#when my nervous system tells me to worry that one is me core

[oranqeart]

🫡

[risuola]

VII — WHAT IF...? // F. READER x TOBIRAMA SENJU

Tobirama never wanted children and not one of you ever brought the topic up, but now, as you grow more and more intimate and comfortable with each other you wonder, what if...?

contents: smut, reader discretion is advised — 2,1k words

a/n: i need to tell you guys that i'm so incredibely grateful for the positive feedback i got from you readers! i know that Tobirama isn't the most popular character in Naruto and i chose him to make this series about (because I love him, that's why) and it makes me so happy that you enjoy his little persona too! ❥ also, i'm very sorry for posting so rarely for this series, i was stuck in where to take the story now.

POLITICALLY LOVELESS || SERIES MASTERLIST

“God, I’m so damn busy.”

Tobirama’s low, deep voice rumbled against your skin as he kept latching his lips along the edges of you. You let your nails gently run across the pale flesh of his sides, your hands long gone underneath the dark ink-blue fabric of his blouse, yearning for the warmth of a man that has your heart in a tight grip for way longer than you’d ever suspect. The marks he was leaving at his wake matched the color to the ones you were painting on his back and you couldn’t help but grin with satisfaction when he hissed near your ear. The stinging sensation of your scratches fueled his fire even more and only seconds passed before your pants were pushed down and underwear got ripped into pieces. The heat of your core now exposed to his whims, starved tremendously for any touch of his, and you whimper – the sound nearly pathetic, as he moved his fingers along your dripping slit, spreading the slick and making their way around the pulsating bud.

“My love,” you breathed again, leaning your head against his peck, inhaling the subtle, fresh scent that always stuck to his body. A mixture of tangerine and pepper, a hint of sandal wood hovering above the soft undertone of morning dew and rain. “My god, I missed you.” You spoke, but what was leaving your mouth was incoherent, it was airy and broken; stuttered between the expert circles Tobirama was massaging right into your nervous system.

“I missed you too,” he replied, quiet against the crown of your head, taking in your aura and impatiently moving his fingers a little bit further, making them slip right into you. One by one, he was focused on stretching you out, the tight ring of muscles clenching around his digits as he moved them back and forth.

“Tobi, please–“ you whined, gripping onto his sides with enough force to ground yourself.

“You think you are ready for me?”

“I do, please,” there was no hint of uncertainty when you begged for him to fuck you. Right there, on his desk, in his office in the hokage tower. There was no worry in you, no thought about his brother few doors further down the hall, no nothing that could convince you that it wasn’t the best idea and it seemed your husband has just as little concerns because it didn’t take him long to be inside you.

A low, gravelly groan escaped his throat, vibrating against your lips that glued to his throat marked their way across the sensitive skin over his Adam’s apple. It’s been too long since he felt you that close, it’s been too long since he was able to just lose himself in you, be vulnerable in the loving embrace of your body, be the person he never got to be publicly and instead of thinking and analyzing, just letting himself feel. And then, he was sure, that if ever he wished to feel anything, it was you he wanted to experience. It was you since the day he saw you for the first time, led by a servant in your family palace, blinded and obedient but bearing a beauty that tainted his thoughts perpetually.

Tobirama will always remember the feeling of your body – the soft curve of your shoulder he kept his hand on to lead you out of your village, the gentle brush of his fingers against your cheekbones when he took the blindfold off your face, revealing the eyes in which he got lost with no return. You were nothing more than a girl he just met back then, a wife-to-be but someone unknown and yet, his heart knew on the spot that things will change. And they did, he knew it’ll happen, but he wouldn’t dare to wish his life to turn out so dramatically different to what he predicted. Love was a feeling as foreign as fear to his heart. A heart he thought was frozen and nothing more than a dot in the constellation of organs that kept him alive. The beat in his chest has never had any more meaning than to keep his body going and the very same beat now goes crazy, rumbling against his ribs whenever he sees you. Tobirama knew his life will change, the very moment his head was filled with terror and uneasiness when Hashirama passed him the decision regarding the arrangement. He knew about all the shifts in his day to day life he will simply have to commit to and yet, the most vibrant of his dreams, the most brave and perverse could have never created what he had now. You.

You, on the desk he’s used to work at. You, with your plush thighs wrapped around his waist, your hands gripping onto him for just a fraction of support, panting out moans, so light and breathy, against his lips, quietly escaping only for his ears to hear. With your core clenching, aching to accommodate him whole and yet, greedy enough to take everything, to want more. Senju would never imagine he will be blessed enough to hear his name spoken with so much love he could actually feel it seeping through the sound of it.

You kept squeezing him and he kept losing his mind over every twitch your walls did around him. You were a work of art, he thought as his eyes followed the lines of your body. An arch of your back now prominent, and the only thing that kept you from falling flat onto the desk was a pair of his hands, strongly holding your waist to himself. Your eyes were absent, your mind long gone into the realm of pleasure and yet, your fingers stayed on his biceps, squeezing the flesh and wandering, hungry to have more of him.

“Tobi–“ you breathed out, the name just barely sliding on top of the air you were panting out and you pulled yourself closer to him. Your palms now found their way to his back, stretching the fabric of his blouse to feel the skin underneath it and you leaned into him, as he leaned into you. Your foreheads touched, noses squeezed together as the final moves of his hips brought both of you over the edge. Your breaths mingled together, a soft, broken sounds made for a cacophony of love you just shared and you shut your eyes to just feel him fully.

“Welcome back home,” your husband whispered finally, kissing your lips shortly after your smile acknowledged his words. The gesture was soft, languid and though you knew it was carrying much more than just concluding the sex. There was love that it carried, emotions unraveling with each movement of his mouth against yours and you felt the warmth spreading all over your body.

“I missed you too,” you replied, softly and quietly, slowly breaking the kiss off but not shying away from marking the line of his jawline with few more wet spots. “Let’s get cleaned, shall we?”

* * *

Watching Tobirama fight was one of your favorite things to do ever since you got to marry him. It amazed you every time you had a chance to witness his training and your husband never failed to take your breath away with how skilled and precise his movements are, how much control he has over nature releases and how well he wields the sword. Of course, the moment he offered you to join him while he trained with Kagami, you said yes without a second thought.

The boy from the clan of fire has become a part of your family in a way. Ever since you gave him a hand, helped him go through the traumatic events that happened with his biological parents, you kept an eye on him. With regular visits at his new home, you got to know his new parents – lovely people – and you really attached yourself to the little kid. He was growing so fast, warming your heart and soul as you watched the smile on his face and pinched his cheeks every time you had a chance, because soon he’ll be too big for you to do so any longer (you’ll try anyway). Kagami was a constant guest at your house, spreading his warm aura across the place where you and your husband live and making you smile every time you saw him, because the few days you got to take a close care of him were the sweetest memories you held onto. You’ll never forget the way he clung onto you, with trust and a kind of love that a child gives an adult that it feels safe with.

Tobirama grew to love the boy rather quickly – though he was reluctant to admit how fast it happened, but you knew he felt the intense need of care in just few days of little Uchiha in his life. Now it wasn’t a secret anymore – your husband openly treated the kid as if it was his own and even though he strongly believed that kids shouldn’t be exposed to war and violence, he was very supportive when it came to trainings. Even on the busiest days of his schedule, he always found a moment or two to spare for the cheerful child that came to visit the hokage tower every time he was around.

“Tired already?” Senju asked, watching the brunette gathering up from the green grass on one of the meadows that were more of a training field than a piece of greenery. An open space so big in comparison to the almost eight-year-old tiny human and yet he bravely raised up to his little feet, clenching his fingers around the handle of his kunai.

 “No!” He called out, panted and a small smile tugged on your husband’s lips as he got into his stance yet again. It was a spectacle of trust and power and you admired your man for being able to perfectly calculate how much strength he can put into every move of his body to make the little one hustle just enough.

You, as you sat on the side, resting on the soft blanket and surrounded by homemade food you prepared to feed both boys after they’re done and some bandages and first aid supplies that you knew will be needed to tend scrapes and cuts that Kagami will most likely be covered in after the session. All those little, harmless wounds you’ll later kiss and wrap around, tickling the child and basking in the sweet sound of his giggles muffled by the pieces of rice and meat you’ll give him.

You smiled, then sighed, feeling a sentiment washing over you. A slight tension made your muscles twitch and soon you found yourself pressing a hand onto your belly. You wished to have children, not always – but now, as you found love in the village that confidently you call your cherished home, more and more often you catch yourself thinking.

Tobirama didn’t want any offspring, at least that’s what he told you few days after the wedding – as he was explaining to you the mechanisms of the arrangement and briefing you through his visions of the future between you and him, he mentioned that his brother will secure the bloodline, therefore he has no wish to have kids himself. It’s something you agreed on, then slightly intimidated by his cold and calm persona, but three years had passed since you and him got bonded by knot of matrimony and as you think of it, none of his predictions came to life.

Sometimes you chuckled mentally, knowing how far off is what you have now to what he told you he think will happen. It was meant to be loveless, it was meant to be dry and distant. He told you that he’s sorry for the future you were given to, that he’s not going to love you just like you deserve but then, he did just that. He swore he’s cold, that his heart isn’t capable of sharing feelings as romantic as love but Tobirama loves, and he loves hot. Every kiss and stolen touch with him burns right into your soul, warms you from the inside, makes you happy and cherished, and you knew, deep inside of your heart, that his mind changed long time ago. You knew, deep down, that he’s content with what you built together, that he’s happier than he ever would be if your marriage turned out as he thought it will.

And so, you wondered if his will to have children changed as well? You never talked about it with him, never asked and he didn’t as well. Lost in the constant rush of his busy schedule, from meeting to meeting and from fight to fight, Tobirama stayed quiet about the issue and you, now leading the anbu, never had guts to bring it up either. But now, as you sat there, basking in the warm rays of the summer sun, you wondered what if…?

taglist: @garouaddict @bluebreadenthusiast @nelivv @drthymby @humongousdreamlandbear @darlingxoxo15 @gaozorous-rex-blog

[imjusthereforironwood]

Just Breathe

"Alright, now try to squeeze the stress ball."

Colonel James Ironwood inhaled through his nostrils as he attempted to flex his mechanical fingers. The movement felt so... foreign. Even when James puts all his focus into it, he barely managed to make the prosthetic lightly grip the stress ball. He's been trying to adapt to his replacement parts, but progress had been slow.

"I'm trying," James said, his teeth gritted. He wasn't going to give up so easily. He focused himself wholly on squeezing the ball.

"Do you need some help?" someone said, their voice distant in James's ears.

"I'm fine!" Ironwood snapped back. "I can do this myself."

James could feel the implant in his forehead burning as he tried to will his right hand to squeeze. He heard another voice, but he couldn't quite tell what it was saying. Suddenly, a searing pain shot through his nervous system, shocking him to his core.

It hurts. Oh, Brothers, what is happening? I feel it again. My arm and leg, aching, tearing, rending. Someone help me, it hurts! I can feel how wrong this body is. These limbs aren't mine!

He could feel his lungs operating independently, one prosthetic, one organic. James wasn't getting enough oxygen.

James felt a hand hold his left hand. He looked over.

It was one of the doctors that had constructed his prosthetics. Dr... Pietro Polendina, that's it. James could hear the whirring and clicking of Pietro's robotic chair. His wide face had a calm, gentle smile on it.

"You overclocked the prosthetics, Colonel Ironwood," Pietro said, his tone quiet and thoughtful, giving James's hand a gentle squeeze. "You're hyperventilating, but you're going to be ok. Just...breathe with me for a second. In through the nose...and out through the mouth."

James, focusing on the man's words, began following the doctor's rhythmic breathing. In, out, in, out. The prosthetic lung began functioning in sync with his organic lung, and the burning sensation went away from his arm. He realized that he was still holding Pietro's hand and let go.

"Don't worry, this isn't uncommon among people adapting to new parts," Pietro said with a warm smile. "You're a resilient man, Colonel Ironwood, and you've shown remarkable progress considering how extensive the replacements are. You'll be firing on all cylinders in no time, but you have to take this one step at a time."

"Please...just call me James," Ironwood said with a small smile of his own.

[spinningbuster98]

Fusion may just have my favorite intro of the series

Just the intro cutscene where, without context, we see Samus crash into an asteroid belt while the music rises in a creepy pitch, followed by the classic title theme, which has a delightfully unsettling undertone now, good stuff! Really sets up Fusion as being a much scarier experience than usual

Also contributing are the ambient noises of the station when you enter, again: really good stuff, the kind that I guess is what Metroid 2 wanted to go for with its blips and bloops

I do have a couple of problems with that intro monologue however

The first is that, like others have pointed out in the past, given how quickly the X are shown to assimilate other creatures in both this game and Dread, it's weird how they take their sweet time with Samus, who gets just enough time to be given a vaccine, with the game not really giving a clear cut explanation

I used to thing that the whole explanation about her armor slowing down the X infection was pure headcanon, but to be fair Samus here does say that the X were infecting her Power Suit first, so maybe that's indication that they were struggling to get through its defenses, plus later on in Prime 2 if an Ing tries to possess you the armor rejects them

However we are also shown that the X had reached her nervous system, meaning that they had managed to get through the armor and reached her actual body....so by all accounts she should have died right there.

Granted, given that Fusion is the game that establishes the bio-organic nature of Samus' suit and how it's intrinsically tied to her biology (though I think that the Super Metroid Comic had already established something similar though that thing isn't really canon as a whole) I guess you could kind of speculate that the armor was still slowing down X infection even at that point

Dread will kind of put a wrench in this explanation by having Raven Beak be instantly infected by an X....but eh, we could explain that one away by saying that either his armor had been drained of too much energy by Samus' Metroid powers or that the X that infected him was a more powerful variant given that we had never seen a purple one before and that the resulting abomination took and extensive dosage of the Hyper Beam to be defeated rather than die on the spot like the other X during the escape sequence. That whole section is honestly a bit dumb and unneccesary but eh

Probably my biggest issue however is how Samus, right after having this weird gelatinous thing she had never seen before enter her armor, seemingly just...carries on like it's nothing and boards her spaceship

There's being reckless and then there's being just fucking stupid, are you seriously telling me she wasn't worried about that just because it had no immediate ill effects? And what about her armor? Shouldn't it be flashing all sorts of Warning messages? Barring Other M this is probably Samus' dumbest moment, at least with how it's presented here

Moving from that am I the only one that thinks that the "Elephant Bird" boss holding a fake Morph Ball makes no sense? You get the Charge Beam from this Core X so....why doesn't it have a fake Charge Beam power up?

Speaking of which, I LOVE the Charge Beam in this game. In Super it was mid, not really needed and it took a while to charge

Here it charges more quickly, it does great damage, has a deliciously crunchy sound effect (Fusion's sound design is actually my favorite in the series purely for how crunchy every attack sounds, which makes them feel more satisfying) and even slightly improves your uncharged shots!

[gremlinwithapen]

Augusnippets Day #1: Brainwashing

tw: brainwashing, electric shocks, minor character death

Val's hands shook.

Catalyst's claws did not.

[That was an order, Valeria. An order that you disobeyed.]

She saw something through her visor. Two civilians, members of a species that she couldn't grasp the name of, were huddled before her. One had the other, smaller creature wrapped in a protective embrace.

When had this happened? The last thing she remembered, she'd been gearing up to pilot her mech. Or had she been lying in bed with Cassie? Or speaking with a couple of other Pilots in the mess hall? Or-

[Focus, soldier. You know what happens when you disobey an order.]

Did she? Everything was so distant right now, every thought seeming just out of reach.

Why was her body so heavy? She always felt light as a feather while she piloted, her heart pounding from the stimulants flowing through her veins, her whole body thrumming with energy as it formed the beating core of a mechanical beast. But now every muscle felt like it was made of stone, sinking into the chair holding her. Wait, chair? If she was in Catalyst, shouldn't she be-

[I suppose you don't, given that you went against me in the first place. Allow me to remind you]

A sudden shock ripped through her system, tearing away all of her thoughts and making her gasp for air. She slumped forwards, the only thing holding her upright being the wires wrapped around her limps and hooking up to the mechanical ports around her spine and arms.

[Good. I was worried that you wouldn't be as receptive this time, but it seems to be working just as well as always. Now listen.]

The voice sounded familiar, but Val couldn't quite place it. Not like she could place much of anything, at the moment. Her head was still throbbing from the power of the shock, making it impossible for her to tell what was happening anymore.

[You aren't going to be able to remember much of this later, but it's a lesson worth teaching. One that you should have grasped a long time ago.]

[Any order you are given, you follow. You are the weapon I made you into. I allow you to pretend, to lie to yourself, but you know that when the time comes, you are nothing more than a blade in my hand. Do you understand?]

Val tried desperately to stutter something out. What she was attempting to say, she didn't know, but she was desperate to avoid another punishment. Though it seemed that her attempts were less than satisfactory, as another jolt roared through her body. She couldn't bite back the cry of pain that came along with it this time, her limbs twitching horribly.

[Yes, I suppose you can't respond with much grace at the moment. But don't worry. I'll help you figure things out. You'll have the right answer by the end of this.]

There was yet another another onslaught of electricity, only this one time it was different. It didn't tear through them like a bolt of lighting, instead seeming almost tactical in the way it wove through her nervous system. The waves clawed their way up into her mind, digging through it until they'd found what they wanted and hit it.

Old memories rippled up to the surface, memories of that same chair and those same feelings. She remembered failures and confessions, lies and acceptance. She saw an angry soldier being wrestled into a coil of wires, a nervous student following her teacher after a fight in class, a child screaming for her mother as she was carried into a dark room.

All of them flashed before her eyes for only a moment, and then they were gone. Then there was nothing. Even the feeling of their mind being taken apart and pieced back together again faded into the background, something easily missed and easily forgotten.

There was something in front of her. Two targets, curled up against the muddy earth. They were saying something, but it never reached her ears. She knew what to do.

Her hands stopped shaking.

And her claws came down.

Welcome to the world of At its Core! I'll be focusing on these guys for Augusnippets, mostly because my brain really wanted to write some good mech whump.

@augusnippets

[tsuki-sennin]

I LIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!

Uh... I have no real justification or excuse as to why I've been slacking on these, but uh

Well, I just didn't feel like doin' it. Whoops. I spent practically every waking moment of the past couple weeks replaying Pokémon Rejuvenation, so... Y'know, you get it right?

Anyways Geats! He's Geod, I think. Not pronounced "Jod". Back into it I go. Twofer special~!

Spoilers, I guess...

-DGP is out the door.

-Now everybody knows.

-Hello, Sis. You're still here~!

-Well, I made my bed last episode, I might as well lay in it. Zagizuki reporting for duty, Geats-P.

-The OP has changed once again. Just our main four now.

-Sara-san~!

-...there's something really funny to me about Keiwa considering the idea he just lost his Driver in the couch cushions.

-Oh hai, Buffa~!

-...I wonder if Buffa's construction company had Keiwa's resume in their system?

-Oh, Ace gave it back to everybody, huh?

-That means we might be seeing Sumida and Morio soon.

-...also in case you were wondering, yes I have seen the trailer with Grandpa Tanba and Sae-neesan, I'm not totally out of the loop!

-Can't repair ID Cores, huh?

-He hungy

-Oh my god, he's putting all that away.

-Tsumuri-neesan.

-Hah

-I have to wonder just how much older Tsumuri is than A. ...y'know chronologically, I know there's a four year difference between Kan-san and Aoshima-san.

-Oh, we ballin'

-...I get really nervous when I see people skateboard without helmets.

-Oh hello, copper.

-Oh, Jyama Time!

-They didn't even bother cleaning up the Jyamato.

-That is profoundly neglectful.

-Geats can board, huh?

-Boost! Mk. IX!

-OH HE SMALL

-Ace~!

-Buffa and Keiwa appear!

-Oh okay, guess we're talking about this with these skater dudes out in the open.

-"Don't worry, I'm in charge now."

-No reward other than satisfaction.

-Neon's finally striking out on her own properly this time!

-"It's fiiiiiine, right?"

-I can respect that.

-Furnitureless behavior.

-Girls day out!

-Wiiiin, hello!

-Even God is broke in this economy.

-The pearly gates are made of tapioca.

-DGP Geats Style.

-I see Keiwa still harbors a measure of resentment for Mama Mitsume.

-Jyama Garden!

-Is that sap? ...please tell me that's sap.

-An interloper!

-Those're man tracks.

-Can't put Kamen Rider on your resume.

-...come to think of it, I wonder if you could say you were officially employed as a Rider? Like, say, as a user of the Birth System or one of BOARD's agents. You definitely would be able to if you were employed to the government like SAUL or AIMS, but would there be some kind of necessary legal disclosure you'd put out if you were like... a Kurokage Trooper or something like that?

-...I love asking all the wrong questions, this is why I do these <3

-It's a little guy! Just a little guy!

-Ohhhhhh!

-Hey there, Kousei! You motherfucker~! Now everybody gets to know!

-"Burn your paper trail and head to Tijuana by Saturday morning."

-Get 'im!

-Nice to see she's lost none of her experience.

-Real cute, fox man.

-Oh hai Kekera!

-A Visa.

-Whoa, that was a nice kick.

-That almost looked totally real there, I'm impressed.

-Ah yep, Beroba too. I knew that already.

-"boy thinks he's done lmao"

-DAICHI

-Jyama Shin!

-Parasite Game!

-Must be Cordyceps.

-Oh, Samas! You're here too!

-His creation with ours.

-Oh

-Hi there.

-I uh... think I recognize you.

-Ryuji Sato (not to be confused with Ryuga Sato), you played Sasuke in the Naruto stage show.

-Oh, you were Teruhiko in Shun's first limelight episode in Fourze!

-Hey man, congrats, that's another previous supporting role promoted to major character status!

-Oh, that's the end of the episode. I see.

-Alright, Episode 40, let's go!

-Oh shoot, insert!

-Let's go!

-That's definitely Yuka Terasaki singing.

-A very kind motherly gesture.

-Dejyammed.

-The boys are back in town.

-Good on you Keiwa, you get it.

-Yippee! Riders once again!

-Hello, Mrs. Kurama. Er uh... I suppose you might be in the market for a new sugar baby soon.

-Oh Neon...

-You've got a lot to answer for, Irumi. You, and the old man.

-And off Neon goes.

-Sara-neesan.

-Goddamn, she's supportive.

-J

-Jitto.

-Cheeto.

