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egoludes · 4 years ago

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satisfaction guaranteed.

summary: your super soldiers hear there’s a new contender in the bedroom; they intend to learn all about it.

pairing: stucky x reader.

notes: ok, i’ll admit it - this is so outrageously self-indulgent and fully inspired by a recent, um, purchase. i was hoping to get it out in time for valentine’s day, but then work kicked my ass - so consider it a delayed love letter to y’all heh. my apologies in advance to the manufacturers of the sex toy featured here; please don’t sue me? borders from deathlyrph!

warnings: nsfw / 18+, threesome, sex toy, implied & light overstimulation

He doesn’t mean to listen in - scout’s honor.

There just isn’t much that Bucky’s super soldier hearing misses and the raving of some very giddy --- and very drunk --- Avengers is nowhere near that list. He’s actually pleased to hear the way you, Natasha, and Wanda are carrying on when he rounds the corner. Missions have been taking a toll lately, keeping everyone on the team on edge and up late. You, in particular, have been distant, putting on a facade that never quite reaches your eyes, and he and Steve have been on wit’s end trying to perk you up.

The ladies, it seems, have it all figured out. You’re laughing freely for the first time in weeks, and Bucky’s grateful that no one (particularly Sam) can see the way the sound makes him utterly lovesick. His adoration keeps him still a few seconds longer, basking in how free you seem, but he doesn’t intend to stay much past that. In fact, he’s a half-step into leaving when he hears it:

“So, wait -- have you tried it yet? The Satisfyer?”

Confusion brings him to a full stop. Satisfyer?

That feeling only grows, knitting his eyebrows, when you’re the one to answer with an emphatic, and damn near dreamy “Yes.”

Bucky’s an intelligent man and the name alone is a pretty effective context clue. Still, he doesn’t really put it together until Wanda squeals and Nat (who he can see in his mind’s eye, clear as day, leaning into you with that cheeky smirk) pushes you for more.

“It’s kind of...overwhelming,” you continue, pausing to refill your glass, “but in the best way. Like in a ‘How did I ever masturbate before this’ kind of way. My knees literally buckled when I got up after. Can you believe that? Buckled! I was fuckin’ woozy! ” He can tell you’re animated just by the way your volume starts to rise and whatever you’re doing must be endearing because even Natasha is chuckling.

Bucky still loves it, don’t get him wrong. In fact, he adores you excited like this, especially after all the darkness lately. But, there’s something genuinely puzzling about so much excitement around a sex toy. He hadn’t even known you’d bought something new. When had you tried it? Where were he and Steve?

His thoughts start to swirl, intrigue and curiosity mounting in a wave that he pushes past with a step, then another, as he reminds himself that he has somewhere to be.

No chance he’ll be forgetting about this, though.

Steve hears about it from Bucky.

Secondhand stories can be tricky; full of exaggerations and misunderstanding. But, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t believe it. He just doesn’t comprehend the implications of it until he experiences it for himself.

That happens on a Saturday afternoon.

You’d been tense in training, taking hits you’ve dodged a thousand times and fumbling moves you’ve done twice that. A bad bout typically doesn’t do you in, but Steve can tell by the way your attacks grow more and more stilted, that you’re overextending just to make blows meet.

It gets so bad that he breaks one of his few cardinal rules -- never pulling rank with you or Bucky outside of missions -- to get you out of the spar, and your frustration with it is as clear as the exhaustion that sags your limbs. You’re out the door before he can apologize, or explain.

An hour later, he’s showered and changed, seeking you out in your corner of the compound with peace offerings at the ready. This time, they come in the form of your favorite snack and a promise to spar with you himself the next time you’re scheduled - no holds barred.

But, when you pull open the door at his knock, he’s surprised to see that he may not need them.

You’re completely...sated. The tension you’d had in your shoulders when you left the gym is nowhere to be found and in its place is a sheen of satisfaction. It’s all over you: in a dopey smile, lidded eyes, and the faint whiff of your cunt he gets when he leans into you.

In an instant, he puts two and two together, and Steve feels his body warm at the realization that you’ve just finished touching yourself. And not just that: it had been so good that your entire mood’s flipped and you’re beaming at him, no walls or reservations.

He makes his apology all the same, though, and your smile widens as you reach for him and the snack in a tease: “Better not back out on that fight, Captain.”

He grins back, pleased you’re feeling better, but making a mental note to speak to Bucky as soon as you let him go.

I think we need to check out this ‘Satisfyer’.

They ask you about it on Valentine’s Day.

You’re running on the high of a beautiful evening: dinner in DUMBO and drinks in Brooklyn Heights. The latter -- a couple cocktails for you, white wine for your boys -- finds you buzzing as you let them into your room back at the compound. You feel eyes on your hips from behind, heavy gazes that sear the curves, and you sway pointedly, smiling at the sharp breaths that follow.

You know where the night is going ---- know the way a good date makes them handsy. So the attention is no surprise. Neither is the cool press of metal to your back and the kiss to that spot under your ear. “Bed, pretty girl,” Bucky drawls against your skin, intent pressing -- and growing -- against your hip as he settles against you.

Steve rounds you from the other side, not touching but so close you can feel the rise of heat from his body. You look up just in time to catch him watching you back, blue eyes darkening with each step into your bedroom.

Your dress is easy work, pooling at your ankles with a few good pulls, But, Steve and Bucky take their time with everything else. You’re in something special, after all --- pretty lace and dewey colors that deserve an extra look, an extra touch. They’re on you the moment it’s revealed to them, thumbing the fabric with murmured praise through the lips all over your skin.

The daze it sets follows you all the way to the mattress where you lay back against Steve’s chest (still clothed, to your chagrin) with his arms settled around you. His hands end up bracing your thighs, naturally at first, then deliberately as Bucky starts to kiss trails up and over your calf. With the latest string of missions, you can’t remember the last time you had their mouths on you and the anticipation as Bucky’s creeps closer is almost crippling. Your body tenses with each point of contact, eyes lidding as they watch him rise, inch by tortuous inch.

“Sweetheart.” Steve’s voice pulls you out of your focus with a rumble you can feel in your back. “We wanna try something new with you tonight.” You turn just enough to watch him, answering with a hum to urge him on. “Can you tell Buck,” he continues, dipping to run his nose along yours. You feel tiny when he bears down on you like this, and he can see the way it affects you just in the flutter of your lashes. “--where you keep your ‘Satisfyer’?”

What?

In a split second, you’re sobered up, no hint of the lust or buzz that’d been following you for most of the night. Bringing toys to bed isn’t new by any means, but they have never, ever referred to one by name like that. Nor requested it specifically. It’s so startling that you don’t know what to say for a moment, mind utterly blank until you feel Bucky’s hand tighten around your thigh to bring you back. “You -- my what?”

“Satisfyer,” Steve echoes, hand resting on your tummy. From below, you can feel Bucky’s eyes burning into the side of your face, expectant. “Buck’s heard you mention it before, and we’d like to know what all the fuss is about. ---- If you’re willing, that is.”

You look back and forth between them, mouth gaping for a second before you swallow your shock down whole. Two super soldiers can be a lot to manage on their own -- adding a toy that’s knocked you on your ass a few times over now seems like a very dangerous game. But, you can feel Steve hardening against your back and can’t deny the slick that’s seeping through your panties at the thought alone. So you nod, lip pulled between your teeth, and direct Bucky to the left side of your bottom drawer.

When he’s back between your legs, it’s with the rose gold toy in hand. The mere sight of it makes you clench; something he doesn’t miss when he’s that close to your core. “Someone’s excited,” Bucky muses, brow arching before his gaze returns to his hand. The Satisfyer is unlike any toy he’s ever seen, shaped more like some alien gadget than a vibrator, and no amount of Google sleuthing could’ve prepared him for what it feels like in person. The smoothness of it in his hand, the unique curves along his palm. You bite back a giggle at how intently he inspects it, turning it over this way and that to get used to its weight.

“Hmm.. that’s definitely different,” Steve chimes in, as focused on the toy as Bucky is. It isn’t hard to work out how it’s used from the design alone, but what they’re still itching to know is what it does. How it unravels you so well, until your knees buckle even. And it doesn’t take long for that anticipation to trump their curiosity and you’re brought back to the moment when Steve ducks his head to your shoulder, pressing kisses to the skin there as he smooths hands down your inner thighs. He draws his palms back and forth a few times until they suddenly still, and he’s holding your legs -- and you -- wide open. “How about we give it a go, pal?”

Bucky says nothing in return, but he probably doesn’t have to. The toy clicking to life is enough, a rhythm that fills the room with anticipation. Your tummy tightens at the sound -- another reaction neither man misses -- and the tension stays put, coiled tight until the Satisfyer closes over your clit.

The first pulse knocks air out of you that you hadn’t realized you were holding. The ones that follow unfurl you, melting your anticipation in favor of a soft, thrumming pleasure that coats you head to toe. It’s odd, having someone else use it on you, but in a good way. The best way.

You surrender to it, relaxing into Steve’s hold as Bucky holds you open with two fingers. So far, that’s no different than normal --- you’re always this pliant for them, putty beneath their fingers once they get to work. But, tonight, they’re greedy. Tonight, they want more from you; want whatever this toy has been able to draw out in their absence.

Bucky kicks things up a notch, turning the pulse up two speeds. The change is subtle to them, clicks coming just a smidgen faster and louder. For you, it seems to make all the difference. Immediately, you react, back arching up from its place against Steve’s chest with a sound that makes the Captain purr behind you.

“Mm...must feel good,” he notes, a hand gliding along your tummy until he can palm your breast. “Can you tell us, sweetheart?” He punctuates the question with fingers around your nipple, tweaking lightly.

Your lips part, but no words follow; not at first. It’s like your body and mind are disconnected, static in the places where they usually go together. The fuzziness is welcome, but hard to speak through, and it’s all you can do just to whine when Steve gives your nipple an urgent pinch. Bucky joins in with a cool finger pressing at your cunt, the light whirring from his arm giving you something concrete enough to focus on. ‘S good,” you finally pant, twisting to tuck your head into Steve, “so good.”

Bucky huffs out a chuckle and your entire body goes tight; with his face so close, you can feel every breath. “That mean you’re gonna let us finish you up, just like this?”

It’s a rhetorical question --- has to be, the way he presses the toy tighter to your clit. Still, you answer with an eager nod, legs widening some as if to give him the go ahead. “Please, Buck, ‘m close already, it -- right there, I-I’ll--” Your pleas are pretty, a desperate melody, and they appease every base instinct Bucky has. He’d wanted to keep you on edge a little longer to explore the toy more, but he’s a sucker for his girl; always has been. You win him over without even trying.

Steve isn’t far behind, cock leaking in his dress pants seeing you so desperate. He hasn’t gotten his hand on the toy yet, but even he seems to feel its effect. The hand that isn’t cupping your breast spreads over your tummy, delighting in the way the flesh underneath tightens and spreads. You’re certainly close --- he knows your body as well as you do. And the thought of it makes him hungry, makes him press teeth into the skin behind your ear as he urges you on: “Go on, honey -- make a mess for us.”

Your peak comes fast after that, punching you in the gut with its intensity. The first wave of orgasm runs right through you, leaving a tremble in its wake, and your hips twist instinctively to escape the toy. Bucky, however, isn’t so forgiving, metal curling around your hip in a vice. Ride it out, he seems to say with a dark, lidded glance from between your legs.

You whimper in response, head tipping back against Steve’s chest as you fumble for purchase in the warmth of Bucky’s free hand.

Something tells you this will be a long night.

Forty minutes later, you can’t see straight.

Your first orgasm had been gradual, as tentative as the men watching this new toy work you. But, after that, it’s like a flip switches in Bucky and Steve, making them greedy for as many more as they can get.

The second one isn’t long after the first. Bucky turns the Satisfyer up to the highest setting, the other end of the spectrum that you hadn’t even gotten a chance to try on your own yet. The first contact lights fire through your sensitive body and you’re on the brink in just minutes. Toes stretching and curling into the sheets by Bucky’s hips, you’re practically squirming with need and it only takes one good twist of the toy for you to crumble all over again. They give you a break after that, but most of it is spent kissing you too long for you to catch your breath.

You don’t mind that too much, though.

The third orgasm is Steve’s fault. Ever the strategist, he starts thinking through the ways they can play with frequency and angle to make you cum again. You don’t notice it in your foggy comedown, but he’s fished his phone out and flicked through to a page he’s looked over more times that he cares to admit. And when Bucky settles between your legs to get you going again, he finally speaks up. “Buck, I found this review online---” Both you and Bucky turn to him, curiosity in the way you gape, but he’s making a face back that’s loud and clear: ‘do not ask’. “---that said they were able to cum in a couple minutes with this alone. Had some interestin’ suggestions about how, too.” He grins around a Brooklyn drawl, that handsome face stirring something in you when it looks so devious. “You think we can get our girl finished faster than that?”

They pull it off -- embarrassingly easily at that -- and it’s in the pale of that third climax that they finally, finally press inside you.

Your cunt is soaked, supple and warm around Steve as he sits you down over his cock. After so much play, the stretch is nothing, a pleasant burn in the pit of your belly that makes your eyes flutter closed.

“Tell us how you feel,” Steve asks for the second time that night, his voice strained around the effort to keep from fucking you. Even if you’re taking him well -- easier than ever before, in fact -- he’s cautious not to lose his head, no matter how much he wants to.

No matter how much the urge to plow you into your mattress dizzies him.

Your eyes are still closed when you respond, tongue over your dry lips as you part them with a needy sound. “S-Still good…,” you sigh, mind swimming. You want to move, start to move in a mindless search for some friction. But, the rocking doesn’t last long, stuttering to a stop when you hear the toy click to life and try to focus through the haze of your pleasure with eyes darting for answers.

You find them in the smug grin on Bucky’s face as he palms the Satisfyer in one hand and works his cock out of his pants with the other. “What,” he purrs, voice lilted in a taunt, “you didn’t think we were done with this yet, did you?”

Oh yeah --- this’ll definitely be a long night.

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes x you #steve rogers x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #steve rogers smut #bucky barnes smut #tags will come after work!

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novoaa1writes · 4 years ago

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heaven

pairing(s): dark!peggy carter x nb!reader

summary:

you and peggy carter have a professional relationship.

she’s your boss, for christ’s sake.

sure, she’s gorgeous. and funny. and intelligent.

are you attracted to her? undeniably.

but regardless, you’d never pursue her. you know better than most that getting into it with your boss never ends well.

too bad peggy doesn’t seem to harbor the same reservations.

contains: non-con / dub-con smut

[ inspired by “positively owned” by @imanuglywombat ]

word count: ~1,000

rating: explicit (18+)

warnings: non-con, dub-con, rope bondage, dark!peggy, pet names, dirty talk

notes: reader is non-binary (they/them pronouns), though their gender identity is a fairly minor part of this drabble-ish thing. and, as always, reader is written to be poc / racially ambiguous, though that’s very minimally alluded to here.

[commissioned by someone who requested to remain anonymous]

— —

“Jesus, f—Please, I can’t—Shit !”

With one last choked scream, you collapse back down to the mattress, aftershocks of euphoria ravaging your trembling body in powerful waves. Your wrists ache where they rest behind you near the base of your spine, bound tightly with coils of sturdy crimson rope.

The lacquered surface of the wooden headboard behind you is cool and hard against the flushed, sweaty skin of your back—a welcome respite.

