hit her suddenly and she tried to stifle the yawn, “Sorry, can we have a look at this in the morning?” 

“Sure.” His bright smile dropped a fraction, he recovered it but not in time for her to miss. 

Spare bedding was placed on the sofa and Y/N directed him around the apartment, “The shower is just down the hall. If you can’t sleep, here’s the tv remote and help yourself to food.” 

“Thank you, Princess.” 

“Goodnight, Starlord.” 

“It’s Peter.” His cheeky smile had faded to something softer. 

“Y/N. Goodnight Peter.”  

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.” He laid down and continued to wave until she shut the bedroom door. 

Y/N was too tired to process that she was leaving a stranger on his own, in her home. There was an odd comfort from his determination to get back to his ship and crew; the place he belonged.

To Be Continued...

Everything Taglist:  @reann-loves-sebstan / @aroyaldarknessblr / @thefridgeismybestie / @kitkatd7

Marvel Taglist:  @natasha-danvers / @musesforart​

Series Taglist: @justagirlinafandomworld

[avelera]

more body positive stuff, but this time with hermann? he’s always been insecure about how scrawny he is and how bony his limbs are but newt just can’t get over how elegant and beautiful his boyfriend is!!!

Hey there, Anon! I combined your prompt with a second one which I’ll list below the cut. This got kinda long (3k words, sigh) but I hope I hit what you’re looking for!

On the Risks (and Benefits) of Pillow Talk 

Also available on Ao3

Ship: Newt/Hermann

Words: ~3,000

Timeline: Soon after their Drift - I wanted to write the smut scene between them first but eh, unfortunately this is very T/PG-13 rated and the smut scene will come another day :)

Prompt 2: Can you talk a bit more about Hermann’s realization that he has a bit of a thing for more ample bodies? Did he slowly notice that his secret crushes had certain things in common? Did it hit him suddenly during a meeting? Was it something that he had to hide since he was a child? Is it something he’s found adult videos of before deleting his browser history? Enquiring minds want to know the whole story 😉

–

They lay there, panting side by side, nude on the bed, and even if it wasn’t the first time, Hermann still found himself staring up at the ceiling as his heart rate slowed, trying to figure out how this has become his life. How it had actually come to this after years of alternating between furious at Newton to furious at himself for not being able to relinquish the lingering desire he felt since they’re only known each other as a signature at the end of a page. 

Most humiliating had been the desire that would throb at the most inopportune times. Moments when they were in one another’s face, screaming themselves hoarse, when it would suddenly come over Hermann how badly he wanted to have Newton screaming for an entirely different reason and he would scoff and sputter and storm off, only hoping that Newt would take his departure as a reaction to his monument stupidity rather than the truth of Hermann’s own shameful lack of self control.

Thanks to the Drift, he could now see that a loss of self-control would have probably been the best thing he could have done at the time. They could have been shagging one another silly for years.

Newt sighed in contentment and rolled over to press up against Hermann, planting what he suspected were deliberately messy kisses against his shoulder. Newt’s hand swept up and down Hermann’s scrawny, concave chest, down to the sharp jut of his hipbone down to his thin legs. At least Newt’s wasn’t touching the mess of surgical scars on his left hip or the mangled bone beneath it. Not that Newton had ever made any gesture, or even a whisper that he was put off by the scars, but Hermann can’t help but feel…

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” Newt muttered against his skin. “What are these fucking dancer legs, man? I feel like I kidnapped the premier danseur of the fucking Paris Ballet.” Newt lifted Hermann’s good leg at the knee and stroked his hand up and down the calf while laving more kisses against his skin.

Hermann scoffed, “Like you’ve ever attended the ballet.”

“Fuck you, I spent my summers stuck on the opera circuit as a kid, you uncultured swine. I know what I’m about,” Newt said. “Which is why I know this is fucking superb.” Newt crawled up to bracket Hermann on all fours, peppering more kisses against his neck and down to his chest while his hand traced up and down his side. “But what I don’t know is what you’re doing with a slob like me. Must be my dazzling personality.”

