#lost to time and space... (event: knuckles)

[baymaxmuses]

The bustling city wasn't... as pleasant as he'd hoped. Less people like him were out and about, but there were more... robots. From a distance, he'd hoped the neon lights and the mechanical grandeur of it all was just a sign of futuristic splendor, but Knuckles' worst fears were true: this place was definitely under the control of Eggman... or perhaps some technological tyrant who was even worse.

Still, he did see a few organics, even those like him. No echidnas, but that was fine. With his parka and hat, he didn't stick out like as much of a sore thumb as he thought. Not only that, but said organics didn't look like they were imprisoned or oppressed, so stealth wasn't necessary... for the most part.

That feeling of having to hide and avoid drawing attention to himself when a robot passed by wasn't easily comforted, even by the other people who walked by them without so much as a word.

"... Every part of this place feels wrong, like a bad wound... C'mon... some familiar scenery would be great. Something like..."

His words got cut off as he found himself passing by an Auto Shop. Normally, Knuckles wouldn't pay it any mind, but... something compelled him to check it out. Like it held the familiarity he was desperately searching for. What was the harm? It wasn't like anyone knew his face out here. Surely somebody would've stopped him by now if they had.

Striding inside, immediately alarmed by the chime, he turned and breathed a sigh of relief as he saw it was not but a door bell for shops. Perhaps his jump through that shattered portal had frayed his nerves greater than he thought. Casually, the echidna strove up to the front counter, and tapped the bell gently with his index finger (he'd slammed one of these before and flattened it completely, didn't wanna make that mistake again, especially in a reality he didn't recognize).

"Helloooooooo? Anyone here? Just ah... in the market for uh..."

He quickly double checks to see what kind of shop he's in.

"... a car."

(@timeclipsed)

[xaviever]

pls write more nerd!xavier anything i needdd him

˖ 𑣲 another nerd!xavier thought dump …

cw. fluff + suggestive content. dryhumping.

nerd!xavier who spends his afternoons hidden away in your campus's library, boredly skimming through his sections of interest for something he hasn't read yet. he ends up sound asleep atop a generous stack of astronomy textbooks, not even having gotten past the table of contents of the very first one (he's read it front to back already).

nerd!xavier who has many cutesy little keychains and trinkets from his hobbies hanging off of his belongings. tiny figurines of some of his favorite characters on his bookbag, pins of emblems from his favorite vintage games, and your fave, a tiny star tassel on one of his zippers. ◡̈

nerd!xavier who finds you every time there's any kind of peer work in class, always first to murmur the question of whether or not you've got a partner. he wants to work with you on everything. small discussions, paper reviewing, group projects; he needs to hear all your perspectives, your unique ideas.

nerd!xavier who starts visiting campus events in his free time, just in case you're there. not usually his thing at all, and he makes a great effort to duck and dodge all his classmates he recognizes who have definitely asked him out to something like this before. he overheard you once talking to a friend about a club fair, spending an embarrassingly long time later trying to find one of his forgotten academic calendars to see when it was. he’s elated when you spot him, mumbling some lame excuse about just stopping by when you ask why he came.

nerd!xavier rambling about his favorite comic book series. you enabled him, asking him to teach you the lore knowing it spans over years, ridiculously long to recount. but oh, you are so persuasive, pretty, kind eyes looking up at him all sincere... and he's almost vibrating at the opportunity to infodump. his soft, collected tone rising just a bit as he begins, boyish from his excitement. just the cutest. you'd pinch his cheeks if you could, so enamored by his passion for his interests.

nerd!xavier struggling to continue when you somehow end up in his lap, arms draped around his neck, rocking back and forth against his growing erection. you lost the battle around ten minutes in, cause, wow, he’s really into this. he moans softly, jittery hands digging into the mattress below to conceal the lust clouding his thoughts shamefully fast. you push up his glasses with a knuckle, cupping his face with one hand to keep his doe eyes on you. you urge xavier to keep talking, it’s so interesting, wanna hear more, please. his brain short circuits.

nerd!xavier with a sleeper build. he doesn't work out and doesn't pay much attention to what he eats either... something something genetics something something metabolism — who cares? finally getting under all those baggy sweatshirts and hoodies is like a reward, his royally sculpted body heaving above you, moving you to and fro with ease, his only deterrent from using all his strength being his nerves.

nerd!xavier who forgets his glasses one day. an angry alarm is his rude awakening one morning, yelling at him as he rushes out of his dorm to his early lecture. he goes through the day squinting and sleepy, the sweetheart. you catch glimpse of him down the hall and wave, and as xavier would recognize you in any form, he has little (moderate) trouble making out your figure before you get closer. blush as red as roses adorns his cheeks when you invade his space, eagerly taking in all his features without the obstruction of his frames, though you note with a cute, little pout how you miss them. he makes sure not to forget again, for your sake...and his.

— authors note. first part! thank u anon for indulging me i literally only think abt him. these thoughts r much more scattered than the first one sorryyyy. dryhumping your nerdy bf while he yaps anyone... nerd!xavier full fic is calling to me...

[chimielie]

Hiya! I'm brand-spanking-new here, but I'm always so happy to find other ushijima lovers, I could weep :')

If you're still accepting angst prompts, could I please request "I hope you finally found someone you could love forever, and I never have to see or hear about it" with Ushijima? Thank you, I LOVE angst and this event is truly so fun!

i LOVE ushijima. one of the top guys ever. so glad to have you here & sorry that your introduction to me is my classically late response to asks/requests

Ushijima moved on quite quickly.

It was just how he was. He had never felt much very deeply, almost never overtaken by emotion the way his peers were, only really deeply affected by his very top priorities.

You weren't a priority of his. He had dismissed you time and again, and when you had finally accused him of it, he had shrugged it off. It was true. He didn't feel the violent urge to chase you moving his whole body, the way Tendou described love, he didn't cry with relief when he saw you after an away game like you cried for him.

When you left him, he spent one day lost in the newly-empty apartment, wondering vaguely what he would do going forward, and then he moved on. His teammates and friends found it suspicious, but after months of careful monitoring, they all concluded that yeah, Ushiwaka hadn't cared all that much about you. He just wasn't a romantic person; even though you had been together since high school, it didn't matter to him at all.

He moved on quickly, so it baffled him that seeing you bounce into the same restaurant he and Tendou were eating their semiannual catch-up dinner at resulted in his fork bending nearly double in the grip of his fist.

"Whoa," Tendou said. "Are we gonna have to pay for that?"

Ushijima didn't answer, absorbed in watching over the booth's walls as you smiled at the lowlife holding your hand. It was unlikely you were on this outing platonically. He was aware that a swanky restaurant in Paris such as this one was a hotspot for dates. It was pricey, as well, so it was unlikely that this was your first date with this person either. His knife started to groan under the strength of his right hand. Tendou, looking alarmed, pried Ushijima's fingers apart and lay it gingerly on the table.

"Should we leave?"

Ushijima shook his head mutely. The utter wretch you were with pulled out your chair before you sat and kissed your knuckles before letting go of your hand.

He considered launching Tendou's wine glass at their head. Then he shook himself. What was happening to him? You looked healthy—glowing, actually—and were clearly happy, if the soppy smile on your face was anything to go by. For some reason, the expression made his stomach turn.

When you were together, he had never cared much if you were smiling or frowning. He just liked it when you looked at him, his favorite features your shining eyes.

Your date talked a lot. Wasn't he going to give you room to speak? Ushijima used to enjoy sitting with you in silence, appreciating the comfort of your presence, letting you fill the space when thoughts came upon you.

Tendou's plate was empty. How long had they been sitting here?

You look over and jerk a little in surprise as your eyes catch on him. His breath stops, his lungs frozen in his chest. His face feels weird and hot. You offer him a little smile, too shy to be anything but totally genuine, and turn back to your date.

Ushijima thought he might be coming down with an illness. He told Tendou so, who only grimaced sympathetically and patted his shoulder. He walked to his hotel and, looking up into the darkness of the ceiling from his empty bed, thought for the first time that his priorities needed to be reorganized.

[the-witty-pen-name]

The Love Triangle from Hell (4)

Steve Harrington x F!Reader / Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Synopsis: Following the events of PART THREE, things begin to heat up.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), piv sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk/nicknames, kissing, messy messy feelings; unrequited love; cursing; arguments; crying; hurt/comfort; angsty angst; allusions to violence; miscommunication; jealousy

Series Masterlist

A/N: I continue to be overwhelmed by the love you all have given this series. I appreciate you all so much. Everyone who have commented, reblogged and followed- thank you so much. I love reading everything and I have had so much fun seeing everyone's reactions. It fills me with so much joy. Let me know what you think of this next chapter!

His knuckles were white from his grip on the steering wheel, Steve felt like he lost control of his actions as he resolved to follow Eddie’s van. Eddie had said you wanted space, but now he’s here picking you up from the game? What the actual fuck. He’s fuming, the longer the night goes on. He should’ve just gone home, probably. But he was so angry at himself for taking forever, he couldn’t wait another second. He’d finally had the epiphany. He loves you. He wants you so badly, he can’t find it in him to care if he ruins everything. 

Earlier that day, it had hit him all at once. That overwhelming, all encompassing realization that stopped him dead in his tracks. Robin had left for the day, and he was stuck behind the counter rewinding returned tapes. He’d been sitting with his own thoughts. He was thinking about that dream, and then he was also just thinking about you. You took up all his senses- all he could think about was you. He looked back on shared moments with you in a different light. So many moments between the two of you that would’ve been your start. How could he have not seen it, seen you, all this time? 

Oh. 

Oh. 

He’d bailed on the rest of his shift at Family Video, fuck it. Keith wouldn’t fire him anyways. He knew Robin mentioned the game- of course you’d be there. He’d realized he loved you and didn’t want to waste another second. He wanted to find you in the crowd, climb up over the stands to whoever you were, and finally fucking kiss you. It was his grand gesture. 

His plan would have worked, but it was easier said than done. The confidence he felt before was wiped from him when he saw the way your face fell. He thought you didn’t want to see him, and that you were upset to run into him. He misread your sadness for distaste and resentment. That brief moment made his whole world come tumbling down around him. You were sad because you missed him, but he didn’t know that. So his plan fumbled in a moment of panic. 

Seeing you with Eddie had been his final straw. He felt like a ticking clock counting down was looming over his head. He was running out of time, he was losing you. He couldn’t let that happen. Was he going about it the right way? Probably not, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care in the least as he stormed over. Everything he’d been feeling was heightened. He was panicked and desperate and angry and so fucking jealous. This should’ve been him with you, driving you home in his car, and he had fucked that up. 

Eddie remembers how nervous he was when he picked you up for the dance that Friday night. He’d done his best to tame his hair, and Wayne let him borrow his suit. Wayne had stayed to help with his tie and to give him a talking to about how to be a gentleman when Eddie went to pick you up. 

“Actually go up to the goddamn door and knock. Say good evening to her parents,” Wayne instructed. “Make sure you hold her hand to help her down the stairs, open her car door, hold the door for her…” 

“Wayne I know, I know,” Eddie fused, worried he was going to be late. “It’s not a date anyways,” Eddie insists, although he wished it was. Wayne scoffs. 

“Whatever you say,” he said, rolling his eyes at Eddie. 

“Lemme get a picture,” Wayne had insisted, stopping Eddie from running out the door. Grumbling the whole time, Eddie stood in their little kitchen while Wayne fumbled with his old camera. “You never look halfway decent, gotta capture it for the book.” 

The photo is still hanging up on Wayne’s fridge to this day. Eddie has not worn a suit since. 

Arriving at your house was so daunting to Eddie. He’d never really met your parents before. Just in passing when he’d pick you up or drop you off for school. He’d been to your house before, you’d hosted a few times for Hellfire- but it was never anything like this. This was special. 

He went up to the door like Wayne instructed and he shook your dad’s hand. He was worried that they’d judge him- they would hate his hair or something. It’s the first time he’s relieved that his tattoos aren’t out on display. They were both kind to him, but he could tell they were not sure how to react to him. Self-conscious, he worried they were disappointed because he wasn’t Steve. Eddie wasn’t who they pictured for you. They envisioned you with Steve. That was they future they had planned. 

Eddie thought you looked absolutely unreal that night. He always thought that those scenes where the girl makes her grand entrance and floats down the stairs were corny. Until it happened to him and it felt like time stopped. Your descent down the stairs after your mom called you down had Eddie in a trance. You were angelic in your dress, the one Eddie will pretend you bought for him- not for Steve. Eddie must have been staring with his mouth agape, because your father needed to clear his throat for Eddie to realize you’d been expectantly waiting for him to say something. Literally anything. 

“You look beautiful,” Eddie marveled, and you giggled a shy thank you. A few hundred photos later and you both were finally on your way. 

 You were right, the Snow Ball was not Eddie’s scene at all. He didn’t like the music, or the people, but he was just so happy to be spending time with you that he couldn't care about literally anything else. You seemed happy too. Eddie thought you were glowing. He even danced to every song you wanted and took the cheesy photo booth pictures. You tore the photo strip in half so you could each have some. You use yours as a bookmark to this day and Eddie’s is still clipped to the visor in the van. 

You’d hardly even noticed Steve the whole night. Eddie kept you on your feet and kept you laughing so hard your stomach hurt. 

The bang on the side of the van made you jump. You both were startled. You watched as Eddie’s eyes widened as the panic set in for both of you. Neither of you had ever seen Steve like this, it wasn’t his nature. You both didn’t know what to do. 

“Just wait here,” Eddie said comfortingly, before jumping out of the van. “I’ll talk to him.” 

Steve stood outside waiting impatiently, his hands on his hips as his chest rapidly rose and fell. His hair was messy, as you watched from the side mirror, you could tell he’d been tugging at it- a nervous habit of his you knew quite well. 

“What the fuck is this?” He accuses. Eddie offers his hands up in surrender jokingly. 

“Come on Steve…” 

“You told me she wanted space! Then you swoop in and pull this shit?” 

“She did want space- not to be fucking ignored for weeks!” Eddie points out. “You had every opportunity and you just left her alone, so how long did you expect me to just stand around while you play these fucking mind games with her? I was the bigger person, Steve! I was willing to literally take myself out of the fucking equation if you both wanted each other- and you didn’t do shit!” 

Steve looks towards the van and you make eye contact in the side mirror. He looks devastated under the outward projection of anger. It’s like you’re a million miles away. He can’t be too late. He just couldn’t. How is he supposed to just walk away after everything? Is this just it? He pleads that you’ll do something- say something- anything! Just tell him you still care. 

You avert your gaze. Steve shallows harshly. 

Eddie crosses his arms, and steps in front of Steve’s view of you. “Come on man,” Steve pleads, voice cracking. “Let me just talk to her.” 

Eddie looks to you, and you shake your head “no.” 

“How about you call her tomorrow when you cool off? You’re scaring her,” Eddie proposes. 

“You don’t speak for her,” Steve argues. “Baby, please,” he pleads looking over Eddie’s shoulder. 

Baby? Eddie fumes- he can not be serious. 

You roll down the window a crack. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Steve. I don’t want to talk to you right now,” you shout from the van. Before he can respond, you crank the window back up. 

“Fine,” Steve glares at Eddie. It’s not over, but he’ll concede for now- if it’s what you want. He slams his car door shut before speeding away, the car screaming as he pulled away as quickly as he could. 

He knew his parents would be gone, so he opted to go to their house to crash tonight. He couldn’t bear facing Eddie back at their place after this. 

You don’t even realize that you’d be crying until you feel Eddie’s arms pull you in for a hug. He rubs your back comforting you as you are shocked at what just happened. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles into your hair before placing a kiss on the top of your head. “Let me bring you home, yeah?” 

The ride back to your apartment is silent, neither one of you knowing what to say. Eddie doesn’t want to push, and you’re too exhausted to get into it. You rest your forehead on the cold glass of the window to help your head. Eddie wants to reach out and hold your hand as he drives, but he keeps his distance. 

Eddie always walks you all the way to your front door, even after you’ve told him he doesn’t have to so many times. Wayne would kill me, he would joke. He held the door open for you so you could hop out. He held your arm, helping you navigate the icy walk. And he walked you upstairs to your apartment. 

There’s a piece of paper taped to the front of the door. 

I decided to spend the night at Vicky’s. Do with that information what you will. - Robin 

“I don’t want to be alone,” you admit, a little panicked knowing you’d be walking into an empty apartment. Eddie sighs, biting his lip nervously. Steve is going to never want to see him again, he’s sure of it. 

“I can stay if that would make you feel better?” He offers. You nod. 

“Please.” 

You pull the note down and toss it in the bin on your way inside. Eddie follows after you, kicking off his boots in the entryway. You both hang up your coats. You move over to the thermostat and turn it up. Eddie lingers in the living room, not quite sure what to do with himself. You both say nothing for a few moments. 

“Eddie, I’m so sorry about all of this,” you say finally. “Just everything- everything is falling apart it feels like.”

“None of this is your fault- it’s really not anyone’s fault…well, except mine,” he says, like a confessional and he takes a step closer. 

“Yeah,” you reply softly, matching his step. 

The air in the room was thick with tension between the two of you. In the silence and still, there was a pull dragging you into each other. 

“The whole thing is quite unfortunate really,” he contemplates, a knowing smile forming on his face. One step. 

“Most unfortunate,” you whisper. One step. He reaches out and intertwines with fingers with his. 

“Awful,” he whispers, tracing circles on your hands with his thumb gently. It sears through you completely. 

He tilts his head and his lips ghost over yours. Your body feels like it’s on fire being so close to him. The first kiss is so delicate, and the familiar feeling ignites in you. It’s perfect, being held by him by this. 

His lips are softer than you expect when they slot against yours. You let yourself forget about everything else in that moment- everything just melts away at his touch. Your brain melts at the sensation and warmth spreads throughout your whole body. You part your lips, inviting him to deepen the kiss and he does gladly. 

