#I’m rusty so this version won’t be final

[rainydrawstuff]

My first post-injury sketch had to be the Yiling Laozu Wei Wuxian. Happy priDEMONth 😌

I missed drawing.... 🥹

[sunnie-angel]

Always and Forever

jason todd x f!reader

ao3 link

summary: jason tries to end things after a bad patrol. you won’t give him up without a fight.

tags: f!reader, smut, kissing, biting, piv sex, unprotected sex, fingering (mention) cock warming, orgasm denial (kind of), belly bulge, size kink (if you squint), overstimulation, creampie (if you think this is misproperly tagged please let me know) minors and ageless blogs do not interact

rated e (mdni) | wc: 5.5k

a/n: this is my first time writing smut (or a fic of this length) so please be gentle! if you find jason a little ooc, i’m still working on getting his ‘voice’ right, so just consider him one of the many versions we’ve all come to love. this started as a single smut scene and grew feelings and a bit of plot from there. this was definitely a labour of love so i hope you all enjoy it!

“We’re done. Us. All of it. You’re free to leave.”

The modulated voice of the Red Hood startles you. It’s nearly six in the morning, and you’ve been up since three when Jason didn’t return from patrol like he promised. He’s still in his Hood gear, hasn’t bothered to take off the helmet or even the boots crusted in who knows what. The leather jacket has taken a beating, and in the dim light of your apartment living room it glistens damply like he was caught in the earlier rain. He won’t even look in your direction, hands fisted at his sides, the darkened leather of his gloves taut across his knuckles. Jason didn’t come home like he promised and now he can’t even bear to look at you as he tears your heart in two. It’s understandable then, that when your voice returns to you and you can breathe around the lump in your throat, that your voice shatters the silence.

“Look at me. Look. At. Me.”

Only the way that his body locks up, somehow tenser than before, deflates you. A whole night’s worry and frustration drained away.

“Jay? Please take off the helmet and look at me.”

His black curls are matted to his forehead with sweat. His one white streak is dark with it,. Somewhere along the way he must have ditched the domino mask, because the sight of his bare face twists something tight in your chest. His beautiful eyes are red rimmed, tear tracks still staining his cheeks. His lips look bitten raw. He looks at you the way a dying man looks at salvation. Realization dawns slowly for you.

“You didn’t get caught in the rain, did you?”

A sharp nod, jaw clenching, but he doesn’t look away. Now you’ve noticed, you can’t stop. There’s a faint blood spray on the front of the helmet, barely visible from where Jason’s placed it on the counter. The leather jacket is soaked through with blood, darker splotches on his tac pants from where it’s followed gravity. The grime on his boots now looks rusty, though that might just be your imagination. Jason’s come home hours late covered in blood and is telling you to leave. This time, your voice is startlingly gentle.

“Jay we talked about this. You promised no life altering conversations when you’re covered in blood, remember?”

At the time, had been a joke. A promise made after a close call, when Jason was still loopy from sedation and painkillers and insisting he was going to duel Doc Leslie for your honour. Finally lucid, he had sheepishly promised no more dramatic ultimatums when he's covered in blood.

“But you need to—“

“No. You promised. What’s going to happen is you’re going to leave all your gear at the front door and we’ll deal with it tomorrow. You’re going to tell me if you’re injured and let me fix you up if you are. Then you’re going to shower. Then, and only then are we going to have this discussion.”

“I don’t—”

“Please.”

He caves at the way your whole body sags under the weight of one word. Carefully toes off his boots and socks, peels the stiff tac pants off, and lays his top and jacket on top of the whole pile. Reveals a smattering of bruises down his arms and along his rib cage. To get to the ensuite he has to walk past you and through your shared bedroom. The heat of him passing by has you turning after him, a star caught in his orbit, words curling to ash on your tongue. It’s only when he’s firmly out of sight that you allow yourself to collapse into the couch. Head lolling back, gaze fixed on the ceiling. Blankly you watch the headlights of passing cars loom and fade across the ceiling.

You do your best not to cry but wet trails burn down your face. You dash them away, but it does nothing to make you feel better. You don’t know if you’ll survive the coming conversation, a litany of “he doesn’t love me anymore, or at least not enough to keep me” is running through your head. Something is wrong, you think. Usually after a rough night, Jason can’t get enough of you. He comes home to your shared apartment and holds you, needs to feel the touch of your skin and the heat of your breath to truly know you’re alive. He's never the most talkative on the worst nights, but he always reaches out. Mumbles into your throat just to hear your replies, get you to distract him with chatter about your own day. He’ll act like he’s touch starved, press his split knuckles to the back of your hand, pull you into him until his nose is buried in the crook of your neck, pet and touch whatever bare skin is in reach. You're used to shaking off the vestiges of sleep to Jason between your thighs, fingers and tongue skillfully opening you up before he slides his cock inside, splitting you open just to feel you tighten around him. Tonight he hasn’t even reached out to hold your hand.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Jason stands in the doorway to your shared bedroom. Wet from his shower, the streetlight filtering through the curtains illuminating the water still beading on his skin. The bruises look less stark now. You look at him and feel love. You look at him and see the man you gave the most vulnerable parts of yourself to, ready to hand them back to you on a platter. Rolling your head to look at him properly, you notice he hasn't bothered to dress, wrapped in a towel like he couldn't wait to put off this conversation a moment longer. Your eyes meet, and it snaps whatever trance he's in. He shuffles over to you, eyes asking for permission to join you on the couch. The couch dips under his weight, and you turn on your side to face him, legs curling up to your chest.

"I'm glad you're home."

You reach out to brush his face, aching to remind yourself that's he's real but he shies back from the motion, denies you both the comfort of contact.

"Don’t. I'm not— I'm not good for you. We can't— I'm not gonna do this to you anymore."

"Do what to me Jason?" you ask, genuinely puzzled "Be us? I chose this, I chose you, and I have kept on choosing you from the beginning. I don't understand." By the end, you're truly pleading, begging with your voice and eyes and body for him to explain this to you. To explain why he's trying to make this choice for you.

"Bein' with me puts you in danger," he says slowly, carefully. "You think you know what you've signed up for but you don't. Not really. I painted a target on your back and now the worst of Gotham are gonna come sniffin’ at your door. You're never gonna be safe with me and I don't want to be the reason why you're hurt. You deserve better than me and a life of looking over your shoulder. I can't give you that, I'll never be able to give you that."

And oh, that hurts. The way he says it, dripping with self-loathing and certainty, cracks your heart open. It speaks of long held fears and convictions that he will never be good enough, that he is too broken and too dangerous to be loved.

"Did something happen tonight?" you ask, searching for a reason, anything, that would have brought old wounds to light.

"What?" Tension laces his body tight. There's a wild look in his eyes, shifting closer to green than blue.

"Jay, you made all of those risks clear to me before we were even real friends. So, what happened tonight to make you so sure that you'll be the death of me?"

Something about the way you state the question so matter of factly unsettles him enough to reply. "Heard some chatter down at docks about Black Mask setting up a new warehouse. Tonight was just supposed to be easy. Just about fuckin' with him, get B and Wing time to gather evidence on his new operation. He was waiting for us, probably set the whole thing up as a trap. Did a whole melodramatic monologue too 'bout how if we were gonna threaten his operation — the only thing that means anything to him — then turnabout’s fair play."

He's paused in his remembered anger, hands flexing against the couch cushions. You nod, trying to encourage him, not wanting to break the spell that got him talking in the first place. But you really don't like where this was headed. When he speaks again, its in a whisper.

"He knew your name. He knew who you are to me and he knew your fucking name."

