#it’s just so pretty and thank you thank you for suck loveliness

[mihai-florescu]

i think i feel pretty similar to you in that the world is terrible, depressing, it sucks. that’s it’s natural state and we will always return there. but i thank that even though it hurts there are ideals unhampered by reality, stories we can create where that cycle ends for a moment in a happier direction. it isnt our job or duty as there isnt any grand purpose like that, but there is an opportunity out there to create a story with our lives. whether it’s a well known story or lost by the wayside, those who acknowledge the layer beneath the cheery “reality” that is peddled can be writers of their own. i might be delusional and there really is no hope but i hope to create stories for people to enjoy that elusive dream in if only for a temporary respite and cant give up until i well and truly fail. i don’t know if any of my thoughts speak to you in any meaningful way, but i felt compelled to share as while i think we share beliefs we seem to have come to rather different conclusions. i want to give my life to a story, an art, that will hold ideals the real world can never truly embody and thus cannot really give up as every taste of the real reality only strengthens my resolve. is there something like that for you? i’ve read your blog for a while and in my mind (which is an inexperienced mind so I apologize for sharing its fallible perceptions) you seemed like a fascinating person who holds ideals the world refuses to embody and is slowly sinking under that weight. i know it’s not really my place, so i apologize for my audacity, but i believe that you are the sort of person who can create a true happiness for yourself eventually. well, i mean i kind of have to if i believe that for myself. i have more to say, but it seems this is become a ridiculously long message. i apologize, my words likely have crossed between ideas and lost sense at times. i hope they help, or at least don’t harm. i hope you find loveliness loveliness in your day as you deserve it.

I've been journaling about this yesterday... my entire outlook on life i guess? I know i used to be creative and make projects that i found fun, but i cant find this drive in me anymore, i'm more than ready to give up (if only upset at the way it ended so im pressuring myself to make a good Last Project, but nothing is good anymore. It's all so...plain. useless. banal. there's no wit or multilayer to anything i can come up with anymore. I cant develop an idea anymore. There are enough stories, enough artworks, plenty of them bad, theres no need for me to add to it). Im sure it's just burnout stacked on top of depression and general worsening misanthropy and paranoia, but i don't think i will ever feel more hopeful again.

However i do think art, literature, games, even just stories from other people are keeping me grounded. They're also humanity's only redeeming quality - imagination will save our souls... but my position isn't to be an artist anymore, i cant spare the energy and i dont see a point in it either. I cant do a single basic living thing anymore that others seem to be able to do? I very much feel like an npc trying to do my most necessary tasks as best i can, failing more often than not. I hate getting asked what i'll do on a day off (it used to be often at my internship. I dont even want to imagine what they thought about me, that's another can of worms that still haunts me and contributed to why i became like this). The answer is quite literally Pretend I Dont Exist. I will not do anything. I cant do anything. I stop existing the second you stop seeing me, im just in bed dreading the next time i have to be human. I think when other people say they didnt do anything it's a hyperbole, but i can go weeks, and i have gone months even, without leaving the house, if i wasnt expected to.

Part of me wants to think, hope, i could maybe even get interested in making things again if there was no expectation for me to be a person for a few years, completely disappear off the grid (the expectation to be a person that just doesnt come natural to me anymore... and a specific one at that - achieving goals and moving forward, working, with ambitions or any sort of drive, young and energetic, an only child with a good education earning a living... i despise the idea of making money. I despise consumerism too. I want to fund artists, family owned restaurants, bookshops, cafes, and i do, i spend so much money without realising, but i'm really worried i'll run out and not be able to make any to survive once im older and wont get funds from my parents anymore. So i try to save and fail... My family friends, same age or even younger, are buying their own cars and apartments, successfully working multiple well paying jobs at the same time, with plans for the future...? Id like to know both how and why. How do you have the energy and why do you care. But even if they tell me the answers it doesnt change how i feel in my own life)

But this also has skewed my perception of other people... it connects to how i dont actually understand friendships anymore, im sure i mentioned it recently. Like with being an artist, there was a time i did understand and had deep friendships, i think, but it's quite alien to me now? In the way im not real until i have to interact with someone else, and even then, debatable, theyre not real to me either. Like i know this isnt a good mindset to have but it's either everything is real and i genuinely believe we need to disappear, to put an end to this sad species soon, or nothing is real and everyone's just playing a role in a story i get to watch. In a way taking away people's humanity and making them characters in my head is out of kindness, im being delusionally optimistic and quite frankly parasocial even with "friends", but it keeps me floating, stable. Ish. Still kind of empty but entertained enough. But then actually having a conversation outside my head with them is scary, unpredictable... on good days that can be fun too. My roommate always says i end up on side quests a lot if i leave the house, i think im just open to witnessing new stories... just on good, no, great days though, i cant stress that part enough. Great days are getting rarer and rarer. Most days pass by while im in bed and in my head trying to process anything, where i can barely have a coherent thought, and i wait for the day to end. Today was good for example but i still didnt manage to do anything to earn me the title of person, yet it was good because i 1. Ate, and 2. Didnt cry.

The part of your ask that hit me the most was when you said i seemed like a fascinating person, past tense. Im sure i was, but nowadays im very little even a person. Cant be helped. I hope i managed to explain how and why. If you ever want to share your art, my dms are open, i can maybe tell you about my gallery of failure wips i cant stand to look at anymore. I saw the followup ask with your personal info but im not quite sure what else to say... even this ask took too long to answer and now i need a nappp

[lilyoffandoms]

Tinsae by @sbmranger

[Camilla] [Marcus] [Niall] [Quinn]

She is tied for my favorite RO so far from @defiledheartsblog. How can you not love a strong, caring woman that saves children and their parents from horrible fates and then roasts and makes you some coffee? Go! Please play Defiled Hearts: The Barbarian. You will not be disappointed.

And immediately head over to commission some gorgeous art from the talented artist that brought such a beauty to life!

(I blame @callmebeem for sucking me into this! I did not need another fandom!)

[ptergwen]

through the lens

w/c: 2.3k

warnings: swearing and mentions of blood (all fluff tho!)

summary: yours and peter’s date night doesn’t go as planned, thanks to his “little” accident and mj’s photography project

a/n: it’s been a minute but i’m back! for now lol i promise i’ll be way more active when exam season is over <3 this was based off the lovely pic above taken by the even lovelier zendaya and i hope you enjoy these… let’s call it random workings of my mind

-

“hang on, can you come closer?” mj instructs you, you promptly stepping towards her. “is this good?” “great,” she affirms and squints behind the camera. “smile really big on the count of three, okay? one, two, three!” doing as she says, you give mj your cheesiest grin with your eyes squeezed shut and all. she snickers while snapping the moment on her polaroid.

mj asked you to be her subject for a photography project. you’re happy to do it, although it’s super last minute. like, barging-into-your-room-and-begging-you-for-help last minute. she was supposed to turn this in days ago. lucky for mj, her teacher was feeling generous and gave her an extension.

you have to work fast because of mj’s deadline and your plans with peter. he’s coming over for a movie marathon and cuddles right about now. well, he’s actually running a tad bit late. that’s typical peter for you.

“just a couple more, and then you’re free,” mj informs you while shaking out the polaroid. “this is honestly pretty fun, you know.” you glance at the photo she’s holding with an eyebrow quirked in surprise. she captures you well. “what made you choose me?” “no one else was free on a saturday,” she snorts and tosses the picture in a pile with the rest.

your mouth falls agape. “i’m not free! peter’s gonna be here in…” you check the time on your phone, much to your dismay. “he’s a few minutes late, but still. i have things to do, too.” a smirk sets on mj’s face as she gets ready for the next photograph. “relax, y/n/n. i was kidding. i’m sure spider-dweeb will be here sooner than you know it.” sighing lightheartedly, you take a seat on your bed.

“don’t call him that,” you shake your head. mj throws her own head back to the ceiling. “ugh, but that was a good one,” she insists, you only humming. “it’s better than penis parker, at least.” “nah, i like the alliteration,” you laugh out and earn a giggle from mj. “you’re lucky parker doesn’t have super hearing, or does he?” winking, you hit a pose for mj. you’re looking at her over your shoulder with smolder eyes.

“ask him yourself, after you get this shot.”

the two of you continue messing around with her polaroid until the film is almost gone, and peter has yet to arrive. you’re starting to worry. you aren’t sure where he could be.

he doesn’t patrol on weekends unless it’s an emergency, and he would’ve told you if there was one already. he’s never this late without sending a text, either. it’s almost an hour past when date night should’ve started. on the other occasions peter has gone off the grid, they didn’t end well.

“i’m freaking out, em. do you think he’s in some kind of trouble?” you ask mj, pacing around your bedroom. she offers a sympathetic shrug. “maybe he just ate some bad yogurt. remember last time?” being the dummy he is, peter once scarfed down an entire tub of vanilla yogurt before he realized it was expired. no one heard from him for days. he didn’t show up to school or answer any calls.

may ended up inviting you over and explaining he’d gotten a stomach bug, which you then tended to him for the rest of. the story was so amusing, and so peter.

“may doesn’t buy him dairy anymore. why do you think he always raids your freezer?” you bring your fingers up to rub your temples. “the kid can empty ice cream cartons in one bite,” she agrees, silently cringing. her curiosity piques at the fact. “is that also a power?” “who cares?” you nearly shout, your fingers curling into fists. “what i wanna know is if peter is fucking okay.”

on cue, there’s a knock at your apartment door. you and mj exchange looks of urgency, both rushing out of your room to answer.

mj follows you through the hall and stands by your side while you fumble with the lock. when your door pulls open, ned has his hand raised to knock again. “ned? what are you doing here?” you don’t give him the chance to speak. “have you heard from peter? he was supposed to be here a while ago, but he never showed.” rather than answering in words, ned takes a step aside.

the sight you’re met with makes you gasp. peter peeks out from behind him, cuts and bruises littering his flushed face. he gives you a lopsided smile.

“you have your answer,” mj murmurs to you and eyes ned curiously. he lets out a nervous chuckle. “here he is.” you push past ned and practically jump into peter’s arms, your hug bone-crushing. “peter, oh my god! are you okay?” wincing, peter hugs you back by your waist. his chin rests carefully on your head.

“hey… i’m alright, baby. still pretty sore, though,” he sucks his lower lip between his teeth. you take the hint to loosen your grip on him. “i was worried something bad might’ve happened to you. i… i guess i was right.” your tone softens, you threading a hand in his curls. they’re completely disheveled from whatever went down with him.

ned heads inside to catch up with mj, the two of them letting you have a moment alone.

“someone’s got a spidey sense of their own, huh?” peter tries to lighten the mood by joking. it doesn’t work, a frown still evident on your face as you try to untangle his once soft locks. “baby, everything’s fine. i just… had a little accident is all. no big deal,” he reassures you and moves in to peck your lips. you’re so shocked that you dodge the kiss.

“little? your whole face is black and blue, pete!” you tug on the white collar of his button up, peter letting out a shaky breath. your other hand comes to rest on his cheek, touch gentle. “how’d you get like this?” he licks across his lips shyly and sets his hands on your hips. “see, on the way over there were these bad guys who-“

“no there weren’t,” ned cuts in, scoffing at the beginning of his friend’s story. peter shoots him a warning look over your head. “yes there were, ned. you weren’t even there!” he catches mj glaring at him before he continues. “don’t listen to him. anyway, i had to fight them because…” when he trails off, you stroke your thumb across his cheek, avoiding any wounds in the way. raising both eyebrows, mj speaks up.

“because why? go on, parker. i’m intrigued,” she encourages him. everyone can tell peter is lying except you. the question really is, what’s he lying about? he gulps down his spit, pulling your body against his for comfort. “take your time, peter. we can wait,” you say only for him to hear. his love filled eyes meet yours, and he nods. ned huffs at the dramatics unfolding before him.

“dude, you’re making this way worse than it actually is. just tell her!” he demands, mj cocking her head to the side. peter’s gaze flits between the two of them. “tell me what?” you wonder softly and tilt his chin, willing him to look at you again. “i… i…” peter’s shoulders slump, his voice lowering in defeat. “there weren’t any bad guys.”

“of course there weren’t,” ned confirms. “no shit,” mj adds. exhaling, you wait for your boyfriend to further elaborate. “what really happened, then? be honest, pete.” peter lets go of you so he can come into your apartment properly, you shutting the door behind him. he scratches the back of his neck as he fills you in. “ok. um, me and ned were hanging out.”

ned is attempting to stifle a laugh for some reason, which mj elbows him for. you take one of peter’s hands. “yeah?” “we were at my place, and… you know those really slippery steps on the sixth floor?” peter pauses for someone to answer, playing with your fingers. “the ones flash almost wiped out on once?” mj questions in amusement. he lets a quiet chuckle out. “good times. yeah, those.”

his gaze averts to the ground, you listening on. “so, i was walking ned out on my way over. we were talking about spidey stuff-“ “as per usual,” mj mumbles to herself. ned raises his hands in defense. “—and i told ned i could always stick my landings. he didn’t believe me.” you playfully roll your eyes, seeing where this is going. “so… i, uh, decided to show him,” peter finishes off.

“i did a, um, backflip. tripped and fell down the flight of stairs,” he finally admits to you, putting his other hand on top of your intertwined ones. “clearly, i was wrong.” his bloody face is now red from humiliation. “you didn’t trip, dude. you freaking summersaulted!” ned corrects him and bursts into laughter he’s been holding back. “idiots, both of you,” mj simply remarks.

“that’s it? why didn’t you just say that?” you almost laugh yourself. groaning, peter rests his forehead against yours. “because it’s embarrassing! i wanted you to think i’m a tough guy or whatever.” placing both hands on his cheeks this time, you nuzzle your nose against his. “you don’t have to be a tough guy to impress me, babes. you’re kind, smart, funny. makes up for you being such a klutz.”

peter cracks a grin, easily capturing your lips in the kiss he didn’t get to before. it doesn’t last long because mj gags and ned whistles at you. you’re both giggling when you pull apart, peter kissing the tip of your nose for good measure.

“you really mean that?” he checks, tucking back a strand of hair from your face. “of course. i have a thing for himbos,” you tease and poke at his bare chest. his eyes widen. “how about i get you some ice and you find our first movie?” you’re already off to the kitchen, beaming at peter. “date night’s still on?” he happily plops down on your couch, mj showing ned her pictures from earlier.

“as soon as those two get out of here,” you call loudly enough so ned and mj hear you. “yeah, yeah. we’re leaving,” mj deadpans, shoving the photos back into her portfolio. peter glances over at it curiously. “what’s that for?” “photography project,” she says and gets an idea. “i have some film left. y/n took up most of it… you losers want the rest?”

while mj coerces her way to a higher grade, you put some popcorn in the microwave for your movie marathon.

“well, i could use a new lockscreen. i’m in!” ned quickly concedes. him and mj both give peter hopeful looks. “i’m not!” he protests, squishing one of your pillows against his chest. “with my face looking like… this? forget about it.” mj walks over to him and places her portfolio on the coffee table. “what? those gashes are gnarly… in a good way, i mean,” she promises.

“painful, too,” peter murmurs. “y/n, hurry up with that ice!” mj demands, grabbing the polaroid camera from its string around her neck. you wave her off. “what i’m saying is, they’ll look sick in my portfolio.” mj forces a smile, ned looking at her weirdly. “uh, what’s the theme of your project again?” “freestyle, baby,” mj casually replies.

peter comes up with a condition that could persuade him. “if you say please, i might consider it,” he concludes, mj perking up. “please be in my project. pretty please?” she instantly requests, ned pursing his lips from behind her. peter rubs his chin. “y/n, what do you think? should i?” you pipe in from the kitchen. “yeah, so she’ll leave my house.”

“you heard the lady. i’ll do it,” peter gives in. all but squealing, mj gestures for ned to sit. “this’ll only take a few minutes. you guys are really saving my ass.” ned gets comfortable next to peter on the couch, who wants to see how far mj will really go. “aw, we are? i believe that calls for a…” ned catches on. “it comes after please…” mj picks up her camera with gritted teeth. “thank you, morons. say cheese!”

that’s the only warning peter and ned get before they’re blinded with the flash. ned does a toothy grin as he leans into peter’s side. peter musters up the best smile he can, hair a mess and cuts burning pink on his face. satisfied, mj snatches the photograph as it pops out.

“pleasure doing business with you two,” she states, you joining the three of them in the living room. you set the popcorn on the table and give peter his ice pack. he presses it to his cheek, kissing the back of your hand. “send me that!” ned reminds mj, helping himself to your bowl of popcorn. she salutes him.

“there’s my star. what do you say, y/n? wanna take one more really quick?” mj suggests, already holding up her polaroid. you take the other cushion next to peter, your head on his shoulder. “can peter be in it with me? since he’s in the modeling mood tonight.” he wraps an arm tightly around you. “let’s do it, sweetness.”

eagerly jumping in front of you two, mj crouches down to get a better angle. “on the count of three. one, two, three!” the camera clicks, and you surprise peter by laying a smooch on one of his cheeks. he’s holding the ice against his other, genuinely smiling for this picture. ned coos at you, mj showing off her work when it dries.

