#never being in the same terms but staying still by the threads they wrapped around themselves

[hoffmanstits-enjoyer]

There's just something so fucking great about the concept of characters like Zeke Banks and Peter Strahm having this complicated relationship to serial killers while having such a strong urge for justice and finding the truth???

Specifically, I love to think about how in the middle of their games of cat and mouse, or at those moments they inevitably share as they sharpen their knowledge on each other and get close enough to bump, when their intentions get a lot more nuanced as they insist on combing through them later again and again... that connection and obsession shoves everything else to second place. Seeing one another tunnels their vision, and their actions will follow rules made on the spot.

But then the world keeps on turning around them when they leave the crime scene with blood on their shirts and a gun that may or may not have been pointed but never used, piles of mangled bodies from 'collaborative traps' and distorted audios calling the remains of another horror story a chance for 'redemption' never stop being found; survivors slam doors in their faces when they come for statements and sob their hearts out at their closed off support meetings— suddenly, it's their place to show remorse, perform the respect and compassion that's lacking in their lovers... and how it impacts them to carry that burden they, against their own better judgement and all good reasoning, carry because they only give this much of a tangible fuck when they're put face to face with that damage.

It's just breathtaking, to wonder how ignorance is bliss and they cover themselves in it for the sake of something they want so badly. The guilt that comes when the blanket slips right off, yanked back by their lovers. Maybe even by themselves, punishment for their own broken vows. Weakness.

[lewmagoo]

ocean of noise | b. bradshaw

description: in which bradley bradshaw is terrified to allow himself to love and be loved

warnings: 18+, angst, mentions of parental death, bradley has commitment issues and unpacked trauma, smut, unprotected piv sex, overstimulation, squirting

featured characters: bradley “rooster” bradshaw x nondescript f!reader (third person pov), pete “maverick” mitchell (a little bit of dad!mav)

notes: partially inspired by ocean of noise - arcade fire

He left in the wee hours of the morning, before the sun had risen, and before her eyes were open. 

He slipped out of bed as she slept peacefully, undisturbed by his movement. And as he quietly pulled on his clothes, he was filled with an odd feeling. A hollowness that ballooned within his chest. 

Later, he’d come to realize that that feeling was regret. But for now, all he knew was that he had to get out. Had to sneak out into the dark morning before the sun even broke upon the horizon, because he knew that if he stayed, his thoughts would run away from him, and he’d be forced to face a cold, hard truth. 

And the cold, hard truth was that he was in love with her. Painfully, irrevocably in love. That was something that Bradley Bradshaw couldn’t come to terms with. 

So, he ran. Just like he always did. 

As he left her house that morning, he sought peace at the beach. Usually, listening to the waves beat upon the shore calmed him. 

But not this morning. As he stood in the sand, looking out over the ocean, a storm raged within him. 

Flashes of her illuminated his mind. Bits and pieces of the night before. Her body pressed against his own. Her soft, breathless moans. Her face twisted in pleasure as he drove himself inside her over and over again. 

And then, there were the words she said as she was enraptured with pleasure. “I love you.”

He was stuck on those words. Had she really meant them? Or had she just said them in the throes of bliss? There was a part of himself that knew she had meant what she said. But he went back and forth over it, at war with himself. 

Suddenly, the ocean was no longer a place of peace and refuge from the outside world. It was an ocean of violence. Of noise. He couldn’t shut off the constant replay in his head, like someone kept hitting the rewind button as a sick joke. 

He kept trying to come up with reasons as to why he didn’t feel the same. Why he couldn’t feel the same. Reasons such as his profession being dangerous, or keeping him away for long periods of time. 

But in his heart of hearts, Bradley knew they were mere excuses. He was lying to himself. Lying to her. The truth was, he did feel the same way. He loved her so much it made him ache down to his very bones. But he was terrified. Terrified to commit, for fear of losing her, and of leaving her behind, should the sky claim his life. 

Upon his reflections there on the beach, he realized what a fool he was. This had all started as a mere one-night stand. But he was selfish, and he wanted more. So did she. They kept finding themselves tangled in the sheets, bodies wrapped around one another. It was as if they couldn’t get enough of each other. 

It was only sex. That’s what Bradley kept telling himself. But at some point, he’d begun to catch feelings. He tried to deny them. Tried to force them down like they were bitter pills to swallow. 

Except, those feelings weren’t bitter. They were sticky sweet like honey and went down just as easily. 

The thing was, he’d never allotted something like this in the plan that he called life. Falling in love wasn’t in the cards for him. It was better that way. He wouldn’t leave behind a widow like his father had. 

But then he met her. Maybe it was foolish to claim it was love at first sight, but for him, it was. He adored her from the moment he saw her, and as it turned out, she would be his undoing. 

He felt himself coming unraveled like a spool of thread, and even though she was still fast asleep in her bed, and he was standing knee-deep in the ocean, he was still connected to her, an endless length of red yarn keeping them tethered to one another despite being miles apart. 

He’d tried to cut that strand. Tried to saw at it with a knife and sever the connection they shared. But he simply couldn’t work up the nerve. How could he remove her from his life when she was the one thing that made it worth living?

These thoughts ravaged his mind as he stared out at the rising sun, the surf lapping at his legs, threatening to pull him in. He knew she was probably waking up now. She’d find herself in an empty bed, and the still silence of the house would tell her that he was gone. And perhaps she’d realize that this time, he didn’t intend to come back. 

It seemed cruel to do such a thing. To walk out of her life without a trace. Could he really go through with it? Could he walk away from the woman he loved and never look back?

“I don’t know what to do, Dad,” he whispered into the dawn. He wondered what Nick Bradshaw would say if he was still alive. Would he tell him to walk away before it was too late? Or would he knock some sense into him and encourage him to go after the girl? 

Bradley didn’t get a verbal answer, of course. But he did go to someone who would give him one. That’s how he found himself on Pete Mitchell’s doorstep that morning, weight shifting from foot to foot as he waited for the man to come to the door. 

It was still early, before either of them had to be on base. It gave ample time for them to talk. And talk, they would. 

When Maverick answered the door, his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the distraught Bradshaw kid on his doorstep. “Bradley,” he said, taking in his disheveled appearance. Windswept hair, haphazardly thrown on clothing, and a faraway look in his eyes. 

“Mav, I…can we talk? I need some advice.”

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting Bradley to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. Nonetheless, the older man stepped aside. “Uh, sure, sure. Come on in.” As they both retreated inside, he motioned to the coffee pot on the counter. “I was just making some coffee, feel free to have a cup.”

Bradley obliged, pouring himself a cup before Pete motioned for him to follow him out to the hangar. They were both quiet as they walked, and once they were seated, Pete leaned forward, eyeing the man that looked so much like his two dearest friends.

He felt out of his element at that moment. Advice? What kind of advice? While he loved Bradley, he wasn’t sure that he was fit to give fatherly advice. The two had only just repaired their relationship a few weeks ago, and they were still navigating through years of emotional baggage that weighed heavily on them both. 

However, it was clear that Bradley trusted him. Or, rather, maybe he just didn’t have anyone else to turn to and Pete was his last resort. Either way, the seasoned aviator would try his best to help the kid out.

Bradley leaned forward, his eyes downcast as he gathered his thoughts. “I met a girl,” he murmured, “and she’s…she’s everything I could ever want or need. She gets where I’m coming from, I don’t have to explain myself to her. I know it’s impossible for anyone to be perfect, but she’s damn near it.”

Pete took a sip of his coffee. “Sounds like she’s a keeper,” he mused, unsure of where the kid was going with this. 

“That’s the problem. I think I’m in love with her, Mav.”

That puzzled him. His brows pulled together, and he cocked his head to the side. “I’m a little lost. How is that a problem?”

“Because I can’t fall in love! I can’t commit to someone, not when history could repeat itself. I don’t want to leave behind a widow like my dad did. I can’t do that to her.” 

It made sense to Pete then, and realization softened his features. He sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his thighs. “I was involved with Penny years ago,” he began, “but I let her slip through my fingers. I had something great going with her, but I was too stupid to see it until it was too late. By some miracle, the universe gave me a second chance with her. But not everyone gets that lucky. If you’ve found something good with this girl, don’t let her go. This might be the only chance you get with her.”

“But what if I let her in, and then I end up getting killed on the job? I saw what it did to my mom. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Pete’s eyes were gentle as he regarded the younger man. “You can’t live your life in fear. I get why you’re scared. It makes sense. But you can’t let it keep you from enjoying yourself. You deserve to be happy, kid. You deserve a wife and a family and a stable, happy life. I’d hate to see you miss out on that.”

“I want that life. More than anything, I want it.” By admitting that, Bradley was finally being honest with himself. 

“Then go after it. There’s no sense basing life on what-ifs. Yeah, you could very well die while on duty, but the thing is, there are no guarantees. I mean, God forbid, you could be killed in a car accident on your way home today. Tomorrow isn’t promised. You love that girl, you tell her, and then you never let her go.”

Bradley was silent as he mulled over his words. He was right, after all. Tomorrow wasn’t promised. He’d found a good thing in this girl, and he’d be a fool to let her slip away just because he was too cowardly to commit. And when he thought about a life without her in it, it all seemed so empty and cold. 

Even so, he had much to think about. There was some emotional turmoil he had to work through. Long-forgotten demons hiding in a closet, waiting to be brought to the light. 

“You’re right,” he admitted. “I just, uh, get so caught up in my head sometimes. I forget that it’s okay to let myself experience happiness.”

“Your mom and dad wanted you to be happy. And I know for a fact that if Goose were here right now, he’d encourage you to go after the girl of your dreams. There’s nothing in this world that would have kept him from Carole.”

Bradley knew that to be true. Many times, his mother had recounted the story of how she’d met Nick Bradshaw. And although the ending to their story had been tragic, and the chapters in between had been difficult, she didn’t regret marrying him. She always said it was the best decision she’d ever made, and a large part of that was because Bradley had been born as a product of their love. 

He wanted a love like that. Pure and true, withstanding the test of time. But the question was, could he fully commit to it? Or would he let his fears hold him back? 

“I’ve got a lot of thinking to do,” he mused, glancing at Pete. 

He nodded. “Don’t spend too long in your head, though. It’s easy to get lost up there.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” Finally, the two men stood. Bradley offered a smile. “Thanks, Mav. I know playing therapist probably wasn’t how you wanted to spend your morning.”

“Hey, it’s not a problem. You can come by anytime, you know that. I’m just glad to be a part of your life again.”

As he left that morning, he found himself wishing nothing more than to run back into the arms of the woman he’d walked away from. But there was no time, for he had to report for duty, and he couldn’t very well abandon his post, no matter how tempting it was. 

So he went to work. And he did his job. And in between all of it, he did some thinking. And some more thinking. And even more thinking. He thought about a future with her. Thought about a handful of little ones. A dog. A house. A comfortable life. And the more he considered it, the more he realized that he couldn’t imagine a life without her in it. All of it involved her, and if he didn’t have her, he had nothing. 

But she was unaware of the turmoil he was currently in the midst of. When she awoke that morning, she found herself in an empty bed, void of her lover and his warmth. He rarely left in the morning without at least saying goodbye. The realization that he’d slipped away unnoticed created a strange tightness in her chest, and she wondered if she was to blame.

He’d been acting strange ever since last night, when she’d uttered those three fateful words. I love you. She’d meant them when she said them. But he hadn’t said them back. And she wondered if maybe she had misread the situation. Maybe he didn’t love her the way she loved him. Maybe all this was to him was sex, and nothing more.

But she couldn’t believe that. She could see it in his eyes when he looked at her. He loved her, too. He just couldn’t admit it. He shied away from talking about his personal life, save from a few mentions of how he’d lost both his parents, so she had never really been able to get to the bottom of his apprehension toward developing feelings. But in her heart of hearts, she knew that she couldn’t keep this up much longer.

She couldn’t pretend like there was nothing there, because there was something. A spark, just waiting to ignite into a wild flame, consuming everything in its wake. But she feared that it might be extinguished entirely before it even had a chance to grow. 

When she didn’t hear from Bradley at all that day, her heart began to sink. She sent him a text, simple and to the point, but full of concern. 

I hope you’re okay.

Got some things to think through. Talk soon.

She tried to get answers out of him, but he refused, leaving her to wonder what he meant by things to think through. Did that mean it was over between them? Her heart ached at the thought of never seeing him again. She’d come to love the moments they spent together in between their trysts in the sheets. 

Moments in which pillow talk would take place. Conversations that would last well into the night, talking about anything and everything. Those were the moments she fell in love with him. Gradually, like an hourglass filling with sand. But turn that hourglass over and it upsets the whole process. That’s what she felt had happened between them. Bradley had turned them both upside down and interrupted the flow. 

Three days passed without a word from him. She went about her daily routines. Get up. Go to work. Come home. Go to bed. Do it all over again. And she missed him. Oh, how she missed him. And she wondered if she would ever see him again. 

She felt like a fool. Here she’d gone and let herself get attached to him, only for him to wound the heart she held out to him. She knew she never should have uttered those three words to him. Exposing such a vulnerable part of herself to him was a mistake, and she wished she’d had the foresight to keep her mouth shut. 

That left room for resentment to take root, and it was already beginning to bud and take shape like a new plant in the spring. Except this plant was the kind that would choke all the good, healthy ones out. 

On the fourth day, she resigned herself to never hearing from him again. If he wanted to run like a coward, that was his prerogative. 

But then, he showed up on her doorstep that night, and the moment she saw his face, she knew she’d let him in all over again, because she couldn’t resist when it came to Bradley Bradshaw. 

He’d done a lot of reflecting. Spent the last four days agonizing over the situation. But a bit of advice that Maverick had given him some time ago came to his mind. Don’t think, just do. And although he’d been talking about flying, Bradley used it to apply to this moment in his life. 

“Fuck it,” he’d said. He got in his car and drove to her place, and found himself on her front porch, knocking gently on the door. 

A few moments later, the porch light came on, and the door opened to reveal her, dressed in one of his old Navy shirts and a pair of sleep shorts, and he thought she’d never looked more beautiful. 

“Bradley,” she said in an exhale of breath. 

His eyes, wide and full of remorse, met her own. “Did you mean it?”

She was slightly confused, brow furrowing. “Mean what?”

“When you said you loved me. Did you mean it, or were you just saying it because—”

“I meant it. I wouldn’t say something like that if I didn’t.”

His shoulders fell, seemingly in relief. “I want you to know I love you too.”

She shifted her weight to her other foot. “You have a funny way of showing it, running off like you did. You can’t just disappear like that.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I had a lot to process.”

She straightened, squaring her shoulders. “Next time, talk to me. I won’t have a relationship where neither of us communicates about how we’re feeling. Running doesn’t fly with me. You do that to me again and you’ll lose me forever.”

There was a determination, a firmness in her voice. Bradley nodded, face sincere. “I won’t do it again, I swear to you.”

She could see how sincere he was. It burned in his eyes, like the warm flame from a lone candle. Finally, she stepped aside. “Come inside.”

He did, stepping over her threshold and into the comfort of her home. She led him into the kitchen, where she proceeded to make two mugs of hot cocoa. They were both quiet as she worked, and finally, she sat down at the table with him, handing him his mug as he murmured a soft utterance of thanks. 

“Why did you leave?” She asked. 

“Because I’m scared of commitment. I told myself I wouldn’t catch feelings, but I did anyway. And it fuckin’ terrified me. My job puts me at risk every day and I can’t help but think, what if I leave you behind? My mom lost my dad to the sky, who’s to say the same thing won’t happen to us? That’s why I struggle so much to bite the bullet and tell you how I feel.”

Her features softened, and she leaned forward, placing a hand over his own. “I know what your job entails. Are you forgetting that I’m a military brat? My dad put his life on the line every day. I’m no stranger to that fear. I can handle it. I know what I’m signing up for.”

“I know,” he whispered. “It still doesn’t make it any easier.”

“No, it doesn’t. But it’s my choice if I want to get involved with a man who risks his life every single day. I’m not going to let that fear stop me from loving you. I want a relationship with you, Bradley.”

He held her gaze, nodding his head. “I want that too. I really do.”

“Then let’s take a leap of faith and see where it takes us.” She smiled softly at him, her face warm and loving. 

His fingers intertwined with hers. “Okay. I…I can do that.”

The apprehension and fear he felt still gnawed at him, but she was right. It was worth it to take a leap of faith, to see where this love would take them. Bradley didn’t want to live a life without her in it, and he was tired of running. It was time to let himself love and be loved. 

She leaned in then, her hand coming up to cup his cheek, fingers idly tracing over one of the familiar scars etched into his skin. “So, I’ll say it again. I love you. And I’ve never been more sure of something in my life.”

“I love you too. I need you like I need air to breathe.”

Before her lips met his, she smiled, and then she was kissing him. Slow and deep, and it warmed his chest, sending his heart fluttering within his rib cage. He melted into her, allowing himself to be in the moment. 

Her fingers slid through his hair, moving up to tangle in the sun-lightened waves atop his head. He relished in her touch, so deliberate. She knew just what to do to render him a needy mess. 

“Take me to bed,” she gasped against his mouth. 

Who was he to deny her when she asked so sweetly? Without hesitation, he hoisted her up, utilizing his impressive strength to carry her out of the kitchen, their hot chocolate long forgotten. 

His large hands gripped her thighs tightly, keeping her in place as he headed off to her bedroom. Promptly, he deposited her onto the bed, and when she looked up, he was looming over her, big and broad and driven by his need for her. 

He pushed her knees apart, and then he reached down, tugging her shorts off in one swift motion, exposing the fact that she wasn’t wearing panties underneath. He groaned lowly, eyeing her delicate center, already glistening with arousal. 

“S’ pretty, doll face,” he hummed, fingers parting the folds to get a better look, and expose that sensitive little bud. 

But he wanted to see more of her. In seconds, her shirt was gone, and she was entirely bare, while he remained clothed. But it was short-lived, for soon, he shrugged out of his shirt and jeans, and tossed his underwear somewhere unbeknownst. All that was left was the silver chain of his dog tags. 

Then he was on top of her, body warm against hers as his lips found hers again in a searing kiss that lit both of them on fire. Hands wandered, hips undulated against one another, mouths trailed over warm skin. 

Bradley realized his hands were shaking as he pulled her legs up to wrap around him. But she calmed him, taking those unsteady hands and placing them upon her breast. He locked eyes with her, and she beckoned him forth again so she could kiss him before she guided his right hand down between her legs. 

“Feel how wet I am for you,” she coaxed. 

She was indeed. He couldn’t help but moan as his fingers glided through the slick. His cock twitched as his desire to be sheathed inside her mounted. He dipped his middle and ring fingers inside her, crooking them upwards and finding that spot that made her gasp. 

He was good at that. Always had been. No other lover she’d been with could find that spot, but he’d made it his mission to do so, and he never disappointed. 

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he hissed, glancing down to find that her arousal was trailing down his hand. 

“All for you,” she echoed. 

He pulled his hand back, only to use her wetness as lubricant to stroke his cock. She whined at the sight, heat blossoming through her body like she was a live firecracker. 

He sucked what was left from his fingers, not one to waste anything, and she about spontaneously combusted. Then, he was settling between her legs, lining himself up with her. Normally, he would take his time with her and draw it out, but he wanted her so badly, and he wasn’t going to deny either of them what they truly wanted. 

“Gonna fuck you so good, baby,” he assured her, and she knew he would. 

When he pushed into her, she couldn’t help the loud moan that tore from her throat. The initial stretch took her breath away, and she shivered beneath him. Bradley let out a wavering groan, his mouth falling open. 

He stayed there with his hips flush against hers for a few moments, taking in the feeling of her cunt snug around him. He’d never tire of the way she felt around him, like she was made for him. 

Feverish lips were on hers again, tongue and teeth clashing, moans entwining. Her hands found their way to the plush of his ass, and she dug her nails into his skin. “Move,” she hissed through her teeth. 

His arms rested on the mattress, near either side of her head, and then he pulled back and shunted his hips forward. She arched into him, letting out a soft “oh!”

Bradley glanced down at the place where their bodies met, and the sight of her taking every inch of him made his head spin. “Only been four days and I missed being inside this sweet pussy so much.”

“I missed it too,” she breathlessly confessed. 

He pulled back again and drove forward, slowly building up to a steady rhythm. She wrapped her legs around his waist, keeping him impossibly closer, every inch of their bodies touching. 

They moved in tandem, joined as one. One breath, one heart, one soul. A silent understanding passed between them both. A promise that they’d never be apart again. This was the beginning of forever. 

Her eyes met his, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Each push of his hips into her elicited the most beautiful pleasured expression on her face, and he didn’t want to miss a single second of it. Her brows would rise, her mouth would fall open, and her head would fall back against the pillows. God, she was angelic. 

“I’m never leaving you again,” he confessed, face slack with ecstasy. “I’m yours for as long as I live.”

Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears, and she pulled him down by the dog tags, mouth searching for his. In the process, he quickened his movements, and the audible sound of skin against skin could soon be heard, an erotic soundtrack coupled with their breathless moans. 

Wanting her to feel as much pleasure as possible, Bradley made sure to focus on other parts of her body. He lowered his head and swirled his tongue around each of her nipples, sucked at her collarbone, dipped his fingers into her mouth.

“Harder, please,” she breathlessly begged after a while, and he didn’t hesitate to give her what she wanted, fucking into her harder, faster. She grew more vocal, and it only egged him on. 

Then he brought his hand down between their connected bodies, fingers pressing against her aching clit, and it pulled the most salacious moan from her. She could feel him smile as he trailed his mouth along her neck, his mustache prickling at the sensitive skin. 

“That feel good, honey?” He asked. He knew it did. 

“Oh, yes,” she sighed. “Feels s-so good.”

His teeth nipped at her pulse point, only for his tongue to soothe the sting. She barely had a moment to react to it, because he was already hurrying his movements, fucking her deeper than before. He pushed her legs up further, which gave him more range of motion, and his cock brushed against that spot within her that made her eyes roll back in her head. 

“Fuck!” She cried, jolting against him. “Right there!”

“Yeah? That’s your spot, ain’t it?” He taunted. If she wasn’t already so fucked out she might notice his smug expression. He knew exactly what he was doing. She was going to come undone at least twice before he even reached his own end, because her pleasure was his first priority. 

Her hands found their way to his back, which her fingers dug into, sure to leave trails of pink in their wake. He didn’t care. He wanted her to mark him up, to stake her claim on him. He was hers and no one else’s. 

She lifted her head from the pillows, searching for his mouth again, and he kissed her, swallowing her moans that kept growing in pitch. He could feel her tightening around him, and he knew she was close. “Want you to come for me, sweet thing.”

“I-I’m almost there,” she squeaked.

“I know. You let go when you need to. I’m gonna fuck you through it.” 

She allowed herself to bask in the sensations warming through her. Crackles of ecstasy, beginning at the base of her spine and flowing out to her extremities. She felt like a live wire, thrumming with electricity. 

He infiltrated her every sense. His warm skin against her own. His gravelly moans filling her ears. The taste of his mouth against hers. The darkened honey of his eyes as he caught her gaze. The scene of his cologne, and the wonderfully familiar scent that could only be described as Bradley. She was surrounded by every part of him, and she couldn’t get enough. 

She grew more vocal the more intense it became, and the sound of her desperate moans was music to his ears. “Sing for me, baby. Let me hear how good it feels.”

And she did. She cried out for him, body trembling in his arms as he fucked her. With his fingers at her swollen bud, and his cock snug within her, she was plummeting to the edge, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. So she did just as he said. She let it wash over her, and she didn’t hold back. 

When her eyes locked with his, wild with need, he knew she was done for. He watched in awe as she fell apart, writhing in euphoria as her orgasm engulfed her entirely. He fucked her through it, like he’d promised, but he had to slow down and grit his teeth as he tried to stave off his own end. Her cunt tightened around him, nearly sending him over the edge, but he held it together and allowed her to experience her own pleasure before chasing his own. 

When she finally came down, she fell limp beneath him, chest heaving as she fought to regain her bearings. He remained against her, grounding her. His lips were on hers, and he kissed her gently, slowly coaxing her down from the intensity she’d just experienced. 