The fear that jolts through you at that statement is matched by the intensity in his eyes. Distractedly you notice that you can’t feel your fingers. Heart racing, the only thing grounding you is the weave of the cushion under your cheek.

"Okay, we can— we can handle this. It'll be difficult but I can—"

"He's dead," Jason interrupts.

"He's what." All trains of thought come to a crashing stop.

"I killed him."

Its a confession and a plea for forgiveness wrapped in one. He can't quite look you in the eyes anymore, his whole demeanor screaming shame. Stunned and wide-eyed all you can do is drink him in, this incredible, ridiculous man. Car headlights cut through the shadows, lighting up the planes of his face and catching on the still too-green of his eyes. Somewhere along the way you've moved closer. His face is only a breath away and in the silence it feels unbearably intimate.

You can't help blurting out, "Can I kiss you?" The thought of being unable to touch him any longer is utterly unthinkable. Not when he's right in front of you, lips parted and waiting for you to pronounce judgement over him. He nods, shyly, and then you're in his lap. His face is cradled in your hands, eyes wide as he looks up at you. His lips are warm when you finally give in to the urge to taste him. They're rough from where he's bitten them but they're pliant against yours. Drawing back, you rest your forehead on his, unwilling to be any further apart.

"He had your name in his fuckin' mouth and I couldn't let him live for that. So yeah, I killed him. Him and every one a his lieutenants in the room that heard." Jason pauses, tries to gauge your reaction, continues on more self-consciously. "B and Wing couldn’t stop me and I didn’t want them to. He was a threat to you and I didn't know. You could have died and I wouldn't even've known what to protect you from." He tries to pull back from you, but you don't let him. Lets his motion pull you along with him, hands still cradling his face.

"Is that where all the blood is from? You're not hiding any injuries besides the bruises from me?" you ask worriedly. He's done it before, but you'd hoped he'd learned to trust you better. Jason goes to remove your hands from his face and you don't resist. He presses soft kisses to each of your palms before folding them to his bare chest right over his heart.

"Fuck sweetheart, I tell you that I've just killed a roomful of men and you want to know if I'm okay? You're not angry that I killed, again?" And oh he looks so ready for you to reject him. Waiting for you to turn away, to call him a monster, for your love to turn to horror.

When you speak, the words come out slowly, each syllable weighed out with care. "Am I bad person if I say that I'm grateful?" You can feel his heartbeat speeding up under your hands as you speak. "Because I am Jay, I'm so, so grateful. I'm grateful that I'll never have to worry about a bullet in the dark or getting taken off the street. Mostly I'm grateful that I won't be used to hurt you. But I'm also so very sorry Jay that you had to kill again." He shudders at that, closes his eyes and squeezes your hands tight tight tight. "I know that you were trying so, so hard not to kill, to live by your family's rules and I'm so sorry that you had to break that promise to yourself. Can you forgive me for putting you in that impossible position?"

"I— I don't need your forgiveness, not for this. But don't you see? I'm the reason you were danger. If I hadn't a been quick enough, if there's ever a day when I'm not fast enough, then you'd've died." At that he stops, swallows thickly, like he's considering a world where he doesn't save you. "This doesn’t end just ‘cause Black Mask’s dead. It’s every enemy the Hood has ever made knowing that my heart’s walking around outside my body.” And that, that makes your breath catch in your throat. Stuns you enough that you’re not fully prepared for what he says next. “So this, you and me, it's gotta be done. I'll move out tomorrow, pack things up later. I won't leave you unprotected, I'll— I'll still patrol but you won't have to see me again. You can have a clean start."

Now, now you are angry. Pushing off his chest you lever yourself upright, forcing him to look up at you. Straddled across his lap your balance is precarious at best but you need him to see you, to realize that what you say next is what you mean with every wretched part of you.

"No."

"No?" He's looking up at you, glazed eyes and mouth open wide with shock.

"No. Jason Peter Todd you do not get to make this decision for me." With every word you push your finger into his chest for emphasis, your whole body shaking with the force you're putting behind your words. "I knew the risks because you told me about them. I decided that I could live with them if it meant having you. I told you always and forever. I meant it then and I mean it now. So this, you and me, it’s over when I agree it is. I gave you my fucking heart and this is me not accepting it back. You tell me I’m free to leave anytime, well I’m not.” His hands have fallen to your hips where they clench and unclench. “You haven’t been able to keep me out of your sight lines for more than three minutes tonight. You can’t go a day without touching me, feeling me up and getting your cock wet. I know you don’t sleep half so well if I’m not in your bed and neither can I. I know the way you look when you think nothing you’ve done has ever been good enough and the face you make when you feel like a hero. I know you to your bones and you know me. You want me to live a life that you’re not a part of, well I won’t." Suddenly fed up with the chafing of the towel on your poor inner thighs you try to shift, when you feel him hard under the thin layer of the bath towel. You feel Jason freeze up, time crystallizing around you before speeding back up like a poorly wound tape.

“Off. Off now” You start pawing at the blasted towel unsuccessfully, before giving up and going for your own sleep pants. You’re half way through wiggling them off before Jason’s brain catches up with you and then he’s scrabbling to tear the towel off and get you bare. You grab his hardening cock and guide it to the entrance of your cunt. You’re still not slick enough for this, didn’t spend ages getting opened up on fingers first, but you’re desperate enough to make it work. His hands around your thighs are like iron, clinging to you like a life preserver. You take it slow, letting gravity do the work of spearing you open on his cock, unable to take him to the hilt in one swift motion the way you ache to. Jason’s a big man, always towering over you in size, and his cock is perfectly large to match. Already the stretch is just the other side of painful, the thickness of him cleaving you in two. You gasp like you’ve been punched with every inch downwards. By the time your hips meet his pelvis his stomach muscles are clenched and twitching from the effort of not just fucking up into you and taking what he wants. His fingers are buried in the couch cushions. Deliriously you wonder if the cushions will still be intact by the end of this conversation.

"So tell me again," you pant, "tell me why you think you can just walk away from me and all the love we have like it's nothing." Jason groans at your words, buries his face in your throat, hips still twitching with aborted thrusts.

"Please, please baby. Let me move— shit, let me make you feel good. God, sweetheart you're so fucking tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me." The growing roll of his hips is distracting. He's so fucking thick, this position making him feel like he's somewhere in your stomach, every flex of his muscles bullies him deeper, threatens to shake all the thoughts out of your head. That just won’t do. You take back control with a soft hand on his chest pushing him back until he's leaned right back against the couch cushions.

"You started this conversation Jay. It’s not done until you finish it. Besides, you’re the one that wants to put a stop to all this." You punctuate your words with a single calculated grind of your hips, make him claw at your hips with abandon. Revel at the weight of him inside of you. Trail your hand up his chest so you can thread your fingers into his damp curls. "Why should I let you move, hmm? Give me that list of reasons, and maybe I'll let you fuck me when we're done talking." His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the colour of his eyes anymore.

It takes a few false starts before he can put a coherent thought together. "Being— being with me makes, oh god, makes you a target. People'll go through you, tryna hurt me. You're gonna get hurt cus'a me, could die fr'me." He's trembling all over now, words slurring together and gasping for air. He settles a little when you run your other hand down his chest to trace his y-shaped scar, lean in and kiss him slow and sweet. Nip and tease at his already abused bottom lip.

"Love that ship went and sailed the first time you talked to me," you say. "There's no putting that back in the box and hoping everyone will forget that we were us." Taking your time, you mouth along his jawline, feel his hand slide under your shirt to come settle on the small of your back. "Say we split up, what then? Doesn't matter how often you swing by, someone'll always try and find a way. Tonight was just a reminder. How does breaking both of our hearts make that go away?" Nuzzling into that sweet space below his jaw, you can feel the way his pulse races and cock twitches in you. All the while you keep your hips tortuously still, warming his cock with your cunt, enjoying the stretch of him. A tug of his hair gets him talking again.