“how adorable,” she says sarcastically but means it. peter nods at her in appreciation, his lips brushing the side of your head. “what can i say, you’re a pro,” you compliment mj. “come on, em!” ned cheers through a mouthful of popcorn.

tonight was an unexpected and exciting mess, even if your date night did get crashed.

[hellothere-generalangsty]

The Bad Batch - Quart d’Heure Américain

Summary: In French, we use the expression “quart d’heure Américain” (lit. “American quarter”; I think it’s “Lady’s choice” in English) to talk about that moment during an evening out/ a party where they play slows and couples dance together (very sweet and romantic, yes)

So here is the Quart d’Heure Américain, Bad Batch Edition™

Pairing: Crosshair x reader; Echo x reader; Hunter x reader; Tech x reader; Wrecker x reader; the Bad Batch x reader

Reader description:  f!reader [she/her], no real physical description

Word Count: 5463 words

CW/ TW: Nothing, just pure fluff and cute relationships (some established, one not quite yet) also there’s a LIL BIT of someone being sad/ a LIL BIT in pain BUT promise it doesn’t last and it gets all soft

Tags: @loth-wolffe @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s @allamarisss

@imalovernotahater @murdertoothpick (if you want to be added to the tag list for future stories/ if you want to be removed and not tagged again, please let me know! )

Notes: This is for you all, because you deserve it and I hope it’ll sooth whatever you need soothed; and here is a quote that quite grasp the concept of this small fic

“Quand je danse, je danse” –Montaigne (“when I dance, I dance”; enjoy the moment and don’t think about anything else)

Crosshair: Something Stupid – Nancy Sinatra, Frank Sinatra (1177 words)

Had someone asked you beforehand, you never would have been able to tell that Crosshair was an amazing dancer. You didn’t expected him to invite you out that night, especially not when everyone in town was speaking about this Dancing Night. But he did, and now he was next to you, moving like he had done it all his life.

“You’re doing great, mesh’la,” he complimented as you tripped on your feet.

“I already told you,” you nodded a thank you when he helped you get back up, “I don’t understand Mando’a.”

Well, you did, but only a few words. You grew used to them, because Crosshair would use them all the time when speaking to you, but never once did he told you what they meant. So you did what every logical person would have done, and asked Tech.

“Well, mesh’la could be translated to ‘beautiful’, and cyare to something like ‘love’ or ‘my heart’. Why you asking?”

“I heard that on the radio, in a song once and I just wanted to know what it meant. Thanks Tech!”

And you had left him as soon as he was done explaining their meaning to you, because the more you stayed here, the more he could guess why you really asked. But you didn’t want Crosshair to stop calling you mesh’la or cyare. It sounded so peculiar when he would whisper it close to your ear as he would walk behind you; “out of my way mesh’la”, “you truly are a lost cause, cyare”. It wasn’t really a lie not to tell him you knew; more of a covered truth.

The song changed and went from a catchy tone to a slower, more sensual one. Crosshair waited for you to come to him before gently grasping your waist, a hand holding your own, fingers folded around yours. He pulled you closer, so close you could feel his chest moving according to his breath. You looked straight at him, trying to decipher his expression, to find any feeling uncovered behind those bewitching whisky eyes.

“Are you scanning me?” he softly asked.

“Maybe.” you confessed. “I want to know what’s going on behind this pretty face.”

It slipped out. You didn’t mean to say that; yes, he had a pretty face, yes you meant it, but-

“I think, about you mostly.”

Ho.

“You’re…pretty.” He sharply nodded, as a way to keep up his facade. You almost tripped over again, so taken aback by his little confession.

“Sorry,” you muttered, “sorry, I- that’s very… very kind of you to say.”

He didn’t say anything, but the grip on your waist tightened. You decided to try it, and slowly came to rest your head on his chest. You could hear his heart beating, muffled by the layers of skin and cloth. You felt a cold spot on your waist, and a hand brushing your hair off of your face, tucking them behind your ear before resting on your shoulder.

You couldn’t yet guess it, but he was craving for more, he wanted you closer to him, wanted to bury his face in your neck, hum your scent and kiss you all the way to your jawline, your cheek, the tip of your nose; and your lips.

But never once did he flinch, or let out any sign of his heart bleeding to feel you so close, yet so out of reach. Instead he held you there, slowly leading the dance, almost silently telling you to “move left, come back to me, and left again; great job mesh’la”.

He couldn’t yet guess it, but you were craving for more. More Mando’a’s nicknames, more gentle touch on your face and body, maybe a bit of appreciation in his eyes, a bit of love on his mouth.

And you thought you could hold on, spend the night glued to his body, feeling the warmth of his embrace, the delicacy of his moves; and still be able to pull out a straight face, to pretend mesh’la and cyare were unknown words to you, that your heart wasn’t racing at the sole thought of getting more.

But you didn’t.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum”.

It slipped out tenderly, purposefully. And this time, he almost tripped on his feet.

“What did you say?”

You raised your head, taking a small step back to look at him in the eyes.

“I said I love you, but I guess my accent sucks a bit. I- I asked Tech about it last time.” You confessed in a small voice.

Crosshair couldn’t even speak anymore. He completely stopped moving, staring at you like you were the only one here, with him.

“Look, we can just…forget about it if yo-”

“Shut up.”

Your eyes widened at the command, and nothing could have prepared you to the devastatingly exquisite sensation of his lips brushing against yours before completely diving in. Nothing could compare to the fire in your belly, to the sweet bite on your lower lip, his teeth briefly pulling on it before letting go; and the overwhelming sensation filling your mouth as his tongue caressed yours in a heated, terribly slow kiss.

None of you could pull away; if he tried to release your lips, you would dive right back in, and if you gasped for air he would barely give you time to breathe before coming back to you. He couldn’t resist the urge to hold you tight in his arms, and you were too afraid of letting go so you firmly held his face against yours.

You felt his weight shifting to the left, then to the right, and once again you followed his lead. You felt it, the uncontrollable grin against your mouth, and the way he spin round with you, making sure no one else but you existed in that moment.

When you finally let go of each other, you were both heavily breathing, and a mutual stare was enough to get you both chuckling like kids.

Yes, you loved him, with all of your heart and soul, and you would gladly learn more Mando’a if it got you that type of enthusiastic reaction every time you did so.

“Your accent is actually quite cute,” he managed to tell you, and your smile only grew wider, and his eyes only got lovelier. “But maybe you should say it again, just in case it was luck.”

“I sure will, but I think I need you to tell me; how do you say it, again?”

He shook his head, both defeated and amused.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum”, you repeated, and he nodded in approval. “I think I won this round.”

“You did.”

He grabbed your arms and pulled you closer, leaving small misses on your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and your lips. The song was over; it had been for a few minutes now; but you didn’t care. Crosshair was still dancing with you, his hands on your back, a smile on his face; and maker he was even more handsome when he smiled. You had him, and he had you, and you were glad you said something as stupid and childish, and sincere and deep as this.

I love you.

.

.

.

.

.

 Echo: Everybody Loves Somebody – Dean Martin (1168 words)

“Alright, open your eyes.”

Echo’s voice tickled your ear, making you smile. Your eyes had no trouble getting used to the light outside; it was dusk already, and a small campfire was gently crackling a few meters away from the Havoc Marauder. Earlier that day, you made a stop on an isolated planet to get some supplies and land foot for the night. It was a quiet place, mostly villages and beautiful landscapes, covered in grass, moss, and flowers like you’d never seen before.

Echo asked you to wait inside, and it had been almost an hour, but now that you were standing here…

“Is it…Did you do that for me?”

“I’d dare say for us,” Echo smiled, “today is a special day for us, remember?”

Ho.

“You forgot, right?”

“Echo, I’m so sorry, I-”

“Don’t be! I kinda hoped you would, this way it could be a real surprise for you.”

You couldn’t quite tell what about him always got you flustered. Maybe the way he was fondly looking at you, or the softness in his voice when he whispered “Surprise!”, or how he left your side for a moment, bending over the blanket to grab a small package before giving it to you.

“I don’t have anything for you,” you quietly confessed.

“Take it.”

You accepted the gift, giving him another look of apology, but all you saw in his eyes was…something soft – soft and loving.

You carefully unwrapped the paper, exposing a Tooka plush, proudly wearing the colours of the Bad Batch.

“I thought it was more than time for you to have your own.” he said as he got closer to you, a smile glued to his face. “Do you like it?”

You barely nodded, too occupied trying to decipher your gift. The limbs were gracefully mixing a red and black pattern, and the symbol of the Republic’s paramedic had been carefully stitched in white, where the heart should be. You softly stroke it, the tip of your finger following the edges of the seam.

“I.. I love it,” you couldn’t help but smile at the attention. “I’ll call him Handsome Jr.”

“Whatever pleases you, love.”

You shifted you attention to Echo, the lovely grin on his face making your heart melt even more. You closed the gap between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his waist, just above his prosthetics. He held you against his chest, resting his chin on your head.

“I’ll get you something tomorrow, I’ll be up before the sun.”

“I already have everything I need, cyare.”

“Echo…,” you chuckled, “I don’t want you to get nothing. It’s an important date for us.”

“Well, if you insist…There is something you could do for me.”

“Anything, Handsome.”

He waited an instant, savouring your embrace.

“Would you dance with me? The way we did that night?”

You remembered that night. It was quite some time ago, before the Citadel. Echo invited you to the base you were both settled in for the night, on Corusant. His general gave his troopers a night off, and his first thought was to take you out on a date. You remembered the way Fives came up your office, panting, still fully armoured, and asked you to follow him. You didn’t know it at the time, but Echo and some of his brothers were taking care of decorating and preparing dinner.

You remembered the cantina being empty, except for a table with two plates and beautiful flowers in a glass way too small for them; and how every clone you had crossed path with in the hallway innocently smiled at you. They knew, obviously, but none of them made any comment, only wishing you a good night.

You remembered Echo, blacks on and slightly stylised for the occasion, offering his hand to you for a dance. And you repeated the answer you gave him that night.

“Of course, Handsome. I’d love that.”

He took a step back, looking at you intensely, falling in love all over again with the shape of your face, the light in your eyes, and the delicacy of your lips. He wanted to kiss them, so badly, but there was still something to do before that.

A static sound resonated behind you, and a voice emerged from it.

“Not that- The other one, Tech.” Echo threw a look at his brother, who was already changing the station, until he got the right one. He then barely let slip a “Pretend I don’t exist.” before disappearing inside the ship.

“Sounds familiar,” you joked, thinking about the way Fives did the same things all those years ago.

“Some things never change, right?”

You didn’t need to hear the end of the sentence; his eyes were speaking for him. He brought you closer, his prosthetic arm gently pressing your waist as his left hand held yours. The Citadel changed him, but deep down he was; and would always be, your Echo.

“You’re so beautiful, my pretty boy,” you said, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “Some things indeed never change.”

He chuckled and started moving his legs, inviting you to follow his lead. He never really had a chance to dance since he joined the Bad Batch, but tonight; tonight was all he needed. Holding you close, smelling your hair, delicately balancing you on your left, a step back, on your left, a step back…

“Your love made it worth waiting.”

You slowly raised your head until you could look at him. His eyes were shining, wet from the emotion, filled with adoration and fond memories of you both. You smiled, trying to swallow the knot forming in your throat. His hold on you was so gentle, his smile so sincere. You knew he was falling in love with you all over again. You knew, because you were too.

You let your hand slide to his neck, pushed yourself on your tiptoes until you could feel his warm breath tickling your face. He tightened his grip, pressing his lips against yours, abandoning himself in your arms, making you feel like nothing but you mattered.

His kiss was gentle, he took the time to taste you, for the first time, the hundredth, the thousandth; it didn’t matter. Even after all these years, he couldn’t get used to the softness of your lips, the warmth of your tongue, the dizziness in his head and the knots in his stomach when you were confessing, wordlessly, your love for him.

Nothing broke you apart. The sun could go down, the song could stop, but none of it mattered, because all you truly needed was each other.

“Waiting for someone like you.” you finally replied.

“Waiting for you, and only you.”

You kissed him again, taking great delight in the sensation of your pounding heart, of his tongue against yours, of his hand letting go of yours to slim on your waist, down to you hip, finding his way to the back of your pant.

He was all you ever needed.

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Hunter: Ain’t No Mountain High Enough – Marvin Gaye (989 words)

“Everyone, out, let’s go.”

Hunter waved his hand toward the door, a tired, maybe a bit painful expression glued to his face. Hi brothers obeyed, knowing what it meant, and left the room in silence. You tried to copy them, because you knew Hunter was getting overwhelmed by his senses; it happened sometimes, and you knew you couldn’t sooth his pain by remaining with him. But he firmly pressed his hand against your chest.

“Not you.”

Echo closed the door behind the two of you, giving you a sympathetic look before disappearing behind the grey metal sliding. Hunter tilted his head back until it touched the cold wall behind him, letting a long sigh slip from between his lips.

“Could you turn off the light, please?” he barely whispered to you, eyes closed.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t say, and switched the light off. All that remained was the small, dim blue light above your head. Tech had it installed after a bad power cut that lasted three days. Hunted asked for the blue shade, because it was the one which was the less aggressive to his eyes. You liked it, because it nicely highlighted his features, blending his tattoo a bit more with his skin, making the marking look almost natural.

You could hear him, deeply inhaling, slowly exhaling; probably trying to sooth the pain away. After a moment, he opened his hand to you, and you gently took it, slightly stroking the skin on his palm with the tip of your thumb.

“Love you.”

You softly kissed his knuckles.

“Missed you, too.”

His voice was barely breaking the silence of the room, but you still heard him relaxing a bit more.

“Can you hug me, sweetheart?”

He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, even if he truly wanted to. He managed to cut off sound and light, because he wanted to focus on your touch, and your touch only. And it felt great when your arms delicately wrapped him, when your body pressed against his, holding still as you listened to his heartbeat.

“Is it okay like this?” you asked, and he nodded, a light smile on his face. “I love you too.”

He straightened up his head, blindly stroking your back, his hand getting lower and lower…

“I see what this was all about.” And the smile in your voice betrayed you, and the chuckle he let out showed you he felt a bit better.

“I just wanted some time with you, sweet thing” Hunter stated, innocent.

“Well, here I am now, pretty boy.”

He finally opened his eyes, taking a few seconds to get used to the lighting, but immediately shifting his attention to you, your face. You were another kind of beautiful; the kind he could hold against him at night when he had troubles sleeping; the kind that could sit on his lap, telling him all about your day while he stroked your hair; the kind of beautiful that he never knew he could have.

He gave you a soft kiss, humming your scent as his lips brushed yours, and you tried as hard as you could not to make it too much for him. But how could you, when he tightened his embrace, humming to you that song you liked so much, when you could feel his warm breath against the crook of your neck, and his low, slightly raspy whispering in your ear.

“From that day on, I made a vow…” a kiss on your skin, “I’ll be there when you want me…” another kiss, gentle, loving.

He pushed himself away from the wall, his head buried against you, singing to you the way you liked it, and it came naturally to you both. He balanced you one side, you came back and led him to the other side, and you kept going like this, following the low rhythm of his voice, barely giggling when he would – more or less in a dramatic and theatrical movement – bend you over like in those holomovies, pressing kisses against your neck, your jawline, crawling his way back to your mouth.

That mouth. Hunter missed it so much, the way you moved it, the softness of your lips, the warmth of your tongue, and the tight embrace as you tried to remember each curve, each spot; barely biting his lip to let you know you were here, you missed him too.

And you couldn’t help but fall in love again when he kept humming against you, when he led your hands to his lower back, a grin painting itself as they slid down the back of his pants.

“I love your heart,” he told you, lips on your skin, “the way it beats. I hear it pumping faster when I hold you, and- maker, I love it.”

He abandoned your neck for a moment, diving into your eyes like it was the first time ever, hypnotised by the blue reflection on your iris.

“I love you, the way you feel under my fingers,” he touched your face with the tip of his thumb, “the way your brush your hair over your shoulder, how you always come back to me when the lights are out and the night is still; I love you and your smile,” you granted him one, tender and oh so caring, “and your eyes, and your mouth. I love how you move your hips when you dance with me, how you crave for closeness, and how I can’t do anything but offer it to you every time, all the time.”

And you knew words couldn’t possibly offer a good answer, so you simply hummed back.

“Nothing could keep me from getting to you, baby.”

He let out a sweet laugh, kissing your nose and the top of your head, seeking for your embrace once again as you led him dancing.

“I know, sweetheart.”

And I love you for that, too.

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Tech: My Guy (Single Version) Mary Wells (1078 words)

You didn’t expected Tech to ask you out tonight. He was usually quite content living around the Marauder, but when you walked next to that clothing shop, something ticked in him. He dragged you in, told you all about the different tissues, how the colours were applied, how the stitches on this dress were obviously done by Twi’leks because you see that little knot? This is a signature from the crafters, more precisely from the members of a tribe that moved around…

You loved hearing him talking. Sometimes you would ask him a question, fully aware of the answer, simply because you were eager to hear it coming from him. And every time, without any hesitation, he would answer with as much precision as possible. He probably didn’t know it, but it was one of the reason you fell for him.