He’d paused his movements, allowing her a moment to recover. As that spaced-out look in her eyes began to fade, she looked up at him, smiling shyly. “Th-that was…wow.” 

Bradley grinned at her, his cheeks flushed. “Glad to hear,” he said, laughter in his voice. 

She pulled him closer, a look of mischief crossing over her features as she tapped his ass with her heel. “Giddyup,” she coaxed. 

She certainly didn’t have to tell him twice. He resumed his pace, quickly moving back up to speed. She wrapped her legs securely around his waist, arms snaking around his shoulders. He braced his hands on either side of her, face hovering over hers. 

God, he was breathtaking like this. Eyes set with determination, mouth slack, cheeks pink. Sweat glimmered on his brow. His dog tags jangled with each thrust. 

He’d started grinding his hips into hers with each thrust, pubic bone creating friction against her clit, and she was so sensitive that it nearly sent her over the edge again. “Oh!” She gasped, mouth falling open. 

He felt her tighten around him again, and he let out a broken grown, slowing down. “Fucking hell, baby. You keep doing that and I’m not gonna last much longer,” he warned. His resolve was quickly fading. 

“C-can’t help it,” she whimpered. “Feels too good.”

Something about her tone, and the look of innocence on her face, lit a fire within him, one that began to spread throughout every inch of his body. 

He sped up, bracing himself above her as he rose to a rough, unforgiving pace. He fucked her hard, and the sounds she made only spurred him on. At that point she could hardly utter a coherent word. The only thing coming out of her mouth were unbridled moans and whimpers. 

Somewhere along the way, she was hit with a second orgasm out of nowhere, and she quite literally sobbed as it crashed into her. This time, Bradley didn’t slow down. In fact, he fucked her so hard through it that she ended up soaking him with her release, the evidence of which coating his dick and his upper thighs. 

He glanced down at the mess, dripping beneath them onto the sheets, and his mouth hung open. But she was quickly growing embarrassed. 

“S-sorry. I made a mess,” she despaired, her voice wavering. 

It took everything in him to keep his composure. “Don’t you dare apologize,” he gritted out, fighting everything within himself to keep it together just a little longer. “That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

His voice was wrecked, and his whole body trembled. He knew he couldn’t hold on any longer. So he kissed her long and hard, and fucked her into the mattress. He could feel it building, and he didn’t stop until it finally overwhelmed him. 

With all but a shout, he drove his hips forward, pressing them flush to hers as he spent himself inside her, filling her to the brim with all he had to give. She took it all like the good girl she was, and soon, they both collapsed against the bed in exhaustion. 

Bradley was careful not to rest his entire weight upon her, and he very gently eased his softening cock out of her, soothing her when she whimpered. 

He couldn’t bring himself to speak for a few moments, and neither could she. They were still easing through the post-orgasmic haze. Instead, he opted to hold her, keeping her tucked against his chest. She was still jolting from the aftershocks. 

Several minutes passed, and the fog began to clear from her brain. And as it did, she realized what a mess she’d made. She glanced down and gasped at the sight of the soaked sheets, and she hid her face against his neck in embarrassment. 

“I can’t believe that happened,” she murmured. “I’ve never done that before.”

He pulled back to look at her, face a mix of incredulity and pride. “You mean no one has ever been able to make you squirt before?”

“N-no. They’ve never cared enough to try. I didn’t even know I could do it, anyway.”

He couldn’t hide the grin that spread across his face. “So I’m the first one that ever made you feel that good?”

She pushed at his chest. “Don’t get all cocky now.”

He hummed in amusement and leaned in to kiss her nose. They fell into a comfortable silence again, basking in the afterglow for a little while longer before it was finally time to get cleaned up. 

Bradley stripped the bed while she excused herself to the restroom, and by the time she emerged, he already had fresh sheets on, and was just spreading the duvet over the mattress. Sometime during the process, he’d thrown on his underwear, though he wore nothing else. 

“Thank you,” she expressed her gratitude for him changing the sheets. 

“It’s the least I could do, since I was the one who helped make the mess,” he said with a good-natured grin. 

She stepped in close, placing her hands on his broad chest. Instinctively, his own hands rested upon her hips, keeping her flush against his body. The atmosphere shifted into seriousness. 

“Are you going to stay this time? Or will I wake up to an empty bed again?” She asked. 

He held her gaze. “I’m staying. Remember what I told you? I’m never leaving you like that again. You’ve got me now, for as long as you’ll have me. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making things right if I have to. I don’t ever want to hurt you again.”

She hummed, leaning up to kiss his mouth. “You don’t have to spend the rest of your life making it right. All I ask is that you be open and honest with me from here on out. It’s my only condition.”

He nodded without hesitation. “I will be. I promise.”

Then she smiled, “I’ve heard that you’re a man of your word. Is that true?”

“My word is good,�� he simply replied.

“Well, in that case, Mr. Bradshaw, will you be mine?” Mirth lit up her eyes. 

It was his turn to smile. “I will gladly be yours, darlin’.”

And so, their love story began. 

-

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[animationadventures]

Recreating the Lost Episodes: A Guide

Season 2

As we learned about S2’s production over the past year or so, the mouse’s decision to shorten The Owl House’s third season came around the time “Agony of a Witch” aired. This was around the time the crew had finished writing the first half of S2. They were given a choice, move forward with their intended original plans for the second half or rewrite the second half to accelerate the plot enough that they could wrap up the story with the little time they had left in their generously called “Season 3”.

They chose to accelerate the plot. This is extremely noticeable due to the suddenly announced deadline of the Day of Unity being a month away in “Follies at the Coven Day Parade”. If it weren’t for the cut, would the DOU have been instead announced for anywhere from three to six or nine months away and covered in S3, giving the story enough breathing room to explore character and relationship development we didn’t get?

So, a lot of amazing ideas had to be left as abandoned puzzle pieces, and us fans are left to figure out how they were supposed to fit together for ourselves. For all the fanfic writers who plan to recreate what we lost, this is for you. If I wasn’t already working on long term projects, I would try this myself too.

I have no doubt that the episodes we did get for Season 2B would have still been in the show’s lineup, but likely further down than they ended up being for most of them. Because of the anniversary for Manny’s death being a specific date, I imagine that would have stayed in the same slot for example.

Let’s start with the Bat Queen since that’s the earliest dropped plot thread I can identify. At the end of “Escape of the Palisman”, Luz promised to help the Bat Queen find out her past since she no longer remembered her original owner. As we saw in S2, she never followed up on this. As confirmed at the Gallery Nucleus panel, Bat Queen is not the palisman of the Titan, but rather a giant. So we might have gotten lore on giants in the demon realm, specifically Bat Queen’s owner and how she became who she is now.

Another dangling thread is Jean-Luc, King’s babysitter from his nest. We never see King and the gang try to reactivate him outside of the nest; he just sits in the corner of Luz’s room as a decoration for the rest of the season.

Then there’s the four head witches that didn’t get proper debuts – Hettie Cutburn, Mason, Osran, and Vitimir. We can assign at least two episodes and four at most to fleshing them out, two being if they teamed up the way Darius and Eberwolf did or four if they debut individually like Terra and Adrian.

As far as I can guess, Mason was intended to be involved in a scrapped plot line of returning to the Looking Glass Ruins along with Adrian Graye, as a mirror match to Gus and Mattholomule since they match coven tracks. With old storyboards starting the rumor Mason was Matt and Steve’s father (albeit with the name Ulrich), this could have really boosted Matt’s development of wanting power changing to multi-tracking, sticking with the theme of finding your own way instead of following in your parents’ footsteps.

Another team-up I can see is Hettie and Vitimir since their covens likely work closely in making cures and general healthcare. Hettie was said by Dana to be interesting to the crew, hinted at being creepy and having an interest in bloodwork. So perhaps the pair of them would be assigned to the Titan’s Blood case and eventually woven into King’s plot? Or the two would be split up, with Hettie being involved in King’s Titan plot and Vitimir being involved in Hunter’s grimwalker plot?

I suggested Vitimir being involved in Hunter’s grimwalker plot because the list of stuff needed to construct a grimwalker sounds like a potion ingredient list, and Vitimir is the head witch of the Potions Coven. Belos might have tasked him with gathering the necessary ingredients for a new grimwalker, suspecting Hunter is beginning to betray him like all the others as he grows independent through Darius’ influence and his adventures with the Hexsquad. Since Hunter is such a crucial piece in Belos’ plans, who better to task with the important and rare ingredients of a grimwalker than the head witch of the Potions Coven himself?

Osran is probably the biggest mystery player in how he would get involved. Since the Oracle Coven is all about foresight and contacting spirits, perhaps there’s something to be said about how nobody saw the Day of Unity’s true purpose coming. The Collector using his power to keep oracles from seeing the truth? Belos forbidding any scrying about the DOU? There’s a theory out there that he might have been intended to join the rebellion based on the burned tapestry in “Eda’s Requiem” the BATTs pass after their first raid. Maybe not being able to see the outcome of the Day of Unity gave Osran reason to change sides.

When writing the head witches, it’s best to remember each one has a sense of irony regarding the coven they are the bosses of. Raine is the head witch of the Bard Coven despite having stage fright, Darius is the head witch of the Abominations Coven but hates messes, Eberwolf is a beast tamer despite basically being feral himself, Terra is the head witch of the Plants Coven but has a toxic personality, and Adrian Graye prefers to direct others putting on illusions rather than perform himself. In that vein, Hettie is likely that creepy doctor that enjoys the pain of patients, Vitimir likely neglects lab safety despite working with potions if his toxic breath is a clue, Mason probably prefers to work solo rather than in a team like construction jobs usually require or relies on the power glyphs instead of his strength like normal coven members, and Osran likely is senile and forgetful about the present from constantly looking into the future.

There’s also the matter of Amity still having the portal key in storyboards for Clouds on the Horizon. The Roundtable covered this in their video about season 2, how Amity and Hunter’s duel was likely supposed to end differently but the accelerated plot necessitated a change at the last minute since it was part of 2A. Amity and Hunter probably came to a draw, neither having the information to leverage. This would explain why Amity isn’t upset with Hunter the next time they meet in “Labyrinth Runners”.

The thing with Raine also confuses me. At the end of “Eda’s Requiem”, we see them being restricted by their sigil then seems fine in “Follies at the Coven Day Parade” pretending to be brainwashed. I think them being captured was supposed to be a bigger part of the plot, but again the plot acceleration necessitated a change of what happened to them and the crew couldn’t change it the same way the duel at Eclipse Lake might have gotten. This by extension would have given the BATTs a bigger role too.

Development for the Blight family was also a big thing in Season 2. We properly met Odalia and Alador, Alador got a redemption arc while Odalia got worse, the origin of Amity’s family nickname was revealed, and the twins showed interest in multiple tracks. The one person in the family that really got the shaft was Emira because she didn’t have a B-plot expanding her interests like how Edric got to show his interest in beast-keeping and potions in “Reaching Out”. I have a feeling if it weren’t for the plot acceleration, we would have seen them more. Perhaps Odalia was intended to be the season’s major antagonist similar to how Lilith was in Season 1, appearing to cause conflict in more episodes than just two.

The Collector also wasn’t intended to be part of S2 according to one of the crew’s Post Hoots. Once they learned of the cut, they decided to throw him into the mix early. He’s woven so intricately into the plot now, it’s hard to imagine what the story would be like if he was delayed until later or didn’t show up at all.

That’s all I have for Season 2. I’ll talk about Season 3 in the next part, but that will have to wait until we see how the other two specials play out to see what else was either dropped or squeezed into a montage.

In the meantime, try recreating episodes from what I’ve pieced together so far. Best of luck to all and may the Titan look down on you favorably.

[greysfall]

My 4444-word review of NEO TWEWY (with personal illustration + heavy spoilers)

My overall critical score for the game is 7.5/10, while my personal enjoyment score is 8.5/10. This review is posted as I have 80% completed the game, got the secret ending and achieved the Angel psychic rank. I’ll first start with the main pros and cons as follows.

PROS:

-        Enjoyable as a whole, still upholding the first game’s spirit in world building and sharing the same backbone - which was mostly revealed in the Secret Reports, it’s impossible to grasp the story without reading them.

-        The new cast and new game is charming in their own way

-        The old cast’s return is one of the biggest highlights for sure, it was fun and impactful. Everyone stays true to themselves and also had their own stories wrapped up nicely.

-        Boss designs are cool, new pins are fun to use and collect

-        The connection between the old and new cast is well written and executed, including but are not limited to the tension between the old and new protagonist, the weird but fun interaction between the 2 Composers, the new friendships revealed and formed

-        Sho being in the main cast is something so uniquely TWEWY and uniquely Sho

-        Still good music

-        Still many fun side quests, some of them really uphold the same quirky spirit of the old game and some are surprisingly touching

-        Many new nice stores and yummy looking foods to explore

-        The map is really easy to memorize for me, it’s fun to travel around the “current” Shibuya to see all the differences compared to the past

-        The social network is crazy and interesting to read through

-        Has an anti-frustration system to help 100% complete the game more easily and earn money faster, so post-game is relatively managable.

-        Overall, I really feel the efforts the team poured into making this as their passion project, not just during the development process but for all the last 14 years. They showed the vision of what they wanted to make, at the same time giving something to both the old as well as new fans.

CONS:

-        The biggest problem with the game is scenario writing. The story is so heavily back-loaded. The director himself thought it would be better to balance out the tension flow by adding more at the beginning but gave in to the scenario writer in the end, probably due to time pressure. This results in an underwhelming execution of characterization and lots of wasted potentials for the first half of the game.  

-        I struggle to view it as a stand-alone game, since the backstory and the old cast both play such an important role in the core of the game. If someone plays this game without having played the OG, they can only enjoy it on surface value at best.

-        The new cast is nice but most of them aren’t quite as intriguing as the old cast, maybe it’s cuz they’re all too nice deep down that they lack a little bit of an edge, of that batshit craziness that everyone in the OG used to have? I think some characters (Fret, Nagi) ended up weaker in terms of characterization because the writer is too afraid of making them unlikeable – which kind of backlashed cuz they only became likable in the most expectable way to cater for a specific group of fans. I would have wished for the other team leaders to be more crazy too, had they not suffered 30+ loops of the Game…

-        The CAMERAWORK IS HELL.

-        Gameplay does get tedious at certain points with all the time travels.

-        Shiba is so badly written as a villain, some Shinjuku characters should be given more screentime cutting into Shiba’s– like Hishima or Kaie or even, Hazuki (though his limited presence also solidified his importance).

-        Some of the main character designs, for example Beat’s hairstyle and his food reactions are hilariously bad. What’s the point of covering up most of his unique facial features?

-        Some of the minor/side characters’ design are too cool for them to have such a small role (eg: Ayano, Eiru). Ryoji did get much screentime but is nowhere as fun as Makoto was.

-        Overall the scope of this game is made a little too big for the team to handle as perfectly as the last game that was very compact, it felt somewhat rushed in development too so the missing pieces are clearly there in the final picture

The entry fee versus paying for it all in the end

An important difference between the Neo game and the original Shibuya game was that the Shibuya rule asked for an entry fee that is the Player’s most important asset, stated as a chance the Composer gives them to reexamine themselves. Meanwhile, the Shinjuku rule neither encourages nor allows personal growth and ultimately aims to erase as many Players as possible. It’s a pity we were never introduced to the full Shinjuku rulebook, as it seems like the system there focuses more on building up power and a grand government to compare with the individuality-driven system of Shibuya.

When you have to compare the new game and the original game (OG), this is an important factor to consider. Also, the OG has a serious storyline running through and through, locked with a different partner/GM creating unique atmosphere for each week and you don’t get to see your old partners again until the end. NEO’s team system does not allow such deep insight and communication between the Players. All of your teammates are always there throughout, the dynamic does change with each new addition but it is not as prominent as a partner change.

Another important factor is how the OG was built from scratch for a new platform as “something no one has ever seen before”, while Neo recycled a lot of old unused ideas from the previous development (check out this interview for more details). The development team for NEO lacks 2 key members and had a change of writer so the final product is not as strongly bound together as the last game.

The new cast is definitely inspired by today’s teenagers (from the view of creators), compared to the old cast they’re more sociable and always seem to take whatever works for them despite feeling unstable inside. They are all innocent and genuinely nice kids, avoiding to hurt each other to a degree that they end up keeping some sort of distance. They’re also unable to communicate at deeper levels, always stagnant at this half-baked stage of equilibrium without any motivation to get to the core of things. That is the cost of entering the game without an entry fee, without even dying or having a reason to be there/to fight seriously. These kids were stolen from the RG into a Game that was decidedly the worst environment for them to change or develop, just wandering around cluelessly to find a way “out” until tragedies started to unfold one by one and they ended up being charged the total sum of the price for their actions – ultimately losing everything in the end.

That is, I believe, a story arc which can resonate more to the youth of today rather than of my generation. If the message of the old game was to “listen”, enjoy life to the fullest and accept to trust others, the message of the new game is to “speak up” from the inside, trying to understand yourself and take actions instead of just going with the flow and finally, to take responsibility for such actions.

If Neku was handpicked by the Composer for being the special one with an all-dense soul to ensure victory of the game then Rindo was just a normal kid chosen out of random by Kubo to be his back-up plan, who just happened to have a high enough imagination to awaken the incredible power from his pin. Rindo was then officially chosen by the Composer as Josh picked up and handed the pin to him again, this time not as Josh’s personal Proxy – but as the Proxy to represent the normal people of Shibuya and via whom he could gamble if humans can fight for their own fate.

The underworld heroine and the hero with little of his own

Shoka is for me a refreshing and layered heroine. She’s the kind of character that took at least 3 trials of creators to form as a complete individual – that included Nomura who gave her the base design and Reaper background, Gen who gave a more cunning touch and the writers who made her English dialogues more punchy. Dishonesty equals “tsundere” is such a cliché, so the English writers tried really hard to avoid that trope in my opinion, while still letting her good intention come through.

She serves as the character who is informed of everything the players should have known, and there was almost nothing she could do about it. Almost. Until she met Rindo.

They were drawn to each other by sharing a state of “not having anything of their own”. They both started out with not being able to truly know themselves, Shoka even hated her RG life but also managed to mature from that stage before Rindo. She must have vibed with Shiki’s love and passion in the Gatto Nero threads, initiating her connection with Shibuya and understanding herself more. With Shoka as Swallow, they were able to open up to each other and offer mental support… but was still not getting to the centre of their problems because for all this time, Shoka could not tell Rindo the most important things about herself.

How did Shoka feel when she met Rindo at the UG? She probably didn’t want to hope that he would live the day until she witnessed the Twisters’ potentials. From the very beginning, they were both incredibly conscious of each other and also constantly frustrated that the person they happened to “notice” was such a condescending bitch/a clueless loser. The Shinjuku Reapers are overall quite drunk in power and uncompassionate to Players, Shoka included. She is also a master of dissociation, which results in her constant boredom, tone swings, haughtiness and subconsciously distancing herself from the friend – the boy she cares about – from false hope, as she judged from facts that it was a hopeless situation where nothing could ever be. Maybe she is naturally a bit of a chameleon just like her name suggests (Shoka 紫陽花 = hydrangea, the color-changing flower), so putting on an act and always dissociating herself from what’s important was easy, while hiding her contradiction was impossible. It was the ex-Reaper Beat who broke it out to her, that she should decide whether she really cared and wanted to do something for a change. He knew how it felt like to cross that line, and knew she wanted to too.  

Shoka is endeared by many of the Shinjuku Reapers and has shown independent acts of kindness (the Shinjuku ghost), proving that her kind and truthful side is as real as her harsh and dishonest side – which makes her a nice mirror to the previous heroine Shiki, who also embraced a dichotomy of self-complex and self-love within her character. In the end, she was the first of the new cast to ultimately accept all that is important to her and independently made the decision to help save Shibuya despite all costs.

She was jealous at Rindo’s interaction with Tsugumi and Kanon but remained silent cuz she wasn’t at a place to have any say about it. She also didn’t reveal about Swallow because that would only add an awkward irrelevance to their current situation, as she was too ready to face erasure at the end of the Game. She only wished to “play a game” with him, be it FanGo or the Reapers’ Game. The tension that the team could only feel at the end, she’s felt it the entire time. The song “DIVIDE” is applicable to not just one bond in the game, but it always makes me think of theirs. There is always a “divide” between her and Rindo throughout the course of their journey, as the living and the dead, as a Player and Reaper, as someone who has a place to return to and someone who doesn’t, someone who knows little but wields too much power and someone who knows a lot despite not being able to do much.

“If only I had the chance to connect with you on the other side

But time goes on, and without us realizing it

The battle is getting heated

Time goes on, and without us realiazing it

Divided again”

To be honest, maybe I didn’t grow any affection for the new main cast from Rindo’s perspective but from Shoka’s. Since I started to sympathize with Shoka, I started to see the boy in a more “real” way. The real Rindo, behind his peaceful façade with others, would lash out on Shoka for her unfairly harsh attitude while none of the others cared. He could also subtly feel that mantle of unspoken secrets from her, her own contradictions, the unresolved chemistry between themselves – and not knowing what to do with it rather than to feel angry with all the unfairness he could not process. (As a Libra too, he’s triggered the most by unfairness!)

It is actually a positive development as he’s at least “reacting” to something strongly now rather than to keep evading his problems. During my replay, I clearly saw the difficult situation Shoka was in, her remaining harshness after the Motoi incident was due to her internal struggle with a mission to save her own life, versus a chance to really be with the team. Her decision was to do both at the risk of losing favour from both sides. Rindo started to accept her layer by layer, as the person who resonated the most to her contradicting nature from the start and knew that via learning her resolve, he has learnt his too.

Later into the game, she even got too much of his attention. Maybe even without knowing she’s Swallow, he’s familiar with her thinking direction and Swallow had always been closer to him than any other friend. It was only after she had to betray her important ones twice that she could start being truly honest. The scene when she died a 2nd time left a strong impression in me, the little reveal let Rindo know that he is also losing Swallow as he’s losing Shoka – and that only death could drive the last secret out of her. Her final “Later, loser” echoed through Rindo as it was the final truth, with only him remaining to hear it: they had actually, already lost everything.

Rindo was the boy who never dared to face all that matters to him until he lost it all, fighting an unfair battle in the faith that they would somehow still win. Shoka was the girl who always knew what was dear to her, but never dared to think she could be together with them ever after and still threw her all into a battle she knew was losing. I think they stir each other on naturally to fill out their gaps, similar to what the Shibuya game partner systerm would have aimed for. The end reward was a little divine intervention to help close up the divide between them once and for all.  

During the game there was not enough space to process anything personal so at the ending when they officially became “friends”, it was an important affirmation of their bond. Some people complained it was friendzoning but it’s not, they just have arrived at the perfect place to start something more. “From now on, we will truly be together” – I read it as that kind of message.  

The heroine from a lost battle, with her story taken away

After reading the secret reports and playing the game to be surprised of how small a role Tsugumi had in the main game despite being the “Hype-chan” thought to be a major character of the next TWEWY installment, many fans would feel sad at a missed opportunity to see the Shinjuku arc in full depiction.

It was shown clearly that, a Shinjuku arc was very carefully planned out and is a vital part of the whole story, yet it could not be made due to various circumstances behind the development scene. I would assume, that the team were not able to make a TWEWY game that ended on a despairing note, but it already happened in their mind, thus becoming a mental burden that forced them to break away from it and started the game anew with NEO. A significant part of NEO became the healing arc for the Shinjuku characters, especially for Tsugumi though I really wished more emphasis should have been placed on her rather than Shiba. We didn’t even get to see her brother – Shinjuku’s Conductor who had a vital role and instead was given the clueless Shiba, who had absolutely no idea what’s going on all the way until the last day in NEO. It’s as if Tsugumi has had her story stolen away from her, because her own battle ended with a saddening loss.

I think every time the game creators look at Tsugumi, they would feel that sadness too. Maybe to them, she is a bigger character than what is seen by the fans, as despite their failed effort to depict her story, she’s lived in their mind for all these years through periods of destruction, healing and rebuild.  Though it is a pity we could not get to experience the full scope of the Shinjuku story, the creators was clear about the place they wished for it to arrive at.    