Waiting for a kiss like this was worth it, Eddie thinks. All the nights he spent thinking about it and all the times he held back from touching you… all of it felt like nothing as you fill up all his senses. It’s almost too much. 

“Sweetheart… please,” he begs, mumbling against your lips. His hands rest on the expanse of your back and the sensation sends a shiver up your spine. You gently tug by his belt loops closer to you, so your body is flush against his. You moan softly against his lips. 

Without disentangling himself from you, he guides you as you walk backwards towards the door of your bedroom. His hands make everywhere on your skin burn in their wake as he brings them down your back, to your hip, then settle firmly on your ass. It makes you whimper. 

The back of you knees touch the edge of your bed, and you let yourself fall backwards- pulling Eddie to climb on top of you. His hair tickles as it curtains your faces, and he leans in to press hot kisses to your jaw and down your neck, a hickey forming right where he ends just above your collarbone. 

When he pulls back briefly, you take the opportunity to pull your sweater over your head and toss it to the floor. Eddie’s movements stutter, his eyes hungrily taking in all of the newly exposed skin. You were a vision. “Shit,” he breathes, “look at you.” 

He wastes no time pulling his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him. Warmth rushes to your core at the sight of his tattoos, the subtle muscle under his pale skin, the chain around his neck, the happy trail that leads down to wear his jeans are hanging low on his hips and showing off a prominent bulge… you’re fucked. He sits up on his knees over your thighs and your body aches at the separation. 

You watch as he takes his hair and gathers it together in his hands. Making a ponytail should not be this sexy, but it’s Eddie. He winks at you as he does when he notices the way you’re staring with your mouth open, heaving breathing. 

“Take these off, sweetheart,” Eddie hums, nodding down to your jeans as he pulls the elastic from his wrist around to secure it in his hair. You’re face is warm as you nod, wiggling out of them and kicking them away. You’re left in just your bra and panties and spread out before him. 

“These are so pretty,” he muses, teasingly, running his ringed fingers over the skin just above the edge of your panties. He kneels down on the floor at the foot of the bad, hooking your legs over his shoulders in one fluid motion. “So pretty,” he mumbles, pressing delicate, teasing kisses to your inner thighs as his hands rub up and down the length of your legs. 

His eyes are directly in line with the wet spot that has formed on your panties. It aches, and you’re desperate for him to do something about it. Without him even touching you yet, you’re squirming in the anticipation that he will do something to soothe the sensation that has been building up in  your core. 

He presses a kiss to your heat over your panties, his nose pressing against your clit and the feeling makes you gasp, relieved for just the littlest amount of contact. Satisfied with your response to him, he hooks his thumb through your panties, and drags them aside- the metal of his rings feel cool against the hotness of your skin and it makes you flutter. 

He grins devilishly, “All of this for me, pretty girl?” 

One hand holds your panties, the other rests on your hip to hold you steady when Eddie wastes no time, devouring you. His nose against your clit, his tongue lapping at your arousal- it was too much. He was like a man starved. How dare you deny him this for so long. He was desperate to taste you, and he groans- he knew you’d be so fucking sweet. He just knew it. 

He pulls back to rub his thumb over your clit, making circles that feel so good you could cry. You’re so needy, writhing in his arms as you feel a familiar knot form in your stomach. With his thumb firmly in place, he returns to latch his tongue back to you. 

“Eddie,” you whine, your hands tangles in your sheets to stabilize yourself. Your head is spinning, and you know you’re so fucking close. “Please,” you cry desperately at the sensation, chasing your climax. 

Eddie continues his pace, the exact way you need him to and he continues to work you through your first orgasm. He kisses your thighs when you finish and he smiles at you- his face glistening with your slick. Cheeky bastard. He kisses your legs, your stomach and all the way back up to your lips, tasting yourself on him. He tugs off your panties and tosses them on the floor. Something about making you cum, a switch flipped in Eddie. 

He’s kissing you like he’s depending on it to survive, he’s feeling confident and desperate to do that again. He practically growls against your skin, face buried in your neck. He works off his jeans and boxers. Your mouth waters. He’s gorgeous fucking everywhere. 

“Your turn,” you mumble, unhooking your bra, eyes wandering to Eddie’s hard cock. He shakes his head, kissing you again. Fuck if he doesn’t want that, but he can’t trust himself to not completely fall apart. 

“Next time, sweetheart,” he promises, and you pout. “Need to fuck you,” he mutters against your lips, his blood breath heavy against yours. You moan at his words. 

“Please, Eds,” you drawl, “need you inside me.” 

He teases your entrance, the top of his cock so painfully close to pushing inside you. “I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll forget all about Steve, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, fuck, Eddie please,” you whine, you hips trying to create some friction, already desperate and needy for another release. Oh, you liked that, Eddie muses. He can deliver. 

“He doesn’t deserve this pretty pussy does he?” Eddie muses, pushing in just the tip of his cock, watching as you fall apart, desperate for more of him. “This perfect… fuck, tight pussy,” he moans, pushing himself fully into you. 

“Can’t take care of you as good as I can,” he promises, thrusting into you at just the right, hitting that spot that makes your brain go stupid. You feel so full of him, you can’t imagine anyone feeling better than Eddie by the way he’s fucking into you. 

“He’s never gonna fuck you as good as this,” Eddie promises. You can believe it. He leans down and kisses your neck, his hand massaging your breast, tugging gently at your hard nipple before giving the same care and attention to the other one as well. He whispers more filthy things against your neck, and you moan- your body responding to his so well. 

“Fit around me so good, sweetheart,” he muses, hot kisses trailing over the stance of your neck, “you take my cock so well.” 

“Such a good girl… making my cock all messy,” he praises, and then he presses his lips to yours in a desperately messy kiss. “Fuck, sweetheart…” 

Tears threaten the corners of your eyes, it all is too good, too overwhelming. You’re so over sensitive from your first orgasm, you are reaching your peak again, all too quickly for your liking. You can’t help it- he feels too good and he’s so fucking attentive and fuck- you feel so close. 

“Cum on my cock princess,” Eddie encourages, feeling you tighten around his cock. “you’re gonna look so good for me, let me see you cum for me, yeah?” 

He holds your cheeks in his hand, your lips squished together as you look up at him, wide eyed. “You can do it, be a good girl and cum all over my cock,” he encourages. It’s just enough to make you fall apart all over again. Messy things spilling from your mouth as your body pulses and he continues his pace, working you through it- kissing your forehead. 

Eddie pulls out, making a mess on your stomach as he cums. Exhausted, he collapses on the bed next to you. He kisses you softly, praising you for being so good for him. It makes you feel like putty. He disappears for a second, disappearing behind the door. He comes back with water for you and a warm cloth. He kisses you, making you take the water from him, and then he cleans you up gently, kissing your body all over after the job is done. 

You don’t know what you’re going to say to Steve. All you care about now, is burrowing yourself into Eddie’s chest. For the first time in weeks, you and Eddie both actually sleep soundly, limbs tangled together- your bodies intertwined. 

PART FIVE

Taglist: @sunshinepeachx @downbear @fanlifeaamt @exploding-bonbon @losingmygrasponreality @skiddypiddy @andvys @djodirt @moonlightsolo @kyga01 @sheisjoeschateau @melaninjhs @v3lv3tf0x @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @sunshine-mrk @danymunsonharrington

[amethystarachnid]

For your love event, how about ‘Romantic Road Trip’ for Pietro Maximoff (MCU) x fem!reader? There’re so many possibilities; stopping at little off-road diners and view points, taking turns driving, enjoying the scenery. And of course, some ‘alone time’ in little motels or in the car. 😘 Whatever comes to mind for you. Have a good one. 👋

ROAD TRIP

⤷ PIETRO MAXIMOFF

ᯓ★ Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance, rom-com

ᯓ★ Word count: 6k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): some spicy scenes , nothing too explicit

ᯓ★ I love Pietro so much, please request more of him lol <3

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The road stretches out before you, endless and open, a ribbon of asphalt cutting through rolling hills and golden fields. The sky above is a vast expanse of blue, streaked with wisps of white clouds, the kind that seem to drift lazily despite the world moving at its own steady pace. But beside you, in the driver’s seat, there is no laziness, no patience—just restless energy contained in the shape of Pietro Maximoff.

His fingers tap against the steering wheel, drumming a rhythm to the music humming softly from the radio. His foot bounces against the floorboard, betraying his natural instinct to move faster than the world allows. The speedometer remains at a legal pace, but you can tell it’s taking every ounce of restraint for him to keep it that way.

You glance at him, watching as he shifts in his seat, silver hair catching in the sunlight. He’s beautiful like this, in the daylight, in the quiet moments where there are no fights to be fought, no missions to complete—just him, just you, just the road. His lips curve into a smirk when he catches you staring.

“Something on my face, dragă?” he teases, his Sokovian accent wrapping around the affectionate word.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Just making sure you’re actually paying attention to the road and not daydreaming about running instead.”

He scoffs, feigning offense. “I am an excellent driver. You wound me.”

You snort. “You almost ran a red light back in the last town.”

Pietro grins, shrugging one shoulder. “Almost. But I didn’t.”

You shake your head, leaning back into your seat, letting the warmth of the sun seep into your skin through the window. The car hums along the road, the engine a steady presence beneath you. It’s been hours since you left the city behind, and now the landscape is shifting—less concrete, more green, trees growing taller, nature reclaiming the space around you.

It was your idea to take this road trip. To get away from everything, even just for a while. No deadlines, no responsibilities, no running from danger or racing toward a crisis. Just the two of you, exploring, getting lost, taking the long way if you felt like it. Pietro, surprisingly, agreed without argument. You suspect it’s because he’d go anywhere with you, so long as you were by his side.

His hand suddenly reaches over, fingers lacing through yours. His skin is warm, always slightly buzzing, a contrast to the cool metal of the rings on your fingers. You squeeze his hand gently, and he brings yours up to his lips, pressing a kiss against your knuckles before resting your joined hands on his thigh.

“You still sure you can handle driving for this long?” you ask, tilting your head toward him. “I mean, it’s got to be torture for you.”

Pietro chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s worth it. If I run, you miss the journey. And I would rather be stuck in slow motion forever than miss a single second of this with you.”

Your chest tightens at his words, at the sincerity in his voice. No matter how much he jokes, no matter how much he acts like everything is easy and carefree, there’s a depth to his love that always leaves you breathless.

“You’re such a sap,” you murmur, but you don’t pull away.

“Only for you, iubirea mea.”

The road continues on, winding through forests and valleys, past lakes that glitter in the afternoon sun. You make stops whenever something catches your eye—a roadside fruit stand where you buy fresh peaches and cherries, a scenic overlook where the world stretches out beneath you, an expanse of green and gold, mountains rising in the distance.

Pietro leans against the railing, arms crossed, eyes scanning the view. “I could run to the top of that mountain in two seconds.”

You elbow him lightly. “But would you actually take the time to enjoy it?”

He turns to you, considering. “With you? Yes.”

The air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine and wildflowers. The world is so quiet here, the only sounds the distant call of birds, the rustle of leaves in the breeze. It’s a kind of peace you don’t often get, and you let it settle over you, grounding you.

Pietro’s fingers brush against your arm, trailing up until he cups your cheek, tilting your face toward him. His eyes, impossibly blue, study you for a long moment before he leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. You taste the sweetness of the cherries he stole from the bag in the car, the warmth of the sun still clinging to his skin.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. “This is nice,” he murmurs.

You hum in agreement. “Yeah. It really is.”

And for once, neither of you are in a hurry to move.

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the road as you and Pietro drive further into the countryside. You’re somewhere between one small town and the next, where the only signs of life are the occasional farmhouse, distant cows grazing in open fields, and the towering trees lining the highway.

Your stomach rumbles, and Pietro’s sharp ears don’t miss it. He smirks, squeezing your hand. “Hungry already? We had those peaches an hour ago.”

You groan, pressing a hand to your stomach. “Peaches aren’t a meal, Piet. We need real food.”

As if on cue, a neon sign flashes in the distance—a little roadside diner sitting just off the main road. It looks like it belongs in a different time, with its red-and-white checkered exterior, a neon sign in the shape of a coffee cup blinking in and out, and a row of motorcycles parked out front. It’s the kind of place that probably serves greasy burgers and thick milkshakes, the kind that sticks to your ribs in the best way.

Pietro slows the car as you grin, pointing excitedly. “Look! Let’s stop here.”

He chuckles, pulling into the small gravel parking lot. “If that’s what my love wants, then who am I to deny her?”

The inside of the diner is exactly what you expect—red vinyl booths, a jukebox playing an old rock song, and the scent of coffee and fried food hanging in the air. A few patrons sit scattered across the space—an elderly couple sipping coffee by the window, a group of bikers chatting in a booth, and a waitress leaning against the counter, flipping through a magazine.

She looks up when you walk in, offering a friendly smile. “Take a seat wherever you’d like, hon. I’ll be right with you.”

You slide into a booth by the window, and Pietro sits across from you, already reaching for one of the menus tucked behind the napkin dispenser. He flips through it at lightning speed before tossing it down. “I want everything.”

You snort. “Try to pace yourself, Speedy.”

The waitress, whose name tag reads Linda, walks over with two glasses of water. She eyes Pietro with amusement. “You look like you could eat a whole cow, sugar.”

He grins. “Would that be an option?”

She laughs, shaking her head as she pulls out a notepad. “What’ll it be?”

You skim the menu, biting your lip. “I’ll take the cheeseburger with fries, please.”

“And a vanilla milkshake,” Pietro adds for you, winking.

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. He knows you too well.

Linda turns to Pietro. “And for you?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Two bacon cheeseburgers, extra-large fries, and… let’s make it two milkshakes. One chocolate, one strawberry.”

Linda whistles, jotting it all down. “Damn, boy. Where do you put it all?”

Pietro smirks, tapping his stomach. “Fast metabolism.”

She shakes her head, amused, before heading off to place the order.

As you wait for the food, you watch the sun dip lower outside, the sky melting into warm oranges and purples. The glow reflects in Pietro’s eyes as he leans back in the booth, stretching his arms behind his head.

“This is nice,” you murmur, sipping your water.

He raises an eyebrow. “You say that like you expected it not to be.”

You shrug. “It’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes I forget how good it feels to just be normal. No missions, no running, no near-death experiences. Just… burgers in a diner with you.”

Pietro’s expression softens. He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. “Then we’ll do this more often.”

Your heart swells as you squeeze his fingers.

Linda returns, setting down your plates with a practiced ease. “Here you go, lovebirds. Enjoy.”

You waste no time digging in, and neither does Pietro. The food is exactly what you hoped for—greasy, messy, and delicious. The milkshake is thick and creamy, and you’re pretty sure you’ll be full for days, but it’s worth it.

Pietro finishes his burgers in record time and steals some of your fries when he thinks you’re not looking. You swat at his hand, but he only grins, unrepentant.

When the check comes, Pietro pulls out his wallet, but you snatch it before he can. “I’m paying.”

He pouts. “You never let me pay.”

You smirk. “Then maybe you should be faster.”

His eyes narrow playfully. “That’s a challenge.”

You laugh, handing Linda the cash before he can argue further. She chuckles, shaking her head. “You two are somethin’ else.”

Once you’re back in the car, you stretch your arms with a content sigh. “Alright, switch. I’m driving.”

Pietro frowns. “You sure?”

“Yes.” You shoot him a look. “You’ve been good, but I can see how much you’re struggling not to speed.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you raise an eyebrow, daring him to argue. He huffs but gets out of the car, moving to the passenger seat. “Fine. But if you get tired—”

“You’ll be the first to know,” you promise, starting the engine.

The road stretches on as the sky darkens, and soon, the neon glow of the diner fades behind you. The world becomes quieter, the hum of the tires against the pavement the only sound besides the occasional song playing on the radio. Pietro fidgets beside you, tapping his fingers against his knee, but he doesn’t complain.

The air outside cools, the scent of rain lingering faintly. The road winds through dense trees now, and the headlights cast long shadows. It’s almost eerie how empty the road is—no cars, no signs of life, just the two of you moving through the dark.

Eventually, a flickering sign appears ahead—a small, rundown motel sitting at the edge of the highway. It’s one of those places that probably hasn’t been updated in decades, the kind you’d see in an old movie. The neon sign buzzes, letters half-burned out so that “VACANCY” is the only word visible.

Pietro gives it a once-over and groans. “This is where we’re staying?”

You park and unbuckle your seatbelt. “It’s all we’ve got until the next town, unless you really want to sleep in the car.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. But if I hear even one weird noise, I’m running us to a five-star hotel.”

You grin, taking his hand as you walk to the front desk. The inside is just as outdated as the outside—musty carpet, wood-paneled walls, and a sleepy-looking man behind the desk watching an old TV.

You check in quickly, grabbing the key for your room. The hallway smells like stale air freshener, and the walls are a questionable shade of yellow. Your room isn’t much better—a creaky bed, dim lighting, and a tiny TV that looks like it hasn’t worked in years.

Pietro looks around, unimpressed. “I think I would prefer the car.”

You laugh, tossing your bag onto the bed. “Oh, shut up. It’s fine.”

He flops down on the mattress, testing the springs. “Barely.”

You roll your eyes, kicking off your shoes before joining him. The bed dips under his weight, and he immediately wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. His body is warm, comforting. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

After a moment, he murmurs, “This is still nice.”

You smile against his shirt. “Yeah. It really is.”

And despite the flickering light outside, the slightly creepy motel, and the worn-down room, you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

The motel room is dimly lit, the single lamp on the nightstand casting a warm glow over the faded wallpaper. The air is cool from the rattling AC unit in the corner, but Pietro’s body is warm beside you, his arm draped lazily across your waist.

You shift slightly, adjusting against the lumpy mattress, and Pietro hums, his lips brushing against your temple. “Comfortable?”

You snort. “Not really. But I’ve slept in worse.”

He chuckles, fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip. “We could always find somewhere else.”

You sigh, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “No, it’s fine. We’re only here for the night.”

His hand slides lower, teasing at the hem of your shirt, fingertips skimming your skin. “Then we should make the most of it, iubirea mea.”