“What about this one, cyar’ika?”

“This one would fit you perfectly.” he had held the dress against your body, bending his back to get a better look at it. “The colour matches your skin tone and the shape would really highlight the curves of your hips.”

“Then I’ll take this one.” You had nodded with a smile.

And now, a few hours later, you were wearing said dress while walking to the counter of the restaurant to order another drink. As the bartender was pouring a blue liquid in a fancy glass, a man smoothly accosted you.

“Were you sculpted out of Kyber crystal? Because you sure bring some light in here.”

“Thanks, but it’s mostly because my cyare chose that dress for me,” you confessed.

“Well, he sure have good tastes,” he took a step back and pursued, “may I ask which one of these…?”

He threw a look at the tables around, and you pointed to the one where Tech was visibly waiting for you, waving when he noticed you looking at him.

“Is it…Is it him?”

“It is indeed,” you fondly smiled.

“Well, at least he got some taste in dresses and women,” he conceded, visibly surprised by his “intellectual” look. But you couldn’t care less, because he didn’t had Wrecker’s body, or Hunter’s features; but he had soft shapes and sweet lips, he knew everything there was to know, and even more, because he loved learning almost as much as he loved you.

You grabbed your drinks and started walking away, only turning around to slide a little “Glad you recognise it” before returning to your table. When you pushed his glass in front of him, Tech gently grasped your hand.

“Thank you for the drink,” he glanced at your body, a little something lightening his eyes, “and for buying that dress. You really are the prettiest.”

“I couldn’t be that pretty if I didn’t have you to tell me all about cloths, you know.”

“Love, you could wear sheets and you’d still be the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.”

You slightly bent over, bringing his hand close to your lips, kissing his knuckles as a thank you. There was a brief silence, Tech analysing every inch of your face, so focused on the curves of your lips and the shape of your eyes that he stopped talking.

And you heard it. The soft music playing in a corner of the room. When you looked behind Tech, you noticed a jukebox, and a few people dancing. You got up, pulling on Tech’s arm to drag him with you to that part of the room. He tried to protest, but the way you moved in that dress, how it fell oh so delicately on your knees… He couldn’t resist.

He grabbed your waist, offering you a soft kiss on the cheek as you started swinging in rhythm, left, right, left, right, and a turn. In a second, you were barely touching his hand, and then you were pulled against him, spinning round until you crushed in his arms.

He chuckled, bewitched by your smile, your movements, and you could tell he only had eyes for you. Truth be told, he was all you could focus on too. Nothing could take your attention off your guy, because nothing could equal his lovely smile or the soft kisses he landed on your lips every time he pulled you against him before letting you spin away in rhythm.

“Cyar’ika, tell me all about dance.” You asked, panting a bit.

“Well, you have to be more precise, because there are a lot of dances out there,” he laughed, and you felt your heart melting at the warmth of his voice.

“Then tell me about all of them. Tell me about this one,” and you wrapped your arms around his neck, breathing slowly to calm your racing heart.

“This one would be a form of slow dancing, quite far from the twists and swings you did earlier,” he confessed in your ear, making you shiver. “but initially it was a- well, it depends of the planet actually, but it was originally a ritual to make official a relationship between different people.”

“So if you danced with someone, it meant you had a certain relationship with them?”

He firmly grabbed your waist, lifting you for a few seconds as he turned round.

“Exactly, it meant you shared a profound bond with them, that you were able to get comfortable with them being very close to you…”, he let you spin away from him, “or very far.”

You proudly smiled at him, letting go of his hand and taking a step back. He understood what you intended to do and grounded himself, catching you up without any problem as you run into his arms.

“Well,” you muttered in the crook of his neck, “I don’t want to be far from you, smart boy.”

“And I don’t want you away from me, pretty girl.”

You lifted your head to look at his eyes, filled with love and appreciation. The music stopped as you filled the gap between the two of you, kissing him with the same energy you had dancing. You could feel him smiling against your lips, carrying you like you weighted nothing until you let go, sliding back onto your feet.

You kissed him once again, a gentler contact, taking your time to memorize the shape of his mouth, the soft touch of his hands on your hips, the smooth tone he used to tell you how fitting this dress was.

Yeah, nothing could compare to your guy, your Tech.

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Wrecker: You Aksed Me To Be Yours – The Tymes (972 words)

You knew the mission was rough when Wrecker struggled to give you a full smile as you entered the cockpit. He was sitting there, all alone, and your heart got tight when you heard his low “hi, mesh’la”.

“You want to talk about it?”

He refused with a shake of his head, visibly upset.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“No, I want you to stay. I- I need company.”

You quietly nodded, offering your hand to him, which he held close to his heart. You kissed the top of his head, softly rubbing his check with your free hand. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself rest on the embrace, taking a long, deep breath.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, “t’was a long day without you.”

“I’m here now.”

The remark made him smile a bit, as he realised that you were indeed here with him. He pulled you closer to him to hug you, straightening in his seat so you wouldn’t have to bend too much to snuggle in his arms.

“You smell good. You always smell good, it’s amazing.”

You slightly blushed, letting out an amused sigh. Even when things went wrong, he always found something positive to comment on. People usually looked at him as the ��big dummy”, but you knew how sensitive and emotionally invested he really was, under all the muscles and loud exclamations.

“Do you think we could, like…get up for a bit?” he asked, hesitant.

“Sure, everything’s fine?” You let go of his grip and helped him get up. He wrapped his arms around you, resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“Yeah, t’s’all fine,” he murmured, “I just wanted us to stand.”

You rubbed his back, slow movements tracing imaginary lines and shapes against his blacks. He let out a sigh, tired yet satisfied. You felt the upper part of his body move; slightly at first, rocking from one side to the other. When he felt you following his lead, and with the absence of any question or remarks, he marked a more regular pace in his balancing.

You started humming, lips barely touching the skin on his neck, your warm breath tickling him until a light shiver shook his back. You left kisses, here and there, still humming the song you heard on the radio earlier that day. It was a beautiful ballad, something sweet about love and closeness. You found parts of Wrecker in the lyrics, and knew you’d have to sing it to him.

It wasn’t the first time Wrecker did something like that. Usually he would do it before going to bed, or after a long time away from you. He would grip you tight, whispering soft words to your ear, telling you how much he missed you, how pretty you were, how lucky he felt to have you in his life. But this time, you wanted to make that first move.

“I see that love is there, so real and so true…”

You felt his fingers tighten, then relax. The rocking slowly turned into a dance, moving step by step, never following a precise direction. Your voice was a balm to him, healing the wounds no one could see, covering his heart with warmth and love.

He slightly let go of you, just enough to dive into your eyes, scrutinizing the details in your iris, the way light reflected on them, adding to the sparkle they usually carried. You could see how his attention shifted from your eyes to your lips, then your eyes again, and the delicacy in his silent ask. You gave him your most heartfelt smile, and he leaned toward you, kissing you in a tender, desperate way, as if something or someone would come in at any moment and rip you both away from each other.

You let his tongue meet yours, dancing the way your bodies were. His hands left your waist, raising to cup your face and pulls you even closer to him. You held his wrists, preventing him from pulling away, savouring the taste of love coming out of his mouth.

He only broke the kiss when he truly needed to breathe, deeply inhaling and exhaling. You couldn’t stop a chuckle, to which he grinned.

“I know, I know…”

“How do you expect to kiss me if you faint?”

“I don’t know!” he laughed, his nose wrinkling in such a lovely way. You could read through him like an open book, and now you just knew he was contemplating how beautiful, and soft, and delicate you were. “I don’t know, I just want you. I want to hold you, and kiss you, and dance with you all night.”

You pecked his scarred cheek, nodded in approval.

“Then let’s dance all night, and hold onto each other, and kiss you breathless.”

He relaxed the tension in his shoulders, visibly happier than when you arrived.

“Can you sing that song again? I really liked it.”

His eyes gleamed with happiness when you took back where you stopped. You couldn’t tell if you got all the lyrics right, but it didn’t matter to Wrecker. You were here, ready to spend the whole night on your feet just to make him feel better, and it was already working so well. But he never told you so, too content to hug you and kiss you and feel you.

And you, of course you knew. But you played along, because you loved him so dearly, so profoundly that you could spend every night in this cockpit, humming and swinging with him, as long as you could feel his breath on your neck, his hands stroking your hair and your back, his lips pressing against your skin, where he knew he could get a shiver from you.

“Thank you, cyar’ika.”

“Anything for you, ner Wrecker.”

Anything for you.

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I hope you guys enjoyed it; it's really not the angsty stuff I was supposed to work on (that I will do now) but I guess I just had a soft spot for the boys tonight and the songs I listened to didn't help getting over this idea!

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Moment In Time

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Just when you've gotten out, you’re given a reason to come back.

Warnings: Mild Language

Chapter 8

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There’s a small, skin toned bump under her eye. Another small, almost unnoticeable mark just above her lip. 

Her eyes crinkle in the corners when she laughs and her cheeks pull up into perfect plum shapes.

Though the skin on her hands is soft and smooth, her palms are calloused a little. It leaves you wondering if it’s from all the times she’s held the cold metal of a gun in her hand, or wielded a knife that’s handle was too rough against her skin. 

Still you notice, despite the initial roughness you pick up on when you see the scars on her skin or feel the callouses on her hands, that she’s utterly breathtaking.

Your favorite sight of her being when she smiles.

“Are you even paying attention to me?”

Refocusing on the words she’s saying instead of her looks, you raise your eyebrows.“ I’m sorry, I just-” you shake your head, glancing down at your cup of tea.“ I can’t get over how gorgeous you are.” You look back up, raising the cup to your lips and sipping.

Her mouth opens, ready for a reply, but closes immediately as she realizes she doesn’t have one. Unusually, she isn’t sure what to say.

Unlike every other person who’d complimented her, yours was truly genuine. You meant it when you said it and expected nothing from her in return. 

She reaches across the table and takes your hand, squeezing it gently as a blush rises on here cheeks.“ Thank you.” 

You smile sweetly at her, then lean forward a little, elbows and forearms pressing against the table.“ Okay I’m listening again, what’s up?” 

“I don’t want the team to know.” She quickly says, eyes dropping from yours, a worried look on her face.“ About, whatever we are. I’m not embarrassed or-”

The way her smile drops instantly makes you frown. She rambles on and on, trying to explain her words to you.

Shaking your head, you reach forward and lift her head to meet her eyes.“ Nat, I appreciate it but I don’t need an explanation. Really, I want you to be completely comfortable with whatever this is.” She smiles at your words, her shoulders visibly sagging afterwards. Only for her body to tense as you utter a low ‘but’.

Brows furrowing, the redhead leans forward, her hand gripping yours.“ But what?”

“Does keeping things under wraps mean I can’t take you out on a date?” This time you smile brightly at her.

Natasha rolls her eyes, shoulders once again dropping as the corner of her lips tug up. Slowly, those green eyes look up into yours, a growingly familiar look in her eyes.“ That has nothing to do with keeping things secret and everything to do with where and when.”

Chuckling softly, you run your thumb along the back of her hand, keeping your gaze on her eyes.“ I’d like to take you to dinner Romanoff. It’s nothing fancy but retired SHIELD agents don’t get paid all that well.” 

“Dinner sounds lovely.” She says, her smile maintained. Her lips part as she goes to say something else but her phone cuts her off. Glancing down at it for a moment then back up at you.“ A lot lovelier than training Pietro with Sam and Steve.”

“Oh Bird Boy got promoted to training people huh?” You joke, eliciting a laugh from her like you hoped it would.“ Well, I want to check in with Wanda anyway so I can take you to the compound.” 

She playfully smirks, standing up as you do,“ got a sweet ride you’re gonna let me in?”

Rolling your eyes, you drop the money for your drinks and muffins on the table along with a tip. You then walk with her out of the cafe. 

The two of you walk over to your car and you open the door for Natasha. She lowers herself into the passenger seat of the classic mustang you’d come here in, and you shut the door after her. Going around, you get into the driver's seat after the cars pass. 

You can’t help but find it adorable how Natasha waits for you to put your seatbelt on and pull off before she reaches across the console to grab your hand. 

She raises your hand and presses a soft kiss on the back of it, squeezing gently as she relaxes in her seat and looks out the window. A look of contentment washes over her face and you can’t help but be a little proud that you seem to be the cause of it, or have been for the last few days. 

Your first kiss had taken place around a week or two ago. Over that course of time you’d shared more kisses than you were able to keep track of. 

It seems as though that moment opened the floodgates to all the physical touch you and Natasha had been starving for. Along with every kiss came a number of touches. Nothing had gone beyond PG-13 and you were more than okay with that.

You were completely happy with the way Natasha would drape herself over your lap like it was nothing in the comfort of your apartment. The light ghosting of her fingers against your neck before they curl into the hairs at your nape. Or the shiver that runs down your body when her fingers brush across your leg. And of course, how her fingers would lace with yours when she nonchalantly grabs your hand. 

Her affection warms your heart in the purest and most perfect way possible. Especially having known how she felt, and partly still feels, about that. 

While she hadn’t gone into great detail about her past she told you enough plus what you already knew about the Black Widow and Red Room organization. You knew of the horrible things that happened to the young girls in the Red Room and had had more than one encounter with the women who trained there. 

Knowing that and what she told you, shined an even brighter light on Natasha in your eyes. She’s strong, there’s no way you could ever say otherwise, but you severely underestimated how strong. Everything she’s been through that you’re aware of required the utmost of endurance and strength. 

“Stop looking at me like that Y/ln. Your eyes need to stay on the road.” She says, voice slightly teasing. 

Yeah, you’d subconsciously been looking over at the woman but you can’t really blame yourself. She’s beautiful in every conceivable way. 

“Oh forgive me. My eyes are just attracted to a particularly beautiful redhead.” You say, a small smile thrown her way afterwards.

Her eyes roll, an action you notice she does a lot when receiving genuine compliments, and a snort falls from her lips as she chuckles. You aren’t sure how others would react to that but you kind of love it. Especially since it’s always followed by a blush. 

The drive upstate continues with you being slightly less distracted by Natasha and her clicking through the radio stations. Which you find amusing since her musical tastes vary greatly. 

Funnily enough, she can’t seem to find a station before you get to the compound. Right when she does though, you’re pulling up to the door. 

An adorable pout forms on her face and her sad eyes look from the compound, to the radio, then to you. The radio host gets quieter and the song gets louder, the intro playing through. You know what she wants.

Sighing softly, you shake your head and shift gears. A look over at Natasha reveals her pleased face, as well as the image of Steve at the compound windows. His brows furrow as you pull off.

Quickly looking away from him, your eyes focus on the road. You don’t stay gone long, the song only lasts four minutes, enough time for you to head a little ways down the road from the compound security gate before it goes off.

The next song that plays isn’t Nat’s cup of tea so you turn around and head back. The agent at the gate gives you a slightly annoyed and curious look when you come back for the second time but you can’t say you care, not when your little drive put that smile on Nat’s face. 

“You two here to stay this time?” Steve asks, arms crossing over his chest as blue eyes shift from you to Natasha. 

Locking your doors, you pocket your keys and smile at him.“ Not sure Stevie, might steal her away in the middle of your training session and go for another drive.” You tease, cocking your eyebrow at him.

“Y/ln-” His voice is a warning that makes you want to laugh. 

“Can’t say I’d be opposed to that.” Natasha says with a small smile, walking past Steve no doubt in route to one of the training rooms, she glances back at you with a small wink before she disappears around the corner. 

It takes a bit of effort to fight a smile, but you manage. Then averting your eyes to Steve’s blue ones.“ Don’t worry, I won’t steal your partner. I hear Speedy is a handful.” 

“Thank you.” His shoulders drop as he sighs softly. You can’t stop yourself from laughing at his response. 

You both turn to head down the hallway.“ He can’t be that bad.” You say, almost as if challenging his reaction.

Steve gives you a look.“ He’s a good kid but a pain in the ass. And stubborn.” Shaking his head, he looks over again to see Pietro’s blue blur shoot by and disappear through the doors.“ Doesn’t listen for the most part.” 

“I believe that.” You have to admit,“ Wanda was pretty stubborn when we started. Still is sometimes.” You shake your head and stop at the end of the hall.“ Her powers are incredible so she doesn’t believe she needs hand to hand combat.”

He nods along, sucking his teeth and sighing.“ They’re kids. We keep teaching them and eventually they’ll get it.”

“Yeah. They’ll get it. Gotta have patience.” With that said, you leave a final pat on Steve’s shoulder before you turn away and go in search of Wanda. 

Surprisingly it’s pretty quiet. You assume Tony is out or down in the lab tinkering. With everyone else in the training room, you head to Wanda’s room, knowing it’s likely that’s where she is.

Once you’re there you raise your hand and knock, calling out,“ room service.” When her door swings open, you smile at her, matching the one on her face.“ Good afternoon little witch. How are you?” 