"I'm not a— not a good man. I've killed a lot a people, don't even regret most a'em." He can't look at you as he says it, eyes fixed on a spot over your shoulder. His hand on your back flexes, fingers tightening around your hip bone.

"Didn't we just go over this? Jay I'm glad you killed those men, and if that makes you a bad person so am I." This time its him that goes in for a kiss, latches on to the plush of your lips, licks his way inside. Cradles your skull and pulls you closer, has to stop kissing you to gasp when that shifts his cock inside of you.

"Sweetheart, you're the best person damn person I know," he breathes into your mouth. Traces over your cheekbone with the tip of his nose. "You're the best fuckin' thing to happen to me. But you shouldn't hafta decide if you're okay with me killing people. Shouldn't be something you gotta think about at all." There it is again, that tinge of self-loathing. And that's what it’s really all about isn't it?

"You're not making me do anything. You think I didn't know who I was saying yes to when you asked me out to dinner? That I was unaware of Hood's brand of justice? That unlike your family, I didn’t already approve of your methods? Love, I was grateful for you before you'd even walked into my life." Its a confession you hadn't said out loud before, but maybe you should've. Something about your faith in him has Jason whining at the back of his throat like a wounded animal. He tries to buck his hips but freezes when the hand in his hair forcefully tugs his head back, exposes the vulnerable line of his throat.

"Can't just say that sweetheart. Can't just say that and not let me fuck you full." Another tug at his hair has him moaning, the cords of his throat standing out. "C'mon, c'mon. You're so wet and so warm for me. I'll make you feel— feel so good." On the last word he tries to thrust up but you were expecting this, dig your knees into the couch to leverage up off of him at the same time he moves forward. You bite down on the soft skin of his throat before pressing a kiss to the forming bruise. Let go of his hair to clasp the side of his neck, rub your thumb over the hinge of his jaw. Let his head fall forward to your chest, resting his brow on your collarbone.

"I said after our conversation, didn't I? And those aren't your only reasons, are they?" you tease. "You can fuck me whenever you want Jay, you just have to be honest first."

He’s torn, you can tell. Caught between chasing his pleasure at the steep price of his darkest fears, but also wanting to do right by you, as misguided as this attempt is. But he’s been so truthful so far, deserves a reward for how good he’s been. So you clamp down, hard, feel his cock brush against that soft part of your gut that makes you shiver with pleasure. Enjoy the punched out sound that wrings from him. Grind your hips down in a filthy circle, once, twice. Then just as suddenly stop. Let him pant and shake, breath warm in the contours of your throat.

When he finally speaks, his voice is so small you can barely hear him. "M'scared." He shudders as he says it. Something in the curve of his spine screams vulnerable, sparks an itch in your fingers to touch and so you do.

"Think 'm too broken for you to love. Think 'm too broken to love you right. Scared one day that the pit's gonna burn too bright and I'll hurt you." Like a broken dam, the words come tumbling out so quickly now. All you can do is keep stroking his back, this giant of a man rendered so small in your arms. "That I'll wake up one day and it'll be my hands covered in your blood." The hate and self-loathing is almost palpable, an oil slick shadow creeping along the floorboards. You could cry from the way his voice shakes and cracks.

“Oh, love.” And this time it’s your voice cracking. “I’ve never thought of you as broken. There’s never going to be a day where I think you’re too broken for me to love. If the day ever comes that you do break, I’ll pick up all the shiny pieces with my bare hands if I have to. I’ll put you back together again even if it cuts me open because that’s what we do Jason. You don’t think there aren’t parts of me I’d rather smooth out too? You don’t have to love me perfectly to love me right.” He’s straightening up now, trying to get a better view of your face, needs to see the truth of your words. His arms have moved around you like a vice, holding on as if you’ll disappear if he lets go. “You’ve never hurt me Jason. Scratch that, you’ve never hurt me before tonight and your stupid, noble attempt to break up with me. But not once have you laid your hands on me and not once have I been afraid of you.” He tries to interrupt, opens his mouth to speak but you’re not finished. You lay finger over his lips, force him to let you say your piece. “But I know that the problem isn’t my trust in you, it’s yours. Besides Black Mask and his thugs, did you hurt anyone else tonight?” At the shake of his head you continue. “There you have it. Even tonight, when you had every reason to spin out of control you didn’t hurt anyone you didn’t mean to. So talk to me. We’ll figure this out. Hell, we’ll find you a therapist if that’s what you want. So trust me, at least, even if you can’t trust yourself.”

You’d swear there were tears in his eyes if you didn’t already know never to trust the early morning light. It’s past dawn now and in the silence Jason looks like something out of a fairytale. The weak golden light makes him look so alive, so vibrant. He sits there still as stone, holding you tight in his lap, dumb with the weight of your love and acceptance. His grin, when it breaks over his face, is a little watery but possibly the most precious thing you’ve ever seen.

“There’s really no scaring you off, is there?” It’s a weak joke, but he’s trying.

“No. There isn’t.” If your words don’t convince him then the tone of satisfaction ringing through them would. Pushing at his shoulders you maneuver him as close to lying down as you can manage on your old couch. Tearing off your oversized sleep shirt (stolen from Jason of course), you’re finally as bare as he is. Perched over him, you enjoy the view of him splayed out like an offering. Reaching for his arm, you find his hand, place it on the curve below your belly and lace your fingers over the back of it. You push his palm down into you to feel the hard swell of where his cock is curving you out, carving out a place in your guts and moulding your cunt to the shape of his cock. You can see the exact moment his restraint snaps when he realizes he’s feeling himself through you. Let him jack knife up into you, feel the way his hardness moves under his palm. Enjoy the way it feels to finally have him drag his cock through you. But he’s trying to be respectful and you haven’t given him the go ahead yet. He restrains himself to shallow rocking motions, unable to stop himself completely, but the effort this is costing him is clear by his straining muscles and wide eyes.

“You paying attention Jay? This—” and this time you clench down on his cock as you press his hand to the shape of your womb just to hear him choke, “is yours. And you left it aching and empty for hours. You made such pretty promises earlier.” For this last part you lean down real close, brace yourself with an arm over his shoulder, wanting to make sure he doesn’t miss a thing. “And our conversation just ended.” He takes it as the permission it is and slams into you, deeper than before like you can feel him in you throat. Hands an iron grip around your waist, pulling you down to meet each sharp rolling thrust. Bullies his cock into you until he finds the angle that has sparks running under your skin, keeps hitting that angle with all the precision and aim of a sniper with his marksmanship. At this angle, his head’s at the perfect height to mouth at your breasts. You can feel him smiling around a nipple as he listens to you moan, only detaching to give the other breast the same kind of enthusiastic attention. Your arm finally gives out, falling down onto his bare chest. Limp, you let him manoeuvre him how he wants you, a rag-doll for your mutual pleasure. All the while he doesn’t stop fucking into you, any semblance of earlier control gone.

“Fuck, sweetheart you don’t know— don’t know what you do to me.” He’s gasping between each word, but the meaning of them still makes their way to your blissed out brain. The slick drag of his cock head along your clenching insides making everything else fade away. You can feel your orgasm building, heat pooling and growing with every thrust. Jason can feel you tightening up around him, knows the signs of your body so well. He starts circling your clit with his fingers, alternating pressure with his thrusts. The long drag and stretch of his cock, almost too much for you to take, never falters. It bumps up against your cervix, fills you up so completely that there’s room for nothing else but it and the pleasure it rips from you. Your release tears through you like wildfire, and for a moment dark spots cloud your vision. You know that you’ve clamped down, tight and hot and slick by the punched out groan from Jason, the way his head falls back onto the couch. But through it all he still keeps pumping into you.