You roll onto your side, facing him, your noses barely an inch apart. His blue eyes darken, lips quirking in that cocky smirk that always makes your stomach flip. “Oh?” you murmur, voice playful.

He doesn’t bother answering with words. Instead, he leans in, kissing you slow and deep, fingers gripping your waist. His other hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. You melt against him, sighing as his lips move down your jaw, to that spot on your neck that always makes you shiver.

Pietro grins against your skin. “I love how responsive you are, dragă.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, threading your fingers into his silver hair and pulling him back to your lips. He groans softly, his body pressing more firmly against yours, and you shift beneath him, feeling heat coil in your stomach.

Then—

Creeeak.

The bed lets out a loud, high-pitched squeak as Pietro moves, the old mattress springs groaning in protest.

You both freeze.

Pietro lifts his head, brows furrowing. “Did that—?”

Before he can finish, he adjusts his weight again—

SCREEEEEEAK.

You slap a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle your laugh. Pietro, however, looks deeply offended, as if the bed has personally betrayed him.

“Oh, come on,” he mutters, shifting again just to test it.

The bed responds with another loud, obnoxious squeal.

You lose it, burying your face in his shoulder as laughter bubbles out of you. Pietro groans, flopping onto his back with a dramatic sigh. “This is the worst motel in existence.”

As if on cue, there’s a loud bang against the wall from the room next door, followed by a gruff voice yelling, “Hey! Whatever you’re doing, cut it out!”

You slap a hand over your mouth again, eyes wide. Pietro stares at you, then at the wall, then back at you. His lips twitch.

“Are we being cockblocked by a motel wall?”

That’s it. You break into uncontrollable laughter, curling into his side as you struggle to breathe. Pietro groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate this place.”

Another bang on the wall. “I mean it! Some of us are trying to sleep!”

Pietro glares at the wall, sitting up. “Some of us are trying to live, old man!” he yells back.

You grab his arm, still laughing. “Oh my God, Pietro—”

“What?” He gestures to the bed in frustration. “This is a crime against romance! This bed is cursed!”

You wipe at your eyes, still giggling. “Maybe it’s a sign.”

He groans dramatically, flopping back onto the mattress. “Fine. But I’m holding a grudge against this motel forever.”

You snuggle into his side, still smiling. He wraps an arm around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I promise, next time, we find a place with better structural integrity.”

“Deal.”

Despite the rough mattress and the squeaky bed, sleep comes easier than expected. You drift off to the steady rise and fall of Pietro’s breathing, the warmth of his body grounding you.

But sometime in the middle of the night, the weight of everything crashes over you.

You wake up suddenly, your heart pounding, an ache settling in your chest like a stone. The dark motel room feels suffocating, memories creeping in like shadows. The road trip was meant to be an escape—a chance to leave everything behind—but no matter how far you drive, the past clings to you.

Pietro stirs beside you, instantly attuned to your change in breathing. “Dragă?” His voice is thick with sleep, but laced with concern. “What’s wrong?”

You swallow hard, shaking your head. “Nothing. Just… bad dreams.”

He doesn’t buy it. He never does. Instead of pressing, he just tightens his grip around you, holding you closer, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “I’m here,” he murmurs.

And somehow, that helps.

You focus on the rhythm of his heartbeat, slow and steady. His fingers trace gentle circles on your back, soothing you without words.

Eventually, your breathing evens out, and you let yourself sink into him, letting the weight of his presence push away the heaviness in your chest.

The next morning, you wake to the golden light of sunrise filtering through the curtains. Pietro is already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. When he notices you stirring, he turns, offering a small smile. “Morning, iubirea mea.”

You sit up, stretching. “Morning. How long have you been up?”

“Not long.” He watches you for a moment before brushing a thumb across your cheek. “How are you feeling?”

You hesitate, then exhale. “Better.”

He nods, satisfied, and stands. “Good. Because I say we get the hell out of this cursed motel and find somewhere with real breakfast.”

You laugh, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “Sounds like a plan.”

After a quick shower and a mediocre cup of motel coffee, you check out, handing the key back to the front desk. The man barely acknowledges you, too engrossed in his morning news program.

Pietro mutters under his breath as you walk back to the car. “Worst night of my life.”

You elbow him playfully. “Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad.”

He levels you with a flat look. “We were interrupted by an angry neighbor, the bed sounded like it was screaming, and I didn’t get to ravish my beautiful girlfriend.”

You snicker, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Tragic.”

He sighs, dramatic as ever, before leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Drive, iubirea mea. Take me far away from this place.”

With a smile, you start the engine, the open road stretching ahead of you once more.

The road trip continues with a comfortable rhythm—music playing softly, Pietro’s hand resting on your thigh, and the landscape rolling by in a blur of green and gold. The air smells fresher out here, far from the city, just endless roads and nature stretching for miles.

Pietro keeps himself entertained by messing with the radio, flipping through stations at lightning speed. You swat at his hand when the static becomes unbearable.

“Pietro, pick a station and leave it.”

He smirks, finally settling on an oldies station. “Better?”

You sigh. “I’ll take it.”

A few hours pass with pit stops at random places—a general store where Pietro buys an obscene amount of snacks, a giant roadside statue of a cowboy that he insists on taking a selfie with, and a gas station where he challenges you to a race around the lot (he wins, obviously, but you demand a rematch in a place where he can’t use his speed).

Then, as the afternoon heat begins to settle in, you spot it—a shimmering blue lake peeking through the trees just off the highway.

You gasp, grabbing Pietro’s arm. “A lake!”

He raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“And we have swimsuits.”

Pietro’s grin is instant. “Say no more.”

The lake is as perfect as it looked from the road—clear water, sunlit ripples, and a peaceful quiet only interrupted by the sound of birds and rustling leaves. It’s practically begging for you to dive in.

Pietro, being himself, is changed in seconds, already bare-chested in his swim trunks before you even finish fishing your swimsuit out of your bag.

You blink, momentarily distracted.

You’ve always known your boyfriend is obscenely attractive, but something about seeing him out in nature, all golden skin and sculpted muscles, makes your brain short-circuit. His silver hair is messily tousled from the wind, his sharp jawline catching the sunlight just right.

He catches you staring and smirks. “Like what you see, dragă?”

You roll your eyes, pretending to be unimpressed. “Meh.”

He gasps in exaggerated offense. “Meh?”

Before you can react, he uses his speed to scoop you up and spin you around. You yelp, laughing as he carries you toward the water.

“Pietro! Put me down!”

“Oh, I will.”

He wades into the lake and, without warning, drops you into the cool water.

You resurface, sputtering, and glare at him. “You absolute menace!”

He’s grinning like a devil, standing waist-deep in the water. “I’m sorry, iubirea mea. You were taking too long.”

Narrowing your eyes, you lunge at him, attempting revenge. Pietro, of course, dodges effortlessly, but he’s laughing, arms out as if daring you to try again.

Eventually, after some playful splashing and a failed attempt to dunk him, you both just float in the water, the sun warming your skin as you relax.

Pietro swims closer, tilting his head as his eyes roam over you. “You know, I was about to make fun of you for staring at me earlier…”

You raise an eyebrow. “But?”

He smirks, gaze lingering on your body. “Now I’m the one staring.”

A flush spreads across your skin, but you try to play it cool. “You’re so obvious.”

His hands find your waist under the water, pulling you closer. “Only for you.”

You rest your arms on his shoulders, fingers threading into his wet hair. He kisses you—slow and deep, tasting like lake water and sunlight.

The moment stretches, warm and perfect, until—

HONK!

Both of you jump as a car horn blares from the road nearby. You whip your head around, spotting an RV parked on the shoulder. A group of older women leans out of the windows, cheering.

“LOOK AT THE LOVE BIRDS!” one of them hollers.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, covering your face.

Pietro, on the other hand, grins and waves. “Hello, beautiful ladies!”

More honking. More cheering. One woman even whistles.

You groan, sinking lower into the water. “Can we go before they start giving relationship advice?”

Pietro snickers but obliges, grabbing your hand as you wade back to shore.

Once you’re dried off and back in the car, the post-swim drowsiness settles in. The sun is beginning to dip, the air cooler now, the road stretching ahead in golden light.

You and Pietro decide to rest for a while, pulling over at a scenic overlook with a breathtaking view of the forest below.

The backseat of the car is surprisingly comfortable, seats pushed back just enough to lounge in. You curl up against Pietro, both of you still warm from the sun and water.

His fingers trace gentle circles on your thigh, a lazy rhythm. “This is nice.”

You hum in agreement, eyes half-closed. “Yeah. It really is.”

There’s a pause. Then—

“You know,” Pietro murmurs, voice lower now, “we still haven’t made up for last night.”

You blink, turning your head to look at him. His blue eyes are heavy-lidded, his smirk wicked.

Heat blooms in your stomach instantly. “Oh?”

His fingers slide up your thigh, slow and teasing. “Mmm.” He leans in, brushing his lips against your jaw. “And I don’t hear any squeaky motel beds or angry neighbors.”

Your heart pounds. The way he’s looking at you—like he’s about to devour you—sends a thrill down your spine.

You swallow. “We’re in a car.”

His smirk grows. “Exactly.”

There’s something so Pietro about this—his impatience, his need to make up for lost time. And honestly? You’re not about to stop him.

The car windows fog up as his hands explore your body, pulling you into his lap, his lips moving against yours with desperate hunger.

The rest of the world fades away—the lake, the road, everything outside this little bubble of heat and need.

And this time?

No one interrupts.

The sun has fully set by the time you and Pietro find yourselves back on the road, your bodies still thrumming from what just happened in the backseat. The car smells faintly of sweat and lake water, the windows still slightly fogged despite your best efforts to clear them.

Pietro has the smuggest grin on his face, one arm draped casually over the steering wheel as he glances at you. “Feeling good, iubirea mea?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the satisfied smile on your lips. “You’re impossible.”

He chuckles, tapping his fingers against the dashboard. “And yet, you love me.”

You shake your head, pretending to be exasperated, but the truth is, you do love him. Everything about him. Even when he’s being an insufferable tease.

Your stomach grumbles suddenly, ruining the moment. Pietro raises an eyebrow, amused. “Looks like someone worked up an appetite.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Well, maybe if someone hadn’t distracted me—”

“Oh, please, you were just as eager as I was.”

You open your mouth to retort, but before you can, you spot a neon-lit diner glowing in the distance. It’s the kind of place that looks like it hasn’t changed since the ‘50s—chrome details, red vinyl booths, a flickering OPEN sign.

You point to it. “There. Food.”

Pietro hums, pulling into the lot. “Fine, but only because I don’t want you fainting on me before round two.”

Your cheeks heat up, but you ignore him as you hop out of the car, stretching your legs. The air is cool now, a welcome contrast to the earlier heat.

Inside, the diner is exactly what you expected—old-fashioned, cozy, and smelling like fresh coffee and greasy food. A waitress with a beehive hairdo greets you with a tired but kind smile, gesturing toward an empty booth by the window.

Pietro slides in across from you, instantly stealing a menu from your side. “Let’s see… What’s the biggest thing on this menu?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like you’re about to make this an eating contest?”

He grins. “Because you know me so well.”

The waitress returns, and Pietro doesn’t hesitate before ordering a double cheeseburger, a plate of chili fries, and a milkshake. You opt for a regular burger and fries, shaking your head at his ridiculous metabolism.

As you wait for the food, Pietro’s fingers find yours across the table, absentmindedly tracing patterns over your skin. It’s a small thing, but it makes your chest feel warm.

“You know,” he says, tilting his head, “we could just sleep in the car tonight. Avoid any more cursed motel beds.”

You smirk. “And miss out on an actual bed after what we just did? No way.”

Pietro groans. “But what if we end up next to another angry old man?”

“Well,” you tease, “we just have to be quieter this time.”

He leans forward, voice dropping to a low murmur. “I don’t do quiet, dragă.”

Heat coils in your stomach at the promise in his tone, but before you can respond, the waitress arrives with your food. You both dig in, conversation flowing easily between bites—stories from past travels, dumb jokes, Pietro complaining about how slow the food service is even though it’s only been five minutes.

By the time you finish, you’re pleasantly full, stretching your arms as Pietro leaves a generous tip and grabs your hand, pulling you toward the exit.

“Alright,” he sighs as you step back outside, “let’s go find this hopefully-not-terrible motel.”

The motel you end up at is marginally better than the last one.

It’s still a little rundown, but the bed looks sturdy, the sheets actually smell clean, and—most importantly—there are no suspicious stains or noises coming from the next room.

Pietro eyes it warily as you set your bags down. “Well… I guess this will do.”

You snort, kicking off your shoes. “You’re such a diva.”

“I have standards, iubirea mea.”

Rolling your eyes, you flop onto the bed, testing it. It creaks slightly, but nothing like the nightmare from last night. “See? This one isn’t that bad.”

Pietro stretches, his shirt riding up just enough to tease a glimpse of his toned stomach. “I suppose I can make it work…”

You catch his smirk just before he pounces, landing beside you with that mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know,” he murmurs, “we did say we’d make up for last night.”

Your pulse quickens. “That we did.”

His fingers skim along your arm, feather-light, before trailing lower, tracing the hem of your shirt. “And you were right,” he adds, voice husky, “an actual bed does sound nice after all.”

Before you can respond, he flips you onto your back, hovering over you with a wicked grin. His lips find your throat, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against your skin.

You sigh, tilting your head to give him more access. “Pietro…”

He hums against your collarbone. “Mmm?”

“You really don’t do quiet, do you?”

He lifts his head, grinning. “Not a chance.”

Then he kisses you—deep, hungry, possessive. His hands slide under your shirt, fingers splaying against your bare skin as he moves lower, his breath warm against your neck.

The rest of the world ceases to exist.

No motel beds creaking too loudly. No angry neighbors.

Just him. Just you. Just the way your bodies move together, tangled in sheets that, for once, don’t feel cursed.

This time, the only sounds filling the room are soft gasps, whispered praises, and Pietro’s name falling from your lips like a prayer.

The rest of the road trip is like something out of a dream.

After the very satisfying night at the motel, you and Pietro wake up in a tangle of limbs, warm and content. He’s already wide awake, of course—his body clock runs as fast as the rest of him—but he doesn’t move right away. Instead, he just watches you, fingertips tracing lazy circles over your hip as the morning light filters through the cheap curtains.

“Morning, iubirea mea,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

You sigh happily, stretching. “Morning.”

He smirks, voice still thick with sleep. “So, was that a decent night of passion, or do we need to find another motel just to be sure?”

You laugh, nudging his chest. “I think we confirmed it multiple times.”

He grins, rolling onto his back with a satisfied groan. “Good. Because I’m feeling very accomplished.”

The next few days are a perfect blur of long drives, roadside attractions, and stolen kisses whenever Pietro thinks you’re not paying attention (or when he just wants your attention, which is always).

You stop at a sunflower field along the way, running through the golden stalks as Pietro speeds ahead, picking the biggest, brightest flower and tucking it behind your ear. He pulls you in for a slow kiss, murmuring against your lips, “You’re still prettier.”

You roll your eyes. “Smooth.”

“Always.”

Another day, you come across an abandoned train yard, the rusted tracks twisting through overgrown grass. Pietro challenges you to a balance contest, walking along the rails with perfect ease while you wobble like a newborn deer. He catches you when you stumble, laughing as he scoops you up.

“You’re terrible at this,” he teases.

“I don’t have super speed to cheat with!”

He grins. “Then you better hold on tight.”

Before you can protest, he takes off with you in his arms, zipping through the train cars, the wind whipping past as you laugh breathlessly.

There’s a late-night stop at an all-night diner, where Pietro orders an obscene amount of pancakes just to “see how many he can eat before he gets bored.” (The answer is fifteen, but he insists he could’ve gone for twenty if you hadn’t distracted him with a milkshake to the nose.)

There’s a tiny bookstore in a small town where you browse the shelves while Pietro sits in an armchair, flipping through a random book at super speed before dramatically declaring, “I’ve read them all. Let’s go.”

You groan. “You are the worst person to bring to a bookstore.”

And then there’s the night you find a secluded little hilltop overlooking a valley, the stars sprawled endlessly above you. Pietro spreads out a blanket, pulling you into his lap as you both sip cheap gas station wine and make up ridiculous constellations.

“That one looks like a very handsome man who is incredibly fast,” Pietro says smugly, pointing at a random cluster of stars.

You squint. “It looks like a potato.”

He gasps in mock offense. “You wound me.”

You grin, leaning against him. “It’s a very sexy potato, though.”

He hums, arms tightening around you. “I’ll accept it.”

And for a while, everything is perfect. Just you, Pietro, and the open road, with no responsibilities pulling you back.

Until your phone rings.

It happens on the fifth day, just as you’re fueling up at a gas station in the middle of nowhere.

You’re standing by the car, stretching your arms after a long drive, while Pietro is inside, raiding the snack aisle for the fifth time that day. The sun is warm on your skin, the air still and quiet.

Then—your phone buzzes in your pocket.

You pull it out, frowning when you see the caller ID.

TONY STARK.

Your stomach drops.

You hesitate for half a second before answering. “Hey, Tony.”

“Hey, kid,” comes the familiar voice on the other end. “Hope you’re enjoying your little romantic getaway, but I need you and Speedy back at HQ. Now.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

“It’s a mission. Big one. And we need both of you. So wrap up your little road trip, make out one last time, and get moving.”

You groan, rubbing your forehead. “Tony, we’re literally in the middle of nowhere—”

“Then run. You’ve got a human rocket for a boyfriend.”

Before you can argue, he hangs up.

You stare at your phone for a moment, processing.

Then, with a sigh, you turn toward the gas station just as Pietro comes bounding out, arms full of snacks.

“I got us more gummy bears, and I found those weird chips you like—” He pauses when he sees your expression, his smile fading. “What’s wrong?”

You exhale. “We have to go back.”

Pietro frowns. “What? Why?”

“Tony just called. There’s a mission. He needs us both.”