“Hi,” she greets back, leaving the door open as she goes to pull a sweater on.“ I’m good, how're you?” 

“Just dandy,” she laughs a little and steps out.“ Figured I’d stop by and see how you're settling in. If my guidance is working or if you’re just keeping an old gal like me entertained.”

“Oh please. You act younger than me sometimes.” 

Your jaw drops, eyebrows pinching together.“ I do not. I’m a mature adult.” 

The two of you make it to the common room, detouring to the kitchen. Wanda quirks an eyebrow at you as you sit at the island, the younger woman moving around to fix a cup of tea. 

“Sure you are.” She drags the first word out sarcastically and you roll your eyes.“ You’ve got your childish moments Y/n.” 

A disagreement is on the tip of your tongue, until you realize she’s right. Natasha tells you quite often how childish you can be, usually after you’d just thrown a pillow at her or shot the wrapper of a straw at her from across the island. 

“Okay I’m a little childish sometimes.” You admit in defeat. 

Wanda chuckles and nods. 

The two of you chat as she finishes making her tea and once she’s done you move to the common room. Falling onto the couch, you flick through tv stations and continue to talk. 

You’re more than happy to hear that she was no longer on the “I hate Tony Stark” train. She admits that there’s still strong dislike, but both she and Pietro had been learning more about Tony, seeing him for the man he truly is and not what the media portray. 

With the young woman becoming a closer friend the more time goes on you feel better knowing she doesn’t hate the man who is family to you.

“Ooo I love this show.” She stops her statement to say, stopping on a sitcom about a family. 

You quirk a brow,“ Malcolm in the Middle?” You ask and she nods. 

That provokes the woman to explain why she loves the show. 

Starting off, you listened to every word, adding words of agreement and a show that you’re attentive. Until Natasha comes in. 

Attention instantly divided. 

Eyes drawn to the way her eyes land on you the second she steps in, then down to the purposeful swish of her hips. She smirks, cocky that she so easily grabbed your attention, then turns into the kitchen with Steve and Sam. 

Your heart, that started beating a little faster when she smirked, doesn’t calm down. Even after she’s no longer in sight. Instead it picks up a little more at the thought that pops up in your head, lingering front and center.

“Well if you love her so much you should tell her.” 

Eyes wide, your head snaps over to Wanda. She gives you a nonchalant expression in return, only to quickly realize that you didn’t say that out loud. 

“Oh. Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” the young woman sits up, eyes suddenly pleading.“ I wasn’t trying to but it was so loud I- I thought you actually said it.”

With a shake of your head, you chuckle. It’s a light, almost unbelieving sound.“ It’s fine Wan. Truly.” You gently pat her knee. A moment of silence passes.“ Was it really that loud?” You ask.

“Very.” Wanda says, laughing a little.“ Did you mean it in the way it sounded?” Her voice holds curiosity, making you look over at her. 

“I-” Words cut short by a loud melodic laugh. Your gaze once again finds Natasha as you follow the sound. She leaves the kitchen, smiling at something Sam said.“ Yeah. I meant it. In that way.”

Yes, you love Natasha. 

Admitting it makes it feel like it was obvious as hell. Everything you’d been feeling points to it. From the way her smile sent butterflies rumbling in your stomach to the way her touch seemed to light you on fire. 

You won’t lie and say you aren’t scared by that. The two of you have just started exploring this aspect of your relationship and you’ve already started falling for her. And you already love her. 

The surprise isn’t that you love her, with how strongly you’d felt about her already and the progression of things, you knew you were bound to fall for her. The surprise is that it happened so fast. 

Part of you is worried, fearing that this revelation so soon could mess things up for you. However the other part of you, the bigger part, is telling you to just relax. Whatever is supposed to happen will happen. Natasha likes you and that’s more than enough.

* * * * * * *

Taglist: @owloftheshadows @natasha-danvers @blackxwidowsxwife @yumusak-yastik @b-5by5 @fayhar @lostandsearching @iliketozoneout @ecruzsalaz

[2goth2moth]

Ink and Salt (GN!Squidperson x M!Human, NSFW)

Once again, big thanks to @xo-philia for beta-reading this :-)

Word count: 3257

Includes: Non-human genitalia of the tentacle variety, d/s undertones, praise kink, self-lubrication

Nothing Tilu ever did was subtle. No one could ever really tell whether it was natural or an extremely dedicated choice, but they certainly let it into every part of their life. The way they flirted was no different.

“Wanna make out?”

Only mildly surprised, Blair glanced at them over the top of his book. They were stretched out on their stomach across the floor in front of him, propping themself up on their elbows. “I thought you wanted to take a nap.”

“Yeahhh, I did,” they said with a luxuriant stretch. “But I got distracted by the cute boy sitting in front of me. And now I want to kiss him.”

Blair felt his face heat up. No matter how long he knew Tilu, their bluntness never failed to fluster him. He put a bookmark in between the pages of his novel before setting it on the desk he was sitting at. “Really?”

Tilu laughed, pushing themself back until they were sitting up, cross-legged. “You have to stop asking me that every time I want you. I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t want to kiss you. Do you want to?”

Blair nodded feebly, getting off his chair and sitting on the floor in front of them. Sitting on the same level made their already significant height difference even more pronounced. Even standing over a foot taller and with Tilu’s head barely reaching his chin where they sat, he still felt like they were towering over him. The markings that ran, jagged and electric, over their skin made them seem larger than life, an unintentional intimidation that was made more difficult for him to bear because of how much he adored them.

A hard fingernail made contact with his forehead. “You’re freaking out, I can tell.” Tilu brought their hand down to cradle Blair’s face, stroking his jaw affectionately. “Don’t overthink this. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“No!” Blair broke in, grabbing Tilu’s hands in his. ”I want to! I just…” He took a deep break to steady himself. “You’re so beautiful. I want to be good for you.”

A cool blue flush dusted Tilu’s face and ears. It rose prettily on their snow-white skin, contrasting with the rich wine-red of their markings. “You’re so fucking cute. Just get over here and kiss me already.”

He obeyed. Tilu’s hands found their way to his face again as their lips met. Their mouth was cool against Blair’s, and he shivered as the tip of their tongue traced the seam of his lips. Small, round fingertips caressed the delicate skin behind his ears as he opened his mouth to Tilu. Their tongue was long, and dextrous like the rest of them. It filled Blair’s mouth, flicking around his throat and palate, tracing over his teeth. He sucked on it gently, eyes fluttering at the feeling. His hands came to rest on their waist, stroking up and down their sides, dipping fingers up under the crop top they were wearing. Both of them were moaning softly and Blair could feel spit dripping from the edge of his mouth.

Tilu pulled away from him, leaving him slack-jawed and panting. They had translucent black saliva smeared around their lips. He was unbelievably pleased at the thought of himself matching. “I want to keep going.”

The question was unsaid but fully understood. “Yes please.” He whispered.

Tilu moved back in to kiss him again. It was sloppy, and their small, sharp teeth dug into his lips as they moved together. They shoved their hands up underneath his shirt, scratching over his ribcage and chest, pausing to lightly play with his nipples. He moaned again, loudly, and pulled back enough to let Tilu take off his shirt. His own hands found their torso, and began tracing over their markings. Dark red, spidery, scratchy things, they burst at the centre of their belly, curled over their delicate collarbones, framed pitch black eyes. He let one hand dip low enough to trace over the markings that rose above the waistband of their shorts. Even though he couldn’t see the rest, he knew that they marked the centre of their scalp and ran down their spine, and his mouth watered.

Clearly getting impatient, Tilu pushed him roughly. “Lie back.” They quickly stripped off their shirt, revealing an expanse of quartz-like skin. They ran their hands over their chest and abdomen, uninterrupted by nipples or a navel. “I want to ride your face and your cock.” Their shorts were next, a thin rivulet of black liquid dripping from a small slit in their pelvis down the inside of one thigh. “Take your pants off too, I’ll stain them.”

Blair rushed to obey, kicking his pants off his legs before settling on his back. His cock was half-hard already, lying flushed and sweet against the bottom of his stomach. Tilu shuffled over to straddle his chest first. They grasped his chin firmly, turning his head from side-to-side slightly, as if appraising a piece of art. A small thumb was shoved between his willing teeth. Blair sucked on it softly and thought that he would die a happy man if this was the last thing he ever saw.

“Good boy,” they cooed down at him, that pretty blue blush spreading to their shoulders and chest. “Are you ready?”

He nodded eagerly. Tilu pulled their thumb from his mouth with a quiet pop, the digit still attached to Blair’s mouth with a string of spit, and repositioned themself over his face. More black fluid was leaking out of them, slicking their public bone, running into the creases of their thighs. It smeared itself into the tacky mess of saliva already covering his face as they lowered their hips over his mouth. Blair flicked his tongue out to lap some of it up, the taste strong and salty. He continued running his tongue over their skin, doing his best to clean all the dark fluid up, not yet teasing their sheath. Tilu rocked their hips against his face in small, insistent circles. His adoring touch redoubled, brushing soft kisses and sucking small blue bruises anywhere his lips could find purchase. Still, as much as he wanted to, he didn’t start on their sheath. A tight grip in his hair broke Blair’s concentration and he pulled back, gasping, as far as he could.

Glassy black eyes stared down at him over the smooth milky stretch of their body. “Come on, baby. Don’t you want me to ride you?” Tilu smirked playfully at him, leaning back to play with the head of his cock. Blair let out a strangled moan, simultaneously nodding his head and trying to buck his hips into their hand. “You do, don’t you?” It was punctuated by a single rough grind down on his face. “Well, you have to get me ready first.”

With a nod and a whimper, Blair dove back in, now focusing all his energy on their sheath. Tonguing at the tender skin at the opening, he felt more inky liquid spill into his mouth, staining his lips and leaking out of the corners. He could feel Tilu getting more turned on in the way they rode his race more aggressively and sweet sounds of pleasure rose up from their throat. As he kept working them over, the tip of a cool, slick appendage emerged to probe his mouth. Blair opened his lips to let it in. It roamed his mouth, caressing the inside of his cheeks, wrapping around his tongue. He let it slip into his throat, tongue free to continue working at Tilu’s soft skin. More tentacles began slipping out of their sheath as he gently worked it open with his mouth.

“That’s right, baby,” Tilu murmured. They began running their whole hand up and down his hard length. “You’re such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” Their voice had gone soft and breathy in that lovely way it always did when they felt good. Blair could feel himself flush under their sweet words and touches, and he hummed around the tentacles slowly filling his mouth. There was no doubt that he looked like a complete mess: cock stiff and leaking on his belly, eyes full of tears, face and neck smeared in black slick and spit.

The way Tilu’s tentacles looked now was clear evidence of their pleasure. Teased out from their slit by Blair’s hot tongue, they bloomed like an anemone, gently waving about and stroking his face. His eyes rolled back in his head as more of them breached his mouth, stretching his jaw almost painfully, slowly fucking his throat. Moans escaped his mouth as he suckled on the salty-slick tendrils. A foggy haze was beginning to fill his head, senses overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of what he was feeling. The rich, briny scent of the black liquid, the pressure of tentacles filling his mouth, the rocking of their hips onto his face, the feather-light strokes on his dick. Tilu still pinned him to the floor with that bottomless gaze, although it now fluttered with every lap of his tongue.

Small fingers closed around the base of Blair’s cock with shocking force. His whole body tensed up and he moaned loudly, though the sound was muffled by the writhing mass of tentacles in his mouth. Tilu backed up from his face to straddle his stomach. They cradled his face lovingly, spreading the thick black slick around his mouth. Emotional tears leaked from his eyes and they wiped them away with a gentle hand. “Look at you. You’re so lovely, you know?” The way they continued touching, as if he were something to be treasured, nearly reduced him into a puddle. “I want to ride your cock now. Let’s see how much lovelier I can make you, hmm?”

“Oh my god, yes please,” Blair begged, squirming helplessly beneath Tilu. His desperation was met with a pleased smile that was filled to bursting with affection and needle-sharp teeth. They leaned down to kiss him sloppily. One hand worked over his dick in slow, teasing strokes as that long tongue licked deep inside his mouth again.

“I’m gonna make you cum so fucking hard,” Tilu purred against Blair’s mouth with one last kiss. They positioned their sheath, now open and surrounded by tendrils, over his steadily leaking cock. The tentacles curled sweetly around his hard length, like tongues and fingers in one, running along his shaft and just barely breaching the slit at the head. Sharp bolts of pleasure shot through his body, burning through his ribcage and making his toes and spine curl. A high-pitched whine tore from his throat. Tilu planted their hands on his chest, nails digging into the soft flesh above his nipples, and braced themself to lower down onto his cock.

Even heavily slicked and with their tentacles fully extended, the size difference between Blair and Tilu made this a delicate process. Pointed teeth stuck out over the ridge of their lip as they bit down hard enough to draw icy-blue blood, face a cool-flushed mask of concentration. The head of Blair’s cock pressed hotly into their sheath, the stretch just bordering on painful. It took all of Blair’s self-control to stay still under their body, effort betrayed only by breathy gasps and a lightly jumping muscle in his abdomen. The slick pressure that engulfed him felt unbelievably good. Easing down a little bit more sent Tilu’s head arching back violently with the beginnings of a strangled cry.

“Fuck, you’re so good like this,” they said through clenched teeth. “So patient. Just a little longer, okay?”

Blair nodded, moving his hands to rub reassuring circles into their calves. Tilu’s head being thrown back gave him an excellent view of the pearly skin of his torso. The starburst of dark red on their stomach dipped and rolled with their heaving breaths as they lowered themself the rest of the way down his shaft.

When his cock was fully seated inside of them, Tilu exhaled shakily, loosening their grip on Blair’s chest. Small red crescent-moons mark the swell of his chest where their hands had been gripping for dear life. They apologetically soothed the marks with their cool fingertips, rubbing the divots flat before ghosting their hands over his nipples. Teasing the nubs up to hard pebbles with feather-light touches, they worked over his tender flesh before giving an experimental roll of their hips. The movement dragged Blair’s cockhead against the slick walls of TIlu’s sheath. A bolt of pleasure shot through Blair’s body, drawing a long, low groan out of him. Another roll splintered the sound in his throat and drew the fluttering muscles in his belly taut. The look of stubborn concentration melted off of Tilu’s face, being replaced by one of confidence and pleasure. Blue flush now traced down their throat, chest and shoulders, as well as staining their face and ears.

Tilu stared down at him with a cocky smile. They pinched at his pebbled nipples, hard, and ground down onto his dick again. Their tentacles started winding around the shaft of his dick in earnest now, squeezing around the slickened skin instead of just teasing it. Leaning forward enough to place their lips against his ear, they whispered, “I want to make you cum so hard that you forget your own name.” Blair keened loudly, arching into them, nails digging into the meat of their calves. A single tendril snaked down to cup his balls. “Get fucking ready, baby.”

They rose up on their knees, his cock sliding out of them until the tip was the only thing stretching them open, before slamming back down. The feeling set both of them moaning loudly and Tilu began fucking themself on Blair’s cock properly. Their legs spread over his hips gave him a mouthwatering view of the inky black spread over them and the azure hickies that he left on their tender inner thighs while he ate them out. “You’re- AH- so beautiful!” The cool walls of their sheath were squeezing him tightly, the rest of his shaft and balls wrapped in slippery tentacles, nipples still being roughly worked over in skillful hands. His moans were quickly turning into cries in the face of such extreme pleasure.

A particularly hard grind sent Tilu’s black-glass eyes rolling back, the surfaces wet with tears. They moaned wantonly, long tongue lolling out of the corner of their mouth. “God, I love your cock so much!”

Hands wrapped around Blair’s wrists where they were still gripping into Tilu’s calves, wrenching them upwards so that he could hold onto their hips. He grabbed into the soft flesh, holding on as if they were a rock in a stormy sea. He could feel the muscles under their skin flex with every motion. Sparks were shooting through his blood, curling his toes and drawing desperate sounds from his mouth. “Oh shit! Slow down. Ple-ease! I’m about to cum!”

“Cum inside me, baby.”

Blair’s entire body was tensed up, but Tilu didn’t let up. They started bouncing even harder, even faster, walls squeezing around him. Leaning down to his chest, they wrapped their lips around his left nipple, keeping their hand teasing his right. Sharp, needle-like teeth bit around the sensitive bud, careful not to break skin, the pain soothed by flicks of their slick tongue. Translucent spit leaked out around their mouth, creating a mess across his chest. Their hips began stuttering on him but they refused to let up. Riding his cock with even more intensity, they bit down on his swollen nipple at the same time as a tentacle wrapped tight around his balls.

“Ah, I’m gonna...AHH!” The pleasure coming at Blair from every direction was too much and it tipped him over the edge. His hips stuttered deeper into Tilu’s sheath once, twice, before he came impossibly hard, near-screaming out in pleasure.

Tilu continued bouncing on his length, even as he spasmed with overstimulation. Blair could feel them getting ready to climax as their tentacles started writhing wildly and their chest began heaving even harder. Sweet, high moans were spilling rapidly from their lips, mixed in with curses and little words of praise.