He bites and sucks at your throat, a distraction from your over sensitivity. He leaves your clit alone, stops assaulting all your senses so viciously. Listens to you mewl from how sore and sensitive you are from having taken his cock nearly dry, having held it in you for so long before getting your cunt battered by it. “M so sorry sweetheart. Didn’t wanna hurt you. Gonna— gonna make it up to you. For the rest a m’life.” Now he’s rutting into you, all rhythm and finesse gone in pursuit of his own pleasure. Fire is running through your veins, gathering in your cunt and burning you whole. Your legs are weak and trembling where Jason’s placed them, hands trailing down your thighs to hook under your knees and pull your legs wider. Like this you’re trapped, pinned against him by the spread of your cunt, clit wet and grinding against his pubic bone every time he fucks back into you. You’re so close to another orgasm, quicker than you’ve ever been before.

“Please— Jay please, don’t— don’t stop. Need you. Need you har— harder. Jay. Jay” Jason being Jason, obliges. Your whole body jolts from the force of him inside you. You’re so frustratingly close, dancing on the knife’s edge of oblivion. Jay’s close too. You can tell by the way his breathing speeds up, the way he wraps one arm over your shoulder to keep you in place as he fucks your cunt raw. What sends you both over the edge is Jason taking his other hand and pushing down hard on the swell of your abdomen, the both of you feeling his cock kick and spurt inside of you. Heat paints your walls, and it’s that combined with all consuming pressure of his cock remaking you in his image that has you crying out your orgasm. Jason doesn’t pull out right away. Stays inside you and lets himself grow soft. Kisses featherlight over your face and eyelids. Strokes your flanks and combs his fingers through your hair. Soothes you into a light sleep.

When you wake up, it’s to full sunlight streaming into your bedroom. Turning your head, Jason meets your gaze, propped up on an elbow to watch over you. The both of you are still naked under the blankets but he must have cleaned up the mess between your legs. He pressed a kiss between your eyes before you can get too swept up by your thoughts.

“Hiya sweetheart.” The corners of his eyes crinkle up when he smiles like this. You think they’d make him look kind when he’s older. “I’m not going anywhere now, I promise.”

“Always?”

“Forever.”

[voxofthevoid]

Here's Role Reversal Fem!Goyuu Wednesday #6—which I almost forgot about. Well, I forgot it's Wednesday. The abrupt relocation last weekend has fucked my sense of time even more than usual.

I haven't written since then either, though this fic only needs one epilogue-ish chapter to be done; the current word count is 54k.

For now, have a longer version of the DP scene I showed a bit of here! And god, some of the passages in this chapter are fucking long...

“Blood Manipulation,” Satoru whispers, less a revelation than an acknowledgment, and the cock-shaped constructs pressed up against her ass and cunt seems to pulse in answer.

Yuuji herself is silent, but her lower two hands curl around Satoru’s hips, raising them just so off the mattress. The tips of the cocks rub against Satoru, and they feel wet, with a heat that’s like the inside of a body in all the wrong ways, but Satoru can tell they smear nothing on her, even the one prodding her cunt trailing only her own slick along the folds.

They start to slide in.

It feels—

“You look disappointed,” Yuuji says before Satoru can control her face. “Too small?”

Satoru raises herself on her forearms to better see what she’s feeling, and maybe that’s a mistake. The initial shapes Yuuji made of her blood were wetter, more alive replicas of the many toys Satoru’s browsed while picking a few for herself; the things that have slid into Satoru still feel vaguely phallic, but—

“It feels like you’re fucking me with a toothbrush, sensei.” Satoru frowns down at their nearly joined groins for a moment, then amends, “Two toothbrushes.”

“Ah,” Yuuji says delicately. “Let me just—”

Satoru yelps, the walls of her cunt suddenly straining around a pressure that threatens to rip her apart. “Yuuji!”

“Too big, huh,” Yuuji murmurs, frowning down at her now-giant cocks.

Satoru looks too, despite her better judgement, only to flinch at the girth of the thing stuffing her cunt. It’s more forearm than cock. The one in her ass is still a fucking stick, and a part of Satoru is grateful because that would have ripped her apart, but the rest of her is struggling not to clench up everywhere, and when she inevitably fails, the dissonance between the insane girth spreading her pussy and the finger-thin intrusion inside her ass just fills her with an overwhelming sense of rejection, borderline revulsion.

“Take it out,” she grits out. “Fix it.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Yuuji says with apparent sincerity. “I’m a little rusty with this.”

“What, you don’t go around fucking people with your blood-dicks?” Satoru asks, trying to focus on the conversation so she won’t fixate on the solid shapes shrinking and shifting inside her, the few inches that were put inside being pulled right out.

“Not really,” Yuuji mutters, the bulk of her attention clearly on the blood. “Sorcerers can get very offended about what they see as the inappropriate use of cursed techniques.”

“I wonder why,” Satoru drawls, now trying to ignore the throbbing emptiness inside.

“The blood too,” Yuuji adds, her primary eyes finally flitting up to Satoru’s face. “It disgusts them. Scares them. But you—you’re not like that, are you, Satoru-chan?”

Despite everything, Satoru has to fight down a shiver. “No, it’s absolutely fucking disgusting.”

Yuuji’s answering smile is too soft to cut into Satoru the way it does, and yet— “But you like it, don’t you?”

Satoru’s face heats like it’s stolen some of Yuuji’s blood. “Shut up!”

Yuuji does shut up, but the next moment, it’s clear where her focus has gone. There’s nothing inside Satoru now, only memory of two very strange intrusions, but she can feel the blood Yuuji’s manipulating, the heat and the wet of it—not quite touching her but scorching her all the same. She drags in a bracing breath and looks down, shivering a little when she finds that the cocks have returned to their initial sizes, and it’s not the monstrosity that had Satoru choking a few moments ago, but she’d still feel these, every fucking inch, and she can almost understand why Yuuji tried to size them down the first time around.

“Do you like them?” Yuuji asks, the kind of question that’s not a question at all. One of her hands slides from Satoru’s hip to her inner thigh, coaxing it further open. Her hips tilt forward, those twin cocks once again prodding Satoru.

Her cunt reminds her of its recent abuse, throbbing like a bruise, but she’s more keenly aware of it clenching and dripping, of Yuuji’s eyes fixed right there. “Sensei, I told you not to—”

“I know,” Yuuji says softly, all of her eyes now pools of liquid dark. “I shouldn’t have underestimated you. You’re a very strong girl, Satoru-chan. I know what you can take.”

It’s sincere praise, and it does fill Satoru with a warmth that brims in her veins and her bones, but it also raises the hairs on her arms, a warning prickle she’s helpless to heed.

She still calls out Yuuji’s name, except it doesn’t quite come out as a protest, and Yuuji doesn’t treat it as one anyway, casually pulling Satoru closer, a hand on her thigh and another on her hip maneuvering her with unfair ease, and then the testing pressure of Yuuji’s cocks are a hell of a lot less tentative, the thick heads pressing into Satoru with unmistakable intent.

Her cunt spreads wetly around it; her ass doesn’t.