Pietro groans, dramatically dropping his snacks onto the hood of the car. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I was.”

He drags a hand down his face. “Of course Stark ruins our fun.”

You step closer, placing a hand on his chest. “I know. I don’t want to leave either. But… we have to.”

Pietro sighs, running his fingers through his silver hair. He looks at you, blue eyes flickering with frustration before softening.

“Fine,” he mutters. “But next time? We take a vacation where no one can call us.”

You smile. “Deal.”

He huffs, then gestures for you to climb onto his back. “Alright, dragă. Hold on tight.”

You do, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he secures you in his grip.

Then, in a blink, the world blurs around you.

The road trip is over.

And the real world comes rushing back.

[peachdues]

THE DIVINING ROD — PROLOGUE

Obanai’s Tell Me to Stop

A/N: the prologue to Obanai’s installment of Tell Me to Stop, first teased here.

CW: canon setting AU • Reader is the Vine Pillar • blood • angst • scars • mentions of past torture • panic • this fic will be HELLA NSFW so MDNI

From the first day he drew his sword, Obanai Iguro knew life within the Demon Slayer Corps meant accepting two, twin truths.

The first was this: a career as a swordsman of the Corps means one’s life expectancy is cut drastically short. Few make it to adulthood; even fewer to retirement.

The second truth is that your time within the Corps is marked by one or two events: either you live to see another day, or you do not. There is no in between; it is either life or death, and more often than not, the Slayers themselves do not have the luxury of choosing between the two. That choice is finite and there is no gray. Members of the Demon Slayer Corps do not go missing; either they are torn apart and devoured by the very monsters they fight, or they live to see the next sunrise, only to await nightfall once more and thrust their lives back into the fickle, shifty hands of fate.

No slayer is spared that perilous dance, no matter their rank. Mizunotos and Hashira alike all know that their tether to the world they’re trying to save is little more than a fraying thread which grows more tenuous by the day, with every battle won at the expense of the lives lost.

The crows; it is the crows, the harbingers of both victory and death, who keep them apprised of their numbers. Slayers do not go missing; they are either dead or they are not. If there is nothing left of a Slayer to bury, their crow will say as much, and they will still get a headstone in the Master’s ever-growing graveyard. The crows always return, even when their assigned masters do not. It is the expectation; a given.

There is no protocol in the event neither Slayer nor crow returns, and it is that absence which blows a gaping, jagged hole right through Obanai’s understanding of his nature not just as a Hashira, but his very existence as a swordsman.

Because the Vine Pillar has vanished and there is no trace of either her or her bird to be found. There is no frantic, bleating announcement that she’s fallen at the hands of some formidable foe, no mournful sobs of the Kakushi as they solemnly carry a box bearing whatever of her remained to be buried with her brothers and sisters in death.

There was only silence; thick, oppressive, loud silence that is punctuated by the conspicuous gap in the lineup of Pillars gathered for an emergency meeting at Headquarters.

The air between the Sound and Insect Pillars is still; a tear in the fabric of reality, pulled back to reveal that something is wrong, something is out of place.

Something is missing.

Obanai cannot stop staring at it; that space between Kocho and Uzui, the utter absence of matter that should form that familiar face, that signature haori, everything that makes up her and her warmth and her comfort.

Everything he cherishes.

“Then she is dead,” Uzui declares once the Master’s children finish explaining their summoning.

“We don’t know for certain,” a soft voice, feminine and evocative of that which is distinctly pink, rises above their heads at the opposite end of their line. “Missions often take weeks, and she may simply be unable to answer —,”

“No one has seen or heard from her in weeks, nor has there been any sight of her crow.” The Sound Pillar challenges, though not unkindly. He is familiar with the friendship between the Vine and Love Pillars, and he does his best to deliver the blow as painlessly as he can. “Even Y/L/N would not ignore an emergency summons from headquarters, no matter how deep in her mission she might have been.”

Obanai is still staring at the void between his comrades where she should be, but Uzui’s words make his fists clench, the skin of his knuckles white. Beside him, the Wind Pillar shifts, sensing his growing agitation.

His panic.

Though he is inclined to voice his agreement with the pinkette at the end of their formation, Serpent Pillar does not speak. He cannot; not while he is busy retracing the last weeks in his mind, mentally calculating how much time would have passed between that night and the mission she did not return from, and whether there was a chance it was different from the one that haunted his every waking moment.

“Where was she assigned?” Rengoku’s voice was strong and commanding as ever, though if he listened hard enough, Obanai could discern the faintest tremble as the Flame Pillar, too, worried after his absent friend.

“A fishing village in the east.” One of the Master’s twins answers, and it feels like an accusation only he can hear, as Obanai feels the very ground beneath his feet break apart and open wide.

How he wishes the oblivion below the earth would swallow him up.

“She’s dead.” Uzui repeats, his head bowing solemnly.

“She’s not,” both the Love and Flame Pillars insist in unison.

Wide, anxious green eyes peer over the heads of their comrades at him, and Obanai can feel how they burn into his head, beseeching him to say something, anything, but he does not; cannot.

The Master’s pristine garden falls away, as does the rising bickering of the other pillars as they debate the merits of a search and rescue operation; whether they have the numbers or time to spare it any consideration. Whatever they decide, it is without the Serpent Pillar’s vote, because he cannot hear them over the roaring in his ears; the new truth he is forced to bear.

That truism is this: the Vine Pillar is missing.

And it is entirely his fault.

[oceaneyesinla]

17. "I hope you know that I'll never leave your side, even though you ate half of my pancakes earlier." "Hmm, I won't either, even though you take my clothes and never return them." with Bakugou please 💖

Em, thank you so much for sending in a request my sweet!!!!! i hope you enjoy <3

Part of my Fluff, Fluff and More Fluff Event - submissions still open!

Prompt 17: "I hope you know that I'll never leave your side, even though you ate half of my pancakes earlier." "Hmm, I won't either, even though you take my clothes and never return them."

Bakugo x gn!Reader, nickname 'sweetness' used, reader and Bakugo in their twenties

Divider by @/adornedwithlight

Promise for a Promise

Ow.

That’s your first conscious thought; the pain radiating through your abdomen. It’s more of a dull ache than anything, probably due to the painkillers you’re almost certain you’ve been given. You can feel their effect; you feel a little spaced out, and more than a little sleepy. There’s a warm hand in yours, though, so you force your eyes open. The palm resting on top of your hand is ever so slightly rough, and when you turn yours over and let your thumb drift gently over the knuckles, you feel that familiar scar.

Your lips are creeping up even before your eyes are open, and your smile only gets wider when you manage to focus on blonde hair and crimson eyes. Drugged as you are, it takes you a moment to process what you’re seeing, but when your brain catches up, your smile slips to a worried frown.

“Katsuki, you’re hurt! Are you okay?” There’s a bandage on his left cheek, and from the way he’s holding himself, you can tell he’s in pain; probably from some injury underneath the hoodie he’s wearing - one of your merch hoodies. The one you bought him as a joke but which quickly became his favourite thing to wear. 

The relief that was clear on his face when you opened your eyes morphs to incredulous rage, “You’re the one in a hospital bed and you’re asking me if I’m okay?! Dumbass!”

Back in high school, you would have believed his little outburst came from genuine anger, and you would have taken his reaction at face value. Now, you know better. You know every line on his face and every detail of his expression, and you would know his voice in a room of thousands. You can read him like a book, just like he can you.

Sliding your hand out of his, you reach up to cradle the cheek not covered in gauze. Your poor Katsuki - he must have been terrified. You can only remember flashes of the events that led to you being in this bed, but you’re certain Katsuki saw everything. The way he lets his face rest against your hand, and the fact he’s wearing that particular hoodie despite it being summer and plenty warm enough speaks volumes.

He visibly relaxes under your touch, shoulders slumping and a sigh escaping him. He meets your eyes, and you’re surprised to see the beginnings of tears welling on his lash line.

“You scared me, sweetness.” His hand comes up to cover your own, “Took Icy Hot twenty minutes to get to you.” A pause, a swallow, a single tear slipping down his cheek and landing on your finger, “Really thought I lost you there.”

Part of you wants to apologise; for getting hurt, for worrying him, but you know there’s no need. You both know the risks of being pro heroes, and you both accepted it a long time ago. This is the life you’ve chosen - all you can do is fight to come home to each other.

Instead, you decided to meet his vulnerability with reassurance. Wiping the tear track away with your thumb, you speak softly, “I hope you know I’ll never leave your side,” You can’t help the mischievous smile turning up your lips, “Even though you ate half of my pancakes earlier.”

The mix of comfort and humour works - a burst of laughter leaves him, and his eyes look a little brighter as he rolls them at your dramatics. You’re exaggerating a little - it was more like two, and it wasn’t so much stealing as it was you being too full to finish them off and sliding them onto his plate with your most charming smile. Potato, potahto - what matters is that Katsuki looks a little less haunted than he did a couple of minutes ago.

He sobers after a minute, though he’s still watching you with a soft smile. He wraps his hand around yours, lifting it to his lips so he can press a kiss to your knuckles, “I won’t either,” A promise for a promise, and your chest aches with the love you feel for him, “Even though you take my clothes and never return them.”It’s your turn to laugh now, and you don’t mind even when it aggravates whatever wounds you have. You launch your self-defense - you share a wardrobe, so technically you are returning them - and you fall back into your familiar rhythm. You’re both going to be okay, and you’ll both keep fighting to stay at each other’s side.

[dzmaylon]

sonic au/fan story? Where Sonic lost his superspeed and Shadow met other Sonic and his friends in a parallel universe

I’ll drop some sketches here because why not

Girl on the first pic is my fan character, Verse the Hedgehog, her full name is Verse O’Tyle. Sonic reminds Verse of her siblings in a way, and I like to imagine them both chilling somewhere on a hill.

She is a “chill girl surrounded by chaos” - and chaos is her crazy af family. Her siblings are on a third pic: brother Leaph and cousin Snowflake. Leaph loves jumping, he leaps high as possible, and hides in a trees, causing Verse to search for him for hours lol. And Snowflake is overall quiet girl, shy and cute. Her quills are too soft which hurts a lot, that’s why she only wears gloves and really soft shoes. Snowflake usually just follows Leaph everywhere. There is also Verse’s mother and uncle but I got no pics of them yet

Shadow the Hedgehog

So the whole AU idea is that chaos energy around has risen, because of it an accident has happened with Sonic, and Shadow and Sonic had a brief fight during which all the negative emotions and stuff snapped Shadow’s inhibitor rings. It’s a REALLY long story short because there is more details to it.

but basically it caused all the Shadow’s energy go inside-out and this “Raw Chaos Energy” was still living in the past, unconsciously twisting everything around, and blaming everyone around (aka Sonic and his friends) for Maria’s death. Realising she was long dæd Raw Energy bends space-time to save her. This creates a parallel universe, where past!Shadow now has some of the “flashes” of future events with Maria’s and using it to save her. Also this form is like SUPER STRONG and the only reason Sonic survived it because before that Master Emerald had transferred some of its power to Knuckles just for a brief moment

so here is a sketch of Emerald/Raw Energy Knuckles

Not gonna go with much details because I might change a lot of that, but the whole idea is that in parallel universe where Maria had survived (even if for a few more decades only) Sonic didn’t get his super speed. It’s kinda to balance whole world out, because Maria had influenced people in a good way while she was living her full life

ANYWAY

remember the flashes I mentioned earlier? Shadow also saw Sonic and the others in those “flashy events” but he has no idea who tf they are, and later on he will try to find them because he started to have more and more dreams about them

here is Sonic and some of his friends

he never got blue because he never reach sonic speed and that’s why he is brown

I still didn’t pic a name for him, it makes sense for him to be Wendy (like a wind ig) but I don’t know how to make it unisex or something. I called him “Marcille” before because in Archie Comics he was called Maurice and I loved the way Marcille sounds lol

and yeah TRANS SONIC 🏳️‍⚧️🗣️🗣️ the original sonic is also trans but he is already comfortable with himself so

since sonic isn’t such a hero as he in a main universe, people here are way less united and there is more crime and bad people (mostly because people mistrust each other, so it’s not just about the super speed but specifically Sonic’s mentality)

and Amy in this universe is the one who tries to hold it all together, helping people by the cost of her own happiness

poor baby

Knuckles and Rouge exist here too but I have no pics of them yet, moving forward

TAILS!!

No one even know the guy named Tails and to be fair he doesn’t even exist. Miles, however, does but he is not with the main squad - after all he was never saved from that village and was constantly bullied for his two tails

as of now I don’t have any more sketches so here is my rattlesnake fan character from the same universe

this one is specifically from the main universe

colors on second one are the old one because I dig the new design more

she makes poison treatments and meds but her hobby is mechanics and stuff, she might be not good at it as Tails but she’s willing to learn

and some doodles

[irisintheafterglow]

HAND SIX - FLUSH

summary: in a season where you're determined to fly under the radar, newly-returned crown prince!touya todoroki has other ideas. in this hand, a suitor sneaks you out and desire rears its head.

wc: 2.7k

cw/tags: royalty!au/regency!au, fem!reader (she/her used), explicit language, joking death threats (reader gets salty during poker), league of villains found family cameos, emotionally constipated touya todoroki, a lil steamy toward the end wink wink

note: trying to write a poker game where you have to imagine the hands of two different players is,,,,challenging to say the least. but stick around until the end of this part for a welcome surprise :)) hope you like it!!

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated!

“You said you wanted to be my friend.”

“I wasn’t aware that meant sneaking out of my house!” Your hushed anger is lost among the gentle breeze of the branches outside your window. Your suitor and self-proclaimed ‘friend’ has perched himself on one of the heftier arms of the oak, rapping his knuckles against your window until you appeared. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“I can’t say I do; I have regrettably left my pocket watch at home,” he says with a poorly-hidden smirk. He frowns at your insistent glare and glances over your shoulder expectantly. “Well? Are you coming or not?” You abruptly shut the window, pulling the curtains shut and leaning against the dusty fabric. Your hand finds its way over your pounding heart and you hope none of the commotion Touya caused has awoken anyone else in the house. More taps against the glass make you slide one curtain to the side to reveal Touya yawning. Catching your incredulous expression, he merely winks before dropping backward into the darkness, disappearing among the nighttime shadows of the garden. 

“Idiot. I’m being courted by an idiot,” you say to your stale bedroom. By a stroke of curiosity or plain irritation, you tug your sleeping clothes over your head and step into the pair of trousers you’d pilfered from your father’s drawers. A few minutes later, with your boots slipped carefully over your feet and a hood drawn over your face, you find Touya lurking next to the magnolias. “Care to enlighten me as to the terms of my current abduction?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he scoffs with a small smile. Touya’s smiles were few and far between, and you’d noticed he only seemed to smile so fondly when he was with you. “Hurry up, you’ll fall behind at the rate you’re moving.” You bite back a shrewd remark about your hastily-donned attire. Still, none of his words land as insults as he offers you his arm and, when you take it, skillfully navigates you between back alleyways and shortcuts. 

“Where are we going?”

“Home,” he replies, eyes watchful as ever. 

“The palace?” 

“Not exactly.” He guides you through the creaking door of an abandoned textiles warehouse.

“As much as they despise my decisions during this season, my parents would be less than delighted if I turned up dead in a warehouse,” you comment as your suitor leaves you momentarily, fishing around in the darkness for a match and lighting a candle. The space itself is huge, an extensive balcony for a foreman running around the perimeter of the high windows, but the area Touya occupies is quaint enough to be homey. “Is this where you–”

“Hide?”

“I was searching for a different word,” you admit, “but that works to the same effect.” A small bedroll sits haphazardly in a corner, along with a pile of scrappy blankets and small pillows. The main event of the space, however, was the large work table where the single candle sat, the old wood covered in vials of various powders and solutions. You take a cautious step toward the table that was probably once used for cutting fabric, now littered with excess scraps of leather and tools. “What do you make with this stuff?”

“Salves, mostly, for the…you know.” His voice trails off and you nod when he gestures to the scar tissue on his cheeks. “A friend needed me to make some smoke bombs and I had the materials, so I started doing that too. Now, I just make whatever comes to mind.” 

“These are where you find the formulas?” You flip through the pages of a thick, dust-covered volume about chemistry and eye another about something called pyrolyzing.

“Mostly,” he shrugs. “The rest of the time, I just put stuff together and hope it works.”

“That’s dangerous, Touya.” He shrugs again, fiddling with a wrench and adjusting the placement of a test tube. 

“It’s alright. It’s why I do all this stuff here and not in the palace.”

“And also why I keep needing to buy this dumbass new warehouses,” calls a new voice from a corner of the large room. Touya snorts and rolls his eyes, peering at you with amusement when you unconsciously move to shield yourself behind him. “Don’t be afraid; if I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have made it out of your garden.” You stiffen beside Touya, who sends you a half-sympathetic look. 

“Tomura, stop. You’re scaring her,” he states as the stranger, Tomura, steps into the light, a dry face hidden by long white hair spilling over a blood red cape. “Ignore him,” he mutters to you when you flinch as Tomura steps closer to the table. “If anyone actually wanted you dead, I’d roast them alive before they could breathe in your direction.” 

“How romantic,” you deadpan and Touya chuckles. “He’s a friend of yours?”

“I’d say ‘working relationship’ at best,” he corrects and you let out a shaky breath, his quiet confidence overriding any unease caused by the weird man across the table. “Himiko here?”

“I was waiting for you to introduce me!” From another corner of the warehouse remarks a higher pitched, jubilant voice. A young girl with blonde hair tied in two buns swings down from the balcony, dancing over to you and shaking your hand with excitement. She’s short, but beams up at you so kindly, you’re taken aback by the contrast between her and Tomura. “Toga Himiko,” she states brightly. “You’re even prettier than Dabi described!” 

“Dabi?” You glance at Touya, your confusion obvious. You can tell his walls are struggling to come down and you inch closer to him in an effort to sink them further, questions still rattling about in your brain. “Is that your alter ego?”