Your thoughts spin; your naked chest heaves; and that sensitive place between your thighs… twitching and unbearably sore, puffy folds glistening with copious amounts of your own slick.

You’d close your legs if you could—but of course, Peggy’s already several steps ahead. Both legs are restrained, bent double and widely spread—ankles to the tops of your thighs, knees askew—limbs tightly bound in crimson rope which matches the neat coils around your wrists.

“P-P-Please, Ms. Carter,” you manage to gasp out, lungs burning. “I-It’s too much, p-please—”

A dainty, perfectly-manicured finger dipping into your swollen folds stops you mid-thought, ripping the very breath from your lungs as the tip drags languidly from entrance to clit.

In this moment, it seems to matter very little that you never wanted this—that Peggy Carter was a friend to you and nothing more, that you were more than content with allowing the dynamic between the pair of you to stay exactly that: platonic. Professional, even.

She’s your boss, for Christ’s sake, and heaven knows you’ve never been one for mixing business and pleasure.

It never ends well. You know that better than most.

Not only that, she’s… well, she’s Peggy Carter. Sole founder and current CEO of CARTER & CO., the world’s largest weapon manufacturing conglomerate to date. She’s among the most successful women in the world—in history, even. Hell, she’s been on the cover of Forbes three times spanning the last five years; she’s basically a celebrity.

What could she possibly want with the likes of you? What could you possibly gain from making yet another big-time mistake with the woman who holds your very future in her dainty, impossibly well-manicured hands?

“Holy—Shit—Fuck !”

Maddening shocks of pleasure jolt you back to the present, the pad of a probing finger as it lazily circles your clit. Just like that, any semblance of dubiety and skepticism flee your thoughts, leaving you a writhing sweat-slick mess in its wake, noxious euphoria twisting your very insides up in dolorous knots.

“Aww,” Peggy coos, her breath hot against your lips as she looms above you, cocoa-bean-brown eyes watching your every twitch and shudder with rapt attention. “Does that hurt?”

Even as she asks, the very tip of her middle finger delves surehandedly back into your slick to dip just so inside your spasming hole; needless to say, the sensation alone (no matter how slight) has you fucking keening off the bed.

“Oh—OhmyGod—” You cut yourself off with a short inhale as Peggy sinks her finger ever further inside your clenching depths without a semblance of warning—slowly, gradually until she’s knuckle deep inside you.

Holy fuck.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts—but there’s pleasure, too. Body-racking, chest-compressing, insurmountable pleasure which threatens to tear you apart from within.

“Puppy’s a bit sensitive now, aren’t they?” Peggy questions, her honeyed tone dripping with faux sympathy. She’s all power and hungered poise as she bores down upon you: red-painted lips pushed out to form a perfect pout, lust-blown pupils intent upon your own… It feels impossible to look away. “Well, that’s to be expected, I suppose. I’ve put this pretty little pussy of yours through quite the ordeal this afternoon, haven’t I?”

“I—P-Please, I don’t wanna—Oh, my, FUCK !” Pleasure arrests your body from every side as she works another finger into you without preamble, effectively halting any futile attempts at escape in favor of arching your body obscenely up into hers—a wordless plea for more, more, more.

You don’t want it; it hurts and you don’t want it, but somehow you do, and that juxtaposition alone threatens to shatter you from the inside out—never mind the rest of it.

Peggy chuckles, leaning down to nuzzle the tip of your nose with her own—teasing you even still, like you aren’t hanging on the precipice of utter mental and physical collapse. “Aw, my precious baby… You can give me another, can’t you?” She plants a kiss at the very corner of your lips, letting out a quiet chuckle against your skin at the tortured groan that objectively rather simple act elicits. “You can cum for me once more, make me so very, very proud?”

Something about Peggy Carter—she has a certain knack for making every question come across as an incontestable demand. This instance is no exception.

And, in typical Peggy Carter fashion, she doesn’t wait for a verbal response.

Rather, she does precisely the opposite—works in another finger and doubles her pace despite the way it makes you shriek and wail, thrusting violently into you until lewd squelching noises fill your ears. Your cheeks burn with the shame of it; your sorely overstimulated cunt throbs and spasms wildly around Peggy’s thrusts; the sheer sensation of it all is unlike any else you’ve ever known, eclipsing your fickle consciousness in shades of blinding white.

“That’s it, bunny, let it happen,” Peggy soothes, her voice low and silken—offering comfort… and even still, her pace doesn’t falter—if anything, it quickens; long, dexterous fingers coaxing your swollen cunt steadfastly towards another earth-shattering orgasm that you’re sure will break you when it hits. “You’re doing so well for me, now—such a desperate little thing… You’re going to cum, aren’t you? All over my hand like a good little puppy, that’s it...”

… Fuck. Yeah, that fucking breaks you.

You bite your tongue to stifle a keening whimper and don’t flinch when you taste blood, even as you can’t stop yourself from bobbing your head up and down in a shallow nod—admitting defeat. Hell, you’re almost cross-eyed as you gape wordlessly back up at Peggy, helpless and utterly overwhelmed by pleasure, bits of drool dribbling down your chin.

It’s… heaven. Fucking heaven.

— —

tagging:

[marvel]: @teenwonder

— —

end notes: dark!peggy rail me challenge

LINK TO MASTERLIST

#stuff i wrote #dark!peggy carter #dark!peggy carter x reader #nb!reader #dark!peggy carter x nb!reader #peggy carter x reader #peggy carter x nb!reader #marvel fic #reader-insert #non-binary reader

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fathertaurus · 4 years ago

Text

A Nate Jacobs Blurb part 2

A/N: Here it is! The long awaited part 2 I’ve had so many of you ask for lol. I want to mention before reading that the opening scene takes place after an hour or two into the party scene and kinda just opens up on a random scene. I didn’t feel like there was any real need to make this super long as I only wrote the most definitive moment for these characters to carry the storyline along.

I hope to continue this story as I do have many ideas but anything I post will probably just continue to be written as installments such as this and the one previous to it, as I don’t want it to be my main line of work. I’m always coming up with new ideas and I don’t like simply having one on the forefront as it places to much pressure on writing.

Regardless I hope you enjoy!

a disclaimer: If you have seen the show Euphoria you know what the character Nate Jacobs is like and what he’s done. This is not me condoning the actions of this character--in fact, I urge you to view him as the bad guy he is when reading this. That’s how I wrote it, that’s what I wanted to portray because I’ve yet to write a character as such. Though his actions may not come off as terrible when reading this remember who he is written as and try and read it in that way.

WARNINGS: alluded sexual assault, foul language

The crystalize haze taking over her entire perception of reality right now was almost near blinding to what was happening. The alcohol and whatever that asshole had slipped into her drink had truly and officially taken its toll on her physical being, her vision and balance being hit the worst. Her body laid skewed across the pile of blankets and sheets, having little to no strength to even shuffle through them and find her way up.

She couldn’t determine though if that was solely for the obvious roofie or also from the shock of watching Nate barge into the room—practically snapping the door off it’s hinges, and ripping Chris from atop of her before (with a speed she had never witnessed in her life) wrestling him out the door and down the hallway.

Through it all though and the now busted open door she was able to make out the figures of everyone still filling the living room from her placement on the guest bed, the energy to move no longer permitted in her body but simply her eyes which watched with as much intent as they could muster up.

There was yelling, screaming, and a series of other loud noises, all echoing back to her a million times louder than they probably actually were. Figures moved in flashes and the lights burned into her skull as they danced across the catastrophe spilling all over Elias’ parents’ living room wood. Her hands were on her temples before she could even feel them, body making the intent of covering her ears to attempt to silence all the overstimulation.

Bleary eyed she breathed a deep sigh and tried to find herself, but that moment being ripped away as another set of yelling broke out, the shrills emitted from Nate himself.

He was in the dead center of it all, hands (from what she could tell) wrapped around the throat of Chris Daniel’s as he looked to be throwing him to the floor. Followed by more commotion, a body hitting the floor—it looked to give the tall brunette new access to whomever’s torso, as he barreled his foot into it repeatedly.

If only she wasn’t swimming her own vision, her own thoughts, maybe then she could truly make it all out. But the way that pill made her skin ripple over her bones and her own brain pound its way out of her skull was too much, focus was lost on her.

Before she even had a choice to say or do otherwise her eyes slipped closed and she sunk into the abyss of her body again.

Though she was nearing unconsciousness her ears pricked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. They were distinctively heavy and almost mismatched—like the person was stumbling over their own two feet.

Crossing the carpet until they were near her own body she could hear mumbling above her.

“God dammit.”

Even in her current state she could recognize that voice, the one that belonged to the person who was just moments ago beating the life out of someone. Nate.

“Look at you.” He whispered.

The feelings of hands along the sides of her hips heightened her senses for a split second, a whine rolling from the back of her lips as to protest.

“Shh shh shh, it’s okay it’s okay.” The fingertips grasped at the length of her dress and slowly they pulled it back down-- the whole movement now familiar to a piece of her memory somewhere in the back of her mind, “You’re okay I promise.”

There was a brush of her hair out of her face, the touch cascading down her face to her shoulders where she could make little notice of her sleeves being pulled back up.

Within seconds the same arms were now wrapped around her form and she was being lifted from the bed. The rocking of her motionless figure was the only distinctive thing she was able to recognize before sleep finally took her under in one vast swoop of both of her eyes shutting close. —————————

(POV SWITCH)

Swaying gently back and forth on his feet Nate turned the hall into her bedroom, careful to watch her head as he shuffled through the door.

The memories of their infamous night flooded back to him instantly, but now as he carried her unconscious body to her bed, he was able to take in the details surrounding them. Her room was a light shade of blue, decorated with huge posters starring various artists and movie stars.

It triggered a memory from a month or so ago. Sat around a lunch table only one over from her own he could vividly remember overhearing her and April Denavive discussing that Timothée Chalamet kid and how Y/N had such an affinity for him.

”He was so incredible in Little Women, I swear I’d give anything to just hold his hand or something.” Nate from his seat could see that her rambles caused April to snort into her fruit cup, the red head shaking her head at her friend.

”God Y/N you’re such a virgin.”

She made sure to swat at April’s arm, poking her finger into her side for sure measure, ”Oh fuck off.”

April laughed aloud once more as she pushed back before managing to maneuver her arms around her friend, squeezing her in a tight embrace before pressing kisses to her cheeks.

”No no no, it’s cute!” She gushed, “It’s cute how much you want to fuck that French boy but can’t work up the nerve to say it.”

”April! God--He’s American his dad is just French--oh you know what never mind I hate you.” “N-Nate?”

Returning back to reality Nate was almost startled at the sound of another voice, completely forgetting where he was for a moment. Drawing his eyes downward he found himself back in Y/N’s room, still hovering over her side.

“Shh,” he cooed, fingers tangling in the ends of her hair as he brushed them off of her forehead, admiring the array of glitter from her eyeshadow decorating her skin. It made her shine even brighter than how he always saw her. “You’re safe now..sleep.”

She rustled amongst her blankets, nose curling and eyebrows furrowing as she struggled, a huff following.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned, instantly taking notice of her discomfort. She whined innocently, sitting herself up with her eyes still wired shut and began to tug at the sleeves of her dress.

“Itchy,” She breathed another huff as she tore at the seems, “Need it...off.”

Nate’s entire demeanor shifted. He watched her meticulously as she pulled at the material until it was up and over her chest—but the poor drunk girl seemed to lose all momentum as her arms suddenly dropped, the dress now a mess sagging off of her neck.

Another shrill moan echoed from Y/N, not having the energy to pull the rest of the dress off and expressing her frustrations. Nate waved her off.

“Shush, I’ve got it.” Reaching forward he pulled the rest of the dress up and off of her figure, careful to not get her earrings or hair caught, before tossing it to the side just shy of her hamper he noticed upon entrance into her room.

A deep, noticeable breath expelled from her lungs before she fell back amongst the pillows, body now severely bare to Nate—the only thing keeping her covered being her bra with a pair of matching panties around her hips.

It was pink, the bra, lace yet exuded softness with its subtle tone of color and petite bow in the middle to add a touch of innocence. Her underwear resonated in the same way; they were different than Nate had pictured when his fingers grasped at them earlier that night. He was expecting something more revealing as was common with most girls at parties like that, or in high school in general. But they weren’t—they were form fitting, far from raunchy and bore a soft pink hue like her bra, which was different than the deep red he once imagined.

And it all looked so right on her.

Y/N had seemed to finally settle in her sheets, sleep overtaking her whole figure as she noticeably sank deeper into the mattress. Nate took that as his moment to breathe in, truly, the sight before him.

His eyes nearly followed her every move with adamancy, in an effort to note every singular detail possibly manufactured by her sleeping frame that he could then later remember at his pleasing.

“You are so,” his fingers traced down the length of her arm, watching as the touch triggered a wave of goosebumps even as she was unconscious; He smiled, “Perfect.”

Drawing back he grasped at the blanket before tugging it up and over her body, covering her up to her chest. Tucking in the sides of the cover to her skin he rustled them until he deemed her absolutely comfortable and then took his place at the flank of her bed once more.

“And you are all mine.” -------------------------

A/N: Hope you enjoyed, send requests for more if you liked!

#nate jacobs #nate jacobs x reader #euphoria #nate jacobs imagine #I literally didn’t proof read this at all so I apologize in advance lmao

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relaxwellmatress · 10 months ago

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spinchip · 4 years ago

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As in Lonesome South

Summary: After returning to Ninjago from that Lighthouse prison, Dr. Julien decides it's time for him and his son to move on.

Warnings: Dr. Julien is not a good dad. Memory alteration and Controlling behavior. ask to tag? Pairing: gen Wordcount:1700 A/N: The name for this fic comes from Hillbilly Man by Gorillaz lol

Packing up his meager room is not a difficult feat, Dr. Julien is glad to note, even in his advanced age. He doesn’t have many belongings now, his life spread out across Ninjago and across the sea, the things left behind and abandoned worthless in his eyes now that he’s been reunited with his son. His greatest creation. It’s not as if he couldn’t stop by that ancient bunker out in Birchwood Forest and gather up his old blueprints, maybe pick up projects left half-finished as his hands wrinkled and gave out, but there’s a clean and simple sort of appeal to a fresh start. Out with the old, in with the new. He had time to start again now. He and Zane could travel down to the outskirts of Metalonia, there’s raw materials there, new construction. Its growing fast with the upcoming tech giant Borg Industries basing it’s manufacturing plants in the heart of the city. It’s an easy place to get lost in, an old man and his son blending in with the crowd, a perfect spot to camp out at and get back to work inventing something new. Something to show up all those slip-shod messes he’d slapped together to appease Samukai.

In a way though, he can’t help but be grateful to the skulkin and his cronies. Without the elixir of life they’d handed him, without the resurrection tea poured down his throat, he’d have been lost years ago. The gift they’d given him had come with a price, seasons passing wondering if his son was safe out in the world without him, stuck up in that lighthouse tinkering away at inventions he felt no passion for. All alone except for the silly little bots he cooked up in his spare time. Now thought, free from the sea salt and stone, he had time laid ahead and a million projects he thought he’d never have the years for suddenly at his fingertips. Zane was his life’s work, and he’d turned out wonderfully. What could he do now, with another life to dedicate?