“Fuck, just look at you. So gorgeous.” They dragged the nail of their pointer finger through the tacky mess of slick and spit on his face. “You look so damn good, even all filthy like this. I’ve never met someone as pretty as you.” Tilu always got sappy when they were about to cum. Sinking all the way down onto his softening cock, the tentacles splayed out like the petals of a chrysanthemum and the walls of their sheath constricted even tighter around him. Their back arched dramatically, and they came with a high-pitched whine. “FUCK!”

Blair rubbed his thumbs into the meat of their hips, feeling pulsing aftershocks go through them, the overstimulation making him flinch. They leaned down against his chest and kissed him deeply.

“Mmm, that was good,” Tilu murmured against his lips, smiling needle-toothed and affectionate. Rising up on their knees, both they and Blair groaned quietly as they pulled off of him. He looked filthy. Saliva and slick were drying in dark smears on his face, chest, and crotch, and he was still sweaty and panting. His eyes were foggy and happy as he sat up.

TIlu were barely in better shape. Thick, jet-black liquid, the remains of their orgasm, leaked out of their sheath, marbling grey with Blair’s semen. The mess covered the hickies on their legs, and almost their entire body was flushed, the cool colour lovely against their red markings. Their thigh muscles quivered from the stress of holding themself up for so long, and when they moved to sit beside him, he could see their knees were turning blue as well. Even so, their eyes were soft and warm, and they looked thoroughly content.

His heart still squeezed with regret. “Tilu, your knees,” Blair said, reaching out to catch one of their hands and bring it to his lips. He kissed their knuckles, then their fingertips, then their palm with a kind of apologetic reverence, settling the curve of his jaw against the inside of their wrist. “I’m sorry, I should have thought to put something down for you to kneel on.”

“Shhhh,” they chided, rubbing lightly behind his ear. “Don’t be silly. I could have put something down too, if I’d wanted to. Don’t be so hard on yourself, you were wonderful.”

Blair felt his face heat up again at their soft words. He leaned against their cool wrist, humming into the delicate skin there. “Okay,” he whispered. “You were wonderful too. You look very pretty right now. Like this”

Tilu smirked at him. “‘Like this’? Bruised and blushing and dripping cum, with all of my tentacles out?”

“No!” Blair blurted out. “I mean...yes, but I meant...satisfied? Happy. You look happy right now. I like seeing you like this.”

They stilled for a breath before surging forward and wrapping their arms around him. “You’re a goddamn sap, you know that?” They said, turning their head to the side so that their face was nestled into the side of his neck. “I also love you so, so, so much.” Tilu kissed his throat once- ever-so softly, ever-so sweetly- before standing up, tentacles starting to re-sheath themselves, and offering Blair their hand. “Shower with me?”

He looked up at his lover, standing there beautiful and happy, and he nodded.

[the-blind-geisha]

For the love letters request, Noctis please, SFW. Flowers of choice: BABY’S BREATH - Innocence, Pure of Heart, CAMELLIA (WHITE) - Adoration, Perfection, Loveliness, DAFFODIL (YELLOW ) - Chivalry, FERN (MAIDENHAIR) - Secret bond of love, Discretion, and HIBISCUS - Consumed by Love, Delicate Beauty. Thank you!

A/N: Sure thing~! Thanks for the RQ~

Y/N,

I hope things are going well for you. I had to find a moment to write because I'm pretty much stranded right now, holed up in a motel somewhere in Lucis. I guess that trip to Galdin wasn't during a great time for the Regalia. I'm beginning to think my dad's car is a bit cursed or something. This is the second time it's broken down when we're driving it outside of Insomnia.

I honestly don't know how long I'll be away. Already it's been two full days, but we have to wait for Cid to be ready to take a look at it. I hope it's not something I'm going to be blamed for seeing as I was the one behind the wheel.

Anyways, I write to you now because I finally found myself alone at night. I didn't need anybody looking over my shoulder as I took to a message to send out to you. I hope you got my gift before. I did see in my email that the package should have arrived to you by now, and if that's the case—I hope you know what it means.

I am very sorry I couldn't give it to you in person. I really wanted to, but plans went in another direction.

I know that this is a bit different than you were expecting in terms of romance and the like, but you have to understand: if I get caught doing this, they will stop me before I can even say 'I do'. Me, a prince—they want me to marry royalty or whoever they so choose. But, I choose to forget that path and take to my own. I want to be with you, y/n. You bring me the most joy and happiness I've felt in years.

I love you more than I can say. I know I suck at it. I truly do. I just have never been told that word a lot. So it's kind of foreign and hard for me to even write it sometimes. Ever since I was a kid, I was just denied a lot of that. Also, after my accident, I felt like I was still trapped within my own head...The world was a vastly darker, and more frightening place than I cared to admit. I felt alone even if I had everybody I could want around me.

I love you is such a strange set of words that just feels... well, it might as well be another language all together. Just know that, in my heart, I do care for you far more than I can say or even write.

As it is, I know we're both scared of the road ahead, but I do promise, I will make sure to be the man you want me to be. I know I'm a bit quiet, unsure of myself, and I need a lot of help with direction, but I will do better. I'm going to be better when all of this finally comes to a close.

After just leaving Galdin, I think I found our perfect honeymoon getaway too, by the way. It's so gorgeous out there. I believe you'd like it. You've heard of it but never been, yeah? I will gladly take you, and I promise—the Regalia won't break down this time, or I swear, I'll just rent a damn car or a chocobo or something.

And as for your more personal concerns and stuff regarding a honeymoon. Yeah.... I'm new at all of that too. But to be honest, I'd rather that be spent with you than anybody else. As I sit and think about you, it makes me feel relaxed enough to even sleep for once. Shocking, hu? I'm usually so tensed at night that it's hard for me to settle. But I don't know. Just saying your name and reading it over and over again in my head, I am at peace.

This is the right path for me. I know it is. I hope you too, y/n, will say the same. I don't want you to think I have caught you in a situation where you cannot say no. You can, and yes, it will hurt if you do, but I'd rather see you happy than chained down with me. As beautiful, charming, and talented as you are, I wouldn't feel right making you grow to loath me. I want that foreign word of 'love' to mean something to me. Not be something I have to chase after still.

So, please. If you don't want to be with me, just let me know. But on my end, I will love you till my last breath and even beyond. Not even the gods can take that away from me.

Love,

Noctis Lucis Caelum

[katiescancerjourney]

Chemo, 7/14/2021

This round of chemo lead to a whirlwind of emotions. Once again, my liver enzymes were too high and for the first time, my oncologist looked concerned. I’m normally a pretty easy patient. I don’t have any side effects that are out of the normal, I follow instructions explicitly and my body is doing such a good job keeping it together. My doc normally comes in, says things look good, tells me I’m cute (omg, thank you so much gf) or to use rubbers (the one time I asked about sex, lololol) and heads out. It’s a very expensive minute. This time, she slumped in her chair and said “I just don’t know what to do with you. I’m on hold to get you a scan ASAP, I need to see your liver.” We talked for a little longer than usual about my current chemo and potential new chemo and then she was off to make her final decision about that day’s treatment. You could tell that she was deeply affected by my less than perfect bloodwork and I felt touched. 

I was able to get a scan and it was decided to take the drug Oxaliplatin out of my chemo cocktail. Normally with the FOLFOX treatment, I get FOLinic acid, Fluorouracil (5FU) and OXaliplatin, accompanied by anti-nausea meds and a steroid drip. It takes about 3 hours and is brutal. The steroids come first and I immediately start to get extremely agitated in my chair, barely able to sit for another 3 hours. The anti-nausea drip is fine but the extra bit they push through Tony (my mediport) ironically makes me want to throw up (you can taste everything they push and that one is particularly disgusting). Then you get the 2 F meds and finally the Oxaliplatin which makes you actually feel the life draining out of you. Fast forward to me laying in bed and vomiting straight stomach bile.

Oxaliplatin is intense and I was actually supposed to get off of FOLFOX after my surgery, but because my neuropathy wasn’t too bad and I my tumor shrank so much on it, they decided to do another 3 rounds. Well, apparently 2 more was enough for me. The working theory is the Oxali is what’s driving up my liver enzymes and we’re done with her, she goooone. I only ended up only getting the Fluorouracil (5FU) and it was a dream in comparison. It doesn’t require the steroids or anti-nausea meds and the drip lasted 30 minutes.

So basically my day started with my high liver enzymes and getting a last minute scan, being so worried that my body wasn’t compatible with this pump that I just went through the most insane surgery to put in, not to mention the 2 months the of healing and daily discomfort is gives me. Talking about getting a new chemo cocktail FOLFIRI that would most likely cause me to lose me hair (I still might need it, but not yet at least) and I don’t care how small that sounds in the grand scheme of things, that will fucking suck and I will be a mess. Any most importantly, the fear that if my liver starts to fail, I’m done here. 

What ended up happening is my scan came back showing no issues, I only got 5FU which was a much much much gentler and lovelier chemo with none of the other drips I hate, a plan in place to only get the 5FU for the next 6 weeks to see if my body responds well without the Oxali and no Neulasta shot for white blood cells which gives me extreme bone pain all weekend.

HOLAAAAAAAAA!!!!

Now, I know that things could turn on a dime and my next appt. could result in bad shit, but I am loving this small victory!

I want to take this moment to say how constantly amazed I am by MSK, the incredibly kind nurses and my doctor who is a God in my eyes. Also a big thank you to Anna and Emily who took my to my appointments and took care of me.

[spiltscribbles]

I’ll Breathe You In, If You Hold Me Close

~Notes: This is an extremely late birthday FIC I wrote for one of the most talented fucking babes to ever write Wolfstar! And who gives me my pretty boy Remus fix!!! VICTORIA!!! You are such a kind fucking soul and so beyond lovely, and I’m so sorry if this is shit. I’ve been stuck on what to write you for weeks, but then I saw the other day that you vibe with Gallavich, so this is crack where it’s kinda that but also the Blacks are kinda the Bass family from Gossip Girl, and I am like extremely nervous that this is pure shit, but I hope it’s like tolerable enough for you to somewhat enjoy because you deserve so much loveliness!! And again I’m sorry if it sucks XS  Thank you to the ever gorgeous  babe  Kat who stayed up at midnight with me to brainstorm ideas flkjasoigjqowifjkljgdsfj You’re an angel babey!!!!*deep breath* Final apologies ya’ll

~*~

It’s a typical Tuesday afternoon, which means that Sirius is smoking a messily wrapped joint that James had just handed over and they’re playing a round of pool in the lounge of the Grimmauld, one of the numerous hotels owned by the Blacks. Fabian Prewett is about to break right when Sirius’s kid cousin  clammers inside, blotchy faced and crying. She’s always been so God damn  emotional.

“What’s going on kid?”

“It’s. It’s. Remus Lupin.”

Sirius just barely lets her finish the story  before he’s off after the punk.

.-

So the thing is that Sirius knows of Remus Lupin before ever actually speaking to him past placid  pleasantries exchanged in the halls or a party. Everyone knows everyone in the Upper East Side, knows all their dirty little  secrets and familial histories and underhanded dealings— which are usually one in the same. They all know each others  standing in this tentative hierarchy that paints the landscape of this Versace veneered bubble filled up with pasted smiles and empty eyes. The Lupins are the sort of folks that the Blacks make it a point to scoff at during soirees and the likes. The patriarch, Lyall, is as new money as they come, still stenches from the centuries of mediocrity that is his cornerstone. His wife turned scorned lover was a gorgeous young thing from an Eastern European  town in the Tallin outskirts who made her fortunes from smiling pretty on magazine covers and collecting a pile of ex husbands that it would turn any head from the sheer madness.  They are the e absolute antithesis of the Black family tree, which in turn has  branches stemming so far back that the history books can’t even encompass their grandness. They’ve been the crowning jewel of every commendable antiquity  for ten centuries on the low end, and have made their footprints of granger for all to marvel at, and Sirius is the incandescent scion from all their efforts. He knows who he is, knows what he represents. Knows that he’s literally been bread to be this beautiful and brilliant and bright. So it makes no sense why his gaze has always been magnetized to the sight of the Lupin kid.

He’s big caramel curls, and even bigger green eyes, and he spends most of his time at school ambling about with that strawberry blonde charity case that James is always sniffing around. He looks like a CW heartthrob, pretty and unassuming and shy. Sirius doesn’t like him, has punched the lights out anyone— mainly Pettigrew— who would snidely ask why he’s always got one eye on him if he supposedly does not, but they don’t know shit. He’s just interesting, peculiar, different.

In a grayscale world Lupin  seems to glow with vibrancy that shouldn’t be allowed. He smiles with an ingenuous air, and helps the younger years get around and studiously sticks to his mixers at parties even while most folks are cutting coke with their black cards and sniffing it off the sweaty stomach  of a easy going  girl from Princeton.

But none of that is actually interesting, actually matters. So what if sometimes while gazing at his profile, Sirius thinks  confidently that Lupin would probably taste as sweet as his very disposition. And so what if he occasionally wonders just how it would sound if he got Lupin’s quiet, raspy little voice to whimper out loud while Sirius was fucking into him? None of that matters, it’s not like he gives a fuck about the prick.

His intrigue towards Lupin means nothing in the world they inhabit.

.-

He finds him on the Met steps, book in hand while the strawberry blonde— Evans— is chatting amiably about some trite that Sirius doesn’t care enough to understand, Sirius’s flocked by James and Pettigrew and has got a leer on his face as he swaggers forwards.

“Lupy Lupin.”

His pretty eyes flicker upwards for a second before just sliding off of him and back to the copy of Tess of the D’Urbervilles in his lap. “What do you want Black.”

“For you to tell me why my baby cousin told me that you’re  toying around with her feelings Lupin,” he snarls back, he’s top dog of this town and its ocean of blue bloods, he’s not gonna let him forget it.

“Oh come off it,” Evans— glowering straight at him as if she isn’t a scholarship kid— rebukes. “Does Dora really need her brain dead, bastard of a cousin to fight her battles.”

Sirius bares his teeth at her, but it’s belied by James interjecting hurriedly to comment on how her hair looks   especially shiny today. She flips him off and goes back to eating her yogurt, nose wrinkled like they’re a pack of street rats infesting her picnic.

“I did nothing to Tonks Black, just told her kindly that she isn’t my type.” Lupin says breezily, standing up fully now and gesturing for Evans to follow suit.

Sirius steps forwards, properly irritated now. “You think your runt ass has any right to say that she isn’t good enough for you, the kid of a bimbo and drunkard.” Lupin’s pretty eyes flash at that, but he doesn’t betray his emotions, face staying unaffected, and tone as smooth and detached as ever.

“I rather prefer it if the person i’m fucking has a dick, sorry to break the news. But tell Tonks I’m flattered, and  i’m still willing to be a friend and help tutor her for the calculus exam we’ve got coming up.”

With that, in an air of nonchalance, he cuts right past them, a preening Evans at his heels and three confused looking boys in his wake.

And oh. He is something interesting indeed.

~*~

Keep Reading  

[jlalafics]

Modern Au dabble where Everlark connect on the roof of one of their houses and then cute kiss leading into ya know? Thanks! You and your books are amazing! -Zeffie ♥️♥️

Hey love! Thanks for this amazing prompt. I hope you wanted this ficlet with a good amount of spice...

Enjoy @hungergamesfangirl02 (Zeffie)!

_____

The moment she steps onto the roof, Peeta spots her.

She is circling the space with her roommates; the sharp-tongued woman with blunt bangs and crimson lowlights and the blue-eyed blonde wearing a crown of flowers. His roommate, Gale, had a one-night thing with the blonde. Peeta can still remember the muttered moaning of her name through the thin walls of their apartment: Madge…Madge…Madge…

Peeta drinks from his red cup, trying to quietly observe the girl in the middle. She’s wearing a cropped jean jacket and a shift burgundy dress with embroidered straps. The ankle boots lengthen her rich-colored legs and he wonders, albeit briefly, what he would see if a sudden gust of wind were to sweep through.

However, it’s summer in the city.

Balmy and warm, the sun just going down and it’s practically another day.

“Peeta!” He turns, spotting Finnick, his other roommate, and Annie, Finnick’s girlfriend. It’s his friend’s birthday and a possible engagement party. Annie doesn’t know, but Peeta and Finnick just picked up the ring from the jeweler this afternoon. “Why are you hiding in the corner?”

“You know that I’m not the party type,” he tells them with a smile. Peeta eyes his friend. “So…anything interesting going on?”

“Not quite,” Finnick responds, throwing an arm around Annie’s shoulders. “Maybe a little later.”

Peeta nods, trying to suppress his smile. It’s not often that his friend is uncertain; he’s known Finnick since they were in diapers and his bronze-haired friend has always moved forward, unafraid of what was ahead of him.

However, when it comes to Annie, the man is total mush.

“You need to circulate,” Annie tells him, her green eyes full of kind concern. “It’s been a year since Delly.”

“Who’s Delly?” comes a brash voice.

They all turn to find the woman with red hair standing before them.