“Alter ego implies that Dabi and Touya are two different people,” he explains after an awkward pause. “But I think they’re one in the same.” You nod in understanding, not pushing the subject further even when he continues anyway. “These guys,” he gestures to the various figures approaching you at the worktable, “know me as the former. You have the privilege of knowing me as the latter.” 

“And now you’re letting me know both,” you finish for him. He smiles softly again and hums quietly, grateful that you understand what he’s trying to do. 

“Attagirl.”

“Thank you for letting me in,” you murmur. You stare into his burning blue eyes for a second longer before he turns away, clearing his throat. 

“You’re not done quite yet. It’s poker night and I still haven’t introduced you to everyone else.”

Once the worktable is cleared and half a dozen wobbly stools are dragged over to it, Touya pulls a deck of cards from a hidden drawer. Tomura mirrors him, retrieving a box of chips and tossing it on the table. Toga sits to your right and Touya stays stationed on your left, occasionally letting his hand cover yours whenever you drummed the table anxiously. Even with his so-called ‘acquaintances’ causing chaos across the table, his focus only ever stayed on you. 

During one of the last hands, you’re dealt an eight and a six of clubs. With a mediocre stack of chips and a sudden urge to challenge Touya, you push in a third of your stack after the initial dealing reveals a seven of clubs, a seven of spades, and a ten of clubs. With four out of five to make a straight flush, your odds were looking good and you prayed for a nine or a five of any suit. 

You have to stop yourself from laughing when a five of hearts and a nine of spades is dealt. As nice as it would have been to have a straight flush, your odds with the straight weren’t terrible. 

“Ah, shit. I’m out.” Tomura folds, sliding his cards to the middle of the table. “It must be an off night for me.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Himiko pouts and follows suit, along with energetic Jin and stoic Shuichi. “Tonight sucks.”

“Whoever has the six and the eight will most likely win.” Shuichi is glum at the other end of the table after folding almost every hand so far. Himiko gives you a thumbs up and whispers loud enough that the whole group can hear. 

“I’m rooting for you!” You give her an uneasy smile. 

“It’s down to you two.” Kurogiri sits shrouded in the darkest corner of the table. You shiver and peek at Touya from the corner of your eye to find that he’s already looking at you, no doubt trying to read you. His unnaturally white hair catches in the moonlight streaming through the high windows, painting him like a portrait that would hang on the palace’s walls. There was an intensity to Touya’s expression that you found yourself wanting to push against, even when your current cards certainly gave no guarantees. You push all of your chips to the center without breaking eye contact and he smirks, copying you. 

“Alright, reveal,” Tomura commands and you put your two cards down, a chorus of ooh and damn and I fucking knew it resounding around the table. Your straight put you in a relatively good spot, considering how the other hands of the night had progressed. 

“Bold move, doll,” Touya drawls, running his tongue over his top lip. “But…” he says, laying down his two cards and grinning when your jaw drops to the floor. “That’s the one you were looking for, yeah?” You gape at the three of hearts and nine of clubs. The card that you needed to make your perfect hand was in Touya’s the entire time. 

“Oh, you’re such an asshole. You are the biggest asshole to ever exist,” you groan and he scoops all of your chips into his pile with a self-satisfied grin. 

“See, she gets it!” Everyone voices their assent in playfully bitter grumbles, muttering accusations of rigging the game and marking the cards beforehand.

“I am going to hide your body so far that your cells will never see the light of day again.” You point an accusatory finger at your suitor, who raises his palms in prideful surrender. “I hope you’re ready to feed the worms with your decaying flesh.”

“Yes, you fit in just fine here,” Tomura nods in approval. 

“Don’t hate the players; hate the game,” Touya shrugs. Your continued threats are lost among the raucous laughter that echoes off the rafters of the warehouse. He gives himself the indulgence of looking at you, really looking at you. You were here, cackling with his friends like you’d known them longer than he had. He’d allowed you into his most sacred of spaces and you treated it with the same care you treated him. In the dim candlelight of the building with its rotten wood and blood-stained floors, you were still the same as ever. 

Touya stares at you like you’d never looked more beautiful. 

— 

“I believe I’ve found a more entertaining poker opponent than you,” you remark slyly on the leisurely walk back to your part of the city. Clumps of stars peek out among the summer clouds, winking at you like the constellations holding secrets you couldn’t possibly fathom. Touya hasn’t stopped looking at you since the hand you nearly won, something you find is stirring a fluttering feeling in your chest. 

“Have you, now? And who, pray tell, would that be?” His bicep flexes under your fingers, the placement of your hand on his arm fitting like two missing puzzle pieces. 

“Now that I know Tomura is harmless, it’s much easier to read him than it is to read you. The same thing goes for Shuichi. Himiko…I think she tries her best,” you declare with a sparkle in your eye. “Kurogiri, however, remains a mystery to me. I don’t believe I saw the man’s face the entire time I was there.” Touya barks out a laugh and you once again hope no one is having a midnight cup of milk to find you both unchaperoned. 

“You fit in well with them, all things considering.” You seem to take pride in his compliment. Seeing you so happy made him lightheaded, akin to when he swiped one too many shots from the palace cellar. “The only things missing are a few battle scars, but I won’t let you get any.”

“Why, you don’t think I’m tough enough for those?” You poke your tongue out at him and step away, drawing him to you in the cover of the alley like a magnet. 

“Bold of you to assume I’d let anyone close enough to hurt you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, coming to stand in front of you until you’re backed up against the bricks. You’re nearly chest to chest and close enough to smell his cologne and the lingering scent of smoke. Your words drop to a nearly imperceptible level, but he hears them anyway. He always does. 

“You know, we’re a long ways off from that duel in the courtyard,” you say quietly, heart pounding so loudly that you can’t meet his eyes. “I couldn’t have predicted that this would happen in a million years.” 

“I had every intention to court you when I found you hiding behind that pillar,” Touya points out. 

“I was not hiding,” you insist, taking the bait and ignoring the smirk that instantly appears on his stupid mouth. “I was just–” 

“Taking a break, I remember,” he finishes for you. “No need to become argumentative about it again. It is in the past and I am pleased with how this arrangement has panned out.” Right. Your grin falters at the word ‘arrangement.’ You’d temporarily forgotten, if only for a few hours, that this was not real. Touya’s affection was fleeting, a memory that would fade into oblivion once his presence was gone too. His eyebrows furrow as he scans your face, looking for an indicator of what suddenly has you feeling sorrowful. “What ails you, my love?”

“I…I carry too much affection for you,” you admit, heat rising in your cheeks. You still won’t look at him. He hates when you don’t look at him. “An embarrassingly large amount, enough that it pains me when you reinstate that I am only an ‘arrangement,’ a business transaction.” 

“I thought I said that you were more than that. You are more than that.” Touya grabs what little courage he has cowering at the bottom of his soul and yanks it into the open, gently turning your head to meet his eyes. Damn it all if he couldn’t tell you what he felt because he was scared. “You are…everything. To me.” Your breath hitches in your throat. His fingers find your face. 

“I don’t understand–”

“You don’t need to,” he says. “You never could, nor could I. But I cannot take one more step or inhale one more breath without confessing how important you are to me. You are everything, and I swear on my life that what I say is true.” He pulls you closer ever so slowly until your own body closes the empty space, grabbing the back of his neck as a lifeline. You don’t know if he leans down first or you press up to him; but when you kiss Touya for the first time, it’s a match dropping into a dried forest. Months of frustrating, unspoken tension breaks the instant he touches you. You are a hellfire that he walks straight into. 

“Touya, please–” Intoxicating, the way you say his name, and the drunken rush goes straight to his head. 

“Everything…you are everything,” he rasps against your mouth, letting himself be burnt by his own selfish desires. Something in him snaps when your fingers find his hair and tug; the possessive grip on your waist tightens like you’d disappear if he let go. He kisses you until you’re breathless, until you’re forced to pull away because the only oxygen you’re taking is from his lungs. Even so, he refuses to let you go far, keeping his forehead against yours as you both regain control of your breathing. “I–I–” 

“I know.” You stop him with a thumb brushing over his bottom lip. “You don’t have to say it.”

“I can’t say it yet,” he forces out. “I’ve never known how to.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, softly stroking his cheek with your knuckles. “Tell me when you’re ready. I’ll wait for you.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[baymaxmuses]

Time has passed. How long is beyond him as he laid there in that little Autoshop lobby.

Titan has simply had to get used to this new life. Since meeting Chronos, everything's been... painfully quiet. It rains a lot, most of the people he sees on the streets are robots... and the food isn't great. More personally, Titan asked several times about the pain that the fox is feeling, specifically about who or what has caused it, but the fox has given him multiple different excuses, or simply tried to dismiss him.

Or even just straight up ran off. Though, there is one thing that always seems to be the same among all of those instances: Chronos tells him not to worry about it.

That just makes the echidna worry even more.

3 days ago, he'd felt something he hadn't felt in a long while. That inner sense in his brain that could detect Chaos energy made itself known, and he could feel that the energy was undoubtedly leaking through another rift in space-time.

Someone else had found a Master Emerald shard, in some nearly alternate dimension/universe, and Titan was once again reminded of his objective: find a way home.

From there, it was a matter of how to bring up the situation with Chronos. He still remembered the look on the fox's face when he'd inquired about the shards. The fox mentioned it had been keeping him stable, and how he felt bad for holding onto it, despite not being the supposed 'friend' that Titan had written the message for.

The expression was what sold it for him. He felt like his luck had ran out in that moment. In that same moment, Titan had decided that he couldn't leave Chronos' side, not for any particularly long period of time.

But what if he could take the fox with him?

Perhaps that was why he was now knocking (it probably sounded more like pounding on the other side) on the door to Chronos'... room? Lab? He'd elected not to follow the fox inside for obvious reasons this entire time.

"Hey, Chronos? Lil' buddy? I gotta tell you something important... and I need you to stay calm when I ask it... at least until I'm done asking... Gaia, I'm terrible at this..."

@timeclipsed

[baymaxmuses]

Chronos' sudden reaction stops the echidna dead in his tracks, and Titan tentatively put a hand on the fox's shoulder.

"Hey, hey! It's okay! I was just gonna dip out for like 5 minutes to pick up some snacks! But if you wanna come with me, that's alright! Don't worry about the umbrella, I can carry it. As for the bags... I'll let you carry one bag. I know you're not well physically, even with the shard... I don't want you straining yourself. Your big bro is strong enough to carry anything!"

Something about his steps, coupled with what he'd been told about Chronos' condition (well, as little as Chronos had shared, there were still things he was sure the other wasn't sharing), worried him. He didn't want the fox to get into worse shape, just because he wanted to be helpful.

@baymaxmuses asked: "I'm heading down to the convenience store in a moment. Maybe hoping they have some grapes... maybe. Want anything, Chronos?" Titan can just tell that the rainfall is really heavy tonight...

❝Y—You're leaving?! Wait! Wait for me!❞

— ☆⋆˙ SPRINGING ONTO HIS FEET, KLUTZILY wrapping himself up in his jacket, small feet take wide bounding steps in a run towards the door. Eager to follow his big brother at any cost, the busted umbrella left strewn on the floor of the front closet opens up in tandem with the door, shrouding the both of them from humid summer rainfall.

 ❝I can help…! I'll carry the umbrella and the bags and…❞

[exolocke]

Zenless Zone Zero: Immortalized (Male Reader fanfic)

A/N: This prologue takes place under a couple of POV’s none of them being (Y/N) this is more giving contexts of how Civilians see you or in this case the identity of the masked hero you are and your effects on the world around you. Chapter 1 will have you getting into story events from your/(Y/N) perspective.

It’s not just an OC tagged as X Reader

Wattpad Currently has all the Prologue + Chapter 1 and 2 as well as an attempt at a power set/kit description like agents in the game have.

This is my first time posting any of my written work so suggestions for improvement would be appreciated.

Prologue: Just an Urban Legend

Location: Twelfth Street, Janus Quarter

New Eridu is many things, the last city on Earth, constantly under threat from apocalyptic space time anomalies, but it's also brave, and her people are strong despite the constant threats, standing side by side against the potential end of everything. With every day being more a gift then a promise, one thing the people of New Eridu love is passing on their rich cultures. From recipes, to beliefs, even combat techniques, people made sure to pass knowledge down, to stop them from being lost to time. But an easy favourite were stories, from past times, or just to pass time, Urban Legends, Folk Tales, Comics, and Movies. (a promise of a brighter day some would say)...

Within a apartment complex in the Janus Quarter, under the bright light of a kitchen, as the last hints of sunlight hang in the sky. The sound of typing on a keyboard slows eventually stopping... the man sitting at his laptop ran a hand through his unwashed hair, leans back, and sighs.

"Still stuck?" A soft voice asks, coming from just behind him.

Glancing over at the TV in the living room across from him the man watches the news broadcast. Having been silenced a while ago but the Headline in big red letters was still visible on the screen.

"New Companion Hollow Erupted-20 People Still Missing"

Feeling his wife's arms wrap around him from behind finally gives him the final push he needs to say what he's thinking. "People need hope... I write these articles so that people don't give up... but the more this happens the more it feels like I'm just covering the same points with different words. And each time it gets harder to do."

Taking a deep breathe and resting her head on her husbands shoulder, she took some time thinking of what to say, looking at what her husband typed so far. Urban Legends... "Maybe you just need to take it from a different point of view... give them a story, instead of reiterating the H.I.A. has it under control."

"And how should I go about getting this different point of view?"

"Why don't you go tell Sonya a bedtime story and see how you feel when you come back?"

Taking off his glasses and rubbing his face. "Yeah... I can do that, maybe it will get me out of this rut."

A tired smile graces his wife's face. "Good, having her home from school all day has her wired... so good luck." Giving him a strong peck on his cheek before watching her husband getting up and heading to their daughters room.

Approaching his daughters bedroom he slips back on his glasses as he gets to the door.

"Knock Knock darling." He said while rapping on the door with his knuckles. He heard some giggling coming from her room before his daughter called out. "Come innnnn Papa." With a chuckle he opened the door to Sonya's room.

As he stepped into his daughters room he found Sonya laying on her stomach at the foot of her bed colouring a drawing intently.

"Darling, time to go to sleep , I know you want to finish your drawing but it's bedtime now." His daughters gaze immediately shooting up to him from the page in front of her, a pleading look in her eye. "Sorry Darling but you can finish it tomorrow... on the bright side, I've been sent to tell you a story."

As he watched a big smile break out across his daughters face. "Can it be about The Saint!?!"

He couldn't help the sigh that escaped him... before a mirthful smile graced his face. "Of course it can but you need to get in bed first." Watching as Sonya immediately leapt up from the floor, putting her crayons and drawing on her desk and flinging herself onto her bed as fast as she could.possibly ... now waiting with an expectant look on her face

"Under the covers." He said with a chuckle, as he watched his daughter wriggle herself under her blankets.

"Ok.. good now let's see... last time we did Saint v.s. The Corrupted Subway didn't we?" Looking over at his daughter as she nodded expectantly, he decided to walk over and take a seat at his daughters desk in front of her.

As she held the obviously handmade Saint doll tightly to her chest. "How about... how about instead of Saint v.s. something we do Saint saves the day?"

————————————————————————

Location: Lemnian Companion Hollow, (Unnamed)

Footsteps thundered behind us as we ran as fast as we could, weaving between construction supplies and equipment. Taking a quick glance over my shoulder at my pursuers... "Fuck!!" Eight Ethereals-!? *THUMP* slamming into Jace in front of me, I looked up at the three massive walls surrounding us on all sides... "A Dead End!?! DOUBLE FUCK!!!" I hissed.

"Come on get up!!" Caleb grunted pulling both Jace and I back onto our feet. "We have to get out of here before they cut us off!" He stated, but before we could even turn around we heard it. "RHAAAAH!!!" a screech cut through the air behind us, spinning on my heels I looked back the way we came.

We were already surrounded... "Triple Fuck." Those two words barely left my lips before the first Ethereal charged at us. It was nearly on me in an instant, two bladed arms shooting out at me. For a moment I thought I saw a blurring of movement just off to the right, but it didn't matter, this was it. This is how it ends—

*BANG* The sound rang out louder than a gunshot. In a blur of Blue and Gray the Ethereal was slammed into the wall on my left. Cracks spiralling outwards from the impact. And there, standing in the settling dust was a man clad in Gray and Blue tactical gear. Gray cargo pants tucked into black combat boots, what could only be described as a utility belt with countless pouches on it, a gray armoured vest over some sort of blue metallic shirt, and brown leather bracers.

"You're The Saint." Caleb all but whispered.

"You- you're real?" I stuttered out, more a question than a statement.

"Holy shit." Jace echoed his disbelief.

Everything felt like it was standing still for a moment, the Ethereals processing this new threat as he pulled his tower shield free of the wall he used to flatten the first Ethereal, it was beautiful, shaped like two overlapping wings, a beautiful blue metal. There was barely a second to appreciate the craftmanship before combat erupted again.

An Ethereal with clubbed hands charged and swung wildly at The Saint, moving with practiced ease he weaved under the blow and getting behind the first Ethereal and planting a hefty kick to its back, sending it tumbling to the ground.

Quickly following the first, two Ethereals were already on top of him, parrying one with his shield using its momentum to sling it into the wall on our right, before the third could get close enough to attack, Saint reached behind him, pulling his weapon off his back, it looked like some kind of Drill-Lance hybrid. As it started to spin and shift into gear in his hand, he dashed forward with terrifying speed, driving the lance through the chest of the third Ethereal, with so much force his strike carried them back into the fourth Ethereal behind it, shredding the both of them to bits with the drilling function.

The fifth and sixth Ethereal's barely stood a chance, both charging up Ether shots, bursting against The Saints shield with little effect, neither of them got a chance for a second shot. Saint launched himself into the air with a massive leap, immediately closing the distance on Ethereal #6 and bringing the bottom of his down on its head, crushing it into a burst of Ether energy. Immediately swinging his lance to the left in a wide arc, more akin to a great sword as the spinning body of the Lance chewed into the fifth Ethereal like a paper shredder as it shuddered and crumpled to the ground.