Individuality, connection and the social network

The team system adapted from Shinjuku rulebook does not allow much room for personal development, as the team dynamic is closer to a work relationship forced to bear results, than a spiritual bond to max out all corners of understanding as found in the partnership system. The old Shibuya system allowed only 1 winner and 1 week limit per game, while the new rule declares for a 1 winning team and only the team at last place will be erased – the other teams will enter another loop. Furthermore, whichever team to challenge the unwinnable Ruinbringers will face the risk of ending up dead last followed by erasure. As a result, the longest-standing teams are most likely not the strongest ever recorded, but the ones who have figured out a strategy to simply survive until something changes, enjoying their newly found social constructs while they are at it. Basically, it is a system to hypnotise players into the illusion that they are still “living”.

Therefore, we as players would not get to the core of each Player individually as fast and directly as we did in the last game. The Twisters were able to stand out not because they’re powerful, they only started to have a real chance after growing enough to each form a meaningful and personal connection to another teammate. It did not come as a team, nor did it intiate from the existing friendship between Rindo and Fret. In fact, I did not find much solidity or anything truly note-worthy about the main team and new characters within themselves until they started clashing with other team members, Reapers and new recruits from week 2 onwards. Rindo found his personal development with Shoka (via a clash with Motoi and pretty much a mini dating sim between them), then via the confrontation of his role with Neku; Fret found his with Kanon then Nagi, the team learned about the real Neku via Beat, Neku entered the UG via Coco’s wish to save Tsugumi… it was not the team but their personal links that empowered them to fight and solve each of their problems.

The other team leaders may have failed because they did not form such personal links, after 30+ hopeless loops Fuya’s team all fell apart to pursue their own interest even at the cost of erasure, Motoi quit his KOL façade to work like a dog for the Reapers (probably to save just his own ass not his team), while Kanon dropped her tricks to find changes via honest cooperation in acceptance of a fair loss. The despairing note in that is huge without making much of a scene because their failure didn’t happen at their best effort to “win”, but in their last attempt to find a way “out”. Even Shiba got his way “out” in the end thanked to his personal friendship with Hishima and Tsugumi.

Something has shifted in the mindset of the game creators in the last 14 years, as both games are about “connection vs individuality” but the last game focuses more on connection between just individuals and this one on the overall network that is formed out of those individual connections.

The introduction of Beat into the main cast was truly the bridge between old and new, they helped each other out in several turns before officially recruiting him. Beat is a character whom a lot of fans including myself have felt somewhat concerned about after Neku disappeared from the RG, so when the new kids welcomed Beat with warm and organic interaction and Beat seemed happy, I started to feel like I wanted to help them out too! I think the overall team chemistry is enjoyable enough for new players, but I could warm up to the new kids more from the pov of a returning character – whom I’m glad to be Beat, as the older brother figure who is genuinely kind, fun, serious and upbeat at the same time; who is needed and needs the kids in return.

The social network is a fun and refreshing feature. You can read all of the crazy tidbits about Shibuya and the links each character have formed with the town people, it’s also fun to visualize how the characters act off screen. Characters’ profiles provide extra insight into their background too, like how it reveals Tsugumi has been friend with Coco during her time in the RG. During the game when not all characters have showed up, you can sometimes guess which empty spot will belong to whom. For example there is a 1 character linking to Neky that is not linked to anyone else, so I could guess that was Joshua, and that another character linking only to Joshua was probably Hazuki, hinting that the 2 Composers are related before either of them even showed up.

Hazuki only showed up for 5 minutes, but his presence is so vital and true to the game that I think he is the most memorable out of the new cast. The two Composers have such an intriguing bond, with their yin/yang or phoenix/dragon themes, opposite color design, the sempai/kouhai tone and the way they keep some sort of distance/work relationship as if it’s mandatory between Higher beings, yet at the same time they can talk so casually because they are truly equal – and different from one another. I have written a separate meta on them here.

Some people pointed out, that all Shinjuku characters’ names and themes are based off Hanafuda cards and the Phoenix in Hanafuda belongs to the Paulownia suit – which is Joshua’s name flower. This is so interesting because it feels like the creators somehow saw it as a sign to interweave the Shibuya and Shinjuku storylines together. Though it doesn’t come out much on the surface, it’s fascinating nonetheless considering both Josh and Haz had at some point interfered with the other town’s affairs.

“Shibuya tour with Haz” was such a special scene, as it happened between 2 characters who do not/no longer have a reason to care about Shibuya, on the subject of what is worth saving about Shibuya. Hazuki carried out the purification of Shinjuku and stepped in to restore Shibuya just as part of his job and unlike Hanekoma or Joshua who both possess profound understanding of humanity, he really didn’t know humans at all. Rindo’s irrational wish invoked in him a sense of curiosity, to try gambling on something irrationally and learning a bit of what his senior have experienced. With all the pieces put together, it provides an overview on Higher beings as a whole, and that Joshua and Hanekoma are really the odd ones out with Hazuki being somewhere in between them and the rest.        

The old friends

It’s easy to have returning characters overshadow the new cast as they have already matured out of their personal story arc and stayed in our hearts for all this time. In the end, I have managed to enjoy both the old and new cast separately and altogether, and they will both find their own place in our memory of this game for the long term.

Sho is truly as crazy as ever, the game wouldn’t be the same if Sho is any less of what he is. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like Neky or Beat is younger than Nagi at all, with moments when it seems like Neky has aged 14 years instead of 3 years. His friendship with Coco surprised me pleasantly, and their interaction together with Beat was fun to watch. Rhyme’s found a new dream and her friendship with Kaie is precious too, especially considering that she can still talk to him online after the game ended. Josh and Neku’s interaction suggested that they have resolved the past and are on equal terms now, they even parted ways in good spirit and I don’t feel any worry about them like I did before.

Neku and Shiki’s reunion scene was beautiful, theirs is such a special bond that it has grown and supported them even without being able to see each other. I am so happy to see them all again and that they stay true to who they are, albeit looking more grown up, cooler and happier than ever before.  

Overall, NEO can’t become a classic on par with the OG, but is definitely a good sequel and a good game in its own rights. I’m happy with whether or not there will be a 3rd game to complete the 3 monkeys theme, but if there will be – I hope the creators can really find the time to learn from the last 2 games and start over with a fresh mindset and strong core.  

[river-bottom-nightmare]

the justice league often mentioned how close the titans were . they, and later other heroes as well, mused about how no matter who was on the team or which members kept cycling through or whatever horrors and betrayals they’d faced, the five of them stayed remarkably inseparable.

but it had honestly become dick, roy, donna, wally, and garth’s way of life, so they shrugged and moved on with their lives.

even so, with and casual touches commonplace and with each other’s secrets tangling in the air between them, there were some things they don’t talk about. things that would be a little odd, things that don’t need to be brought up again, things that would cause hurt feelings, things that would be funny but awkward. they don’t talk about the time they walked in on garth stapling a bunch of stuffed animals to the ceiling while naked (donna just blinked, then closed the door and walked out). they don’t talk about donna and roy’s relationship, or how roy and dick used to fuck, and how lian had brought out a side to roy that the entire team almost preferred to who he was before (donna and dick had discovered that they liked roy’s protective, sweeping hugs more than his deep kisses anyway). they don’t talk about the veritable mountain of scented creams and massage oils that dick just keeps on buying but never using (garth tried to use them once and dick hissed and threw a spatula at him so the rest of them stay away). and they don’t talk about dick and wally.

roy doesn’t mention the get together that dick likes to call a “meeting” because he wants to keep the team on track, when in reality they’re sitting around eating pizza and watching movies like they used to do years ago, nostalgia heavy and sweet around them. the actor on the tv says a quip paired with a smirk, dick responds with a muttered dirty joke because he’s been spending entirely too much time with red hood, wally snorts and says, “liar, you loved it last night when i–” and dick slams his hand over wally’s mouth. roy just shrugs amidst wally’s muffled laughter, grinning about winning a bet with himself on when dick would finally sleep with the last of his redhead friends.

donna doesn’t say anything when she crashes at dick’s apartment one night, making a pit stop in the rather obnoxiously large new york penthouse while on her way to gateway. she notes all of the photographs dick has randomly framed throughout the rooms with a sense of satisfaction, delight maybe. except she forgot that wally lives with dick now, a temporary arrangement that helps the both of them while wally gets his phd and dick comes to terms with the fact that he’s happy going part time at a liberal arts college and teaching on the side. donna doesn’t really know what wally contributes other than maybe the memorization of dick’s orders at all takeout restaurants in a five-mile radius. still, she doesn’t say anything when she walks past the master bedroom on the way to the guest room and hears relaxed, content laughter through the crack in the door, and she doesn’t say anything when that laughter turns into not-so-relaxed but definitely content moans floating down the hallway. she just snorts and slides her headphones: the big, noise-cancelling kind.

garth doesn’t tease them when wally’s large nyu sweatshirts find themselves wrapped around dick’s frame, the acrobat sighing into the comfort of them. he makes note of the deep black lace from dick’s combat boots threading through the loops of wally’s worn nikes. he laughs a little at the flash keychain dangling from dick’s keyring, one he keeps specifically to irritate bruce. instead, garth tosses some wally’s sweatshirts on dick’s bed when he’s on laundry duty in the tower, and gives wally a couple of dick’s own. he buys them both gag gifts of the others’ symbol on their birthday (and how convenient, read: adorable, is it that the two of them share a birthday?) and makes sure donna snaps a picture of the delighted looks on their faces. the two of them are so goddamn pleased at each one of these instances, so happy, that garth can’t even find it in himself to make fun of them.

roy keeps it to himself when he notices dick and wally sliding into the same side of a booth together at restaurants. usually, donna will sit with them, across from roy and garth, since donna and dick are the physically smallest people on the team, and like any pair of best friends, she’ll sling her arm around his shoulder and he’ll poke her when he’s bored. but lately, there’s always been a little bit of space between the two of them. in contrast, dick’s practically plastered to wally’s side, and wally’s leaning against dick just as much. roy hides his indulgent little smile when the two of them pick food off of each other’s plates, wally sliding his pickles to dick in a smooth movement and dick handing over most of his fries almost instinctually. dick plucks the lemon from his water in an unconscious movement, giving it to wally to suck on, and wally passes dick the hot sauce without dick even opening his mouth. their hands disappear under the table, and roy would bet donna’s swanky-professional-camera that they’re holding hands. he lets them teeter on the edge of they-know-they-don’t-know when the titans are together, because he can’t really stop himself from being the asshole best friend after years of it becoming second nature. but when it’s just the three of them plus lian eating out, he’ll order an extra dessert whenever lian asks, just so the two of them can sit a little longer.

and donna doesn’t say a word when dick starts wearing a ring when he’s in civvies, a priceless looking replica of the flash ring that speedsters keep their suit in. it’s hidden in one of the many secret pockets in dick’s suit when he’s nightwing, but when he’s just dick grayson, he fiddles with it constantly, turning it and roughly tracing over the emblem and switching it between his fingers. donna even keeps quiet when dick shows up at titans tower for a training session with the newer kids with the ring firmly on his fourth finger for the first time. she just heads over to the kitchen, where wally’s making a veritable mountain of scrambled eggs, and wraps him in a hug. wally, in a move odd for the speedster, doesn’t speak in response. he just flushes as red as his hair and hugged donna back, squeezing her hand when she pulls away.

and that gesture is enough. there may some things they don’t talk about because it’s strange or troublesome, but there are also a host of things they don’t talk about because they don’t need to. they’re close enough to understand the significance of what it means anyway. 

real talk i have no idea what the fuck this was. i just felt like writing. so. uh. yea.

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @screennamealreadyused @subtleappreciation @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @bonkybearjpeg @bikoncon @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge

[gothhisoka]

𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖕 (𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔 𝖝 𝕱𝖊𝖒𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗)

Title: Worship

Pairing: Chrollo x Femreader

Warnings: Smut, minors DNI, 18+, explicit content

Word Count: 3116 (I promise it is worth it. Oh god is it worth it)

Note: This is from my cross-published fanfic called Hunter University! It is available if you click here on Wattpad and AO3. My fanfic is x OC, but I upload x Reader versions of some chapters here on Tumblr. In short, it is a dark academia college AU with Chrollo as the main love interest.

Background: You are an artist in college and Chrollo is your fellow classmate. You just returned from a night out at a ball, drunk. Chrollo appeared at the door to your dorm room as he promised he would after you danced with one another at the ball.

Chrollo was surprised you looked so intact. He was sure you would come waddling to the door in pajamas as you did the last time he visited your room. Although it had been an hour since the ball ended, your makeup hadn't smudged a bit. Sure, it was faded, and your hair was significantly messier, but overall you looked as remarkable as you did at the start of the ball.

Your tired eyes widened with surprise at the sight of him. He was just as unimpaired as you were. Though now he was missing his suit jacket. His hair had become slightly disheveled, losing its styled waves. He still had on those signature silver rings and little cross earrings.

You attempt to soak in his sight with your intoxicated brain. He looked even more captivating in this particular state.

“Hi…” was all you could utter.

“Can I come in?”

You realized he was waiting for your permission. He didn’t need it.

You stepped aside to let him in and shut the door. Your room was the same as the last time he saw it, with your drawings hung on the walls and lights strung above the desk. Their small bulbs reflected against the night-stained window.

Upon shutting the door, the tension noticeably rose. It was dark in the small space and you were alone. Chrollo took his black dress shoes off near the door, placing them neatly side by side.

So he plans on staying. You tried to hide a smile. The hour of his visit was surely suspicious. There could be only one thing on his mind.

"So what're you doing here?" you spoke nonchalantly, acting like you didn't just fantasize about what could happen in the next few minutes.

Chrollo opened and shut his mouth, his response escaping him. He turned back to you and used his eyes to convey a craving far deeper than any words could admit.

"I said I would come to find you, didn't I?" He said lowly.

He had begun to walk around the room, absentmindedly stopping at a piece of art from time to time. You were too tired to care. The collection included nature scenes, portraits of people he didn't recognize, anatomy studies, and...

He paused, noticing a drawing on the wall behind the place where the door would otherwise be covering.

It was a full-body anatomy study of yourself. To be specific, it would fit further in the category of a glorified nude. It was on a miniature piece of parchment sketched in charcoal. It was obviously you: the woman had your (hair color) hair and distinct mouth and nose. The paper was hardly noticeable amongst the scatter of papers. You wouldn't see it unless you had a careful eye such as that of Chrollo.

You hardly noticed when he reached the particular spot on your wall. Your tiredness had waned significantly with Chrollo's entrance, but it still fogged your mind.

Additionally, you had long forgotten about your secret behind-the-door location for your drawings that were not meant to be seen by a single soul.

Chrollo attempted to hide a mysterious smile. He turned to you, “You draw wonderfully.”

“Thanks?” you reply, with more question in your tone than you hoped to show.

The heat in the room shot through the roof. You were sure if you checked the temperature it would be well above its normal chilly state. Perhaps it was the heat in your cheeks that was causing such a change.

“So…” he began.

“So,” you replied, trying to avoid eye contact. Please, just let it happen already.

You thought you had a good idea of why he had come to your room at one o'clock in the morning after a night of drinking and questionably close dancing. You couldn't be certain, though, because that was just how he was: unpredictable and exceedingly complicated.

You didn’t think him so complicated as to not be able to admit why he was at your room, though.

You waited as he thought about what to say next. This is taking too damn long.

Luckily, you prepared an excuse. You never failed to come ready for something you could expect. And this, the direction in which your encounter is headed, is inevitable. You had been rehearsing the line in your head for the duration of their conversation like reviewing terms for a test.

This was the only way to test if your assumptions are correct.

Blame it on the champagne if I am wrong. But I really hope I'm right.

You look directly at him. Time to be daring.

You took a breath and did your best to look directly at him, "Well, I actually do need some help. You see, this dress is quite difficult to take off by myself..."

Walking towards him, you place a hand at the hem of your dress. Your delicate fingers wrap around its lacy fabric.

Chrollo looked amused. He sizes you up, looking from your hand holding the hem of your dress to your unfazed expression. Unfazed, yet your cheeks were slowly turning a shade of scarlet. Nice try, Chrollo thought.

He gestured, "Turn around."

You obeyed. You desired something far more than the unzipping of your dress, but you were not presumptuous enough to say it. The expression on Chrollo's face told you that he was hoping for the same thing. He hid many emotions well, but being turned on wasn't one of them.

Chrollo brushed your hair away from the zipper, delicately placing it over your shoulder. His fingers purposefully grazed your back as he did this, causing your breath to hitch slightly.

His hands moved to the zipper, carefully pulling it down. It went past the clasp of your bra to your lower back. There was complete silence. Both of you were still. Are we still hesitating?

Chrollo was the first to move. He pulled you close to him so that your back was touching him. His left arm wrapped across your chest possessively, holding you in a tight embrace. With his other hand, he brushed your hair back from your ear. He smelt of sweet alcohol. Clearly, he was slightly drunk as well, for the next words he said couldn't be uttered by a sober man.

His whispered breath tickled your neck, husky with the threat of sleep, "I want you so bad right now."

You tensed with a sudden surge of desire. Your impression had been right. He let his strong arm remain around you, patiently waiting for a response.

You choked out your reply, "The feelings' mutual."

Under his touch, your streak of audacity from earlier dissolved into compliance. You suddenly wanted nothing more than to submit to his words.

With complete control, Chrollo took your shoulder and turned you around. Your dress was now loose on your shoulders. He placed his hands around your hips firmly. He looked at you under his thick eyelashes and slowly leaned in. The pressure was growing to an unbearable level, but he still wouldn't go all the way.

Then his lips crashed against yours with the force of weeks of pent-up desire. This kiss didn't speak of courtesy, of patience. This was raw passion. It was furious and messy. you preferred this to sensitive steps around the intensity they both craved.

"You must still be drunk," you said playfully as you both pulled away to catch your breath. You held your hand to Chrollo's chest. His heart was beating surprisingly fast.

"If I'm drunk, then what are you?" Chrollo said with a lazy smirk.

"I'm drunk as well."

Chrollo threaded his hands through your hair, pulling the long strands through his fingers. He pulled you in close again with his hand at the back of your head.

You opened your mouth to allow for Chrollo's tongue to slip in. He lessened the intensity and slowly moved his tongue against your own tongue and lips. You couldn't help but let out soft moans that made Chrollo weak at the knees.

He pushed you against the wall to deepen your kiss. Drawings fluttered down, becoming detached with the sudden movement. Including that drawing.

Chrollo pulled away, much to your shock. You were left panting with reddened cheeks. Please don't let this end now.

He displayed a shit-eating grin. Even with his ego, in the current moment, his expression made you melt. His face was inches from yours, looking down into your (eye color) eyes.

He shifted his gaze down to the floor and said, "Nice drawing you have there."

You finally noticed what he had been so smug about. Shit. Your face flushed ten different shades of scarlet.

Chrollo leaned in as he did before and murmured in your ear, "I wish I could see the real thing."

You failed to not show your excitement. The way your eyes lit up exposed you. "I can arrange that."

At that, Chrollo leaned in again, this time moving to your neck. His lips fluttered down your throat to your collarbone. You leaned your head back and tried to control your uneven breath.

His lips reached the edge of the neckline on your dress. He raised his eyes to meet yours, asking for permission to go further.

You let out a breathy, "Yes. Please."

What you wanted to say was, Please, take me now.

It could be too soon for him. But based on how this was going, you expected it was leading to something more. Whatever that was, you wished you could know right now. The growing tension between your thighs began to ache.

Chrollo slipped his hand across your skin to the hemline of your dress, moving it completely off of your shoulder and down your arms. Your black see-through bra was now in full view. Your nipples grew hard at the sudden exposure.

At least I went with my fancy bra. You suddenly grew very shy. The last time you went even this far was years ago.

He evidently liked the lingerie for his hands immediately traveled to your breast to caress it as he continued to kiss you.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered against your neck. Your heart fluttered at his words.

Chrollo then moved his lips progressively further down as he slipped your dress off of your body. Soon your underwear came into view, then your feet. He helped your step out of the dress.

"Your turn," you said, unbuttoning his shirt. All the while he continued to distractingly leave lazy kisses upon your face, one on your forehead, your cheek, your lips.

After an agonizingly long time, you pulled off his shirt. Fuck.

You knew he would be defined. But him, this boy standing in front of you, resembled more of a greek statue than an actual human. It looked like his body had been sculpted by the finest stone on earth. He had a six-pack, defined pectoral muscles, and prominent collarbones. His biceps flexed as he leaned his hand against the wall, bracing himself. It was you who needed to brace yourself. Your breath hitched again at the sight of him.

You ran a hand up his firm body as you planted your lips upon his once again. This time Chrollo put his hands beneath your thighs, his fingers pressing into your soft skin. He picked you up easily.

You wrapped your legs around him as he brought you to the bed, kissing him all the while.

He dropped you down gently, releasing his grip off of your thighs. You took this time to look up at him and admire the beauty of his aroused state. He had a dangerous and wild look, with tousled hair and a constant smile playing at his lips. His heavy-lidded eyes were lazily focused upon you.

You continued to make out on the bed, its white silk sheets creating an angelic halo around you. Chrollo couldn't stand looking at you like this, underneath him. It was far too much power for one man to hold.

You reached to your back to undo the clasp of your bra. You threw it to the ground. Chrollo immediately began to touch your naked tits in a way that made you want to dissolve. He moved in circles around your nipples first, watching as they grew harder under his expert touch. Then he moved his mouth to the sensitive area, playing with you and biting slightly. You audibly moaned at the gesture. Damn the neighbors.

Chrollo sensed your desire to take it further. He looked up, grey eyes filled with lust, "Y/n...let me pleasure you."

It wasn't the suggestion you were expecting, but you were satisfied nonetheless. You didn't care about anything in the world besides what he could do to you at this moment, whatever it may be.

"If you say my name like that you can do anything you want to me," you said breathily. It was exactly what he needed to hear.

Chrollo smirked and moved to take off your soaking underwear. Under his pants, his dick grew visibly harder. He threw the underwear onto the floor.

Gently placing his finger at your throbbing core, he began to stroke. Upon receiving his touch your back arched involuntarily. You were beyond eager.

"Fuck... Chrollo..."

This served as encouragement for him to insert his finger deeper into you, curling it slightly. It hit your g-spot repeatedly, eliciting ungodly sounds from you.

As he was doing this, he slowly positioned himself on top of you, grabbing onto the bed frame with his spare hand. He just wanted to look at your face as you opened your mouth in delight.

He inserted one more finger which caused your arousal to heighten. God, he really knows how to do this.

Just as you felt the heat in your core escalating, he slid his finger out. You whimpered in protest.

Chrollo looked down at you with a wicked smile. "Beg for it."

Oh fuck.

You gladly would. It was more your instincts speaking than any coherent thought.

"Please... Chrollo..." you said between breaths.

You wanted to not only plead for him, you wanted to worship him.

"More."

This is what you had been missing out on all those weeks. And oh god, did you eat it up.

"FUCK please do that again," you exclaimed.

It was enough to convince him. Chrollo moved his face towards your slickened pussy.

Is he about to...

He pushed his hair back out of his face with his clean hand, his forehead tattoo revealed. For only a second, he raised his eyes to gaze into yours. You fell for him all over again at that simple glance.

Then he entered you. His tongue made you want to weep. He devoured your insides, soaking up the salty juices. You couldn't help but hold his head, pulling it closer to your body. You ran your hand through his soft black hair. There was so much heat between them that you were both perspiring.

You began to shudder." I'm going to... oh... fuck," you gasped.

You felt the sweet release of cum spread below you onto the sheets and Chrollo himself. You felt self-conscious for a moment. That is until Chrollo began to lick up your juices. He ran his tongue up your soft thighs.

"You taste so fucking good, darling."

Chrollo looked at you like he had fallen all over again as well. You grinned back at him. Your cheeks grew even redder, if possible. Your heart screamed to continue but you were too physically exhausted to move. Still, wouldn't Chrollo want his turn?

You laid there, naked and panting on the silk sheets. Chrollo flopped next to you, unaffected beside his flushed cheeks and a wide grin.