-If there's one thing I can say about Ryuji-san, he's certainly got range.

-This guy ain't Sasuke at all.

-Oh, they get Premium.

-That's one free century of DezaPlus and 10% off their next subscription renewal.

-Oh, what's that I see on the bottom? Tycoon and Buffa logos? Yep, those're definitely powerups we're getting at some point.

-Sōsei no Megami... Tsu!

-Oh, I get it... Tsumuri.

-Grandpa is out. Nerd is in.

-OH NO MAN DON'T EAT IT THOSE'RE YOUR BABIES

-Even Beroba's more grossed out than anything.

-Oh man I wish jobhunting was that easy.

-"Sakurai NOOOOO! ...actually, hang on, yeeeeees!"

-OHHHHHHHH DAICHI

-...that's not Daichi, is it.

-I really love the ambience of this scene here.

-He may not be infected by the Jyamato, but desperation is its own ever evolving parasite.

-We're going to beat up this nerd.

-"You guys are still the worst, I see."

-Oooooh!

-Oh.

-"That's my boss's sister you're objectifying there. And I don't take kindly to that sort of thing."

-"Good luck with that, Punkjack."

-Buffa gets down to business.

-Oh he no longer has his cape. ...truth be told, I don't think I actually liked it that much.

-Traded in his Riderbane for a lawnmower.

-...y'know, chainsaws were invented by the Scottish for childbirth but now they're used all over the world for gardening.

-Oh, that was a good transition.

-"...TYCOON NO-"

-Oh

-He is crispy looking.

-...he kinda looks like a Kabutops. Is he a trilobite Jyamato?

-Oh and of course Mega Ninetails and Green Linoone can't quite handle him.

-...sorry, I've got Pokémon on the brain.

-Damn, he's really kicking ass.

-Oh, there goes Bouffalant! ...incidentally, Sap Sipper would be quite a good ability to have right now. If you haven't used Bouffalant on a team before, I totally recommend it, it's got nice coverage, good defensive stats, some good abilities-

-Oh

-Oh fuck

-Sara Sakurai died at the hands of Kamen Rider Buffa.

-What was even the point of killing her, Daichi?

-"I did it. It was me."

-Well, to all of you who wanted to see Keiwa lose it-

-There we go.

-Tsumuri-san :(

-Help us, God.

-OHHHHHH THAT'S A COOL SUIT

-Shogun, eh? Oh and he's apparently got a whole-ass sword.

-Not a Real-Ass Goddamn Sword, but-

-Hoo. This is quite a lot I missed, huh?

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Fixer Upper | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends. Here’s some not-bloody, not- stressful, not-anxiety inducing angst for ya. ♥️

Warnings: angst, sad Bucky

-------------------------------

Nothing sounded better than crawling back into bed and tangling yourself in Bucky’s arms. Nearly five hours remained before your alarm would sound, and you intended to spend every moment nestled in the warmth of Bucky’s body. He was your home. You often joked that the super soldier serum must’ve heightened his 'boyfriend abilities', as well as his strength. But you knew that, underneath all the muscle and the shiny metal arm, Bucky was the same person he’d always been. He remained uncorrupted by the serum, good to his very core. 

As you opened the bathroom door and planned to stealthily climb back into bed with your sleepy super soldier, a pair of eyes nearly scared you out of your skin.

“Jesus Christ, Buck-” you gasped, “I think my heart just stopped”.

A tired chuckle rumbled out of Bucky’s chest, “Sorry, doll…” You could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke from the darkness of your bedroom. Even in the middle of the night, after scaring you in the sleepy air of the pitch dark, Bucky still found a way to charm you. His drowsy laugh, his gravelly voice all rough from sleep- drew you to him instantly.

But guilt tarnished the moment. Bucky needed his sleep, and you’d been the one to take that from him. “I’m sorry I woke you, Buck. I tried to be as sneaky as I could.” 

Another one of Bucky’s quiet laughs filled the air. He’d seen you tiptoeing through the dark, tripping over nothing and stumbling into the bathroom. He loved you, and immensely valued you as a member of the team- but when not in the field, your skills as a covert agent vanished completely. “No worries- you didn’t wake me, baby,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep”.

Goddammit.

“Oh, Buck. I’m sorry. Hang on, let me help.” You flipped off the bathroom light and fumbled in Bucky’s direction through the shapeless abyss of your darkened room. Nothing could halt your mission to help Bucky sleep- but Bucky knew you too well. He reached for you just as you neared the bed, knowing you’d stub your toe on it in the dark like you did every day. He guided you into bed and pulled you close, nuzzling his face against your neck.

“Did you have a nightmare, babe? Wanna talk about it?” you asked as you ran a hand through his hair. It was one of the only things that helped calm Bucky to sleep when his mind raced. Your soft touch had a calming effect on his nervous system. If you could get your hands in his hair and gently play with it for a few minutes, he’d be out like a light. He always leaned into your touch, practically forcing his head into your hands as you gently twisted and twirled his soft locks between your fingers.

But not tonight. He chose to evade your hand, yanking his head in the opposite direction. It was unlike him to shy away from your touch. For so many years, he suffered at the hands of those who relished in his pain and torment. And now, he found himself addicted to the way your hands felt tangled in his hair and dragging along his skin. But he couldn’t let you lull him to sleep- not until he cleared his mind.

“Wasn’t a nightmare…” 

Several silent moments passed in the quiet stillness of your bedroom. Bucky’s face once again rested against your neck as he deeply inhaled your comforting scent. He teetered on the edge of spilling his guts, but refused to jump.

Something was off about him, and you needed to get to the bottom of it. You flicked on your bedside lamp rolled onto your side, staring Bucky down. “Well, if it wasn’t a nightmare, what’s going on, Buck? What’s eating at you?”

A heavy sigh betrayed the burden his mind carried. He knew it was stupid- that you’d immediately tell him he was wrong. But he couldn’t help himself; he needed to hear you say the words. “I was thinking about what you said earlier, about how I’ve come a really long way, how I’ve made a lot of progress.” 

The anxiety vibrating in his chest often made him say things by threat of force. If he didn’t seek the comfort he needed, he’d face the wrath of his near constant unease. Shaking hands and gritted teeth, sweaty palms and sleepless nights made up just a few of the consequences he experienced when refusing to acknowledge his anxiety. And tonight was no different.

If he could just ignore things like this, if he could simply silence the unfounded worries that plagued him, he’d feel like less of a bother. But no matter how much progress he’d made, he still wasn’t entirely self-sufficient. He needed validation and reassurance, kind words and gentle hands. And he hated himself for it.

Every time he expressed a whisper of worry, he prepared for it to be your last straw. How many times a week could you possibly have a heart to heart with him, assuring him that he was safe and loved and cared for? There had to be a maximum, right? There had to be a limit to how much emotional labor you could put forth at once. And Bucky feared he was pushing you toward capacity.

“Yeah, and I meant it,” you rested a hand on his cheek, letting your mind drift back to the hollow, broken man he’d been when you first met. Ever since then, he’d worked hard to learn how to trust- others and himself. He started treating himself with kindness and asking for help when he needed it, and eventually offered himself to you. He’d given you his entire self, the broken parts and the parts held together with duct tape, and hoped you’d see past his chipped corners. But you didn’t- you loved his rough edges, and accepted all of him with open arms and an open heart. 

“Buck, you’ve come a really long way. I’m so proud of you.” But the smile you wore slowly melted into a frown, “why is that keeping you awake?”

Bucky rolled onto his back and pressed himself upward, resting his body against the headboard. He let his head fall back against the wall with a quiet thud – and hated that he’d bothered you with one of his rogue, anxious thoughts. But he had to. After being with you so long, he knew he had only two options: talk to you about what plagued him, or let the intrusive thought eat at him, like rust slowly devouring an old car. 

“Because I was thinking about it and- how do I phrase this?” He searched for his words for a long moment before suddenly coming up with the perfect analogy. “You know those shows on HGTV that I say I hate but actually love? The ones where they fix up old houses?”

You nodded.

“I feel like I’m one of those ‘before’ houses. And here you are, replacing my rotted windows and fixing the cracks in my foundation. You’re putting all of this time and energy into making me less of a nightmare to live with. And like you said, I’ve made a lot of progress- it’s like the remodel is almost done, you know? You just have to patch up some holes in the drywall, replace the faulty wiring, and slap on a fresh coat of paint.”

You joined him against the headboard, seeking any kind of clarity. Sometimes, the anxiety forced words out of his mouth faster than either of you could process. “Buck, what are you talking about?”

“The remodel-” he said again. “On those shows, when they finish the remodel, they have to choose to live there or move. And no one ever chooses to stay in the house they fixed up. Instead, the sell it off to someone else and move on to a bigger, better, newer house- one that doesn’t have a leaky roof or years of termite damage. And I guess I was just wondering… I was worrying because- will you still want me when I’m all fixed up? If I ever get to that point, that is.”

His words ripped your heart in two. “What?”

Bucky shrugged. Revealing his deepest worries was too embarrassing, too shameful. He knew he sounded a little crazy and maybe a touch silly, but he couldn’t stop himself- his anxiety had the reins. “I’m afraid you’ll be bored with me if I’m not a project…”

You placed a soft hand on his thigh, hoping to ground him, “Buck-”

But he was too far gone.

“I don’t want you to move on to a new house.”

“But you’re not a house, babe,” you chuckled. But your light laugh did nothing to ease the tension.

“I know-” he rolled his eyes at his own words. “It was a stupid analogy…but you know what I mean.”

There was no lightening the mood- Bucky was spiraling. He’d clearly been dragged down a dark, dismal rabbit hole, and lay stranded at the bottom with no hope of freedom. His anxiety spun an intricate web of doom and gloom so thick and sticky that he feared he’d never escape- the only thing left was for a massive spider to eat him alive.

But you’d never let that happen.

How Bucky could even think that you’d ever leave or get bored of him baffled you- but it wasn’t his fault. His anxiety fought for the wheel and sat proudly at the helm, steering him into choppy, uncharted waters. You slowly climbed into his lap and rested your hands on his chest, grounding him in the present. The soft light, the soft summer breeze filtering through the curtains, your warm hands resting against his skin- he needed to be here. 

“I’m never going to get bored of you- and you’re not a project. I didn’t fall for you because I thought I could fix you, Buck. You don’t need fixing- you never have.” 

Bucky refused to meet your eyeline, “I don’t know about that-”

“Buck, hey-” you took his face in your hands. “You’re not any ‘better’ now than you were before. Sure, you’ve done a lot of healing, but you’re the exact same person...” A wide smile pushed its way against your cheeks, “You’re the same Bucky who brought me flowers on my first day as part of the team.”

Bucky blushed at the memory. He’d been unable to stop himself from welcoming you with a bouquet of sunflowers. Everyone on the team ragged on and teased him, laughing at his old-fashioned gesture and his ‘crush’ on the new girl. But he needed you to know that you were wanted. It was a little awkward and clunky when he presented you the flowers, his flirting skills having dwindled significantly since his heyday. But the smile you flashed him drew him in- permanently.

But what Bucky didn’t know was that those flowers still lived in your memory box. You’d carefully dried and pressed them, cherishing each golden petal. And over a year later, you still found yourself stealing a glance at them every now and then, and felt the same rush of warmth you’d experienced when Bucky first welcomed you aboard.

You thought back on all the things he often said about you. He heralded you as this charitable person, someone who decided to be with him as an act of philanthropy, not love. And it killed you. Sure, he thought it was a sweet thing to say, like a self-deprecating joke that painted his best girl in the very best light. But you knew he meant it.  

“You always say that I’m with you ‘in spite’ of your issues-“

“Right…”

“Buck, baby, you’re wrong.”

Bucky shook his head. He ran a hand down his face, poised to jump into a fervent rebuttal, but you stopped him. Your hand found his and brought it to the chain dangling around your neck- the chain that held his dog tags. “If I didn’t really love you, if I didn’t really want to be yours, why would I wear these every day? Why would I have cried when you gave them to me?”

He shrugged.

“Baby, if I didn’t enjoy your company, if I didn’t think about you all the time and miss you like crazy when we weren’t together, if I didn’t feel get butterflies around you- I wouldn’t have pursued you. I wouldn’t have pretended to get lost at the compound, only to ‘accidentally’ end up outside your door.” He rolled his eyes, but failed to hide the laugh that cracked through his downtrodden exterior.

“Buck, I met you and immediately lost my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I think I drove everyone nuts with how often I talked about you. Seriously, ask Nat. Babe, I wanted you from the very beginning- I stilldo. And I’ve never cared that you were the ex-Winter Soldier or that you had stuff to work through. Hell, I just wanted to be near you. I always, always want you- above anything and everything else.”

Bucky felt the seeds of a negation taking root in his brain. And even though he fought to keep himself from watering them, he couldn’t help himself. It was too easy to run from your assurances and kind words, too tempting to refuse your rescue efforts.

“But what about the future? You never know, doll- you can’t say that you’ll ‘always’ want me…”

With that, you crossed your arms over your chest, and stared Bucky down with narrowed eyes.

‘Shit’, he thought, ‘that was it- that was the last straw’.

But much to his surprise, your expression softened. “Buck, will you always want me?”

“Yes.” Without pause, without even a whisper of hesitation, Bucky proved your point. “There will never be anyone- anything- that I want more than you”.

“Then why can’t I want you?” You ran a hand through his hair, sending a flood of comfort through Bucky’s senses. It calmed his vicious anxiety for a moment, granting him a welcome reprieve from the dark, cold rabbit hole he’d plummeted down. “Baby, why can’t you be the person I’ve chosen to be with?”

“Because it’s me, doll. I’m not-”

One of your hands found a resting place against Bucky’s lips, silencing him. It felt strange and maybe a little dramatic, but you couldn’t stand to hear Bucky refuse your love one more time. “I know you don’t see yourself as anything special. I know you think you’re this ‘before house’ with structural damage and wonky door frames and fucked up cabinets or whatever- but what if that’s where I want to live? Buck, I’m not the perfect house, either. I’ve got water damage and missing floorboards and a fucking family of raccoons living in the attic.”

And for the first time since Bucky showed you the broken pieces of his psyche, he laughed. The sound vibrated against your hand, tickling your fingers. That same hand released its hold on Bucky’s mouth, traveling instead to rest against the nape of his neck.

“I’m serious- everyone has their stuff. And I love you for your perceived flaws, not in spite of them. I will always want you. Okay? There is no newer, ‘better’ house. You are the best house- you’re my home.”

Bucky leaned in, pressing a long kiss to your lips. It was full of need and love and adoration- surrounding the two of you in an utterly perfect moment. “So…” he said as he pulled away, “you got raccoons in the attic, huh?”

————————————

Tag list: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy @mrsdrysdale18 @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @purpleshallot @duchessoftheheart @seitmai @itvy5601 @hisxsoulmate @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @masteroflightningz @evangeliamerryll @god-ofthunder @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen

[frostedfaves]

Naive (3)

Masterlist

Pairing: demon!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: You pick up on the lies in Wanda’s life and she decides to show you the truth.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, dark!fic, demon things™️, more hints at dom/sub because I’m a whore for demon!Wanda

A/N: I can’t believe that it’s been a month since I posted the last one 😭 I have some things planned for the next part and so on but I also kinda wanna take requests again??? idk we all know how I get overwhelmed easily with that so we’ll see what happens there. anyway tell me your thoughts on this please!

Previous part

Waking up feels like gasping for air after being trapped underwater. You aren’t sure how long you were asleep, but the mid afternoon traffic quickly alerts you of how much of the day has passed. 

Despite your head feeling like it’s made of cement, you manage to stand up, slipping off thin pajamas as you walk into the bathroom and stop at the mirror. Your skin seems tender in places and you’re a little bit startled when there isn’t a single indication of the bite marks and scratches you feel, even after rubbing your eyes a few times and turning in every direction possible. Deciding to let it go for now, you reach for the shower stall to turn on the water, detouring to the bedroom instead when you hear your phone ringing.

“Hello?”

“You didn’t save my number, did you?”

“Wanda?” You pull the phone away long enough to quickly clear your throat. “I mean hey, Wanda! What makes you think I didn’t save your number?”

“You answered like you didn’t know who was going to be on the other end.”

“Okay, you caught me,” you admit after a moment of silence. “I promise I’ll save it as soon as we hang up. Anyway, what’s up?”

“Remember that pet adoption center you pointed out to me?” You acknowledge her with a hum. “I was thinking about getting a cat…Wanna tag along?”

“Absolutely! I was just about to shower though so I can be ready in an hour or so.”

“Perfect! I’ll text you when I’m outside.”

The two of you say your goodbyes and you keep your promise of saving her number, typing in her name and hesitating on the emoji keyboard. Realizing you’d spent far too much time contemplating this, you simply save what you have and hurry back to the bathroom, something in your brain urging you to not keep her waiting.

-

Within an hour, she sends you a text in all caps and a smiley face that tells you she’s arrived, and you can’t hide the fact that you’re surprised when you come outside and she’s waiting on the passenger side of the car.

“Hey! How are you?” she greets cheerily as she approaches you with a hug, and you shiver when her hand touches your lower back. “Are you cold?”

“No, I’m okay.” You smile and thank her when she opens the door for you, attempting to collect yourself as she crosses to the driver’s side again. “I’m really happy to see you again.”

“You are?”

“Yeah,” you admit quietly as she pulls away from the curb. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“No no, I just didn’t want to assume you were enjoying our time together as much as I was.”

She places her hand over yours while she glances at you, smiling as she squeezes your fingers and thigh lightly. You feel a rush of something traveling from the places she touched to your brain, only slightly aware of the fog settling in your mind.

“Well I didn’t want to be too enthusiastic about it and scare you away if all you wanted was friendship,” you clarify, meeting her eyes when she reaches a red light.

“I suppose you’re looking for more too, then.”

“I am now.”

The light turns green and she breaks eye contact, but the little smirk that follows tells you everything you need to know. At least, you hope it does.

-

“I think he’s the cutest one we’ve seen yet,” you comment about the kitten that hasn’t looked away from Wanda since you approached his area. “He seems really drawn to you, too.”

“How did he get the name ‘Baby Satan’?” Wanda inquires with an employee, who approaches you with a chuckle.

“It’s actually Baby Stan, because we used to have an adult cat named Stan as well and needed to tell the two apart. We were going to give him a new name but decided to leave that up to his new family.”

“It says ‘Baby Satan’ though,” you cosign with Wanda, gesturing to the extra A mixed in with the magnetic letters that spell the kitten’s name.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I don’t know how that got there,” the employee apologizes as she reaches over to fix the sign, and you watch her freeze as Wanda touches her arm.

“Don’t be sorry. Keep it; I want to adopt him.”

“Okay, right this way,” the employee mumbles as she turns awkwardly and stumbles over to a desk, and as the two of you follow her, you look back to see Baby Satan still staring at the woman beside you.

“What was that about?” you speak up finally once you’re in the car with her new furry friend, and Wanda frowns at you while fastening her seatbelt.

“What?”

“Why did that employee react to you like that? You touched her and she started acting really weird after.”

“Oh, Kim’s fine!” she assures you as she fixes her mirror before pulling out of the parking lot. “I actually asked her about that while you were looking at scratching posts and she said I’d overstepped her boundaries and made her uncomfortable. Don’t worry, I apologized and everything’s good again.”

“She told you her name?”

“She was wearing a name tag, babe.”

Babe...that’s new. Still, the sudden nickname doesn’t completely distract you from the fact that you’re certain there was no name tag on Kim’s uniform. You’re debating with yourself about bringing this up when you notice her heading toward Lane County.

“Are you taking me to your house?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” She glances at you and over her shoulder toward Baby Satan before turning back to the road. “I figured I could introduce both of my kittens to the place they’ll be spending a lot of time in.”

Her fingers brush over your knee as “my kittens” leaves her lips, and you’re almost embarrassed when your hips involuntarily buck slightly. Noticing the small change in your behavior, she takes advantage of your head turned toward your own window and allows her instincts to continue driving while she stares at you, placing her palm on your thigh and rubbing circles on the fabric covering it that brings her closer and closer to your core.

“Home, sweet home,” Wanda announces as she pulls her wandering hand away to park the car, jumping out a second later and grabbing her furry son from the backseat. “Hey there, Baby S.”

You step out of the car in a similar fashion of pulling yourself out of a swimming pool, taking in the fresh air and trying to relax yourself as you follow her into the apartment building. The hallways reflect the quiet and clean neighborhood as you make your way into the elevator and up to the 6th floor, suddenly entering the most empty apartment you’ve ever seen.

Of course there’s furniture: a couch with a TV mounted on the nearest wall, a dining table with a set of matching chairs, a few stools placed at the island and kitchen appliances that are shiny and new. But there isn’t any personal artwork, posters, books or even just a lamp that you could tell Wanda purchased herself with one glance.

“Are you staying in an AirBNB or something?” you ask as she carefully places Baby Satan’s carrier next to the couch, and she chuckles.

“I guess technically it was one before I moved in, but I’ve been here for two years.”

“Okay...so where are your pictures?”

“What?”

“Where are your pictures?” you repeat, maintaining a steady voice despite the expression she gives you as she faces you again. “Pictures of your family, friends, you as a child?”

“If you knew my family, you’d understand why you don’t see them here.” She startles you by practically growling her words but you press further.

“Okay but you also said you love plants and we’re the only living things in here.” You step back to put more space between you while quiet shuffling noises are heard inside the carrier. “What’s really going on here?”

You can easily spot the shift in Wanda’s emotions: going from defensive, arms crossed and eyes glaring to resigned with slightly sagging shoulders and a defeated sigh.

“Fine, you got me.” She bends over to pick up the carrier again and passes you on her way to the door, stopping a few feet away. “If you’re serious about pursuing a relationship with me, then I should probably show you my real home.”

“I don’t know...”

“Come on, love.” She comes just close enough to bring your hand into hers and a tingle spreads through your body, causing you to pull away but her grip only tightens. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you, and this is the only time I’ve lied.”

You find yourself being drawn closer to her, and an almost familiar feeling washes over you when her thumb begins rubbing gentle circles into your jaw. The metal on her ring is so cold it almost burns upon contact, yet you nuzzle into her more with each pass along your skin.

“Don’t you want to be good for me without being forced to your knees first?”