By now both the first and second Ethereal had recovered, the second Ethereal reached The Saint first, using his shield to throw it into the air above him as the first Ethereal swung at his exposed right flank, in a flash of speed he brought up his lance to parry, grinding through the clubbed hands of the Ethereal, following up with a slash parting its torso from its waist, quickly spinning around to the Second Ethereal still laid out on the floor, driving the Drill Lance directly through it and into the ground in an eruption of multicoloured sparks.

We stood there for... a while, slack jawed as The Saint slung his Lance and Shield onto his back.

<\\You kids alright?//> his voice rung out, but it was altered, slightly garbled like a filter had been put on it... a Voice Changer..?

Looking up at him now facing us, finally getting to take in all the details of his suit. The shirt under the vest actually seemed to be some sort of scale-mail, stylized in the shape of feathers, the brown leather bracers covering his forearms and hands seeming to have more advanced tech hidden within upon closer inspection. With him now facing us I could see the mask that covered the bottom half of his face, which must be why his voice sounded odd. But the thing that stood out the most... was his glowing electric blue eyes.

Caleb was the first person to really gather his bearings. "Uh.. yes! yes we're good."

As he walked up to us I took into account just how massive he was, he had to be somewhere around 6'9. Reaching into one of the pouches on his belt he pulled out a pill bottle and tossed it to me. <\\You three have been in this Hollow a while, I suggest you each take two//> he stated.

"These are..?" I asked confused.

<\\Anti Corruption Meds//> He said, gesturing with his hand to hurry up.

"Dope." Jace whispered from behind me.

<\\Hey, that's all of them, right?//> He called over his shoulder to someone behind him.

Shortly after that a Bangboo with an knitted orange scarf came into view.

"Yes these are the last 3, we should gather with the others and make our way out of the Hollow while the carrot is still good." A relatively female voice came from the Bangboo, surprisingly, not using the typical bangboo language.

As we listened to their conversation the three of us took our Anti Corruption medication, which was particularly unpleasant without water, but hey we're alive!

"So- a Bangboo with an orange scarf?" Jace started.

"Don't PubSec and H.S.O. sources believe the Bangboo with an orange scarf belongs to the Legendary Proxy Phaethon?" I asked looking at Jace and Caleb for confirmation.

"So that's how you stay so untraceable within the hollows." Caleb mused, gesturing to the Bangboo. "The Saint and the Legendary Proxy Phaethon are a team."

The Bangboo quickly turned around to look at Caleb, almost in a panic. An impressed whistle left Saints mouth, sounding a little odd with the voice mod on his mask. <\\You put that together fast//> he seemed genuinely impressed.

"That's so Fuckin Cool!" Jace exclaimed, leaping up into the air like an excited kid. The Bangboo chimed in as it waddled up to us.

"While we appreciate the adoration you seem to hold for us, I hope you can understand how dangerous that information is." Now, a much more distinctly male voice coming from the Bangboo. As it looked over at Saint.

<\\Yeah... as much as I can appreciate how exciting it would be to go and tell everyone you know, Phaethon and I operate in the shadows doing this, so the less details the authorities have the better//>

As the Bangboo waddled back over and past Saint, Caleb spoke up. "Because your technically classified as Hollow Raiders right? Unless it's an accident that gets someone stuck in a Hollow, it's only supposed to be Law Enforcement or other Hollow related organizations in here. Which makes you being here a crime."

As Jace listened to what Caleb said he almost looked offended on Saints behalf. "But he's not a Raider, he fights Raiders! And he comes here and saves people! He isn't running a crime syndicate from here! He's more like a Hollow— oh what's the word?" Looking over to Jace I suggest. "Vigilante?"

Jace snaps his fingers shooting me finger guns. "Exactly! He helps people!"

<\\While I may be here to help, your friend is right, we are illegally in this Hollow. So just less details keep it safer for us to do our work. Vague description of features, no mention of Phaethon, etc//>

"Oh of course!! Your secret is safe with us!" Jace exclaimed, a dopey grin on his face and holding two thumbs up.

<\\Good, then we should collect the others survivors and get you all out of this Hollow//> he turned around and gestured for us to follow. <\\Follow me//> Saint called.

"I'm the one with the Carrot here Mr. so your all following me... technically." The Bangboo teased. Seemingly back to the original female voice.

————————————————————————

After about a ten minute walk we reached what seemed to be a small hardware store swallowed up by the Hollow, this is where Saint seemed to have gathered the rest of the survivors to hide, once we had got there, I counted over a dozen people, people that Saint saved.

I watched him move amongst the group of civilians, checking the on children, and elderly, along with any wounded. What caught my attention most though was his movements, they almost felt like a dancer... he wasn't dancing but he moved so elegantly, beyond how a normal person would. Always seeming to be aware of where his big freaking shield and lance were hanging when he turned, and how to not knock into anything or one, but beyond that he moved silently even with all that heavy gear, every move was purposeful and were of his surroundings. Further than that even with all that tactical gear on him, he didn't make a sound when moving, like he could be walking directly behind you and you would never know.

As he finished his rounds checking on everybody he walked back over to Jace, Caleb and I, holding a young boy in his arms, looking at the kid his clothes were covered in dried dirt, the only clean parts of him were his face and his right leg up to his knee, both seeming to have been cleaned with water and a cloth. His leg had gauze wrapped around a lot of his calf.

"How bad is he?" Caleb asked.

<\\He'll be just fine, though he won't be able to walk//> Saint paused, a look almost like guilt flashing across his face. <\\Would one of you be able to carry him? It's best for me to keep my hands free in case we face anymore danger//>

Immediately Jace stepped up in front of Saint. "I can do it, definitely." He said reaching out and scooping up the mostly dirty young boy.

<\\His name is Quinn, watch out for him//> he said a hint of relief in his voice.

With that we all gathered together and followed Saint and Phaethon in the direction they said the exit to the Hollow was.

————————————————————————

As Quinn babbled to Caleb and Jace it gave me some time to think, and that thinking led to so many questions. Saint was walking at the front of the group, not horribly far in front of us, so I sped up a bit to try and talk to him.

As I made my way up beside him, taking a deep breath I asked. "Is it ok... to ask a few questions before we get out?"

He glanced at me out the side of his eyes, before taking a sweeping look at the landscape around us. Maybe looking for threats. <[sighs]> <\\I assume these questions are about the proxies and I//>

As he asked that I glanced back at Caleb, Jace, and now Quinn as well. Seeing how they and all the other people with us were just acting like it was a casual day for a stroll.

"Why keep your existence a secret?" I questioned, deciding to rip the bandaid off right away.

"Look how safe everyone feels with you around?" "We are in a Hollow and nobody is even scared!" "People tell stories about you like they tell stories about Section 6, or- or even the Void Hunters! You give so many people hope... your a hero... but you refuse to even let them know your real." It all came spilling out so fast.

I looked up to find him looking at me... he looked sorry almost. <\\Yeah, that's a fair ask//> As he ran a hand through his hair he looked like I just added an extra hundred pounds onto his shoulders.

<\\I know it looks simple from what you've seen today and the stories that are told... but that's only the surface people know about what we do... and why we do it//> He glanced over to Phaethon's bangboo. It wasn't looking at us, but I can tell it was listening in, it had slowed its pace a small amount to walk closer to us.

<\\We never intended to play hero, saving people from Hollows. This started to find answers to something I can't tell you about. For your safety//> his tone took on a more serious weight then it had all day, he had kept up beat, to relieve us of our worries.

<\\They can't be in Hollows for long, having a low Ether Aptitude, unlike me. So Phaethon focused on learning how to navigate the Hollows, and I took it upon myself to become strong, strong enough to go into the Hollows to gather the information we needed.//> Saint seemed to be struggling to choose the right words.

"You didn't want to be some legendary hero?" I asked.

<\\Legendary is a strong word. But no, the intention was... not this. We set out to find answers to a secret...//> He paused for a moment taking a shaky breath. <\\A secret that looking into already cost people their lives. So we stay in the shadows while we look for these answers... it's safer that way//>

Now I was just confused. "If you aren't seeking to be a hero, or save people—"

<\\Why are we here//> Saint said, glancing at me as he finished my thought.

<\\Because its the right thing to do. We have the strength and skills to help, so when people are in danger we show up cause we can save lives. But there's no hunger for the glory or renown that can come with these acts of "Legendary Heroism"//> Making air quotes with his hands.

I was about to ask another question but Phaethon... or their Bangboo came to a stop.

"We're here." We were stopped in front of a car repair shop, specifically one of its garage doors. Saint stepped up to it, sticking out his hand, as a sound between a rip, and a crackle sounded out through the air, and a fissure appeared. A swirling vortex of mostly different shades of purple, but it had some pinks, blues, and other colours.

"A Fissure!" Someone in and amongst our group gasped.

<\\Looks like we made it folks, if you could all file out in a neat and orderly fashion that would be amazing. Don't want to get injured now that you basically made it out//> And there it was. His cheerful and inspiring attitude was back. As all the survivors slowly filed out of the Hollow he gave me a knowing look.

<\\Knowledge is power, the less people know about what we do the safer it is for all of us//> I nodded as he said this.

"Understood." He patted me on the shoulder, and then my friends and I, plus Quinn filed into the fissure and out of the Hollow.

As the lurching in my stomach subsided, and my eyes adjusted to the lights shining in my face we found ourself just outside of the Hollow, seeming spat out right in front of an Pubsec Encampment outside of the Hollow. H.S.O., H.I.A., and PubSec personnel were rushing around, checking the survivors that had come out first for injuries and ether sickness symptoms. Someone seemed to notice my friends and I, and was now quickly making their way to us.

————————————————————————

Location: Twelfth Street, Janus Quarter

As I finishing narrating Sonya's bedtime story, watching her sleep peacefully, silently as I could I made my way over to her, brushing some hair out of her face and kissing her forehead. I then worked my way out of her room and quietly closed the door behind me, making my way back to the living room, I was greeted to my wife curled up under a blanket reading a book. The sun had finally set completely and the room was filled with the warm glow from the floor lamp in the room. Making my way behind her I placed a kiss to the top of her head, and looked at the TV, the news broadcast, still silent but with new information glowed on the screen.

"All missing people(s) found and accounted for" but what really caught my attention was the scrolling text at the bottom of the screen.

"Claims of the Saint saving the missing people(s) and add to growing speculation on if The Saint truly exists. PubSec Officials still resolute in the claims The Saint seeming to be some sort of Shared Ether Induced Hallucination as they "Have no Evidence" that he or she truly exist."

My wife moved to slip her bookmark into her book before looking up at me. "Did you find any inspiration while you were putting Sonya to bed?"

As I chucked, leaning down to peck my wife's lips now she was facing me. "I think I might just have an idea." I whisper, moving back over to my laptop at the kitchen table.

Within an apartment complex in the Janus Quarter, under the warm light of a floor lamp, as the warped face of a moon, scarred by Hollows, climbs into the night sky the sound of typing on a keyboard resumes. This time with a certainty that could only convey a strengthened hope for a better day.

GAME START

@jacenradio7

[batsycline69]

Chapter Five: Merely Players

Summary: A terrible trip to a coffee shop, four smashed knuckles, and a city-wide blackout later, Red Hood is in your apartment.

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Words: 5k

Warnings: profanity, canon-typical violence, descriptions of insecurity and feeling inadequate, mentions of injuries, childhood neglect/tense home situation briefly described, reader is really going through it, events of No Man’s Land referenced, chekov's batman

A/N: hiiiiiii it's been a hot minute. i made you a playlist for this chapter pls enjoy 💛

SERIES MASTERPOST | PREV

After the quake and the inescapable chaos that followed, your days were marked with tense silence. Rattling air conditioning units filled the void where your parents’ voices would be. You would grow to miss that dreadful quiet. It was better than the yelling that came later.

Gotham had been destroyed, but yours wasn’t the only family that lost nearly everything. At least you all made it out. All of the hollow reassurances seemed to lose meaning after a while. If your outcome was good, why didn’t your family seem happy?

Every need after seemed like too much to ask. And year after year, you shrank. When you dreamed of aftershocks, you kept it to yourself because your family was still asleep. If something upset you, you knew better than to draw any attention to it. You just so desperately wanted something to feel right, so you chose not to be a burden. No one else talked about their problems, so why should you?

With time and distance, you grew again. Moved back to Gotham when you could because home was still home, even if it looked different than it once did. Filled up the space you hadn’t dared to for so long. Or at least you thought so. Because a few harsh words from Jason felt like ten steps back.

You can’t really pin it all on him, but his abrupt exit from your life certainly hadn’t helped. Old fears shook loose. And yeah, maybe all those fears and insecurities made things cumbersome. You kept catching yourself trying not to make waves. If you didn’t need anything from anyone, maybe they wouldn’t notice all the issues you tried to hide from sight. The ones that peaked through and scared him off.

Last night, the sticky notes Jason left in all of the books you’d let him borrow nagged at you. Coming across the first one was an accident, but once you saw the familiar, scratchy handwriting, you knew you couldn’t stop thinking of all the others. These notes you’d once treasured—smiling to yourself as you read them—turned into a cruel taunt. Jason left them for you to see, but you didn’t want to see them anymore. Every reminder was—is—a stab at your bruised ego.

You stayed up later than you should have, and in terms of feeling well-rested in the morning, all that crying before bed didn’t do you any favors. A morning trip to your favorite coffee shop was supposed to resolve your funk, but the sight of Jason standing in line, Parable of the Sower dangling from his stupidly big hand, killed that dream entirely.

That was hours ago, but even still, you feel like you’re operating just a second behind everything else. You sat, stewing in your apartment, staring down Jason’s sticky notes until you couldn’t take it anymore.

So when you go to throw them all out, a sudden voice in the alley has you so surprised, you don’t even make out what was said. You spin to look towards the sidewalk, forgetting that the hand you moved is the only thing keeping the dumpster lid open.

The hard plastic clamors down onto your knuckles. A second passes without pain, though it only makes the waiting more cruel because you know what follows.

On top of an exhausting day, you’ve gone and smashed your hand in front of Red Hood.

Only once he’s at your side do you realize his voice was the one that caught you off guard. The light funneling in from the street reflects off the leather of his gloves as he reaches out for you. “Shit. Lemme take a look.”

“Fuck no,” you spit, voice pinched with pin. Tears swim behind your squeezed shut eyes. If you look back up at him, he’ll notice. And tears from the pain are one thing, but you know once you start, things will only snowball from there.

When you wanted something to replace your heartache, humiliation and a broken hand is the last thing you’d had in mind.

Venomous as you try to be, Red Hood doesn’t falter. It shouldn’t surprise you as much as it does. Only a handful of months ago, you found him bleeding in this same alley, waving off gunshot wounds like they’re nothing to bat an eye at. What are you compared to the dangers he faces? What fury could you send on him that would be anything more than a ripple to someone used to a tempest?

Hood sighs audibly. “Can you show me at least?” he asks.

You’re searching for some sort of sign he’s going to run away as you look up at him, though you’re not sure what exactly you’re expecting to find. Just Hood and his helmet, the hunch of his shoulders. His looming presence that you first saw emerge from the shadows the night you met Jason.

Jason. All this time, and you still can’t get him off your mind. Can’t unlink him even from this masked stranger who’s path time and time again crosses with yours. Who you can’t separate from Jason even now that he’s left you.

Every twitch of your finger leads to bright, throbbing pain. You scrunch your face up as you lower your hand enough for him to see. Even just from the quick peak you spare—wiping the tear that falls away quickly with your unscathed hand—you know there will be an ugly bruise. Carefully, you stretch your fingers out before bending them slightly when he asks if you can move them. He’s gracious enough to ignore your hitched breath.

“Good. Not broke, at least,” he says, giving a small, satisfied nod.

You imagine you must seem so feeble compared to him. Crying over a hand that isn’t even broken. Feeling sorry for yourself over a broken heart. Acting as if the best you didn’t have to offer him was an umbrella when he got shot.

The remains of your pity party are cut short, however, with a flash of light. You only catch a glimpse. Red Hood is on you fast, firmly pushing you back into the cool brick of your building. His bulky frame blocks your view. Not until a thunderous boom fills your ears do you realize Hood is sheltering you.

An explosion. And another soon after. Distant, but close enough to feel the ground rumble beneath your feet.

Now, your eyes are wide, trying to peer behind Red Hood to see what’s going on, but his size makes it impossible. Your mind races trying to fill in the gaps. Tries to convince you the ground is still shaking after it stops. Makes you brace for aftershocks that don’t come.

“What was that?” you whisper when the roar finally dies down.

Red Hood holds you where you are a moment longer. Large hands grip your arms firmly. “I don’t know.”

You haven’t been this close to him before. If you had even half of your mind in the present, you would smell gun oil and his body heat warming the leather. Instead you just smell ash.

When he takes a step away, you take a lungful of fresh air. Your shoulder leans up against the brick, taking stock of all the buildings still standing around you.

Darkness swallows the alley before either of you gets another word out. Gotham’s ever-present hum falls to silence. Even Red Hood seems more silent than ever. You’re thankful, at least, you have the glowing eyes of his helmet to reassure you he’s still there.

“Fuck. Must have been the power plant.” He glances over to where a warm glow brightens the starless sky. “Alright, stay here.”

You tense even more, eyes going wide and desperate. “Wait, are you coming back?” You hold your throbbing hand against your chest, while the other struggles not to reach out and grab his sleeve like a child. Guilt twists in your stomach; he probably only stumbled on you by accident, and here you are begging him to stay.

“Yeah,” he replies as if you’ve said nothing selfish. “Of course.”

As he jogs off to the sidewalk, you back against the wall of the alley, obscured by the dumpster. What you’re trying to hide from, you’re not sure, but the darkness unnerves you. Tugs at the corners of your mind as memories try to worm their way up to the forefront of your thoughts. The pain in your hand brightens as you clench your fist tighter when you need something else to focus on.