Organizing his meager things, he pulls out a duffle bag from the School's storage with DARKLEYS slapped on the side, not quite dusty but on its way there with the rebranding they were undergoing. Gutting the School’s unsavory past and installing a new, more healthy learning environment was a big endeavor for the ninja, especially since they wouldn’t be able to rely on his son to help pull it off. He and Zane pitched in when they could, helping repaint, clean up, and discuss a new curriculum, but it was a shame they’d never get to see it come to fruition. It reminded him of his days teaching to pay the bills while he chased his masters degree, there was a comforting nostalgia he almost didn’t want to leave. A shame it was time to go. Zane might have been a good teacher, too, if given the chance- he was as smart as his old man sometimes! Remarkably patient too, always willing to try and talk it out and find the best in people. Too bad. Maybe they could come back and visit, if work didn’t get too busy. He wouldn’t mind getting into the swing of things and whipping up a lecture for the kiddos. He could decide all that later, though. Now it was time to pack. He shakes out the bag and stacks his items neatly inside: a few notebooks of ideas he’d already cooked up, spare clothes Zane and Sensei Wu had graciously paid for, a few old books from the Library he was positive no one would miss. He was even sure to grab a copy of Zanes old favorites, maybe he’d like to read them again when they got settled. He made a mental note to grab his toothbrush and comb from the bathroom before they departed, puttering about his meager living accommodations to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

The room itself was a modest little thing, an old student live-in dorm repurposed into more permanent lodging for himself and Zanes other team members. They were nice, a bit more long-term than he thinks Master Wu is willing to admit, but Dr. Julien found them quite cosy. Though anything was a step up from that damp and dreary prison he’d been locked in. He’d always loved the beach, but if he never smelled salt water ever again it’d be a blessing… He frowns, stepping over to the map spread out across his tiny desk, mapping out a possible route down to Metalonia. Sticking to the outskirts would take them closer to the coast, but setting up shop in town might bring unwanted attention. It could be worth it to take the longer route along the east if he really wanted to avoid the sea… it’d put him close to Ignacia, but it might work.

There’s a knock on the door, bright and sharp, and Dr. Julien isn’t surprised when he hurries over and opens the door to his son on the other side, “Zane!” He greets warmly, ignoring the troubled look on his face and pulling him into an embrace, “Have you finished packing yet?” He asks, breaking away.

“That is what I came to speak to you about.” Zane says hesitantly as his father begins to tidy up the room, closing the door behind him for privacy despite the others doing their best to give them space and clearing out for this conversation, “Father, we have discussed this, I…” He frowns openly, “I do not wish to leave.”

Julien stops where he’s folding up his map, staring up at his son with a scrutinizing look, “Zane, I thought you said you didn’t want to be separated from me again? Are you feeling alright, son? Come here, let me check.” He beckons Zane over as he tucks the map into his coat pocket, moving out of the way so he can sit on the edge of the mattress for a diagnostic.

Zane obliges on instinct alone, sitting down, “I am fine, Father,” He says, moving his gi aside to open his chest panel anyway, “And I do not want to be apart, which is why I think you should stay.” Dr. Julien moves to sit next to his son, running a quick inspection of Zanes internal wiring as he speaks, and Zane zeroes in on the way he collapses onto the bed- his knees aren’t what they used to be, “At your age, you shouldn’t be traveling anyways.” He says, obviously trying to be gentle.

Dr. Julien laughs, smiling up at his son as he shifts through the mechanics in a confident routine so familiar it came second nature, memories of them going through these exact motions surfacing faintly, “You don’t need to worry about me, Zane, I have plenty of time left. The ressurectea has given me another lifetime, and I want to spend it with you. It could be like it was before, just the two of us. I was happy.” He examines the connection points on his switchboard, making sure they’re all attached properly, “Weren’t you?”

“Of course!” Zane says instantly, cupping his father's hands to send the confirmation home, “I love you, and I’ve missed you ever since I got my memories back.”

“But now you want to go our separate ways?” He squeezes Zanes fingers, before letting go, going back to his ministrations inside his chest to distract himself, “You and I are family, Zane. I’m disappointed you want me to spend my final years alone.”

Zane shrinks, curling in on himself at those words. Dr. Julien has to hold onto the door of his chest panelling so he won’t pull away too far, where he can’t complete his check-up, “I don’t. I am sorry.”

“Come with me.” He insists, smiling up at Zane as if to say all will be forgiven. They would be, these moments of hesitance. He could let them go.

The checkup is comfortingly familiar, but Zane shakes his head, “My friends are here, they are my family too. I cannot leave- I have responsibilities. I am the white ninja, I am protecting people who cannot protect themselves. Is that not what you wanted?” his vocal processor goes small at the end, soft and uncertain.

“It is, and you’ve done a great job. I’m so proud of you, but now it is time for us to move on to better things… You’re my son, Zane. My greatest creation. I love you, and I won’t leave here without you.” Dr. Julien trains his eyes on his inner workings, his hands stilling, a slight nod as a silent decision is made.

“And I am not leaving.” He says firmly, his own decision giving his words strength, then, “Will you stay?” Zane’s voice has the slightest hint of hope, complex emotions coming so easily now that he’s lived a long and complex life. A shame to lose all that progress.

He sighs deeply, a sad put-upon thing, “No, Zane.” and there’s no need to elaborate.

He watches his facial expression as he does it, half a second of shock and raw hurt, a snap of devastation and fear before his mechanics register that the memory switch has been flipped, the click of it near deafening in the room- the expression vanishes, his wide eyes go glassy and half-lidded and his jaw clenches shut, his body locking and freezing as he goes into limbo. Shoulder stiffly casual, his hands dropping into his lap where they’d made a last-ditch attempt to stop this and stalling short, sitting open and useless on his thighs. All at once his humanity is stripped from him, leaving him a blank canvas, empty and waiting for either a reboot or specific command. He was his son. He was his creation. He was his.

Dr. Julien closes up his chest panel calmly, tying his suit back up properly. He’d need new clothes, these would make him ask questions when he reset him. Dr. Julien didn’t want questions. He didn’t want refusals.

“Come now, Zane.” He says, tapping the nindroid on his forehead, watching those hazy eyes try to focus while in forced stasis. There’s nothing behind his eyes, no recognition other than the need to obey that has been programmed into him, “Follow me. It’s time for us to go.”

Zane carries his bag as they walk right out the front door.

#zane julien #dr. julien #ninjago #spinchip fic #memory alteration

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o-wise-corvid · 4 years ago

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Okay so there’s some mentions of children in pain and going through some severe physical stuff. Dark Side torture to build their hatred type stuff. DONT read if that’s too much.

People who were wanting more: @captainrexisboo @clonetrooperrights @koskareevesismyqueen @gospelofme @jgvfhl @ct-27-fives

WARNINGS: mild mentions of torture/ broken bones/ character in pain

Chapter 1: Two, Three, Four, Five

“Get your elbow up! Block with your shins and forearms... Use your points! There you go!”

To be possessed of such a small frame, Gaia never failed to impress Cody with the way she could change direction. She could run full tilt at a training droid, her whole body leaning into the sprint, then check herself, pivoting on a dime to swing up behind it. One firm kick and there was a clanker head lying at his feet.

She ran with what he could only define as commitment, pushing her entire being into a single goal. That wasn’t something he’d taught her to do, but something she’d brought herself; Cody encouraged her natural talents as often as he encouraged the practiced techniques he’d been showing her for over a year.

Gaia rode the toppling chassis to the floor, crouching on its back with a triumphant smile on her face. “How was that?”

Cody grinned at her. “Very nice. Those reinforced gauntlets really help with the punches, don’t they?”

Gaia inspected the new armor that sheathed her arms from knuckles to elbow, matte black instead of shiny. Which was a good choice given the wear the things had already gotten after one day. “Yes. No more broken knuckles.”

“No more broken knuckles,” he agreed, scooping her up. Gaia laughed and rested her small hands on his chest plate. Cody could swear she’d grown since the day before, her weight already not so easy to manage as it had once been. “But what did Papa tell you about broken bones?”

“They grow back stronger,” Gaia recited dutifully, dark eyes serious. Too serious for one so young. “Did you ever break your knuckles, Papa?”

Cody opened his mouth to answer, smiling at a memory of another brother, Kix, belligerently scolding him about his frequent visits due to how he fought droids. But another voice interjected.

“Captain.” Sixthree wobbled over anxiously, arms lifting in manufactured excitement. “You are being summoned by Lord Vader. He wishes you to bring the young lady along.”

Icy tendrils of fear shuffled their way through his body and he tightened his grip on Gaia reflexively. “Bring her with me? You’re certain about that?” he tried, despite knowing the droid would have relayed the message accurately.

“Yes sir.”

“Papa.” Gaia pulled his face around to look right at him. She touched her forehead to his. “I know what to do. Let’s go.”

He couldn’t help but smile. Her accent had changed, picking up the thicker vowels and light r’s that Jango Fett had passed down to all his Clones. In such a clear, delicate voice, it sounded especially sweet.

“I know you do,” Cody told her, lowering her to her feet. “What do you call me?”

“ ‘Sir’ if I speak at all, sir,” Gaia snapped, spine straightening like a flagpole.

“Do you look at me if you’re asked a question?”

“No sir.”

“Do you fear me?” He put a little edge in his voice, looming to his full height as he paced a tight circle around her.

“Yes sir.” Gaia didn’t track him with her eyes, didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. She was good, he had to admit. She’d picked up on what survival meant so quickly and she’d practiced everything to the point that she performed without thinking.

“Do you fear Vader?”

“Even more.”

“How do you address him?”

“My Lord.”

“Alright,” Cody finally murmured, as satisfied as he was bound to get. He touched Gaia on the top of her head, feeling the tight pattern of her braided hair under his glove, then sheathed his face in his helmet.

They stalked through the ship as one. Gaia had assumed a posture and cadence to her steps that mirrored his own, which carried a menace that even ranking officers knew to give room. She had figured out an expression of intensity that looked positively chilling on a little girl and wore it whenever she was in public. Cody admired the girl’s drive and grasp of her circumstances, even though their routine was beyond familiar.

Vader was awaiting Cody in the hangar bay, just as imposing as he’d ever been. Gaia didn’t react to his presence as they entered the long, mostly empty expanse. He wondered how she perceived him in the Force, what he felt like to the other senses that she was gifted with. From the outside, she looked inscrutable, her boots clicking in time with Cody’s as they approached the hulking figure. When Cody stopped, so did she and they both snapped a salute.

“Captain,” Vader rumbled. His sloping helmet shifted so that his attention was obviously fixed on Gaia. “Cadet.”

“My Lord,” Cody and Gaia said together and they both gave a short bow.

Vader stepped over to Gaia, sinking down on one knee until he was more level with the girl. She stared stoically ahead. “I see your training is progressing well, young one. Tell me, what do you sense in this room?”

Gaia frowned a little, but her expression was one of concentration rather than concern. “You, my Lord. The Dark Side is strong with you. The Captain. And... two others.”

Vader actually chuckled and the sound made the buzzed hair on the back of Cody’s neck stand on end. “Well done, little one. Your training has indeed progressed.” Rising, he affixed Cody with his soulless stare. “You are being tasked with the training of two others, Captain. Your success with this one is evident. I am leaving these in your command.”

Two Stormtroopers came hurrying up, each gripping a squirming person in their arms the way someone holding a feral animal would. Cody could see that they were children due to their size but because they were thrashing so wildly, there wasn’t much he could tell about them apart from the fact that they were both Zabraks.

Vader nodded to the Stormtroopers to set their burdens down, which they did, and then hurriedly backed away. Which Cody almost snorted at because it wasn’t like the kids could bite them through their armor. But then he noticed the scrapes and gouges in the white helmets; one of the eyes was shattered.

“Mind the horns, sir,” one of them offered nervously.

One of the Zabrak children twisted around, flailing a little with bound hands and legs, and actually growled at Cody. His blue eyes burned against his dusky skin, bits of plastoid shavings and visor glass stuck in the crown of amber horns along the boy’s scalp.

“I’ll have them tamed in a month, my Lord,” Cody said confidently though he had to admit that both boys looked fierce enough to take on Wookies.

“We shall see, Captain.”

Cody and Gaia glanced at each other, as Vader turned, the Stormtroopers sweeping into his wake. “Can you help me get them to our quarters?” he asked quietly. “I can get one; two might be a lot.”

Gaia grinned and stretched out a hand toward the boys. The other, green-eyed one shot up, dangling by his ankles. Cody almost laughed. Gaia wasn’t one to overdo it if she didn’t have to. Lifting the boy by his binders was easier than trying to just lift his entire body.

Cody snatched up the blue-eyed one in much the same way, keeping him at arm’s length as much as he could. The Zabrak swayed and snarled nonetheless, trying to reach Cody with his horns. Once, Cody was sure he felt the Force flutter weakly at his armored side.

Gaia had a worse time of it. Her size was the biggest problem. Green eyes squinted furiously at her and her legs flew sideways as if she’d walked over an oil slick. Gaia caught herself without dropping the Zabrak on his head and glared hotly at the boy. “Do it again and I’ll break your ankles.”

Cody looked at her worriedly, glad for the concealment of his helmet. He’d never heard such a deadly note in the girl’s voice and it chilled him. He knew she was under the charge of a slightly Forceful woman who visited the ship once a month, but what exactly happened during the hours Gaia would be away from him there, he could never say. He knew how she returned, though; it was usually hours before she finally responded to him verbally. She always crawled into his bunk on those nights, clinging to him like her sanity depended on it.

When they were finally inside his quarters, Cody flipped the blue-eyed boy as gently as he could onto the bunk, carefully righting him so he was sitting up. Gaia did the same with the other and then threw her arms around his neck. The boy’s eyes flew open wide.

“I wouldn’t have done it,” she hurried. “I promise. You have to make everyone out there feel like you would though. If they don’t think you’re bad, they won’t trust you. Do you understand?”

A wave of fierce pride seemed to bubble up from somewhere near Cody’s feet, thawing the frost of Vader’s presence out of his veins. That was his ad’ika, his Gaia. If she could keep that moral core, that goodness, and survive what could be a very horrible existence with it in tact... What a warrior she could be.

Both boys were listening now, glancing between Gaia, who knelt between them on the skinny mattress, and Cody. He took off his helmet and set it on the Gaia’s bunk. Guess he’d be needing to add two more. His quarters were starting to get really cramped now that he thought about it. He felt his lips tug to the side; Fives would’ve loved it, though, wouldn’t he? Fives always did prefer to keep everyone close, within arms reach if need be.

“You’re... wait...” The one Cody had hauled in was frowning, trying to make this new information make sense. He stared at Gaia as if he’d never seen anything so perplexing in his entire life and then his gaze shifted over to Cody. “You’re a Clone.”

“Yeah.” He knelt down and Gaia scrambled off the bed, looping her arms around his neck from behind. He patted her clasped hands and locked eyes with both boys. “I won’t lie to you. This place is dangerous. For all of us. Clones aren’t supposed to be like me. They’re all under the control of the Empire, in here,” Cody tapped his temple for emphasis. “Gaia, here? If she was what they wanted, she really would have broken your ankles. It’s not easy, being us and being here. But together, we can make it. Think you can find it in yourselves to trust us?”

“How long have you been here?” It was the blue-eyed Zabrak who spoke. His accent was as sharp as his canines.

“Over a year,” Gaia replied with a tightening of her arms around Cody’s neck. He wasn’t sure, but it felt like she was somehow guarding him, like she was prepared to launch herself over his shoulder if one of the boys tried anything. “Papa Cody helped me. He’ll help you, too. And when they start teaching you how to... do things, it won’t be easy. But he makes it better.”