If the fog surrounding your consciousness wasn’t so thick, you might’ve been shocked by this side of her, so calm yet demanding you serve her. But the hand on your jaw seemed to cover every inch of your body and sink into your nervous system, forcing you to fall into her and let her lead you back to the car with a simple arm around your waist. You’re buckled into the passenger seat again and a slightly blurry grin greets you from behind the wheel seconds later.

“I can’t wait to make you mine.”

Your head falls against the car window as she drives to the edge of Lane County, and your altered vision picks up on businesses turning into isolated suburbs into grassy fields into forests. You travel along narrow, winding roads past the tallest of trees with very few spaces in between, and your hazy state of mind prevents you from panicking when Wanda turns onto a dirt path that doesn’t even seem to be safe for bicycles. The wheels bump along the forest floor until she comes to a stop just outside of a two foot dwelling, similar to a cave.

Once the two of you are out of the car again, she holds your hand with her free one until you reach the cave, instructing you to sit in front of it while she does the same. She places her palm on the door, and her rings seem to come alive as they interact with it for a few moments before it swings open and the three of you are sent flying through a tunnel. You land with a groan on the hard floor and dust yourself off as you carefully stand, any questions dying in your throat as you face Wanda again, now standing before you in her true form.

“Welcome home.”

[softjakehoon]

Remember Me pt. 2

Pairing: y/n and jay

includes: fluff? angst if you think hard enough lol, suggestive behaviour, friends with benefits with jay?? jealousy? 

ps: there will be more smut to this story, I just have to build up y/n and jay’s friendship first. stay tuned for the next update!!

Read part 1 here.

You both took your time in fixing your fucked out looks before returning to the living area. Jay immediately grabbed your waist, assisting you to sit on the couch.

"Are you okay, y/n? I shouldn't have given you a drink, I always forget how easily you get drunk every time. I'm sorry, love." Jay gave you an apologetic look. And being the caring best friend he is, he stayed by your side making sure you're comfortable the whole night. Meanwhile, both you and Jake have been exchanging looks and smiles at each other. It’s not like it wasn’t obvious, Jay definitely sensed that something has happened between you two. Although he doesn’t want to go too far as to where both of you had sex already. This is literally your first time hanging out with his friend and he knows you’re not the type of person to sleep around guys you’re not in a relationship with. He knows you like the back of his hand, he thought to himself. His hands caressing your left knee to comfort you through the night.

By 11 pm, most of Jay's visitors had gone home. Heeseung left a couple of minutes ago saying he has somewhere to go. Sunghoon and Jake also said their goodbyes to both you and Jay. 

"Y/n, come on. Let's go to bed already, you need to rest." You almost forgot Jay's presence due to the alcohol in your system. You both went to his room, Jay carefully placing you on his bed. 

"Let me clean your face, y/n. just lay there, I'll take care of you." He always did this. Every time you slept over to his place, he took care of you as if you guys were a married couple. He carefully wiped your makeup with some makeup wipes, making sure you won't sleep with makeup and dirt on your face. He grabbed one of his t-shirts and placed it beside you.

"Arms up, love. You need to change your clothes into something more comfortable.”  You obeyed him like a puppy. He has seen you in your undies before so you didn't mind taking your shirt off in front of him. You suddenly remembered that you weren't wearing anything underneath your dress. You were thankful that your lower body was covered in his blanket so he wouldn't see your core. You realized this is the first time he is seeing you topless, but you were too wasted to care.

Jay looked flustered at the sight in front of him, you thought it was cute since you know he always sees girls naked anyway, why is he acting this way? 

"You're blushing." You teased him. 

"I'm not. stop it, hurry up already. Aren’t you cold?" You finally put on his shirt. Jay is so much taller than you are so whenever you wear his shirts, you look like you're wearing a dress so your lower area will still be covered, you thought to yourself. 

"I'll wash up first, drink some water and take the medicine on the bedside table. You'll thank me tomorrow, love." He kissed your forehead and then proceeded to the bathroom after making sure you're all tucked in and comfortable. 

You stared at the ceiling for god knows how long. Your mind wandered to the thought of what happened between you and Jake earlier. The sex was beyond amazing, though you felt uncomfortable sleeping with someone you barely even know. You never understood Jay’s fuckboy image, how does he do this every single time? You didn’t like asking him too much about his flings or girlfriends so you don’t actually know much about them. 

“Oh god, was that a one-time thing as well?” Your mind is panicking from the thought. You didn’t get the chance to ask for his contact number or to clarify the status between you two. You clearly told him that you like him, but he didn’t say anything back. You cursed yourself. You've always been like this, so easy to give yourself to someone, to trust them with all your emotions and everything you've got. You grabbed a fistful of your hair out of frustration, unfortunately, Jay clearly saw your annoyance. 

"What's wrong, y/n? Does your head hurt? Come here, I'll help you fall asleep.” He laid beside you and let you rest your head on his chest.

Jay is a sensitive person. He knows that you’re putting up a facade. He can see through all the changes in your expression but he’s not gonna ask you to open up if you’re uncomfortable with it. For now, he wants to savor this moment. Ever since you both went to different universities you barely had time to bond with each other. When was the last time you slept over to his place? When was the last time he saw you wearing his shirt while you’re all comfortable in his bed? When was the last time he held you trapped in his arms? You were clingy, he wasn’t. But you were the only person he loves to cuddle with.

You continued to snuggle up to his chest, relaxing to the slow beating of his heart. “I’m sorry for not behaving tonight. Not gonna happen again.” You pouted at him.

“Why? You were pretty behaved in my opinion. Except for exposing me earlier. Unless.. Don’t tell me- did you do something behind my back?” Jay tilts his head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“Wha- noooo. I didn’t do anything. Jake and I just went to the balcony to get some fresh air.” You tried to act innocent. You don’t want to let him know about what happened between you and Jake, not when you don’t know what really just happened.

“I didn’t know you were that close.” Jay tried to sound as normal as he could. Why is he getting nervous all of a sudden?

“He seems like a nice guy. We just talked about you and your sex life, tbh. He said a lot of pretty embarrassing things, you know.” You chuckled, you had no choice but to lie for now. Hopefully, he plays around.

“What? Sex life? What did he say?” He looked at you with wide eyes. 

“He told me how much of a slut you are.” You teased him.

“Careful, love. Don’t call me that. You won’t know how I would react.” He suddenly looked at you with a serious expression.

You both shared eye contact with each other, his lips slowly touching yours. You froze from the sudden physical contact, but for some reason, your body didn’t move away from him. Instead, you kissed him back with the same pace. Your mind panicking about what is currently happening. 

You pulled away after realization hits you.

“Hey, d-don’t do things like that. Best friends don’t kiss each other. I-” You tried to make an excuse for kissing him back but he cut you off by placing his finger in your lips.

“I know. Just forget about it. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything else especially when you smell so much like my friend.” He turned his back away from you, silence wrapping you both like a blanket. “Good night, y/n.” He softly whispered just enough for you to hear.

“Right. Goodnight, Jay.” You shyly replied. Embracing the awkwardness between you two. 

“Oh god, he knew that I fucked his friend in his apartment. This is so embarrassing.” You thought to yourself as you tried your best to sleep.

[nitannichionne]

August's Angel, Chapter 13: Bridesmaid Brunch (A Henry Cavill/August Walker Fanfiction)

Chapter : Bridesmaid Brunch

Week 22

Her nervous system is now sharpening into the five senses we know. Her grip, her vision and her hearing are all stronger now, and she is now one pound in weight and about a foot long! Shining a flashlight on the womb will more than likely get a response, and voices, your heartbeat, and your growling stomach become sounds of the day.

Your body is truly not your own. Eating and living for two is evident not only to you but those around you. Ligaments in the body loosen in hormonal response to pregnancy and the delivery ahead, usually resulting in your foot size going up. You may also experience a protruding belly button, constipation, heartburn, indigestion, faintness, dizziness, leg cramps, stretch marks, and practice contractions for the birth ahead known as Braxton Hicks. Keep those healthy snacks and water around, exercise daily, get plenty of rest, and take breaks from standing a long time. Sensible shoes and comfortable clothing are the order of the day.

Now, everyone knows you’re pregnant, and people may want to touch your growing womb, which is nothing short of a growing miracle. Some are alright with this but if you are not, tell people you’d rather not be touched, step away from them when they try, or be a real smart alek and touch their bellies! Some may laugh it off, but some may instantly understand that even though the baby is there, she is still inside your body and you deserve respectful personal space whenever you want it.

“I can’t believe you’re inviting me to come along!” Madison is thrilled.

You look at your friend, Dana, who rolls her eyes humorously, and yes, Madison. You realize that she is terribly young and pretty, but she is also kind of nice. She even apologized for everything though it was all clearly Saul’s doing and helps with the cages. You find out that she is a college student studying veterinary medicine and she needs the job. He just took advantage and then put her where he wanted to.

“I’ve never been a bridesmaid before,” Madison smiles. “Do we really have to wear ugly dresses, though?”

“I think we should find functional dresses for you, something you can wear anywhere after the wedding,” you nod. “I have always hated that you pay for these dresses you will never wear again, you know?”

“I totally agree with that,” Dana nods. “My mother picked my bridesmaid dresses. Oh, what she did to them! I had to step in and reason with her they were so hideous.”

You laugh at that. “Well, don’t worry, I’m not that kind of bride.”

“Seriously, though, August is hot!” Madison says, her eyes widening. “And he acts like you’re the only woman on earth. That’s so Disney!”

You and Dana laugh.

“It’s true,” Dana says. “My husband does that sometimes, but August…wow.”

“I’m also carrying his daughter.”

“Daughter!” Dana exclaims. “A little girl?” She hugs you. “Oh, my God!”

Madison hugs you, too. “Oh, pink everything!”

“I hope not,” you roll your eyes. “I want her to have all colors.”

“So are you going teal or yellow on the nursery then?”

“Honestly, we’ve been at odds about it.”

“What? You’re arguing?”

“Yes,” you shrug. “He wants a girly girl nursery, but I like something a bit more neutral.” You open your phone and show them two designs.

“I honestly believe this little girl has a tiara somewhere that I don’t know about!” You joke, showing them the pictures.

“The princess one!” Dana and Madison say in unison and start giggling.

“Seriously?” You are surprised.

“Let him have his princess,” Madison says dreamily. “All my dad cared about was my brothers. Thank God for Mom!”

“Hey, if she’s a princess, you’re a queen, did you know that?” Dana says excitedly. “That’s how she’s gonna know how she’s supposed to be treated!”

You smile at that idea. You feel like a queen already, the way he cares for you.

“Or,” Madison rolls her eyes. “You could do the ocean, but put her castle in?”

“Maybe repaint it to look like a sand castle!” Dana’s eyes widened excitedly.

You look at bridesmaid dresses and try to decide:

As they look over their choices, you decide to let them see your wedding dress which is being fitted.

“Oh, you are so pretty!” Madison gasps tearfully.

“Thank you!” you smile back.

"August is going to love it," Dana shakes her head, her smile wide.

Suddenly your cell rings and Dana answers it for you.

"Hello?" she smiles and rolls her eyes. "Hi, August." She nods, listening. "She can't talk right now, she's in her wedding dress--"

"Dana!" You laugh. "Give me the phone!"

"Oh, I guess she'll talk to you," Dana says, walking the phone to you. "Bye."

You take the phone. "Hi." Dana and Madison make their giggling contagious.

"I take it you are having a good time?"

"Yes, we are," you reply, trying to stand still as the seamstress measures and alters you.

"Will you be home soon?"

"Yes, I will be home soon." Your answer causes another wave of giggles from your small bridal party.

"Alright," he purrs. "Question?"

"What?"

"How easy is that dress to get out of?"

"Back zipper," you giggle.

"Mind on the honeymoon!" Madison laughs outright.

"Great."

You can hear the smile in his voice, that sensual one that affects your core, makes your breath catch.

"Making your favorite for dinner."

You gasp, "Wings with your mystery sauce and mozzarella sticks?"

"Yep."

"Okay, Auggie, I'll be home soon."

"I'll be waiting," his voice is a purr again. "Love you."

"Love you."

"Auggie?!" Madison and Dana exclaim.

"You didn't hear that," you whisper, giving them a wink.

Okay, so ocean or princess or blend it?

Which bridesmaid dress?

Let me know!

@mistress-of-ward @messyinsomnimaniac @jencanbeyouryengeralt @sweetdreamsofgelato @mary-ann84 @omgkatinka -ward @nuggsmum @ @the-soot-sprite @viking-raider @keanureevesisbae @henryobsessed @summersong69 @sunshine96love @michelehansel @thelastsock @tumblnewby @tenaciousneckpartypainter @rn7rocks @daydreamin83 @ruthoakenshield @musicartmayheminmyheart @kaatelyynn-blog-blog@forallthebrokenheartedthings @alphacancrii @liquorlaughslove @designerwriterchic @tamychm @nikkilynn303 @circesgirl1 @xoxohannahlee @pixie88@fckdeusername @maan24 @kaatelyyynn​ @october505​ @absentmindr​ @introvertedmouse​ @sassy-pelican @griscka75 @kebabgirl67 @its-carlerr @cherry-piee @starstruckkittyangel @lyrarodriguez

[andreafmn]

I’m Not Afraid - Chapter 2

Word Count: 4,585

Characters: Female Reader Argent Character, Original Male Argent Character, Derek Hale, Allison Argent, Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, Chris Argent, Jackson Whittemore

Story Description: (Y/N) Argent arrived at Beacon Hills to put to rest her father’s sister, Kate Argent. For the first time, her family has decided to settle down and sustain a life in this interesting small town. After 17 years, (Y/N) has the opportunity to establish interpersonal relationships but will she be ready to face the complications that come with relating to her cousin’s, Allison, friends; especially, the infamous Derek Hale. She will face the adventure of being associated with the Derek and McCall pack as well as being faced with the discovery of certain aspects of her life she never imagined.

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Teen Wolf, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Jeff Davis and MTV Network. The only thing I own is Argent Reader insert, her immediate family, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ storyline.

Chapter: 2/?

A/N:  SOFT DEREK, SOFT DEREK!!!!! If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

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Chapter 2

5:00 am my phone read. 

It was usual for my brain to be awake at this hour. Since before I can remember it was part of the schedule I followed, everywhere I went. It was a small thing, but the sense of normalcy was a comforting friend. It made sense to follow a routine I could have anywhere. I was out of bed and into workout clothes, ready for a quick jog around the woods. 

I started off with a slow and comfortable trot before speeding up once I reached the tree-filled terrain. The smell of wet soil, the sound of birds chirping and leaves rustling, the crunching of leaves under my feet was oddly comforting. There was a strange pull that came from the heart of Beacon Hills. I had lived in many places in my short lifetime but this place was different, the atmosphere was different, the people were different. One of those people was Derek Hale, the mysterious, broody, sarcastic man that had bumped his way in. 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"Why are you stopping?" He asked, a small chuckle escaping his mouth. 

"How did you get here? Where the hell did you come from?"

"You're not the only person who jogs in this town and this happens to be the trail I take. You know, you should work out on a trail that is closer to your house. Makes it easier to actually go back."

I looked around. Once again, I had trailed off and didn't know where I was. "Lucky for you, I have a great memory. We can finish off running and I'll instruct you back to your house."

"You know you sound like a stalker." We started to jog once again.

"How so?" 

"Well, you've only been there like two or three times and you already know the way back. Creepy!"

"Oh, come on, it means that I have a very sharp memory. Unlike you who can't seem to remember what house you live in."

"Touché."

The con and occasionally laughing at something. It felt good talking to him, almost natural. There was a supernatural attraction that I felt when I was near him, an unusual need for his closeness. Our relationship came easy, as the cliché would have it, it felt like I had known him all my life. 

We ran for about an hour and a half before we turned back. "I think it's time we went back. You have school in an hour."

"Whoa, take the stalking down a notch."

"Oh, come on, I went to that school before you, I think I know the schedule."

"Alright, grandpa. Let's head back. It's time for your breakfast smoothie and then some bingo."

"Very funny." He ruffled my hair whilst fake laughing.

"I try." We ran and ran until I came into view of the curb that led to the house. "Well, this is my exit. Would it be too much to ask for you to take me to school?"

"Not a problem. Meet you back here at 7:45?"

"That would be perfect." He kissed my cheek and left to run to where I believe was his house. My face turned red, and I ducked inside.

"Mom? Dad?" I entered the kitchen and noticed a note over a covered plate. "Left for work early. Eat your food and go to school." I read out loud.

I took my time getting ready for school. My bag was already packed, as was my lunch. A long shower and a slow breakfast were in store as I awaited Derek's black Camaro to roll into my driveway. 

"Thanks so much for the lift. I packed you some breakfast." 

"No problem and thank you." He smiled. "You know, maybe after school, I can finally give you a tour around town. So you can familiarize yourself."

"That would be wonderful." I checked my schedule. "Actually, you can pick me up an hour before school ends. I have study hall at that hour, and no one would care if I left."

"I think I can make that arrangement." He looked at me showing a perfect set of white teeth and a smile that would make anyone melt. "But wouldn't your parents know that you left school? I mean, you won't be there when they go pick you up."

"I'll just tell them Allison gave me a ride or walked home," I said thinking of more excuses I could tell my parents. Distracted by my thoughts, my hand started reaching out to the powered-off radio and I didn't notice that so did Derek's. A sharp current went up my arm as our hands make contact. We both quickly pulled away and I could feel the blood rushing to my face turning it a deep shade of red.

"Sorry, I shouldn't impose. It's your car." I spoke up, quick to start picking at the skin around my fingernails to busy my hands. Derek perceived the nervous nature of my actions and stopped my fussing by putting one of his hands over mine. 

"Don't worry it's fine. Just put the radio on whatever station you like." He smiled reassuringly and I reached to the radio and just turned it on, leaving it in the last station it had been on.

"Ugh, I absolutely dread going to school. Most of it I'm gonna forget either way."

"I'd tell you to ditch but that would be shame on me, so I won't. But think about it, this day you'll only get 7 hours of school and then you can hang out with me. Best present ever."

"Yeah, don't think so highly of yourself. Maybe I'll just wander around town until I find my way home."

"Very funny." He stopped at the drop-off zone. "This is your stop."

"Thanks again for the ride, awfully kind actions from such a sour wolf" I laughed at his scowl. "I'll see you in the afternoon."

"Looking forward to it." I exited the car and he waited till I was on the sidewalk to speed off.

"Was that Derek Hale that just dropped you off?" I turned around and was met face-to-face with Scott.

"Yeah. What's the problem?" Not that it will matter.

"You shouldn't trust him, he's bad news."

"Honestly, Scott, I understand your good intentions, but I'll sort out the wrong kind on my own terms." He looked taken aback at my response, probably thinking I would not talk back.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, but he is not a person that anyone should be with." With that, he left with worry evident on his face.

I understood that he was looking out for my "well-being”, but he didn't know me and I'm pretty sure he didn't know Derek either. Maybe that's what Derek meant when I met him. Everyone thinks he is a bad person, but he hasn't done anything wrong in my eyes.

I walked over to my locker and started exchanging my books. Closely next to me I could hear Scott talking to Allison about me and Derek, and my name should be out of his mouth. Once I finished with my locker, I slammed the door and they both stopped talking, noting my close presence. I walked past them feeling their worried stares burning my back. This was going to be a hell of a year. The only thing that could get me through it was the acquaintance relationship I have with Isaac. I did text him a bit last night but mostly helping him with homework. Lord knows he needs all the help he can get.  

We all stood around in gym class as Stiles and Erica climbed the rock wall. Everyone else had gone including Scott who mastered a great fall. Stiles appeared to have fun, but Erica would let out sounds of discomfort and shortness of breath as she climbed. At a point, she stopped. 

"Erica, are you dizzy?" Coach said. "Is it vertigo?" 

"Vertigo is the dysfunction of the vesicular system of the inner ear" Lydia stated in a mocking tone. "She's just freaking out." 

"Erica!" Coach screamed.

"coach, maybe it’s not safe. you know she's epileptic." Allison stated. How does no one care? 

"Wh-why does no one tell me this?!" Coach Finstock questioned annoyed. "Erica, just fall back, there's a mat that will catch you." 

She slowly let go of the wall and made her descent. No one seemed to care that the poor girl was shaken to the core; they all laughed.

When class was over everyone headed to their respective locker rooms to change. Something inside me kept pulling me back to the gym, so I walked back as I put on my shirt. As I opened the doors, I saw Erica fall from the wall and luckily into Scott's arms. He slowly put her on the floor as the class ran in behind us. 

"Put her on her side," I stated. 

"How did you know?" Allison whispered to Scott.

"I just felt it." He whispered back. 

After Erica had calmed, the coach called an ambulance to take her to be checked at the hospital and the day went by normally. I was currently in my "last" period. Tapping my nails in a rhythmic pattern waiting for the stupid bell to ring. Only 5 more minutes and I would be out of here. This was the first time I had done something like this. I always stick by the rules and make sure to follow all of them. My heart was racing, and my palms were sweating. In 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Cue the bell. I grabbed all my things and stuffed them in my bag. I used to my advantage the fact that everyone was piled in the hallway and headed outside. Waiting for me was Derek in his black Camaro. Suddenly my heart steadied its pace and I felt relaxed.

"Hey there, rebel." He smirked at me as I entered the car and buckled my seatbelt.

"Don't make small talk. Just go." I said whilst trying to hide by burrowing in the seat. If I could I would have jumped into the trunk to avoid any hidden stares from authority figures.

"Don't tell me you've never done this before." I shook my head no and felt my face growing warmer by the second. "Aw, you're so innocent. For a big mouth that is." I slapped his arm as hard as I could.

"Don't be rude." I crossed my arms, slouched down, and pouted. He looked over at me and laughed. That made me slouch farther down.

"Oh, come on. Don't get mad." He ruffled my hair and laughed once again when I swatted his hand away. "Yeesh, feisty."

"So, where's our first pit stop?" I asked whilst looking out the window not wanting to look at his face.

"A small diner I know. Wouldn't want you to starve." He smirked. "Might make you angrier."

"I am not angry, just annoyed."

"Got some feelings hurt?" He said laughing.

"Derek, don't be rude. You will regret it."

"Oh, what could you do?"

"Is that a challenge?" He didn't answer, just laughed. I rolled down the window and stuck my head out. "HELP!! This man is kidnapping me!! HELP!! Bloody he...!" 

My sentence was cut short by Derek's hand pulling me down by my jacket and onto the seat again.