The lights were still low in the little room. Looking out the window, you saw that the sun had yet to rise. This was a positive fact because the only thing you needed to do now was to sleep. And preferably, cuddling with the boy next to you. You hoped he would stay. It was more than hope, really. Your body couldn't spend any more time away from him after that.

Damn. He was good. He was really, really fucking good.

He knew his way with words, to begin with. He said exactly what needed to be said to escalate your arousal. You wanted to worship those fingers, the way he so expertly felt around you like he had memorized a map. And his tongue was even more worthy of revere.

You flipped over to your elbows. Your breasts brushed against the bedding, noticeably making Chrollo gulp. You boldly reached to touch the front of his pants.

"You don't want a turn?" you smirked.

"This was more than enough for me."

He stared into your eyes as if he was calculating a complex math problem rather than looking at the person who just received the best head of their life.

You yawned, despite yourself. Your body ached with all the action of the night.

"Go to bed, sweetheart. I'll be here."

Those were the last words you heard before your eyes drifted shut. Exhaustion stilled your naked body. Chrollo reached over you to turn off the bedside lamp.

He wasn't nearly as tired. He could've gone for a couple more rounds, perhaps take it a step further if you so desired. But he knew you needed the sleep. Most of your makeup had rubbed off, displaying the dark circles under your eyes.

He slipped off his pants and threw them onto the floor with the rest of the clothes. He found the soft sheets and pulled them across you and himself. The bed was small but cozy. His strong chest was flush against your back.

Your (hair color) hair smelt of a summer day, like sunlight and wildflowers. He took this opportunity to feel up the rest of your glorious body. He ran his hand lightly from your shoulder to your hips, to your thighs. All of it was angelic to him.

He moved you closer with his arm, protectively wrapping it across your front. Somehow holding you like this felt far more intimate than any sexual activity. The way the moonlight graced your skin was majestic.

How had he fallen so hard, so fast? It was unlike him to act with such recklessness.

Through it all, he still had his mind. you had no way to tell the extent of his feelings. He made sure of this. His libido could act one way, that was clear from tonight. But he was an expert at controlling his outward emotions. You would never know. If you did, it would be over for him. All the planning will be for naught.

He closed his eyes before he could fall upon any more worries. He had already pondered the issue for many sleepless nights.

He fell into a dreamless slumber with you safe in his arms. You both slept soundly until the sun peeked through the window.

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 14.5

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary:  And it’s unbelievable, truly, that he’s found someone who makes him feel as though he’s flying and falling simultaneously. 

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,701

Warnings: angst, dialogue heavy, language, angst, Violence, plot plot plot, did I mention angst? Cuz it’s here

Author Note: Texas weather is no laughing matter and never have I hated snow more than these last few days. This is definitely more of a transition segment so I wrote shorter snippets as a result, but there is some serious plot development nevertheless. The response to last chapter was so amazing I can’t thank everyone enough for all the love and support 💖💖💖

Links to Part 1 and Part 14 and Part 15

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

Ahsoka hijacks the Razor Crest as soon as Din teleports her aboard the ship. She pushes Din out of the cockpit, refusing to let him so much as glimpse the coordinates of the destination she inputs into the nav computer. The Oracle hadn’t been kidding when she said she didn’t trust him going alone to rescue his soulmate.

Bo-Katan hadn’t been phased by Ahsoka’s arrival, adapting to her presence with the same ease as a duck to water. However, Din couldn’t help noticing the moment her mask of cool indifference slipped when Ahsoka asked the reaper to stay in the cockpit with her, claiming they had important matters to discuss. 

Din climbs down the ladder into the hull, recognizing that the conversation about to ensue is not one he needs to be involved in. Fingers twitching restlessly, he commits himself to checking each of the weapons in his armory, sharpening his vibroblades and loading a set of whistling birds into his vambrace. He’d made a promise to Ahsoka against killing Moff Gideon, but he’d made no vow against scarring the Seraph beyond recognition.

When Din’s finished with him, Gideon will be a warning to the rest of the galaxy what happens if you steal from Death. 

He stills at the thrum of satisfaction that runs through his body at the thought of pressing Gideon’s eyeballs out with his thumbs. The darkness within him has grown stronger since he killed Hess and it’s becoming an increasingly harder challenge denying its craving for bloodshed. If not for Ahsoka’s intervention, he would have reaped Xi’an’s soul, breaking another sacred rule. He should feel grateful, but the darkness expresses annoyance instead, upset to have been denied its kill. 

There is a thought that has been plaguing the back of his mind, shackled in the same corner as his other doubts and regrets. He once had iron control over his powers and emotions, but now he’s holding onto his human façade by a mere thread. So slowly he hadn’t even been aware it was happening, his darkness has usurped his morality. 

He’s meant to be a neutral entity, but when he looks at his reflection in the fresher mirror all he sees is a weapon. 

Obsidian orbs have replaced brown eyes. Flawless tan skin has become dissected by lines of ink that once were blue veins. 

Darkness is corrupting him from the inside out, making him a slave to the power he once mastered.

And he doesn’t have a fucking clue how to stop it. 

~~

Bo-Katan joins him in the hull an hour later. She doesn’t say anything , just leans against the wall across from him, and Din continues cleaning the barrel of his amban rifle as if he doesn’t see her. 

The silence isn’t tense or uncomfortable, but he feels her gaze trying to penetrate his helmet. He knows the reaper well-enough to tell there is a question on her mind, but her hesitance to voice it unsettles him. Bo-Katan rarely holds her tongue around him, preferring blunt honesty over sugarcoating, which means whatever is on her mind must be serious. 

He bites back a sigh when she starts restlessly shifting in place and pauses his task. “Ahsoka told you,” he says at last.

“That Moff Gideon fucked with our lives?” Bo-Katan snorts humorlessly. “Yeah, she showed me everything.”

“I’m sorry about your sister.”

“Me too. But it’s...good not being in the dark anymore. I needed to hear the truth,” she replies stoically, but the pointless adjustment of her headband betrays her internal strife. There is a moment of pause before she looks at him again. “I heard about your promise,” she says, and it’s not really a question, except that it is.

Din’s fingers tighten around the rifle. “Did she make you swear the same one?”

“No.” Bo-Katan shakes her head. “No, she didn’t.”

He’s not surprised by the answer. He actually thinks he should have expected it, considering the universe has always held him to a stricter standard than other entities. 

“Ahsoka made it clear to me that this is something between you, Gideon, and your angel alone. I cannot interfere just like you cannot kill him.”

There is bitter resignation in her tone. He recognizes it because he felt the same when he made his promise to Ahsoka. No one likes being told no when they want something. But this—knowing with absolute certainty Gideon is the one responsible for hurting their loved ones and being told you can’t do anything to avenge them? This is the kind of pain that will linger for years to come as an ache in their bones and a scar over their hearts.

It isn’t fair. But Din’s lived long enough to know the universe never intended life to be that way.

“Can I ask you a favor?” Bo-Katan asks, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He blinks at her, realizing this is the question she’d been withholding since she came down the ladder. Never has she asked him a request before. “What is it?”

“You must separate Gideon from the Darksaber,” she answers, expression one of absolute seriousness. “The Armorer warned my people if the Lightsaber was ever mishandled, it would turn against the wielder by transforming into the Darksaber. Instead of empowering you, it deceives you. Fills your head with delusions until you lose your grip on reality entirely.”

“And you want to spare Gideon’s sanity?” Din asks slowly.

“Of course not. The son of a bitch deserves to be punished for his crimes. Even if I did want to,” her lips curl into a snarl at the thought, “there’s no way of undoing the damage done to his mind. What I want is for the weapon to be returned to the Armorer. She’s the only one who can properly dispose of it.”

“Right,” he agrees quietly. Anything that comes out of the Armorer’s forge is built to last the length of eternity. He could toss the Darksaber into the center of a sun and it’d remain whole and unaffected, waiting to twist the mind of the next wielder. Nodding his head, he assures her, “I’ll take care of it, even if I have to cut off his hands.”

“Good.”

~~

Din paces the length of the hull, each thud of his boots making contact with the metal floor blends with the low hum of the engines. Usually he’d ignore the creaks and groans of his home, but the metallic symphony is the only thing capable of drowning out the thoughts in his head urging him to storm the cockpit and retake control from Ahsoka.

“Pacing isn’t going to make us arrive any quicker,” Bo-Katan tells him, not even bothering to open her eyes as she lounges atop one of his storage crates. “Ahsoka said it will be another hour at least.”

He has a retort ready on his tongue when a voice calls out his name from somewhere beyond the Razor Crest.

“Din!”

Din freezes in place as unexpected, heart-wrenching hope slices through his chest. He knows that voice. It’s his favorite in all the galaxy.

“Death?” Bo-Katan asks, concerned by his stillness. “What’s wrong?”

He tentatively reaches out towards the bond, giving it the slightest of tugs. When he feels the distant flicker of a reaction on the other end from his angel he nearly forgets how to breathe.

“The bond,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe and relief. “I can feel it again.”

Longing fills his chest where the hollowness used to reside now that the invisible block separating them is gone. It wraps around his heart, squeezing so tightly he nearly falls to his knees. Din pulls at the bond again on impulse, possessed by the all-consuming need to see her, to have her at his side where she’ll be safe.

The bond protests the harsh treatment, too weak to physically bring them together across the vast distance separating them. He snarls a curse under his breath, hating being helpless to protect her. It’s unfair, he finds himself thinking for a second time. Unfair how it hurts more now being able to feel her presence compared to when he couldn’t at all.

A paper airplane flickers into existence on the horizon of his mind, flying straight into his hand when he reaches out for it. I can’t leave this place. Not yet, the note says. The words themselves are unsettling, but it’s the strength of the emotions she’s attached that has him reeling with shock. For one crazy, electrifying moment he thinks he’s passed onto the afterlife. 

Another note arrives. I miss you, Din. I want to see you so much it hurts. And it’s unbelievable, truly, that he’s found someone who makes him feel as though he’s flying and falling simultaneously. 

As he sends a message of his own, never has he been more certain that if anyone can put an end to the darkness inside of him—it’s her.

~~

“The Moff is an expert when it comes to defensive warding,” Ahsoka says as the three of them stand looking up at a canyon wall that extends in either direction as far as their eyes can see. “But even he can’t hide from my sight.”

Din scuffs at the salt-covered ground with his boot, still coming to terms with the fact all this time Gideon’s been hiding out on Crait of all planets. As much as he wants to believe Ahsoka’s right, his powers can’t detect even the barest hint of the Seraph’s presence.  

Bo-Katan’s eyebrows arch with skepticism. “You’re sure this is the right place? It’s kind of remote.”

“Perfect for building an army,” Ahsoka replies without missing a beat.

Din exchanges a look with his reaper, realizing this is the first time either of them are hearing about this. 

“Gideon has an army?” he asks. “Who—”

“Mercenaries,” she interrupts, turning around to face them. Her blue eyes are distant and cloudy, entranced by a vision. “When I break the warding, all but one will meet the end of their mortal lives attempting to overpower us.”

“All but one? I don’t think so.” Bo-Katan rests her hands deliberately on her blaster pistols. “Anyone who works for Gideon is an enemy in my book.”

“Migs Mayfeld is not to be harmed.” There is steel in Ahsoka’s voice as she blinks back into the present moment.

Din nudges Bo-Katan with his arm when it looks like she wants to continue arguing. The reaper huffs a quiet breath of annoyance, but eventually jerks her head in the tiniest nod of compliance. 

Ahsoka grabs her twin sabers from her belt and ignites their blue blades. She handles her weapons with deadly grace, altering her appearance from peaceful Oracle to fierce and cunning warrior. Turning back to the canyon wall, her gaze trails over the red-brown rocks only to pause and narrow at seemingly random points.

Bo-Katan tries and fails to follow her line of vision. “What are you—”

The Oracle leaps into the air with surprising agility, lashing out with her sabers against the rock. Blinding light bursts forth from the point of collision followed by a flickering glimpse of a gigantic metal door. 

“—looking at,” Bo-Katan finishes quietly, watching Ahsoka swing herself higher to attack another portion of the canyon wall where the next segment of warding is hidden. 

There is something undeniably satisfying about seeing the door materialize as the wardings cloaking it are destroyed. Every precise strike of Ahsoka’s sabers brings Din one step closer to reuniting with his soulmate.

As if spurred by the mere thought of her, fear ripples across the bond like a gust of icy wind, stopping his heart cold. His angel is terrified. Din reaches out as far as the bond will allow in its fragile state, trying to get her attention by pulling at it and shouting her name, but none of his attempts breach the storm of panic. 

“She needs me,” he mutters to himself, stepping forward with clenched fists. His vision narrows until all he can see is the door in front of him, an obstacle that must be dealt with. “She needs my help.”

“Wait,” Bo-Katan calls out, but her voice sounds as if it’s coming from thousands of miles away. “Ahsoka isn’t finished with the warding yet!”

If he were capable of rational thought in that moment, he would have heeded her warning. As it is, he summons his power into the palm of his hand, the darkness inside of him crowing in wicked delight. He winds his arm back, preparing to slam his fist against the door, only for a whipcord to wrap around his wrist with an audible zip. 

He’s pulled backwards onto the ground, breath knocked from his lungs as he lands with a heavy thud. Bo-Katan appears not a second later and pins him in place by straddling his waist. The darkness is demanding he push her aside, knowing with absolute certainty the reaper is no match against him, and it takes all his strength to wrestle the urge under control. 

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” She glares at him, eyes resembling green flames eager to incinerate him.

“I—” he rasps, breathing heavily. His hand starts trembling, a burning itch under his skin. “I can feel her fear. She needs me.”

Bo-Katan blows out a long, frustrated breath. “Well, shit.” She jostles him then, forcing his head to momentarily clear as his helmet smacks the ground. “Look, soulmates are soulmates for a reason, right? I heard it’s like being two halves of the same whole. So if your soulmate is anything like you, she’s not going to give up without a fight. You have to trust she can take care of herself right now. That she’ll be fine.”

Din bristles. Trust is not the issue here. There is no one he trusts more than his angel—not Bo-Katan, not Ahsoka, not even Kuiil. The issue is he’s being asked to deny the instinct to shield her from danger which is woven into every cell of his being.

“She’ll be fine.” The words come out sounding sharp around the edges, cutting his tongue like shrapnel. “Everything will be fine.”

Bo-Katan disconnects the whipcord and rises to full height, apparently satisfied by his agreement. Din pushes himself onto his feet at a slower pace, his hand still shaking as if it's electric. He looks down at it, noticing for the first time the flesh is gone, replaced entirely by shadow. His expression tightens as he observes the change, realizing the black tendrils are slowly creeping up towards his wrist. 

An alarm rings out, reverberating off the canyon walls like an explosion. Din’s gaze snaps up just as Ahsoka lands on the ground in a defensive crouch. Now that it's been fully unveiled, the door bears a striking resemblance to ones he’s seen at military fortresses across the galaxy, ridiculously massive to intimidate enemies and impenetrable from outside attacks. It makes sense, he thinks with a scoff, someone as power-hungry as Gideon claiming an abandoned base as their lair. Without the wardings, Din is able to detect the massive number of souls gathering on the other side, resembling vermin crawling over one another in their haste to arm themselves. 

He searches for his angel’s soul, even just a glimpse of her bright light, only for his powers to instead encounter a massive cloud of dark, negatively-charged energy within a distant corner of the underground tunnel system. It fills an entire room, prohibiting him from sensing if anyone is inside. There is something strangely familiar about the energy, like he’s encountered its essence before, but he can’t recall the specifics of when or where. 

“It’s time.” 

Ahsoka’s voice reels his focus back to his physical surroundings. He notices the way her grip on her sabers tightens in anticipation and out of the corner of his eye Bo-Katan withdraws her blasters from their holsters.

The bottom of the door begins to raise with an earsplitting groan, but the mercenaries only wait the minimum amount of time it takes to pass under without hitting their heads to start charging forward. 

Every mortal has a beginning and an end just like everything else in the galaxy. These mercenaries are no exceptions, having long sealed their fates when they agreed to accept Gideon’s payment. So when Din’s shadowy hand phases through a man’s chest and tears his heart out of its cavity, staining the white salt under their feet crimson as blood bursts from the vacant hole, Din tells himself he’s simply fulfilling destiny. 

He repeats it when he discharges an assault of whistling birds, each one puncturing the throats of each target they encounter with a shrill warcry. And also when he rips a devaronian’s horn out of his head, a fragment of skull and bits of brain matter still gruesomely attached. 

Again and again, with each permanently silenced voice and every shattered fragile bone, destiny is fulfilled. 

~~

Din would be lying if he said he’s never wondered what it would be like to die. To pass on from this world into a new realm for him to explore. He’s imagined the idyllic afterlife mortals have written poems and novels about, describing it as a blissful safe haven where sorrow and tragedy have no definition because they do not exist. He’s familiar with their opinions of damnation’s appearance, too, as an infernal place of fire and brimstone and screaming.

They were wrong about that.

Damnation is not a distant hell. It is found in an underground lair on Crait. 

Instead of flames and sulfur, a Cupid’s blood is split and a soulmate bond is snapped in half. 

Instead of screaming, a madman laughs.

“I’ve waited so long for this moment,” Gideon says through his chuckles, hauling himself onto his feet. His voice is an abrasive rasp, as if he’s shredded his vocal cords by screaming. “I’ve had to be patient, wait to find your weakness so I could catch your attention. It’s a shame, really, she had to be the one you fell for. She was quite the little spitfire.”

Din stares at his soulmate’s motionless body, frozen in place. Please, he pulls at his severed half of the bond, resolutely ignoring how cold it feels. Open your eyes, angel. Don’t leave me. Please.

There is no response. Just heartbreaking silence.

“I sense your anger, your hurt, and grief. Those are mortal emotions.” The Seraph grimaces in disgust, then lets out a low hiss when he agitates the wounds on his face. “By living amongst their kind you’ve forgotten your true potential. You are not their equal, Death. You are their superior. Immortals are meant to be better than them. To rule over every aspect of their pitiful lives.”

“I don’t want to rule anyone,” Din says, dragging his eyes away from his angel to glare at Gideon. Both his hands begin to shake as his mind plunges into a gaping abyss of remorse and despair. “I just want a life with her.”

“Even dead, she continues to blind you.”

Din snarls viciously in response. His control is pushed closer to the brink, holding on by mere fingertips, and darkness engulfs the entire room as a result. 

The glow of the Darksaber persists, reflecting off his beskar and Gideon’s armor. It reminds him of moonlight, and he thinks for all that Bo-Katan warned him about the weapon’s sinful qualities, she did not mention its beauty. Even Ahsoka’s vision had failed to truly capture its radiance, just as a holovid can never compete with a face-to-face conversation. 

His powers are drawn to the Darksaber. The energy it emits matches the one encountered earlier when searching the tunnels for his angel’s aura. This close, there is no ignoring its familiarity, not when his brain feels seconds away from exploding. 

“I used to believe love conquers all,” Gideon prattles on, seemingly oblivious to Din’s torment. “I chose it as the Cupid motto because I thought there was nothing mortals cared more about than the health and happiness of their loved ones. Only after our fateful encounter did the Lightsaber reveal to me the truth.”

Lightsaber? Din’s head jerks up to stare at him, biting back a wince when the throbbing in the back of his mind intensifies at the movement. Does Gideon not realize the weapon has transformed? 

By connecting Ahsoka’s claim that Gideon didn’t fully understand the consequence of corrupting the Lightsaber with Bo-Katan’s explanation that the Darksaber deceives its wielder, the answer is an obvious one: he doesn’t.

Gideon mistakes Din’s confusion for interest and his lips slowly curl into a smile. “Mors aeterna. It means—”

“Death is eternal.” The translation slips unbiddenly from Din’s lips before he even realizes his mouth has opened.

“There is no one more feared or respected than you. But for what reason? What have you done to earn your reputation?” Gideon demands, spit flying as his anger flares. “You are no more than the universe’s favorite puppet. Mindlessly obedient to its every demand.” 

Hearing the truth always hurts, but hearing it from Gideon is especially torturous. Din’s creed to the universe has dictated his actions the entirety of his existence. He never fought against its orders, never thought of his own desires as more important than what it wanted.

Until he matched with his soulmate. She changed his priorities and shifted the center of his entire world by revealing to him even Death could experience love. 

There had been no hesitation when he broke his creed for her.

And he doesn’t hesitate breaking Ahsoka’s promise now.

“I just murdered your soulmate right in front of you and you do nothing. Did you ever love her at all?”

“I do.”

Din summons every trace of power and darkness he possesses and combines them together within his core—a volatile, pulsating mass of pure chaos. His beskar armor starts to crack and chip away, unable to withstand the increasing pressure. 

He thinks of his angel’s smiling face, the sound of her laughter, how bright her soul shines, and he thinks all those things are gone now. Not even a chance to say goodbye.

“More than anything.”

And Death lets go.

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[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 8

Masterlist

First and foremost, sorry for the delay in posting! I will also warn you... This chapter broke my bestie @acollectionofficsandshit when she beta’d... Prepare yourselves and please don’t hate me!

Word Count: 5.0k

Recommended song: “Never” by Trevor Daniel

"What do you want to do today?" 

The house was empty save for you and Pierre. Your parents were at work and Ben was at school, having a few weeks left in his term before his summer kicked off. The empty house tempts you to get tangled up and lost in Pierre, but you want the few days you had to be filled with more than just sex. You want memories that you could tuck away and pull out when the distance became too great and you needed something to remind you why it was worth it.

"Did you pack a swimsuit?" You sip your coffee, shamelessly watching the muscle of his upper back ripple while he pours his own cup. He hadn't bothered to put on a shirt this morning, a fact you were silently thankful for.

"I did." Your eyes travel over his toned arms as he reaches for the creamer. "What are you thinking, beach day?"

"You read my mind," you purr, padding over to wrap your arms around his torso. You couldn't keep your hands off him for more than a few minutes, not that he minded.

"As long as you're okay with going out so publicly, so am I."

You ponder that statement. Being in France meant chances were high that someone would spot you, but it would be easy enough to brush off. Pierre was well known around your hometown, and people generally left him alone. As long as people didn't crowd you, you'd be okay.

"I think we'll be fine." You press a kiss to the curve of his spine. "It's a small town and it's a weekday. I'm sure there won't be anyone there anyway." 

He turns in your arms, hands resting on your hips. "Or we could stay in. There's other ways to spend our time."

You hum, pretending to contemplate the idea and wrap your arms around his neck. He takes the hint, dipping his head to give you a sloppy open mouthed kiss. He tastes of black coffee and the mint of his toothpaste, a combination that shouldn’t work but somehow leaves you wanting more. Just as his hand falls to your ass, you pull away and grin savagely.

"You're a tease," he says and reaches for you at the same time you step back. You giggle, spinning on your heel and running for your room. His laughter follows you, strong arms wrapping around your middle when he catches up to you. He lifts you off your feet and falls backwards onto the bed, landing with you on top of him.  

"Lay here with me for a while," he manages to say between fits of laughter. "Then maybe we can go to the beach."

"It's already almost noon!"

"I know. I just- I want to stay here for a little. Just us." How could you say no when he turned those baby blues on you? He had you wrapped around his finger. Sighing, you lay your head on his chest and thread your fingers in his tousled hair. His hands drift under your tank top, drawing patterns on your skin. 

You would sell your soul to the devil in a heartbeat if it meant he never had to leave that bed. Everything you’d ever need was beneath your fingertips, his sigh begging for you to continue as you pressed your lips to his neck. Pierre was the sun and you were the moon, reflecting his light out into the world. 

Pierre breaks the comfortable silence. "Will you come to the gala with me next weekend?"

"A gala for what?"

"Mid season banquet. Not as formal as the year end one, but still requires the fancy stuff. It's like the one you came to last year." He toys with your hair, doing his best to hide the excitement creeping into his voice. "Daniel and his girlfriend will be there, and I'm sure the two of you have plenty to discuss. Will you come?"

"There's bound to be press," you point out.

"We could go as friends. You've come with me to formal events in the past and it's been fine."