It’s open, wet and loose and relaxed from the filthy assault earlier, but even Yuuji’s oversized tongue isn’t the size of the cock trying to pry her open right now, and it just burns, a mounting ache that grows and grows and grows until Satoru’s entire spine is hot with it, arching off the bed with a fury that gets her nowhere, and then it gives, a searing pop that has Satoru shouting and shuddering, and the one in her cunt also slides deeper, like it was only waiting for its filthy friend below. And there’s no real strain there—the cock isn’t much worse than Satoru’s biggest toy, and she’s been leaking like a broken faucet for what feels like hours now—but the entire outside is still one mass of hurt, and the solid heat inside her makes her bruised folds throb even as it soothes the hollow ache inside her.

They’re not all the way in. Satoru’s eyes are closed, not something she remembers doing, but she can tell just from the feel of it that Yuuji’s only given her a few inches.

Her ass burns and her cunt aches, and the longer they stay like that, Yuuji unmoving and Satoru shaking in place, the worse it gets, like the cocks inside her are growing bigger and hotter with every passing second.

Yuuji pets her thigh, so gentle that it’s insulting. “Easy there. You need to breathe.”

“M’trying,” Satoru snarls. “You’re too—”

“Big?” Yuuji finishes after a moment. She hums a little, considering. “Maybe I should take it easy on you after all.”

Satoru pries her eyes open to glare at her. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Alright,” Yuuji says mildly. Her eyes are heavy-lidded again, and the low sweep of her lashes is graceful, but the secondary pair are just slits in her flesh, burrowing into Satoru with bloodstained intent. “I’ll open you up just like this, Satoru-chan.”

Satoru’s barely processed that ominous warning before Yuuji acts. She doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe, but the cock inside Satoru’s cunt does, pulsing once like the wet heart of some great beast, minute motions trembling along her straining walls, before growing, not any thicker but longer, more and more and more, and Satoru can only lie there and gasp as she’s filled in a heated rush that’s like nothing she’s ever felt. Fingers don’t even compare, and this burning breach is nothing like the smooth slide of her silicon toys either.

Yuuji doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left of Satoru to take, the tip of the cock bumping into her cervix.

Satoru moans, trying not to squirm at the sensation. Nothing’s ever gone that deep. It still doesn’t hurt, but it feels so weird to have something filling her up so thoroughly, and the shallower intrusion below, barely an inch forced snugly into her asshole, isn’t helping.

Yuuji’s not moving, even her cocks still. Like this, Satoru can’t tell they’re made of blood. They’re solid inside her, unforgiving where it spears her flesh. But they’re hot. Shockingly, scorchingly hot. And as Yuuji lingers without even a twitch of motion, Satoru starts to feel like that heat is branding her walls, except that feels good too—strange and perverse, but so good, like Yuuji’s returned a piece of her that’s been missing this entire time.

Then she takes it away.

“What,” Satoru gasps, trying to chase the withdrawing dick, and Yuuji allows the movement, her hands on Satoru uncharacteristically accommodating, but all that gets Satoru is more screaming emptiness, and it takes her too long a moment to realize that she can’t fuck herself on cock because there’s nothing there, the obscene length of it diminished to just an inch or two at her entrance, keeping her both open and empty, and when she stares down the length of her body, she finds Yuuji’s hips almost flush with Satoru’s crotch, only the thick bases of the twin cocks visible. They pulse again, like they’re mocking Satoru. “That’s just not fair.”

[jazzhandsely]

Sonic prime theories

Now I’m gonna sort them out of what kind of theories I will be showing. The theories that make sense, a bit over the top theories, and one Sonamy theory. I won’t go to much into detail because my vocabulary and English ain’t that good. Reminder, These are just theories not facts

theories that makes sense:

Rusty rose will probably die by the end of the show. I know it sounds bad but hear me out. Amy is considered the heart of the group, has a love of nature, and will probably sacrifice herself if it means saving her loved ones. So what I think will happen is that rusty joins sonic to defeat the eggmans but ends up sacrificing herself in the process to save her friends, and then she frees the Flicky she jailed.

Nine might end up becoming the final boss, or the final antagonist. Nine is selfish, hates the place he lives, is full of misery, knows how the shatterverse works, and felt betrayed by the only person he trusted (sonic). What if he’s trying to get the shards before sonic, what if he will use it for selfish reasons, and-HOLY CRAP I JUST REALIZED. if nine does become an antagonist, and if rusty does join sonic, nine has access to rusty…I want y’all to think on this one

Sonic fights Dread to get the shard back. as y’all probably already know, Dread is a insane bastard who would try to reach his goal no matter what, even if it means injuring or killing his crew in the process. So when sonic wants the shard back, Dread won’t give it to him. so they will probably fight over it, it’s gonna be insane, cause of sonic trying to reason with him, and dread just won’t listen cause he’s insane and crazy.

Sonamy slow burn. This ain’t really a theory more of a prediction but still. I love how there are little but big moments of Sonamy. Seeing him softly look at her or giving her a specific look just gets me every time, and him going to her trying to charm her in the first episode, man I was like “oh how the tables have turned”. And it’s not just sonic prime that gave us healthy Sonamy, sonic frontiers did that too, which is such a relief. So yeah I do think there will be a build up or slow burn between sonic and Amy, after all it is just the first season.

sonic the hedgehog has ADHD. I-I don’t know what to say it’s pretty obvious

A bit Over the top theories:

rusty sees herself in black rose. remember the scene where rusty saw black rose, malfunctions, and told the robots to not destroy the ship? So what if rusty had a little bit of flashback or ptsd moment when she saw black rose, what if she saw herself, her happier self, her more fleshy self where she can fluently move, and she decided to tell the robots to stop because she doesn’t want black rose to get hurt the way she got hurt.

what if the different version of the sonic team get some sort of dejavu of there originals? So when shadow said that home doesn’t exist anymore, that means there is no original green hills, tails, Amy, knuckles etc. so what if in the shatterverse version of sonics friends, they get some sort of dejavu or memory of the original version of themselves, like as if they lived another life. Like maybe as the show progresses we see one of them get a little flashback of there original selves.

shadow will probably be the one who will try to reason with nine. Shadow and nine are pretty much the same, they are both broken characters, they had trauma, they don’t like the world and everyone in it, the difference? One of them has found a place to call home, and wants to protect it. So maybe shadow will reason with nine, like try to relate to him, and say that “this isn’t right”.

[princesssarcastia]

since so many people liked the snippet of this chapter i posted to tumblr last week, here's the full version!

so: In the aftermath of a sudden and long-awaited reconciliation, and a battle, Bradley sticks to Maverick’s side like glue.

(you can also read it here on ao3)

—

Bradley levels the doctors and nurses with a blank, uncompromising stare every time they try to move him to his own bed.  Maybe there was a chance a few hours ago, freshly coming down from the high of feeling glad to see Maverick for the first time in fifteen years, where Bradley would have taken the chance to sit alone in the dim and lick his wounds.  To punish himself in private.

That was before one of these idiots let it slip in his earshot that this is Maverick’s second ejection in a month.

He’s not moving an inch.

And Maverick won’t make him.

So that’s that.  There’s nobody else in a thousand miles of this ship who has a chance of getting Bradley to do something he doesn’t want to.

Every instinct feels rusty, here.  It’s been so long since he was in a position to comfort, to want to comfort.  But Bradley wants…

He wants. 

Maverick tenses so abruptly when Bradley starts moving toward him that he immediately regrets it.  Especially when Mav hisses in pain, muscles that shouldn’t be moving now twisting themselves into knots because Bradley couldn’t—

“Hey, no, come back here,” Maverick says roughly, when Bradley pulls his hand back.  “Come back,” he repeats, and leaves his own lying palm up at his side.

Hesitantly, Bradley slides their hands together, applying gentle pressure until Maverick squeezes back.