Without Red Hood at your side, more tears slip loose. They feel more substantial as you fight against your fears. Not just about heartache. Not even just about the pulse in the meat of your hand. You slide down, crouching low to be certain the ground is no longer shaking. But no amount of convincing yourself seems to save you. A desperate voice inside of you is screaming, warning you Gotham is going to split open all over again and swallow everything whole. That your life will be uprooted all over. That you don’t have Jason anymore, and there will be no one to help you with the mess but yourself.

Before you can go farther down the rabbit hole, Hood’s voice pulls you out. “You good?”

You startle slightly at the sound of his voice, foolishly wiping away your tears in a vain attempt to look like less of a mess than you are. You’re too aware of the hitching of your breath, making a grand effort to steady it as you nod.

If Red Hood believes you, and you’re certain he doesn’t, the helmet hides any sign. Maybe it’s better you can’t see his doubt. You don’t want to know how bad you really seem right now.

“Alright,” he says. “Get up in your apartment. I’ll meet you there.” You figure you’re not wearing your distress well when Hood quickly adds, “probably don’t want your neighbors seeing me with you, right?”

All the walk up your stairs, you feel miles away. Not inside your apartment, not in familiar halls, but buried beneath rubble. The air inside feels stuffy, makes your lungs squeeze uncomfortably. Your ears are straining, waiting to hear rattling picture frames and plates. Instead, you hear the chattering of people inside their apartments as you pass.

An explosion in Gotham isn’t news. The average Gothamite probably didn’t bat an eye. Yet again, you seem to be the only one with a problem.

Red Hood has already worked the latch of your window open by the time you make it inside. His thick thigh swings inside, then the other, and he expertly pushes himself all the way through.

You watch from a distance, still lingering by your front door. Hood moves effortlessly, but you are frozen in place, immobilized by phantoms you’d convinced yourself you shooed away.

Only when he moves to close the window are you nudged from deep in your head. “Keep it open, will you?” You don’t look at him as you ask. Don’t want him to see the desperate, cagey look on your face as you phase between your memories and the present.

“It’s freezing—”

“Just for a little. Please.” The cold air keeps you sharp. Soothes the ache in your lungs that you have to convince your mind isn’t really there.

Eyes you can’t see bore into your skull. How not okay you are, despite your insistence, is becoming more and more obvious, and you weren’t making a convincing case to begin with. And you hate that Red Hood can see it all coming down. You just want to convince someone you’re fine, because you’re not convincing yourself.

His mercy comes in the form of sparing you any further questions. He allows you silence as you fixate on the curtains wafting in the breeze. His boots are heavy on your floor as he roams into your kitchen, avoiding the creaky spot in the linoleum right in front of your fridge.

Yet again, your fingers curl into your palm, trying to give yourself something to tie yourself to your body.

Hood’s voice is what does it, an unexpected lifeline while you’re drowning in your history. “Least this is still frozen,” he says, pausing when he realizes you haven’t moved from your spot by the door. It takes a disjointed second before your eyes flicker to the bag of frozen peas in his hand. He nudges his helmet towards your couch. “C’mon.”

Maybe you’re making things up, but you swear you can hear sincerity through the modulation. You chalk it up to your sorry state. Since Jason left, things had gotten hard. You got up every day, you let life continue, but it felt like something had hollowed out inside of you. And in its wake was something starved to be seen.

You just want to feel important to someone. Loneliness is making you lose it. You need to get out more instead of making up some imaginary friendship with a guy who’s just caught you on the night you were barely holding yourself together. Poor Red Hood was just the sucker that had to deal with your emotional fallout.

You set aside your insecurities long enough to follow him over to the couch. This time, you set your hand in his palm as he holds it out for you. There’s no more fight. Not right now, at least. Not while your mind and your body feel like two entirely different entities.

He’s careful as he holds the bag wrapped up in your ratty dishtowel to your knuckles. “This alright?”

You nod, unsure how steady you’d be able to keep your voice. There’s no optimism it wouldn’t come out quivering or strained. Maybe you’d just start sobbing there and then. You wonder what his voice sounds like without the modulation. What face must be looking at you with disdain as you bat more tears away. Tears that get harder to hide once the sniffling starts.

Right now, you’re happy for his hand, the warmth of it settling beneath the chill of the bag of peas. You’re happy for the wind that rolls through your open window and sends a shiver down your spine. That cold has more bite than the one that settled over your body like a shroud.

The bag ends up in your hand as Red Hood shrugs the worn leather jacket from his arms. Without the bulk, you’d be able to see the definition of his muscles the suit provides, but focusing on anything at all seems like too big of an ask. “If you’re gonna insist on keeping that open, at least take this.”

Warm weight from his jacket settles over your shoulders. The kindness makes your lip wobble. You don’t want it. Don’t want to weigh him down with what will follow. Now the lump in your throat is too persistent to swallow.

When it’s clear you’re not feeling chatty, Hood busies himself with lighting candles throughout the apartment. The low glow of flame doesn’t offer the same solace as it normally would. There’s no relaxing atmosphere. You stare at the candles, doing your best to reassure yourself the flames aren’t straying from the wick.

Red Hood mutters something to himself you don’t catch.

After a graceless sniffle, you clear your throat and thank him. Why he’s so dedicated to helping you, you can’t be sure, but he just waves you off.

“It’d be a pain in the ass to light all these with your hand hurt.”

He’s not wrong, especially when it’s your dominant hand still throbbing beneath frozen veggies. But he doesn’t have to care. You should be meaningless to him. Just another nobody he’s helped out before. Didn’t need to get you something for your hand because you could do it yourself. Didn’t need to look out for you when you’re clearly on the verge of a breakdown. It’s Gotham; it’s not like you would bat an eye at the cruelty this city has to dish up.

“Do you have to go do something about the power?” It’s not the question you want to ask, but it provides you with some distance from what’s really on your mind.

Red Hood’s scoff sounds harsh beneath the helmet. “Not my gig. Let one of those do-gooders take care of it.”

“It’s not like you’re busy,” you mutter.

The broad line of Hood’s shoulders tense. “Listen, no offense, but you’re a mess right now. I’m not going to leave you alone.”

A mess. Don’t you know it. You just wished he was polite enough not to say so. But no amount of feeling sorry for yourself would give you that pity from Red Hood, apparently.

Your exhaustion comes to a head. If you’re not fooling anyone, there’s no point in hiding it. Or at least that’s how you comfort yourself when you finally breakdown into sobs. You don’t even have to look up to know Hood has gone tense beside you. He signed up for helping you out with your injured hand, not providing emotional support to someone who was well past help, but here you are, suckering him into your mess yet again.

Self-consciousness finds you even as you bawl, not giving yourself a moment of relief. Your chest heaves, head falling towards your lap in an attempt to save even a sliver of dignity in front of a dangerous vigilante.

He lets you cry anyway. Part of you really just wishes he’d leave right now, but for some reason, you feel certain he wouldn’t. Big Bad Red Hood sits alongside you as your breath hitches and tears drip onto your lap. He lets your whimpers fill the room. You allow yourself to pretend the weight of his jacket is an arm. Like you’re being held. You let yourself think it’s Jason, because if you’re already feeling pathetic, what’s making it worse?

You want something good, but it feels like every good thing you reach out to grab slips through your fingers. Your whole day has been a parade of good you were never allowed to keep.

When your sobs finally weaken back to sniffles, your old couch groans as Hood leans forward. The tissue box he grabs looks so small in his hand as he passes it over to you. “You wanna talk about it?” he asks.

“No.” You’re lying, but if you started to confess to Red Hood about your problems, you think you’d actually crawl out of your skin.

He gives you the silence you ask for. You miss the screeching of train wheels on the track outside your window. It would fill the space with the even less welcome sound of you blowing your nose. If Hood’s silence is a tactic to make you feel even more self-conscious, it works, because somewhere along the lines, your intentions get lost.

“It’s just….it’s going to sound, I don’t know, pedestrian, probably,” you hedge.

“Okay.”

You hate that he sounds so fine with whatever is going to follow. He shouldn’t care about any of this.

“I saw my ex today. I mean, he’s not even really my ex. We were never technically together.” Another sniffle. “It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. I mean, we weren’t together. But...but I think I loved him. Which is also stupid.”

You could keep going, share the long list of things circling your mind endlessly. But Red Hood’s complete silence no longer feels like a pass to continue. A tension charges the room so strongly you’re surprised the lights don’t all turn back on. You prepare yourself to hear that he doesn’t care about your romantic problems; what would make you think he actually wanted to hear about it?

“What happened?”

Not the response you were expecting, given away by the way your eyes flicker up in surprise, even with the tears still swimming in them. Maybe he’s asking about the breakup, but you’re not going to tell Red Hood your ex thought you were too fucked up to keep around. You content yourself to tell him about the coffee shop.

“I don’t know. He was there one second. I looked away, and then he was gone. Nothing happened.”

That’s the simplified version. The long one is catching sight of Jason in line and feeling like the whole world came to a stop. Dark, wind-tussled curls sticking up, strands of white brushing against his forehead. His cheeks had been flushed pink from the cold.

Before you could hide—or at the very least look away—the barista calling your name out caught his attention. You froze like it would somehow save you from being seen. And then a woman beside you whispered to her friend, “is that Bruce Wayne?”

You didn’t care, not at first. Not until Jason’s eyes landed on him. Because when Jason looked back at you, his expression was guarded. Jaw set. A dangerous, unfamiliar glint in his eye.

The barista called your name a second time. You turned away from Jason for only a second to get your drink, but by the time you turned around again, he was gone. You wanted to hurry after him, but Bruce Wayne directly blocked your exit. He stood in the very narrow isle of the coffee shop, leaning against the back of some smitten woman’s chair, crooning about the home in Switzerland he’d love to take her to. You didn’t try to hide your irritation as you tried to alert him to your presence.

Once he finally left the orbit of his own ego, he straightened up and gave you a quick once-over. “Sorry about that, sweetheart,” he’d said as his hand pressed along the small of your back as he allowed you to pass. You left immediately. Even if the thought of pouring your drink over his expensive suit sounded like just the thing to improve your mood, you knew you didn’t have the energy to deal with the backlash.

“I bet your ex didn’t think it through,” Hood says, bringing you back to your tiny apartment yet again. You must look confused, so he continues. “About breaking up with you. You seem great.”

You let out a tearful scoff and sniffle. You want this all to be about Jason still. You’re wishing for the comfort of heartache over the nagging of your youthful fears. Memories of the past threatening to bury you just as the fragments of buildings had all those years ago.

“I’m not interested,” you say, making an attempt to lighten the mood, draw attention away from how torn up about everything you are. There’s no way he’s coming on to you. Besides, even if he was, you already fumbled a tattoo artist. You don’t have high hopes for your chances with a vigilante.

“No. No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says.

Maybe you’re kidding yourself. Maybe you should just let Hood fuck you five ways to Sunday if it made you thought it would make you feel like someone wanted you around. It wouldn’t help, though. Wouldn’t starve you of want for what you know you can’t have. What doesn’t want you back. And you really don’t think you’d survive the embarrassment of accidentally calling Red Hood your ex-boyfriend’s name.

“I’m so mad at him,” you mutter, your voice rough with stray tears. “And I’m mad at myself because I didn’t see it coming.” Your confessional, at least, keeps your mind off everything else. The quaking from the non-existent cataclysm seems to fade along with the flashes of a life with a very clear distinction of before and after.

“Well...if you feel...the way you feel,” he mumbles, “would you take him back if he apologized?” It’s impossible to tell if he sounds bashful or not. Like saying love out loud intimidates the fearsome Red Hood.

“I don’t know.” If you had any sense, you would say no and mean it. But you don’t feel like lying tonight, so you settle for a half-truth. “Depends on the apology.”

How are you supposed to explain to Red Hood what it was like to wake up alongside Jason, waking up to the warmth of him with his heavy arm draped across you? What do you have to say to Red Hood about the rough comfort of holding Jason’s hand as you walk along the street? Those aren’t memories to share with him. Even if they’re yours, thinking of them now somehow feels forbidden. Your heart protests it every time you try. Your brain wants only to think of the smell of his cigarettes and how late he’d been for your appointment all those months ago, but that’s just a road that reminds you of the lingering scent of green soap when he’d come to your place after a long day at the shop.

You’re supposed to just move on from Jason, yet he’s literally etched into your skin.

He stays for a while longer. You don’t tell him about your memories of crumbling earth or of Jason. Neither of you speak much longer. He assures your knuckles ave been iced enough, and the peas go back in the freezer. When even beneath the warmth of his jacket, you begin to shiver, you allow Hood to close the window.

Eventually, you know the ground isn’t shaking. You pass some silent test that prompts Red Hood to ask if you’ll be okay on your own. You say yes. Somehow, you always manage, right?

He slips through your window as skillfully as he entered. The flames he lit dance in the wind before the window slams shut just enough to close all the way.

In the new emptiness of your apartment, you gaze off at the candles like you’re tracking the rate at which they burn. You’re still dizzy with your evening, glancing at the spot Red Hood had occupied only minutes earlier as if looking for a sign it actually happened.

Time slips away, and you realize you’ve turned your night over in your mind to the point of exhaustion. You blow out all the candles, save for one you carry to get ready for bed. When you emerge from your bathroom, you almost forget Red Hood closed the window on his way out.

Your curtains wave in a small breeze. The darkness is unnerving; you’re not used to it. On an average night, even with the lights off, you’d have residual streetlight slipping inside.

Cool night air prickles your skin as it brushes over your exposed arms. You slam the window shut, thrilled at the idea of finally crawling into bed after the day you’ve had. Without company to distract you, you realize how heavy your limbs feel. Even the weight of your head feels too heavy for your neck.

A deep voice cutting through the silence and darkness of your apartment abruptly changes your plans.

“What do you know about Red Hood?”

A horrible second passes in slow motion. The second between registering an unfamiliar voice in your home and facing it. You gasp. Spin around. With the extended darkness, you find him right away by the glow of eyes. Not Red Hood. Not a modulated voice you hear. Just grit. Cold, but assuredly human.

Batman is your new visitor.

There is no Jay Peters.

Batman, of course, didn’t tell you this directly. When he was satisfied you didn’t know anything about Red Hood—you think, at least—he left with nothing but cryptic hints. You spun his every word in your head throughout the night with nothing for you to do about it until the hum of electricity returned to your apartment in the early hours of the morning.

The obituary before you says Jason Todd was killed in a car accident. He’s small, but there’s no mistaking the boyish grin splitting his face open. You’d know those dimples anywhere.

Only one thing comes to mind as your logical next step: call Jason. Even so, the idea of it makes you uneasy. Not because he’s Red Hood—it makes so much sense in hindsight, and you feel humiliated for not seeing it earlier—but because Red Hood is still your ex. The very same ex you had casually mentioned still being in love with. To Red Hood. Who is your ex.

You’re scared and humiliated and exhausted. Sleep was meant to have found you hours ago, but the glow of your computer screen is a beacon that keeps urging you to uncover more.

How does Jason Todd, teenager killed in a car accident—allegedly, you suppose, because you know very well he isn’t dead—become Red Hood? To further complicate matters, how are you supposed to tell him Batman is onto him when Batman is clearly already watching you?

All you know is now things are starting to make more sense. Jason’s abrupt exit from your life. The way he danced around talking about his past. No longer can you tell what’s a lie and what’s the truth. But with absolute certainty, you remember thinking he was trouble from the start.

You wished it changed anything. You wished now you were free of your aching heart. But just because Jason is Red Hood doesn’t mean he held you any differently. The point you keep returning to is that tonight, Jason took care of you. Hood or not, Jason is still Jason. Any additional complications to that point are just an afterthought.

You don’t have all the answers. Maybe Jason really did leave because you’re fucked up. If he did, you’re not going to take that from him. Not as the truth takes root in your mind. All prior fear of him has dissipated, both as an ex and a vigilante. The need for an explanation rises above all else, and you very much intend to get one.

Exhaustion finally tugs you into sleep as the sun is beginning to rise. Even as you drift away, your mind settles on your plan: once you’re awake enough to stand, you’re marching into the tattoo shop to demand the truth.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider giving this a reblog 💛 as always, gigantic shoutout to @janybabyy for beta reading. i owe you my life

[andthekitchensinkao3]

20 Questions with a Fanfic Author

Thanks for the tag @lavender-tea-fling :D I’m always surprised when someone tags me in these things - keep ‘em comin’!

*cracks knuckles* … *no, not really, because OW*

1. How many works on AO3?

I TOO HAVE 48 WORKS ON AO3! Find them all at this handy-dandy link: andthekitchensink

2. Total AO3 Word Count?

I’m almost embarrassed to tell. 947,443 words. How can there be almost 1 MILLION words on there?!?!?!?!

3. Top 5 Fics by Kudos (disclaimer: I loathe kudos. The hits go up, but the kudos stay at the same “Less than 10%” of hits, and even fewer people leave comments, so I’m left convinced nobody likes my stuff, or are being too polite to be mean in the comments)

Silent Treatment - Detroit: Become Human AU, in which Connor is a human, Selectively Non-Verbal, and there are no androids. Instead there’s a Nefarious Government Project having used children as lab rats. It’s basically a sci-fi thriller.

Great Pretenders - also DBH. Undercover as a Couple, Hankcon. Mutual pining, a convention dedicated to getting the most out of one’s relationship - what could possibly go wrong?

Tapestry of Time - Loki (TV) my first ever Lokius fic, full of Norse mythology. A fix-it fic set after the series finale.

Spa Day - five chapters of Hankcon smut. Gentle dom Connor, greedy sub Hank.

Metamorph - my first ever DBH fic, and also my first ever AO3 fic, uploaded back in 2018. Hankcon, set after the events of the game.