You had gone with him to the previous season's summer banquet and nothing had come of it. You'd given Pierre one dance towards the end of the night but spent the rest of it mingling with the driver's girlfriends and companions. Daniel’s best friend had found you when your respective dates got caught up discussing the upcoming races, and the two of you spent half the night griping over how oblivious Pierre was. And if you had to guess, she was oblivious to her own feelings towards Daniel as well. You caught her glancing at Daniel more than once with the same longing you felt for Pierre, and she had physically turned away when Daniel danced with another woman. You wrote the book on that behavior; she may not have realized it at the time but you picked up on her attraction plain as day.

"Please say yes," he murmurs. "I couldn't imagine enduring the finery without you."

From the secondhand knowledge you had of the winter gala earlier that year, he was absolutely correct. An exam had been rescheduled last minute and you couldn't get your flight changed in time to make it to the event, leaving Pierre regrettably dateless. Daniel's girlfriend had informed you afterwards how sulky he had been, throwing himself pity parties when he wasn't busy helping her sort through her then-strained relationship with the Renault driver.

You already had your answer, but there was no reason you couldn’t get something out of the deal too. "I'll go to the gala if you go to the beach with me today."

"I suppose that can be arranged." He seals the bargain with a kiss that chases away your lingering unease. "Glad you agreed cause I already booked your flight."

"Bound and determined to make me come with, huh?"

"Oh, you were coming one way or another, even if I had to bribe you with sparkling jewels and pounds of candy."

"Guess I should've negotiated better," you say and steal another kiss. 

"You already know I'll give you anything you ask for. I'm surprised you didn't ask for more honestly."

"I can't play all my cards at once. Gotta keep you on your toes."

"Darling," he murmurs, a smile curling on his swollen lips, "you already do."

The Merc was not allowed near sand under any circumstances, so you texted Ben to beg him to let you borrow his car. He relented only after you promised to top off the tank. You packed up Ben’s Jeep with all the ingredients needed for a perfect day- a cooler loaded with juice boxes and snacks, a beach umbrella, towels, and sunscreen.

“At least it’s not a manual,” Pierre says, tossing you a grin as he started the engine.

“Don’t get any ideas.”

He placed a hand on your thigh. “I’m just glad I don't have to worry about shifting and can have a hand on you.” True to his word, his hand didn’t leave your skin once during the half hour drive. He steered with his knee when he rolled down a window or adjusted the radio, dedicated to his cause. The wind tousled his sandy hair with invisible fingers, the sun bending to his will and bathing him in golden light. He was stunning, through and through. It was a miracle you didn't jump him then and there.

The beach was nearly empty, as expected. A few small groups were scattered about, mostly older couples or local teenagers brazenly skipping class. You set up shop as far from anyone as you could, planting the umbrella to claim your own little patch of sand. 

Pierre was nearly unrecognizable with his round oversized sunglasses, the AlphaTauri branded flat brim cap his hair was tucked under the only clue as to who he was. He sits cross legged on the pale pink towel laid out on the sand, arms braced behind him with his face turned to the sun. He had already peeled his shirt off and stuffed it out of sight, leaving you to admire the bare skin left exposed.

“You’ll burn if you lay out like that all day,” you say, settling in behind him. He leans into you, back to your chest and head on your shoulder. “You should put sunscreen on. I wouldn’t think it would be fun to have a racing harness rubbing on a sunburn.”

“I’ve done that once. In karting, in Spain I think. Still finished on the podium though.” He fishes through the bag and hands you the sunscreen. 

"Oh, it's my job to make sure you don't get crispy?"

"Indulge me mon amour."

You roll your eyes but accept the bottle. You squeeze some into your palm and spread it over his chest, taking your time. You trace each hard line of muscle with a fingertip, treating yourself and committing it all to memory. Your time with him was dwindling. In eighteen hours, he would be on a jet to Austria to throw the Alpha around the track, the team tweaking whatever they could during the short break while still complying with FIA regulations. After that, he would be on his way to Monaco, posted up in his apartment overlooking the bay and waiting for your arrival ahead of the banquet. 

You don’t realize you’ve gone still until Pierre’s lips ghost the underside of your jaw. “Where’s your head at?”

“With you in Monaco.” You rub lotion over his arms, anchoring yourself. “Specifically how it’ll be a week before I can join you there.”

“None of that,” he says firmly. “I want you focusing on now, not the future. We’ve got plenty of time.”

“You’re right.” You rest your cheek on his head. “And a week isn’t that long.”

Pierre turns and places a hand on your shoulder, pushing until you’re lying flat on your back. He presses a kiss to your sternum, right above your hammering heart. “And we’ll be at my place, all alone, no one to interrupt us…” His mouth travels along your skin, leaving brands in his wake. He makes it to your belly button before he stops and sighs, remembering you’re in public. “I know exactly how I want to spend the weekend.”

“Oh yeah?” You push him off you, because if he stays between your legs any longer you don't trust yourself to keep from doing something incriminating. His lower lip juts out but he doesn’t protest. Instead, he rolls onto his stomach so his thigh is pressed to yours and starts building a sand castle. 

“Do you have a dress to wear?” The dry sand doesn't cooperate, so he pours the contents of his water bottle over it to make it more pliable. “If you don’t I can try finding one for you.”

“I have a few that are fancy enough to choose from.” You’d attended enough formal dances at university that you could find something to repurpose. You lay your head back, eyes closed and face tilted up to catch the afternoon sun. “No need to spoil me.”

“What if I like spoiling you?”

“I’d rather be spoiled with sweet candy from around the world than fancy dresses I'll only wear once.”

He pinches your arm lightly and you laugh. “I suppose that’s fair.”

Pierre sighs some time later, and you peek over at him. He had resorted to poking his castle- if the mound of semi wet sand could be called such- and it threatened to fall. The engineer in you was screaming to correct the structural failings but you ignore the impulse in favor of smiling at him. Leave it to Pierre to make boredom look cute, with his tongue poking out and his head lolled to the side.

You sit up and poke his side. “Let’s go to the pier.” 

Unable to sustain his constant prodding, the tiny sandcastle collapses and he huffs. “Why? You’re enjoying yourself.”

You could lay in the sun all day and be perfectly content, true, but Pierre had to be itching to move. He never sat still and hadn’t stopped fidgeting since you had arrived. “Cause you’re bored-”

“No I’m not-”

“-And there’s karts at the pier.”

Pierre’s face lights up. “Karts?”

“See, I knew you were bored!” 

“Maybe a little,” he admits. You swing a leg over his hips and brace a hand on either side of his head, unable to stop yourself from kissing the grin off his lips. His gaze dips involuntarily to your chest, then back to your face, pink tinting his cheeks.

“Winner buys dinner,” you whisper against his mouth. 

"I'm gonna pick the most expensive restaurant in town," he vows. 

Pierre had your beach spot packed up in record time, everything thrown in the Jeep with far less care than when you'd arrived. He peels out of the parking lot, following your directions to the pier at the north end of town. Fingers drum on the wheel as he waits to turn left and he eyes the short track, approaching it with the same analytical mind he invoked on Sundays.

"I'll have you know that I'm a pro at this circuit," you say, climbing up on your metaphorical high horse. "I was undefeated in high school. Kids came from far and wide to challenge me, but no one could beat me. I think it’s cause I was so small, and I could brake later than they could.”

"Maybe,” he concedes, “or maybe you’ve got a sliver of racing instinct. Either way, that streak ends today." He opens your door for you and leads you inside. "I hope you don't expect me to go easy on you, cause I'm not planning on it."

"I'd expect nothing less from a professional." You both watched the tiny two-stroke karts zoom around the figure eight, and you couldn't imagine Pierre going from racing these to risking his life in the beefy open wheelers of Formula 1. The dizzying scent of gasoline and spent rubber coat your nostrils, Pierre breathing it deep. You make a mental note to find him a fuel scented candle for his birthday, if such a thing existed. 

Inside, an unenthusiastic worker goes through the usual safety briefings and hands you each a well used helmet. Pierre puts his cap in the provided locker and starts towards the waiting carts, bouncing on his heels by the door.

"No sunglasses on track," the teenager says flatly. "They have to go in the locker."

Pierre gave you an apologetic smile. The glasses were his last line of defense preventing him from being recognized. Once they were off, it was only a matter of time before he was spotted. He sighed but put the glasses in the locker as well, immediately slotting the helmet onto his head. It didn't cover his face, but it distorted his features enough to hopefully give you a buffer.

That buffer lasted all of three seconds. The teen behind the counter recognized Pierre immediately.

"I thought you looked familiar! You're- oh shit I'm sorry you can wear the glasses out! Um, but can I have a picture?" Honestly, his fumbling was cute. At least he had the good sense to whisper instead of shout like female fans usually did. Pierre obliged the young fan, posing for a picture and signing his receipt for him. 

One recognition led to another, and you back out of the crowd of people that quickly gravitate towards Pierre either out of genuine or collective excitement. Crowds weren’t your thing to begin with, but add to that the one person that could keep you grounded becoming the center of attention and you were left with all the ingredients of an anxiety cocktail. 

"Please, give me some room," Pierre was saying, balancing politeness with his instinct to comfort you. "My girlfriend isn't good with crowds-"

"Girlfriend?"

Your head snaps up, the color draining from Pierre's face. The focal point shifts, camera phones turning to you. Weeks old memories resurface, dread sleucing through you. The walls close in, the air is sucked from the room and you can't breathe. The helmet falls from your hand in slow motion, Pierre's desperate blue eyes meeting yours. Your attention darts to the door and the escape the Jeep offers beyond it. You force your legs to move, a hundred scenarios flashing through your head, none of them favorable.

You could already hear the pointed comments written beneath the headline. The unwritten words sank their claws into your mind and threatened to unravel you. You yank on the door handle in vain; the Jeep was locked. You let out a strangled sob and slide to the pavement, stones digging into your thighs as you shake. Nausea rolls in your gut and you let your forehead rest on your knees.

It wasn't that you were embarrassed that he finally let it slip. The dread that coiled beneath your skin wasn't because he'd publicly acknowledged your relationship- you were proud that he was yours. But you knew how you'd be treated by the media: like an object, strapped down to a stainless steel table and picked apart for examination. 

What felt like hours was probably minutes before Pierre found you propped against the tire of the Jeep, curled in on yourself. He picks you up, gently setting you in the passenger seat. The Jeep roars distantly as it comes to life. You have to fight your wince when a warm hand engulfs yours, the touch briefly breaking through your stupor. Pierre was talking, you knew he was, but you can't focus long enough to comprehend it.

The world beyond was a blur as he drove, his hand the only thing tethering you. It was a lifeline that you clung to with all the strength you could manage as you spiraled, your own mind betraying you. There wasn’t even anything published yet and you were already losing hope.

“I’m letting go,” Pierre murmurs, setting off a fresh wave of panic. “Only to take you inside.” The seconds it takes him to come around to your side are agony, the hole in your chest threatening to consume you until his arms are around you. 

“Hold on to me,” he instructs and you curl your arms around his neck. Ben meets Pierre at the door, stepping aside to let him in.

“Mom and dad are still at work. I called them and they’re coming home as soon as they can.” 

Pierre murmurs his thanks and brings you up to your room, setting you on the bed with a tenderness that breaks your heart.

You couldn’t keep doing this. It wasn’t right for Pierre to have to watch his words in public, always conscious of what he says in order to protect you. Sneaking around only worked for so long, as today proved; the truth would eventually come out. And you weren’t sure you would survive the aftermath. 

"Je t'aime," he whispers, climbing in next to you. Your throat is too tight to speak and when you don't respond he tugs you to his chest. “Je suis désolé. Ça a juste échappé, je ne pensais pas. J'ai vu la panique sur ton visage et je devais t'atteindre-”

"What?" You croak, voice rough and foreign. He had a bad habit of slipping between languages when he was upset. You understood the first part, I’m sorry, but the rest you were too drained to attempt to translate. 

He rakes a hand through his already messy hair. He must have abandoned his cap at the circuit. At least someone would benefit from your panic and take home a souvenir.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, in English this time. “I didn’t mean to out our relationship like that. My plan was to wait until you were ready and I’d sit down for an interview about it, where I could control the narrative. I didn’t mean to let it slip.”

You should have faced it head on originally instead of avoiding it. People would wonder why he felt the need to hide it, question whether or not you were committed to each other… Pierre couldn’t care less what they said, but their words would crawl over your skin like spiders and feed the voice in your head that insisted you weren’t right for him. 

"Ben said there's nothing out yet that he can find. Maybe nothing will come of it."

You doubt it, but you cling to his naïve hope. The realization that he was leaving tomorrow makes your brittle heart threaten to crack. The temporary bandage provided by his arms would be ripped off in a matter of hours when he left, leaving a gaping wound in their wake. Just the thought of him leaving was nearly enough to break you.

“Can you just talk?”

“About what?” He murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. 

“Anything.” His voice had always been a lifeline, dragging you to safe harbor when the storm inside your mind became unbearable. “In French.”

“Bien sûr, mon amour.” Of course, my love.

Your mind shut off when he began weaving his story. Your spotty comprehension of the language allowed you to catch one or two words of each sentence, but it was enough to grasp the premise. Something about a zoo and elephants- maybe a story from his childhood. It didn't matter, it was enough to divert your thoughts and give you a tether to cling to until the sweet relief of sleep claimed you.

**********

Though he tries to be mindful, you wake instantly when Pierre slides his arm out from under you. Your eyes crack open just enough to see your dad at the door, Pierre glancing back at you once before meeting him in the hall.

“How long have they been out there?” Pierre asks quietly.

“Hour or so. Mary took out the trash and they nearly ambushed her. Those people have no boundaries.”

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you pad to the open door. “What’s going on?”

Pierre glances at your father, who nods before retreating down the hall. “Nothing I can’t handle. Go eat with your family. I think there’s blueberry pancakes.”

“Aren’t you gonna eat before you leave?” You ask.

“I have some things I have to take care of first.” His hands flexed at his sides. “It shouldn't take long.”

Noting the tension lining his frame, you shake your head. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Concern flashes across his face, so quick you almost miss it. He sighs, knowing keeping whatever it was from you was no use. You would nag him about it until he gave in and told you. “Take a look outside and see for yourself.”

It takes you a moment to adjust to the harsh sunlight when you pull back the curtain. The normally empty street was jammed with cars and a few scattered news vans. "Why?"

"Someone must have given them the address," Pierre says softly, pausing a few feet behind you.

"Oh."

The utter lack of regard for your family’s privacy was the last straw. Tears streak silently down your cheeks as you sink to the floor. Pierre was your world, but you couldn't live like this. Your family hadn't asked to be harassed, and neither had you.

Pierre moves to comfort you, but you hold out a hand to stop him. "Don't," you say, the word coming out harsher than intended. "Please don't. I- I can't. I can't do this."

The pain in his face hits you like a physical blow. "I know it's a lot but I can take care of it-"

"You can't, Pierre. They're bloodthirsty. Nothing you say would make them leave me alone, not as long as we're together."

"Please don't say what I think you're gonna say," he whispers. His face is blurred by your tears when you look up at him. "I love you. I'll figure it out. Once you go back to London they won't know where to find you, I could find you a new flat- I’ll do anything."

Your taped together heart crumbled to ash as he desperately tried to come up with a solution. You place a hand on his cheek, your thumb memorizing the softness of his lips. You were losing your soul mate. You both knew it. No one else would be able to fill the gap he left in your soul. He had given you wings and taught you to fly; there was no replacing him.

"I'm not strong enough, Pierre."

Pierre swipes the pad of his thumb under his eyes, catching the saltwater before it can fall. "I won't stop loving you."

Your lip wobbles. "I know." It would take time, but he would find someone that made him happy and could deal with the pressures that came with being in the spotlight.

"I'm sorry that I hurt you."

“You’ve never hurt me.”

“If I hadn’t said anything-”

“It’s not your fault. They would’ve found out eventually.”

Your fingers fall from his face to fumble with the clasp on the necklace he'd given you the day before. It burns in your palm, holding it out to him. "Keep it as a reminder," he says softly, hand cupping yours and curling your fingers into a fist around it. "Do you think we can still be friends?"

"I don't know." Only time would tell if you would be able to stomach it. “Not right now.”

His nod is barely a dip of his chin. "Right." His shoulders sag, curling inward as he turns to walk out of your life.

"Wait," you blurt. Pierre pauses in the doorway, held still at the mercy of your voice. You rise on unsteady legs, wrapping your arms around your middle. "Can I have a kiss goodbye?"

It was a terrible idea.

But you couldn't deny yourself one last splash of color before your world was reduced to black and white forever.

His legs eat up the distance between you in three strides without hesitation. He cradles your face in his palms, and you can read every thought swirling in his ocean eyes.

He didn't want to go. He knew that leaving would break you in a way he never wanted to see, and he wouldn't be there to help you glue the pieces together. Eyes on your lips, he whispers, "I'm sorry."

The kiss is hungry, overflowing with broken promises and unfinished business. His tongue wars with yours, each fighting to memorize the shape of the other. You taste the salt of your tears on his lips. Thumbs press under your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks as he holds on for dear life. It's bittersweet, knowing the last memory you'll have of him will be this moment, frozen in time.

You break contact when the urge to fist your hands in his sweater becomes too difficult to ignore. His hands stay on your face until you pull them away and he reluctantly lets them drop.

"Ask me to stay."

For the first time since you’ve known him, the silence is awkward, words sitting heavy on your tongue. You're too much of a coward to voice what you yearn to, to fall to your knees and beg for him to never leave your side.

Anguish twists his beautiful mouth and he takes a step back.  

You keep your composure until he’s gone, only losing it when the front door clicks shut. Only then do you sink to your knees and curl in on yourself. His absence leaves a gaping hole in your chest that is impossible to ignore, like a plant ripped out of soil roots and all. But the worst thing about losing him was he took your heart with you.

A soft knock sounds at your door, and you wipe your tears with your sleeve. "Come in."

Ben's unbrushed curls fall in his face when he pokes his head in. "Hey. I just wanted to check on you."

"Not doing too hot at the moment." 

"I see that. Wanna watch Disney movies and have a sleepover like when we were kids?” Ben stuffs his hands in his pockets, looking almost as heartbroken as you. “I can make chocolate drizzle popcorn."

Despite yourself, the beginning of a smile curls your lips. "Yeah. Yeah, that would be good."

**********

Pierre storms through the throng of rabid reporters to his rented black Jetta and throws his suitcase in without a word. He doesn't answer a single question, not even the most basic ones, before starting the engine and easing into the gas. It takes them a few seconds to get the picture; he wouldn't be speaking to any of them.

He drives on autopilot, your tear streaked face and your senseless words playing on endless, agonizing loop.

"Can I have a kiss goodbye?"

He poured everything he had into it, had been convinced that you would recognize the undying love and feel the same heat licking at you that he did and you would forget about the world outside and fall into him. 

When he begged you to ask him to stay and you stayed silent, he lost the last bit of himself that he recognized, like you had carved out his heart with a rusty knife and held it out triumphantly before you. 

By the time he pulls into the rental return, he doesn't feel anything. His fingertips tingle as he fumbles with the keys, giving the barest of answers to the clercs questions at the rental counter and subsequently when checking in. People recognize him on at least three occasions, but he keeps his sunglasses on for every picture to hide the red eyes and the fact that every small smile he manages to pull onto his face is fake.

He wasn't sure he would ever truly smile again.

@seasidetom @flashcal

If anyone wants to be tagged let me know!

[batmansymbol]

hi riley! read this recently and would love to get ur perspective on this as a YA author https://tinyletter.com/misshelved/letters/did-twitter-break-ya-misshelved-6

hi anon! yeah, i read this the day it was posted. thoughts/supplementary essay below.

firstly, i'd put a big "I AGREE" stamp across this essay. i think it's well-cited and thoughtful, and i agree with pretty much everything in it. i especially appreciate it for introducing me to the terms "context collapse" and "morally motivated networked harassment" - seeing internet sociology studied and labeled is ... odd, but useful.

i left twitter in 2017, but i keep an eye on things, which seem similar now to the way they were four years ago. the essay describes the never-ending scrutiny, the need to seem perfect, and the pressure on writers to out themselves. all of that is spot-on. twitter is an outing machine. there is so much harassment and anger on the platform that in serious conversations, good-faith engagement becomes something that must be earned, rather than something that's expected. and in order to earn good faith, strangers expect you to offer up an all-access pass to who you are. otherwise, things might take a swift left turn into verbal abuse.

obviously twitter is a cesspit of harassment from racist, homophobic, and transphobic people, but i think the most painful harassment comes from within the community. i, and most people i know, wouldn't give a single minuscule little fuck if ben shapiro's entire army of ghouls came after us and told us we were destroying the sacred values of Old America or whatever. but the community at large does care about issues of racial justice and queer liberation and economic justice. which is why it's painful to see this supposed "community" eating its own over and over again.

how cruel can we be to people and pretend that we are their friends? that's the emotional crux of the essay to me. what we're doing to ourselves - people who do share our values and want to achieve the same goals - because this one platform is built on rewarding the quickest, most brutal, and most public response.

god forbid you don't have your identity figured out. god forbid you have an invisible disability, or are writing a story about something sensitive you've personally experienced but had an off-consensus reaction to. on twitter, if you are not a paragon of absolute and immediate clarity, you may as well be lower than dirt morally, because you're unable to do what the platform requires of you: air every private corner of your identity, up to and including your trauma, to justify not only your everyday actions and opinions but also your art.

(this is all honestly incompatible with interesting art, but i'll get to that in a bit.)

it doesn't take a genius to see how troubling this environment is when combined with twitter as a marketing tool. i remember that around the time of my debut, i'd tweet out threads of private, painful, personal stuff, which felt terrible to recount, but i'd watch the like count increase with this sense of catholic, confessional satisfaction. all of this was tied to the idea of my potential salability as a writer.

i was around 21 at the time. i felt a lot of pressure as a debut. i wanted people to like me and think i was exceptionally mature and confident. i wanted to do my job and build buzz for my book. i saw that all these publishing professionals and authors spent day in, day out angry and exhausted on twitter. every few days, a new person fifteen years older than me would say, "i can't take this anymore, i'm so fucking tired of this, i'm logging off for a while." i thought, well, this must be how online activism feels: like running on a sprained ankle.

i can still remember book after book after book that inspired blow-ups, big explanations, and simmering resentment: carve the mark (whose author was forced to admit that she suffered chronic pain after relentless criticism of that element), the black witch (a book explicitly about unlearning racism that was criticized for depicting ... racism), ramona blue (a book about a bi girl who thinks she's a lesbian but winds up in an m/f relationship, because she's still discovering her identity) ... etc

each book, each incident, followed the same pattern. firestorms of anger, a decision of where to place blame, the desperate need for a single consensus opinion in the community. i think a lot of people on book twitter see these as bugs inherent to the platform, but really, in twitter's eyes, they're features. the angrier and more upset twitter's userbase is, the more reliant they are on the platform.

i wound up leaving around the time i realized that not only was twitter making me anxious - NOT being on twitter was beginning to make me anxious, because of vaguely dread-infused tweets all around like "i'm seeing an awful lot of people who are staying silent about X. ... why are so many people who are so loud about X so silent about Y?" etc.

that shit is beyond poisonous. people will not always be logged on. the absence of someone's agreement does not mean disagreement. actually, someone's absence is not inherently meaningful, because it is the internet and silence is everyone's default position; internet silence in all likelihood means that that person is out in the universe doing other things.

this is already a ridiculously long response, so i'll try to wrap up. firstly, i think that progressive writers and readers have GOT to stop thinking that a correct consensus opinion can exist on every piece of fiction, and on every issue in general, and that if someone diverges from that consensus, they're incorrectly progressive.

secondly, i think that progressive writers and readers have got to uncouple the idea of a "book with good politics" from a good book, because 1) there are books about morally grimy, despicable subjects that help us process the landscape of human behavior, and

2) if, in your fiction, there is only one set of allowed responses for your protagonist, you will write the same person over and over and over again. you see this a lot in religious fiction. the person is not a human being but an expression of the creator's moral alignment. (not entirely surprising that this similarity to religious correctness might crop up with the current state of the movement. i read this piece around the time i left twitter and it shook me really, really deeply.)

i understand that in YA, there's a sensation of immense pressure because people want to model good politics and correct behavior for kids. this is a noble idea - and maybe twitter is great for people who want to be role models. but i've become more and more staunchly against the idea of artist as role model. the role of the writer is not to be emulated but to write fiction. and the role of fiction is not to read like something delivered from a soapbox, or to display some scrubbed-clean universe where each wrong is immediately identified as a wrong, and where total morality is always glowing in the backdrop. it's to put something human on paper, and as human beings, we might aspire to total morality, but we fall short again and again. honestly, that's what being on twitter showed me more clearly than anything.