“It’s okay,” Maverick says, as Bradley keeps his eyes on their joined hands.  It’s been so long.  The years start welling up in his chest, spreading to his eyes, pushing him to scream and rage and let it all out on the man who always lets him—

No.

“No,” Bradley says faintly.  “No, I don’t think it is.”

“It will be.”

Bradley looks up, finally.  “How do you figure?”  He looks up and sees his dad, lying there, too many machines hooked up to his body for everything to be okay.  Looking too small for the underclothes and the blankets piled on him, too small for the dark circles to fit on his face.  Funny, how he didn’t notice those before the mission.  Before they got back. 

The last time he saw someone look like this—

The last time he sat next to someone’s hospital bed and held their hand—

Oh, fuck. 

It hits him again in a wave.  The undertow grasping at his feet.  Uncle Ice is gone. 

“Maverick,” he says, breathless with it.  “Dad,” he says, and his voice cracks wide open and lets it all out for Maverick to hear.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m sorry about Uncle Ice,” Bradley finishes.

Maverick rears back with everything but his hand, drawing another hiss from his own lips when he moves things he shouldn’t be moving.  His eyes are already wet, wide, and wild with it.

“And I’m sorry,” Bradley swallows, “I’m so fucking sorry.  For what I said to you.  If I’d known…” He trails off.  He’d like to think he wouldn’t have said it.

No wife.  No kids.  No one to mourn you when you burn in.

But he can’t promise that.  And he won’t lie.  So, he leaves it there.

His dad looks everywhere but at him.  It would hurt more if he didn’t have Bradley’s fingers in a white-knuckle grip, holding on for dear life.  The monitor next to him picks up speed and runs with it, fast enough to make Bradley wonder if they aren’t about to get interrupted by some angry medical staff trying to kick him out for the third time.

“I did wonder,” Maverick says, heart still on display and going wild, “just for a second.  If maybe, we were a little better at it than I thought.”

Now it’s Bradley’s heart racing.  They don’t talk about it.  Maverick and Iceman, the pair of them never talk about it, and neither does Bradley, and neither do Rachel or Isaac or Sofia, as far as he knows.  Everyone knows.  No one talks about it.  These are uncharted waters. 

“Nah, you were pretty bad at it,” Bradley says, lighter than it deserves.  Light enough to keep this above the waterline.  “To anybody who—who cared.”  And that’s it.  That’s all he has for this, especially in the middle of a fucking navy carrier where they still shouldn’t talk about it.  Even if Maverick is suddenly in a sharing mood about the biggest taboo of them all, even if it looks like he could ask, and Maverick would answer. 

So, he starts sweeping his thumb along the back of Maverick’s hand instead.  Slow, steady motions, like he can draw some of the pain out through his dad’s skin. 

Maverick takes one deep breath, then another.  Then a third, and they’re getting closer together.  “And you,” he sucks in another breath, something twisted up on his face, “you—care.”

It’s a knife between his ribs, and he deserves every serrated inch of it.  “I do,” Bradley says.  “God, I do care.  About you both.”  I’m sorry, he doesn’t say, I’m sorry I made you doubt me, because he wants to be here and he doesn’t want to lie…and he’s not sure, yet, that he’s sorry for all of it.

Maverick’s breathing doesn’t speed up any more, but it doesn’t slow down, either.  Doesn’t let him say anything back. 

“Talked to Rachel at the funeral,” Bradley says, eyes back on their hands.  “She’s still pissed as anything at me.”  He sits up straighter in his seat, ignoring the aching in his spine and the way it pulls at scattered tears in his skin.  Starts timing out his own breathing.  In for four passes across the back of Maverick’s hand, pause, and out for seven more.  Again.  And again. 

Maverick shifts, probably looking at Bradley as he catches on to his game.  Maybe he smiles.  Maybe he softens.  Bradley wouldn’t know, though, because he can’t meet his gaze right this second. 

“I always hated that,” Maverick says, finally.  Capable of speech, at least, that’s better.  Even if his voice is strained.  “The kids carrying our shit for us.  Hated that.  Kids shouldn’t have to carry that.  Just because we were…” he trails into nothing.

It’s their shit, too, Bradley doesn’t say.

She has a right to it, Bradley doesn’t say.

Since when am I not one of your kids? Bradley doesn’t say.

“Me, too,” Bradley says finally, because it’s true.  “I hate it, too.”  Breathes another cycle, willing Maverick to join him without being willing to ask.  “But they can’t always help it, you know.  Can’t help loving.  Or caring.”

Even when I wished I could, wished more than anything, Bradley thinks and doesn’t say.  Even then, I couldn’t help it.

“Doesn’t mean they needed to pick sides.  We never—that was never what we wanted.”

Bradley huffs.  “Tried that for a few years, remember?  Didn’t really work out.”

“Yeah.”

He sounds strangled, again, so Bradley stops poking at him for conversation and focuses on the breathing.  Focuses on their hands.   They’ve both got dirt caked into their wrinkles and folds and embedded under their nails.  There’s blood, too.  Little speckles of it, on Maverick’s, from doctors-alone-know-where, and a great smear of it on the back of Bradley’s hand.  He must have swiped at his neck at some point.  Irritated at the feeling of blood creeping where it didn’t belong.

He wants to clean it off.  Wants to get rid of the dirt and the blood and the reminders of how they got here.

But he’d have to let go, to do that.  Probably have to pry Maverick off him with a crowbar of some kind, too, given that he’s still white knuckling this particular maneuver.

“I don’t remember much of it.”

Bradley looks up, finally.  Maverick is looking down at him again but there’s something fuzzy about it.  The painkillers that were promised finally doing their jobs, maybe.

“Much of what?”

“The funeral.  Ice’s—the service.  I know I left my wings with him, but I don’t remember…what anyone said.  If I said anything.”

His gut starts shifting and twisting and coiling like some kind of animal trying to threaten him, ready to strike.  “You didn’t say anything,” Bradley says quietly, unsure.  “It was…I mean.  They gave him all the honor he was due.”

“You were there,” Maverick says, not quite a question but close.  His gaze winds between Bradley’s eyes, looking for something.

“Yeah, Mav, I was there.  So was the rest of the detachment.  Think they called in most of Fightertown to see him off.”

“But you were…” Maverick trails off, his voice threaded with confusion.  Definitely painkillers, Bradley thinks, as he tries to parse out what Maverick wants from him—assuming it’s not just to twist the knife.  Of course it isn’t, he corrects himself.  Mav was never the one who liked to do that, between the two of them.

“I would have been there anyway, even if they didn’t tell us.  I would have come.  Would have skipped out on training and snuck in with the crowd, if I had to.”  Bradley thinks about it for a second and realizes that’s what he did anyway.  He did sneak in, tried fruitlessly to avoid the casualties of this, his longest war, now bereft of the very bedrock of their lives.

“I didn’t see you,” Mav murmurs, still confused, his eyes turning sightless to the middle distance.

“I don’t think you were seeing much of anything besides Uncle Ice,” Bradley says, lost in this conversation.  What does he want?  What is he missing?

Maverick lays his head back against the bed and blinks at Bradley like an animal, slow and trusting except for the furrow in his brow.  “Wanted to see you.  I looked for you, but I couldn’t see you.”

“I’m sorry,” Bradley chokes out.  “I’m so sorry, I know I wasn’t there for you.  I know the things I said—” his throat closes up and he loses the fight to get those words out.  But Maverick waits for him to finish, so patient with him like always.  “I just wish I’d known, about Uncle Ice.  I wish I’d known he was sick again.  I would have gone to see him,” Bradley says, desperate for Mav to believe him about this one thing despite all the evidence to the contrary.  “I would have gone, no matter what.  I’m sorry,” his voice breaks again and he ducks his head and swipes at his eyes with his free hand.