The boys looked at each other and then both sighed. “Okay... what should we do?”

“Pick your names.” Gaia beamed at them both. “You can pick anything.”

Cody chuckled, Gaia’s excitement tangible as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “My brothers, the other Clones, all chose their own names before the Empire happened. It was something we all looked forward to.”

“Soren,” bubble the green-eyed boy. He beamed at his brother. “Like that pilot.”

The other boy rolled his eyes indulgently. “I know.” He looked down in his lap as Cody gently unfastened the binders around his wrists. “Who was your favorite?”

Cody frowned. “Favorite...?”

“Brother.”

Gaia was looking at him now, too. She knew, Cody suspected. He’d told her so many stories about his little brother, the one who’d earned Jaig eyes his first tour. The brother who’d walked out of the barracks fresher one morning with bleached, barely-there hair and a strut like some sort of Coruscanti model. The brother who’d stood up to a rogue Jedi, defying orders despite the knowledge that doing so might’ve meant his own life.

“Rex,” he said in a tight voice.

“Can I have it, too?”

Cody swallowed, which was difficult, but nodded. “Sure. I think... I think the other Rex would be happy to share his name with you.”

The next six months skipped by very quickly. Gaia went through a growth spurt, shooting up to only an inch or so less than Cody. Soren and Rex took to their combat training like they were born for it. Their physiology leant itself to acrobatics and the boys both favored using their own heads as weapons whenever they could.

Cody finally took the leap and shaved his head, actually feeling pleased at the result. The kids all took turns helping him, giggling and getting into a shaving gel fight before everything was said and done. Then they took turns “buffing” his smooth scalp to make him “shiny like Sixthree”.

Gaia took to guarding her new brothers like they were her own flesh and blood. She talked gently but firmly to them prior to their first session with the woman Gaia called The Teacher, and while both boys looked markedly frightened, she promised them vehemently that she would be there the entire time.

Cody tried not to think about the way all three had looked upon returning for their sleep cycle. Acid burns had peppered the left arm of each child, and Gaia sported an angry red and purple slap mark on her left cheek. He’d arrived back at their jammed quarters after a day spent forcing himself not to think about what was happening with... with his children, only to find them huddled together on his bed while Sixthree tried to soothe them while he applied bacta to their blistered skin. Gaia had thrown herself into front of the door when Cody had turned on his heel with murder in his heart, barring his way and begging him to just stay.

“Papa, what happens if you do kill her?” Gaia had demanded quietly. “They’d kill you. And then what about us?”

His awe of the girl never seemed to lessen, but only expanded more and more every day. She was so strong and so smart, protective to a fault, even of him. He adored her in a way that was no more or less than the boys, but was something different. The boys were like shadows of his childhood, ghosts of little brother cadets possessing different bodies. They felt familiar and like parts of himself that he’d lost. Gaia was more like a miniature, not quite realized version of something that Cody had never actually experienced: a mother. But this would have to be how mothers were. Right?

Two more kids were brought to the ship a week after the head shaving event. Both were just as feral and unwieldy as Soren and Rex had been, especially the youngest one to date, who was only nine. He was the most difficult of them all. And Kali was the one who had tried to Force choke him the second she’d laid eyes on him.

Shriek, the boy, had done exactly that the second that Vader and the kid’s handlers had departed. To say that the boy had a pair of lungs on him was an understatement, but it wasn’t the volume that sent Cody to his knees. Images of his brothers screaming in agony seared his brain like hot knives. Rex, falling and tumbling, the fear in his voice split Cody’s skull. Kix taking blaster bolt after blaster bolt, toppling to his knees with lifeless eyes before anther brother took his place. Wolffe stretched with his limbs pulled taught, Grievous placing a lightsaber at the junction of his shoulder and arm as he unsheathed it. The screams layered, the same but different faces bleeding over and around each other in an unending torrent of pure misery until... the varactyl scream.

Soren surged into action, clapping a dark hand over Shriek’s mouth so hard that it made tears spring into the boy’s dark hazel eyes. Rex tackled Kali, who had flown to her feet and was running away like a frightened animal. Gaia planted herself between the boy who would be called Shriek, arms raised defensively, face taught with concentration.

“Get... out... of his head,” she struggled to say, sinking down on one knee as if some huge weight was pressing her into the plastisteel floor. She whooped in a breath and then growled through gritted teeth, arms trembling furiously. Cody had relied on later recounts of the event to fill in the gaps in his memory but that moment, the relief as... it withdrew from him, was one that remained crystal clear.

No one had moved for a long while after that, all five just breathing loudly. Shriek lay stiff and shivering in Soren’s arms. Kali had allowed Rex to turn her loose, her purple lekku draped over each shoulder as she slumped to her knees. Gaia had collapsed to her hands and knees, but not before knocking her foot against his arm. Are you okay?

He started to tell her he was okay, but he knew he wasn’t, so he didn’t say anything. Such tenderness also wouldn’t have looked good to outside eyes. Instead, Cody straightened out of the curled ball he’d been reduced to by a child and tried to get to one knee. A lancing stab of white hot fire shot through his head, cracking over his right temple and behind his eye. The noise that tore out of him was startling even to him.

“I’ve got to get him to medical,” Gaia said quietly, glancing at Soren and Rex. “Take them to our quarters. Gag that one.”

Kali didn’t resist and instead benignly followed Rex and Soren as they hefted Shriek between them, careful not to glance worriedly back at Gaia as she struggled to get Cody standing again.

“Come on, Papa,” she whispered, fitting her shoulders under his arm. “Help me.”

Energized a little by the girl’s plea, Cody got his feet under him, live blaster round loose in his skull and all, and kept himself righted long enough for Gaia to half drag him to medical. How she did it other than through the Force, he was never able to really comprehend afterward. It was only the next morning, after he came to with five small faces watching him intently did he realize that he’d been unconscious.

“Captain, sir,” Gaia roused the group with a sharp salute and they all lined up beside his bed. Each was dressed in matching simple black body glove, kama, and black vambraces, their faces ghostly in the too bright lights of the medbay.

“At... at ease,” he said, groaning quietly at the sensation of light in his eyes as he slowly pushed himself up on the bed. The five children obeyed in flawless, unnerving synchronization.

“Cadets Kali and Shriek have made a change of opinion since last you spoke, sir.” Gaia intoned in what he could only describe as a menacing voice. But the names... that was promising, he hoped.

She broke rank and placed behind the line, her recent gains in height very evident amongst the others. “Haven’t you?” she snapped pointedly, glaring into the faces of the vibrantly purple Twi’Lek and pale young human as she gave each of them a healthy smack on the shoulder that was anything but friendly.

Again, Cody felt the gnaw of worry mixed with shock at how good Gaia was at this.

“Yes sir,” they both answered, addressing Gaia. That was a nice touch.

She turned to Cody, betraying not announce of emotion other than agitation. “We will leave you to your rest, sir. I would like to put the newbies through their paces, sir, with your permission.”

“Permission granted,” Cody said in as flat and hard a voice as he could muster.

Waiting until the kids had trooped out in single file, he reached over to the pile of discarded armor that someone had removed from his body and grabbed his communicator. “Sixthree?”

There was a pause and then the too chipper voice of the protocol droid responded. “Captain. Oh, I do hope you are sufficiently recovered?”

“I... yeah, I’m okay. Listen. We’re gonna need a bigger room. Six beds. A master suite for myself, a group room for the... squad.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Maybe room for a proper kitchen and place to eat. See what you can do about that, yeah?”

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #sunshine squad #commander cody #my oc’s #oc’s #original character #darth vader #the clone wars #fives #kix #clones #captian rex

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jjba-hell · 3 years ago

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Revoked

Still late for day 2 but I am enjoying the hell out of these prompts. (Today’s prompt was sci-fi)

Trigger warnings for the death of the ice cream gays but lemme know if I missed anything else.

Summary: a weird mismatched team of busted up aliens and half-blood humans just dealing with some shit.

For the lovely: @lasquadraweek2021

“You should really just transfer to a new body Pros. Humans aren’t supposed to live this long, babe.”

You grumble probably more to yourself than to the man whose forearm you were tinkering in. Well... maybe tinkering wasn’t the word either. He needed another repair and honestly you can’t help but feel like Risotto only offered you the air-mattress in the ship because so many of these psychos have bio-tech they can’t afford to upkeep.

“Sure, I can’t afford a rewire but I can surely afford getting my brain transplanted in a new body.”

“Human bodies are so easy to grow though.” You peer up at him over your magnify glasses with a wriggle of eyebrows. “Fully grown in a quarter rotation? Come on I still have to wait another half rotation to buy a swimsuit let alone grow a body.”

Prosciutto flexed the hand you were working on to spite you but all you did was strap the wrist down and switch off the impulse circuit before getting up and walking toward the exit of the ship where the others were sprawled out in the soft baby blue grass of the planet you were hiding out at.

Melone’s gaze shot from laptop up as you kicked your untied boots from your feet and slid into the grass, barely hearing him as he asked “Any luck with Pros’s arm?”

“I can’t keep mending the same two wires that keep popping off. Its best we find a place that can handle Babyface’s software and get a new one.”

“Still not budging for just replacing the whole thing?” Formaggio asked from somewhere across the clearing.

Like he was one to talk- Akils like him grew back heads and limbs, there wasn’t exactly a need to know anything about biotech.

“Nope. Are all humans this stubborn?”

“I think its the half Megnu in him.” Illuso was the one to chirp in this time.

“That’s still not confirmed.” You sat back on your feet to try and spot your teammates.

“Well he won’t let me analyze.” Melone sighed- continuing to worry away at the clear glass screen that held all his designs.

Melone truly was a bit of a madman to you- he designed the entirety of his body on that simple glass tablet and yet couldn’t finish his face in time before the feds were on him for unethical medical practice- ironic considering he was only putting himself through the strain of fitting his brain into a piece of machinery. What his official titles were in his old field were beyond you.

“Pesci’s not all Scud and he’s not half as stubborn.” You commented and with a soft hum the team fell back into silence.

“Where’s Ris?”

“He’s in bed- that last jump took a toll on him.” Illuso finally rose up from the grass himself heading a bit further away from the clearing, probably wandering after Ghiacchio who was asked to take a lap after he froze off Formaggio’s finger.

You clambered up a few steps to find your captain with the old-fashioned two-way radio in his hand as he lay passed out on couch of the shared living room.

Risotto would rather be caught dead than caught like this so, with intent, you stepped up to take the radio out of his hand. He seemed to gently wake at your fingers prying the piece or equipment from his hand.

“Shit.” He grumbled. “How long-?”

“Ghiacchio’s not even back from his lap- don’t worry. Just head off before they catch you.”

And with a slight groan he rolled up and disappeared down the hallways to his bunk which sounded with an ungraceful “clunk” as he fell into the bed.

Your name got hollered with the slightest tone of desperation from Prosciutto and with that you were back doing your part in the team behind the scene.

“You’re a purebred?” Prosciutto had eventually asked after a few minutes of boredom at watching you weld wires back to the motherboard.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “What am I? A dog?”

He seemed to swallow his words.

“Where do you think I’m from?” You tried to smooth it over.

“Caestea- at least your appearance would have you look like that.”

Another laugh. “I’m from Earth, Pros.”

His eyes widened. “Impossible.”

“Oh yeah. My parents weren’t exactly refugees but they are most certainly not human. Fuck knows what my genetic makeup looks like but thankfully I certainly age like a Caestean. You are all human, huh?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Not that there are many of us left.”

In a sense you felt bad for him. You’d seen photos of Earth long before it started to mimic its brother planet Mars but you rarely thought of how wickedly the planet must have lost its life before intergalactic intervention. Humans were strangely scared and selfish creatures but no one deserved to die because there was no clean water to drink.

You shook off the macabre though before closing up Pros’s arm and putting away the tools. “That should do for now but we really do need to think of a replacement in the near future.”

“Thanks.”

It was a half-assed thank you but it surely caught your attention. Pros was a little too prideful to give just anyone a thanks but nonetheless you returned the sentiment. “No problem.”

Outside the boys were fighting again- or rather Ghiacchio was arguing as Formaggio was pushing his buttons while Pesci grilled a rather obscenely colorful fish over the fire-in-tin.

“Oh just the person we needed to see.”

Getting clasped with two arms over the neck was bad enough but from Sorbet and Gelato, now that was trouble waiting to start.

“Oh gods, what do I have to offer this time.”

“Don’t be so serious!” Sorbet cooed darkly.

“We were just hoping you could help us out with the next target.” His boyfriend added.

If you could just roll your eyes back far enough.

“Wandering off from our captain’s orders doesn’t sound like something I’d want to get myself involved in.”

“Not even for a bionic manufacturer?”

“Or a healing bay, for the ship? Surely you could install those things no problem.”

Honestly it was hard not to fall for the stereotype that all Makzi’s do is play dirty and haggle like merchants but here you were, stuck between them and being tempted into breaking formation with them.

“And what would I have to lose?”

“Nothing much-“

“Maybe some face with Risotto.”

You couldn’t help but scoff. “You want me to convince him?”

“Exactly- he might actually consider something if it came out of your pretty mouth.”

“Or rather, if he could come in it.”

You took one step back and bowed out of the hold between the two of them. “Fucking sleezes. Your shit’s gonna get you killed, mark my words.”

“So its a no?”

“Its a fuck no, Sorbet. Vile comments aside, that shit is expensive, even dent-jobs sell for millions... that kind of money is too big a job for us to handle right now and stealing one even more. Get your heads out of your asses before you come up to me with more dumb shit, next time.”

And with that you slipped back beside Illuso as Pesci was grilling up the third fish for the night. Looking back at what you had said was not untrue. That night you were restless in your bunker above Formaggio- Illuso peering behind the sliding divider across the little hallway that ran between the bed bunks.

“Something on your conscience?”

“No.”

“You sure?” You nearly leapt out of skin as Formaggio’s forehead popped up just below your chin outside your divider. “You’ve turned and kicked like 10 times, babe.”

“Please don’t babe me.” You frown at him but you answered the gnawing feeling by asking. “Where are Sorbet and Gelato?”

“Probably in their bed.” Illuso answered as if there wasn’t a more logical answer.

“Wanna put money on it?” Your eyebrow raised.

“And catch them in the act? Daaamn you’re dirtier than I thought.”

“Come on then, 10 drinks at the next stop they’re not in their bunk.”

“Shit, I can’t miss on that opportunity.” Formaggio’s divider slid open all the way to allow him to plop with bare feet to the double bunks at the end of the hallway.” You and Illuso watched in trepidation as he knelt down and knocked. There was no answer save for Risotto’s stern frown behind the top divider making an appearance. “What do you want?”

“Are Sorbet and Gelato in there?” You piped up first.

The angry frown turned into concern as he slid out of his bunk to replace where Formaggio was. He slid the door open to reveal one big empty bed.

What you’d have given to be wrong. But instead the panic bit you all and soon you were messily slipping on boots and running around the ship to find the missing lovers.

Pesci checked the engine compartments he might have accidentally left open, Pros checked the storage while Risotto was seeing if he could track them on the radar. It was only when you were hoisted onto the roof by Formaggio that the dread set into your bones.

“Tell Ris to switch on the overhead console lights.”

You called back down below you. Part of you wished you didn’t... since all it did was put them on display.

It was a vile thing that made Risotto’s eyes grow darker than they already were and once dawn broke, you and Melone quietly put the bodies into the best makeshift body bags you could manage. The lake a few paces away was where you last saw those body bags.