[kiki-shortsnout]

Do you angsty Loki/Tony/Stephen HC? Like during and after battle?

‘On a scale of one to ten, where is he?’

‘In terms of being angry? Oh, he’s definitely in the triple digits,’ Stephen answered, lifting Tony’s chin so he could see the gash on his forehead better.

Tony clenched his hands on the bathtub, hearing his fingertips squeak on the plastic as he gripped it, throbbing shards of agony streaking up his arm.

‘Hey, don’t do that,’ Stephen whispered in a low voice, reaching out to clasp Tony’s wrist. He tugged gently until Tony relinquished his grip, settling the hand into Tony’s lap, careful not to aggravate the bruised, damaged fingers.

Tony bounced his feet on the floor, curling his toes on the bathroom mat, focusing his gaze on it as if that could somehow settle his frantic thoughts. ‘It wasn’t me being stupid,’ he seethed, the venom coated words seeping out from his clenched teeth.

Stephen chose not to answer, the intricate lattice of his mandalas appearing around his wrists. He gestured down to the sterile needle and thread he’d left on a tray beside the bathtub, the inanimate objects floating into the air towards Stephen’s hands.

‘Where are you on the scale?’ Tony asked, trying to blink away the blood dripping into his eye as he watched Stephen thread the needle, his hands unusually steady from the help of his magic.

‘Double digits,’ Stephen’s voice was curt as he lifted the needle up to Tony’s face. Some of the furious anger making the muscles tight in his face bled out as Tony flinched. Grinding his teeth together, he tried to hold himself still as he fought against the panic creeping up on him, desperate not to make Stephen angrier than he was.

His gaze focused on the Cloak floating beside the bathroom cabinet, ready to pass Stephen anything else he needed. He hated this, hated that both his lovers were furious with him, that the happy memories of the time spent in the Sanctum bathroom were now becoming tainted with his bad decision. This was a place where he shared early morning showers with them both, indulging in soapy giggling as they washed each other, steam fogging the glass from their intimate times. Even this tub he was sat on served as a treasured memory, a place for hot baths and whispering affections, lingering hugs after battles, reassurance as the warm water soothed the aches and pains away.

‘Why not get magic to sew me up?’ Tony asked, chuckling to try and break the tension, wincing at the pain in his ribs.

‘Because my hands are more precise,’ Stephen muttered, distracted.

He knew better than this, he really did. Pepper had chewed him out enough over the years about it. It had been one of the pivotal reasons they’d ended their relationship years ago, her citing his reckless behavior, his no sense of self-preservation. Even Rhodey had spent countless hours over the years screaming at him about it. Tony couldn’t help it, there was something ingrained in him after all his years of being Iron Man.

In the heat of battle his entire world had condensed down to one thing.

Loki.

His lover had been distracted, not seeing the blast of energy hurtling towards his back. Tony had. He had seen Loki’s broad, defenseless back, had already seen the civilians who had succumbed to the villain’s weapon, people they couldn’t bring back. In that split second, Tony had seen someone he cared about, someone he loved in danger.

And he had acted.

‘You really should go to the hospital for all of this,’ Stephen said, finishing his stitches. He stood up and took a step back to examine his handy work.

‘No! No-’

‘I know, no hospitals,’ Stephen appeased, seeing the grip terror had upon Tony at the mere mention of the word. He hated hospitals, needles, he was only just tolerating Stephen’s care because he trusted the man.

Trust Tony had probably shattered with his impulsive decision.

‘Let’s take a look at the rest of you, arms up please,’ Stephen ordered, tugging at the edge of Tony’s t-shirt.

Without thinking about it, he did as he was told, anxious to at least have one of them not mad at him. He was able to bite back the scream of pain as he lifted his arms, but his grasp over his body wasn’t as strong, his vision blurring around the edges as he pitched forward. Stephen leapt into action to catch him, and the panicked yelp of his name allowed Tony to shove aside the unconsciousness threatening, concentrating on the here and now.

Keep it together.

‘Are you alright? Sorry, I’m still in doctor mode…I forgot I can…just stay still, I’ve got you,’ Stephen whispered. Tony felt a ripple of magic and then his t-shirt was gone, cold waves of air licking at his skin. Stephen’s touch was gentle as he probed the enormous blackening bruises on Tony’s side, but he couldn’t help the wounded yelp escaping as Stephen brushed against something painful, the noise amplified by the bathroom walls.

They both heard something crash to the floor outside, and Tony saw a flash of green magic illuminate the space under the bathroom door before footsteps stomped away.

‘None of your ribs are broken, or fractured, but it’s going to be very painful for the next few days. I’ve got something that can help ease the pain,’ Stephen murmured, his eyes narrowing as he examined Tony’s fingers.

Despite trusting Stephen, he flinched away, holding his arm close to his body, afraid to let Stephen near it. He’d had so many injuries to his left hand over the years that it was now sensitive, a vulnerable part of himself that he didn’t like others touching.

‘Tony, sweetheart, it’s alright, you can trust me. Let me see it, please,’ Stephen begged, and Tony couldn’t work out why he was upset, why he had anything to be upset about.

Am I going to lose them over this?

Pepper had already ended their relationship with him because of this, and he hadn’t learnt, couldn’t control his impulses. If anything, he cared about these two stubborn assholes more, couldn’t bear to think about them leaving because of the same reason.

I’m sorry.

‘No breaks here either, a torn ligament possibly and a few stretched tendons, I’ll wrap it up later, don’t use it for a few days.’

Stephen stretched his hand out to the Cloak, taking the adhesive gauze pad it was holding. He gave Tony another once over before bending down on his knees, brushing back Tony’s bangs so he could apply the pad, sealing the wound.

He caught Stephen’s wrists as his lover went to move away, clutching them as hard as he could, even as his fingers pulsated with pain.

‘I’m sorry,’ Tony blurted, closing his eyes against his angry tears. ‘I saw he was in danger and I…I just-’

‘Look at me, Tony.’ Stephen brought his hands to Tony’s face, encouraging his damaged hand back down. ‘For a split second there, I thought I’d lost you,’ Stephen murmured, hand cradling Tony’s jaw, the tremor back in his grip now his magic was gone. ‘You were just lying on the ground, not moving. We heard your body hit the floor, heard the…’ Stephen couldn’t finish his sentence, closing his eyes as he swallowed thickly.

He surged forward, seizing Tony in a hug, cradling the back of his head as he held him close to his body, quivering with his pent up fear, his anger at Tony, his relief.

‘Jesus, Tony. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life.’

‘I’m sorry, I just…I saw him and-’

‘I know, sweetheart, I know. I would’ve done the same, for either of you,’ Stephen swore, stretching back so he could rest their foreheads together, inhaling shakily. ‘I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.’

‘Me neither, but I know I’d always do everything in my power to save you both, even if that means flinging myself in front of some intergalactic laser beam from some wannabe villain,’ Tony joked, his own tears falling as he saw tears squeeze out from Stephen’s clenched eyelids.

They clutched each other, reassuring themselves that the other was alive and well, that despite Tony’s damaged and bruised state, they were both alive to fight another day.

‘Go talk to him. I can hear him pacing from here,’ Stephen murmured, leaning down to peck Tony’s lips with his own, careful of his split lip.

‘Alright.’ Tony got off the edge of the bathtub as he took a deep breath. He knew he had to face Loki, had to say sorry somehow, but suddenly the bathroom floor was looking like a great place to sleep on.

‘Tony?’ Stephen’s voice sounded like it was far away, and Tony tried to reach out for him, his arms feeling like they were wading through treacle. ‘Hold on, I’m going to put you in bed-’

‘No! I’ll never hear the end of it if he thinks I’m bedridden. Let me explain to him I’m fine and then we can go from there.’ Tony gritted his teeth as he hobbled out of the bathroom. He could do this, he’d defended the Earth against all sorts of threats, had been stabbed by Thanos and still managed to stand, he could make it to Loki.

The Sanctum hallway wavered for a moment, splashes of ruby from the rugs blurring together with the dark wood into a dizzying kaleidoscope of color and pain that Tony was victim to. A hand on his back centered him, forcing the world to stop spinning.

‘I thought I had to talk to Loki, alone?’ Tony questioned.

‘And last time I checked I was with you both? I might be mad at you too, but I’m not going to let you struggle all the way there,’ Stephen promised him.

Loki was pacing beside the oddly shaped window of the Sanctum, his arms clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable as he stamped.

‘Actually, the funhouse corridor is looking like a better option,’ Tony whispered, taking a step back into Stephen’s body.

‘I’m glad to see that you are in fact alive, despite my earlier conclusion,’ Loki snapped, coming to a standstill, his back to Tony.

‘Loki…I’m-’

‘Sorry? Sorry for putting yourself in danger? For not trusting me to watch myself in battle?

For making me think I’d lost you!’ Loki shouted, whirling on his heel and glaring at Tony. He could see blood staining Loki’s leather, knew it was his, could remember the terror on Loki’s face as he carried him away from battle, the way he frantically called his name.

Anthony! Please, Norns! I cannot…Stephen! Help me!

The words ricocheted around in his mind, Loki’s despair, his overwhelming fear of a few hours ago still potent in his memory. He met Loki’s gaze and any humor, any of his usual cocky brashness evaporated under the sheer fury radiating from Loki’s posture.

‘It was foolish of me to put my trust in you,’ Loki spat, his hands tightened into fists at his side, furious streaks of red straining his pale cheekbones.

Despite his shame, the pain coursing through his body like glass shards pumping through his veins, Tony took a challenging step forward, holding his ground even when he couldn’t quite see Loki clearly.

‘What did you want me to do? Stand there and let it happen?’

‘I expected you to trust me!’ Loki hissed.

‘And I do trust you! But in that moment, all I could see was that you were in danger! Someone I loved was in danger and I acted. I’m not sorry Loki, I’d do it again, a thousand times over if it would keep you safe!’

Loki’s frustration exploded from him in a blast of green energy. It washed over Tony and Stephen leaving them unaffected, but the glass cases of the artifacts shattered, flinging glass on the floor.

‘I did not ask you to sacrifice yourself like that for me. How do you think that would make me feel, how it would make Stephen feel if we lost you in such a way, you infuriating mortal!’

Tony tried to take another step forward, his brain trying to come up with a counterargument even as the world was pitching sideways, nausea scrabbling up his throat. It was all too much, the pain, the implications, and while he never backed away from a fight, Tony found that he couldn’t do it anymore.

‘Listen, I know you want to shout at me some more, hell you can punch me later if you want, and I know you’re trying to teach me a lesson right now, but could you please heal me? Can’t you take your anger out on me some other way?’ Tony begged as he crashed to one knee, sweat dripping off his body as he fell forward onto his uninjured hand.

‘What happened? I thought you said you could heal him! I knew I should’ve taken him to the healers at New Asgard!’ Loki shouted, suddenly beside Tony. He was rolled over onto his back, both of them looming over him with pale, waxen faces.

‘He needs rest Loki, he’s exhausted.’

‘Then why is he not in a bed!’ Loki demanded.

‘Because I’m sorry,’ Tony croaked, trying to rub his head against Loki’s leg, his limbs trembling as his body began to succumb to his exhaustion. Stephen lifted him, handing him over to Loki as he went to talk to the Cloak, barking instructions at it. Drained of any sort of fight, Tony went lax in the arms holding him, the jostling of Loki’s chest against his as he walked creating enough pain to keep him conscious, and he was ashamed of the guttural whine that escaped his mouth.

‘Put him down carefully and don’t aggravate him any further. You can shout at him later,’ Stephen instructed Loki, ready to chase the Asgardian out if he needed to.

Tony just wanted to sleep, wanted to burrow down into Stephen’s mattress and blankets and pass out, just so he could escape the pain and their wrath for a few hours. Cracking open his eye, he watched Stephen shut the blinds to his room, searching through his draws for something.

Loki made an intricate gesture with his fingers, and a ceramic pot fell out of thin air and into his palm. Opening the lid, a pungent smell pierced the air, a woodsy mint tang, almost like eucalyptus. Tony sucked in a sharp inhale through his teeth as Loki smeared the white salve over his ribs, his gaze flicking up in a tormented expression as Tony struggled to hold himself still.

‘You really thought… Anthony…you really believe I would punish you in such a way, that I would not heal you if I were able?’ Loki asked, fingers feather-light over his skin.

‘You’re really mad at me,’ Tony gasped, tossing his head back against the pillow at the flash of heat settling into his skin.

‘Loki’s magic doesn’t work in that way, he’s not a healer,’ Stephen explained, carefully settling on the bed on Tony’s other side, running his fingers through Tony’s hair.

‘No matter my anger, I would not punish you in such a way. Do you not think it pains me to see you like this, to know I did not do enough to prevent it, to be reminded of just how fragile you are!’ Loki angrily muttered. ‘Give me your hand.’

Just as he had with Stephen, Tony initially refused, wrapping his free arm around his elbow, hiding his hand away from them both.

‘Anthony…’ Loki gasped.

‘Loki, sweetheart, Tony’s had a lot of serious injuries to that hand, still suffers from some of the mental trauma. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you.’

‘Anthony, beloved, you can trust me. Listen to me, focus on your ribs, you must be able to feel the clutches of agony loosening their hold on you.’

Tony could, his breathing was easier, but he still held his arm close, his fear mingling with the old horrors of previous betrayals.

‘Tony?’ Stephen questioned.

‘Don’t leave,’ Tony whispered, ‘I’m sorry for what I did, for being who I am, but-’

Loki silenced him with a fierce kiss, holding Tony’s face in his hands, waiting until their gazes locked.

‘Nothing is worth your life, especially not mine,’ Loki told him viciously. ‘I am honored by the depths of your love for me, touched that you find me worthy, but I am more resilient than you, stronger because of my heritage. There is not much in this universe that can harm me, but there is so much that can harm you,’ Loki told him, his eyes going filmy wet.

‘I can’t lose you, Lokes, can’t lose either of you.’ Tony stretched forward to kiss him again, tentatively offering his hand for treatment.

Loki took it, his touch tender as he applied the salve. Tony didn’t watch as he worked, nuzzling his face into Stephen’s chest, breathing him in, inhaling the lingering scent of battle and sweat.

‘Ah, took you long enough. Tony, I need you to sit up for a second, come on.’ He reached a hand beneath Tony’s head, encouraging him to sit up, supporting his weight. The Cloak dropped something into Stephen’s hand, draping itself over Tony’s legs, its collar fluttering at the bruises on Tony’s chest. ‘Open up, sweetheart.’

Tony did as he was asked, grimacing against the bitter pills placed on his tongue, fighting the urge to spit them out, glaring up at Stephen.

‘They’ll put you to sleep but they’ll help, I promise,’ Stephen swore, holding a glass of water to his lips.

‘Sorry,’ he croaked again once he finished drinking, scrunching his eyes up as Stephen lay him back down.

‘No, I am sorry for being angry, for fighting with you while you were injured, for making you believe that I would allow you to suffer in such a way. I wish I were a healer, that I did not have to watch you endure this alone.’

Tony flexed the fingers of his injured hand, laughing a little in relief as the pain receded to a dull ache. ‘Come lay down with me, I think I need sleep,’ he requested. He usually grumbled at how soft Stephen’s mattress was, preferring a firmer mattress, but right now it felt heavenly. He wriggled down further into the blankets, sighing loudly as both his lovers flanked him.

‘Sorry again,’ he whispered, holding back his tears as he felt twin kisses on his forehead.

‘Sleep beloved, we will watch over you,’ Loki told him, the edge of his finger stroking over the bridge of Tony’s nose.

‘We’ll tell you off when you wake up, douchebag,’ Stephen added, snaking an arm cautiously over Tony’s shoulders.

Despite the feeling of his battered body, Tony found himself falling asleep quickly, the sounds of his partners whispering, the soothing strokes to his body and the medication all sending him into a dreamless sleep.

[blindingdutchy]

lamentation | ONE

{peter parker x fem!reader AU}

based on All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven

SERIES MASTERLIST

word count: 2,725

warnings: thoughts of suicide! unsuccessful attempt! depression, grief, angst

18+!!! minors stay away! TRIGGER WARNING.

Nothing made sense anymore. The world was upside down, all messed up, and you were hanging by a thread. How could it have been a year since the incident? How could you be okay with being older than her now?

Grief is something that nobody expects to be easy, but you never expected it to be quite so hard. Every day people promised that tomorrow would be better, but it never was. It never got better. It never got easier. You were fairly sure it never would, because if it still hurt this bad after thirteen months, twenty-two days, and six hours, how could one more hour, day, month, or year bring any sort of respite?

It couldn't. It wouldn't. Sometimes you wondered if this was your punishment. Maybe you felt this way because you deserved to, because you had earned a life time of suffering when you let her die. Sure, big sisters are supposed to look out for little sisters, but at the cost of their life? That couldn't go unpunished.

Every day was the same since she died. Wake up, wish you hadn't, feel everything and nothing all at once, and go to sleep. It was a strange and horrible existence; people weren't meant to feel so many big things at the same time. The guilt, the shame, the anguish, the longing... it consumed every part of you like a black hole until you were left with nothing. Until you felt nothing, thought nothing, you were nothing.

They were all the same until today. It was your birthday, your eighteenth birthday to be exact, and for once that ever present black hole in your chest was gone. Instead of waking up to the constant weight of all those heavy emotions on your shoulders, you woke up with the familiar numb emptiness you felt at the end of every day.

There weren't words to describe how much that terrified you. Every single day since your sister died, you'd wished endlessly for those painful feelings to go away. You'd begged for relief, for peace, and you'd taken solace in the hollow of the evenings. Waking up already vacant and listless did not bring the comfort you dreamed of.

You were officially older than her. You'd finally reached that first milestone she'd never reach, and the thought of it punched a hole in your chest so large you wondered if there was anything left of you at all. It wasn't fair--how could you celebrate the big ticket birthday she'd yearned for so anxiously? You couldn't.

You didn't deserve to celebrate. You didn't deserve to achieve all those goals she never had the chance to. You didn't deserve to live through all the years, experiences, moments that she never would. You didn't deserve to live.

It was all your fault, after all. It was your fault that she was there that day, it was your fault she lingered behind, and it was your fault she died. If you'd just gone shopping like she'd asked instead of insisting on going to the park, she'd still be here. If you hadn't frozen like an idiot, she'd still be here.

With a mind swimming with all the reasons everything would be better if you just weren't around anymore, you snuck out of your bedroom window. It was finally dark outside; you'd managed to make it through the day for your parents. But, with the day over, you couldn't hold on any longer.

The letter you'd written for your parents to find was tucked under your pillow, and with one final glance around the bedroom you used to share with your sister, you made peace with your life. This was for the best. Everyone would be so much better off if it had been you instead of her, and now you were going to make things right. It wouldn't bring her back, but at least you wouldn't be there as a reminder of what should have been.

As ready as you were, you didn't really have a plan. There were a million possibilities as far as how you could execute your desires, but none of them seemed right. It had to be fast, though, and something that didn't require much work. If it took effort, conscious thought and execution, you wouldn't follow through. You'd learned that the last time.

That was how you ended up on the roof of one of the more swanky apartment complexes. It was a tall building, taller than those surrounding it, and a fall from that height would surely do the trick. Strangely, the moment your feet dangled over the ledge with your bottom firmly planted in place, your mind went blank.

All those thoughts of the stress and pain you caused went silent, and you finally could breathe. With a deep exhale, your body relaxed for the first time since the incident; you didn't feel any of the bad things anymore. There was no pain, no grief, no sadness, nor were there any of those empty or numb feelings. You just felt peace.

The peace was short lived as you looked down to the street far below, though. This was it, this was the end, and suddenly your mind was racing with all the what if's. What if it could get better? What if it didn't work? What if this made everything worse? What if this was a mistake?

What if, what if, what if, "Whatever, just shut up." you gasped, clutching your head in your hands to keep it from spinning. "Get it together, (Y/N), this is the right thing to do."

Pulling out the letter you'd written to your sister, you opened it and cried for the first time in months. You'd long ago stopped crying; despite how many horrible things you'd been feeling, the tears just never came. But reading the words you'd written to her, thinking of her as you came to terms with your decision to join her, it was as if a metaphorical flood gate opened.

Thirteen months, twenty-two days, and seven hours. You couldn't wait any longer. You couldn't do it, do anything, anymore; you just needed to rest. The clock was running out, and your time was up.

"You can do this." you whispered, "For once in your life, do something right."

With shaky hands and weak knees, you scrambled up onto your feet and stood atop the ledge. You weren't that tall, but somehow the new perspective made the drop look so much longer and your stomach heaved with fright. Sobbing, you stumbled back to your knees and threw up the little bit of cake you'd forced yourself to eat earlier that evening.

You wiped the sick from your mouth and stood up again, this time with panting gasps for air and knees that shook so violently you feared you might fall before you were ready to. Maybe that would have been for the best, though, because the longer you looked down the more doubts you had. No one would ever know it was an accident if that were the case.

A sudden noise behind you startled you, and your heart seized in your chest as your knees gave out and you tipped dangerously over the edge. You didn't fall, though, because a sticky substance latched around your arm and dragged you back over until you were laying on the roof. For a moment you just laid there, staring up at the empty sky where the stars were all drowned out by the city lights, and you tried hard to figure out what had just happened.

"Are you okay? Oh--oh my god, are you hurt? What were you thinking? Shit, oh shit, Karen, what do I do?" A masked head leaned over your face, blocking the starless sky from your view, and all the feelings came flooding back like a tsunami. "Um, can you hear me?"

One feeling stood out against the current, and your body tensed as you were overcome with seething, white hot rage. An anger like you'd never felt before; you were furious. How dare he stop you? How dare he ruin everything?

It was Spiderman, the friendly neighborhood hero who'd been gallivanting around Queens for some time now, and that made you even angrier. Spiderman was one of them, one of the ridiculous superheroes who'd killed your sister without a single care in the world. He was one of them, and he'd just stopped you from finally fixing everything they had ruined.

You stood so fast you nearly threw up again, but you swallowed the bile down and hissed, "You should have let me fall. I wanted to fall."

Spiderman pulled you back with a firm grip on the web that was still wrapped around your arm, stopping you in your tracks as you stomped back toward the ledge. "Hey, stop! I'm not going to let you do this." he shouted, but his voice was more nervous than commanding.

"Get out of here, Spiderman. You're not saving the day by stopping me, okay?" you snapped fiercely. No matter how hard you pulled against the webbing holding you back, you couldn't break free. It didn't budge when you pulled at it, clawed at it, or even pried it. "What the hell is this shit?"

He pulled you in further, and you stumbled over your feet as you tried to keep your distance. "I'm not going to let you do this. You don't need to do this." he repeated, this time more firmly.

For a moment you were silent, studying the masked hero as he stared back at you with a hidden face. "You don't even know me. Why do you care?" you tried again, but your voice was softer, more fragile. The numbness was creeping back in again and you knew that you wouldn't be able to follow through anymore, even if he let you go.

"I do know you, (Y/N), and you don't need to do this. We can--I can help you. Let me help you."

Your eyebrows furrowed as you narrowed your eyes suspiciously. How the hell did he know your name? Did you know him? Even though your mind was running wild with unanswered questions, you seethed, "You can't help me. Unless you can go back in time and kill me instead of my sister, you can't fucking help me."

The eyes of his mask widened at your shout, and he stammered, "I--no, I can't do that, but I can help you. I can be your friend, you... you can talk to me. I know what it's like to lose someone, (Y/N)."

You scoffed, "Do you know what it's like to watch a family member die right in front of you? Do you know what it's like to see someone get killed, and it's all your fault? You can't help me!"

"I do, actually." he stated.

Your entire body slumped at the revelation, the anger leaving you as the numbness finally took over completely. It was silent for a few long moments as you cried noiselessly, the only sounds being those of your still frantic breathing and the bustling traffic far below. "If you know, then you know why I have to do it." you whimpered.