Maverick’s sigh rustles the hair on the back of his head, it’s so big.  Shifting fabric, a quiet sound in the back of his throat, and then Mav’s other hand is resting there, gently, so gently, on his head.  “Don’t be sorry,” he says, voice more grounded and present now.  “Don’t be sorry you didn’t know.  It’s his damn fault for not telling anyone,” he adds.  “Not yours.”

Bradley remembers the funeral, remembers the anger in everyone’s faces along with the grief, but he’s not one to talk.  And he can’t imagine—he can’t imagine—

“Yeah, but he didn’t tell me because I wouldn’t let him.  I wouldn’t let either of you talk to me.”

“He was the commander of this whole goddamn ocean, Bradley, if he wanted to tell you it wouldn’t have mattered what you wanted.  Besides,” his voice is slow and grinding, “he didn’t tell me, either.  He didn’t tell anyone.”

At that, he looks up, sliding Maverick’s hand down to his neck.  “No.  He—no.  He must have told you.”

“No,” Maverick says, steadied again by something burning in his eyes.  “No, he made Sarah do it.  Just like he made her—” he cuts himself off and jerks his head away, a muscle in his jaw ticking once, twice.  “Last week.”

“Last week.”  Bradley feels like he must be on some painkillers of his own, now.  The good stuff, the stuff that should have Maverick out cold already, because what.

Here is another first in what he can only now bear to hope will be a long, long line of them: he’s furious.  He’s furious on Maverick’s behalf and it sits in his chest like a breath of fresh air, like relief.  How dare he, Bradley doesn’t say.  What an asshole, he keeps tucked behind his teeth.  A question forms he can’t find the words for even in his own head about Aunt Sarah, Aunt Sarah and Uncle Ice and Maverick, one he’ll probably never find the words for.

“I’m sorry,” he finally settles on.  “God, I’m sorry.”  This time, Maverick doesn’t chastise him, just squeezes his hand, because he can hear the difference.

“I knew as soon as I saw him that it was close.  That he wouldn’t…make it.  Much longer.  I missed so much of his life, Bradley, so much of him, I couldn’t be there all those years but I wanted to—I wanted to be there for him.  For Sarah.  I wanted to hold his hand when he—” Maverick’s voice is full of tears and grief and startlingly close to overwhelmed.  “I just wanted to be there, I wanted to see it, I wanted to see him again,” his breath starts to hitch.  “I never got to see him, never, Bradley, I miss him so much,” Maverick swings his head back to Bradley, meets his horrified gaze with tears running down his face and bright red eyes.

He surges up from Maverick’s bedside and settles awkwardly on the edge, pulling him into his arms and wrapping a firm hand around his neck and a gentle one around his ribs.  His dad buries his weeping face into Bradley's shoulder, arms circling him in turn and clutching at his shoulders.  He keeps talking, babbling into the fabric of his flight suit.  Whatever brief reprieve his anger gave him from the drugs is gone, long gone.

Most of it is unintelligible, but disparate words make it through.  “Meant to” and “locker” and “phone” and “forgot, I forgot,” the last one nearly rising to a wail.

The monitor grabs his attention again, Mav’s heart-rate skyrocketing with his grief.

It’s only been a few hours since he last felt this helpless, since the last time it felt like he was losing Maverick right before his eyes.  Bradley feels his own pulse in his neck trying to get him to panic, too, but he keeps a tight grip on it.  Breathes in carefully, with thought, to try and slow it, and his chest pushes against Maverick’s with gentle pressure until he releases it.

The sobbing in his shoulder stutters as he does it, so he does it again, keeping hold of that odd awareness of every breath so he can use them to tether his dad to him.  In for four, hold, out for seven, hold.  In, and out, and in, and out, until Maverick settles back into hiccuping breaths instead of gasping ones.

He doesn’t say a damn word.  What is there to say?  Don’t be angry at a dead man?  Don’t mourn him so loudly, either?

No.  Bradley just holds him, instead, and breathes, and threads his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.  He tips his head to the side, pressing his temple against Maverick’s, and closes his eyes, and breathes.

And Maverick breathes with him.

As he goes slack in Bradley’s arms, as he eases Maverick back down against the pillows and pulls his shitty sickbay blankets up to his chin, as he slowly settles back into his shitty bedside chair like a mountain, like he’s a thousand years old and aching with it, he hopes his dad's sleep is restful.

He hopes Maverick doesn’t have to dream about missing Iceman; hopes that living with it is enough.

[shoyastars]

A Star Celebration

Hiya!!!~ welcome to the nsfw fanfic for today because! ITS RAY’S BIRTHDAY!!!! April 30th is our best man’s birthday!

Old man turning 33 hehe! >:D

Anyways I got a bit inspired off of @argyre169

Wonderful fanfic… ✨☕️👀

AHEM! I hope you all enjoy this cup of tea oh! Be warned this is an Nsfw version not a sfw, and I might be a bit rusty I have written nsfw before, but back then I was all “hehehe totally do that and this!” Without really thinking what the character would cannonlly do, OH RIGHT! Be sure that Ray isn’t my character, they belong to ConcreteParasite! Who made an absolutely beautiful and amazing game. Go check it out if you’re 18 or older it’s intended for 18 and up, if you’re a minor, GET OUT OF HERE!! We ain’t getting the creator or the game in trouble today you got that?

This will be an oc x character sooo yeah.. >:)

✨But anyways, Happy Birthday Ray!✨

Let’s begin!

Mistin knew today was a special day, it was Ray’s birthday. That and it’s been everywhere on social media as of late. Unfortunately due to the NAHA knowing today’s a special day for ‘Binary Star’ Ray was called into work. However Mistin wouldn’t allow this chance to go to waste, they decided to make something special for him, he’s probably able to buy anything he wants due to his usual hero work, So Mistin got out some stuff and started sketching, painting and putting in final touches, when they were done they smiled at the work they’ve done. Mistin looked at the time, Ray still wasn’t home yet. That’s when they had the idea to try and make something, sure they’re cooking skills weren’t as good as his but they could try. They weren’t sure if it will work out in their favor, but they weren’t going to give up so easily, they’ve been in the villain world and got out barely with a scratch….. well… almost without a scratch… but hey what’s the worst that could happen?

.

.

.

“Gah! Geez how many times am I gonna make things fall over today.” Mistin caught the baking powder before if fell, due to it being on the edge. Mistin didn’t think about how much of a hassle baking was for them, especially doing it right… Mistin wasn’t sure how long they were in they’re apartment’s kitchen for… (Ahem 6 hours) they tried to think of what Ray would like or try finding a recipe, heck even perfecting it… it was honestly hard for them not to feel nervous they might screw up horribly…. Even causing them to trip and knock things over… luckily they didn’t fall with anything in hand so far.

Mistin groaned in frustration as they weren’t sure if they were going to get it done at all correctly without messing up, they were confident in their skills but however when it comes down to something they can’t determine will go badly wrong or perfectly right. They never cared this much before so why now? Well…. It’s because Ray gave them the chance to love romantically again… not to mention how they were able to set boundaries, discover and experience some thing’s normal couples do at least…. But most importantly…. Actually feel loved and not used like…. They’re last relationship….

They shake they’re head to snap out of they’re thoughts and focus, if anything it won’t be perfect but it’s decent at least they hope. Soon Mistin would be so wrapped up in Theyre own little cooking mayhem that they wouldn’t hear the door open and close. It was Ray.