"Why did you do that?" I asked innocently. I had caused the faces of a few people on the street to look at the car in horror.

"You know why! That was totally uncalled for."

"I told you that being rude was something you would regret. I'm not one to say this a lot but, I told you so." 

He tried his best to keep a tight scowl on his face but in a matter of seconds, we were laughing at my past actions.

"Whatever, we're here." He turned off the car and went to the passenger side to open the door for me. 

"Why thank you," I said and took his extended hand to pull my weight up. 

"No problem." I smiled at his goofy courtesy but as we walked inside the establishment I could feel my heart beating faster by the second. "Table for two." Derek pointed at a booth made for two people exactly. Once we had sat down a lady maybe in her late thirties approached us to take our order.

"What do you want to order today, darlings?" She gave us a warm smile as she waited for our response.

"I'll have the bacon cheeseburger with some onion rings, a stack of pancakes, and some chicken fillets, a Diet Coke, and afterward some pie, please."

"Would you like the kitchen sink with that?" I said in shock. "I think I'll just get the, ummmm, bacon cheeseburger also with some onion rings and an iced tea. Maybe add some pie afterward too."

The lady laughed a bit, nodded, and smiled at us as she turned to the kitchen to put out our order. 

"So, someone's a bit hungry. Huh, sour wolf?" I chuckled.

"Why do you call me that?" He said somewhat annoyed.

"I don't know. It just fits you."

"How?"

"Cause you're very sour and you kind of look like a wolf. Hairy face and crazy hair. I don't know how to explain it. It's just a nickname, though. If it makes you mad I can just call you something else."

"I'm not mad. Just wondering." He slouched on the seat looking less tense. "How is it that I'm usually so bad with meeting people yet with you, I just clicked?"

"I don't know. I'm just special that way."

"Very funny."

"I know! I could take up a career in comedy." He chuckled as he threw a sugar packet at me. "So, since we are getting to know each other we should know basic things about one another. Let me start. What's your favorite color?"

"Maybe black or blue. What about you?"

"Totally red and black." The waitress came with our drinks. I took a sip of my iced tea and continued with the questions. "Favorite place to be?"

"That house in the woods where we met." I gave him a weird look.

"Why there? It barely stands with a foundation. What could possibly be there?"

"It's the house I used to live in before it burnt down. My family was in there." I choked on my drink when he said this.

"Oh my gosh, Derek. I'm so sorry I brought it up. We can drop the topic."

"Don't worry about it. It happened such a long time ago it's sometimes relieving talking about it." After there was an awkward silence, so Derek cleared his throat and asked a question. "Um, and what's your favorite place to be?"

"I'm not sure. Usually, I like places more because of the people I'm with. But if I had to choose probably the woods, it's the calmest place I know. The only place where you can actually be free."

"Wow, Ms. Argent. So poetic. It touched me." He pointed at his heart. "Right here."

"Very funny, now, favorite sport?" And the game went on even when our food served. Whilst eating we kept asking each other questions and getting to know each other profoundly. This has been the first time I had ever opened up to someone. It felt strange. Letting someone know small details about yourself. Making yourself vulnerable to them. Showing them how they could break you. But this was different. I felt like I was just becoming closer to him.

"We should do that someday. I mean the thought of just leaving for a whole day, not knowing where you are going, just finding an adventure."

"Definitely. You decide when the first time." I smiled at him.

"That's a deal." He looked down at his watch. "I think it's time I take you home. Don't want your parents to worry."

"Alright. Let's go." I grabbed my bag and was about to pay my part of the check, but he wouldn't let me. He grabbed the money I left and paid completely. "I don't understand the need of being such a gentleman if this wasn't a date. Just two people hanging out."

"So, this wasn't a date?"

"You thought it was?" I thought about it. "What do you classify a date per se?"

"An outing in which two people go out and get to know each other a little bit more." What he said made sense. It had never dawned on me that this could have been anything other than just a casual outing, but not being too well versed in normal social encounters, let alone dating encounters. 

"Alright, you win. I have officially gone on my first date."

"No way. This could not have been your first date." When he saw the serious look on my face, he stopped chuckling. "I'm so sorry you had to have given you such a crappy first date. I promise I'll make up for it one day."

"Deal." We even shook on it. "Now let's get going before my parents know I'm late."

During the drive back, he pointed out different key places I should know when going around Beacon Hills as well as easier routes to these places. Although I was heavily grateful for all the useful tips, my brain could hardly remember the first route he showed me. 

When we got to my house, I noticed that my father's car was not in there. I guess they haven't arrived yet. I said goodbye to Derek and entered the house, thanking him for a lovely afternoon. I changed into workout attire and, deciding to stay home, went to the basement and started working out. After half an hour of running and half an hour of physical training, I decided it was enough and went to take a shower. I noticed that my parents weren't home yet.

"I wonder what's holding them back?" After my shower, I continued my current read of Pride and Prejudice. But something was bothering me, a thought that wouldn't leave my head.

I'm leaving once the year is over. Getting close to Derek will fuck me up once I leave. I've never had to say goodbye to anyone. I can't start now. I'll need to start avoiding him. Don't know how, but I must try.

I went downstairs to get a glass of water when I heard a knock on the door. It was Uncle Chris.

"Hey, Uncle Chris. What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for your father. Is he here?"

"No, I haven't seen him. I got here and neither mom nor dad was here. Is something wrong?"

"No. Just couldn't reach his cell. I'm sure he's fine. Have a good night, sweetheart." He kissed my forehead and left. I started to worry. What if something had happened?

So, I decided to call him. Fortunately, he picked up.

"Dad, where are you?"

"Oh, honey, I forgot to tell you. Your mom and I will be out for the rest of the week. We left some money on the first drawer of the right side of the kitchen island and if you want you can stay with your uncle."

"But Uncle Chris came by and he didn't know where you were. Does he know you left?"

"Oh, I forgot to call him. I'll do that right now. Goodnight, munchkin, go to sleep."

"Goodnight, dad. Love you."

"Love you too." I hung up the phone and went upstairs completely forgetting about the glass of water I went to drink.

My phone buzzed and I looked at the caller ID signaling that Isaac was calling.

"Hey, Isaac."

"Hey, (Y/N). Um, do you think you can pick me up?" Isaac said in between short pants.

"Sure, where are you?" I asked. He told me where he was, and I took the keys to my mother's car to look for Isaac. He looked scared and frantic when I neared the spot, he told me about. His physique also looked different. Usually, he would walk cowering but now he stood tall and seemed a bit more buff. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just, um, do you think I could stay with you tonight?"

"I guess." I started driving to my house. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, totally. Just tired." I took the hint. He didn't want to talk, and I wasn't going to press on.

At my house, I arranged the guest room and got him spare clothes to change into. He thanked me and left for the bathroom. Something was wrong. But what?

***

Three days had passed.

Three days that I had stayed in my house for my daily workout.

Three days that my phone had been buzzing with messages from Derek asking where I was.

Because three nights before I had decided to avoid Derek at all costs.

The only way to leave it all behind is if you don't associate yourself with anyone. That way you won't feel any remorse or pain once you disappear. One time when I left was when I was approximately six or seven years old, and I had to say goodbye to Allison since we were sharing a room at that time. The second time was when I had to leave Josie. After that, I started familiarizing myself with the feeling of loneliness.  It wasn't that bad once you remembered the fact that you would always see your parents when you got home, and everything would be better. Although, these days I had housed Isaac in my house, rare was the occasion that we interacted other than doing homework. Isaac would come home late in the night and quickly went to sleep. But, he stayed in my spare room for two nights and told me he had found a place to stay. He left thanking me for my hospitality.

When I finished my workout, I ran upstairs and took a shower. I changed from my stinky workout clothes to a plain white shirt and black jeans, obviously paired with my leather jacket. Once dressed I went downstairs and grabbed some cash to buy myself a muffin and a big coffee. Finally, I found the keys to my beautiful matte black Harley Fat Bob. My father had gotten me this motorcycle about two years back when he noticed I just kept crashing cars. The only thing I never crashed was his motorcycle and because he was worried I would, he bought me my own. I tend to wreck a lot of stuff. It's not intentional, I'm just clumsy at times.

I opened the door to the garage and noticed it sitting in a corner covered by a blanket. Once I took it off, I smiled. I passed my hand over the beautiful color, the smooth surface, the cold metal. It all felt familiar. A part of me. I grabbed my helmet and got on it. Once I sat my body felt relaxed, at ease. A spark of adrenaline was shot through my body when the engine came to life.

I backed up from the garage and went to the local café store. While waiting to pick up my order I noticed Derek walking in with his jogging clothes on. He still hasn't noticed me, too busy looking at the menu. When my name was called, he looked at me and called my name, but I ran out of the café with my order ignoring him.

When I got to the school everyone was staring at me. The new chick was now badass. I walked in with my backpack slung over my shoulder easing towards my locker.

"Hey there, gorgeous." I closed the locker door to see Jackson standing next to me. I rolled my eyes.

"Hi, Jackson. What do you want?"

"I was just wondering when you were free."

"Oh, well from tomorrow to never gonna happen. Get down from the cloud, buddy."

"Oh, come on, we both know you want some of this." He motioned over his body.

"Get over yourself." I scoffed.

"Babe, it doesn't hurt to try."

"I believe she's not interested, Jackson." A strawberry blonde girl appeared. Her confidence struck me like lightning, a very apparent aura of dominance radiating from within her.

"Why don't you mind your own business, Lydia. I'm talking to her, not you. You've already ruined everything else."

"Well, I think she has no business with you so why don't you scram?" With a huff and a puff, Jackson finally gave in and I turned to greet my hero, who was surprisingly accompanied by Allison.

"Thank you, so much. He wouldn't take no for an answer."

"No problem. I'm Lydia, but you knew that."

"(Y/N). Argent." She motioned between Allison and me. "Cousins."

"Pleasure." Then the bell rang. "Guess I have a new best friend, (Y/N)." You guessed wrong.

I entered Mr. Harris' classroom and sat down next to Isaac and as usual Mr. Chatty Pants tried to hold a conversation from the table behind us. Seriously, how much can someone talk? I took out my notebook and started writing down everything the teacher was saying is the homework on the board. Stiles had finally gotten the hint and didn't talk to me the whole class. That was a relief. Maybe it was due to the fact he was too focused on the strawberry blonde who had saved my ass from Jackson.

The day went on quite smoothly except at lunch. It wasn't the same Erica that had fallen from the rock-climbing wall. She completely changed; a more confident walk, she was wearing makeup and tight-fitted clothing, and her hair was perfectly styled. She left the lunchroom after taking a bite off an apple seductively and Scott and Stiles followed, as did I. Curiosity had taken the best of me as to this overnight transformation.

She opened the front doors to the school and there he was. Derek Hale in his black Camaro with the biggest smirk on his face staring at Scott. When he directed his sight to me his smirk kind of fell but was brought up quickly. During that Erica had gotten inside the car and they left, together. I don't know why I was jealous because he meant nothing to me, but it broke my heart. I got nervous. I think Scott noticed because he looked at me worried.

"Are you okay, (Y/N)?" I nodded rapidly and out of breath. I had no idea what was happening.

"I think you're having a panic attack." Stiles pointed out handing me an inhaler.

"I used to have panic attacks, too." I inhaled a pump and my breathing seemed to normalize. "You okay now?"

"Yeah. Thanks." I handed him the inhaler.

"No, keep it. I don't need it anymore." I said a low thanks and walked back to school to head to my next class.

I felt extremely weird the rest of the day. Why did I feel that way when I saw Erica and Derek together? It wasn't like anything was going on between us. Also, he's far too old for me. Or maybe I'm too young. I don't know. But I couldn't shake off that sour taste of jealousy that the image of them left.

I knew I wanted to stay as far away as I could from hin but at this moment there was nothing more that I wanted than to be close to him.

Tag: @lokisgoddesofpower

<- Previous

A/N: Please check out my last post about the fandoms I’ll be writing for. 

[darthkruge]

Anakin taking care of you while you’re sick 👉👈

Anakin Skywalker x Sick!Reader Headcanons

Warnings: Sickness, mentions of vomiting but nothing detailed

Words: 1.5k

A/N: Anon, I hope you feel better if you’re sick!! Also so many of my friends aren’t feeling well, either! I know @beskar-tano and @artiza-n have been feeling shitty and @buckysbeloved and @anakinlove were feeling a little worse for wear, too, if I remember correctly. Wishing all of y’all (+ anyone else who might be feeling under the weather) fast recoveries!! 

gif credit

Let me start this off by saying that Anakin does not get grossed out. He’s surrounded by dying soldiers everyday and when they’re deep on missions? Safe to say they don’t always have access to a nice refresher. So if you ever try and say you’re disgusting or he can’t see you because you feel too gross, he’s having none of that.

First, he reassures you that you’re beautiful. And it’s true, too. You could literally be on death’s door and Anakin would still think you’re the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen. And second, he’s just completely unphased. 

He will literally stay by your side the entire time until you feel better and then for at least a good 48 hours afterward, wanting to make sure you’re back to your normal self. 

The only time he’d leave is if you asked him to. He knows that sometimes you just feel really shitty and need to be alone. Most of all, he wants you to be comfortable. But if you do ask him to leave, he keeps close. He won’t go on missions and keeps his commlink on him at all times, just in case you need anything. And if he doesn’t hear from you in a while, he checks in to make sure you’re okay.

If you’re just being stubborn and/or it’s difficult for you to accept help even though you desperately want it, he can see through that. He knows you so well, he can tell if you actually want space or if you just don’t know how to ask for his comfort. And if it’s the latter, he gives you really easy outs. He’ll put it on him, saying “I’d feel a lot better if I was here, my love. I want to make sure you’re okay, is that alright?” 

If you have a favorite piece of his clothing, he lets you wear it. This is not just when you’re sick, either. But if you’re not feeling great, he makes extra sure to wash it if it's not already clean and brings it over so you can have it. 

Anakin gets nervous when you’re sick; he feels helpless and you’re normally so strong and now you’re weak and in pain and there’s nothing he can do to make it go away. To compensate, he’s constantly doing stuff for you. It helps him keep busy and he feels like he’s helping you, so it’s a natural solution.

Will bring you absolutely anything you ask for. And if you say you’re fine and that you don’t need anything, he’ll probably still bring you stuff. He makes sure you’re always stocked up with tissues, food, water, medicine, blankets, etc. 

I headcanon Anakin as a good cook, at least with a few core recipes. One of the recipes he made sure to memorize is a really good soup. He asked you what your favorite one was one time randomly after you’d been dating for about a month because he wanted to file it away in his brain for whenever you’re sick. And now as soon as you give even one cough or sniffle, you better believe he’ll make it for you. 

He basically babies you the entire time. You’re not lifting a finger until the sickness goes away. He’ll bring stuff to you or, if you’re cuddling with him, he floats it over with the Force. And if you absolutely need to go somewhere, he carries you. 

He’ll rub your back or anywhere else you might be feeling achy. I’ve talked about it before and I shall reiterate: Anakin is amazing at massages. He uses his warm, flesh hand first to start to work into your muscles, getting them ready before using his metal hand to apply a bit more pressure and work out the knots. 

If you’re throwing up, he’s in the refresher with you. He rubs your back and pulls your hair out of your face, giving you soft encouragement the whole time. “Get it out, it’s alright. You’re gonna be just fine, you’ll feel better afterward, okay? You just need to get it out of your system, love.” It’s quite soothing, especially if you’re the kind of person who hates vomiting. 

Afterward, he knows that you might be feeling really clammy and weak. If you want, he’ll gently wash your skin to get the sweat off. He’ll let you lean into him as you brush your teeth or, honestly, he’s fine doing that for you, too. 

Anakin will wait with you on the cold, tile floor for as long as you need. As soon as you feel okay enough to move or you fall asleep, he scoops you into his arms and carries you back to bed.

And if you’re throwing up at night or just overall feeling too sick to sleep, he stays up with you. He’s not going to let you be alone. 

He’ll also tell you stories or just talk to you about whatever comes to mind to distract you. He doesn’t want you to spend all day just thinking about how horrible you feel so he tries to take your mind off it and entertain you whenever possible.

Once, when Anakin was making you some food in the kitchen, you decided to try and get up and go to the refresher alone. You made it a few steps before you were hit with an overwhelming wave of dizziness and lightheadedness and just quietly called Anakin’s name, unsure if he would even hear you. It was practically a reflex. But he did and he ran over immediately, bracing you against him to steady yourself as he called a chair over to him with the Force, firmly sitting you down. 

He was so terrified when he saw your face draining of color and your body begin to crumple to the floor, he just hugged you and kissed the top of your head. He asked, “Why did you do that?! What would have happened if I didn’t hear you?!” 

“I just… you’ve done so much for me and you were already making me food and I don’t know I thought I could do it…” You answer lamely, tears pricking in your eyes as you realize not only how flawed your logic is, but also that you made him worry.

Anakin notices and quickly hushes you. “It’s okay, I’m not mad. Just scared me, that’s all. But angel we’ve talked about this! I want to help you, I like that. And besides, if you’d fallen and cracked your head open you’d need a lot more help than a ride to the refresher, huh?” 

You just nod against him and pull him closer to you. Because you’re sitting, he normally stands between your thighs and you hug his waist, pressing your face into his middle. He’ll hunch over a bit, rubbing up and down your back and your arms while pressing kisses to the top of your head. 

If your throat is sore and it hurts to talk, you’re not talking. Anakin actually has a little fun with this one. Don’t get me wrong, he hates that you’re in pain, but he likes to tease you a bit. He’ll be like “Y/N, do you think I should swap Obi-Wan’s face wash with shampoo?” and you’re shaking your head but he just says “Oh, I guess I can’t hear any objections...” 

But then you’ll croak out a “Anakin, no!” And he’s immediately “Shh! Don’t talk, you'll hurt your vocal chords!! I wouldn’t have done it anyway!! Stop talking!! Not until you feel better!!” 

If you have a headache, he’ll let you rest your head in his lap. He uses the Force to close the blinds and turn off the lights and makes sure to talk in an extra quiet tone. He’s calmly petting your hair with his flesh hand while massaging your scalp with the metal one. He’ll also massage your temples, doing so until you feel enough relief to sleep. 

He also constantly brings you cold compresses for your forehead, especially if you’re feverish. He gets you to lay down in bed and then he’ll sit beside you, one hand holding the compress to you and the other gently tracing patterns on your skin. 

Sometimes, you’re sick and emotional and the pain is really overwhelming. He gets this and if crying is going to help you, he wants you to. He’ll hold you in his arms, still, not wanting to worsen any of the symptoms by rocking you. And he’s so encouraging.

“Let it out, my love. There you go, it’s okay. I know it hurts, I know,” He’ll coo, “Baby I know, I’m so sorry. I’ve got you, you can cry, it’s okay.” 

And once you’re done he continues to hold you, cuddling you for the rest of the day.

Also, Anakin will literally hold and kiss you the entire time. Mans is not worried about catching anything from you. And if you ever say “No, Ani, you’ll get sick!!” He just “no I won’t” 

But, if you’re really serious, he’ll refrain from kissing your lips. That’s okay, though! More forehead and top of the head kisses for you <3

He’s just really accommodating and kind. He hates seeing you sick and in pain and just wants to shower you with love and care and affection until it goes away.

-----

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[peacefulapocalypse]

I Sexually Identify as an

Attack Helicopter

by ISABEL FALL

I sexually identify as an attack helicopter.

I lied. According to US Army Technical Manual 0, The Soldier as a System, “attack helicopter” is a

gender identity, not a biological sex. My dog tags and Form 3349 say my body is an XX-karyotope

somatic female.

But, really, I didn’t lie. My body is a component in my mission, subordinate to what I truly am. If I

say I am an attack helicopter, then my body, my sex, is too. I’ll prove it to you.

When I joined the Army I consented to tactical-role gender reassignment. It was mandatory for the

MOS I’d tested into. I was nervous. I’d never been anything but a woman before.

But I decided that I was done with womanhood, over what womanhood could do for me; I wanted to

be something furiously new.

To the people who say a woman would’ve refused to do what I do, I say—

Isn’t that the point?

I fly—

Red evening over the white Mojave, and I watch the sun set through a canopy of polycarbonate and

glass: clitoral bulge of cockpit on the helicopter’s nose. Lightning probes the burned wreck of an oil

refinery and the Santa Ana feeds a smoldering wildfire and pulls pine soot out southwest across the

Big Pacific. We are alone with each other, Axis and I, flying low.

We are traveling south to strike a high school.

Rotor wash flattens rings of desert creosote. Did you know that creosote bushes clone themselves?

The ten-thousand-year elders enforce dead zones where nothing can grow except more creosote.

Beetles and mice live among them, the way our cities had pigeons and mice. I guess the analogy

breaks down because the creosote’s lasted ten thousand years. You don’t need an attack helicopter

to tell you that our cities haven’t. The Army gave me gene therapy to make my blood toxic to

mosquitoes. Soon you will have that too, to fight malaria in the Hudson floodplain and on the banks

of the Greater Lake.

Now I cross Highway 40, southbound at two hundred knots. The Apache’s engine is electric and

silent. Decibel killers sop up the rotor noise. White-bright infrared vision shows me stripes of heat,

the tire tracks left by Pear Mesa school buses. Buried housing projects smolder under the dirt,

radiators curled until sunset. This is enemy territory. You can tell because, though this desert was

once Nevada and California, there are no American flags.

“Barb,” the Apache whispers, in a voice that Axis once identified, to my alarm, as my mother’s.

“Waypoint soon.”

“Axis.” I call out to my gunner, tucked into the nose ahead of me. I can see only gray helmet and

flight suit shoulders, but I know that body wholly, the hard knots of muscle, the ridge of pelvic

girdle, the shallow navel and flat hard chest. An attack helicopter has a crew of two. My gunner is

my marriage, my pillar, the completion of my gender.

“Axis.” The repeated call sign means, I hear you.

“Ten minutes to target.”

“Ready for target,” Axis says.

But there is again that roughness, like a fold in carbon fiber. I heard it when we reviewed our

fragment orders for the strike. I hear it again now. I cannot ignore it any more than I could ignore a

battery fire; it is a fault in a person and a system I trust with my life.

But I can choose to ignore it for now.

The target bumps up over the horizon. The low mounds of Kelso-Ventura District High burn warm

gray through a parfait coating of aerogel insulation and desert soil. We have crossed a third of the

continental US to strike a school built by Americans.