And, right next to her is—

“Katniss!” Annie is rushing towards the pretty girl to give her a hug. Then she goes to Miss Blunt Bangs, embracing her as well. “Johanna!”

They all pull apart and Annie introduces them to Finnick and Peeta.

“I’ve seen you before on campus,” Finnick says to Katniss—Peeta is already in love just hearing her name. “You’re a voice major, right?”

Katniss nods. “Yup, but more song writing and composition than singing.”

“Well, you should talk to Peeta here.” Finnick waves at hand at him, clover eyes sparkling. He knows Peeta well enough to identify when he’s interested in something…or someone. “He’s exceptionally talented when it comes to playing. I don’t think there’s an instrument that he hasn’t experimented with.”

Katniss turns, grey almond-eyes on him. “I’ve seen you around before.”

“I don’t go to Juilliard,” Peeta stammers out.

“No!” She grins and he finds himself smiling back at the way her face completely blooms with loveliness. “I’ve seen you sitting on this roof. You play out here sometimes.”

“Yeah, Katniss has been mini-spying on you,” Johanna informs him.

“Really?” He eyes her and Katniss’ cheeks color—geez, now she’s even more gorgeous. “I’m flattered.”

“I actually live over there—” Katniss points to the adjacent building. It’s at few floors higher, but just enough for someone to look over and see clearly onto their roof. “—sometimes I go up to write or to look at the stars.”

“Don’t lie to the man,” her friend retorts, earning a glare. “At least tell him that you’re a little hot for him holding a guitar.”

“Johanna—” Annie thankfully interrupts. “Thresh has been looking for you.”

“I gave him a blowjob last month and he’s been hitting me up ever since,” she replies. Looking over at Katniss, Johanna winks. “Have fun with your mystery man.”

The two girls walk off, leaving Finnick, Peeta, and Katniss standing together.

“Oh!” Finnick looks around. “I think I better make sure that we still have enough ice and prepare for my birthday speech.” He pats Peeta on the back. “Have fun.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen a more obvious setup,” Katniss tells him when they’re finally alone.

“They mean well,” Peeta replies. “At least, Annie and Finnick do. Johanna is a bit of a mystery.” He looks over to the bar. “Did you want a drink?”

“Sure.” They head to the bar; Peeta tries to keep cool as Katniss joins his side. Their hands are a muscle movement away from touching and he stiffens his hand. “I’d love a Corona and lime.”

“Very summer of you,” he replies before requesting it from the bartender. “How do you know Annie?”

The bartender places the tall neck bottle, placing the lime wedge at the opening, before handing it to Katniss.

They find their way to a spot at the far corner of the party and settle down together on a lone bench. Finnick is talking to the DJ and he sees Annie talking to Madge, whose arm is around Gale’s waist. Johanna has found Thresh and they are dancing, both decently tearing up the floor.

It’s the perfect summer night.

“She works with Johanna,” Katniss explains. “I think they’re EAs for the two CEOs, so they’re always working together. I’ve known Johanna my whole life. When I found out I got into Juilliard, I didn’t hesitate to ask her to come with me. She didn’t hesitate to say yes. Her home life was less than ideal.”

“That sucks.” Real smooth, idiot. His tongue is so tied around her, but Peeta takes a breath and searches for another topic. “How about you? What’s your family life like?”

“I have one sister. Sweetest girl you’ll ever know.” Her smile goes soft and sad, lost in thought. “My Dad passed away when I was five.”

“I’m sorry.”

His hand goes unconsciously to hers resting between them. Peeta motions to pull away, but her fingers entwine with his.

Their eyes meet, silently agreeing that it feels right.

“It’s fine. He was sick for a long time,” Katniss explains. “When I was 12, my mom met Haymitch and we all kind of loved him from the start. They got married when I was 13 and have been thoroughly happy ever since.” She moves closer. “And you? Tell me about your family.”

“My Dad’s a businessman,” he starts. “Have you heard of Mellark Bakery?”

“Yeah, they have that huge factory across the bridge,” Katniss replies. “Your Dad work there?”

Peeta holds out his free hand, wondering if he should have open this can of worms. However, if this is going anywhere (is it too early to propose?), he should probably tell her about his family.

“Nice to meet you. Peeta Mellark.”

Katniss let out a laugh, putting down her Corona to shake his hand.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was meeting with a son of industry!”

“My Dad is actually pretty cool,” he tells her. “He’s always been very encouraging and supportive of me and my older brothers, Emmett and Noel. Emmett is an artist and Noel is a chef.”

“And your mother?”

“Pretty opposite.” Katniss squeezes his hand, listening intently. “She’s a society woman. Very beautiful, but very cold.”

“Oh, she is going to hate me,” Katniss replies.

Peeta grins at her words. “Already planning to meet the parents?”

“Of course. We’ve connected, you know?” she proclaims. “Now that I’ve seen you up close, there’s no going back.”

“And your family?” he counters. “Would they like me?”

“They’re going to love you,” she says, her grey eyes on him. “You seem so easy to care for.”

Peeta looks at his feet, overcome by her words. “How do you know?”

“Last month, I was coming home from school and you were walking out of your building. There was a little old woman coming out of her taxi and she seemed to be struggling to even open the door. So, you opened the door for her, and you helped her set up her walker on the sidewalk. Then, you paid for her cab and helped her inside your building. Nobody does shit like that anymore. Everyone always seems to be looking out for themselves, nowadays.”

“Mags has lived here the longest, so she’s kind of building royalty,” Peeta explains. “Also, her husband died a while back and she has no kids. The people in this building are her family and we take care of one another.”

“I like that,” Katniss tells him.

“I like you,” he blurts out. “I mean, if it hasn’t been obvious enough.”

Katniss doesn’t respond, but she shifts a little bit closer to him as she stares into his eyes.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Peeta is intrigued by her abruptness. “What did you have in mind?”

She pulls him by his hand to stand up. He rises and their chests brush against one another. It is brief, but it is enough to light a fire in his belly at the feel of peaked nipples against his thin flannel button-down.

“We’re going stargazing.”

++++++

“For some reason, Johanna has a deal with the maintenance crew in the building,” Katniss recounts as they step onto the roof of her apartment complex. “No one else but myself, Johanna, and Madge are allowed up here.” She leads him over to a set of lounge chairs. “I don’t really know what kind of deal she cut, and I’ve never bothered to ask.”

“That’s probably for the best,” he tells her. “Are you allowed to bring people up here?”

“I’m pretty sure that Johanna and Madge have brought guys up here before.” Katniss turns to him, her eyes glowing under the light of the moon. “You are the only person that I’ve ever brought here…the only person I want to bring here.”

Peeta isn’t sure if it is the moon…or the Corona…or the heat of the night…but something dances inside his chest, telling him to go to her. Her eyes are on him, hunger so intense in them that there is nothing he could do but go to her. Katniss follows suit, marching towards him with determination.

A groan escapes her lips at the feel of him hard against her pelvis. “Peeta, please…”

They meet in the middle of the roof, breaths heavy and Katniss reaches to cup his cheek. His arm rounds her slender waist, pulling her close to let her feel what she does to him.

“What would you like?” he asks, voice roughened with need. His free hand moves along the lines of her body and she whines, pressing closer to him. “Tell me what you want, Katniss.”

“I want you to kiss me.” Katniss’ mouth grazes against him and he nearly crumbles at the feel of heat between her legs. “Then, I want you to fuck me until we both see stars.”

His mouth is on hers, slotting them together. He sucks harshly at her upper lip as her hands reach for him, holding his face in place as she bites at his lower lip. They both moan into one another, tasting lime and alcohol and the fire between them.

Katniss moves them towards one of the chairs, her hands traveling down and reaching to the buttons of his shirt as her tongue sweeps into his mouth. His own hands move to yank at her jean jacket until she shrugs it off.

“Touch me, Peeta,” she says into his mouth. His shirt has been tossed to the ground and her hands roam unabashedly against his heated skin.

Peeta reaches for the hem of her dress and Katniss complies, lifting her arms up so he could pull the dress over her head. Once it is off, he steps back and looks at the beautiful woman under the summer moon.

Every inch of her skin is caramel and Peeta licks his lips ravenously as his eyes rove over lush breasts with rosy nipples…the graceful dip of her waist…full hips…and nude mesh panties that cover a thatch of dark hair.

“You are beautiful,” he rasps.

Katniss slowly sits down on the lounger, resting back. Her chest heaves, nipples pointed in the warm air, as she waits expectantly for him.

Peeta kneels before her. Carefully, he takes her boots and places them next to the lounger. Then, he is at her center, mouthing her through the mesh and sampling the honey pleasure of her core. Her hands go to his hair, fingers running through his hair and nails scratching at his scalp as he sucks and tongues her through the scrap of nothing.

“Fuck! Peeta!” Her wails are like gold and he moans, vibrating against her cunt. “More, please!” He moves the scrap of cloth away from her quim and plunges his tongue inside her. “Oh my God!”

Part of him is thankful for the party next door, the vibration of music sheathing her cries in the air. Peeta loves the sound of her, unabashed in showing him how good she feels. Katniss pushes herself against his tongue, legs wrapping around his head as she humps his face.

He is drenched in her; his new favorite drink for a summer’s night.

Peeta’s hands move to his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them quickly.

Pulling away, Katniss whines at the motion until she sees his pants undone. Her eyes, already smoky, have gone obsidian at the sight and he pushes his briefs down, his erection jutting out.

She sits up, one hand pressed to the seat as the other reaches to his length, wrapping her fingers around him. Her thumb moves to the mushroomed head, spreading the precum and he almost seizes at the sensation.

“You’ve given me what I want,” she tells him, her hand stroking him slowly. “What do you want?”

“I want to show you the stars,” Peeta replies, his hand reaching to her panties and she lifts her hips, letting him slide them off until it joins their pile of discarded clothing. He stands before her, reaching for the waist of his jeans and boxers before pulling them off in one motion. His shoes and socks followed, joining her boots.

He stands before her, naked and obviously wanting.

Katniss lays back, pushing herself up onto her elbows, admiring the sight before her.

“I did watch you from here,” she says, her voice strained. “You’d fiddle with your guitar and I’d fiddle myself.”

The image of Katniss, hands on herself…fingers dipping into that dripping cunt is just too much.

Peeta falls to his knees, yanking her down until ass is at the edge of the chair, the backs of her legs pressing along his front.

Then, in one motion, he thrusts roughly into her sodden quim.

The moment Peeta slides into her, her whole body growls.

He can feel her contracting around him and he begins to move, savoring the feeling of being surrounded by her slick. Peeta leans down and their lips meet, her body practically folding in half so he can taste her.

Katniss moans into their kiss, tasting her essence against his tongue as they move against one another. The chair creaks under the pressure of their fucking and he can’t imagine that it feels very comfortable.

He attempts to lift her in-between thrusts, but Katniss frantically shakes her head.

“No, just like this,” she gasps into his sweaty skin. Her legs spread away to wrap around his waist. “Won’t be long now…”

She feels too good, silk and sopping around his cock. Her grip on him is the perfect pressure and as he thrusts, Katniss arches up, bottoming out.

“Holy fuck, you’re amazing,” he groans. “There is no way in hell that I’m letting you go now.”

Hell, Peeta is already convinced that this woman with the dark waves and smoky eyes is the woman that he’s going to marry. In his mind’s eye, he already imagines her in a white dress…carrying her over the threshold of her dream home…of fucking her against every wall of the house…of filling her to the brim until she’s swollen with his child.

“Don’t let me go,” Katniss cries out, her insides beginning to flutter around him, and he juts his cock shallowly knowing that he’s going to spill inside her at any moment. “I wanted you since the moment I saw you…fuck….oh…” Her muscles pulsate around him and her pelvis rises to meet his thrusts.

Her cries are swallowed into the starry sky above them and Peeta watches her in the beauty of her climax. Her hair flows behind her, her skin glistening, and she’s smiles up, her eyes full of love.

She’s watching him, jaw clenched, as the sky above is suddenly illuminated by fireworks, creating a halo around him.

Peeta comes undone, filling her, his pelvis pressing to hers until he is spent.

After, he lays, pillowed against her chest, her hand smoothing down his mussed hair.

“I see stars…” she whispers against him.

“Annie must have said yes,” he explains. “I picked up the ring with Finnick today.”

Katniss snorts. “When Finnick does something, he goes hard.”

“So do I,” he tells her.

She kisses the top of his head. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’ll see.”

They are married three months later.

 FIN.

[mightbewriting]

Friday and September :)

hello! i thank you for the distraction! my word sprints are Not Going Great and i haven't really earned this yet but here i am!

friday: most self-indulgent fic you have ever posted?

i mean, pretty much everything i write is incredibly self indulgent because i write what i want to read lol. but probably bone mortar? just an excuse to make draco a hot scientist interested in early hominids and how hermiones hair spirals like dna? bickering over a classroom? a stupid amount of rock related metaphorical language? its very silly and very fun.

september: share a comment or review which still warms your heart?

omg. my first thought was literally anything written by @ambystomatidchanterelle because she is like, the most thoughtful and engaged reader and then somehow knows how to articulate her thoughts in a beautiful, wonderful way. for example, her comment on Well Said, Hermione melted me: 

Okay, I know I'm ages late on getting to this gem but good lord! What have you done??? Even knowing what you were working on and a little bit of how people reacted to it, almost everything in this story was unexpected for me, in the best possible way. Being inside this Draco's head was fascinating - by turns pragmatic and sentimental, snarky and romantic. This may seem like a strange thing to love but I was really into how game he was. This felt like a Draco who operates fairly instinctually. Maybe it's how completely the connection to Hermione (and her connection to his words and his voice) bowled him over but there's something cathartic about watching a character who's pretty steeped in self-preservation maintaining that self-preservation even as its goals change completely. In the beginning he's out to help himself survive a meeting. In the end, he's out to create a connection to Hermione because the one-off wasn't nearly enough. He doesn't really seem to have any trouble accepting how dramatically what he needed had changed, which felt strangely refreshing.

The way the quotes themselves operated in the story was so interesting too. I loved that the first quotes were coincidence. Shakespeare CAN be really conversational, especially when the right person is speaking it! Oh to be in Hermione's head when Draco utters the first recognizable line and that little bit of thrill zips up her spine. You can almost watch her wondering, talking herself down - he couldn't possibly have quoted what she thought he'd quoted, could he? And then, "Well said, Hermione" and that just CAN'T be a coincidence.... can it?! Watching Draco's relationship to the quotes was highly entertaining too. There were moments when it was clearly a means to an end ("I can only memorize so many quotes on such short notice. Less than a week from revelation to this."), although not in a self-sacrificing way. He's tempted by her and she's tempted by the way he says these particular words, so he's going to make sure he has plenty at her disposal. But there are also moments where he seems to get into it, sucked in almost helplessly, except that he's still going to give as good as he gets (“I do desire that we may be better strangers.” “No, you don’t.”) I think the other thing, though, is that Shakespeare always SOUNDS more romantic to me than it maybe is, especially when it's at its snarkiest. For example and featured here, much to my delight, many quotes from my beloved Much Ado About Nothing which is supposed to be the height of snark but which just makes me sigh happily. (case in point: “While she is here, a man may live as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary.” - NOT a romantic line but catch me melting anyway).

Also, the sheer sexiness of all of this cannot be understated. I have literally never thought about the bar on an emergency exit door before but I will NEVER be able to look at one without blushing again. I was very into a Hermione who caught distinct subtext, and walked in to make an appointment with said subtext, an appointment designed to help her with her needs and specified to her wishes and boundaries. This is a Hermione confident enough to make the approach, confident enough to meet Draco's incredibly sexy demands in regard to her attire (“Wear something green for me”—I ignored her disbelieving scoff and forged on—“something you’d like to be fucked in.” Holy shit.), and confident enough to fully give in to the pleasure of his words and their time together. Also, when Hermione tells Draco to use a feather weight charm and he responds “You think I’m not willing to work for it, Granger?” I CANNOT.

Because of all the fabulous sexiness, I was really unprepared but completely delighted by how romantic the end was - Draco taking her to her bed, praising her, giving her a massage and a glass of water and options for how she wants to handle all this. It felt affectionate and soft but also no less passionate or intense than any other part of the story. This is also the second time you've completely blind-sided me by how many emotions I have over Draco gently tying back Hermione's hair. It's so intimate and gentle but also a little bit possessive and I'm just... very into it. Yet another button I never knew I had before reading your fabulous works!

Finally, I cannot help but mention that I (perhaps unsurprisingly) got very attached to the plight of the Snidgets. I can understand why Hermione might not have the strongest motivation to work on their conservation and why she might not be particularly attached to them but I desperately need to rely on how important it is to her to do her job well so that I can stop worrying about their little fuzzy selves nesting on the edges of skyscrapers. The conservation project was such a creative way for Draco and Hermione to connect and I love that the Snidgets reappeared throughout the story! I'd like to think they become a bit of an inside joke and a critter of affection to Draco and Hermione after all this.