Spiderman dropped the web keeping you in place as you collapsed onto your butt, your legs too weak to support you anymore from exhaustion. "I know why you think you have to, but I also know why you're wrong. This isn't the answer." he responded, tentatively taking a few steps closer to you.

You didn't respond, looking up at him as you wiped your cheeks and nose weakly, and he took the chance to continue, "I'm going to make you a deal. I'm going to take my mask off and show you who I am. If you still want to do it after, fine, but at least you'll know who will be blaming themselves afterwards."

True to his word, his fingers creeped under the edge of his mask as he stared you down intensely. Your breath faltered as you watched, completely still as you realized he was serious. Spiderman was going to reveal his identity to you, and you knew that once he did it was game over. As much as you felt the world would be better off without you, you couldn't bare the thought of leaving someone behind to feel the way that you did.

So, stubbornly, you squeezed your eyes shut tightly and refused to look. "I'll wait here all night if I have to. Besides, I could just say my name, you know. I'm pretty sure you know me too."

"Don't." you pleaded.

"Open your eyes, (Y/N). You want this, right? Knowing who I am shouldn't change anything, then." he urged, his tone soft despite his harsh words. "It's Peter. Peter Parker. I've sat behind you in at least two classes since freshman year, and I've lent you pencils before. You always give them back, and you always let Flash copy your homework even though he's a total dick to you. You--"

Your eyes snapped open as you cut him off, "Stop! Just because you know things about me doesn't mean you know me."

It really was Peter Parker, and the numbness faded a little to make room for anxiety and guilt. You knew Peter had lost too much in his life; his parents and his uncle, too. Could you add your name to that list? Could you jump when you knew he'd blame himself for the rest of his life?

You couldn't. You wouldn't. Peter's brown eyes were filled with worry and sadness as he studied you, his mask clutched tightly in his fist. When you remained silent, he sat down and spoke quietly, "I know enough to know the world would suck without you. I could be your friend, you know, you don't have to do this alone."

"I don't need friends." you huffed.

Peter frowned briefly, before rubbing his nose and hiding it again. "I did just tell you my biggest secret, (Y/N), so I think we kind of have to be friends now." he finally rebutted, a faint twinge of humor in his voice, "You might not want friends, but you do need one. I'll be your friend."

You stared back at Peter blankly, uncaring as he shifted uncomfortably in your silence. Why did he want to be your friend? He already got what he wanted. You weren't going to go through with your plan, and he wouldn't have to live with guilt like you did every day. So, why was he still here?

Part of you wanted to believe he really cared, because he seemed to pay a lot of attention to you to notice the little things you did, but you knew better. He didn't really care about you. He only cared that you knew his secret and now you had leverage over him. You could out him if you wanted to, and that meant he had to keep tabs on you.

"I don't need friends." you repeated stiffly, "Don't worry, Parker. Your secret is safe with me."

His eyes widened as he stammered, "That's not--"

"Save it, Peter. Can you please just get this shit off of me so I can go home? I want to go to bed." you cut him off with a deep sigh, gesturing to the web that was still hanging from your arm.

He looked like he wanted to argue, to further plead his case, but after a few moments he visibly wilted and gave in. "It'll dissolve in two hours. I'll... I'll see you at school, (Y/N)."

It was a statement, but it sounded more like a question. You knew he was still hesitant to let you out of his sight, fearful that you'd go back on your word and follow through, and this was his way of confirming you wouldn't do just that. Achingly stretching up off the ground, you muttered, "Yeah. Bye, Peter."

Peter tugged his mask back over his head, but didn't make any move to leave until you were opening the door that lead back into the building. As you stepped through the threshold he gave a forlorn wave, before jumping over the ledge and swinging away. The door shut behind you as the weight of the world settled on your shoulders once again. You'd failed, like always.

[plush-rabbit]

Half Gloves Headcanons

A/N: Headcanons because,, yeah!! Hope you enjoy!! (also i’m assuming you’re talking about fingerless gloves so that’s what it is or at least referenced!!) -

Bubaigawara Jin:

He gets it. Jin will probably understand your need to have gloves on your hand more than anyone. He has his mask to help him out with his own anxiety, so you having your gloves is just something else that you have in common. He’s quick to notice your constant need for it, the way your hands thread with each other, the nervous picking against loose threads and in a sort of knowing way, he’ll inch closer to you, offering his own hand for you to play with in order to calm down. 

If your gloves ever get ruined, he’s a bit worrisome. He knows what it’s like to lose something so precious- he’s lost count of how many times his own mask has ripped- so he freezes. Whether it’s a tear or a spilled drink on the fabric, he’ll freeze and begin to look for a cloth or a spare glove to give to you. Most of the time, it’s a piece of cloth he happens to have. There are few times where he’ll offer his own. It’s not because he’s stingy with it, but it’s important to him as well- something else to keep him held together- and he knows that you understand that. Not to mention that you have expressed your concerns about having your entire hand covered.

He’s a bit awkward in trying to find out what you like in terms of your hands and texture. He doesn’t want to ask outright, he’s aware of how nervous you get with the discussion of it so he doesn’t push. He’ll bite his bottom lip raw, searching through your gloves, figuring out what type of fabric you use, if there’s any repeating brands or whatnot. He’ll give you the gloves wrapped crudely with wrapping paper, stuttering about how he thought you would look nice in plum colored gloves. 

Oftentimes, he’s going out of his way to make sure your hands stay safe. He’ll do any manual labor, let you rest beside him as your hands remain safe under the blanket. He won’t push you to tell him about your need for your gloves- you never do with his own mask, so he gives you the same respect. He does like it when you touch his hands, he can feel the slight pressure from the gloves on his hand, the way the fabric almost pulls against his glove and yours. He’ll seldom comment on it, just wanting to live in the small peaceful moment, but when he does, he’ll lean against your chest, press his face against the crook of your neck and tell you how nice you feel.

Jin will never push you to show your hands to him. He will never complain, he’ll always “ask” permission before holding your hand, which is really just him leaving his hand open, palm facing the ceiling and waiting nervously until you place your hand in his. He’ll take things slow, waiting for you to initiate things at your own pace, asking if it’s okay to touch any other parts of your body. If you choose to show him your hands, he will need verbal confirmation that he’s allowed to look and touch. During those times, he’ll rarely let go of your hand, always holding it in his, tracing against your veins and over the bumps of your knuckles in a gentle manner.

Dabi:

Dabi sort of gets it. He isn’t entirely sure of how it helps you cope, but if it’s helping you, then he isn’t going to question it. He’ll watch you fidget, nervously running over the edge of where the gloves end, seeing you wrap a loose thread tightly around your finger. It’s these sort of times where he’ll step in. He knows it’s more of a tic rather than you trying to actively cause harm to yourself but it still irks him when he sees your finger pale and redden all at once. He’ll grab your hand, run a coarse finger against your own and look straight ahead, not wanting to meet your gaze.

He’s difficult to point down. He doesn’t want to meet your gaze whenever you tend to ply or fidget with your hands more out of respect than anything else. He doesn’t think he gets to see you in such a fragile way. He can see how your face flushes whenever you catch him staring and a part of him believes it's the same as when he fixes his staples. He gives you the same privacy, not wanting you to have him think of himself as anything less and believing that you don’t want him to look at you. He’ll just hold your hand, bite the inside of his cheek and squeeze your hand a bit too tight.

If your gloves were to be damaged in any type of way, he’ll get you new ones. He gets whichever that he can get his hands on- at least that’s what he tells you when he drops the bag beside you, your hands hidden under the blankets. Coincidently, the gloves that he always buys- or rather steals- are the same type that you wear- same color, store bag, and brand. He’ll deny ever actually looking for the brand, only muttering how you seem troubled without them and he just wanted you to stop picking at your hands; but he fails to ever put things away properly, a piece of paper with pretty handwriting details the brand hat you wear and the size.

When he does spend time with you, he fidgets- just a bit. Enough for his hands to scratch lightly at your arm and hold it down, his face pressed against you and his hands slowly slipping down to your wrist. He’s needy. Desperate for attention and praise. Desperate for anything that you’ve already given him. But he knows how you are about hands, so he won’t ask to hold them, only kissing at your face roughly, so careful not to dig his nails into your skin, and feverish as he pushes himself closer to you. A fool to just hold your hand- just for a second. But he doesn’t want to force you into anything and he doesn’t want rejection, so he’ll take what he can get, only in your sleep will he trace against the lining of the fabric and wake you, telling you he’s going to leave. Whatever thing you have with your hands, he knows it won’t feel good if you sleep in your gloves.

He knows it’s for your anxiety- to deal with whatever you have and he’s seen how you act without your gloves- paranoid, wide eyes that scan the room, your skin picked and bitten, so he won’t push for you to remove your gloves. It’s not a sign of trust that’s broken or interfered with in his eyes, but he wants to make you feel better sometimes, and he wants you to know that whatever it is with your hands and tics, he just wants to know that you can count on him. When you decide to hold his hand, without any gloves, Dabi acts nonchalant externally. He’s simply having you thread your hand with his, but he’s memorizing the calluses on your fingers, the way that your nail scratches against the heel of his palm. There’s a slight twitch where Dabi will have a fingertip trace along the lines of your palm.

Shigaraki Tomura:

Tomura understands why you want to wear gloves. He won’t get the reason, but he won’t push. If wearing gloves makes you feel better, who is he to judge- especially when he wears a hand on his face. He’ll watch your hands, ignoring the almost forced way that you play with them but as time goes on, you’re more bold with your actions, touching the gloves and running your fingertips over the seams. He’ll place his head against yours, eyes slowly closing as he watches you fidget. 

He will take notice of the type of gloves that you wear. He’ll get a pack and depending on the timing of the relationship, he’ll have Kurogiri warp him to grab packs, or he’ll simply break in and take them, carefully placing them in a bag to avoid accidently touching them. Further into the relationship, he’ll just make sure that you have spares on hand or that he has spares with him stuffed into his pockets. He knows the importance of your gloves, has watched you fret over them and almost in a panicked state, hide them under your thighs or covers in a desperate attempt to regain the safety and it’s something he doesn’t want to see.

There is a chance that he will be annoyed. He knows the importance of them, has gotten you pack after pack in case there’s an emergency and yet, there is an almost frenzied part of him that just wants you to put your hands on him, free of any fabric and only touching him in the soft way that you always do. But he won’t ever push or be sour in front of you. He might frown if you go to hold his wrist or hand- depending on the time of the relationship- but he always tends to relax, pressing his lips against your head in an almost kiss. His negative emotions tend to simmer away, allowing him to relax as you touch him as you always do. 

When you sleep beside him, he’s pressed against you, his body on high alert as his hands near yours. There are a few times when you sleep with your gloves on, forgetting them usually, so he takes that time as much as he can. He’ll grasp your hand, let his fingertips run along the edges of the gloves, and if you whine in your sleep or twitch, he’ll drop your hand as if it burned him. He’s left on high alert, heart racing and breath escaping him, holding his own hand. His hand has touched yours, neared yours in gloves and all, but he’s never wanted to touch the edge of your glove, always finding that more intimate, so actually nearing the edge of your skin has him brewing in shame and excitement.

Being in any type of relationship with Tomura contains a lot of neediness. He wants the constant touching, and while he won’t ever complain about never holding your actual hand or the constant need to have your palms covered, he is caught staring at them quite a few times. If you do happen to show your hands, it’s quite a big sign of trust for him. He’ll be the one to cautiously remove one glove, taking his sweet time as his spindly fingers trail against your palm, lifting the glove to expose your hand and whether it's because of the feeling of being bare or the glove that scratches your skin, you shiver. He’s restless, muscles pulled taut, jaw clenched and a tight swallow as you press your hand flat against his, his thumb refusing to meet yours as you thread your fingers with his.

[male-reader-requests]

Puppy Love

Requested by: yumirose0

Pairings: Mirio Togata x M! Reader

Word Count: 1,867

Warnings: Very fluffy, very sweet. There's basically no dialogue here, trying to get used to writing dialogue, but over all it's just tooth-rotting fluff.

-

Miro forced himself not to sigh, forced himself to keep a smile going. He was stressed, he was tired, and he was lonely. 

The agency had been running him ragged, so had his supplementary training, and now all he wanted to do was sleep for 3 days and see his boyfriend, (M/N).

But (M/N) was still training.

It was edging up on midnight and (M/N) was probably still at the gym, possibly only just starting his day, but by god, Mirio felt selfish admitting it but he wanted the taller male here instead of there.

(M/N)'s quirk was, easily put, Spider, or Arachnid if you wanted a technical term. 

The taller male had 6 arms, 3 on each side much like the kid from 1-A, his legs counting as arms he guessed. He also had 8 eyes, two humanoid in shape a lovely color of (E/C), and 6 others that were a startling shade of red resting on his forehead above the others. He had fangs and super strength and was mostly nocturnal, but he was great.

Mirio just wished he was here now.

But that wasn't something he could control so the blond male sighed, straightened his back, and continued on his journey to (M/N)'s dorm room. 

The two of them had been dating right out of middle school, 3 years now, and the two of them were used to every single odd little thing about the other. Mirio was used to the large amount of meat (M/N) would eat and the defensive biting that would happen from time to time just the same as (M/N) was used to Mirio being a bit messy with the laundry and odd work scheduling.

The two of them worked together for each other, there was no other way to do it.

When Mirio had gotten to the dorm room it felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and the second he stepped in it felt as if the weight had been thrown out the window. 

Laying on the floor of their room, feet propped up on the bed with 6 arms thrown about the room, was one very drowsy looking (M/N).

He was dressed in just a pair of boxers, as customary clothing for bed, and he had a pair of very bulky headphones on. Whatever he was listening to was on the softer side of his normal music, full of pianos and violins, probably classical music to make him sleepy and the blond male felt a stupidly large grin spread on his face.

One of those red eyes slowly unglazed, and despite not having a pupil or anything Mirio knew it was focused on him. Smiling the blond moved about the room, putting his bag away and hanging his coat up, putting his shoes by the door, and taking his belt off along with his tie, all while (M/N) slowly pulled himself together to be sitting instead of laying on the floor.

Once done, or as done as he was going to get before (M/N) got impatient, Mirio sat on the edge of the bed, hand reaching out to thread through messy (H/C) hair. (M/N)'s headphones had been set off to the side, a soft piano playing muffled against the floor as their owner leaned into strong hands.

Mirio gently rubbed at (M/N) scalp, watching his face as it was practically the only thing he could look at with them almost being at eye level with each other.

Mirio was... proud of his height. That was basically the only way he could explain it. Mirio stood at 5'11", on the taller end of the spectrum and up until their last year in middle school had been the tallest of his little friend group of (M/N) and Tamaki.

Tamaki was still shorter than him, but (M/N) had passed him up by a significant amount, now standing at a massive 6'10". (M/N) was almost a whole foot taller than him, but he'd never been one to tease about it.

(M/N) let out a light hum, leaning into Mirio's hands before taking one in his, pressing his lips to his palm. (M/N) was a very affectionate lover, he did practically everything in his power to make Mirio happy. He bought flowers and video games and went on cheap dates and complimented Mirio so much that the other male practically had a permanent blush in his presents. Not that Mirio was complaining.

(M/N) was also very playful and energetic. On multiple accounts (M/N) had been called a puppy, very sweet, very energetic, cuddly, a bit clumsy, and a bit odd. But Mirio loved it and wouldn't change it for the world.

(M/N)'s kisses were slow and tired, just light presses of his lips but Mirio could feel the drowsy smile making it's way onto his face as he moved from the palm of his hand to his wrist, the light drag of a fang against his skin making his heart beat faster. He knew (M/N) had no control over that, didn't mean anything by it, but the taller male was a bit of a biter in the heat of the moment and it always got his heart racing.

"How was the agency?" (M/N) whispered, his voice low and rumbly, and Mirio knew it was because he was tired, but damn it was hot as hell.

Mirio smiles, running his free hand down from (M/N)'s hair to his neck, just holding him there. "It was good," he said, voice just as quiet as (M/N)'s, "busy but good." (M/N) let out a "hmm" in reply and moved from kissing Mirio's wrist to laying his head on the blonds thighs, moving to sit between his legs. He was still holding one of Mirio's hands, the other still resting on the back of (M/N) neck.

Mirio sighed, his hand tangling in (H/C) locks again. He knew that if he didn't get (M/N) off the floor he would fall asleep there, and Mirio wouldn't mind really, but it was bad for (M/N)'s back and he couldn't let him hurt himself just because he was tired.

"Come on," he said softly, moving his hands to grab at a pair of (M/N)'s arms. He was being a bit rough, jerking (M/N) and himself into a standing position but it's what he had to do. Once (M/N) fell asleep he would stay asleep. There wasn't much that could wake him up so Mirio had to get them moved to the bed now instead of later.

(M/N) groaned, something that more of a whine of discomfort than anything but complied for the most part. He stood up with Mirio, slouched over quite a bit as he leaned on the other male. The majority of his weight was being pressed onto Mirio, far too tired to hold himself up.

One set of hands were tangled in blond hair, another wrapped around Mirio's back, and the last pair were lightly gripping onto the other male's waist. His head was pressed into Mirio's hair, lightly rubbing his cheek into the blond strands, pressing sleepy kisses into his scalp when he got the energy.

It was adorable, it made Mirio blush darkly and a dopey smile spread across his face, but he had a mission and he planned to finish it.

"Come on," he said again, slowly moving them so he could press (M/N) down to sit on the mattress. (M/N) was very compliant, doing as Mirio moved him, but he didn't let go. (M/N) was a cuddler in his sleep, was pretty much all the time, but it was worse when he was sleepy. 

Mirio chuckled lightly, he'd gotten (M/N) to sit on the bed, but now he was standing between his legs wrapped in 6 arms with a head of (H/C) hair pressed to his chest. It was adorable honestly, but Mirio was still dressed in his school uniform and wanted to go to bed.

"(M/N)," he said softly, moving some of (M/N)'s hair away from his eyes, "I need to change." The other male grumbled about something, his words too soft and slurred to be understandable. He huffed lightly, pressing his face harder into Mirio's chest and tightening his hold on him.

His hands moved, one pair still pressed to his hips, one pair wrapped around his lower back, but one pair moved to cradle his face, thumbs moving lightly over cheekbones. Those (E/C) eyes were closed, but Mirio knew the red ones were watching him.

It was a bit odd, and hard to get used to, but (M/N) didn't need his actual eyes open to be able to see, as the red ones were technically always open. They had a sort of second eyelid, a film like thing that was slightly transparent would cover them from time to time but he could always see out of them. Mirio didn't know how he slept at night still being able to see.

Smiling softly Mirio moved his hands to do the same, thumbs moving over (S/C) cheeks as the gently moved (M/N) head off his chest. He huffed again, not liking that he was being moved, but opened his eyes sleepily, (E/C) meeting blue.

Mirio could tell (M/N) was tired enough that the second they got in bed he would be out like a light, so to appease the other male he pressed a light kiss to the top of his head and moved to slip out of his shirt and pants. 

Unfortunately, since he was in a clingy mood Mirio wouldn't be able to put on any of his sleepwear, which was normally just sweats and a shirt if he was feeling cold, but there wasn't anything he could really do about it. 

The blond did his best to throw his clothes to the laundry hamper, though he missed. (M/N), who would normally lightly chide Mirio about leaving his dirty clothes on the floor, immediately pressed his face into the blond's chest, pulling him as close as possible.

Mirio laughed, pressing his hands to (M/N) chest in an attempt to get him to let go. It was futile for a moment or two but eventually, he loosed his hold, letting Mirio go long enough for him to turn the lights off and actually crawl into the bed instead of just sitting on it.

(M/N) followed closely behind, pulling Mirio to his chest and wrapping him in 6 arms.

Mirio loved it, it made him feel safe and loved. Though he'd never not felt loved by (M/N), it was a nice feeling, one of protection.

He wouldn't change it for the world.

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Remus Lupin x Reader Smut- Full Moon Aftercare

Gif not mine :)

Waking up with the sheets cold beside you had become an occurrance you were used to every month since your secret relationship with your Dark Arts Professor had started. You use the term 'secret' loosely however as your dorm friends all knew what was going on and you were 99% sure all of the staff faculty were aware and just hiding it from the ministry but still, the idea of a forbidden relationship only made it that much more exciting. You'd fallen for him the second he walked through those classroom doors in his cardigan you now steal at every opportunity possible and finding out during you final year at Hogwarts that your feelings were reciprocated was one of the best days of your life. Being 18 your choice in boyfriend was technically legal but whilst you were still a student and on Hogwarts grounds you could never be truly 'official', else the ministry would take Remus' job in a heartbeat- of course it wasn't ideal but for now the both of you were happy to settle with stolen hidden kisses and sneaking to Lupin's dorm of an evening without getting caught out by some worms like Malfoy and his goons.

You rolled over to his side of the bed and laid your face into his pillow, breathing in the scent you missed the night before. Looking out the window you could see it was still the early hours of the morning and knew it wouldn't be long until a blanket clad man was going to walk through the door. Full moons were a tough time for the both of you- albeit Remus clearly suffered a lot more- with your boyfriend returning back from a hard night each time and you patching up any wounds that he obtained on his travels with a bar of his favourite chocolate resting on the bedside counter. This month's was no different as you got up and gathered the first aid kit Remus left at the top of his wardrobe and a pair of his comfiest pyjamas and waited on the end of the bed for him to come through the door.

Barely 10 minutes had passed and you heard the shuffling of your boyfriend's heavy footsteps coming down the hall; you stood to meet him at the door.

"Hey" You smiled sadly as Remus all but limped through the door. He gave you a weak smile in return and softly kissed your cheek before practically collapsing on the bed behind you. "Rough night?" You joked with a side smile as you sat beside him with his pyjamas in hand. You'd almost asked him once why he only hid a blanket out in the forest rather than a spare set of clothes but after seeing him struggle even wrapping the threaded material round his bare frame by himself you cut yourself off.

"Darling you have no idea." He winced as he attempted to sit up, fresh cuts and scrapes getting shifted with each movement. You smiled sympathetically at him as you helped him get into his pyjama bottoms (secret Lupin insight, underwear is a big no after a change, the waistband is far too tight around his aching bones) and passed him a square of the dark chocolate that he'd been eyeing up since he saw it on the counter. You noticed the large cut that was going down the underside of his arm and nodded your head towards it, grabbing the first aid kit.

"Okay I'm sorry, this is going to sting quite a bit at first but just remember it'll be worth it in the end; you'll feel a lot better." You apologised, as you used an alcohol soaked cotton pad to clean the wound before bandaging it up. A small, pain-filled laugh sounded beside you and you turned in confusion.

"Sorry.. I know you're trying to help and I love you for it. You just.. reminded me what I said on the first night you stayed here." He chuckled.

"Remus John Lupin amidst your pain from a bloody long night did you really just answer me with a 'that's what he said' line? You're such a child sometimes." You laughed.

"You know you love me for it Y/N."

"Of course I do Professor." You couldn't help it sometimes, honestly you couldn't. In your defence, after having him as a teacher for so long you just became accustomed to calling him professor when talking to him. Sometimes in private you did it on purpose, especially after seeing the reaction it got out of him when you did it accidentally during the first few weeks of your relationship- let's just say you're not allowed to use any such title in class with Remus anymore.. you'd trialled 'sir' for a while but apparently any such term towards him leaving your lips turns him back into a horny teenager. Apparently even in pain it had the same effect."Y/NNNN" He moaned softly, hanging his head down to try and avoid eye contact with you. You followed his gaze and noticed his half-hard bulge poking at the striped trousers.

"Remus I'm so sorry, it was an accident I swear." You apologised profusely. The two of you had learned very early on that Remus' transition come-down effects him sexually too. The two of you usually have to wait at least 3 days before being intimate with each other as the change causes Lupin to be incredibly sensitive and sometimes even in pain until he fully feels like himself again. It becomes difficult after the first day as his libido skyrockets after a full moon event, neither of you were quite sure why. Sometimes Remus would try to push himself too far but with the mixture of his aching body and the oversensitivity he deals with in his trousers the moment ends fairly quickly with a shout of pain. You'd vowed to make it up to him massively each month if he could hold out the three days because you were always worried that you would hurt him if you tried too soon- that's if he doesn't hurt himself first of course- and the promise was "definitely worth the wait" according to your partner.