After you left that pit stop you sat in silence in the communal meeting area, your legs flung over one of the armrests in your seat- staring blankly at the coffee table you’d nipped from a market not too long ago.

“So... what’s the plan?”

You asked at anyone who would listen.

“Do we go on as usual? Find their families?”

“Revenge?”

Your head turned to Prosciutto as he was enjoying one last drag of his cigarette.

“You’re brave.” You huffed a bit of laughter at the thought. The big boss and his cronies- the only real reason none of you strayed from Risotto’s orders was way up on a station so far up the intergalactic alliance ladder that you’d have a better shot at killing the king of Gnomia B908 and getting away with it.

“Why not?” Illuso was the one to back it. “Surely we could track the sick fucks that did it.”

“You’re thinking too simply.” Risotto grumbled over his fist. “They didn’t get themselves killed by accident. This was deliberate- a display not to challenge the higher ups.”

“Any idea what they were planning?” You sat up, propping your elbows onto your knees.

Risotto kindly pulled up their hidden plans- your name encircled in red a few times. They seemed to have had their eye on a biotech printer and medbay that was once used by the Boss himself.

“What’s the relevance of an old medbay?” Pros posed the question to you- Melone was up front with Formaggio.

“Medbays need to keep track of any irregularities in DNA to avoid any incompatibility issues. Its one of the few things that can’t be wiped because its burned into the drive. They were trying to expose the Boss’s identity.”

“And they were planning on risking us all in the process?”

You pointed at a little arrow shooting off your name once more. “They figured I could remove and replace the hard drive before anyone noticed.”

Your throat felt dry as you realized what that meant. Whoever this person was... if they could follow something as irrelevant as a used medbay to keep their tracks clean... chances are you were all, at best, being watched.

The thought must have been shared as Risotto didn’t breathe a word as he moved to the front of the ship and changed course to an unaffiliated vector you know damn well you’d probably be searched and cleansed for.

To no one’s surprise the pristine white towers blinded and no sooner than two seconds of coming into orbit of one of the bigger planets you were requested to land.

You stood beside you captain as the ship docked and you waited with your hands behind your head to greet the haz-mat team. “You must be pretty serious about this if you’re willing to get sit in their prison.”

He gazed down at you and with a deadpan tone simply said: “You’ve escaped, I’m certain you could do it again.”

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #la squadra #jojo part 5 #risotto nero #prosciutto #illuso #formaggio #ghiaccio #whole gang’s here... more or less #lasquadraweek2021

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blossom-hwa · 4 years ago

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Arc [Drifting Apart] - MARK |Swing!|

This part contains a lot of the events of Spiderman: Homecoming, though the timeline has been changed so Civil War happens after Homecoming, not the other way around! There are spoilers for Homecoming! Read at your own risk!

Again, thanks to @deathbykpopboys for inspiring this series :)

Pairing: Mark x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, Spiderman!au

Triggers: a lot of cursing, mild violence, PANIC ATTACKS IN FUTURE CHAPTERS (I in no way meant to romanticize these triggers. If you feel I did, please let me know and I will fix it.)

Word Count: 8.4k

Petty spats and overreactions threaten to tear a decade-old bond apart.

Attach >> Arc { 1 - Drifting Apart | 2 - Coming Home } >> Fall { 1 - Spiral | 2 - Rise }

NCT Masterlist | Swing!

After two months, the small earpiece wedged into your skin still feels weird and hurts if you keep it in for more than a few hours at a time. Pausing on a rooftop, you reach up to adjust it for the fifth time tonight.

“We really need to fix this thing,” you mumble under your breath.

For a few silent minutes, you swing between buildings, keeping a close eye out on the streets below. Your black hood flutters around your head with the soft breeze.

Queens is quiet at night, much quieter than the always-bustling streets of Manhattan. You love patrolling, not just because you can help people, but also because of the peaceful silence that follows you as you swing through the crisp air. It’s a quiet rhythm, one that’s comforting during the dark night.

Crackling sounds in the earpiece just as you land on a rooftop to catch your breath. Seconds later, Mark’s voice fills your ear. “Two streets down from Jaemin’s apartment.”

“Give me four minutes.” Leaping off the building, wind begins whistling again as you swing your way over to Mark.

You notice him before he sees you, the blue of his outfit visible on the roof against the black backdrop of night. His red hood pools around his shoulders, his head covered in a matching mask.

(The first time you watched him put it on, you thought you’d die of laughter. He returned the favor when you tried on yours. Even now, the sight brings a slight smile to your face as you soundlessly jog over the roof to stand by him.)

Behind his mask, you can see a faint smile of greeting as he points down. “Break-in,” he whispers.

Looking closely, you can see the vague outlines of several people, at least two holding guns. Your brain leaps into overdrive, determining the best way to end this as bloodlessly as possible.

“I’ll take out the guns and try to immobilize their hands,” you whisper. “Knock out anyone you can, and we’ll web them up afterward.”

Mark nods. The two of you drop down.

The would-be robbers barely have time to look up before you’ve descended upon them, lashing out with your legs to kick two in the head. “Did you know this neighborhood is haunted?” you taunt as they fall to the ground, groaning. “Seriously, that’s what my friends told me. Maybe you’re ghost hunters? But why would you try to shoot a corporeal being?”

One of them grabs for the gun they’ve dropped, but you quickly kick it out of the way. “I don’t think so!” you sing, flipping him over your shoulder. He lands on his head, then flops over, unconscious. His friend doesn’t get a chance to blink before a punch to the side of his temple knocks him out. “Stupid,” you mutter, webbing them to the wall.

DANGER DANGER DANGER –

You duck. A bullet flies over your head and buries itself into a nearby trash can. There’s a muffled shout at the other end of the alley. A cracking noise sounds, and the final two men drop like stones.

Success.

You pick up the gun you kicked away. You’re about to just crush it under your foot, but something about it makes you look twice. Where a bit of the gun’s paint has been scrubbed off by its encounter with the ground, there’s a subtly glowing piece of metal that doesn’t look like anything you’ve ever seen.

“Mark?” You gesture at the weapon. “What…?”

He frowns in the darkness, raising a tentative hand to touch the glowing patch. “That’s weird.”

“Where are the other guns?” you ask. Mark picks up their crumpled remains. They’re normal – you’ve seen those types before. You look back at the weapon you’re holding.

Besides the glowing metal, you detect other small differences in shape and size. This one is slightly bigger than the other two, with a smaller bullet hole (does it even shoot bullets?) and a larger trigger. The paint obviously isn’t professionally applied – you easily scratch some of it off with a fingernail.

“I think we should take this and look at it further,” you say, turning it over in your hands.

Mark nods. “You think it could be something remaining from the Battle of New York?”

It’s certainly plausible, you think. Metal doesn’t glow on this planet, not even vibranium. Vibranium shines, yeah, but glowing is something completely different. You don’t think it was one of the weapons the Chitauri used, though. Maybe someone took the space material that the aliens brought in and manufactured a weapon with it.

Your stomach sinks. What if there are more?

Your watch beeps in the silence, signaling half an hour before Johnny gets home from his late shift. “Time to go.”

Releasing a string of webbing, you quickly climb up the warehouse wall with Mark following closely behind. In fifteen minutes, you land on your apartment rooftop, where you share your thoughts with Mark.

He doesn’t look very comforted by the idea of more of these things being out there. The two of you don’t even know what it does, and you’re not keen to find out. Once you’ve swung through the window in your room, you stash the gun in an empty corner of your closet and cover it with some old clothes.

Your black and white outfit gets shoved underneath your mattress, while the web shooters go inside your underwear drawer. Despite the fact that there’s a possibly alien weapon inside your room, a wave of exhaustion crashes over you. It’s all you can do to climb into bed before you pass out.

. . . . .

A normal day goes like this. Mark will fall out of bed to his alarm, drag himself past his snoring aunt’s bedroom to the shower, and snatch an apple or some other small breakfast in the kitchen before heading down to meet you for school. The train ride will pass, he’ll greet his friends, and then walk to homeroom, where Mr. Lee takes attendance.

(Thomas isn’t his homeroom teacher this year. Even though Lee is considerably stricter, Mark still thanks his lucky stars for the change.)

After school, he’ll take the train to either Professor Tuan’s lab or home, where he’ll work or do homework for a few hours before it’s time to patrol.

The day starts mostly normally. Mei isn’t snoring when he goes to take a shower, but it’s just one of those rare mornings where she isn’t sleeping on her back. He meets up with you and his friends like usual, and besides the history pop quiz he didn’t study for, the school day passes quickly. You tell him you’ve figured out nothing about the weird glowing gun you found last week, and the two of you resolve to just destroy it.

Everything, by all accounts, should be going fine.

But despite all of this, he feels uneasy. His weird sixth sense-reflex thing keeps randomly sending subtle pulses of danger, danger, and he doesn’t know where the danger fucking is. It pops in at the most inopportune times – on the walk to the train station, during PE, even as he walks past the other offices in the university building to get to Dr. Tuan’s lab.

And yet said danger doesn’t manifest when he goes to the local deli for a sandwich. It doesn’t show itself in front of a chemical engineering lab labelled “Dr. Roberts.” It doesn’t appear when he leaps on to the rooftop to meet you for patrol, either.

He relays his irritation to you as you swing through the darkening streets of Queens. There’s a beat of silence on your end, and then you admit that you’ve felt the same. “I honestly just thought I was going fucking crazy,” you say.

The two of you swing around in silence for a while before Mark’s earpiece crackles loudly (seriously, the crackling is really annoying and he needs to get around to fixing it soon) and your voice floods his ear. “Robbery at the ATMs near Delmar’s deli.”

Mark immediately changes direction, doubling back to meet you outside the bank. Four people are inside, faces covered in Avengers masks (seriously?). Several weapons rest on the ground.

Not just any weapons, Mark realizes as he looks closer. They’re weirdly shaped and they glow.

Much like the one that you hid in your closet.

“Weird, right?” you whisper from your hiding spot.

Mark nods. “Well, let’s see what we can get from this.”

The two of you slip inside the building soundlessly. The room is kind of cramped, which will make it difficult to fight in, but destruction is almost guaranteed in a situation like this.

He looks over at you. You nod.

One man goes down quickly, stuck to the floor with Mark’s webbing. Three other Avengers masks turn around – Mark sees Thor, Iron Man, and the Hulk – and the place descends into chaos.

“Forgot your PIN?” you snark, leaping onto the ceiling. You quickly kick Thor in the face as he lurches forward, leaving Mark to pin him to the ground. A couple of web shots later, and he’s immobilized.

(Mark doesn’t know how you magically come up with comebacks and punchlines for every situation. He’d give up just about anything to be as witty as you are.)

You’ve flipped back onto the ground and are now engaged in a fistfight with Iron Man (“Why the fuck is Iron Man robbing a bank? I thought you were a billionaire?”). Mark turns around to find Hulk and is met face-to-face with the weirdest thing he’s ever seen.

“What the fuck?” is all he gets out before Hulk does something and the weird, metal, three-pronged thing starts glowing. Purple light shoots out of the prongs and engulfs Mark.

It’s the weirdest thing he’s ever felt. He still has control of his limbs – he can wiggle his fingers – it’s just that the light has more control, somehow. Mark tries to lash out and hit something – stick to the wall, grab an ATM machine, anything – but the light keeps him loose-limbed and useless.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you still fighting Iron Man, who’s now picked up one of the weapons discarded on the floor. You dodge the first blast of purple light, then use webbing to lift yourself up to avoid another.

Webbing.

He’s so stupid.

Mark forces his arm out and shoots a string of web fluid to the far wall, yanking himself out of reach of the three-pronged light thing. His feet lash out, kicking Hulk’s mask. He lands, crouched on the door of the ATM building.

Iron Man somehow breaks out of your fight and races to the door. Mark’s eyes widen and he throws himself out of the way of the glowing thing –

And then the fake Avenger uses the light to literally carve out a section of the wall, including the whole door and the entire corner of the deli across the street.

Mark yells, narrowly avoiding another errant blast of light and kicking the guy to the floor. “Mr. Delmar!” he yells, racing across the street. Behind him, he hears some more scuffling as you keep trying to take down the last two robbers, but he’s only focused on making sure Mr. Delmar and his cat are all right.

“Mr. Delmar!” The corner of the building is burning, and there’s no water to be seen. Mark launches himself into it anyway, thankful for his sweaty mask filtering out some of the smoke. With relief so strong it burns, he spots Mr. Delmar stumbling out of the store’s back exit, his humongous cat in his arms.

“Are you all right, Mr. Delmar?” In the moment, Mark doesn’t care if the deli owner recognizes his voice. He just needs to know if he’s okay. After a few seconds of coughing, Mr. Delmar nods. “I’m all right, Spiderboy. I’m all right.”

Spiderboy? Really?

Well, you and Mark never really came up with names for your alter egos. Maybe you should have.

But not now. Someone’s called 911, and he can hear the fire trucks and police sirens starting to converge on the area. There’s no water in sight. He can’t help out anymore.

Just in time, you burst out of the ATM building carrying something in one hand. “Let’s go!” he yells, webbing himself up a tall building nearby. The thwip of your own webbing follows, and then the two of you are racing across the rooftops back home.

“Holy fuck,” Mark gasps once you’ve reached your apartment building. It’s only midnight. You usually patrol until around one thirty, but Mark feels too shaken to fight at the moment.

You repeat his sentiments, sinking to your knees. One hand burrows into the pocket of your hoodie and pulls out something purple and glowing. “This broke off from that weird glowing thing one of them used to… control you?” You look at him, unsure. He just shrugs, not wanting to remember the experience. “It’s made of the same material as the gun I destroyed earlier.”

“This is definitely not just a one-time thing,” Mark groans. His legs start to wobble and he sits down too as you crush the object in your fist. “How many people do you think are involved with this… alien weapon stuff?”

You shrug helplessly. “At least the four people we fought today, and the robbers we saw last week, maybe?” Your expression turns dark. “I think they escaped. I started fighting Hulk when the Iron Man guy just fucking tore down Delmar’s store, and then the sirens started blaring and I had to get out. When I looked back, they were gone.” An angry sigh bursts from your lips. “Hulk and Iron Man probably cut their two friends away and escaped.”

It’s a blow, but Mark takes comfort in the fact that the two of you and Mr. Delmar are alive. “Well, we’re alive. And now we know what to look out for.”

Humid air blows in the silence.

“I guess we have to figure this out?” you say.

“Wasn’t aware that we were private investigators now,” Mark teases, pulling his mask down slightly for some fresh air.

“Wasn’t aware that people wanted to make weird glow-y weapons out of alien materials either,” you snap back, doing the same.

Mark laughs a little and squeezes your hand. “Let’s just go to sleep,” he says. “I don’t think… neither of us are in a state to do much more patrolling tonight.” His weak knees and stinging throat agree.

You do too, clearly, because you get up without complaint. “See you,” you murmur, ready to climb down to your window.

He waves, wondering what the universe will throw at you both tomorrow.

. . . . .

“Are you going to homecoming?” Jihyo bounces up to you at the end of the day, eyes wide with excitement. “This year’s theme is Harry Potter!”

You blink. “Since when was the homecoming theme announced?”

Jihyo cocks her head in confusion. “Yesterday, in homeroom?”

Your brain holds no recollection of that. Then again, you weren’t paying attention to the announcements. Mark’s new design for the earpieces was taking up most of your focus at the time. They’re pretty good, you think – you can’t wait to try yours on tonight.