Thank you for sharing this loveliness! <3

[mytardisisparked]

When Sunrise Comes Early: Chapter 4

A/N: Hi. So, this is super delayed, and I am very sorry about that. You see, I kind of wrote myself into a bit of a corner and I was struggling to figure my way out of it. SOMEBODY *glares at Satine* hijacked my story and SOMEBODY ELSE *glares at Mace Windu* did some unexpected things in the narrative that presented a greater challenge in making the story flow than I was prepared for when I began. Now that I have worked my way past that roadblock, I am hoping to provide more regular updates. I can’t guarantee it because I am an easily distracted housecat, but I will do my best and I WILL NOT abandon this story! Thank you once again to everyone who has stuck with this fic, commented, and given me encouragement. I love yall so much.

TL;DR- I’m sorry I suck at updating and I’m going to do better.

Now, on with the story.

-----------

It didn’t take long for Obi-Wan to tell the story of how Palpatine had been captured and explain why they needed the Force-suppressing prison. Throughout his short speech, the Mandalorian council, seated in a semicircle around him, remained silent and unexpressive. 

“This is a matter of galactic security,” Obi-Wan said as he wrapped up, “not just an internal Republic, or even Jedi, affair.”

After a moment of silence, Satine rose from her throne. “Thank you, Master Kenobi. We will take some time to discuss what you have told us.”

Obi-Wan tried not to allow himself to become annoyed at the lack of an immediate reaction from the council. Instead, he bowed to the room and took a step back from its focus, looking to Satine for direction.

“Isatol.” She said, summoning the straight-backed guard from just behind her. “Please escort Master Kenobi and his foundling to their quarters.” The duchess’s eyes met Obi-Wan’s with a kind but firm look. “I will summon you when we have reached a decision.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan bowed again and watched in approval out of the corner of his eye as Anakin did the same thing. 

The guard lead them down a series of hallways that Obi-Wan frantically attempted to memorize as he matched the quick pace of their tall escort. Eventually, they reached a door that the towering woman opened with a graceful sidestep, allowing the Jedi and his apprentice to enter. 

Obi-Wan struggled to keep his jaw from dropping as he took in the loveliness of their quarters. The ceilings were gracefully sloped and creme-colored, which assisted the floor-to-ceiling windows along the far wall in making it feel as if they were outside rather than in. The furniture was simplistic, but elegant; perfect for a Jedi and padawan to meditate. There was a small kitchen where they could make caf or tea, and two bedrooms off of the main room, each with its own bath. The layout and decorations were clearly designed to keep the mind of the resident clear - it was evident that Satine had chosen this room specifically with the needs of a Jedi in mind. 

The corners of Obi-Wan’s mouth turned up, unbidden.

Anakin’s reaction was a bit more explosive. The boy gasped dramatically and stepped into the room, spinning around to take it all in.

“It’s huge!” He gaped up at the tall ceiling as Obi-Wan shook his head fondly. 

“Yes, Anakin, thank you for stating the obvious,” he teased with no venom. “Why don’t you go unpack?” He gestured to where their rucksacks were already sitting on the floor.

The boy scampered off and Obi-Wan turned back to the door, starting a bit when he realized that the guard was still standing there, studying him with an impassive face. 

“Ah, thank you, Isatol.” He gave an awkward bow.

The woman inclined her head in return. “Of course, Master Kenobi.” She straightened quickly and looked him over again, still revealing none of what she was thinking through her face. “You are the Jedi Duchess Satine traveled with during the war.”

That had not been a question, but Obi-Wan still blinked and responded: “Yes. I was a padawan at the time - an apprentice to Master Qui-Gon Jinn.”

Isatol looked him hard in the eyes. “Then you know, as her former guardian, the kind of danger she faces daily from those who oppose her rule. They way people try to manipulate her.”

“I do.”

“Then also know that, as captain of her guardsmen, I will do whatever I must to protect her from any matter of harm.” 

Puzzled, Obi-Wan simply nodded. “I understand.”

To his surprise, the woman cracked a half-grin, though it was not entirely friendly. “There is much you don’t understand, Master Jedi. Very much indeed.” Her face returned to it’s neutral starting point. “You have been away from her side for longer than you may realize.” 

Confusion growing, Obi-Wan watched as Isatol turned away with a bow and headed back down the hall, her short, dark hair swishing as she went.

Well, that was... threatening?

With a shake of his head, he closed the door and focused back on Anakin, who had just emerged from one of the bedrooms.

“This place is amazing, Master! I love Mandalore!” He grinned and flopped down on the couch.

Obi-Wan smiled gently and kicked the boy’s boots off of the couch, sitting in their place. “It is a lovely city, to be sure.” He paused. “I’m glad to see that you and Korkie got along well.”

Another enthusiastic grin. “Yeah, Korkie’s pretty cool! He’s a little stuffy, but he has a really nice tooka and knows some cool trees to climb in the gardens.”

“I’m glad you two had fun.”

“How about you and the duchess?” Anakin sat up to look his master in the face. “Did you two have a nice talk?”

Obi-Wan gave Anakin a side-eye, gauging his intentions. “Yes, it was nice to catch up with an old friend.”

Thankfully, Anakin didn’t seem to have any underlying suspicions about the nature of his relationship with Satine, as he simply nodded at Obi-Wan’s response and began to talk about the afternoon in fast-paced, intensive detail that made Obi-Wan’s head spin.

The longer the day drew on, the more nervous Obi-Wan became. If this was not an immediate decision, then there had to be conflict. Conflict amongst Satine’s council might not spell good news for the Jedi.

Finally, several hours after they had left the council to debate, Isatol and another tall, redheaded guard came to fetch them back to the throne room. 

The occupants of the throne room greeted them with neutral faces as, once again, Obi-Wan was lead to stand in the center of their half-circle.

“We have come to a decision.” Satine spoke from her throne, her tone even. “We will allow the Jedi Council to use our Force-suppressing prison to hold the Sith Lord, Darth Sidious.”

Obi-Wan felt some degree of relief, but it was far overshadowed by the impending “but” he could sense was approaching.”

“However,” ah, there it is, “we feel that, as a neutral system and the owners of this device, the captured Sith Lord should be kept on Mandalore.”

Obi-Wan’s stomach twisted. “I’m afraid the Jedi Council will not be too keen on that idea; Sith fall under Jedi jurisdiction, so we should be the ones to watch over him. That is why we would prefer to keep Sidious on Coruscant.”

One of the light-haired advisors leaned forward. “Be that as it may, this revelation and unmasking of the chancellor has proven that the Republic has some degree of higher-level corruption. We do not trust that the powers of the Sith Lord will not be exploited for nefarious uses.”

Obi-Wan tried not to bristle; he knew that there was some degree of truth to the statement but he didn’t particularly feel that Mandalore had anything to say about corruption when their own civil war was not all that long ago.

“Perhaps,” Satine said before Obi-Wan could disturb the civility with some dry retort, “if the Jedi Council feels that the Jedi should watch over the Sith, a knight could be stationed here on Mandalore to help guard their prisoner.”

The council murmured fervently.

“I don’t believe the people would like the idea of a Jedi on Mandalore, Your Grace,” a dark-haired woman to Obi-Wan’s left sniffed.

“Perhaps not at first,” Satine tilted her head, “but, in time, I believe that this will help heal the broken relationship between our people and forge a more peaceful alliance.”

Although the advisors did not look happy, none of them contested the duchess, who had pinned them all with a hard stare.

“I will have to discuss this matter with the Council, but I feel that arrangement might be something they are willing to consider.” Obi-Wan gave the room a terse smile.

“Excellent. Before you consult your superiors, Master Kenobi, would you be willing to join me for dinner?” She stood and extended a hand towards a hall off of the throne room.

Obi-Wan swallowed. “Of course, Your Grace.”

She simply nodded and walked towards the hallway. “Good. My chef makes an excellent carbonara that I believe you will enjoy.” 

As Obi-Wan began to follow her, he caught Isatol’s eye from just behind the duchess, fixing him with a meaningful glare. Before he could react, however, the stern woman followed the duchess out of the room, leaving him to ponder what the Captain of the Mandalorian Guard had against him.

[cruelsfate]

There is the faintest note of relief to Maria’s voice as she calls out a similar, lovelier (to her, at least; how could her wonderful friend be anything but?) name.

“Marianne,” she begins, eyes narrowing with a fond smile as she reaches into her basket. “I’m so glad I found you! Here, take this! Pretty please?” A flower, handmade, small, and pink, sits waiting in the princess’ palm. “I couldn’t make it the right kind of flower... but I filled it with as much good luck as I possibly could!” It is better like that, in a way; she would much rather give Marianne her favorite flowers when there was something to celebrate instead. “So... Let’s get cookies together when we come back! What do you think?”

It is odd for the cathedral to be empty at this hour, the expanse of the grand hall oft filled with devotees of the goddess come to worship, yet the proof of it is plain before her. It is only the result of the recent flurry of missions, she knows, many residents of the monastery set to depart to their own destinations, but it is strange nonetheless.

Slow, careful steps echo as she greets the knights standing guard with a short nod, slipping through the small crack of the doors. A hand twists in her skirt, her frown deepening the closer she draws to the end of the room. The mark on her ankle feels more evident than ever now that she is alone, though hidden under her layers, and something sticks in her throat as she sucks in a shuddering breath.

Her gaze drops to the ground, feet dragging to a stop as she reaches to tug her leggings upward to peer at the black staining her skin.

When a voice calls her name, it is familiar, one that does not cause her to startle as her head turns. "Maria. Are you here to pray as well?" she asks quietly after a beat, rising to her full height, then after another, her brows furrow. "Um...a flower?" she ponders softly, though she does as the other girl asks and takes the small, handmade gift into her own hands.

Not just a flower, though, but a gift, given unprompted and meant to bring her good luck—and she knows she always has need of more. "Oh...it's alright. This is lovely, Maria, thank you." Strands of blue hair are brushed away from brown eyes to meet the other student's gaze. "I appreciate it..." The nod feels stilted, but she tries, the edges of her lips pulling upward into a tiny smile.

"Cookies sound nice." Though...perhaps it is less the food itself that she treasures, but more the memories she associates with it—from crying beneath that willow tree, to learning to hope with a new companion (maybe even a friend?), then eating those very same treats that Maria offers now together in the dining hall. These are the thoughts that warm her heart more than a plate of cookies can.

Her next smile comes a little easier, but the stain around her ankle feels heavier than ever. Another curse...another shackle...? Would she ever be free of them? Still, for the girl that taught her to hope, she smiles and she hopes. “When we return…yes, that sounds nice.”

[rheyninwrites]

Thighs

F!Reader x Arthur

How the hell had he lived before she’d come into his life, all smiles and sunshine, making the world seem brighter by the day? She’d caught Dutch by the side of the road, the damsel in distress, and somehow convinced him that she ought to be taken in. Dutch, of all people! But she’d done it, and showed up behind him on The Count one evening. Arthur had just come in from the worst job he’d been on in a long time, where everything that could’ve gone wrong did, and quite a few things that couldn’t have, too. He’d been chased over half the state for three days, barely sleeping, and felt like hell. The last thing he’d wanted was to meet some new woman Dutch had drug in, probably to replace Molly, but Dutch had insisted.

He’d set eyes on her and felt the world swim. She was all curves and softness, bright eyes in a thin cotton dress that barely held her in. He’d hardly managed to mumble out his name, but she’d smiled anyway, giving him a wink that set his heart fluttering almost as quickly as the sway of her hips made heat flare in his belly. Despite his exhaustion, sleep hadn’t come easy that night, though he definitely had.

He quickly found she had a way of turning up wherever he was, telling him how nice he looked with his new haircut, or giving him a bowl of stew she’d saved for him when he was out late. And she touched him ALL THE TIME. Her hand lingering against his when she passed him a cup of coffee, or a quick squeeze of his arm as she walked by him. Or she’d come up behind where he sat in the evenings, beers in hand, letting her fingertips graze against the bare skin of his neck as she crossed the log to sit beside him, leaving tingles that lasted for hours.

The worst part, the absolute worst was when she took a cue from Sadie, and she started wearing goddamn pants, for chrissake. The swell of those thighs, squeezed into fabric that let him see the shape, imagine the softness of the flesh beneath his hands. It was killing him. She haunted his dreams every night, visions of her loveliness wrapped in next to nothing, just her soft white bloomers, bending over in front of him to let him take his pleasure, or maybe his shirt slipped over her shoulders as she straddled his lap, riding him. It got so bad he could barely even look at her without blushing.

Now here she was, looking for all the world like a goddess as she sashayed towards him. Just the sight of her full, hourglass figure made his throat suddenly dry, blood rushing below his waist. Hurriedly, he sat down at the table, hunched over. She flounced over, leaning against the table as she held out something to him.

“Found you some gun oil, Arthur. Figured you could use it, keep those guns of yours in good shape.” She gave him that million dollar smile that made his insides turn to jelly. “Gotta make sure our best man’s well supplied.”

He swallowed, avoiding her eyes at all costs. “Thank you. Though I ain’t sure I’m the best man here.”

“Nonsense, course you are.” She ran her hand through his hair, tugging lightly in an effort to get him to look at her, and the feeling of pleasure it drew almost made him groan out loud. Then she leaned in close, barely speaking over a whisper. “Most handsome, too.”

She winked as she scooted backwards to sit on the edge of the table, crossing her legs. Arthur watched as she slid her hand over the top of her thigh, resting it in her lap, and wished more than anything in the world it had been his hand instead. The fabric of her pants was stretched tight across the expanse of flesh, looking like it was about to bust at the seams. Suddenly all Arthur could think about was wrapping his hands around those thighs, squeezing them and trailing kisses along the inside, sucking and leaving his mark all over them. He thought of tearing off those pants and taking her right there on the table, grabbing her ass and burying his cock deep inside of her, pounding until she was screaming his name for the whole damn world to hear.

The next thing he knew he felt something between his legs, nudging against him. While he’d been lost in his fantasy, she’d slipped off her boot and now had the back of her foot running against the inseam of his pants. When she reached the hard bulge of his length, she pressed a little harder, letting her eyes meet his. Though he tried to contain it, a stuttered groan made its way out, barely audible amid the din of camp. She gave him a mischievous smirk, raising her eyebrow as she pulled her foot back. His hips pressed forward, chasing her, but she shook her head, leaning in.

“Seen you looking at me. Watching me. But you never made a move.”

Her face was inches from his, foot still held firmly against him. He should’ve been embarrassed, stuck in the middle of camp during the daytime, the woman of his dreams with her foot pressed against his throbbing cock, but he couldn’t manage it. He was too damn turned on to care.

“All my flirting, walking by swinging my hips, wearing pants a size too small, and you never made a move.”

She was rubbing her foot against him now, pressing harder as she talked. He knew she was teasing him, working him up and trying to make it impossible for him to act normal. It was working. Nearly all he could think about was the ache between his legs.

He tried hard not to throw his head back, speaking between clenched teeth.

“Figured a pretty thing like you’d never want someone like me.”

She stopped her ministrations between his legs, coming closer to making him cry out than any of her teasing as she cupped his chin in her hand, forcing him to look at her.

“Still think that?”

Arthur’s mind and body wrestled. He wanted to tell her the truth, that he still didn’t think she’d want him, despite her actions. He didn’t see how it was possible, not when he knew damn well that any number of men would’ve paid money just to have her spit on them. But if he said that, she might stop what she was doing, and he’d never know what it was like to be between those thighs. Besides, would she be doing this if she thought he wasn’t worth her time?

“No ma’am.”

“Smart man.” She leaned in, kissing his cheek softly as she slipped her boot back on. “Think you can meet me at the cabin down the road just past dusk tonight?”

“Yes ma’am.”

She walked away, tossing a smile over her shoulder at him.

It was gonna be a long wait.

[goddessofthundathighs]

Act Up

This fic was requested by my boo @princessstevens & inspired by the following:

“Baby…”

“Fellow associate..”

“You really acting like that over some damn juice?”

“It wasn’t just any juice, it was my Martinelli’s. You know how I feel about my Martinelli’s.”

It was true, Erik indeed knew how you felt about your Martinelli’s which is why you couldn’t figure out for the life of you why he thought drinking your last bottle was a good idea. Especially while Mother Nature was ravaging your insides. You’d been ignoring all of his attempts to call or come by for the last three days and he’d had enough. He was gonna do whatever needed to be done to get back on your good side again.

------

You sat curled up on the couch eating your Talenti sea salt caramel truffle gelato while Up played on the tv. It was your favorite movie and you almost always cried when you watched it, much to Erik’s disdain. He always complained that you were childish for loving the movie so much, but he always played it when you were upset. As soon as the movie ended, the entire apartment went dark and a spotlight lit up the center of the room illuminating Erik’s massive frame.

“What the hell?” You thought out loud. Soon the sounds of The Way You Make Me Feel by Michael Jackson blared through the speakers. Erik danced around in a black wife beater and basketball shorts, and a gold satin durag that matched your bonnet. Before you could inquire further, he began singing very loud and off-key.