Hermann’s eyes fluttered open as he frowned. His mouth went dry every time he saw Newton naked, at the rounded muscles of his arms and the swell of his stomach and his hips and his thighs. Hermann could feel himself stirring even so soon after the last round just thinking about Newton’s body. “Don’t be absurd, I think we both know who would win a theoretical beauty contest, much as it pains me to stroke your ego.”

“Fake compliments? Dr. Gottlieb, I’m all aflutter!” Newt said between kisses, muffling half his words with each peck. “Especially that you would up and lie like a lying liar just to make me feel better.”

Newt’s been happier, far more relaxed since they closed the Breach. Hermann imagined a similar mood was sweeping the world right now. As for himself, dispatching an existential threat on the same night as all of one’s sexual tension had admittedly lifted even his mood. Newton was a bottomless well of delight and exuberance in the bedroom, far more enthusiastic than any of Hermann’s past partners. He’d simply assumed it was the Drift, or Newton’s general attitude of respect towards Hermann’s disability and familiarity with his overall…demeanor. After  five years of working closely together, the man was in all likelihood simply not phased by all of Hermann’s failings, not that it had stopped all of their petty sniping. 

Hermann frowned and pushed himself up on his elbows. “Do not call me a liar,” he said querulously.

“But you are though. Except like a handsome one so I’ll put up with it this time,” Newt said and kissed up to Hermann’s lips, now within reach. Hermann continued to frown and did not return it. “Ok, what is it now? Are you seriously mad at me for having even a trace of modesty? I thought we were still in the honeymoon period.”

“You’re not a…a slob, Newton, unless you were referring to your office organization habits,” Hermann said. “You’re obviously more attractive than I, and either you are teasing me on the matter, which I do not appreciate and quite violates the so-called honeymoon period, or you believe that to be true and I will not permit you to project such a wrong-headed belief onto me.”

“Wait. Wait a minute, are we…” Newt paused, “seriously having a fight about who is hotter right now?”

“We’re not fighting, it’s a statement of fact,” Hermann retorts.

“Oh my god. Ok, just so you know, this is officially the dumbest argument we’ve ever had, and we’ve had some doozies. First of all, what are you, twelve? Second, you hit all the bases for conventionally attractive, borderline supermodel, dude, if you’d just dress like it once in a while. Those cheekbones, those hands, your shoulders,” Newt punctuated each statement by kissing the offending body part, “you’ve got the willowy, Victorian consumptive look down pat. I wasn’t kidding when I said you’re built like a dancer. Probably the only reason you’re with me is the hot girl effect. Y’know when you’re so hot everyone’s intimidated so only the gross, loud-mouthed guy is dumb enough to give it a shot. Eh, that and you’ve gone way out of your way to hide all this. Then there’s your personality, I mean, you might as well just put up a stop sign…”

“Stop it,” Hermann snapped.

Newt’s lip twitched, but he did stop and held up his palm in surrender. “Sorry, man, old habits. I gotta remember one of these days that I don’t have to pull your pigtails to get you to notice me anymore. Not when I’ve already got you in bed by some fucking miracle.”

Hermann’s lips worked as he choked past his fury, “Not about me, you imbecile, you think after five years together in that lab I can’t handle a petty jab? I meant stop putting yourself down when it is so blatantly untrue. The Newton Geiszler I know didn’t need to resort to false self-deprecation when the truth is obvious for anyone to see. This is frankly the worst kind of arrogance.”

Hermann shifted onto his side to face away from Newton, to give himself a moment to cool down if Newton didn’t begin to wheedle for forgiveness immediately and curl up against his back while whispering nonsense endearments like, don’t be like that, baby. Not that Hermann would ever admit to enjoying the pestering.

Instead, the bed shifted as Newt bounded from one side of Hermann to the other. He landed hard on his side and stared intently into Hermann’s eyes like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Hermann recoiled, his lips curled down in displeasure and he moved to shift the other way before Newt’s hand curled around his bicep to stop him. “Hold on a second, I’m a little mixed up here. Which part are you mad at me about, the part where I used to lie about how sexy I was in front of you because I was an insecure piece of shit who enjoyed riling you up, or the part where I thought we were over that now so I’ve started telling it like it is?”