“Um, I don’t know.” You shrug. “When is it?”

“In exactly three weeks.” Jihyo grins widely. “I’m going with Daniel! You should come with Mark.”

Something in you curdles as memories of last year crop up, when people thought you and Mark had broken up even though you were never dating in the first place.

Mark is your best friend, nothing more. Why would you go with him?

Plus, last you heard, he had a crush on Lia, one of the girls on the Academic Decathlon team. If anything, you’ll push his cowardly ass to ask her instead.

You feel a twinge of something that doesn’t feel good when that thought runs through your mind. The fact that you can’t put a name to it just makes you feel even more irritated than you already do.

“Maybe,” you reply unconvincingly, closing your locker. “I don’t have a dress.”

If anything, that just makes Jihyo grin wider. “I can go dress shopping with you! Lia and Yeri wanted to get new dresses too, so we can all go together!”

You try to smile. “Thanks. I’ll, um, let you know if I can go sometime soon, all right?” The bell rings, and you turn away right after catching her nod.

Homecoming. As if you didn’t have enough to worry about between Wang’s lab, homework, AcaDec, and patrol, now you have to think about wasting one night to wear a fancy dress and watch the other people around you spike the punch or sneak sips of vodka in the bathroom.

You don’t even know if you have enough money for said fancy dress.

Johnny would probably tell you to go for it anyway. It’s your junior year already, so you be experiencing what Midtown High has to offer. He’d definitely find some way to afford a nice dress and shoes.

But you don’t want him to have to take more extra shifts at the office just for a dress. He’s done enough for you.

You sigh, slipping into a seat in the auditorium for AcaDec practice. Mark’s at the other end of the room, talking to Haechan and Jaemin, so you take the opportunity to put your head down and close your eyes.

It’s practice time. You will the irritation flooding your brain to subside. Even though you’re practically a shoo-in for the team, you still don’t want to run the risk of losing your spot to someone like Flash.

Mr. Harrison, the team sponsor, claps his hands and the talking dies down. You lift your head to see Mark and Lia walking over together, while Haechan and Jaemin take seats next to you.

Since when were Mark and Lia talking?

Actually, since when did Mark have the courage to talk to his crush alone without stuttering up a storm?

A slight smirk crawls onto your lips at the thought, despite the lingering irritation at the back of your mind. Mark looks over and frowns slightly. You good? he mouths.

You nod, smiling, then cock your head slightly in Lia’s direction. She’s at the head of the table now, since it’s her turn this week to read the questions. A small blush blooms on Mark’s cheeks and he starts to look uncomfortable.

Two emotions war inside of you – satisfaction at seeing your best friend flustered, and the other feeling from before that you couldn’t name. Before you can get distracted, though, Lia calls attention.

As she starts reading the first question, you push your feelings away. Emotions mean nothing in the face of AcaDec nationals.

. . . . .

Mark feels like he shouldn’t have come to this party.

It’s not just the fact that he doesn’t really like parties and feels kind of uncomfortable. It’s also that Lia only invited him, not you, and he kind of didn’t tell you the truth when he asked to call off patrolling today to be here.

He told you that he was sick.

He hasn’t been sick since the spider bite (which is a miracle in itself).

He could also hear the skepticism in your silence over the phone after he gave you that excuse.

Mark doesn’t even know why he lied. First, he’s a terrible liar. Second, you’re not stupid. Third, Lia holds really big parties, and you obviously knew that this one was happening.

All he does know is that you and Lia don’t exactly coexist peacefully in his mind. He likes Lia – definitely a bit more than as a friend – but you’re his best friend, his rock, the person who’s been there with him throughout everything.

It kind of feels like he has to choose between you two, and he really doesn’t like that.

So here he is, standing in the corner of the kitchen with a cup of (definitely spiked) punch in his hand that he’s yet to take a sip of. The noise level is a bit lower here, which is nice – he nearly got sensory overload when he walked into the living room. He mindlessly scrolls through his phone with his other hand, its light shining on the web shooters still around his wrists.

Even though he isn’t patrolling tonight, better safe than sorry.

“Mark!” Lia’s voice turns his head. She pops into the kitchen. “You made it!”

“Yeah.” He smiles as best he can, giving her a quick hug. “Thanks again for inviting me.”

Is that a blush on her cheeks? Mark can’t tell if it’s that or just the lighting leaking in from the living room. “Well, you aren’t usually at parties.” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “I wasn’t sure if you’d actually come.”

Mark doesn’t really know how to reply to that. After a short but awkward silence, he just gives a sheepish smile and a “sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry!” Lia laughs, her infectious cheer returning immediately. “Why are you here, by the way? Let’s go to the living room, that’s where all the fun is!” And before he can stop her or stutter an excuse to stay, she’s taking his wrist and dragging him into the chaos.

Mark’s feet stop at the edge of the crowd, but Lia’s take her to the middle. She’s a really good dancer, he can tell. She actually moves to the beat, while the others mostly just hop around weirdly.

But he doesn’t really like dancing, even though it’s fun to watch. The crowd is also pressing into him, making him feel uncomfortably claustrophobic. Lia’s smiling at him, obviously trying to get him to join in, but the music is too loud and the smell of sweat and alcohol is too heavy and before he knows it, he’s holding up his phone as if that’s an excuse and racing out of the house.

Outside, the air is warm and heavy, but there’s an underlying breeze that cools Mark’s cheeks and soothes his mind. His feet don’t stop once he’s left the house, and he keeps walking until he’s reached the sidewalk just in front of the lawn.

No one’s here. Everyone’s inside, dancing or drinking or wreaking havoc. Mark takes several deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, before he feels calm enough to think properly.

Looking back at the house, he doesn’t really want to go back. Mei gave him enough money to pay for an Uber back to the apartment, but he doesn’t feel like going home either. Instead, he memorizes where Lia’s house is and starts walking.

The quiet of Lia’s neighborhood is somehow very similar but also very different from his own. There’s the same susurrus of crickets and the wind blowing through trees that makes Mark feels somewhat like he’s at home, but it’s a much more peaceful quiet. Here, it feels like nothing while happen. Meanwhile, on his street, there’s always something ominous about the silence. Like something could very well explode any second.

And then something does explode.

It’s pretty faint. If it weren’t for his enhanced hearing, Mark probably wouldn’t have heard it. He turns around, frowning.

He’s actually walked pretty far from Lia’s house. Here, the houses are a little more run-down, and there’s a broken fence in the direction Mark heard the noise. Upon closer inspection, it doesn’t seem like he’d be trespassing if he jumped over.

Maybe he shouldn’t do it. Mark’s fingers run over his web shooters. He’s pretty sure he could make it out of a fight alive, but he only has his hoodie to cover his face. It might not be enough.

(The fact that he wore a hoodie to a party is a testament to how much he doesn’t know about parties.)

Another small explosion sounds, followed by faint voices. Mark pulls up his hood, tightens the strings so that only his eyes are visible, and leaps over the fence.

To his surprise, he’s actually wandered into the large field just outside Jaemin’s neighborhood, next to an old abandoned building that a lot of kids play in. It’s good. If he needs backup, you’ll know where to go.

Doubt strikes him. He told you he wasn’t patrolling tonight. If he calls on you, you’ll know he lied about being sick.

Well, you already know. This will just confirm it.

Suck down your pride, he thinks. If he finds that he’ll need help, he’ll take yours. Even if it means revealing that he lied to you.

Some would say he’s too worried about all of this, that he’s making a big deal of nothing. But it’s you. He’s never really held any secrets from you, and on your end, you’ve always told him everything as well.

Enough. He shoves his thoughts away and starts crossing the field. Running just makes him realize how convenient swinging is, and by the time he reaches one of the trees surrounding the field, he’s extremely disgruntled.

He leaps into the tree. Just beyond the field, purply-blue light shoots out of something and knocks out part of the abandoned building. One man crosses his arms, displeased, and asks for something more “low-key.”

This is a weapons trade. And the light from said weapons is dangerously familiar.

Fuck.

Mark calls you without really thinking. You pick up on the second ring. “Mark? What’s wrong?”

“Can you get to the field just outside of Jaemin’s neighborhood?” He leaps into another tree, closer to the explosion. “There’s… three men. And a van. And…” He sucks in a breath. “The van is full of those glowing weapons.”

There’s a beat of silence on your end. Then – “I thought you were sick?”

Mark winces. “I’ll explain later. Promise.”

You sigh. “Give me ten minutes.”

. . .

Nine minutes later, you’ve leapt into the same tree Mark’s hiding in. Your face is covered by your mask, but he can already sense the suspicion and disapproval radiating from your hidden expression. He winces again, but it disappears quickly when you see the van.

“Shit,” you mutter.

Mark likes the way you can sum up situations into one loaded word.

“Stay out of sight for a bit,” you say. “You don’t have a mask, so it’ll be easier for them to identify you if they see you.”

He nods.

“I’m going to try to take out the one in the van.” You point to one man, who’s poking around the back of the vehicle. “Wait no, the other guy has a gun. Fuck…”

“I’ll take out the gun,” Mark whispers. “You go with the guy in the van.”

You purse your lips under the mask. “Okay. You said this is a trade, right?” Mark nods. “If you can, follow the guy who’s supposed to be buying. If we don’t get answers tonight, I think we’ll have to ask him some questions later. Meet me back at the apartment roof.”

“Got it.” Mark stretches out his arm. “Ready…”

“Now.”

His aim is perfect. The gun wrenches itself from the man’s holster just as you leap from the tree, entangling your guy’s legs in webbing.

“This was a set-up!” Mark’s guy yells, rounding on the buyer. The buyer quickly raises his hands and begins denying the accusation, but the other man pulls out another gun and whips it between Mark’s tree and the buyer.

You’re still tussling with the guy in the van, who’s picked up one of those three-pronged things Mark had to deal with and is now aiming it at you. There’s no way you can turn around to help.

Mark’s just decided to jump out of his tree too when you’re thrown out of the van with a blast of purple light. You get up quickly, but by that time, his guy has jumped into the van too and is revving the engine.

Then, because you’re fucking nuts, you shoot a web into one of the open back doors. The van starts driving away, dragging you behind.

He almost yells your name before he remembers that’s not a good idea, but a gasping shout still escapes his throat. You turn back just as the van starts speeding up. The message behind your masked face is clear.

GO.

The buyer starts sprinting away. Heart in his throat, Mark follows.

. . . . .

Covered in muck and dirt, you swing onto your apartment rooftop. You must look slightly unhinged, because Mark actually takes a small step back.

“Are you… okay?” he asks tentatively.

“No, I’m not fucking okay,” you snap, ripping off your hoodie. Your shirt is just slightly damp underneath, but it still stinks. “First, my best friend lied to me about being sick for some reason I still don’t understand. Second, I got roped into a mess because said friend found some criminals when he was supposed to be sick and apparently needed my help. Third, I was actually about to beat up said fucking criminals before a flying vulture man just fucking snatched me off the top of the weapons van, tossed me around in empty fucking air, and then dropped me into a goddamn fucking dumpster.”

Silence falls on the rooftop. You’re still seething – mostly because of the stupid vulture dude, what the fuck even was that – but Mark looks so guilty and upset that you start to feel sorry for yelling at him.

“Look, Mark.” You rub a hand over your face before remembering said hand was covered in muck until a few seconds ago. Ugh. “I’m sorry. I’m just really mad about the vulture guy and losing the van, and I’m definitely still upset that you lied to me, but I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“No, I’m sorry too.” Mark shuffles his feet a little. “I… Lia invited me to her party at the last AcaDec practice. I didn’t really want to go, but she looked so hopeful that I decided to. She didn’t invite you, and it just felt like it’d be really awkward if I told you about it, so I told you I was sick.” He winces.

Irrational anger boils in your chest but you force yourself to breathe. “You shouldn’t have lied, Mark.” You cross your arms, but your voice remains steady. “You should’ve told me. Why didn’t you think I would understand?”

“I don’t know.” Mark is starting to look frustrated, which makes you even more upset. It’s mostly his fault you’re in this situation now, anyway. “It always seemed like you didn’t like Lia very much.”

Well, that much is true. But how dare he say it out loud?

“Whatever.” You know you’re being slightly (really) petty, but you’re covered in dumpster juice and you think you have the right to be angry. You also really want a shower. “You don’t need to sneak around to be with your crush. It’s fine by me. Just go.”

“Y/N, that’s not fair,” Mark protests. His face twists up in anger.

“Yeah, you know what’s not fair?” you snarl, holding up your ruined hoodie. “I had to go dumpster diving because you decided to lie about going to a party with your crush!”

“I didn’t know this would happen!” Mark snaps back. “And even if I’d told you the truth, we’d still have fought those guys anyway!”

You scoff. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t have lied.” Your lips curl. “Next time, just tell me the fucking truth. You don’t need to hide your crush around me, and you know I hate liars.”

You don’t stick around for his reply.

. . . . .

After last night, Mark doesn’t really feel like talking to you. He realizes he was wrong to lie, but he’s also pretty sure you’re overreacting. And logically, that would be sound because you were spitting mad at the vulture dude (who he kind of wants to see in person. Is he a cross between a vulture and a human? Or does he just have metal wings, like Falcon?) and you were thrown into a dumpster.

From the smell of your clothes, it wasn’t a very clean dumpster either. If such a thing even exists.

But he doesn’t feel like apologizing, not unless you decide to as well. He knows he’s being petty. And he isn’t usually petty.

Then again, he usually doesn’t fight with you either.

He still waits for you in the apartment lobby, anyway. Mark doesn’t feel so pissed at you that he’ll leave all of your traditions behind. You look a little surprised when you come down, but you nod at him in greeting anyway.

The walk to the train station is silent but filled with awkward tension. As the two of you descend belowground, Mark remembers when people asked him if you two broke up last year, when you hadn’t even actually had a fight.

He wonders if people will ask him that same question again today.

Five minutes pass in the train before Mark can’t bear the silence anymore. “I followed the buyer to his house last night,” he says abruptly. “He’s not far from us. I heard someone call him Davis.”

“Oh.” You shift awkwardly in your seat. “That’s… good.” A beat of silence. “When do you want to go and talk to him?”

God, Mark hates this so much. He almost swallows his pride and apologizes right then and there, but self-righteous anger boils in his chest again and he gladly lets it reign. “We can try and tail him Saturday afternoon?” he suggests.

You shrug. “Fine by me.”

The day is awful. The awkward tension between you two is literally palpable, especially since you sit next to each other in every class you share. At lunch, Haechan and Yeri try to keep up some conversation, but it doesn’t last longer than ten minutes before the words dwindle away.

After school, Mark makes up some excuse about wanting to visit Professor Tuan’s lab. It’s not a lie, really – he’s not required to come by today, but Mark has been wanting to pick up some scrap metal for some time. He wants to see if he can upgrade his web shooters and make them a little less bulky.

You nod and let him go without saying much. That would hurt a lot more if he didn’t know just how awkward you have to be feeling as well.

Mark sighs as he walks through the university halls. He aimlessly looks around the doors he pretty much knows by heart now – Dr. Yang’s has a chemical burn on his nameplate, while Dr. Brook’s door is marred by thumbtack scratch marks from his children – but one of them still catches his eye.

Dr. Roberts.

He narrows his eyes. Wasn’t that the same lab that set off his danger sense the day he felt jumpy for no reason?

Mark checks his phone. It’s four, and Dr. Tuan usually leaves at five.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to take a look inside Roberts’s lab.