4. What fandoms do you write for?

I have written for FAKE, Yami no Matsuei, The Sentinel (TV), Star Trek: Deep Space 9, Metal Gear Solid, Harry Potter, Final Fantasy VIII, an anime style fighter game I can’t even remember the name of, Tin Man - but those aren’t on AO3. I’m not even sure I still have copies of them. Might have gotten lost in one of my computer crashes. This was before the days of cloud storage, people. Even going so far back as the days of ~dial up modems~. I also stopped writing fanfic altogether because I didn’t fit into fandom spaces, and some interactions with other fans made me think I couldn’t write for shit.

Be kind to your writers, folks. I didn’t write for ten years. Imagine the fics I could’ve written if I’d had more love from my fellow fans.

More recently, since I got my own AO3 account, I’ve written for Detroit: Become Human, Person of Interest, Loki (TV) and Dragon Age: The Veilguard.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to always respond to comments, but I have the memory of an empty fishbowl, and I work a fulltime job. So if I’m late to respond, it’s not because I don’t love your comment. It’s Life(™).

6. Angstiest Ending?

I don’t do angsty endings. I do angsty everything leading up to the end, which invariably ends on a happy note.

7. Fic with the Happiest Ending?

All of them, but I am particularly fond of the ending to A Promise Kept, my Lokius fairytale mashup set in the world of Baldur’s Gate 3.

8. Do you get hate?

So, that anime style fighting game I can’t remember the name of? The creator of Manly Guys Doing Manly Things once roasted my fic in the comments for being too stereotypical of the shounen ai genre - ie beefy boys crying, angst galore, so on. My sole claim to fandom fame, I guess. But no outright hate.

9. Do you write smut?

OH YEAH BABY

10. Do you write crossovers?

I want to, but I seldom come up with a neat way of meshing two fandoms and sets of characters together. A Promise Kept is my only finished project thus far. I do write AUs, though.

11. Ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge. Kids. Don’t steal people’s fics. Write your own.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated

Nope. I suppose I could translate one of my own into Swedish, but… I don’t see the point.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic?

I co-rp’d 200 pages worth of historical romance fanfic with a dear friend once. That was fun.

14. All time favorite ship?

Why you wanna make me choose? Come on. I will say, though, I shipped Kirk/Spock even as a kid, because they were so obviously in wub with each other and I thought they made a cute couple. Ah, Star Trek reruns back in the eighties… 

15. WIPs you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have a Hankcon/Passengers (movie) AU that I’m not sure I’ll finish. But never say never. Inspiration might strike again!

16. Writing strengths?

I’ve been told I do dialogue well, and that I’m funny. IMHO I think I’m kinda good at plot twists, but I’ll let the reader be the judge of that.

17. Writing Weaknesses?

I am utterly self conscious of Telling too much, versus Showing too little. But I’m working on it.

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue?

I do it all the time, when appropriate to a character. Being bi-/multilingual myself, it’s always fun. I’m a language geek at heart.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

FAKE - the anime/manga about two cops in love.

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

Again with the choices, tut tut. However, I am REALLY fond of How to Create a Monster, in which Connor goes deep undercover to expose a drug kingpin preying on androids.

Tags under the cut!

@ghoulehhh @natendo-art @in-my-loki-feels @kusakichan15

@devilbearingtrouble @impulsemuppet @mirilyawrites @scifikimmi @silentxsymphony

@rin-love-is-green @confetti39x @stillwanderingflame

@insert-witty-user-name-here @blackbirdofasgard @dreamycloud @distracteddream

@mobius-m-mobius @dilfmobius @adorbspotat @lgwilt

 @redheadsramblings @starfleetteddybear @mercars-musings @starrose17 @holyglassbone @genocidalfetus @wolfpup026 @elodiah @lokimobius @thosegayoldmen @kcscribbler @tinygameralec @notyourmamasdeerbat AND anyone else not mentioned 🧡💜💚

[honey-crypt]

okay, Elliott x farmer where that man goes with Leah to the band concert w/ sam and the rest and is SOO so surprised to see his partner there, on the STAGE. He would fall even more in love if he heard his partner sing too...

Aftermath of the concert?? he definitely is all over them after that LMAO

(Sam's 8 heart event but we make it about Elliott)

a/n: a new addition to the ongoing @fuerrziah / @honey-crypt elliott-verse haha it takes place about a month after the drunk singing elliott fic :3 enjoy! (btw the song featured is something i wrote a year or so ago)

word count: 2k

warning: horny elliott & general nsfw so minors dni (i also traumatize leah)

summary: goblin destroyer is debuting tonight and elliott can’t find you anywhere! worried that you’re missing the show, he attempts to get touch with you when he gets a shock of a lifetime, as you enter the stage as the singer.

★ ballad of scylla - elliott x farmer ★

The bus ride to ZuZu City was filled with excited chatter and anxious anticipation, as the Pelican Town attendees eagerly awaited the arrival to Sam and his band’s show. Elliott, on the other hand, was unfocused on the outside world, notebook in hand and chewing absentmindedly on his pen.

“Something wrong, lover boy?” his best friend Leah jested to him. Elliott looked up and promptly removed his slobber-coated pen from his mouth, “Oh, apologies. I was lost in thought.”

Leah let out a low hum and questioned the writer, “I don’t see (Y/N) here. Did they get caught up in farm work and miss the bus?”

Elliott frowned and resumed chewing on his pen, “Unfortunately, I believe that to be the case,” he answered, words muffled by the pen, “Sam and the others don’t seem too upset by it, at least. Perhaps, they’ll be joining us at a later time.”

“I hope so,” the artist leaned her head against the window. Outside, the countryside slowly morphed into the urban scene with trees and flowers replaced by bright lights and glamourous storefronts. Elliott took the pen out of his mouth and scribbled down a few words in his notebook.

Pelican. Does anything rhyme with pelican? he tapped the pen against his knuckles, No… nothing rhymes with pelican- Oh! Farm! Farm rhymes with charm! the writer quickly jotted those rhymes down. His first month anniversary with Pelican Town’s dearest farmer was approaching and like the romantic creative he was, Elliott was hellbent on writing (Y/N) a poem as their anniversary gift.

“Elliott… oh, Earth to Elliott…” a finger snap coaxed him out of his writing focus, “We’re here,” informed Leah, ruffling up Elliott’s well maintained side-part. He let out a huff of annoyance and fixed up his hair, “Why must you ruin my hair, Leah? You know it takes me at least an hour to get it this nice.”

“‘Cuz I find it funny how anal you get about it,” his friend snickered. Elliott rolled his eyes, his friendship with Leah often overlapped with that of a sibling dynamic with the both of two teasing one another. Nonetheless, Leah was right, they did arrive at the outside concert hall in ZuZu City. Elliott hastily collected his belongings and exited the bus with Leah, making sure to thank Pam for driving everyone here.

For an outdoor concert hall, the space was surprisingly packed, as various attendees milled about the greenery and awaited for the show to start. Elliott attempted to use his height to his advantage, scouting the area for any sign of his beloved farmer. Yoba, no luck. Elliott frowned to himself, as he and Leah searched for a good spot to watch the show, Where are you, (Y/N)? I hope you’re alright.

Sam, Sebastian, and Abigail took to the stage, the three band members working with the event crew to set up their instruments and sound equipment. Elliott admired their tenacity; To perform your hard creative work in front of a crowd was always an artist’s greatest challenge. He periodically got updates from you and Sam about the band’s progress, mainly you because he didn’t spend as much time with Sam as he did with you.

“Hello!” the whining of electronic feedback and interference echoed throughout the concert hall, “Oh, jeez,” Sam tapped the microphone a few times, “Can everybody hear me?”

Many onlookers in the crowd shouted affirmations and Sam grinned, “Awesome! Well, hey everybody, welcome to the show! My name’s Sam and I’m playing guitar tonight,” he pointed to each of his band members, “We got Sebastian on keys and Abigail on drums. Together, we make… Goblin Destroyer!” a few people cheered at the name, “Tonight, we’ll be performing our debut song Ballad of Scylla, but before we do that, I just wanna shout out the person who gave me the push to actually put forth action and effort into making this reality.”

Elliott sensed approaching footsteps next to him, as a familiar figure walked upstage with Sam, “My friend (Y/N)!” you embraced Sam in a side hug, your body on full display under the stage lights. The writer gawked at your outfit; your black skull crop top left your stomach exposed and arms muscles highlighted, paired together with black bell bottom jeans hugging your hips and your worn out combat boots giving you an extra inch or so of height. Oh no, they’re HOT, so so so hot… he thought to himself, his thoughts and language rather crude.

Sam passed the microphone to you and got in position with the rest of Goblin Destroyer. You attached the microphone back on the stand and looked before the crowd, your eyes landing on Elliott and giving him a wink.

His heart fluttered with anticipation, excitement, and a dash of lust. He focused his attention on your lips, hearing a familiar ‘One! Two! Three!’ followed by a collection of loud layered beats and chords. You launched into song, grasping the microphone stand and belting out the most beautiful singing Elliott ever bore witness to.

“Waves crashing against the shore,” you sang, “The warring ships echo a roar! Through the eye of the storm, I emerge and with a battle cry, the ships submerge!” Leah pumped her fist in the air and cheered alongside the crowd of adoring fans.

“The turbulent sea drowns the crew! Lungs filled with salt water, faces just as blue!” you stared down at Elliott, eyes glowing like the mythological beast in question, “I am Scylla, devourer of treacherous sinners! Their flesh and blood, my dinner!”

Sam launched into a riff, fingers wildly strumming the various strings of his guitar, as Sebastian practically slammed his fists against the keyboard and Abigail smashed the drums. You plucked the microphone off its stand and jumped into the crowd, fans losing their marbles and reaching out to you. Yet, you paid no attention to them, as you snaked your way towards a flabbergasted Elliott.

“A storm in a bottle, a storm in a bottle! Glass threatening to break!” you grabbed him by the tie and yacked him towards you, so close that Elliott could feel your breath against his skin, “Unleash the storm, unleash the storm!”

You released your physical hold on him and climbed back on stage, but you couldn’t get rid of the mental hold you possessed over the poor, helpless man. Elliott could only stare, speechless; the music bumping in his eyes, the people around him dancing wildly, you…. oh, you. You, his beloved. You, his soul. You, his heart. You… Elliott was head over heels in love with you.

“Whirlpools of suffering engulf my being! Consuming my body must felt so freeing! Poseidon takes no mercy on my pain, for the men of sea I have slain!” Elliott hung onto every word that came out your mouth, as memories of the night you two got together flashed before his eyes.

“I was once a creature of beauty and grace! Yet, jealousy led to my home to be lace!” The moans, feeling your hot skin against his own. “The poison bleached my skin and took my eyes! Writhing tendrils of my body let out cries!” Savoring your lips, the aftertaste of alcohol mixed in your spit.

“A storm in a bottle, a storm in a bottle!” Calloused hands digging into your soft waist. “Glass threatening to break!” The delightful whimpers and pleas that your lips recited like a prayer. “Free the storm, free the storm!”

“They call me a monster for who I am!” The way you vacuumed your mouth around his cock, slurping and sucking as if it was a lollipop. “When in reality, I am just a sacrificial lamb!” His canine teeth piercing into your neck and painting it in bruises. “A creature in need of a guiding hand!” The feeling of being inside you, tight and wet with spit and lube. “Against Heracles’ sword, I take my stand!” Elliott! Elliott! Oh, how his name oozed with desperation and need.

“Punished by my creator for my love!” Thrusting into you. “To the pits of Tartarus, I am given a big shove!” Groping at your chest with one hand. “My skin burns like the poison I drank once before!” You sucking and nibbling on the fingers of his unoccupied hand. “The gods of old call for an encore!”

“A storm in a bottle, a storm in a bottle!” Your hole clamping down on his cock. “Glass threatening to break!” Pinning you down with his body weight, his thrusts frantic and sloppy. “Save the storm, save the storm!” Crying out your name, as he coated your hole with sticky seed.

The final guitar riff snapped Elliott back into the real world, as the crowd hollered and applauded at the band for their performance. You remained on stage, sweat running down your forehead and your chest heaving from the workout. Elliott whistled and clapped as loud as he could, “(Y/N)! That’s my (Y/N)!”

The crowd began to disperse while the band and the event crew started packing up the equipment. You sat down on the stage with legs dangling off the side, chugging a water bottle like your life depended on it. Elliott broke away from the crowd and approached the stage, resting his chin on your thigh, “My love,” he greeted you. A smile graced your lips, “Elliott! Did you have fun?”

“Absolutely,” his emerald irises were consumed by his black pupils, “It was a pleasant surprise to see you sing tonight. I was afraid that you missed the event because you weren’t on the bus.”

“I had to take my truck,” you answered, “but, but you know how I felt when you drunkenly serenaded me last month,” you added on before finishing your water. Elliott traced an assortment of shapes against your leg, “I don’t think you realize how much of an impact your little stunt had on me.”

You pulled the bottle from your mouth and wiped off some spilled liquid with the back of your hand, “Oh? What do you mean by that?” your eyes twinkled with playful mischief. Elliott squeezed your other thigh and pressed a few kisses against the thigh he was resting on.

“Allow me to show you.”

…

…

…

bonus:

Leah waited outside the bus, foot tapping against the concrete impatiently. She checked her watch and grumbled to herself, “Where is he?”

“Hey kid, party’s leaving!” hollered Pam from the bus. Leah let out a sigh and replied, “Just give me one second!” before jogging back to the concert hall. She scanned the area for any sign of Elliott and passed by one of the concert hall’s event crew, “Excuse me!” she asked, “Have you seen a redheaded man in a puffy, stuffy outfit nearby?”

“Oh yeah,” the crew member answered while she tided up the stage, “He went towards the parking lot.”

“Thanks!” the artist waved the crew member off and headed off to the concert hall’s parking lot. Leah walked down the rows of cars, looking which one Elliott could be near, when she suddenly heard a moan. She stopped in her tracks and waited, hearing another moan a few seconds later.

Curious, Leah tracked the source of the odd noises and found (Y/N)’s truck close by, “(Y/N)? Ell-” she cut herself short and covered her mouth to hold back a scream at the sight before her: Elliott with his pants down and (Y/N) pinned against the side of their truck. Trying not to get caught, Leah sprinted away and returned to the bus. She took the seat behind Pam and the bus driver kicked the vehicle in high gear, driving away from ZuZu City.

“Kid, you okay?” the bus driver asked.

“I need bleach, eye bleach, right now.”

[dickyspacious]

Thoughts on Sonic Movie 3

Background: Sonic Adventure 2 changed me fundamentally as a child born the same year as Sonic Adventure 1.

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT

The movie adaptation of SA2 did a fantastic job of adapting the elements of the original story that were most digestible to a wide audience, those being Shadow's (mildly compromised) backstory, his relationship with Maria and G.U.N, and his redemption and sacrifice to correct the things he set in motion.

The humor was good and fun! Lighthearted as a kids movie is, but enough genuinely fun bits of comedy to be enjoyable as a young adult. Jim Carrey carries a significant portion of the movie himself, as was the case in movie 1 and especially movie 2.

Visually, this one looked really great! Shadow looked phenomenal in this, looking noticeably better than Sonic did, and only a hair better than Knuckles and Tails. I was discussing with friends about this specific point, perhaps Shadow's frontal outline is just a bit stronger than Sonic's? The quills sticking out to the sides in comparison to Sonic's disappearing behind his head?

Story-wise, in comparison to SA2 the video game, it's good enough for me to be satisfied with. Below is the ramblings of a madman.

Shadow's origin is fully alien (assumedly black arms). In the movie universe, he falls from space in a black arms meteorite. Maria is never said to have an incurable disease, and there's no connection to the ancient Echidna murals depicting Super Sonic and Final Weapon that Gerald researched on Angel Island. We never get to see Shadow happy while living with Maria. We never got to see them develop into brother and sister. A large part of the angst that Shadow carries is the isolation of being so immensely powerful, but still being unable to fulfill the purpose he was created with all that power for. The research project that lead to his birth was a desperate gamble by Gerald to try to find a cure for Maria's NIDS with the help of Black Arms DNA.

Somehow, Shadow is introduced and explored without Chaos Control ever being mentioned. This is a byproduct to the shortcomings of Sonic movie 2, where the chaos emeralds were entirely sidelined for the Master Emerald, which in this universe, seems to be an amalgam of the 7 emeralds rather than a distinct "Controller" emerald. It's never named, but many obviously chaos powers are shown. Shadow warps around the room in his reveal scene. He uses Chaos Spear in his super form to destroy the cloud of G.U.N robots. He uses "Chaos Energy" to charge the Eclipse Cannon.

Shadow removes his inhibitor rings during the Super Teamup, which WOULD make the SA2 version of events work even more phenomenally than it does in the game, but because Sonic fizzles out first and Shadow ends up dying* to the cannon, that significance is lost. Those rings are suppose to keep his output of natural chaos energy within reason. Think 8 Inner Gates from Naruto, where unlimiting yourself burns you to nothing unless otherwise stopped.

Gerald is alive and is directly responsible for the "dark side story" and egging Shadow on avenge Maria. He never got the chance to remove memories about Maria in this story, but instead fed those painful memories to him in real time while they were face to face. Gerald being alive is the single thread that allows for Amy and Rouge to be omitted from this story without consequence. Both Rouge and Amy were critical to Shadow regaining his memories of Maria and his promise that he made to her. Throughout the game story, Shadow makes it clear he remembers making a promise to Maria, her sending him to the surface, and her getting killed by G.U.N soldiers. But because of Gerald, he never remembers WHAT that promise was, but through the kindness Rouge and Amy show him, he eventually breaks through and remembers his promise was to HELP. He might not have been able to save her, but he can save everyone else.

The movie chooses to rework this dynamic. He remembers everything that happened of that day. Meeting back up with Gerald was the single worst thing that could have happened to him. Gerald is the living embodiment of the life that was stolen from him. He's an old wound on Shadow that's still festering. This allows Shadow to fall deeper into his anger, but still naturally come out of it upon reflection. "Is this what Maria would have wanted?" This is something he never got to ask himself in the game because of how devoted to her he was.