"Shh it's okay. I just-ah need a minute." He winced again as he shifted his weight to lay against the headboard of the bed. You nodded and laid beside him, resting your head against his shoulder and lightly kissing the base of his jaw in apology. The silences were there but it wasn't awkward as you frequently tried to talk to him to take his mind off his growing erection (clearly his mind was doing the opposite). The minutes ticked by and nothing seemed to help. "I'm sorry Y/N, you're probably exhausted getting up this early to help me out. I won't be offended if you want to go back to your dorm to get a proper sleep, I'm afraid I wouldn't be such a good host wincing like a kicked puppy every time I take a deep breath. Besides, my uh- problem, shall we say, doesn't appear to be getting any better." He spoke, realising his half-hard erection had grown in the last few minutes rather than going away. The last few weeks you'd been spending a lot of your time studying for your final exams so the two of you didn't really have time to have sex as you were constantly busy. It annoyed you, of course it did, but Lupin understood completely knowing how much your studies meant to you. But he'd be lying if he said he didn't pleasure himself each time in the shower fantasising your previous sexual endeavours and now found his mind wandering back to the old memories as he felt his cock twitch.

"I'm not going anywhere unless you really want me to. It's technically my fault you're even more uncomfortable." You shifted from your position to face him a little more. " And don't you ever feel bad about me getting myself up early on these days to make sure you're okay. I'd drive myself mad if I just stayed in my dorm room knowing you'd come back here by yourself. I love you and I want to help you out as much as I can. I knew what I was signing up for in this relationship when it started and I'm not going to back out." You confessed. Remus gave you a soft smile in return and leaned himself to kiss the side of your head, words often failing him when you speak to him like this as he'll never understand how he got so lucky with such an understanding, loving person. He stifled a noise that sounded a mixture of pain and pleasure at the sensation of his trousers rubbing against him. "Can I at least try to help? Please?" You asked, moving to rest your hand on his upper inner thigh. "I'll go slow and if you tell me to stop, I'll stop." From the corner of your eye you could see Lupin stifling a laugh. "Another flashback?" You grinned. "That's not going to help this go anywhere." You teased, gesturing to the tent in his trousers.

"One of the best." He answered with a smile. He was in pain, there was no doubt about that, but he felt guilty accepting your offer, almost like he felt he was using you breaking your 3 day rule. You moved your hand to the waistband of his pyjama bottoms and looked at him for approval.

"It's probably going to hurt at first but just focus on me and I'll try to make this as easy as I can." You whispered. With a soft nod given as consent you softly put your hand in and wrapped your fingers around his throbbing cock, hearing a sharp intake of breath and a quiet wince from the man beside you. With your spare hand you turned his face towards yours, pressing your lips against his as your other hand slowly made a steady rhythm, causing the older man to eventually moan against your mouth. Your movements were slow. Careful. As you twisted your hand as it reached the head, pre-cum dripped down your knuckles as Remus slowly came undone below you.

"I love you Professor." You turned your head to whisper in his ear as you kissed and licked down his jaw and neck. Your voice did things to him that he would never be able to explain. It usually embarrasses you but knowing it was one of Remus' biggest turn ons you decided to treat him on this occasion, willing to do anything to make this easier for him. "I especially love how your big cock fits in my hand so perfectly, like you were made for me." You moaned breathlessly in his ear as you picked up the pace with your hand. You felt Lupin's big hand come round in attempt to lift your shirt but the pain in his arm stopped him. "Calm down Professor. As much as I'd love for you to fill me up right here and now we need to wait, then you can have me any way you want to remember? Use me as your own personal sex doll over and over until you pass out of exhaustion." You bit his earlobe.

"P-Promise?" He managed to breathe out, any pain he was feeling long gone by his new distraction as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

"I'd want nothing else sir."

"Fuck Y/N." He swore, moving his head into your shoulder and biting the bit of flesh he could reach. You moaned in response and moved your other hand down towards the front of your own trousers, beginning to rub circles on your swollen clit that had been dying for your attention. "Oh you're such.. a naughty girl Y/N." He teased lowly seeing your actions. "MY naughty girl."His deep voiced words caught you off-guard as you squeezed tighter onto his member, flicking your thumb over the top of his sensitive head as you felt him come close to the edge.

You moaned deeply and pushed two fingers inside yourself, matching the pace of your other hand as you turned your head into Remus' and kissed him deeply.

"I'm almost there." Remus breathed between the kiss, fisting his hands into the bedsheet, angry he felt too weak to be able to touch you properly. "Come on darling, cum with me." He encouraged, fighting back his own orgasm as he watched your hand work steadily on yourself through your trousers. He didn't have to tell you twice. With a few more twists of your hands and pumps of your fingers the two of you came undone, moaning each other's names as you reached your high.

"Feeling.. better?" You teased breathlessly as you grabbed one of the spare cleaning cloths and wiped you both down.

"You could say that." He smirked, slowly letting himself sink down the bed until he was laying completely. You joined him and rested your head on his chest, careful to avoid any fresh bruises. His fingers lazily danced against your hip as you yawned beside him. "Thank you." He spoke sincerely, turning his head to kiss the top of your head.

"For accidentally turning you on and tossing you off when you really needed to sleep? You're welcome." You joked, nestling closer.

"No- well yes actually, for that too-" He laughed. "But more-so for being here every time I get back after a full moon like this. It's nice knowing I'm not coming home to an empty bed every time. You make it almost bearable. I really do love you Y/N, more than I could have ever imagined loving anybody."

"I'll always be here for you to get back to Remus, unfortunately for you you're now stuck with me. I love you too. Now let's go to sleep, you need your rest." Lupin opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off, practically reading his mind. "I spoke to the other professors earlier this week and they've agreed that after seeing me practically hanging out my arse every day after a full moon that I could take the day off to be with you, providing I catch up with the work within a week." You spoke.

"You're truly an amazing woman Y/N, I believe I'd be lost without you."

"You haven't heard the best part yet. I even managed to convince Snape to agree to the deal, with the agreement that I would go to his classroom once a fortnight to make the potions with him that I miss and do a timed essay that the rest of the class don't have to do. I'm more than happy with that as it counts towards my potions studying but I didn't let him see that and let him believe it was some kind of small punishment."

"One on one time with Severus in his classroom eh?" Remus began. "Should I be concerned? That is how we started off after all." He joked. You rolled your eyes and shook your head. Whilst Remus sounded as though he was kidding you could always see the underlying insecurities in his eyes, constantly worried you'd leave him for anyone that didn't have his 'condition', constantly thinking you deserved better- even if it was Snape...

"I'd never leave you for anyone Remus, especially never Snape."

"Oh? And why's that."

"He doesn't like chocolate. Immediate red flag." You grinned, slowly rubbing your fingers along the raised scars that patterned your boyfriend's chest. Another thing he was hugely insecure enough. The first few months you were dating you learned he was even trying to use make-up to hide the ones on his face but you managed to convince him that scars made any man sexier, but the ones on his chest and torso were the ones he hated most- hell, the first few times you had sex he kept his shirt on and then when you finally convinced him to take it off you'd have to be in the dark. But doing little things like now, tracing the map of pink and white lines across his body, memorising every inch of him made him feel better. He let out a small laugh and managed to roll over onto his side and take you under his good arm for a hug, appreciating the smell of your shampoo under his nose as he kissed your head. He really did strike it lucky with you and he loved you more than anything in this world but being here and treating him like you do, Remus finally found himself doing something he never thought he could again. He was starting to love himself.

[hansols-yoda-boxers]

CNS Spin Off - Old Flame

Choi Seungcheol x Kim Minji

Word Count: 2276

Contents: slight breast play, fingering, oral (female receiving), protected sex, slight cockwarming

Note: clearly, i like established relationships sdhjhgd, also “lifers” is a term we used at one of my summer jobs for people who eventually got permanent jobs there and that became their career

Minji giggled as she and Seungcheol fell back onto the bed. His hands moved along her waist, pushing her shirt up as he started to kiss down her neck. He pressed a thigh between her legs and she let her hands fall back above her head, eyes falling closed.

“I forgot these cabins were still back here,” she sighed, shifting to let him pull her shirt over her head. 

“They were supposed to demolish some of them,” he hummed against her skin, hands slipping under her to undo her bra. “But you know how long it takes to get things done.”

“It’s better for us,” She giggled, letting him pull her bra off and throw it onto another bed. “God I feel like we’re young and dumb again.”

Seungcheol laughed, hiding his face between her breasts as he did. “We’re not that old.”

“By camp standards we’re ancient,” she laughed, running her fingers through his hair as he left kisses on her chest.

“It could be worse,” he grinned between kitten licks at one of her nipples.

“And what would that be?” She chuckled.

“We could be lifers.”

“Oh don’t even say that!” she said, laughing and gazing down at him.

“See, it could be worse,” he hummed before sucking one of her nipples fully between his lips.

Minji sighed, brushing his hair out of his face. “Much worse,” she agreed.

As much as neither of them liked the insinuation of being lifers she knew neither of them would be. They both had jobs lined up for the fall. They were both fully moving into the next stage of their lives.

Which led her to thoughts of the other major change.

She had signed the lease. She was moving in with him, staying for at least a year. She thought she should be elated about it. She was living with her best friend, with someone she loved. But she couldn’t shake the fears she had. She couldn’t stop thinking about the little things that could go wrong, the way the summer always felt like a fling and then the school year started and it was back to reality. But her reality was changing.

“You okay, babe?”

“Hm?” Minji looked down at Seungcheol, concern laced into his expression. She reached down and grabbed his hand, squeezing it and smiling at him.

“I’m sorry, I keep getting lost in thought these days.”

He propped himself up a little more. “Did you need to talk instead?”

She shook her head. “There’s something else I’d much rather you use your mouth for at the moment.”

Seungcheol grinned, squeezing her hand back. “I can do that.”

He let go of her hand, sitting up for a moment to pull off his shirt before moving down her body. Minji let out a sigh as he undid her shorts and pulled them off along with her panties, leaving kisses along her legs. She let them fall open easily for him, feeling his hands trail up her inner thighs and the mattress shifting as he settled between her legs.

Minji willed her mind to calm down as Seungcheol kissed up to the apex of her thighs. She spent too much time thinking about what might go wrong. But either way it was happening. She would have to make sure it worked out. Maybe she was just overthinking? Maybe they both were. Maybe it was as easy as everyone else said.

A content sigh fell off Minji’s lips as Seungcheol drew his tongue over her clit slowly, just the way she liked.

Why couldn’t everything be as effortless as this?

Minji felt Seungcheol’s hands wrap around her thighs. His movements were slow and smooth. Each one sent sparks or pleasure through her body. He knew her body so well, he knew exactly what she liked. She let herself completely relax, it was so easy to put her pleasure fully in his hands.

And on his tongue.

And his cock.

“That feels good, love,” she hummed, threading her fingers into his hair. Seungcheol hummed against her, sending wonderful vibrations through her body. He brought one hand up to her stomach and she brought her free hand down to meet it, lacing her fingers with his. His other hand trailed along her inner thigh lazily.

Minji let out a small moan, hips starting to move just a little, rocking against his tongue. Warmth was rushing through her body and pooling between her legs, so close to where his tongue was moving. The small, teasing movements of his fingers on her thigh only made her needier. 

Minji arched her back, a whinier moan falling off her lips. Seungcheol knew her well, knew what her sounds meant, what her movements meant. She didn’t even have to ask him for what she wanted next. He hummed against her, sucking on her clit lightly while slowly pressing a finger into her heat.

“Yes,” she breathed, fingers tightening in his hair as he curled his finger into her. His pace was a little faster, but not too quick. Focused. He knew just the right movement, just the right speed for her.

Minji curled her fingers into his hair more, her back arching off the bed as moans cascaded from her lips. There was something thrilling about being with someone else. They might do something she wouldn’t usually do. She was more likely to take control and that had its fun too. But being with Seungcheol was more than sex.

He knew her body so well. She knew there was nothing to worry about, nothing to think about when she was in his hands. She could enjoy every second and know that the next would be even more pleasurable than the last. He was comfort. It wasn’t something she wanted to mess with, or mess up.

Seungcheol gently pressed a second finger into her heat, flattening his tongue over her clit. Minji let her head fall to the side in a moan, reveling in every rush of pleasure he sent through her body. Already she could feel herself tensing just a little, already her body starting to build towards her release slowly.

“That’s perfect,” she moaned. “Just like that.”

He hummed in response, letting go of her hand. He pressed her thigh out a little more as she trembled. His fingers pressed into her skin, never hurting her but firm, secure. She pulled his head in closer between her legs as her hips ground a little more against his face and on his fingers. She was always torn with wanting more from him and wanting to keep going just as they were until she came.

Seungcheol eased a third finger into her, groaning as she clenched, nearly pushing his fingers back out. Her moans climbed a little higher at the feeling, even more pleasure curling through her as he sucked gently on her clit again.

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard, breaths coming heavy as she squeezed her eyes shut. Her body grew more and more tense with every passing second, twisting tighter as her release came closer and closer. Tremors ran through her body and she clenched around his fingers as they curled deep inside of her, drawing more from her. More sensation, more moans, more desire.

Seungcheol moaned against her again, sending more vibrations through her body. She gripped his hair tightly, whining when he pulled away.

“Do you want me to make you cum, babe?” He murmured.

Minji let her eyes flutter open as she willed the words back into her brain and tugged on him, pulling him up. Seungcheol followed easily, capturing her in a sweet kiss that still conveyed his own fire, his own desire for her.

“Not yet, love,” she hummed. “I’d rather cum with you.”

He smiled against her lips, kissing her again as she reached down to the waist of his shorts. Her fingers undid the buttons despite being a little shaky still. He was patient, enjoying the feeling of her lips until she pushed his shorts and boxers down his hips.

Seungcheol sat back to take them off properly. Minji took the moment to unashamedly admire him, biting down on her lip and seeing the way it curled his lips into an almost shy smile. She knew how much he loved being admired that way, even if he didn’t like to admit it out loud. 

His hands rummaged in his short’s pockets until he found a condom. Minji followed the motion of his fingers as he rolled it on before he moved over her again, kissing her and grinding his hips down into her. Both of them let out moans at the feeling, Minji wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing him as he moved an arm between their bodies.

A gasp fell from her own lips and a groan from his as he pushed into her smoothly. Their lips brushed against each others, open lips turning to open kisses as he bottomed out, one hand bracing himself against the mattress while the other held her hip firmly. He squeezed her hip, fingers pressing into the skin as he started to roll his hips into her.

Minji let her head fall back as she moaned. How wonderful it was that they were so well matched. That he fit with her like a perfect puzzle piece. The movements he liked were the movements she liked. He was just the right depth, just the right angle, just the right speed. Everything was so right with him.

“Right there,” Minji breathed. “Perfect.” Her fingers curled into his hair and scratched a little at his back, something that always made him buck his hips into her a little more roughly from the sensation, something nearing a whine falling off his lips. It made her back arch off the mattress and her thighs press in around his sides.

It hadn’t started so perfectly. She barely remembered the first few times. A few moments stood out, bordering on mortifying at the time but funny now. She wondered where along the way it had become so perfect, when they started to match so well like this. When did he learn to read her body so well she barely even needed to ask for what she wanted? Was his perfect rhythm always the same as hers or had they grown together?

“Every time,” he groaned. “You always feel so good.” His face dropped into the crook of her neck, he managed to leave a few kisses along her skin. His hand moved from her hip, moving inwards between their bodies as he moved just a little faster, but just as smooth, just as deep, just the right angle still.

She liked to think that perfection takes time. Even in moments like these, where her senses were taken by him, his scent, his sounds, his movements and the pleasure they brought to her body and she could barely hold a thought, she knew the perfection was made. It took time to build to what they had and it made her hold onto him a little tighter, it made her never want to let him go.

Her moans climbed higher as his fingers reached her clit. She clenched around him as her legs pressed in around his sides. The tension in her body rose, every part of her pulling tight as he pulled him close against her body, the pleasure growing stronger and stronger.

She could feel him tensing too, but she knew he was close in other ways. The way he moaned against her skin, the way his hips moved as he chased his high, the feverish movements of his fingers to bring her to release along with him.

Minji grabbed Seungcheol’s face, pulling him up to kiss her.

“Cum with me, love,” she murmured.

Seungcheol’s hips began to stutter as he started to cum. His fingers moved a little faster, a little rougher and seconds later Minji was falling over her own edge. She moaned out his name as her back arched off the bed, an ocean of bliss sucking her under as every inch of her body released. His lips found hers again in a kiss and she returned it sweetly, holding him close.

Seungcheol was the first to pull away, though not by a lot. He looked down at her, pressing more kisses to her lips between taking in her beauty.

Finally, he brought a hand up to hold her chin gently. “Do you want to tell me what’s been bothering you?” He asked gently.

Minji sighed. “This is so perfect,” she said, running her hands over his shoulders. “I like this. I like us, like this. I’m worried too much is changing at once.”

Seungcheol gave her a sympathetic smile. “I am too.”

“Do you think we’re being silly?” She asked. “Do you think everyone is right that this will just come naturally to us?”

He sighed, wrapping his arms around her and flipping over until Minji was laying on his chest, his cock still nestled inside her. “I mean it would be dumb to think that there will never be challenges.” He said. “But we’ve handled challenges before. We’ve weathered fights before. We’ve gotten over being mad at each other before. It should be something we can handle.” 

Minji could hear it in his tone, the way he tried to convince himself with his own words. His hand gently ran through her hair and she sighed. “What does that mean… for…”

“I don’t know.” He replied, holding her a little tighter. “I didn’t think we would ever revisit that question.”

“Neither did I,” Minji replied.

[lennonknowsmysins]

insomnia (modern!roommate!au)

beatle: john lennon

summary: ever since quarantine started, you’ve had trouble sleeping. every night is the same pattern of nonstop thoughts that keep you up. just when you’ve given up, john, one of your roommates, stumbles in to help you. (can be read as platonic or romantic)

warnings: insomnia, quarantine

a/n: i don’t think that anxiety induced insomnia is an official term but it’s definitely a thing, yee haw. this is a total comfort fic. 

Your eyes were glued to the television screen, mindlessly listening to the buzz of Animanics. Your eyelids felt so heavy, yet they refused to stay shut. 

It had been like this since quarantine started. All your nights had been sleepless, tossing and turning until you maybe got an hour or two. Usually you went through four phrases; you laid and waited for sleep you knew wasn’t coming, then you started to convince yourself you were hearing noises and seeing shapes which lead you to get on your phone to distract you which lead you to digging up old memories until you were crying and listening to your playlist from freshman year of high school, and then you were back to phase one. 

Tonight you’d decided to skip out on the crying stage once you’d worked up enough courage to grab your phone. You figured it might help if you didn’t stay in your bed, it was started to feel more like a cage. So you’d drug yourself to the living room, curled up on the couch and turned on the first show that didn’t look terrifying, which had been Animanics. You’d had to smile, this was George’s Hulu account and the cartoon had been under his ‘continue watching’ file. 

A muffled thud made you freeze. You stared down the hall, in the direction that it came from and let out a breath when John stumbled out of his bedroom, eyes half closed. You started thinking of an excuse for why you were still awake and watching cartoons but John was either really tired, really focused or more blind than he cared to let on because he walked right by you, making a beeline for the bathroom. You assumed this was what it was like to catch a bat in action. Well, if bat’s wore pinstriped boxers. 

You shrugged, turning your attention back to the screen just in time to catch the pigeons getting into another scruff. 

The bathroom door opened, briefing flooding the living room with yellow light. John came back out with his glasses, seemingly much more aware of his surroundings. He was rarely caught dead in them but you thought the thick frames looked really nice on him, they were very classy. Like Buddy Holly’s, he explained to you. 

He finally noticed that the television was on, though he didn’t catch you. He must’ve thought that someone had left it on by accident, as he sighed and reached for the remote on the coffee table. 

“I’m watching that.” You mumbled. John’s head whipped up and he squinted at you at the end of the couch. 

“(y/n)? Whatcha still doin’ up, kid?”

“Can’t sleep. What about you?” You asked dumbly. You just weren’t in the mood to talk about your sleeping problem. 

“Had to take a piss.” He responded nonchalantly, settling on the other side of the couch. You giggled at him, making him look over at you, your gaze back on the cartoon. “You know, you’re probably not able to sleep ‘cause you stayed up till midnight.”

“I stayed up that late because I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep.” You admitted flatly. John studied you for a moment. Even though you were curled into a ball position, he could tell that your body was tired. He could tell that you were tired. 

“C’mere then. Let’s have a snuggle.”

You looked up at him, your lips quirked. He had his arm stretched you, his eyebrows raised. You grinned, crawling over to him and curling into his side, resting your head on his chest. He patted your bare knee and tutted. 

“No blanket and teeny little shorts, you’ll freeze.” He scolded playfully, reaching behind you to grab the blanket that hung over the couch, “I swear child, you’ll be the death of me. Or worse, you’ll turn me into me aunt.”

He draped the blanket across the two of you - though he made sure that you were completely covered before indulging himself. It was handmade, the yellow fabric once stiff but now incredibly soft from years of loving wear. You’d loved it since you’d moved in, something about it made you feel oddly domestic, especially now with John’s arm wrapped around you. 

“And that’s the facts,” You sang along quiet with the end of Animanics theme.

“Didn’t know you were an Animanics fan.” John commented, absentmindedly combing his hands through your hair. 

You leaned into him, humming, “Haven’t watched a whole lot of it but it was the first thing that popped up on George’s Hulu and I thought it looked cute.”

“I forgot Georgie likes this show.” John muttered, nodding his head. 

The two of you watched in comfortable silence, chuckling every so often. It was nice to have company after so many lonely, sleepless nights. John made you feel warm. Not at all like how the blankets on your bed made you feel like you were in an oven. No, John made you feel warm and comfortable. 

“How long have you had trouble sleeping?” John asked, careful not to sound too pushy. You sighed. You supposed you couldn’t keep up the front forever. 

“Since March. I mean, I’ve had trouble with it before but now it’s like I can barely shut my eyes without a melatonin.”

John’s heart sunk at how miserable your voice sounded. You’d been struggling with this for a month by yourself. He felt a pang of guilt that he hadn’t noticed how exhausted you were. He would have bought you all the Camille tea and Tylenol PM you needed if he’d known. “Have you talked to anyone else about it?”

You shook your head, “I didn’t want you guys to worry or anything. Figured I’d find a cure or something on the internet.”

“Oh baby, you can worry us all you like.” John assured you, squeezing your shoulder, “Look, we’ll help you find something to help, George has always got some sort of plant or hippie shit to help.”

“But I’ve tried everything!” You lamented, sitting up, “Nothing’s working, everything just makes me more nervous.”

John rested a hand on your back, “Love, we’ll find something. You’ve probably got anxiety induced insomnia. It can be caused by sudden changes in lifestyle so it could be caused by quarantine.”

“Anxiety induced insomnia? That’s a big term.” You teased, wrapping your arms around your knees. He flashed you a cheesy grin. 

“I saw a Twitter thread about it.” He shrugged cheekily. You sighed and leaned back against him. You put your head on his shoulder, prompting him to rest his head on your’s. 

“It’s just so frustrating. I just wanna sleep.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, flattening back your hair. You’d never seen this side of John. Since you started living with the boys, he had never struck you as the snuggle type but you weren’t complaining. 

“You will sleep. Even if you don’t, I’ll be right here the whole time. It’ll be okay.”

You curled further into his touch. He started to adjust his position, swinging his legs up on the couch with a groan so that he was reclining against the couch pillow and you were laying on top of him. 

He patted your back, “We’ll call the doctor in the morning, see if we can get you an appointment.”

John was warm, you thought once more. Warm and inviting. Being this close to him felt right, he felt right. He was safe, he could keep away those terrible shadowy figures that you were convinced were stalking around the corners of your room. He could distract you from wasting away the early hours on your phone. He could help you sleep. 

Your eyes started to feel heavy again but this time, it wasn’t a hopeless heavy. Slowly, finally, you began to drift off to sleep.