There are security cameras here, he knows. But he won’t be doing anything wrong. And even if he gets caught by someone inside – though he can’t hear any heartbeats or breathing, so he thinks that’s unlikely – he can just pretend he was lost.

His knock on the door remains unanswered. When he turns the doorknob, it’s unlocked. He steps inside.

It’s a normal lab. Beakers of oily stuff and spare pipet tips litter the tables, while expensive-looking machines crowd the floor. It doesn’t look suspicious at all. His sixth sense isn’t going off at all, so he’s not in imminent danger.

It doesn’t make sense. His danger sense has never been wrong before.

Well, maybe it was a fluke. Something could’ve been on the verge of exploding in the lab that day, which his sense registered, but nothing actually happened. Maybe someone contained the explosion.

Something tells him that’s not the case, though.

It doesn’t matter. Mark doesn’t want to be caught snooping, so he quickly heads out, making a silent promise to come back and take a look again soon.

. . . . .

Saturday comes too slowly and too soon. You and Mark have loosened up a little, but there’s still tangible tension in the air when you two come together. So as the two of you walk to the buyer’s house – Davis, you remember Mark saying his name – the silence feels like it’s eating away at your soul.

Add that to the fact that it takes almost eight hours for this Davis guy to exit his house, and you want to die.

Okay, so maybe you did overreact a little that night.

Fine. A lot.

But in your defense, Mark knows how much you detest lying. The justice system did enough of that to your family. He also has to know how much it hurts to think that someone so close to you doesn’t trust you to know something.

Look, you might not like Lia very much. You don’t know why – maybe it��s because she always looks so perfect and poised, and the fact that she’s really smart too. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s rich and you’re still struggling along in life.

It’s probably jealousy. But you don’t have the desire to unpack all that, so you leave that thought alone.

Yet if Mark actually liked her, you wouldn’t actively discourage it. As far as you can see, Lia’s a decent person. She seems to like Mark for who he is, and not just because he can provide answers to the homework.

It hurts that he didn’t trust you enough to tell you he was going somewhere with her. The two of you are in high school, for fuck’s sake. If he wants to date, he can date. Where’s the problem in that?

As the minutes tick by, you consider apologizing to Mark over your earpiece. But that feels too much like apologizing over text, so you resolve to find a better situation at some point.

(Who knows when that point will come.)

Davis finally leaves his house at around three in the afternoon. You tell this to Mark over your earpiece, and he immediately begins following as per the plan. He’s supposed to figure out where Davis is going and clue you in. You’ll handle the questions because most criminals know your voice already (it’s a side effect of yelling awesome witticisms during fights) and because Mark has a tendency to stutter with strangers and not sound commanding.

An hour passes before Mark tells you he’s gone to a grocery store and rattles off the license plate of Davis’s car. You swing into the parking garage just as Davis walks in, and a well-placed glob of webbing sticks his hand to the car trunk.

“The fuck?” is all he gets out before you walk into view, mask on. You don’t know exactly where Mark is hiding, but you trust him to get you out if things don’t go as planned.

“Hi!” You put on an annoyingly cheery voice, flipping up to sit on the roof of the car. “I’ve got questions about your trade deal with the glow-y weapons from the other night.”

The guy pulls at the webbing. A stab of pride shoots through you when it doesn’t let him go. “What the fuck is this?” he complains, pointing at the sticky glob. “Come on, seriously?”

You shrug. “Maybe I’ll tell you how to get it off when you tell me everything you know about that group of people selling highly illegal and dangerous weapons.” You pause. “Oh, and if you know anything about a weird vulture dude working with them, that would be great as well.”

He looks up at you, eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re not very intimidating, you know that, right?”

That… kind of hurts. Underneath your mask, you pout. “If you say so. But I can stay here all day. And from the looks of it, you have ice cream in your bags.”

“How did you know?” Davis looks at you weirdly. “You smell it or something?”

You shrug again. “Don’t worry about it. Are you going to tell me what you know?”

“What’s in it for me if I do?”

A deep sigh passes your lips. Do you have to spell it out for everyone? “Those weapons literally took out the entire corner of Delmar’s deli.” You wave your hands around for emphasis. “The entire fucking corner. If stuff like that gets into more people’s hands, things are going to be a lot more dangerous than they already were.”

“The fuck would you know about dangerous?” Davis scoffs. “Where do you even live?”

“The neighborhood five streets down from you.” Your voice turns flat. “You know, the one where my parents were killed by a rich family’s drunk son, and my best friend’s uncle was shot by a thief no one managed to catch.”

That shuts him up.

“Look.” You rest your cheek on your fist. “I started doing this –” you wave a hand at your mask – “because I didn’t want other people to deal with the same shit that we did. And if you don’t tell me what I need to know, I’ll find out some other way. I don’t want those weapons in the streets. From what you said that day, I don’t think you do either.”

Davis sighs. “No, I don’t. I have a nephew in the area. Want to keep the place safe for him. The vulture guy’s a psychopath.” He looks into the eyes of your mask. “I know one of them. Charles Roberts. He’s not the vulture dude, but he’s pretty high up on the ladder.”

“Charles Roberts.” You repeat the name. Something about it feels familiar, but you’re not completely sure why. “Thanks, dude!” You flip off the car, ready to leave.

“Hey, what’s this?” Davis pulls at the webbing on his car. “You said you were gonna let me go!”

“Oh!” You turn around with your most beatific smile (even though no one can see it). “It’ll come off naturally in two hours.”

“I have ice cream!” he protests.

“I know!” You wave wildly. “Still a criminal!”

You don’t sweat it. Mark will definitely let the guy go, anyway.

. . . . .

Mark’s heart is pounding like nuts when the two of you sneak in Roberts’s lab under the cover of night. Just hours before, he’d almost had an aneurysm upon hearing “Charles Roberts” coming out of the buyer’s mouth. With a quick Internet search, he’d confirmed that Charles was indeed the first name of the professor who ran the lab that had given him the alert before.

Something makes him uneasy as you pick the lock. Sure, you’ve avoided all the security cameras as best as you can, and the lock opens quickly with a quiet snick, but there’s still a bad feeling in his stomach.

It isn’t like his danger sensor. No, there’s no imminent danger at the moment. He just feels… bad.

Thankfully, the enhanced sight that came with the spider bite allows him to see things in the dark much more easily than before. No flashlights means no increased chance of being caught. Aided by the dim glow of the emergency lights, the two of you start looking around.

Just like last time, Mark doesn’t find much at first. The beakers that littered the tables before have been cleaned and are now sitting in neat rows on a different table. Someone’s put the pipet tips into glass cabinets. A few experiments sit half-finished in incubators.

Then you find the trapdoor.

It’s underneath a huge machine that Mark doesn’t know the name for. If it hadn’t been for your increased strength, you probably wouldn’t have found it. Together, the two of you shift the device over and descend through the trapdoor.

Only to be immediately met with a blast of purple light.

Mark’s the second one in, so he doesn’t feel the full brunt of the attack. You drop like a stone, groaning, but Mark just feels slightly dazed. This light isn’t destructive, like the beam that cut through Delmar’s. It’s just… disorienting.

“Oh, it’s the spiderkids again!” someone says cheerfully. Mark rolls aside just in time for another beam of light to cut into the floor right where he was. He looks up.

A grinning man’s face meets his eyes. There are too many teeth in the smile. The eyes are cold and hard.

“You!”

Mark whips around to see you standing up slowly, clutching at your stomach like the light was something solid that actually punched your skin. “Fucking… vulture man!”

“This is the vulture dude?” Mark yelps before he can stop himself.

Mark can now see why Davis labelled this guy a psychopath. There’s no feeling in his eyes at all – just cold anger.

“And I thought I left you in the dumpster.” He lifts the weapon again. “Should I dump you there again?”

With a roar, you launch yourself at him just as two more men materialize out of the shadows. Mark immediately starts attacking, drawing their attention away as your fight begins.

Two flashes of light nearly blind him, while another nearly renders him immobile. He wrenches himself out of his daze, using his webs to pull himself onto the ceiling and drag one of the weapons away. Unsure what to do with it, he hesitates for a split second.

And in that second, the vulture guy decides to spread his wings.

You’ve got enough presence of mind to leap out of his reach, sending out jets of web fluid to trap the huge metal wings extending from a contraption on the man’s back. Mark hurls his weapon at the vulture, but he’s already crashing through the ground floor of the university, laughing loudly. Another crunch sounds faintly above and you swear. “He’s flown out of the fucking building.”

Mark turns around. The other two men have disappeared – where, he doesn’t know, because he can’t see any more openings here other than the trapdoor and the hole in the ceiling.

Something beeps ominously in the corner. Frowning, Mark looks over.

You come to the conclusion at the same time he does. “Bomb!” you yell, leaping for the trapdoor. You disappear from view, then a hand reaches down to help Mark jump out.

The beeping increases in volume and intensity as Mark jumps with all his strength. One hand grabs yours. The other releases a string of fluid, attaching to the wall just across. He scrambles out just as the bomb explodes.

His body hits a wall with a sickening crunch and he blacks out.

. . .

When Mark opens his eyes again, he’s in a darkened area just behind the university. Sirens blare, there’s a fire somewhere, and the sound of the explosion is still echoing in his brain.

“Mark?” Your face, frantic with worry, swims into his vision. He blinks, and your expression turns to one of abject relief. “Thank God!”

Air rushes past the skin of his face. Belatedly, he realizes you’ve removed his mask. “What happened?” he gasps out, trying to sit up.

“There was an explosion, and you got thrown into the wall.” You press your trembling lips together. “I got tossed away too, but I had enough time to react and sort of steady myself. I carried you out, but I couldn’t get us back home unless you woke up.”

The two of you watch in silence for a bit as a fire truck douses the flames. “Well, there goes our only lead,” Mark finally mumbles.

You sigh. “We’ll find another one.”

Doubt pushes through Mark’s muddled brain. “Should we?”

The look you give him is one full of confusion. “What?”

“I don’t know.” Mark finally sits up, resting his back against a wall. The cool night air helps clear his head, but it also makes his back feel more painful. “If we’re going to get into all of this trouble over it, should we really be the ones dealing with it? I mean, we’re only kids.”

“Mark, no one else knows about this,” you say, a note of anger entering your voice. “If we don’t figure it out, who will?” You scoff. “The Avengers? They only deal with world-scale stuff!”

“Well, maybe!” Mark snaps. “If it becomes a big enough threat, they’ll deal with it! We’re literally teenagers, Y/N – what else have we even done with this, besides make things worse?”

“What if we can make it better?” you yell. “You just want to leave it, even if there’s a chance that we could fix things?”

“Do you want to die for this shit?” Mark snarls.

Your eyes narrow to slits. “So you just want to give up.”

He doesn’t reply.

“Fine. Okay, fine.” You stand up and shove your mask back on. “Jesus. I can’t believe you. Fucking… doesn’t matter. I’ll figure this out on my own. Just stay home and do… fucking whatever.” You sigh. “Let’s go.”

Swinging back home is a nightmare. Between his slight headache, aching back, and the chill between you two, Mark thinks this whole experience might be worse than death. On the rooftop, you don’t even wait for him before climbing down the side of the building into your room.

Well, whatever. Mark stands by what he said before. All the two of you have done is fuck up – first the ATM robbers escaped, then everything got botched the night he went to Lia’s party, and now all the evidence of any wrongdoing has been exploded at the university.

Shit. Professor Wang’s and Professor Tuan’s labs are probably fucked up too.

The two of you can’t keep fucking shit up. He doesn’t want either of you to die because of a mistake. And if it takes his silence for you to realize that…

He can handle it.

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years ago

Text

Black Cloth and Star Systems- Fusion AU

Ao3, MasterPost, More of This AU

Legally speaking this is the second installment in my fusion au, and u should definitely read the first one!! but it is not necessary to understand this one.

Relationships: Romantic Analogical, (briefly) mentioned romantic Royality

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, minor insecurity (it is Logan after all), one (1) kiss, excessive cuddling, Virgil and the Logan/Virgil fusion both have monster-like traits (big teef, pointy ears, nocturnal eyes, etc.), the fusion is also agender because I said so, and seriously lots of flowery descriptions cuz I was really having a good time with this one. Oh, and lack of sleep/unhealthy sleep schedules, brief mention of paranoia (very very minor), and I think I accidentally implied that Virgil has ADHD but that’s par for the course.

Word Count: 3,797

Logan stared at the ceiling of his room, tired eyes tracing over the patterns etched into it. They were irregular, scrawls and lines that bumped up from the plaster and stretched on and on. If he squinted, they could almost look like maps- charting and directing the reader across a very foreign land, and in addition the reader might not be good with following maps, which would explain why this one seemed so vague. Or maybe it wasn’t showing a place at all. Nowhere real, at the very least.

Oh, what the fuck was he talking about. The ceiling was a goddamn ceiling, and Logan was exhausted.

Sleeping would be the ideal solution, and it was something he definitely wasn’t opposed to, but by this point it was borderline impossible. Logan could shut his eyes, but he knew all he’d see would be that blinding flash of pink light. He could try and try to relax beneath his blanket, but still he would see double-set of eyes, swirling between emerald green and cinnamon brown, set behind big cutesy-framed glasses. He’d picture those two pairs of arms, that staggering display of height, and the body that was decorated with gold and crimson and sky-blue.

What he was seeing was beyond understanding, and it was all that he could think about. His friends had fused. Patton and Roman, out of pretty much nowhere, had become one being right before everyone’s eyes. One burly, talkative, and endlessly fascinating being.

Like any person who persistently sought knowledge, Logan had taken to investigating the new creature at once. He’d had questions, burning questions, but Patron- as he’d named himself- had requested some alone time in his new form. It was a perfectly reasonable ask, so Logan resolved to postpone his interviewing until Patron was ready. But then, just as he was looking forward to finding out more about him that next morning, he was back to being two sides. Two sickeningly sweet sides who were way too caught up in their new relationship to answer any of Logan’s questions copacetically (All their answers had been full of purple prose, talking about how fusing was just the most amazing thing, and providing no real insight into it at all).

Logan, presented with bizarre occurrences and offered no explanation, was understandably restless, abuzz with curiosity, and frustrated. And, if he was being honest, he was interested in the topic beyond what could be considered objective study, as well.

Very interested, in fact. He found himself wondering that… perhaps… Was he also capable of fusion?

Yes, the best way to learn about it would be to experience first-hand, so that would solve that problem. But that was hardly Logan’s entire reason for wanting to try it; Patton had soundly reported that forming Patron helped his and Roman’s communication by miles. Specifically vis a vis their more affectionate emotions, which really ended up being the thesis of the whole ordeal. It was, fundamentally, a very affectionate thing.

Logan sat up abruptly, shooting a glare at his door from across the room. This was getting ridiculous; it would be a horrible idea to try something as significant as fusing with so little information on it. Just because it seemed self-explanatory didn’t mean that it was, and the results could be unstable and catastrophic!

But.

But it wouldn’t be. There was the side he knew- the side he trusted- well enough to believe that it wouldn’t really go so awry.

Logan was making excuses.

What was there to be explained verbally that wouldn’t be much easier to just experience? Patron had proved two things: 1, fusing could happen, and 2, fusing could un-happen without issue. Any of the specifics would be figured out best by firsthand experience, that was pretty evident.

So Logan was making a few excuses, and maybe he was a bit scared about the whole thing, but so what? It was a moot point anyway, because Virgil would never want to participate in it, anyway. The idea of fusion would only upset the anxious side, maybe send him spiraling, and that was the last thing Logan wanted.