“The part where you know very well which of us drew looks around the Shatterdome and it wasn’t me. If it wasn’t for your obnoxious mouth, I have no doubt you would have had suitors lining up outside our lab,” Hermann groused but softened at the confusion on Newt’s face and sighed. “It’s very kind of you to compliment me like that, Newton. Lord knows, I should simply shut up and enjoy it when you make an effort like that, but I think we both know what we have is more… cerebral. There are few minds that can keep up with yours, or with your nonsense, and that allows you to overlook the fact I’m certainly no catch. As you so generously pointed out, my personality forbids others from getting close, my leg means most either try to ignore me for their own comfort or treat me as if I were made of glass, and even besides that I look as skeletal and undernourished as I have since I was a youth. I simply can’t keep the weight on, let alone muscle. Even without my leg I never would have advanced in the Jaeger Academy for that alone.”

“Wow, that’s…” Newton squinted at Hermann, then did the little head tilt Hermann was familiar with when Newt had decided to try a different avenue of experimentation. “Ok, so what do you think of me? Like, my body? You’ve never really brought it up before and actually I’m realizing that’s kinda weird because you’ve brought up literally every other flaw I have under the sun before today.”

Hermann blushed and couldn’t prevent it. It was easier to look away and he trailed his finger tips down the sheet as he eyed Newton’s tattoos, which he would rather be touching. But no, they were supposed to be having a tiff. “Oh, very well, I’ll play along. It’s not as if it’s a secret that I find you attractive, our activities here should be testament to that, nor that I have for many years. I had to wank off twice before I was in a fit state to leave my room the day I received your polaroid, though I’m sure you saw all that in the Drift.”

Newt made a strangled noise and Hermann glanced up to find him wide-eyed. “No?”

“Nope!” Newt squeaked. His cheeks were pink to match Hermann’s own and that was a boost of confidence enough to keep him going with a secret smile to himself. Fine, he hadn’t given away all his darkest secrets in the Drift, but it was damned inconvenient to have to put words to what should have been the obvious and heretofore very inappropriate fact of his attraction to his lab partner.

“What else is there to say?” Hermann said and shifted in discomfort. “You might as well have been constructed in a lab to vex me personally. Your eyes, your hair, the way you bite your lip on those rare occasions when you stop yourself from speaking, your… your body, it’s…” he coughed, “very attractive.”

“Well, you’d be the fucking first to think so,” Newt muttered under his breath. “Ok, so we’re gonna have to revisit the jerking off to my picture thing, but I gotta ask, in the spirit of scientific inquiry: what the fuck? Why? Assuming you’re not just messing with me, I’d like to hear more about this very attractive thing. Not just for the ego stroke. I’ll take the ego stroke, I’ll take any kind of stroke you wanna give me in about fifteen more minutes, heh, but I gotta admit, dude, this is a little… new for me?”

Any other time, Hermann might have scoffed and rolled his eyes at Newton’s blatant fishing for praise. But there was a hesitance to his words, a puppy-like inquisitiveness in the way he looked up at Hermann’s face. There was no hint of the usual bravado.

Hermann exhaled and allowed his hand to drift over the curve of Newton’s soft stomach, tracing it so he felt the goosebumps pebble on Newton’s skin, obscured by the colorful tattoos. It was soothing to touch and helped calm his nerves enough to speak frankly. “You must understand, this has been a—a closely guarded part of me, I daresay a secret, for so long I’m not even sure I have the words for it. I find your body desirable. My own… has betrayed me again and again. Even before my leg, my father used me as an example to torment my siblings. I’ve always been bony like this, but he saw skinniness as a virtue, as if it were in any way intentional. I know you’re an only child so you perhaps don’t understand the experience of being pitted in competition with your siblings against your will, but I had very few friends. They were all I had and yet everything about me, my intellect, my accomplishments, and as I said my body were used to put distance between us in order to serve as some sort of motivation for their perceived success. But there’s nothing special  in what I am. Even without my leg I’ve never found my appearance terribly attractive. But yours…” 