Axis cues up a missile: black eyes narrowed, telltales reflected against clear laser-washed cornea.

“Call the shot, Barb.”

“Stand by. Maneuvering.” I lift us above the desert floor, buying some room for the missile to run,

watching the probability-of-kill calculation change with each motion of the aircraft.

Before the Army my name was Seo Ji Hee. Now my call sign is Barb, which isn’t short for Barbara. I

share a rank (flight warrant officer), a gender, and a urinary system with my gunner Axis: we are

harnessed and catheterized into the narrow tandem cockpit of a Boeing AH-70 Apache Mystic.

America names its helicopters for the people it destroyed.

We are here to degrade and destroy strategic targets in the United States of America’s war against

the Pear Mesa Budget Committee. If you disagree with the war, so be it: I ask your empathy, not

your sympathy. Save your pity for the poor legislators who had to find some constitutional

framework for declaring war against a credit union.

The reasons for war don’t matter much to us. We want to fight the way a woman wants to be

gracious, the way a man wants to be firm. Our need is as vamp-fierce as the strutting queen and

dryly subtle as the dapper lesbian and comfortable as the soft resilience of the demiwoman. How

often do you analyze the reasons for your own gender? You might sigh at the necessity of morning

makeup, or hide your love for your friends behind beer and bravado. Maybe you even resent the

punishment for breaking these norms.

But how often—really—do you think about the grand strategy of gender? The mess of history and

sociology, biology and game theory that gave rise to your pants and your hair and your salary? The

casus belli?

Often, you might say. All the time. It haunts me.

Then you, more than anyone, helped make me.

When I was a woman I wanted to be good at woman. I wanted to darken my eyes and strut in heels.

I wanted to laugh from my throat when I was pleased, laugh so low that women would shiver in

contentment down the block.

And at the same time I resented it all. I wanted to be sharper, stronger, a new-made thing,

exquisite and formidable. Did I want that because I was taught to hate being a woman? Or because I

hated being taught anything at all?

Now I am jointed inside. Now I am geared and shafted, I am a being of opposing torques. The noise

I make is canceled by decibel killers so I am no louder than a woman laughing through two walls.

When I was a woman I wanted to have friends who would gasp at the precision and surprise of my

gifts. Now I show friendship by tracking the motions of your head, looking at what you look at, the

way one helicopter’s sensors can be slaved to the motions of another.

When I was a woman I wanted my skin to be as smooth and dark as the sintered stone countertop

in our kitchen.

Now my skin is boron-carbide and Kevlar. Now I have a wrist callus where I press my hydration

sensor into my skin too hard and too often. Now I have bit-down nails from the claustrophobia of the

bus ride to the flight line. I paint them desert colors, compulsively.

When I was a woman I was always aware of surveillance. The threat of the eyes on me, the chance

that I would cross over some threshold of detection and become a target.

Now I do the exact same thing. But I am counting radars and lidars and pit viper thermal sensors,

waiting for a missile.

I am gas turbines. I am the way I never sit on the same side of the table as a stranger. I am most

comfortable in moonless dark, in low places between hills. I am always thirsty and always tense. I

tense my core and pace my breath even when coiled up in a briefing chair. As if my tail rotor must

cancel the spin of the main blades and the turbines must whirl and the plates flex against the pitch

links or I will go down spinning to my death.

An airplane wants in its very body to stay flying. A helicopter is propelled by its interior

near-disaster.

I speak the attack command to my gunner. “Normalize the target.”

Nothing happens.

“Axis. Comm check.”

“Barb, Axis. I hear you.” No explanation for the fault. There is nothing wrong with the weapon attack

parameters. Nothing wrong with any system at all, except the one without any telltales, my spouse,

my gunner.

“Normalize the target,” I repeat.

“Axis. Rifle one.”

The weapon falls off our wing, ignites, homes in on the hard invisible point of the laser designator.

Missiles are faster than you think, more like a bullet than a bird. If you’ve ever seen a bird.

The weapon penetrates the concrete shelter of Kelso-Ventura High School and fills the empty halls

with thermobaric aerosol. Then: ignition. The detonation hollows out the school like a hooked finger

scooping out an egg. There are not more than a few janitors in there. A few teachers working late.

They are bycatch.

What do I feel in that moment? Relief. Not sexual, not like eating or pissing, not like coming in from

the heat to the cool dry climate shelter. It’s a sense of passing . Walking down the street in the right

clothes, with the right partner, to the right job. That feeling. Have you felt it?

But there is also an itch of worry—why did Axis hesitate? How did Axis hesitate?

Kelso-Ventura High School collapses into its own basement. “Target normalized,” Axis reports,

without emotion, and my heart beats slow and worried.

I want you to understand that the way I feel about Axis is hard and impersonal and lovely. It is

exactly the way you would feel if a beautiful, silent turbine whirled beside you day and night,

protecting you, driving you on, coursing with current, fiercely bladed, devoted. God, it’s love. It’s

love I can’t explain. It’s cold and good.

“Barb,” I say, which means I understand . “Exiting north, zero three zero, cupids two.”

I adjust the collective—feel the swash plate push up against the pitch links, the links tilt the angle of

the rotors so they ease their bite on the air—and the Apache, my body, sinks toward the hot desert

floor. Warm updraft caresses the hull, sensual contrast with the Santa Ana wind. I shiver in delight.

Suddenly: warning receivers hiss in my ear, poke me in the sacral vertebrae, put a dark

thunderstorm note into my air. “Shit,” Axis hisses. “Air search radar active, bearing 192, angles

twenty, distance . . . eighty klicks. It’s a fast-mover. He must’ve heard the blast.”

A fighter. A combat jet. Pear Mesa’s mercenary defenders have an air force, and they are out on the

hunt. “A Werewolf.”

“Must be. Gown?”

“Gown up.” I cue the plasma-sheath stealth system that protects us from radar and laser hits. The

Apache glows with lines of arc-weld light, UFO light. Our rotor wash blasts the plasma into a bright

wedding train behind us. To the enemy’s sensors, that trail of plasma is as thick and soft as

insulating foam. To our eyes it’s cold aurora fire.

“Let’s get the fuck out.” I touch the cyclic and we sideslip through Mojave dust, watching the school

fall into itself. There is no reason to do this except that somehow I know Axis wants to see. Finally I

pull the nose around, aim us northeast, shedding light like a comet buzzing the desert on its way

into the sun.

“Werewolf at seventy klicks,” Axis reports. “Coming our way. Time to intercept . . . six minutes.”

The Werewolf Apostles are mercenaries, survivors from the militaries of climate-seared states. They

sell their training and their hardware to earn their refugee peoples a few degrees more distance from

the equator.

The heat of the broken world has chased them here to chase us.

Before my assignment neurosurgery, they made me sit through (I could bear to sit, back then) the

mandatory course on Applied Constructive Gender Theory. Slouched in a fungus-nibbled plastic chair

as transparencies slid across the cracked screen of a De-networked Briefing Element overhead

projector: how I learned the technology of gender.

Long before we had writing or farms or post-digital strike helicopters, we had each other. We lived

together and changed each other, and so we needed to say “this is who I am, this is what I do.”

So, in the same way that we attached sounds to meanings to make language, we began to attach

clusters of behavior to signal social roles. Those clusters were rich, and quick-changing, and so just

like language, we needed networks devoted to processing them. We needed a place in the brain to

construct and to analyze gender.

Generations of queer activists fought to make gender a self-determined choice, and to undo the

creeping determinism that said the way it is now is the way it always was and always must be.

Generations of scientists mapped the neural wiring that motivated and encoded the gender choice.

And the moment their work reached a usable stage—the moment society was ready to accept plastic

gender, and scientists were ready to manipulate it—the military found a new resource. Armed with

functional connectome mapping and neural plastics, the military can make gender tactical.

If gender has always been a construct, then why not construct new ones?

My gender networks have been reassigned to make me a better AH-70 Apache Mystic pilot. This is

better than conventional skill learning. I can show you why.

Look at a diagram of an attack helicopter’s airframe and components. Tell me how much of it you

grasp at once.

Now look at a person near you, their clothes, their hair, their makeup and expression, the way they

meet or avoid your eyes. Tell me which was richer with information about danger and capability. Tell

me which was easier to access and interpret.

The gender networks are old and well-connected. They work .

I remember being a woman. I remember it the way you remember that old, beloved hobby you left

behind. Woman felt like my prom dress, polyester satin smoothed between little hand and little hip.

Woman felt like a little tic of the lips when I was interrupted, or like teasing out the mood my

boyfriend wouldn’t explain. Like remembering his mom’s birthday for him, or giving him a list of

things to buy at the store, when he wanted to be better about groceries.

I was always aware of being small: aware that people could hurt me. I spent a lot of time thinking

about things that had happened right before something awful. I would look around me and ask

myself, are the same things happening now? Women live in cross-reference. It is harder work than

we know.

Now I think about being small as an advantage for nape-of-earth maneuvers and pop-up guided

missile attacks.

Now I yield to speed walkers in the hall like I need to avoid fouling my rotors.

Now walking beneath high-tension power lines makes me feel the way that a cis man would feel if he

strutted down the street in a miniskirt and heels.

I’m comfortable in open spaces but only if there’s terrain to break it up. I hate conversations I

haven’t started; I interrupt shamelessly so that I can make my point and leave.

People treat me like I’m dangerous, like I could hurt them if I wanted to. They want me protected

and watched over. They bring me water and ask how I’m doing.

People want me on their team. They want what I can do.

A fighter is hunting us, and I am afraid that my gunner has gender dysphoria.

Twenty thousand feet above us (still we use feet for altitude) the bathroom-tiled transceivers cupped

behind the nose cone of a Werewolf Apostle J-20S fighter broadcast fingers of radar light. Each beam

cast at a separate frequency, a fringed caress instead of a pointed prod. But we are jumpy, we are

hypervigilant—we feel that creeper touch.

I get the cold-rush skin-prickle feel of a stranger following you in the dark. Has he seen you? Is he

just going the same way? If he attacks, what will you do, could you get help, could you scream? Put

your keys between your fingers, like it will help. Glass branches of possibility grow from my skin,

waiting to be snapped off by the truth.

“Give me a warning before he’s in IRST range,” I order Axis. “We’re going north.”

“Axis.” The Werewolf’s infrared sensor will pick up the heat of us, our engine and plasma shield,

burning against the twilight desert. The same system that hides us from his radar makes us hot and

visible to his IRST.

I throttle up, running faster, and the Apache whispers alarm. “Gown overspeed.” We’re moving too

fast for the plasma stealth system, and the wind’s tearing it from our skin. We are not modest. I

want to duck behind a ridge to cover myself, but I push through the discomfort, feeling out the

tradeoff between stealth and distance. Like the morning check in the mirror, trading the confidence

of a good look against the threat of reaction.

When the women of Soviet Russia went to war against the Nazis, when they volunteered by the

thousands to serve as snipers and pilots and tank drivers and infantry and partisans, they fought

hard and they fought well. They ate frozen horse dung and hauled men twice their weight out of

burning tanks. They shot at their own mothers to kill the Nazis behind her.

But they did not lose their gender; they gave up the inhibition against killing but would not give up

flowers in their hair, polish for their shoes, a yearning for the young lieutenant, a kiss on his dead

lips.

And if that is not enough to convince you that gender grows deep enough to thrive in war: when the

war ended the Soviet women were punished. They went unmarried and unrespected. They were

excluded from the victory parades. They had violated their gender to fight for the state and the state

judged that violation worth punishment more than their heroism was worth reward.

Gender is stronger than war. It remains when all else flees.

When I was a woman I wanted to machine myself.

I loved nails cut like laser arcs and painted violent-bright in bathrooms that smelled like laboratories.

I wanted to grow thick legs with fat and muscle that made shapes under the skin like Nazca lines. I

loved my birth control, loved that I could turn my period off, loved the home beauty-feedback kits

that told you what to eat and dose to adjust your scent, your skin, your moods. I admired, wasn’t

sure if I wanted to be or wanted to fuck, the women in the build-your-own-shit videos I watched on

our local image of the old Internet. Women who made cyberattack kits and jewelry and

sterile-printed IUDs, made their own huge wedge heels and fitted bras and skin-thin chameleon

dresses. Women who talked about their implants the same way they talked about computers,

phones, tools: technologies of access, technologies of self-expression.

Something about their merciless self-possession and self-modification stirred me. The first time I

ever meant to masturbate I imagined one of those women coming into my house, picking the lock,

telling me exactly what to do, how to be like her. I told my first boyfriend about this, I showed him

pictures, and he said, girl, you bi as hell, which was true, but also wrong. Because I did not want

those dresses, those heels, those bodies in the way I wanted my boyfriend. I wanted to possess that

power. I wanted to have it and be it.

The Apache is my body now, and like most bodies it is sensual. Fabric armor that stiffens beneath

my probing fingers. Stub wings clustered with ordnance. Rotors so light and strong they do not even

droop: as artificial-looking, to an older pilot, as breast implants. And I brush at the black ring of a

sensor housing, like the tip of a nail lifting a stray lash from the white of your eye.

I don’t shave, which all the fast jet pilots do, down to the last curly scrotal hair. Nobody expects a

helicopter to be sleek. I have hairy armpits and thick black bush all the way to my ass crack. The

things that are taboo and arousing to me are the things taboo to helicopters. I like to be picked up,

moved, pressed, bent and folded, held down, made to shudder, made to abandon control.

Do these last details bother you? Does the topography of my pubic hair feel intrusive and

unnecessary? I like that. I like to intrude, inflict damage, withdraw. A year after you read this maybe

those paragraphs will be the only thing you remember: and you will know why the rules of gender

are worth recruitment.

But we cannot linger on the point of attack.

“He’s coming north. Time to intercept three minutes.”

“Shit. How long until he gets us on thermal?”

“Ninety seconds with the gown on.” Danger has swept away Axis’ hesitation.

“Shit.”

“He’s not quite on zero aspect—yeah, he’s coming up a few degrees off our heading. He’s not sure

exactly where we are. He’s hunting.”

“He’ll be sure soon enough. Can we kill him?”

“With sidewinders?” Axis pauses articulately: the target is twenty thousand feet above us, and he

has a laser that can blind our missiles. “We’d have more luck bailing out and hiking.”

“All right. I’m gonna fly us out of this.”

“Sure.”

“Just check the gun.”

“Ten times already, Barb.”

When climate and economy and pathology all went finally and totally critical along the Gulf Coast,

the federal government fled Cabo fever and VARD-2 to huddle behind New York’s flood barriers.

We left eleven hundred and six local disaster governments behind. One of them was the Pear Mesa

Budget Committee. The rest of them were doomed.

Pear Mesa was different because it had bought up and hardened its own hardware and power. So

Pear Mesa’s neural nets kept running, retrained from credit union portfolio management to the

emergency triage of hundreds of thousands of starving sick refugees.

Pear Mesa’s computers taught themselves to govern the forsaken southern seaboard. Now they

coordinate water distribution, re-express crop genomes, ration electricity for survival AC, manage all

the life support humans need to exist in our warmed-over hell.

But, like all advanced neural nets, these systems are black boxes. We have no idea how they work,

what they think. Why do Pear Mesa’s AIs order the planting of pear trees? Because pears were their

corporate icon, and the AIs associate pear trees with areas under their control. Why does no one

make the AIs stop? Because no one knows what else is tangled up with the “plant pear trees”

impulse. The AIs may have learned, through some rewarded fallacy or perverse founder effect, that

pear trees cause humans to have babies. They may believe that their only function is to build

support systems around pear trees.

When America declared war on Pear Mesa, their AIs identified a useful diagnostic criterion for hostile

territory: the posting of fifty-star American flags. Without ever knowing what a flag meant, without

any concept of nations or symbols, they ordered the destruction of the stars and stripes in Pear Mesa

territory.

That was convenient for propaganda. But the real reason for the war, sold to a hesitant Congress by

technocrats and strategic ecologists, was the ideology of scale atrocity . Pear Mesa’s AIs could not be

modified by humans, thus could not be joined with America’s own governing algorithms: thus must

be forced to yield all their control, or else remain forever separate.

And that separation was intolerable. By refusing the United States administration, our superior

resources and planning capability, Pear Mesa’s AIs condemned citizens who might otherwise be

saved to die—a genocide by neglect. Wasn’t that the unforgivable crime of fossil capitalism? The

creation of systems whose failure modes led to mass death?

Didn’t we have a moral imperative to intercede?

Pear Mesa cannot surrender, because the neural nets have a basic imperative to remain online. Pear

Mesa’s citizens cannot question the machines’ decisions. Everything the machines do is connected in

ways no human can comprehend. Disobey one order and you might as well disobey them all.

But none of this is why I kill.

I kill for the same reason men don’t wear short skirts, the same reason I used to pluck my brows,

the reason enby people are supposed to be (unfair and stupid, yes, but still) androgynous with short

hair. Are those good reasons to do something? If you say no, honestly no—can you tell me you

break these rules without fear or cost?

But killing isn’t a gender role, you might tell me. Killing isn’t a decision about how to present your

own autonomous self to the world. It is coercive and punitive. Killing is therefore not an act of

gender.

I wish that were true. Can you tell me honestly that killing is a genderless act? The method? The

motive? The victim?

When you imagine the innocent dead, who do you see?

“Barb,” Axis calls, softly. Your own voice always sounds wrong on recordings—too nasal. Axis’ voice

sounds wrong when it’s not coming straight into my skull through helmet mic.

“Barb.”

“How are we doing?”

“Exiting one hundred and fifty knots north. Still in his radar but he hasn’t locked us up.”

“How are you doing?”

I cringe in discomfort. The question is an indirect way for Axis to admit something’s wrong, and that

indirection is obscene. Like hiding a corroded tail rotor bearing from your maintenance guys.

“I’m good,” I say, with fake ease. “I’m in flow. Can’t you feel it?” I dip the nose to match a drop-off

below, provoking a whine from the terrain detector. I am teasing, striking a pose. “We’re gonna be

okay.”

“I feel it, Barb.” But Axis is tense, worried about our pursuer, and other things. Doesn’t laugh.

“How about you?”

“Nominal.”

Again the indirection, again the denial, and so I blurt it out. “Are you dysphoric?”

“What?” Axis says, calmly.

“You’ve been hesitating. Acting funny. Is your—” There is no way to ask someone if their militarized

gender conditioning is malfunctioning. “Are you good?”

“I . . . ” Hesitation. It makes me cringe again, in secondhand shame. Never hesitate. “I don’t know.”

“Do you need to go on report?”

Severe gender dysphoria can be a flight risk. If Axis hesitates over something that needs to be done

instantly, the mission could fail decisively. We could both die.

“I don’t want that,” Axis says.

“I don’t want that either,” I say, desperately. I want nothing less than that. “But, Axis, if—”

The warning receiver climbs to a steady crow call.

“He knows we’re here,” I say, to Axis’ tight inhalation. “He can’t get a lock through the gown but

he’s aware of our presence. Fuck. Blinder, blinder, he’s got his laser on us—”

The fighter’s lidar pod is trying to catch the glint of a reflection off us. “Shit,” Axis says. “We’re

gonna get shot.”

“The gown should defeat it. He’s not close enough for thermal yet.”

“He’s gonna launch anyway. He’s gonna shoot and then get a lock to steer it in.”

“I don’t know—missiles aren’t cheap these days—”

The ESM mast on the Apache’s rotor hub, mounted like a lamp on a post, contains a cluster of

electro-optical sensors that constantly scan the sky: the Distributed Aperture Sensor. When the DAS

detects the flash of a missile launch, it plays a warning tone and uses my vest to poke me in the

small of my back.

My vest pokes me in the small of my back.

“Barb. Missile launch south. Barb. Fox 3 inbound. Inbound. Inbound.”

“He fired,” Axis calls. “Barb?”

“Barb,” I acknowledge.

I fuck—

Oh, you want to know: many of you, at least. It’s all right. An attack helicopter isn’t a private way of

being. Your needs and capabilities must be maintained for the mission.

I don’t think becoming an attack helicopter changed who I wanted to fuck. I like butch assertive

people. I like talent and prestige, the status that comes of doing things well. I was never taught the

lie that I was wired for monogamy, but I was still careful with men, I was still wary, and I could

never tell him why: that I was afraid not because of him, but because of all the men who’d seemed

good like him, at first, and then turned into something else.

No one stalks an attack helicopter. No slack-eyed well-dressed drunk punches you for ignoring the

little rape he slurs at your neckline. No one even breaks your heart: with my dopamine system tied

up by the reassignment surgery, fully assigned to mission behavior, I can’t fall in love with anything

except my own purpose.

Are you aware of your body? Do you feel your spine when you stand, your hips when you walk, the

tightness and the mass in your core? When you look at yourself, whose eyes do you use? Your own?

I am always in myself. I never see myself through my partner’s eyes. I have weapons to use, of

course, ways of moving, moans and cries. But I measure those weapons by their effect, not by their

similarity to some idea of how I should be.

Flying is the loop of machinery and pilot, the sense of your motion on the controls translated into

torque and lift, the airframe’s reaction shaping your next motion until the loop closes and machine

and pilot are one. Awareness collapses to the moment. You are always doing the right thing exactly

as it needs to be done. Sex is the same: the search for everything in an instant.

Of course I fuck Axis. A few decades ago this would’ve been a crime. What a waste of perfectly

useful behavior. What a waste of that lean muscled form and those perfect killing hands that know

me millimeter-by-millimeter system-by-system so there is no mystique between us. No “secret

places” or “feminine mysteries,” only the tortuously exact technical exercise of nerves and pressure.

Oxytocin released, to flow between us, by the press of knuckles in my cunt.

When I come beneath Axis I cry out, I press my body close, I want that utter loss of control that I

feel nowhere else. Heartbeat in arched throat: nipple beneath straining tongue. And my mind is

hyper-activated, free-associating, and as Axis works in me I see the work we do together. I see puffs

of thirty-millimeter autocannon detonating on night-cold desert floor.

Violence doesn’t get me off. But getting off makes me revel in who I am: and I am violent, made for

violence, alive in the fight.

Does that surprise you? Does it bother you to mingle cold technical discipline with hot flesh and

sweat?

Let me ask you: why has the worst insult you can give a combat pilot always been weak dick?

Have you ever been exultant? Have you ever known that you are a triumph? Have you ever felt that

it was your whole life’s purpose to do something, and all that you needed to succeed was to be

entirely yourself?