With a groan, Logan flopped back down onto his bed, resuming his studious observation of the popcorn-patterned ceiling.

…

Yeah, it wasn’t working.

Logan dragged himself up yet again, flinging the covers off of his legs harshly. He sat, immobile, glaring down just past the foot of his bed for an uncertain amount of time. He then heaved a very over dramatic sigh, kicked his legs over the side of his mattress, and stood. He set his feet down as though the carpet had personally wronged him, trodding across the room and throwing his door open with the same temperament.

The hallway was pitch dark, but Logan barely noticed it. He made his way down the stairs, the map of the Mindpalace splaying out in his head and directing him as well as light would. As soon as he hit the bottom of the stairs, his (moody) stomping ceased, for the time being. He tipped his head to one side, confused, as he listened out.

There was a perfect silence.

An abrupt perfect silence. The very specific type of quiet that was too clearly manufactured. Such a- a tense hush could only be brought about by someone deliberately holding their breath.

Logan shuffled his feet, peering into the blackness. Something shifted over by the couch, and the gleam of two reflectively-paneled eyes made themselves apparent. Logan yelped in fright, stumbling over his legs and bumping his back into the wall.

There was a thump from across the room, a curse of ‘oh, shit’, and another shimmer from those eyes, animalistic and narrow.

“Logan?” A gravelly voice asked, “Is that you?”

Logan blinked, staring at the dark silhouette that had come to stand before him. Animalistic, perhaps, but very very tall, and very very person-shaped.

“Virgil?”

A lamp clicked on, washing the room in low and orange light, revealing that the creature was indeed Virgil. He looked considerably more human, now that he could be seen past his imposing outline- and he also looked more tired.

Somehow, despite all of the other oddities in their situation, Logan found himself preoccupied by the smallest detail.

“Your eyes, Dear,” he drew forward for a closer look, “How haven’t I noticed? They’re reflective!”

Virgil shrugged impassively, leaning down to let Logan hold his head and examine the unusual feature.

“You can’t really tell unless it’s very dark out, or if you know what you’re looking for. I guess it just never came up.”

“But you can see in the dark, then?” Logan asked, perfectly aware that he sounded more than a little awed. Virgil just snorted, looking endeared.

“Yup,” he popped the ‘p’, “Is it that big of a surprise?”

Logan turned the question over in his mind, but after a moment he shook his head, no. Virgil already had a multitude of unique attributes- his fangs, his claws, and a few more distinct things that only appeared when he got particularly stressed. (All of the sides had traits like those, actually. Of them, Logan was certainly the most average- the only discrepancy had to be his slightly exaggerated proportions, and even that couldn’t compare to some of the others’.)

Virgil hummed vacantly, shifting his weight a few times over. He kneaded his shoulder, glancing down at Logan with sudden interest.

“So, what’s up with you? It’s like, three in the morning.”

Logan stiffened, but tried to disguise the worry.

“I could ask you the same question,” he deflected, ineffectively. Virgil only smirked in response.

“I mean, I guess you could: paranoia, pent up energy, general inability to focus- you know, the stuff that keeps me up every night. You, though,” Virgil hovered over him, making him tilt his head back to keep eye-contact with their height difference. Logan felt his face flush, though it was only partially due to embarrassment. “You don’t stay up late, L, like ever.”

“I’ve just been thinking a lot,” he once more evaded.

“You’re always thinking,” Virgil responded with a laugh, but he stood up straighter and gave Logan his space. Logan glanced up, confused, only to get a shrug by way of reply. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, babe. I’m not gonna, like, interrogate you. I just… wanna make sure you’re okay, is all.”

“Oh,” he smiled, “Yes, I am. Thank you.”

Virgil gestured to the couch, returning the smile.

“Wanna stay up with me? Might help you get your mind off whatever it’s on.”

Logan relaxed at that, nodding a bit sleepily as he followed his partner to the sofa.

Virgil’s arm was twined around Logan’s waist, holding him into the taller trait’s side as they sat comfortably on the couch. In the near pitch dark, Virgil’s laptop was propped up against the coffee table, the screen lit up by slightly unnerving YouTube animations.

Truth be told, though, Logan had paid attention to exactly none of them. He had a few reasons for this: one, he was very sleepy. Two, Virgil was warm- much warmer than himself, as Logan had always had strangely cold skin, and the heat was calming. And three, he was still caught up in his own thoughts, albeit less frantic and frightened versions of them by this point.

He knew that Virgil could easily sense his anxiety, but still, Anxiety did not pry. Add that to the many-paged list of reasons why Logan appreciated him as much as he did.

Appreciate him he did, yes, and he also- he trusted him. Completely. To such a degree that, in the serene partial-silence between the couple, Logan found himself wondering what would happen if he just… told Virgil? If he explained what was on his mind, would it really upset him as much as he feared? The idea of fusing, well, just talking about it couldn’t be too much of a disaster. They were too strong, too stable for that.

“Virge?” Logan didn’t turn to look at him as he spoke. The name was really just a murmur on his lips, uttered noncommittally and with the hope that it might just go unheard.

With a soft click, the video paused, and Virgil shifted.

“Yeah?”

Oh. He was really doing this.

“Could I ask you about something?” Logan would’ve left it at that, but feeling Virgil tense up beside him, he hurried to elaborate: “It’s nothing bad, my love, I just- it’s what’s been worrying me, this evening.”

“Uh- ask away, I guess..”

Logan took a deep breath, feeling his heart rate increase concerningly. He was thankful for the lack of light in the room; if the embarrassed heat spreading across his face was any indication, he likely looked just as nervous as he felt.

He exhaled, trying to focus on Virgil’s arm around him instead of the worries. Everything would be alright.

“You remember when Patton and Roman fused, I trust?”

There was an almost subtle intake of breath from Virgil.

“Yeah, I wasn’t about to forget something like that, L.”

“Right, of course,” Logan found Virgil’s hand and wound their fingers together, fiddling with them. “I just wanted to know your thoughts on the situation.”

There was a beat.

“Um. I’m just relieved that they could get back to normal, I guess. I was sorta worried they’d get stuck- which doesn’t make a lot of sense in hindsight, but with how clingy they both are, I mean…”

Logan hummed, encouraging him to go on, despite the intelligent side’s swiftly fading hope.

“But, like, now that I know they’re okay, I guess it’s not really any of my business?” Hesitation laced Virgil’s voice, as though he wasn’t sure what he was meant to say. “Other than that, though, I just think it’s kind of weird. Like, the whole idea of it. Fusion.”

“‘Weird’ in a negative sense?”

“I don’t know, man,” Virgil huffed, “I mean, I’m not a big fan of cartoons but- it’s weird like it’s interesting, weird like I wanna know more. If that makes any sense.”

Oh. That was promising.

“It does make sense,” Logan whispered, desperately emphatic. The glow of Virgil’s eyes turned to him, wide enough that they looked like little full moons.

“Did you-” he stopped short. Inhaled sharply. Then asked it all in a rush: “Are you asking because you wanted to try it? With me?”

Logan stayed silent, gripping too-tight to his boyfriend’s hand. He sounded… surprised? But maybe not upset?

Oh, who was he kidding, he’d never been able to read tones, really, and it was too dark to try and figure out Virgil’s body language. He’d just have to go blind on this one.

“Yes,” Logan blurted, immediately holding his breath for a response.

Virgil was as stiff as a board. His hand was frozen in place, his gaze boring into Logan.

“Are you sure?”

His tone was soft, sweet, and so so careful. Logic blinked. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from Virgil, but he knew that it wasn’t something so… gentle.

“I- maybe? It’s not necessary, if you don’t think you’d be comfortable with-”

“That’s not what I was asking,” Virgil interjected, “I wanna know if you’re sure that you want this, not how you think I feel.”

Logan mumbled an apology, feeling oddly chastised. He collected his thoughts and tried again.

“Yes, I’m sure. I- I trust you, Virgil.”

Virgil relaxed considerably, his head dropping to rest in Logan’s hair.

“Okay. Good.”

And with that, he went quiet again. The show was not unpaused, though. Logan wondered if he was meant to say something, and if so he wondered what it was. But in the end he couldn’t make any sound at all.

Virgil’s hand slipped out of his, instead moving to the back of his neck. Logan instinctively leaned forward with its direction, letting himself be held close. In turn, he wrapped his arms around Virgil’s waist, turning sideways into him. He was close enough now to hear the beat of the anxious side’s heart, which was always rather quicker than anyone else's. This time, though, it was like a hummingbird’s, hammering loud and excited.

Logan tilted his head (as much as he could) in confusion. Had the conversation somehow affected Virgil more than it first seemed? Was something about the situation that spiked his anxiety? But that didn’t add up, either, because his breathing was completely even, and he wouldn’t let anyone be this close to him if he really was panicking.

Before Logan could ask what- if anything- was wrong, Virgil nestled his face in his hair, holding him impossibly tighter. And at that point, they were pressed flush together head-to-toe. And that was what made it click.

Oh, they were doing this now. This- this was Virgil’s way of attempting-

Logan hooked his ankle around Virgil’s, clumsily attempting to reciprocate the- erm, the Thing That They Were Trying. Heat rose in his cheeks at even the thought of it.

What was he supposed to do? Was there some way to activate it? Was it enough to simply touch, or was movement required to fuse? What if they couldn’t get it to work at all? That would make plenty of sense, Logan was logic and what was the possibility that he’d follow the same rules as, say, Roman-

“Hey.”

Logan glanced up, his neck straining at the angle. Virgil was gazing down at him, pupils expanded with fondness, his fingers easing through the hairs at the back of Logan’s neck.

“Calm down, okay?”

Logan might have commented on the irony of that, but Virgil was leaning forward and pressing their lips together oh-so gently, and all his thoughts flew out of the proverbial window as he kissed back.

It was soft, light, maybe a little clumsy. The touch was barely-there, really, just ghosting. And then it wasn’t there, at all. The feeling faded, as did so many others, but neither of them were moving apart- or at least, they didn’t think that they were. If anything, they seemed to be getting closer, and closer, but-

Closer to what, exactly?

They opened their eyes. Wait, no, they blinked a couple of times- ah, there, they opened all- five?- of their eyes. Not only was it no longer pitch black, but it seemed that lights had been conjured above them, dozens of tiny purple and blue tea lights that cast the living room in a pleasant glow.

Had- had they caused that? Somehow?

Conjuring on accident- how did they manage that? And what else could they do? What couldn’t they do, though, in this new form? Something like them was bound to have limitations.

They stood up sharply, and immediately cracked their head against the ceiling. They yelped in pain, silently amending that standing up straight while indoors was the first limitation to note. They hunched over, managing to keep upright if they just bent their knees and tilted their neck. And that brought on a much more important investigation into themself: their new physical form.

They were obviously very tall, but also sort of- long in general? Their limbs, their fingers, their face, every feature was very narrow, almost spider-like. And, on the topic of spider-like limbs, they had two sets of arms; one in the usual place, but another placed behind that, curving around from just under their shoulder blades. In addition, their fingers, lithe and spindly, were six on each hand. Despite the unordinary length to many of their appendages, though, they were still noticeably muscular. Wide shoulders, a defined abdomen, and sturdy legs.

With a sharp wave of their hand, they conjured a full-body mirror to hang in front of them, promptly leaning over to examine themself.

Their face was made of edges; sharp cheekbones, pointed ears, and blocky glasses that covered all of their eyes but the middle one. They ran their fingers through their shaggy, curled up hair- a good deal of which fluffed forwards past their forehead and into their face. It was mixed colors, swirls of purple and blue blending together in soft, bouncy locks.

They had interesting features aplenty, but one thing stood out dramatically. One thing that drew their attention at once.

The mouth.

Their lips were dark- almost black, with hints of color toned under it. They dragged a finger along it, but it didn’t wipe away like makeup. They opened their mouth, revealing long needles of teeth, dozens and dozens of them top and bottom- all except for the upper canines. Those were thick, overly large, and tinted with purple. They ended in dangerous looking points, shoving out past the new side’s lips even when they closed their mouth, appearing much like an arachnid's venomous mandibles.

They took a step back from the mirror, experimentally poking their big fangs. To their surprise, the teeth moved; just a wiggle, but enough to show that they were mobile, that they could be flexed and retracted. Well, that was...

That was sick as hell.

Now, to investigate their outfit: they were a little monstrous, sure, but also very smartly dressed. They wore a navy blue plaid waistcoat, laid overtop of a pastel purple sweater, which in turn was beneath a plain, black, short-sleeved button-up shirt. Their tie was a simple white with subdued flecks of violet and sapphire, dotted to look intentionally asymmetrical.

Their lower half also bore a layered aesthetic: sheer lavender leggings beneath strategically ripped black jeans. They also wore a short, tight skirt over it, the color and pattern matching that of their waistcoat. A few chains dangled from the belt loops on their hips, clinking a little as they moved. They had sleek black shoes with small platforms, something vaguely Demonia-style. Altogether, the look was a strange blend of elegant and alternative. Strange, but very, very, very… becoming, to say the least.

They couldn’t help staring at themself. Actually, ogling might be the more accurate word. They were hot, was that vain to say? If it was, they didn’t particularly care, because it was true. Of all the things they could have been together, confident wasn’t expected, but it was more than welcome. Because- damn.

Five minutes of gawking at their own reflection wound up being enough, in the end, and they forced themself to wave the mirror back out of existence. There were so many more things to consider about themself, after all, and that just couldn’t wait any longer. There were infinite things to know, God, they were a new creature entirely.

It was… it was overwhelming. They had so many questions. They had so many concerns, millions of them, and millions of thoughts that didn’t fit into either of the aforementioned categories, thoughts that existed just to fill up space in a head that suddenly felt overpacked. Too many minds in such a reduced space.

It’s okay, they thought, sucking in a deep, slow breath, One at a time, Dear.

There’s too much. I can’t see it all. I can’t explain all of it.

Which half of them was that? Was it… both? Both of them, comforting and receiving comfort? What an impossible creation they’d become! Wait, no, they had to focus on calming down before they gave that any thought.

We can’t get to all of it, they agreed with themself, Some of it, though, certainly.

Like what?

They thought for a moment.

We could start with a name?

Oh. That’s probably important.

Yes, just a bit.

They let their breath out in a laugh, pulling their sleeves past their hands and curling their fingers in the fabric. It took only a second of contemplation before, quite promptly, they knew what they were going to be called from now on. They knew their name, and everything else began to click into place from there.

Livril.

They sighed, contented, and sat back into the corner of the sectional. They didn’t exactly fit, curling up on the couch as they had before, but they were easily flexible enough to find a way. Now that they knew their name, they could really start learning who exactly Livril was.

There was so much they could learn from this, so many things they could enjoy this way. What music did they like? (Probably sad. Most certainly folk punk.) How did they speak? (sharply, they would guess.) How did they move? (Quick, startling, definitely fidgety.)

And that was hardly all, though it was a good start. There was so much more to get to, and they intended to answer all of it as soon as possible.

...But that ‘as soon as possible’ would probably be in the morning, because Livril fell asleep exactly two minutes after their head hit the couch cushion.

Taglist: @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob

#sanders sides #ts #analogical #my writing #fanfiction #fanfic #ts fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #fusion au #sanders sides fusion au #logan #virgil #WijjFusionAU #look i havent watched steven universe in like a year but dammit if fusion isnt cool as hell #anyway livril could make fun of me and id thank them

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