Hermann shrugged. “You’re beautiful. Unselfconscious, healthy… there, you see? There’s barely a vocabulary in our language that doesn’t sound like backhanded compliments. I find you desirable. I find your arms and your stomach and your legs all the more so for your weight, the way others have been socialized to admire musculature that can only be achieved by a degree of exercise so obsessive it borders on self-harm, or the leanness that comes with self-starvation. I’ve always thought it was as natural as any other attraction, only to be mocked for my tastes whenever I dared express them, or be told that I was acting on a lack of options when nothing could not be further from the truth. When I saw your photo, I was taken aback by how instantaneous the attraction was. I already knew your mind, your personality, and then I discovered you were also handsome and sexually attractive to me as well. It was a deadly combination. By the time I saw you in person, I was so convinced you couldn’t desire me in return, the way I wanted so terribly, that I assumed your flirtations couldn’t be anything but mockery. You of course know the rest.”

“Yeah…” Newt trailed off at the memory of that disastrous first meeting, then grinned. “So, you dig the chub?”

Hermann huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes. “If you must put it in such terms, yes.”

“So is it like a feeding thing or a bursting out of clothes thing…? Don’t look at me like that, man, I’ve been on the internet.”

Hermann hadn’t thought he could blush any harder but he was proven wrong. “No! Not… not necessarily. I know what you mean, I… I won’t say I’m not aware of that subculture, or haven’t found some of their erotica titillating, would you stop snickering?”

“I’m sorry!” Newt gasped. “I should have asked you about porn before, oh my god, if you could see your face right now!”

“I’m trying to answer your question on what is a very difficult subject for me, Newton. Would you do me the courtesy of not mocking me for doing so the way everyone else has?”

Newton’s teeth clicked shut and his eyes widened. He then nodded for Hermann to go on.

Yet Hermann found himself at a loss. “Well, but as I said, it’s merely erotica. Fantasy. I would never encourage a partner to engage in dangerous behavior for my gratification, nor would I want to humiliate them the way much of that art does. I find the very idea abhorrent. But I can’t change what I find attractive and I confess, Newton, it never occurred to me that you were declaring anything but simple truth when you called yourself a stud or a rockstar just to infuriate me.” He offered a weak smile at the last and though he knew Newton, as intimately as it was possible to know another person, a part of him still clenched in anticipation of the inevitable rejection and mockery for baring himself so.

Newt hummed thoughtfully. “I guess that makes me a lucky sonofabitch then, huh?”

Hermann blinked. “That’s it? You don’t mind?”

“Yeah, I totally mind that your particular bone means I’m a sex god to you, it’s a real tragedy. I dunno, it may take some getting used to, the idea I mean, but it’s kinda like hitting the jackpot would take getting used to. You’re not going to turn around and tell me to drop the junk food or start training with the Jaeger pilots one of these days like some of my other, uh, past experiences that didn’t end so great.”

“I might if I feared for your health,” Hermann shrugged. “But for pure aesthetics? No.” He forced himself not to fidget. He still felt utterly exposed to be speaking this frankly.

“Score. ‘Cause I’ve tried, man, none of this is gonna change even if I put myself through hell. I’m just built like this. Which I guess isn’t a problem for you,” Newt added thoughtfully. “Ok, so now that you’ve got that out, will you maybe consider that I also think you’re hot as fuck too?”

“It’s a relationship, Newton, compliments don’t need to be transactional,” Hermann scoffed.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you sometimes. I’m not lying, Hermann! You’re hot! I’m into you, maybe it’s the other side of the whole thing you’ve got in your head, but you’re tall and elegant and… fucking lithe, like I need 19th century poetry to describe you. You’ve got the weirdest mouth I’ve ever seen and I’m so hot for it, like I felt funny just looking at you frowning up at your chalkboard some days. When you smile, your whole face transforms, and I could drown in your eyes if you’re not wearing those stupid granny glasses, and… mmmph!”

Hermann pulled away from kissing Newt to frown at him. “I think we’ve had quite enough of that.”

“You’re blushing! You really can’t handle compliments, huh?”

“Perhaps I’d rather save them up, instead of exhausting you on them all at once,” Hermann said and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, don’t worry, babe, I’m nowhere near exhausted.” Newt grinned.