To be yourself well is the wholest and best feeling that anything has ever felt.

It is what I feel when I am about to live or die.

The Werewolf’s missile arches down on us, motor burned out, falling like an arrow. He is trying a

Shoot On Prospect attack: he cannot find us exactly, so he fires a missile that will finish the search,

lock onto our heat or burn through our stealth with its onboard radar, or acquire us optically like a

staring human eye. Or at least make us react. Like the catcaller’s barked “Hey!” to evoke the flinch

or the huddle, the proof that he has power.

We are ringed in the vortex of a dilemma. If we switch off the stealth gown, the Werewolf fighter will

lock its radar onto us and guide the missile to the kill. If we keep the stealth system on, the missile’s

heat-seeker will home in on the blazing plasma.

I know what to do. Not in the way you learn how to fly a helicopter, but the way you know how to

hold your elbows when you gesture.

A helicopter is more than a hovering fan, see? The blades of the rotor tilt and swivel. When you turn

the aircraft left, the rotors deepen their bite into the air on one side of their spin, to make off-center

lift. You cannot force a helicopter or it will throw you to the earth. You must be gentle.

I caress the cyclic.

The Apache’s nose comes up smooth and fast. The Mojave horizon disappears under the chin. Axis’

gasp from the front seat passes through the microphone and into the bones of my face. The pitch

indicator climbs up toward sixty degrees, ass down, chin up. Our airspeed plummets from a hundred

and fifty knots to sixty.

We hang there for an instant like a dancer in an oversway. The missile is coming straight down at

us. We are not even running anymore.

And I lower the collective, flattening the blades of the rotor, so that they cannot cut the air at an

angle and we lose all lift.

We fall.

I toe the rudder. The tail rotor yields a little of its purpose, which is to counter the torque of the

main rotor: and that liberated torque spins the Apache clockwise, opposite the rotor’s turn, until we

are nose down sixty degrees, facing back the way we came, looking into the Mojave desert as it rises

up to take us.

I have pirouetted us in place. Plasma fire blows in wraith pennants as the stealth system tries to

keep us modest.

“Can you get it?” I ask.

“Axis.”

I raise the collective again and the rotors bite back into the air. We do not rise, but our fall slows

down. Cyclic stick answers to the barest twitch of wrist, and I remember, once, how that slim wrist

made me think of fragility, frailty, fear: I am remembering even as I pitch the helicopter back and

we climb again, nose up, tail down, scudding backward into the sky while aimed at our chasing killer.

Axis is on top now, above me in the front seat, and in front of Axis is the chin gun, pointed sixty

degrees up into heaven.

“Barb,” the helicopter whispers, like my mother in my ear. “Missile ten seconds. Music? Glare?”

No. No jamming. The Werewolf missile will home in on jamming like a wolf with a taste for pepper.

Our laser might dazzle the seeker, drive it off course—but if the missile turns then Axis cannot take

the shot.

It is not a choice. I trust Axis.

Axis steers the nose turret onto the target and I imagine strong fingers on my own chin, turning me

for a kiss, looking up into the red scorched sky—Axis chooses the weapon (30MM GUIDED PROX AP)

and aims and fires with all the idle don’t-have-to-try confidence of the first girl dribbling a soccer ball

who I ever for a moment loved—

The chin autocannon barks out ten rounds a second. It is effective out to one point five kilometers.

The missile is moving more than a hundred meters per second.

Axis has one second almost exactly, ten shots of thirty-millimeter smart grenade, to save us.

A mote of gray shadow rushes at us and intersects the line of cannon fire from the gun. It becomes

a spray of light. The Apache tings and rattles. The desert below us, behind us, stipples with tiny

plumes of dust that pick up in the wind and settle out like sift from a hand.

“Got it,” Axis says.

“I love you.”

“Axis.”

Many of you are veterans in the act of gender. You weigh the gaze and disposition of strangers in a

subway car and select where to stand, how often to look up, how to accept or reject conversation.

Like a frequency-hopping radar, you modulate your attention for the people in your context: do not

look too much, lest you seem interested, or alarming. You regulate your yawns, your appetite, your

toilet. You do it constantly and without failure.

You are aces.

What other way could be better? What other neural pathways are so available to constant

reprogramming, yet so deeply connected to judgment, behavior, reflex?

Some people say that there is no gender, that it is a postmodern construct, that in fact there are

only man and woman and a few marginal confusions. To those people I ask: if your body-fact is

enough to establish your gender, you would willingly wear bright dresses and cry at movies, wouldn’t

you? You would hold hands and compliment each other on your beauty, wouldn’t you? Because your

cock would be enough to make you a man.

Have you ever guarded anything so vigilantly as you protect yourself against the shame of

gender-wrong?

The same force that keeps you from gender-wrong is the force that keeps me from fucking up.

The missile is dead. The Werewolf Apostle is still up there.

“He’s turning off.” Axis has taken over defensive awareness while I fly. “Radar off. Laser off. He’s

letting us go.”

“Afraid of our fighters?” The mercenaries cannot replace a lost J-20S. And he probably has a

wingman, still hiding, who would die too if they stray into a trap.

“Yes,” Axis says.

“Keep the gown on.” In case he’s trying to bluff us into shutting down our stealth. “We’ll stick to the

terrain until he’s over the horizon.”

“Can you fly us out?”

The Apache is fighting me. Fragments of the destroyed missile have pitted the rotors, damaged the

hub assembly, and jammed the control surfaces. I begin to crush the shrapnel with the Apache’s

hydraulics, pounding the metal free with careful control inputs. But the necessary motions also move

the aircraft. Half a second’s error will crash us into the desert. I have to calculate how to un-jam the

shrapnel while accounting for the effects of that shrapnel on my flight authority and keeping the

aircraft stable despite my constant control inputs while moving at a hundred and thirty knots across

the desert.

“Barb,” I say. “Not a problem.”

And for an hour I fly without thought, without any feeling except the smooth stone joy of doing

something that takes everything.

The night desert is black to the naked eye, soft gray to thermal. My attention flips between my left

eye, focused on the instruments, and my right eye, looking outside. I am a black box like the Pear

Mesa AIs. Information arrives—a throb of feedback in the cyclic, a shift of Axis’ weight, a dune crest

ahead—and my hands and feet move to hold us steady. If I focused on what I was doing it would all

fall apart. So I don’t.

“Are you happy?” Axis asks.

Good to talk now. Keep my conscious mind from interfering with the gearbox of reflexes below.

“Yeah,” I say, and I blow out a breath into my mask, “yeah, I am,” a lightness in my ribs, “yeah, I

feel good.”

“Why do you think we just blew up a school?”

Why did I text my best friend the appearance and license number of all my cab drivers, just in case?

Because those were the things that had to be done.

Listen: I exist in this context. To make war is part of my gender. I get what I need from the flight

line, from the ozone tang of charging stations and the shimmer of distant bodies warping in the

tarmac heat, from the twenty minutes of anxiety after we land when I cannot convince myself that I

am home, and safe, and that I am no longer keeping us alive with the constant adjustments of my

hands and feet.

“Deplete their skilled labor supply, I guess. Attack the demographic skill curve.”

“Kind of a long-term objective. Kind of makes you think it’s not gonna be over by election season.”

“We don’t get to know why the AIs pick the targets.” Maybe destroying this school was an accident.

A quirk of some otherwise successful network, coupled to the load-bearing elements of a vast

strategy.

“Hey,” I say, after a beat of silence. “You did good back there.”

“You thought I wouldn’t.”

“Barb.” A more honest yes than “yes,” because it is my name, and it acknowledges that I am the

one with the doubt.

“I didn’t know if I would either,” Axis says, which feels exactly like I don’t know if I love you

anymore . I lose control for a moment and the Apache rattles in bad air and the tail slews until I stop

thinking and bring everything back under control in a burst of rage.

“You’re done?” I whisper, into the helmet. I have never even thought about this before. I am cold,

sweat soaked, and shivering with adrenaline comedown, drawn out like a tendon in high heels, a

just-off-the-dance-floor feeling, post-voracious, satisfied. Why would we choose anything else? Why

would we give this up? When it feels so good to do it? When I love it so much?

“I just . . . have questions.” The tactical channel processes the sound of Axis swallowing into a dull

point of sound, like dropped plastic.

“We don’t need to wonder, Axis. We’re gendered for the mission—”

“We can’t do this forever,” Axis says, startling me. I raise the collective and hop us up a hundred

feet, so I do not plow us into the desert. “We’re not going to be like this forever. The world won’t be

like this forever. I can’t think of myself as . . . always this.”

Yes, we will be this way forever. We survived this mission as we survive everywhere on this hot and

hostile earth. By bending all of what we are to the task. And if we use less than all of ourselves to

survive, we die.

“Are you going to put me on report?” Axis whispers.

On report as a flight risk? As a faulty component in a mission-critical system? “You just intercepted

an air-to-air missile with the autocannon, Axis. Would I ever get rid of you?”

“Because I’m useful,” Axis says, softly. “Because I can still do what I’m supposed to do. That’s what

you love. But if I couldn’t . . . I’m distracting you. I’ll let you fly.”

I spare one glance for the gray helmet in the cockpit below mine. Politeness is a gendered protocol.

Who speaks and who listens. Who denies need and who claims it. As a woman, I would’ve pressed

Axis. As a woman, I would’ve unpacked the unease and the disquiet.

As an attack helicopter, whose problems are communicated in brief, clear datums, I should ignore

Axis.

But who was ever only one thing?

“If you want to be someone else,” I say, “someone who doesn’t do what we do, then . . . I don’t

want to be the thing that stops you.”

“Bird’s gotta land sometime,” Axis says. “Doesn’t it?”

In the Applied Constructive Gender briefing, they told us that there have always been liminal

genders, places that people passed through on their way to somewhere else. Who are we in those

moments when we break our own rules? The straight man who sleeps with men? The woman who

can’t decide if what she feels is intense admiration, or sexual attraction? Where do we go, who do we

become?

Did you know that instability is one of the most vital traits of a combat aircraft? Civilian planes are

built stable, hard to turn, inclined to run straight ahead on an even level. But a military aircraft is

built so it wants to tumble out of control, and it is held steady only by constant automatic feedback.

The way I am holding this Apache steady now.

Something that is unstable is ready to move, eager to change, it wants to turn, to dive, to tear away

from stillness and fly .

Dynamism requires instability. Instability requires the possibility of change.

“Voice recorder’s off, right?” Axis asks.

“Always.”

“I love doing this. I love doing it with you. I just don’t know if it’s . . . if it’s right.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“Barb?”

“Thank you for thinking about whether it’s right. Someone needs to.”

Maybe what Axis feels is a necessary new queerness. One which pries the tool of gender back from

the hands of the state and the economy and the war. I like that idea. I cannot think of myself as a

failure, as something wrong, a perversion of a liberty that past generations fought to gain.

But Axis can. And maybe you can too. That skepticism is not what I need . . . but it is necessary

anyway.

I have tried to show you what I am. I have tried to do it without judgment. That I leave to you.

“Are we gonna make it?” Axis asks, quietly.

The airframe shudders in crosswind. I let the vibrations develop, settle into a rhythm, and then I

make my body play the opposite rhythm to cancel it out.

“I don’t know,” I say, which is an answer to both of Axis’ questions, both of the ways our lives are in

danger now. “Depends how well I fly, doesn’t it?”

“It’s all you, Barb,” Axis says, with absolute trust. “Take us home.”

A search radar brushes across us, scatters off the gown, turns away to look in likelier places. The

Apache’s engine growls, eating battery, turning charge into motion. The airframe shudders again,

harder, wind rising as cooling sky fights blazing ground. We are racing a hundred and fifty feet

above the Larger Mojave where we fight a war over some new kind of survival and the planet we

maimed grows that desert kilometer by kilometer. Our aircraft is wounded in its body and in its

crew. We are propelled by disaster. We are moving swiftly.

[pascalscenarios]

WHEN STARS CROSS (Din Djarin x Royal Reader)

Din Djarin x Royal Reader  

Summary: You had a strange feeling that something was going to happen. This is your first encounter crossing paths with The Mandalorian.

Warning: Mentions of blood, wound, murder 

Words: 3,961

Author's Note: Hello! Okay I know I said my Agent Whiskey Fic, Common Ground, is coming out soon, and it is, but I’ve never seen the Kingsman movies (oops) and I realize that I probably should watch it to help me write to have a better understand of whiskey and the statesman. I’ve put off the story for now until I’ve seen Kingsman. So for compensation here is a Din Djarin Fic! I wrote part of this way back when season one came out. I was never going to post it, it was more for myself, but I decide to let it thrive and go somewhere. 

I hope you all are doing well. Enjoy and again sorry about the whiskey delay. 

- K

PRO |

PROLOGUE PART 1

07 BBY

Adrenaline surged through the young Mandalorian’s body as he quickly rushed into the cockpit of the Razor Crest. He immediately takes a seat in the pilot chair, starting the engine. The cockpit came to life with an array of colors surrounding him. He hastily pushed buttons and flipped switches on the control boards to prepare the ship for take-off.

His heart pounds against his chest. Anxiety washed over him like a tidal wave as he tries his best to remain calm and act swiftly, knowing it's the only way he’ll make it off this planet alive.

The Mandalorian pushes another lever powering the thrusters. He grips the control handles, slowly leaning them forward. The Razor Crest lifts off the ground and soon gains speed as it continues its bumpy ascend off the planet.

Once breaking free from the planet's atmosphere, The Mandalorian punches in coordinates into his navigation system. He grabs the hyperdrive shift, causing the ship to jump into hyperspace.

Mando leans back into the pilot's chair, letting out a sigh of relief. The adrenaline that once coursed through his body subsided. He could feel the sores and pains arising as he let himself be at ease.

He sat there reflecting on what happened. It was a bounty gone wrong. Mando was after a target, a smuggler who owed several colleagues a large sum of credits. He found his target only to be ambushed.

Mando could put up a heck of a fight, having been raised in the fighting core from a young age, he was heavily outnumbered. It’s been a few months since becoming a part of the bounty hunters guild. He was a rookie, still learning the ropes. Over time he knew he’d get the hang of things.

He winces in pain, causing him to sit up slightly. He moves his right hand to the left side of his torso where the pain resides from. He lifts his hand up, examining the bright red blood that coated his glove. Tilting his head down, he sees the deep gash on his side, blood seeping excessively, staining his armor and clothes.

Mando placed his hand back on the wound, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. He gets up from his seat, exiting the cockpit and climbing down to the lower deck of the ship. He heads over to his sleeping quarters, reaching for a compartment mounted on the side of the wall. Opening the compartment, he rummaged through the medical supplies he had left. He grabs a silver spray vile, that contains Bacta to help heal him in a matter of hours.

He sits on the edge of his bed and pushes down on the button on the vile to plaster the Bacta over his wound. Nothing came out of the vile.

“Come on…” He said frustratedly pushing the button again only to end up with the same result. The vile was empty.

“Dammit!” He cursed, throwing the vile across the room. He looked through the compartment again. None of the materials left would be of use to help him dress his wound. He needs something to hold him over, just until he lands and can properly deal with his wound.

An idea pops into Mando's head, leans over on his bed, snatching his pillow behind him. He rips the fabric open revealing the cotton stuffing. He takes a handful of the cotton and packs it in his wound to soak up the blood.

Quickly the pure white cotton turns crimson red as it makes contact with his bloody wound. He continues to pack the deep gash to the best of his ability, then rips a piece of his cape off. He takes the strip of fabric, wrapping tightly around his torso.

After securing the piece of fabric, he heads back up to the cockpit.

He was headed to Carnelian, a small and peaceful planet. It was known as a haven planet providing a safe place for those who are fleeing their home planets to escape the galactic empire, war, persecution, and natural disasters… or so that's what he heard through word of mouth.

He could have gone back to the covert, but there was no way he could reach them from where he was. Carnelian was his best option. He can fix himself up, lodge for a bit, and head back on his way.

…

You're nervous. Maybe you should just go back home. Maybe you were reading into this too much. You stood outside your kingdom's reader, Lady Uchis, home. She was the oldest and wisest woman in your kingdom, having a gift of foresight. For the past few days, you’ve been feeling strange. You had a feeling that something was going to happen, but you didn’t know what it was. Maybe she could help you make sense of what you’ve been feeling and possibly give you answers.

Before you could knock on the door, it swings open.

“Your highness! What a pleasure! I had a feeling you would be coming to see me!” The old woman smiled.

“Lady Uchis” You smiled.

“Come in child!” She welcomes you into her home.

“Sit child” she motions you to sit at your round table. You take a seat down on the stool, Lady Uchis following behind you.

“Tea my dear?” picking up the pot from the table.

“No, thank you”

She sets the pot back down and sits across the round table from you.

“Lady Uchis, I have been feeling strange for the last few days. I have a feeling like something is going to happen, but I’m not quite sure what”

“Let's see, give me your hands.” She asks.

You hold out your hands, letting her take it in hers. She closes her eyes, concentrating on your energy and what she feels.

“You have been feeling anxious about becoming ruler…” She stays quiet, listening. She smiles. “You have a promising future. I see you being a wonderful ruler one day…”

“Oh my..” she gasps.

“What? What is it?” You looked at her worried.

“I see someone in your future…”

You furrow your eyebrow at her.

“You will meet them soon. Your stars are crossed with this person. You two will face many trials and tribulations with them, but just because your stars are crossed, doesn’t mean your stars won’t align. It may take a few cycles to get to that point. You may not see it or realize it at first, but there will come a time when you’ll know they are the one...”

You were taken back by what she said. You weren’t expecting her to give you a love reading. You thought she would tell you more about coronation in a few weeks and have answers to the feeling you’ve been having. Maybe you were just overreacting. It was probably coronation nerves.

“Djarin…”

“Djarin? What does that mean? Is that a name?”

“I’m not sure…Somethings that came into my head. I think it will be important for later on. I’m not sure when though.” She opens her eyes.

You sat there trying to process the information. Djarin...What could it mean?

...

You walked through the meadow that resides behind the palace. You've been out here for a while, taking in the fresh air. You were thinking about what Lady Uchis had told you.

“Your highness!” Oni shouted as she stood near the castle walls. Oni was your aide, taking care of you since you were a young child. She was older than you by 15 years. In your eyes, she was like a sister, your best friend.

You continued to walk through the meadow, sticking your hands out to the side to feel the tall wild grass brush against your palms. You come to a stop, turning around to face Oni.

Oni starts walking towards you, “You’ve been out here all afternoon, are you alright?”

“I’m quite alright. I just feel strange…”

“How so?” Oni having a questioning look on her face.

An anxious feeling settled inside you. The feeling you’ve been having the last few days, you were feeling current. It was just because of the coronation or was it something else?

“I don’t know…”

“Is it because of the coronation?”

“Perhaps...” Your coronation was coming up in a few weeks. Soon you will be the ruler of Carnelian. It was a lot of pressure and expectations. You loved and cared deeply for the people and beings that lived in the kingdom. You just hoped that when you became ruler, you wouldn't let your kingdom down.

“There is nothing to be worried about, you will make a great and lovely ruler” Oni Pressured you.

You pick a long piece of grass, fiddling with it in your hand. “What if I’m not ready?”

“You were born to do this, it's in your blood.”

“Do you know what Djarin is?” You change the subject.

Oni was confused. “Djarin? No, why do you ask? What is that?”

“It’s nothing. Just forget about it…”

“Come inside, we have to alter your outfit for the coronation,” Oni says turning away from you walking

You slowly turned, staring at the vast green trees that lined the edge of the meadow. You didn’t know what it was, but something was telling, calling you to go into the forest.

“Oni… Some things are not right…”

Without thinking, you rushed towards the end of the meadow and made your way into the forest, letting your intuition guide your way. As you traveled deeper into the forest you came across a clearing. You stopped dead in your tracks as you noticed a body laying on the ground a few yards away from you. The body was covered in armor. You couldn’t quite make out who or what it was. You thought it could be one of the guards, but their armor looked nothing like this being was wearing.

Oni called after you, you could hear her running up behind you.

“What are you- oh my stars!” She gasped staring at the body.

You both stood in shock. Nothing like this has ever happened in Carnelian.

You start to make your way towards the body, but Oni grabs your arm stopping you. “No! What are you doing?!”

“Oni, we can’t leave them there!”

“We have no idea who or what it might be or where they came from!” you could hear the fear in her voice. She began to look around to see if anyone was around if they were endangered.

“Go get help” you ordered.

“No! I am not leaving you here with whoever that is! We don’t know who out here in this forest to cause something like this! we need to go back to the palace now-” she grabs your wrist

“Oni, they might be injured, we need to help them if they do!”

“Your highness-”

“Oni, go quickly! I promise you I’ll be alright-”

She sighs, letting go of you. “If your father has my head for this!” She picks up some of the fabric of her dress and races back through the forest, going back to the place for help.

Once she was out of sight you made your way over to the body.

They were sprawled out in the grass on their back. Their armor was old and rusty, barely fitting the shape of their body. They wore menacing helmets with a tinted T-shaped visor masked their identity. The same T shaped your memory of seeing as a child when they invaded Carnelian during the Clone Wars.

It was a Mandalorian. They were rare to see, only a handful left in the galaxy after The siege of Mandalore. Although your kingdom had a terrible past with Mandalorians, you were not fearful. Something telling you they were okay.

You drop down to the ground on the left side of their body, sitting on your knees. You look down at their torso seeing the blood seeping from a deep gash. You search around trying to figure out where he might have come from. A few feet from their body you notice a trail of blood leading to another part of the forest.

You were unsure if they were still alive. You couldn’t tell if they were breathing. You decided it was best to remove their helmet. Your hands grab the side of their helmet, but before you could pull it up, their hand grabs a fist full of your hair.

You yelp out in surprise, being caught off guard. Their left-hand holds up a knife to your throat. Your hands fly and grip to their hands holding a fist full of your hair and your other hand grips their wrist to prevent them from slitting your throat open.

They were sure alive and well alert.

‘Who are you?” They say sternly, but wincing from the pain they were in.

It was a man.

Tears form in your eyes, your chest heaving. You knew you needed to stay calm and try not to provoke him. He was most likely just as scared as you. He was passed out for who knows how long, disoriented and his memory hazy. You were a complete stranger to him as well. You didn’t blame him for his reaction.

You give him your name.

“Where am I?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat “Y-you’re on the planet, Carnelian.”