“You knock me off of my feet now baby, hoo!” he sang, mimicking the intro from the music video, causing you to raise an eyebrow in confusion.

Hey pretty baby with the high heels on // you give me fever like I’ve never, ever known // You’re just a product of loveliness // I like the groove of your walk, your, talk, your dress //

You fought hard to contain your smirk, but you had to admit that he looked absolutely adorable. He continued dancing around the couch, doing Michael’s signature kick and spin and even did a moonwalk across the front of the couch. You were a giggling mess.

The way you make me feel // You really turn me on // You knock me off my feet now baby // My lonely days are gone //

He contined singing until the track changed. Your eyes widened once you realized what it was.

“Uh-oh, I’m about to fuck it up now bae,” he says as the beat dropped.

Ay, big ole freak // Big booty, big ole treat // Baby made me wait for the pussy // But I hit it til she big ole skeet // Ay, feet on the bed // She fucked me up in the head // She sucked it and looked in my eyes // Then the next day she left me on read

“I knew you were secretly a hot girl,” you tease as he moved closer to you, giving you a strip tease as he rapped the song.

“I’m a City Boy,” he corrected, causing you to laugh harder.

Baby lemme rub, lemme rub on ya // Can I get a lil love, a lil love from ya // Ya body addictive, ya driving me crazy // But don’t think you gone run from him

You cackled then, completely unable to contain yourself when he started twerking in front of you.

“Ok, ok, I forgive you,” you said between pecks to his lips.

“Thank you Princess,” he said kissing back. “I bought you some more juice and ice cream too.” You squealed, hugging him tightly.

“Yeah, I know. You love a nigga now. Come on let’s watch that punk ass movie again.”

“Ok but after this last song.” Erik grinned wide as the intro played, remembering the way y’all would tag team the intro. You started first.

“Real ass bitch, give a fuck bout a nigga..” Erik rolled his eyes, but came in right on cue.

“Big Birkin bag, hold 5, 6 figures..” You smiled, bending over in front of him.

“Stripes on my ass so he call this pussy Tigger..”

“You damn right I do,” Erik agreed before finishing. “Fuckin’ on a scammin’ ass rich ass nigga!” Instead of finishing the movie, the two of you laughed and danced with one another as song after song played from your Hot Girl Summer playlist.

“You better be glad I love your bratty ass,” he said kissing your forehead.

“I love you too, Daka.”

Tags: @hearteyes-for-killmonger @trevantesbrat @blackpantherismyish @mareethequeen @muse-of-mbaku @blowmymbackout @forbeautyandlife @niggernextdoor @amethyst1993 @killmongersgurl @chaneajoyyy @killmongerdispussy @jozigrrl @thehomierobbstark @iamrheaspeaks @whatmoredoyouwantamericaa @madamslayyy @vikkidc @supersizemeplz @purple-apricots @panthergoddessbast @thadelightfulone

[dearlazerbunny]

Lie to Me (Ch. 10 of ?)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 2800

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug for their constant loveliness

Requested Tags: @deraniel @iamverity @yasnooshka24@wegingerangelica@themusingsofmany @dark-night-sky-99 @tarynkauai@stuffandstuff-stuffand the total sweetie @angelicshinigami @my-current-fandom-is @geekysimmerthings

WARNING: I have an extremely basic white girl taste in music. Rather than actual classics, I decided to stick with what I know, because I personally think it’s funnier to imagine Loki reacting to Kesha than the Beatles. Please do not scream at me for my horrible taste in music. I know it’s mainstream. But also you can pry my all consuming love for TSwift out of my cold, dead hands, okay thank you for coming to my TEDTalk

Something you’ve come to like about Loki is that he can appreciate silence.

Everyone seems to think that two people sitting quietly has to be awkward; something to avoid- but really, there’s nothing better than being in a room with someone, each doing their own thing, but enjoying the other person’s presence nonetheless. It’s a kind of comfortable that only comes with a severe amount of trust in the soul sitting across from you. Trust that you aren’t simply something to entertain them, or a mouth to keep them occupied- they like you even if all they’re doing is watching your eyebrows quirk as you read a particularly fascinating novel.

Sure, most of your visits are still full of back-and-forth bickering that could rival a fifties sitcom- you never seem to run out of things to talk about- but some days, when he can tell you’ve had a row you’d really rather not discuss, or you know he’s simply not in the headspace to chat, the two of you will simply sit and be. You’ll page through a book or scribble down some thoughts on your notepad while he laces and unlaced his long fingers into intricate patterns, content to sift through his thoughts.

Though you do mark down a note to talk to someone about getting him a few books. He’s got to be bored in there.

To your surprise, these quiet days quickly become your favorites because as much as you love his twisted sense of sarcasm, you like his singing voice more.

Sometimes, Loki will hum.

It’s always very quiet, under his breath, and most of the time you think he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. But every so often you’ll pause from whatever you’re doing to listen to the faint melodies coming from his cell. It’s never anything you’ve heard before, and the music is hopeful and happy and tragic and uplifting all at once, the kind of thing that makes you want to smile and cry at the same time. They must be from Asgard, because you doubt any music from Earth could ever sound like this.

You never mention it, though. You’re afraid if you call attention to it, he’ll stop, and the songs seem to give him a small bit of joy in his lonely bubble of isolation. You’d never want to take that away from him.

Today, rather than reading, you’ve got your arms curled up underneath your head and are fighting (and mostly failing) to keep your eyes open. You got caught up on a project last night and didn’t even realize what time it was until he sun was peeking through your curtains, leaving you to chug several cups of coffee and hope for the best.

But Loki is humming and the music is making you drowsy and warm which is not a great combination for wanting to stay awake. For his part, he doesn’t tease you about very obviously falling asleep on your desk, which you appreciate- you’re pretty sure any comebacks thought up right now would be incredibly lame

“ ‘S pretty,” you mumble, trying to blink the blurriness out of your eyes. Ugh. You hate all-nighters.

“Pardon?”

“You have a pretty voice.”

He doesn’t respond for a minute- though that might have been because you fell asleep for a second- but eventually he just chuckles briefly. “Thank you, I suppose. It does tend to be part of my appeal.”

“Your singing voice, stupid. It��s pretty.” A yawn nearly splits your face in half, and you blink at him blearily.

“When have you ever heard me sing?”

“Well you hum. Same thing. ‘S nice. Never heard it before.”

“I see.” He lapses into silence, and you frown.

“Well don’t stop.”

“I- I am not sure I even know what I was humming.”

You grumble, frustrated. “It was like-” you lilt into a vague approximation of one of his songs, the one that makes you think of a sunflower field on a misty day. “Like that. Kind of.”

Now he properly laughs. “I apologize, I don’t believe I can recreate… whatever it is you just pulled out of your sleep-addled brain.”

“Never said I was a singer.” Another yawn. “Sing something else then.”

“The Witling is quite pushy when exhausted,” he says amused. “Noted.”

“Shu’ up.” With a huff, your head is back in the crook of your elbow. “Why do I even like you.”

“For lullabies, apparently.”

You don’t quite catch that bit, as the drowsiness has finally caught up with you- your eyes close, you curl yourself into a more comfortable position. Loki stares at you, somewhat amazed that you feel comfortable enough to be so vulnerable with him in the room. You look peaceful, content- something warm sparks in him. “It was something my mother sang me, when I was young,” he admits, when he knows for sure you can’t hear. “I seem to recall it chased away nightmares quite effectively.”

But he does start up his lullaby again. It pulls on the homesickness in his chest, but it also makes you smile softly in your sleep.

You dream of sunflowers.

                                                          XXX

“Okay, since I basically forced you to culture me on Asgardian music-”

“I believe you underestimate your incredibly rude demands.”

“I- I was half asleep! I wasn’t trying to on purpose-” you stop when Loki grins, making it obvious that he’s only teasing you. You huff. “Whatever. You suck. Don’t interrupt. Since I basically forced you to culture me on Asgardian music-” you pull out your phone and plunk it on the table. “I’m going to culture you in some Midgardian music.”

“I… see…”

“Don’t look so terrified, I’m not going to subject you to screamo headbangers or anything.” Loki gives you a look, the one that says what on Midgard are you talking about, you strange mortal. “I’m going to start you off with the classics.”

“Be still my beating heart.”

“I know, you should be grateful. My taste in music is the epitome of class and excellence.”

“…of course.”

You pull your phone out of your pocket and flick through your playlists, wondering what to dive into first. “Are you feeling something upbeat or angsty?”

Loki snorts, which is hilariously undignified for him. “I defer to your judgement.”

“A wise choice.” After a few flicks of the screen, you turn your volume up to full blast and sit back to listen.

“I got too many people… got left to prove wrong…”

Serene acoustic guitar washes through the room, and you drum your fingers on your thigh in time to Kesha’s voice. “Don’t let the bastards get you down…”

Loki raises an eyebrow. “Is this your way of attempting to be inspirational?”

You grin at him. “I thought it’d be uplifting.” “Been underestimated… my entire life…”

Once that song is over, you scroll a bit and click to a more techno, pop-y sounding beat. “I knew you were trouble when you walked in…” Again, he stares at you from behind the glass. “What? It’s a great song! One of her best!”

He wrinkles his nose. “Beyond the obvious message…. I do not believe I’m a fan.”

“Hm. Your loss. Honestly I’m disappointed I didn’t name you Trouble instead of Trickster, this would be a perfect theme song for you.” At his death glare, you hold your hands up, giggling. “Okay, okay! Next one…”

You roll through a couple of P!nk’s newer works, guessing he might appreciate the poetic lyrics, and then just because you want to you throw in a couple K-Pop groups, and then asked him for translations on the songs you’ve never bothered to google. “And this is currently the quintessential Midgardian music experience.” The first few strains of the goddamn song nobody can get out of their heads, Let it Go, begins to play. “It’s from a musical called Frozen, based on the old fairytale The Snow Queen.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him suggestively. “Magical ice powers, frozen hearts. The whole shebang.”

His eye rolls are really something spectacular. “Fascinating.”

“I just thought you’d appreciate the theme!”

He tilts his head. “Am I missing a joke, Witling?”

You grin at him. “You know, being a frost giant and all. I thought you could really, I dunno, empathize?”

Loki- well, Loki does something, something you can’t quite describe other than a  complete and systematic mass shutdown. It’s like his very soul suddenly ascends and leaves behind a body that can do nothing but breathe and blink. His eyes go opaque, and even the casual tapping and twitching of his fingers stutters and then stills. He practically disappears in front of your very eyes, as invisible as a person can be behind a pane of glass. Something in your stomach immediately turns. “Um, Loki? You okay?”

“How did you know that.” His voice is toneless, and quieter than you’ve ever heard it, even in those beginning days where he did nothing but huff and sigh at your existence.

You’re confused, but more than that, you’re frantically wondering what you did to cause such anguish to appear on his face. “How did I know…? I don’t know what you mean.”

“That I- I’m not-” he takes a breath, and it shudders out of him so achingly slowly something about it breaks your heart. “A frost giant.”

“How did I know that…you’re a frost giant…? I mean, like everything else we knew about you, from old poems and stories…” there’s a flare of anger in his eyes that scares you. “Is that- is that not good?”

“You say you knew this from the old stories?” His voice is still quiet, but now there’s something simmering beneath it.

“Yeah. The Poetic Edda and all that. I think they’re described as a race in Beowulf which is like, freshman English 101.” Silence. Heavy, stifling, suffocating silence. Your chest heaves from the pressure of it. “Loki? You’re scaring me here.”

The life crashes back into him all at once, and he’s suddenly as hot and dangerous as a flare lit to explode. “You knew this?” He roars, up on his feet and practically vibrating with intensity. His glare pins you to your seat. “You knew- the pathetic Midgardians, of all the races in the galaxy, knew my own secrets before even I?” He laughs violently, his entire body shaking with the force of it. “Of course they did! Because what luck would the universe afford me other than heinous? Other than disgusting-” his cot gets thrown from its position in the corner to the other side of his cell- “rotted-” his hands clench; knuckles white- “fate!” He stands amid the small chaos he’s created, heaving, eyes wild and looking for something to destroy.

You’ve curled yourself up a small as possible, watching the scene unfold with your heart in your throat. “Loki?” You whisper, not noticing a small tear drip onto your cheek. “I’m- I’m sorry. I don’t know what I said but I’m so sorry-”

When he whirls on you, notices your wide eyes, a little of his rage dissipates. “No, Witling, it is not-” he groans, clearly frustrated, and runs his fingers through his hair to direct his anger somewhere other than you. “You did nothing, other than confirm that the world is infinitely cruel.” His laugh is darker this time, more bitter. “That is a not a new lesson to me, have no fear.”

“I- I don’t understand.”

“I do not see how you would.” He looks away, but you get the idea that he’s tying to avoid his own reflection rather than you. His hands clench and unclench.  “I am not sure how your poets came upon such knowledge, but it becomes more and more clear that their sources outrank even my own.”

Realization smack you so suddenly there’s a physical sting on your cheek. “You… you didn’t know. You didn’t know?” How is that even possible?

He grimaces. “Not until a scant year ago.”

You stare at him. “You didn’t know that you were a frost giant until a year ago.” He opens his mouth to say something scathing about your parroting habit, but you cut him off. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I just- how? Why?”

“Why does Odin do anything?” He snarls. “To manipulate. To lie. To raise torment.”

His tone is cutting, but his eyes are lost. Despite the anger radiating off of him in waves, he stands in his white cell alone, adrift, with nothing to anchor him. Ever so slowly, you push back your chair and stand- he eyes you like a caged animal, which is all too accurate to his situation- and walk to him, gauging his reaction as you go. He only watches, so you eventually get close enough to reach out and touch the glass in front of you. You can’t offer anything but that. “Tell me?”

Loki’s sigh caries millennia of unspoken stories. “I would not tell a tale you already know.”

You shake your head a little. “I think I’m realizing we never knew the first thing about you.”

He looks at you for a moment, apparently weighing your words. “It is quite simple. On a mission to slaughter the Jotunn, my father came across an abandoned child in the middle of the battlefield. He concealed its nature and brought it to Asgard to raise in hopes of one day using it as a bargaining chip for peace.”

It. He speaks of himself like a thing, not a person. “Why did he never tell you?”

“Because it would have risked disloyalty, and crippled his plans.” His eyes darken. “If I had realized sooner that I could never take the throne, never truly be a prince of Asgard…” he doesn’t finish his sentence, but you can guess the sentiment.

“He used you.” The simple fact hangs naked in the air, a revelation for you but old news to the god in the cell.

“From the day he spotted me. I was never more than a pawn to him.”

“But didn’t you look different?” You blurt out, trying to wrap your head around the inconsequential details in order to ignore the more painful implications. “I mean- I don’t know what frost giants- Jotunn- look like, really, but…”

He does smile a little at that. “Magic mimics, and illusions are quite easy to conjure. I imagine my subconscious did the work for me.”

“Oh.” You glance at the cuffs on his wrists. “Do they not do anything then?”

“I assure you they work properly,” he sighs. “I would assume Midgardian technology is not capable of suppressing every ounce of magic I possess.”

Your finger traces an outline of his manacles on the glass, leaving smudges. “I’m so sorry.”

Loki looks at you. “It’s ancient history, Witling.”

“How can you say that? Of course it’s not!”

“I realized my father’s love was conditional very quickly, even if I did not know why. I have had a century to deal with the fallout.”

“That- doesn’t make me feel better.” You cross your arms, desperately searching for solid footing. “So you were alone?”

“No.” His voice softens. “My mother- she loved me as a mother should. I do not think I would have survived without her.”

The both of you stand quietly for a minute as your world resettles on its axis. Loki eventually rights his cot and sits down on it, waiting for you to speak first.

“I bet you’re beautiful.” He looks at you, confused. “I mean your other form- self? Carvings aren’t very detailed, most people said the Jotunn were fiercely stunning.”

“Jotunn are monsters, Witling. The things you tell your children of at night. There is nothing beautiful about me.”

“You aren’t a monster.”

“The stories would say otherwise.”

“Well then maybe the stories are wrong,” you say harshly. His eyes meet yours, vulnerable. “Because I know monsters, Loki, I have plenty of my own. You do not share their face, believe me.” He doesn’t seem to know what to make of that- he seems caught between denial and disbelief. “Tell me about your mother.”

So he does. He tells you of her never ending patience when his burgeoning magic was more hinderance than help, and how her healing hands could stitch together even the most dire of wounds. How she could rein in Odin’s temper and even change his mind in the dead of night. How she would know exactly where he would hide when he was upset, and leave a mark or sign so he would know he wasn’t alone.

With every story, his sadness seems to chip away, and his anger fades. Your heart is still crying, but you’ve at least pulled yourself together enough for the tears to dry up, and smile and encourage Loki to keep going whenever he hesitates.

Throughout it all, you murmur small thank-you’s to Frigga in the back of your mind, for carrying him through when you couldn’t.

A/N: Get it? Because they dated for like three weeks and everyone thought it was strange?

Guys. I have two chapters left. TWO. And they’re not hard chapters. So why have I been staring at them for a week not able to write either of them??? BLERGH.