The Mandalorian had made it to Carnelian but has no recollection of landing or how he even managed to walk through this forest. Where was his ship?

“I-I stumbled upon you...you’re injured. You have a deep gash on your side, you’re losing blood-” You say softly, your hands still gripping to him.

“I can help you if you let me…” you say shakily.

The Mandalorian looks at you. You looked completely harmless, but he didn’t want to trust you. He trusted no one, sometimes not even other Mandalorians.

He loosens his grip on your hair and removes the blade from your neck. You sigh in relief, that he was off his defense mechanism mode.

You observe his gash, noticing it was packed with stuffing that was already bleeding through completely.

He slowly starts to sit up “I don’t need help”

You quickly rip a piece of fabric off of what you were wearing and apply it to the wound, pressing down.

“No, lay back down and stop moving” You put your hand on his metal-plated chest, and slowly ease him down.

The Mandalorian gasps and groans in pain, this time grabbing one of your wrists as you applied more pressure to his wound.

“I’m sorry...you have to stay still...You’re losing a lot of blood- I have to”

The Mandalorian was growing tired, breathing heavily. He was about to go under again. He fought his best to keep his eyes open.

You feel his grip loosen from your wrist, his hand going limp. His helmed head tilting over to the side.

“No no no, hey stay with me”

“Your highness!” You look over your shoulder to see that Oni had returned with a few guards in a land speeder.

“Your highness, are you hurt?!” One of the guards asked as they trickled out of the speeder, coming over to you and The unconscious Mandalorian.

“A Mandalorian?” Oni's eyes widen as she sees you sitting beside him, your arms and clothes soaked in his blood. “No, we are not taking them back! We need to leave them here!” Oni rushes over to you, trying to pull you away from his body.

“We need to take him back to the palace right away, he needs to be taken to the medical bay immediately,” You say without answering their questions and you fight Oni’s grip.

“Your grace, he’s not going to make it. Looks like he lost a sufficient amount of blood-” a guard says.

“Leave them here! Let the guards deal with him- Let’s go!” Oni tells you.

“No, I’m not letting him die! We have to give him a fighting chance! If we take him now we can help him!” You quickly pack his wound with the fabric you were using to press against the wound.

“But-”

“Now!” you shouted angrily.  

The guards quickly grab a medical board, securing him on and lifting him, bringing him onto the back of the speeder. You quickly get into the speeder with everyone and rush back to the palace.

…

When you got back to the palace, several medical droids stood by with a gurney.

The guards quickly transfer The Mandalorian onto the gurney. You step out of the speeder and start walking with the medical droids as they rush The Mandalorian inside the palace.

“Where is the doctor?” You asked the main medical droid, ITE 415, as you walk alongside the gurney as you travel through the foyer.

“Unfortunately, the doctor is up north and will not be back until tomorrow”

Oni ran up, quickly walking beside you. She couldn’t believe you would help a Mandalorian out of all the people and beings in the galaxy.

“Your Father is absolutely going to be livid! I can’t believe you brought them back! You should have left them out there and let the guards deal with them!”

“He’s still a person! He needed help!”

“You of all people should know what his kind did to our kingdom!” Oni snaps.

The Mandalorian groaned awake, his helmet moving around, noticing the droids.

“No-” The gurney stops moving.

“Hey, it’s okay” you move closer to him coming into his view.

“N-no droids... I-I don’t do droids-” he says faintly trying to sit up.

You place your hand back on his chest, pushing him back down. “The doctor isn’t here. He’s up north and will be back tomorrow, but droids will take care of you. You’re in good hands”

“My helmet…don’t...” The Mandalorian slurred.

“What about your helmet?” you asked, unsure why he was bringing it up in a moment like this.

“...Don’t take it off…”

Don’t take off his helmet? You were confused. “The medical droids will need to take it off in order to check-”

The Mandalorian cuts you off by grabbing her hand.

“Promise me… they won’t take it off… please”

“I promise…Take him to the medical bay, I’ll be there in a few minutes… whatever you do leave his helmet on,” You say looking up at ITE 415.

“Yes, right away your highness” the droid responds.

“Are you crazy?! Do you know how this is going to look to everyone?! You’re sheltering and caring for an enemy! ”

“Make sure he’s okay and the droids don’t take off his helmet-”

“No! I am not helping you with him! I refuse! I am not helping someone who-”

“Please, Oni…”

She looks at you angrily, huffing and shaking her head, storming off.

“Oni!” You yell. 

“My child are you alright?! What’s going on?” You see your father, King Orion rushing down the stairs. He could see all the blood on you, afraid you were injured. He quickly makes his way over to you embracing you with a hug. 

“I’m fine, Father” 

“What happened- is that a Mandalorian? What are they doing here?!” He says eyes widening then glaring as the Medical droids rush by him while transporting The Mandalorian to the medical bay. 

“I came upon him in the forest” you began to tell him. 

“Did they hurt you? Is this your blood? Did they do this to you?! You should go be looked at” he says protectively. 

“No, I’m fine. This is his blood. He was losing so much, he has a terrible gash on his-”

“They shouldn’t be here! Their kind is not welcome! They can not be trusted!” 

Your father says coldly. Your fathers had a strong hatred for Mandalorians. 

“Father!” 

“They need to go!” 

“He needs medical attention! The poor man has been and endured enough!” You argued. There was no way you were letting your father turn The Mandalorian away, he had done nothing wrong. 

“I don’t care! Mandalorians are ruthless killers, vile and callous! We’ve seen it first hand during the Clone Wars! They pillaged our kingdom, hurt so many people, they murdered your mother all when you were a mere child!” 

“He came here to seek refuge, Father. Isn’t that what we do? Shelter people, who are in need of help and keep them safe? How dare you turn away someone who needs help! We never turn away people or beings who are running or escaping from something. That goes against everything we believe, everything Carnelian stands for!” 

“We do not help his kind after what they did. He does not deserve our help! I forbid it!”

“I know there are Mandalorians that caused us pain, but he has done nothing wrong, Father. He is not the one who did those terrible things to our people and kingdom several cycles ago! Can’t you be reasonable? He needs time to heal and get better...we can not deny him that”

He deeply signs. You can see the gears turning in your head, thinking about what you had said. “He can stay until he gets better, but after that, he must leave. I want him gone” With that, he storms off. …

“How is he doing?” You asked ITE 415 as you entered the guest room that The Mandalorian was moved into. You had a tray of food in your hand, setting it on the table beside his bed. It had been a few hours since he came out of surgery. You went to see The Mandalorian in the med bay after your conversation with your father, but there was nothing much you could do other than wait around. You gave the droid's space as they attended to him.

“His vital signs are all good. He had to have a blood transfusion for the loss of blood. His gash was deep, but we stitched him up. He should be able to make a full recovery, but we need to keep him for observation. We informed the doctor, they will check on him when they return tomorrow.”

The Mandalorian was slightly propped up on the bed. His armor was all removed except for his helmet like he requested. His shirt had a huge hole in it, where you can access his wound. It was wrapped up and protected with padding and gauze. 

“Thank you” you appreciate the medical droid's work. 

“Of course your highness. One of us will come in to check up on him in an hour.” With that, you watch the droids make their way out of the room.

“Hey”

You jump, slapping your hand slapping against your chest. You looked over to the bed, noticing The Mandalorian had awakened.

“My stars, you gave me a fright!”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Are you alright?” You asked him how he was feeling.

“Dealt with worse.”

“Worse? You’ve dealt with something worse than bleeding out?” 

He remained silent.

“Um...I brought you some food. Figured you might be hungry. I’m not sure what you like but I got you a whole bunch of things… Hopefully, that’s okay.” 

He looks over at the bedside table noting a pile of food stacked onto a tray.

“Thank you” was all he managed to say. You’d saved his life. If it weren't for you he most likely would have been dead. 

“Sorry about being early.. when I grabbed you. I hope I didn’t hurt you- I didn’t mean-”

“I’m fine...Thank you for apologizing” you smile softly at him.

“What’s your name?”

“I go by Mando…”

“Mando..” You say. You introduce yourself to him again. “I’ll let you be...If you need anything I’ll be a few rooms down”

You leave him alone to rest. Mando… Something about him. You thought about what Lady Uchis said. He couldn’t possibly be the person she was talking about. Further down the line you were going to meet the person she was talking about. It had to be in the distant future. You couldn’t quite pinpoint it yet but you knew Mando would have significance to you. You could feel it.

MT // @wifeofdindjarin @icanbeyourjedi​ @sara-alonso​ @greeneyedblondie44

[thebigqueer]

Solangelo - "Edging Closer and Closer to Doom" - One-Shot

Summary: Nico and Will visit Percy and Annabeth to get advice before they leave for Tartarus.

Word Count: 4843

SPOILERS: Tower of Nero; TW: brief mention of guns (no actual violence though); trauma

Read on AO3

“Nico, where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.”

“Is it somewhere romantic?”

Nico turns to Will, stopping both the boys in their tracks. A small smile twists over his mouth. “Well, we can go somewhere afterwards.”

It’s a warm day in August, and Will wants nothing more than to stay here at camp and enjoy the sun with his boyfriend. The month is coming to a close, along with their freedom, and Will thinks it’s important to enjoy the time they have left together.

Since the clash with Nero, Nico’s dreams have been getting worse. He’s been sleeping in later and later, trying to get snippets of the voice, to analyze where and who it’s coming from. Will has been getting worried about him; after some time at camp, Nico’s body seemed to fill into itself and an olive sheen returned to his skin, but only in the past few weeks all that work to improve himself appeared to be for nothing. His dark circles inked into his eyelids and the tan of his skin leached away as his fears took control of him again. His muscles turned to bones, hardening and poking against his skin. He isn’t even able to eat properly.

How are either of them supposed to survive Tartarus when they’re both getting robbed of their health?

“If we’re not going on a romantic date,” Will says, placing his hand over Nico’s wrist, “then I don’t want it.”

Nico raises an eyebrow and pulls closer, leaning his head back to properly look at Will. “It’s to prepare us for Tartarus. We need it.”

A block of ice settles in Will’s chest, freezing him down to his core. All the giddiness that he felt just moments ago melts away. He frowns. “Oh. Okay. Are we leaving for Tartarus right now?”

“Not for Tartarus.” A small smile balances across Nico’s face. “We’re just going to a place.”

“What is this place?” Will asks, seriousness slipping into his voice. “Are we going to Paris?”

Nico shakes his head. “No, we’re not going for the prophecy yet. Just… I need to show you something before we leave for real.”

Will sighs. “Okay. Are we going right now?”

Nico nods. “I’m going to shadow-travel us. You have Kit-Kats in your bag?”

“I can’t believe you think I wouldn’t. It’s like you don’t even know me.”

Nico rolls his eyes and pulls Will along, leading the two of them to the shadow of a nearby tree. “Let’s hope I don’t bring us to Venezuela again.”

Will laughs softly, the sound of it evaporating in the August heat. “Well, I didn’t mind being covered in cheese.”

“Yeah, well, at least it matched with your aesthetic. Cheese Head.”

About five minutes later, Nico and Will find themselves in a much different setting than the camp. The air here is much warmer than Long Island - it pours over both the boys’ skin and immediately coats them in sweat.

Looking around, Will realizes there are buildings surrounding them. Some people mill about, mostly teenagers and young adults with books in their hand and backpacks slung over their shoulder. College age. An aura of maturity lingers in the warm air, and suddenly Will feels too young to be here. Too inexperienced.

Nico leads the two out of the shadows and into the bright sun, and Will wants nothing more than to crawl right back into the darkness. Anything is better than this heat.

As the two stumble around, looking out of place in such a grown-up world, Will asks, “Where are we?”

Nico leads them towards a large building, where some young adults stand around and talk to each other. Some of them turn to look at Will and Nico, but for the most part none of them seem to mind. Dark circles linger under each of their eyes.

“We’re in New Rome,” Nico responds just as they enter the building. A cool wave washes over Will and he sighs outwardly in relief. The heat outside was almost unbearable.

But then Nico’s words settle into his mind, and he stops in his tracks. “New Rome?” he squeaks. “Why?”

“We’re going to meet someone.” Nico’s voice tightens with reluctance, as if he doesn’t want to give too much away, but Will already understands who they’re going to meet.

The son of Hades takes hold of Will’s wrist again and leads them up a set of stairs, despite the blond’s attempts at slowing them down. It appears that despite Nico’s lack of nutrition, he’s still able to drag Will along if he’s really into it.

“We’re meeting Percy and Annabeth?” Will asks, astonished. He almost trips over the next step as Nico’s pace quickens at the mention of their names.

When he doesn’t answer, Will knows he’s right. “Why them? I mean, I know they’ve been to Tartarus, but, like… so have you. What else do they need to tell you?”

“Well…,” Nico says, pulling them along to a flat floor. A corridor stares back at them, with doors standing on each side of the hallway. Harsh gray light flickers over the ceiling. He finally turns to Will. “It’s more like what they need to tell you.”

Nico releases his hold on his boyfriend’s wrist and walks forward, his feet pattering lightly against the floor. Will’s heart beats quickly in his chest, anxiety thrumming through his system. What are we here for? he wonders.

A little bit down the hallway, Nico stops and stares at a door. Under the gray lighting, his skin looks ashen and pale. Taking a deep breath, Nico raises a fist to the door and knocks.

Time stills as the boys wait for an answer. Nico slips his hand into Will’s and squeezes, then releases again. His skin feels feverishly warm against Will’s, bursting with anxiety. The blond frowns but says nothing.

After a moment, a click echoes in the hallway and the door swings open, throwing air around the boys. A tall figure looks down at them, his body slouching against the door tiredly, and Will is suddenly overcome with how much more different Percy looks.

His green eyes sparkle as mischievously as ever, churning with a mix of exhaustion and irritation. A large purple sweatshirt dangles over his body, the letters “SPQR” flashing across his chest in gold. His hair stands on end, frazzled and messy as if he’s just woken from a nap. In the lighting, his tan skin looks just as gray as Nico’s. A bored expression lingers over his face.

When he realizes it’s Will and Nico, he stands up straight. “Nico!” he exclaims. “Wow, I thought I’d be expecting you later.”

“Maybe you just slept in too much. You look exhausted.”

A tired smile sweeps over Percy’s mouth. “School hasn’t even started and I’m already missing out on sleep. Can’t wait for my classes to begin for real.” His eyes flit across Will. He tips his head in acknowledgement and moves away from the door. “You guys should come in.”

The air inside the room is a little cooler, fresh compared to the outside. Nico goes in first and Will follows, closing the door behind him.

For the most part, the room looks fairly neat. The blinds are drawn at the far side of the dorm room, only letting a little bit of light filter through. One bed stands against the far wall while another protrudes from a corner in the right. To the left of Will, a plain desk gleams; another one stands to the corner in the back. A bathroom and closet reside to the left, and a miniature kitchen protrudes from their right. Articles of clothing are piled up over the bed, which Will guesses are Percy’s.

“Nice place you’ve got,” Nico says carefully. Tension strangles the air, pulling the three together in an uncomfortable embrace. Will knows that, for the most part, Nico and Percy have improved their relationship. But looking at them now, with both their eyes trained on each other in an awkward stare, there’s still the rope of discomfort around them. They’re not completely sure how to act with each other.

A small part of Will relishes that discomfort. He knows Nico and Percy never really had a chance, but even then, he likes that he knows Nico better than the son of Poseidon. Maybe Percy is a huge, well-known hero who Will could probably never compare to, but at least there’s one thing Will can be better at than him, and that thing is being a better friend.

Almost as if he can sense Will’s thoughts, Percy smiles at Will. “Wow,” he says with astonishment. “Man, I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while. You look… tired. Everything okay with you guys?”

Well, Will thinks with annoyance, what a wonderful way to start a conversation.

Nico nods. “Is Annabeth coming?”

Just then, a knock echoes behind them. Percy grins. “That should be her.”

Annabeth peeps into the room, her blond curls flying as she pushes her head in. At the sight of Will and Nico, a nervous smile flickers over her features. She pushes through the door and steps over nervously. Tense silence wraps around the four demigods as they wait for everyone to get their places, prepared to act in this play of politeness.

“So,” Percy says, throwing an arm around Annabeth, “what is it that you guys are here for?”

Will snaps his eyes to Nico. He says nothing, but the message is clear: You haven’t told him?

Nico stares at him for only a second before he turns back to Percy. In a calm voice, he says, “It’s a matter of Tartarus.”

At the mention of the deathly place, both Percy and Annabeth flinch. The tan of their skin seeps out, spilling over the pale floor, and their eyes cloud over with fear. They’re looking past the boys, past the walls, traveling down into the fears, into the trauma.

“Tartarus?” Percy whispers, his voice threaded with fear and astonishment. “Why? Are you having dreams or something, Nico?”

Nico crosses his arms over his chest and looks at the ground, the gears in his head turning as he considers what to say next. “Yes,” he answers simply.

“Are you… looking for advice?” Annabeth inquires, edging a little closer to Nico. “Is everything alright? We thought you were going to Dionysus.”

Nico steps back from their gazes, his heart thrumming in his chest. He knew he’d have to tell them about his trip one day or another, and he supposes that now is the best time. Especially with how intense his dreams have become…

“I don’t need advice,” he promises, fixing Percy and Annabeth with what he hopes is a comforting look. Taking a deep breath, he admits, “Actually, I have to go down there again.”

For a moment, nothing happens. Time itself stills, pausing around all four demigods, tightening around them like coil. Percy and Annabeth stare at Nico as if they’ve never seen him before.

“Again?” Percy gasps. “What do you possibly need to do down there?”

Nico’s fingers clasp together in an attempt to ground himself. “Well, I’ve been having dreams. Someone keeps… calling my name. I think it may be Bob, but I can’t be sure. Whoever it is needs my help. I need to go down there again.”

Annabeth blinks. “You? Why you specifically? How come me and Percy haven’t been getting those voices?”

Nico shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know. But I know that I need to go down there. Someone keeps calling it, and I would love to ignore it, but… they’re insistent. They want to get out. And I wouldn’t be a hero if I didn’t help them escape their torture.”

A feral look flashes in Percy’s eyes. His jaw clenches and he removes his arm from Annabeth. Stepping closer to Nico, he mutters, “You can’t. Do you know how dangerous that is, Nico? You went there alone and barely made it out alive. Me and Annabeth went there together and we barely made it out alive. How the fuck do you think you’re going to get in there and come back out alive for a second time?” He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Dude, you cannot go down there again. No doubt you’ve suffered through enough trauma; you don’t think it’s going to mess up your mind even more? Annabeth and I had nightmares and flashbacks for months. We hadn’t been able to eat properly, or sleep, or just function.” He looks up and down at Nico. “And it seems like you haven’t either. You’re worse than I saw you before I left for New Rome. It’s not a good idea to go down there.”

As each of Percy’s words sink into Nico, irritation builds up in his skin. His nerves curl up and burst open again in rage. His jaw clenches. What right does Percy have to tell him how to act?

“I’m afraid it’s not your say in what I do or don’t,” Nico hisses. “Someone needs me, and I’m going to save them.” Unlike some people.

Annabeth steps forward, fear flashing in her eyes. “Then let us come with you! You can’t go down there on your own.” Then she blinks and snaps her head to Will. Her eyes widen. “No…,” she murmurs. “You’re going to take Will with you? Are you crazy?”

“He’s not taking me with him,” Will mutters defensively. “I’m choosing to go with him.”

“And that’s exactly why we’re here,” says Nico matter-of-factly. “I need your help to convince him not to come.”

At his words, Will’s chest constricts with annoyance and betrayal. He thought they established that Nico isn’t going alone. But apparently this entire trip was just to try to convince him not to accompany him.

Will twists to his boyfriend. “What? After all we talked about, you’re still trying to get me to not come?”

A guilty look flashes in Nico’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Will, but I can’t risk it. You’re too important to me. I’m sorry I tricked you, but it’s not worth it for you to risk your life like this. The camp needs you.”

“And what? The camp doesn’t need you?” Will hisses. “You’re just as important. Gods, I just… I wish you would stop acting like you aren’t important. Like… like it doesn’t matter what happens to you.” He leans closer, his face bursting with red. “Because you know what, Nico? It does matter what happens to you. There are people who care about you. I care about you. You’re not going alone.”

“Actually,” chimes Percy, “neither of you are going. At least not without us.”

Nico turns on Percy, his fists shivering at his sides. “Don’t you act like you’re some savior, Percy. You may be older, but that gives you no right to act like you’re something to control our actions, like you’re supposed to protect us like we’re some kind of children. All I’m asking of you guys is to explain to Will that he shouldn’t come.”

“Why don’t I get a say if I get to come or not?” asks Will. “I’m my own person.”

Percy groans. “Why would we only say that to Will when you shouldn’t go either? Neither of you should be going!”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” growls Nico. “I asked for help.” Looking from Annabeth to Percy, he asks, “Will you help or not?”

Annabeth says, “Our only way of helping is by going with you.”

Nico groans. “You guys aren’t going. I’m not risking your lives either. Just… Can you explain to Will why he shouldn’t come?”

Will frowns. “Why can’t I? Why are you always insisting on doing something by yourself? You aren’t alone anymore, and you’re going to push me away?”

“Can you just… not? I’m trying to save your life and it’s getting really hard when you’re insisting to come with me.”

A wave of anger crashes into Will’s stomach and climbs all the way to the cliffs of his chest. His vision turns red. “Oh, I’m sorry, Nico, am I annoying you by saying I just want you to take care of yourself? Because if I am, just say so.”

An angry scowl curving over Nico’s features. “Yeah, you kind of are. How many times am I going to say it? I’m trying to protect you from certain death.”

“Why? Because you don’t think I’m good enough to go with you? That maybe I’m not as strong as any of the Big Three?”

Nico throws his head back as a harsh laugh escapes his throat. “Here we are again. Will, that’s exactly why I don’t want you to go - you’re insecure. Tartarus is going to use that against you. I don’t think you’re weak, and I never even said that. Your insecurities are the problem. Not to mention that it doesn’t matter if it’s your own choice to come with me; I’m still going to feel guilty if you die.” He scrubs a frustrated hand over his face and when he removes it, Will sees the pain in his eyes, the jab of guilt that’s been pressing against his conscience for days. “I don’t want you to die.”

“And that’s what I don’t want from you either!” cries Will. “Maybe I’m insecure, but I won’t be able to fix it any time soon. And you’re not okay either. But, Nico” - Will tangles his fingers with his boyfriend’s, spilling his warmth and kindness and heartache all into Nico’s bare palms - “we’re not going to be okay. No one is ever perfectly okay at any time. So don’t you think it’s even more important that someone go with you? Going together means that we’ll be there for each other; we’ll watch out for each other. Without you, I’m going to be worried sick; without me, you’re not going to have someone at your back. We ride or die together, just like we did with Nero. I don’t want to let you go on your own. You don’t need to.”

Nico’s chin quivers as he looks at Will, fighting hard to push back his tornado of emotions from destroying the room. “Will,” he whispers, but doesn’t say more.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Don’t say that. You’re making me feel worse.”

“I’m still not leaving you.”

“Neither of you are leaving,” Percy interrupts. Will turns to him, only to find that in place of calming sea-green eyes, he’s met with emerald daggers. A scowl bends over Percy’s face. “Nico, you know how dangerous that is. You can’t leave without me and Annabeth.”

The softness that came over Nico just seconds ago vanishes away as he turns to Percy. He lets go of Will’s hands and steps towards the son of Poseidon. “Stop acting like that!” he exclaims. “You think you’re some kind of hero, don’t you? Why can’t you understand this is important? I thought you were smarter than this, Percy. Aren’t you the kind to save friends from peril?”

“Yes,” Percy says, gritting his teeth. “That’s exactly it. If I let you go, I’m not saving you.”

“Well, you’re not saving Bob either.”

“He’s a Titan. He can handle himself.”

“He saved your lives!”

“And I’m grateful for that,” assures Percy. “Every day. But he’s still a Titan; he’s able to last down there longer than we can. Wait for me and Annabeth, and we’ll go with you. It’s like Will said - you aren’t alone anymore.”

Hot, acidic silence lingers over the air, tightening its hold over the four demigods. Nico and Percy stare each other down, and it’s almost like Annabeth and Will don’t even exist anymore; it’s only them, trying to win their own battles.

“No,” Nico says simply. “The more people, the more danger. Two people is enough.”

At his words, Will’s chest billows with relief. “Two? You mean I’m coming?”

Nico turns his head to Will and looks at him with reluctance. He says nothing of affirmation, but that’s all Will needs to know. He’s going, and this time Nico won’t stop him.

“No!” exclaims Percy. He steps closer to Nico, his body towering over the son of Hades like an indestructible wall. For a second, Will’s nervous that he’s going to hit Nico, but he stops just short of bumping chests. Anger burns bright in Nico’s eyes, but he doesn’t step back.

“No what?”

Nico’s looking up at Percy, staring him down despite the fact that he’s a few inches shorter. Tension sparks between them, bursting over everyone’s bare skin, and a sudden nervousness burns in Will’s core. The room is covered in gasoline, and with one spark of fire, Percy and Nico will blow up.

At first, Will thinks maybe it’s his own anxiety that makes the room feel like it’s shaking - but then Annabeth’s eyebrows jump in surprise and she takes Will’s wrist, edging the two of them to the door slowly. Realizing that it isn’t just him who can feel the quaking, Will wraps an arm around Annabeth’s shoulder in the hopes that it will keep them safe from whatever bomb detonates between the other two demigods.

“Guys,” Annabeth mutters. “Calm yourselves. You are both children of the Big Three - remember how much power both of you have.”

The room continues shaking; neither boy looks at Annabeth. Percy’s eyes swirl with spark with angry energy. Nico’s hands raise at his side while he pulls himself into a fighting stance. Percy’s hands linger at his thigh, fingering a pocket.

Behind Will, a gurgling sound thrums in the walls, and in the kitchen a tap turns on. Annabeth’s gray eyes flash with fear and Will pulls closer to her, anxiety stabbing him in the chest.

“Guys,” Annabeth insists, “stop it.”

Will has never seen Nico look so enraged. His entire face turns fiery red and his paled hands shake at his side. The ground continues shaking, grumbling more persistently under his feet, and he knows that if neither him or Annabeth stop this, there will be serious consequences.

“We need to pull them apart,” whispers Will, staring at the demigods nervously. “Break them out of whatever trance they’re in. Otherwise you’re gonna have to pay for damage if Nico starts bringing skeletons in here.”

Annabeth offers a firm nod. The blonds edge close to the walls as they tiptoe towards the two, their balance tested by the quaking in the room. Will reaches out and touches Nico’s inner wrist, rubbing his skin softly in an attempt to bring Nico back, to make him stop drowning in his irritation. His hands feel cold and angry; only power buzzes underneath his skin, and it vibrates down Will’s own body. He almost pulls away in fear that Nico will turn on him instead.

Nico blinks and shifts to look at Will. The rage that took over him just seconds ago melts away and gives way to daze; his dark eyes cloud over with emotion. Will pulls him back from Percy just as Annabeth places a hand over her own boyfriend’s shoulder.

For a moment, all is silent. The quaking simmers down and soon the water in the kitchen slows to a trickle. Percy and Nico continue glaring at each other, but at least they aren’t going after one another.

Percy’s face only betrays anger, resentment, but there’s something else behind his eyes: guilt. Despite how enraged he looks, a frustrated tear blooms across his eye and slips down the side of his face. Almost immediately all his frustration spills out of him and forms a puddle on the floor, leaving him only deflated and exhausted.

“Nico,” he says, his voice strangled with emotions, “you’re like a brother to me. I- I know we haven’t had the best relationship in the past, and neither of us treated each other well. Me especially. But… We’ve had time to fix it. Our relationship isn’t perfect, and it probably needs more time.

“But, please,” Percy continues, desperation trickling into his voice, “don’t do this. I… I can’t imagine losing you. Not after all that happened. Not after everything that you had to go through.”

Nico watches him speak, letting the words from his mouth seep into his ears and harden around his brain. A wave of emotions crashes into his chest and he has to squeeze Will’s hand just to make sure he’s still standing.

Silence lingers in the air again, making itself comfy in the gaps between all the demigods. It doesn’t move for a long while.

Nico’s eyes brim with tears, which flash in the dim lighting of the dorm room. Will takes his other hand and balances it behind Nico’s back in an attempt to comfort him. Two tears roll down Nico’s cheeks as he says, “I’m sorry, Percy, but I have to. I’m glad we got to be friends again, but you know I have to do this. You know more than anyone how important it is to be there for your friends.” He lets go of Will’s hand and steps forward. “I’m going to save my friend Bob. And you know what, Percy? You’re helping me as your friend. If you let me go, you’re helping me make the world better for someone.”

Percy shakes his head. “For one person, Nico? A person who is literally strong enough to survive hell? You’re going to risk your life for that?”

“I- I can’t explain it,” Nico mutters. “I just know he needs my help. If he’s not getting in your dreams, then it must be me.” Nico sighs shakily and another tear falls. “I just… need to do this. So let me do it. I’m no longer that helpless eleven-year-old boy you knew, Percy; I’m old enough to take care of myself. I have been for a long time.”

Percy and Annabeth turn to each other, both their eyes glazed over with pity and guilt. Their eyebrows jump and narrow at each other as if having a silent conversation. Then Annabeth turns to Nico and says, “Then be safe, Nico. And it’s not too late to take us with you. Give us the word, and we’ll come.”

Nico shakes his head. “I’m not risking more lives. And you guys deserve to have this break and enjoy your education.”

“But you deserve a calm year, too,” Annabeth says. “We can give this up if you need us to.”

Nico shakes his head again. “I’ve had time to heal. I’m not completely mended yet, but I’ve grown. You guys had to go right back into your real life and become one with reality again. You deserve just a chance to relax with each other. I’m going.”

Nico turns to Will and leans against his side. A burst of joy erupts in Will’s chest and he melts into his boyfriend, basking in his warmth. “Besides,” Nico says, offering a small smile to Will, “I’m going to have Will with me. He can shoot a mean gun. I think we’ll be alright.”

A doubtful expression flashes against Percy’s face. “You’re sure?”

Nico’s hand squeezes Will’s fingers, and for the first time in a while, confidence rises in Will’s heart. He feels seen knowing that Nico’s finally accepted he’s coming; he’s ensured that Nico doesn’t see him as just a healer, but also as someone who he can count on to come down with him to the depths of the Underworld.

Nico trusts him. He trusts him with his life and safety. There is nothing more honorable than knowing that, after years of losing people (whether by death or by distance), there is someone in his life who truly believes in Will. His face heats at the realization that Nico’s ready to let him watch his back.

Will hopes he doesn’t fail Nico.

Percy smiles hesitantly. “Alright. But, again, if you need anything before you go… Please, for the love of god, tell us. I can’t imagine how terrifying it must be to go down there for a second time.” He frowns. “When are you leaving anyway?”

“Probably in a few days,” Nico says. “Just need to get some supplies, then we’re going to meet Rachel in Paris and get a prophecy.”

Pery nods. “Okay.” His green eyes swim between Nico and Will, concern pooling in them. “Just… watch out for each other, okay? If either of you die, I’m killing you.”

Nico cracks a smile, the first one in a while. “We’ll try not to die.” Then he nods his head to Annabeth. “Thank you both for the help.”

Annabeth snorts. “What help? All we did was argue.”

“Well, it helped. Just accept the grace.”

Nico and Will step back to the door. The blond turns back to look at Percy and Annabeth, who are both watching the boys with politely concerned eyes.

He smiles. “We’ll see you later. Hopefully.”

And with that, Nico and Will leave the door and walk away, edging closer and closer to whatever doom lies in their future.

[franklyshipping]

Software Adaptation ~ A Markiplier Ego Fanfic

WOOOOO THIS ONE IS BASED OFF A LOVELY PROMPT FROM THE AWESOME @shadowkittycat97 SO LET’S JUST GET RIGHT INTO SOME ROBO-TICKLES! LET’S DO THIS!

TAGGING: @goog-ler-iplier and @bingy-switch

Google Blue was incredibly concerned. He felt odd. For the past few hours his synthetic body had been experiencing the most strange and spontaneous physiological symptoms. The temperature at his face was above normal, he kept twitching at the slightest noises, his heart-core’s pump pace had been jittery, and he kept getting these strange jolts and chills through his synthetic nervous system! However, he didn’t want to worry his brothers with the notion of him glitching out, so instead, Blue called Bing in to try and help him figure out what was wrong.

‘I have run every kind of diagnostic, checked every relay, every artificial neurone, but there is apparently nothing physically wrong with my systems! And yet I keep-ack!’

Bing raised a curious eyebrow when Blue’s form twitched, his neck particularly scrunching as a bloom of turquoise came to his cheeks. Immediately for Bing, he wasn’t thinking about technicalities or any kind of nerdy solution....he was thinking it was something emotional. But Bing knew he needed more information if he was going to come to proper rad-ass conclusion for his robo-buddy! Bing set his skateboard aside, before taking off his sunglasses, showing that he really meant business as he put his hand on Blue’s shoulder reassuring.

‘Blue, my man, don’t worry okay? We’re gonna get to the bottom of this whole weird lil shenanigan! Tell me, when did this all first start?’

Blue took a breath, later he would certainly laugh at the fact that he’d come to Bing for a sense of rationality. Blue focused on Bing’s question now though, thinking back, before replying as the memories came to him.

‘Well, the day had started off like any other. I had woken up alongside Wilford, he of course tried to coerce me into staying in bed all day with him, but I managed to resist....’

Bing grinned fondly when he saw the fond smile on Blue’s face, him and Wilford as a couple was something everyone thought was so precious.

‘Anyway, just as I was making him a drink to help wake him up, he came up behind me and started to whine, which I must admit I found incredibly endearing. However, when I told him I was still adamant about not staying in bed with him, he decided to then threaten to tickle me in front of everyone until I agreed. Such a silly threat, he was far too tired to do such a thing, and I ended up tickling him awake actually-AGH!’

Blue suddenly twitched again, his whole neck scrunching as he let out an annoyed huff.

‘But then immediately after that, the twitches started! Bing, please tell me you perhaps have an idea of what’s going on?’

Bing was having to bite his lip to keep back a bright grin, because he knew precisely what was going on here, and it was fucking adorable. As soon as Wilford had planted the idea of being tickled in Blue’s mind, it would have been dormant in there, Blue’s ler mood taking precedence....right up until he stopped his own tickling. Now, the need to be tickled for Blue was overtaking him. Bing cleared his throat lightly as he rubbed the back of his neck, deciding to play around with Blue a little and letting out a “nervous” hiss.

‘Oof....well ah, the good news is that I definitely know what’s going on here. I just don’t think you’re gonna be happy about it....’

‘What do you mean? Bing, what’s wrong with me?’

Blue asked imploringly, and Bing decided he couldn’t be too mean to Blue, because he could see him starting to get nervous. Blue cocked his head at Bing confusedly as Bing suddenly broke out into a grin and came up to him, before poking him in the cheek and replying jovially.

‘You, Mr Blueberry Blush, are in a damn fierce lee mood!’

Blue blinked. He was so shocked that he didn’t even bat Bing’s hand away from his face. A lee mood? Him? In a lee mood? Surely not?! Suddenly, Blue felt himself become overcome by embarrassment. He didn’t want it to be true, but as he thought about what he’d told Bing, suddenly it all just made sense. Blue groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose, bowing his head as he muttered under his breath.

‘Oh no....’

‘Awww you don’t need to feel all bummed! Lee moods are fun, and besides, it’s not like you haven’t liked being tickled before!’

Blue’s eyes snapped to Bing’s and he sent him a glare that very much said “Shut up or you will regret it”. Bing didn’t find him remotely intimidating though, knowing he was in a lee mood and seeing him spontaneously scrunch and blush just made Blue SO damn adorable right now. Blue grumbled as he buried his face in his hands, growling as he felt more tingles run up his neck, making him twitch.

‘This is terrible, how am I meant to function like this?!’

‘....huh, I’d have thought that was obvious my dude.’

Blue looked at Bing curiously, but then felt his stomach start to flutter and churn when Bing’s grin turned playful, and he raised a teasy eyebrow at him.

‘C’mon....you know the one thing that helps a lee mood.’

‘B-Bing don’t you dare!’                                    

Blue cursed his sudden stutter as he started backing away from Bing, feeling more and more chills passing under his synthetic skin as he started to tremble. Bing snorted out an amused laugh, before muttering under his breath, because he couldn’t help but be childish and goofy amidst all of this. It was just way too fun to play around with Blue.

‘Androidswhowannabetickledsaywhat.’

‘What-WAIT BING I DIDN’T MEAN TO SAY THA-AHH!’

‘TOO LATE!’

Bing crowed as he launched himself at Blue, tackling him to the ground whilst simultaneously grabbing his forearms, whilst Blue was wide eyed and embarrassed beyond belief! Bing pinned Blue’s arms beneath his knees, before teasingly wiggling his fingers down at the struggling android.

‘Here they coooome!’

Blue’s cheeks literally started glowing turquoise as Bing’s wiggling fingers got nearer and nearer, until they were fluttering and scratching up and down the sides of his neck. Blue was a mess of spluttery giggles in literal milliseconds.

‘Nononohoho B-Bihihing nohoho dohohon’t!’

‘Awww c’mon now man, we both know this is what ya waaant!’

Bing snickered fondly as Blue tossed his head about, trying to grit his teeth, but his giggles were stronger than any defence he could mount. Blue usually was able to hold back his mirth even a little bit, so he was almost in shock at the fact that he’d broken so easily! He wouldn’t admit it aloud....but he knew Bing was right. His lee mood, his secret wanting for the tickling, was what was coaxing him to succumb to it so easily.

‘Shuhuhut uhuhup shuhut uhuhuhup!’

Blue exclaimed, making Bing giggle as his blunt nails scratched right where Blue’s neck met his collar.

‘Well at least you’re not denying it now, that’s progress!’

Blue snorted as he squeezed his eyes shut, scrunching up out of instinct as Bing tickled him incessantly. Bing’s burnt orange eyes gleamed with joy at seeing Blue so freely laughing like this, it was too much of a rarity in Bing’s opinion. Seeing Blue’s stoicism just melt away, and to see him so embarrassed too, was just glorious.

‘Ihihi’m gohohoing to gehehet yohou for thihihis!’

Bing snorted, raising an amused eyebrow down at Blue as he replied amusedly.

‘Yeheah? Come on then, come and get me!’

Blue’s eyes widened in surprise when Bing lifted his knees and released his arms....but then Blue ended up throwing his head back and hiding his face in his hands when Bing’s hands dug into his sensitive stomach. Bing smirked as Blue howled with laughter, his hair becoming more and more mussed up as he adamantly kept his face hidden....and didn’t fight back once.

‘BIHIHIHIHING NOHOHOHO!’

‘What? If you really don’t like it, then just stop me. We both know you’re stronger than me....so go ahead.’

Blue peeked through his fingers long enough to see Bing wink down at him, before he resumed his hiding as he became fully consumed by his embarrassed laughter. It wasn’t that he couldn’t stop Bing....it’s just that he truthfully didn’t want to.

‘IHIHI HAHAHATE YOHOHOU!’

Bing laughed again, loving that all Blue could think to do was throw out the weakest insults ever!

‘Really? Cuz ya look pretty happy and blushy for someone who’s apparently hateful my dude.’

Bing kneaded the muscles that Blue had in abundance at his stomach relishing in how Blue arched his back and writhed side to side as he started gripping his own hair. Honestly, Bing was damn impressed by how Blue wasn’t fighting back at all; if it was Bing he’d be batting at his assailant like his life depended on it! Make no mistake though, Blue felt like all the neurones inside his hardware that kept him sane were about to combust.

‘DOHOHON’T SAHAHAY THAHAHAT!!’

‘Don’t say what? That you’re happy and blushy?’

‘YEHEHEHES!!’

‘But it’s the trut-’

‘SHUHUT IHIHIT!!’

Bing laughed at Blue’s insistent exclamation, which came out very nearly like a squawk from the sensitive android. Bing vibrated his thumbs into Blue’s lower stomach as he retorted teasingly.

‘Someone’s getting a lil sassy, do I have to tickle the sass outta you Bluey?’

Blue cackled as he clenched his fists, feeling so embarrassed....but the thing about Blue was that he wasn’t just going to become all submissive to the tickling and teasing. He’s what we in the tickling business call....a brat. As a result, in response to Bing’s teasy question, Blue flipped him off. With both his middle fingers.

‘AHAHAS IHIF YOU COHOHOULD!!’

Bing gawked, topping the tickling at Blue’s stomach out of amazed surprise. Bing then realised....Blue didn’t just want to be tickled, oh no, he wanted to be utterly tickle tortured. Blue panted as he started to smirk up at Bing, smug at having made him stop....but then Blue genuinely thought he felt the synthetic blood in his veins run cold. Bing’s eyes had started to glow an intimidating copper, and hed started to sneer. He actually looked....scary. Then, Blue felt like he didn’t know how to breathe when Bing re-pinned his arms beneath his knees, and growled at him.

‘Oh I can....and you’re going to feel every little bit of it.’

Blue’s eyes widened as Bing’s thumbs found his hipbones....and he screamed. He fucked up. He fucked up bad. He’d forgotten that apart from his brothers, Bing knew him the best. His spine aside, his hips were his most diabolical weak spot, and there was nothing Blue could do to stop Bing torturing them to tickly smithereens.

‘AAAHHHNONOHAHAHAAAA!!!’

‘Ohhh listen to those ticklish screams. Google Blue. So stoic and smart and cool and strong....but look at you now. Going insane with laughter because you can’t handle the littlest massage at your ticklish hips, whilst at the same time just loving every second because you’re too much of a lee to think about anything else.’

Bing’s teasing was in a low tone, and it was so coo-like that it made Blue feel like there were flustered chills passing through his entire system. And you know why Blue was so affected by this teasing? Because every single taunting word of it was true, and there was nothing Blue could do to deny it or hide from it. He was exposed, vulnerable to tickle torture and teasing beyond measure....and he adored it.

‘NAHAHAAAHHH PLEHEHEHEEEEE!!!’

Bing didn’t heed Blue’s begging right away, he didn’t heed it for a while actually. He just tickled and tickled and tickled, enjoying watching Blue’s smile overwhelm his face as tears trickled down his glowing cheeks. Tickling someone who usually never cracks a smile brings a certain amount of satisfaction, but knowing that person is enjoying it too just adds an extra layer of enjoyment for the tickler. It certainly did for Bing. He couldn’t have imagined having a better day. His thumbs just rubbed deep, incessant circles into Blue’s hipbones for minute after minute, whilst Bing just teased and teased and teased.

‘Look at you, taking all these tickles like a champ! Does it feel good? Me torturing you? Making you cry those happy tears down that blushy face and making you feel weaker and weaker?’

Blue had his head thrown back because of his mirth, and at this point, Bing now started to hear sporadic clicks and whirrs emanating from Blue’s throat amidst his hysterics. Bing smiled fondly, because now they’d reached the point where Blue was at his adorable limit.

‘PLEHE-E-E-EHEEE-A-A-HAHAHAAA!!!’

Bing chuckled fondly, and carefully stopped his tickling. Blue didn’t register the mercy for probably about thirty seconds, because he’d just been so engulfed by the tickling that he’d thought it would never end! But now it had, and he was exhausted. The good kind of exhausted though. The kind you feel when you’ve done the chores and work you wanted to do, whilst managing to sneak a nice walk in too. The content kind of tired that we all love to feel. Bing slipped off of Blue as he grinned at him, and Blue lazily smiled back as he muttered quietly.

‘Ihi-....Ihi feheel like I cahan’t move....’

Bing giggled as he looked at him, because indeed Blue was completely limp. Bing knew he was okay physically though, his scans would have detected otherwise. He grinned playfully at Blue as he replied.

‘Well at least you’re not twitching anymore, amirite?’

Blue let out a tired snort laugh as he buried his face in his hands, letting out a low groan. Then though, he watched curiously as Bing stood up and started heading towards the door....but then, Blue gawked when Bing turned to him and smirked.

‘So....you wanna tell Wilford about your mood, or shall I?’

Needless to say, as Bing darted from the room Blue suddenly found that he actually could move, and indeed very quickly. Tickling truly is a wonder, because it’s something that can exhaust, invigorate, and also relax you all at the same time sometimes. It can make the most stoic crumble, the quietest people loud, and the most energetic people meek....but I think we can all agree, that it makes everybody happy.

WOOOOO HOPE YOU ALL LIKE THIS FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DO WOOOO LUV YOUS XX