“Star, I’m back.” Ray stretched but didn’t get a response. They we’re starting to worry a bit, until they heard Mistin mumbling out curses in the kitchen, they walked out to see Mistin getting annoyed at another failed attempt to make something, Ray noticed the recipe, and realized that Mistin choose a difficult recipe that is not very easy to make, causing him to smile a bit at them and try not to laugh at how angry they’re getting over a single recipe. “GAH! Fuck sake! What does it take to make a recipe actually go right!? Ugh!”

Mistin put Theyre hands to they’re face and turned away to breath, moving they’re hair out of they’re face, only see Ray in hero uniform, trying not to laugh at them. “Oh… um… hi…” Mistin didn’t know weather to be embarrassed or ashamed over getting frustrated over a recipe going wrong. “Hi, struggling with something?” He says crossing his arms and leaning to the side. Mistin felt their face go a bit pink from pure embarrassment. “W-Well I was just trying to make something so….”

“A difficult recipe?”

“What?”

“The recipe is difficult to make, yeah it will take trial and error but I’m sure you’ll get it in at least…. A couple of days if you’re dedicated to making it?” Mistin sighed and admitted defeat, setting themself on the kitchen floor, then Ray joined with them setting themself down beside them. “I’m sorry…” Ray gave a concerned look, he gently started rubbing their back to comfort them. “Sorry? For what?”

“Doing this… all by myself… possibly making you worry…. this day was supposed to be about you and…. I can’t even realize a stupid recipe is going to be too difficult for me to make…. You even had to go into work on you’re birthday…. I just want… to make sure today was going to you special…. like you did when it was my birthday….. I suck at this…”

Ray didn’t realize that they were willing to do that for him, but that’s how love goes am I right? (Ahem! Anyways) Ray got up and just threw out the failed attempts causing Mistin to look up at him. “Ray what are you doing?” Ray only smiled and lend a hand to lift them up. “Well I was hoping you weren’t going to continue with this recipe and do another one that’s more simple together.” Mistin was hesitant but nodded. Ray smiled and place a kiss on their cheek, causing Mistin to laugh a bit push his face away. “Hey I was only giving you a kiss.”

“Well you gotta kiss me without that mask of yours mr. ‘Binary Star’ haha!” With that Ray looked at Mistin with so much love in his eyes, taking his mask off, right now he knew Mistin truly only wanted to celebrate his birthday… not as Binary Star, but as Ray. He loved that about them. “There you are… Happy Birthday Ray..” with that Mistin and Ray shared a passionate kiss. Ray didn’t wanna pull away but however Mistin pulled away with Ray only leaning in for more only to snap back to reality. “I think you should hop in the shower. I’ll clean up this mess.”

“Why not join me then?” Ray smirked as Mistin was tempted, they did say the next time he’d invite that they’d take up the offer. That’s when Mistin sighed and smiled. Turning to him. “Sure, I did promise that I’d take you up upon you’re offer the next time, and it seems like a good day to finally accept.” Mistin would take his hand and lead him into the bathroom, Ray already a bit excited yet couldn’t help but feel a bit surprised they actually accepted this time. “What about the mess?” Mistin smiled as they started taking off their clothes, not caring if he’s looking or not anymore. “I’ll clean it up later, for now I believe ‘we’ should both get cleaned up.~” They then turned on the shower, Ray sighs as he shakes and then chuckles a bit. He finally decided to take off his hero uniform, Mistin was the first to step in waiting for him, soon Ray followed afterwards. The nice water hitting their skin as they were in there.

——————————————————————————

Ok! This is where the spice begins! ✨☕️👀✨

______________________________________________

Soon Ray would have Mistin against the shower wall as he kissed them passionately, he was so glad that they accepted the invitation now. Mistin’s arms around his neck, soon their hands were in his now wet hair as his kiss trailed down to their neck, Mistin couldn’t help but let out quiet moans of pleasure, only fueling Ray further to continue on. Soon his hand traveled down to touch every part of Mistin’s body. “You are so… fucking perfect…” a husky whisperer into Mistin’s ear as Ray’s hand goes between their legs. “If you want me to stop, stay it and I’ll stop. If not… I’ll make sure you’re going to feel real good.” Mistin nodded eager, they soon moaned as Ray’s fingers were pumped into and out, causing Mistin to let out shaky moans of pleasure as Ray smiled at how much they were enjoying this. The water making it even easier for him to move his fingers around.

“Ray..-“ before they could speak further he kissed them, definitely adding tongue. He pulled his fingers out, Mistin was confused but understood quickly what his intentions were next. Mistin was uncertain because they never had sex with a guy before, if anything it was entirely new.. but they weren’t exactly a virgin in the slightest. Ray noticed the uncertainty and gently held they’re face, looking into they’re eyes. “If you don’t want to continue that’s completely fine, don’t feel forced to do what I want because it’s my birthday.” With that they knew Ray read their mind without consent but in this case they didn’t care at this point. They didn’t wanna run away or be scared to do things anymore, they’re going to go through with it. “I want to, Ray please…” with that Ray kissed them, soon Mistin felt both pain and pleasure, Ray whispering reassurances and even holding they’re hand fingers linked together, soon he started to move, Ray never letting go of they’re hand as his other hand gripped their side. Mistin biting their lip for a bit and then going back to moaning with pleasure, feeling every inch of him inside them feeling good with every thrust he made. Ray couldn’t take his eyes off them, he wanted to see every bit of them of every moment. He knew he wanted them from the very start, but not in a way he only wanted they’re body, but having them, they’re trust, they’re love. He couldn’t ask for a more better gift than that. He then shared a kiss with them he doesn’t get enough of them, if anything he loves them more than anything, if he were to choose the city or them, he’d pick them. Mistin couldn’t have asked for a better partner for this moment, feeling so much love from Ray it feels like they were to explode in any given time. They weren’t used to such affection for not being given any in a long, long time… they wanted to get the know the true Ray and now after all this time they still wanted to know more. They’re so glad they didn’t give up on him, though some people say two broken people are only bound to tear what’s left apart, they gave it a shot with Ray and yet here they are, loving each other. Mistin grips some of Ray’s hair, even wrapping his arms around him again. Moaning his name heck even more, saying they love them. To them this was more than just simple sex in the shower, to them it was like giving a piece of themselves to him and trust him wholeheartedly. Soon Ray while kissing them, pulls away and leans in hear they’re ear. “Mistin, I love you..” he says as Mistin knows they’re both nearly finished. “I love you to, oh god Ray!” Wrapping they’re arms around him tightly as he sped the pace up a bit, and then finally stop.

They stayed there for a bit soon Mistin finally looking at Ray out of breath and soon smiling at him, Ray didn’t need to read they’re mind to know how much they loved him. Sharing a passionate kiss afterwards.

——————————————————————————

End of the spice. ✨🤭✨

——————————————————————————

Once out of the shower Ray as expected brought over clothes. Mistin grew used to it, Ray only smiled at them as they were changing into some comfortable clothes, the day is nearly over. Mistin cleaned up the kitchen with Ray, soon he’d find a recipe that was more easy to understand and simple. Of course… why didn’t they think of that? Soon as they were making something he noticed Mistin’s sleeves were fully up, they didn’t usually have them all the way up because they showed the scars of when they used they’re ability as a villain. “What wrong?” Mistin asked a bit concerned. Ray looks at their arm, the cuts were big. They did explain how their ability worked, the deeper the cut the bigger the effect, the longer the cut the longer it lasted. “I thought you were uncomfortable showing you’re scars.” Mistin smiled and just moved some hair out of their face. Ray then knew right there he’d reached a point where Mistin isn’t ashamed to show they’re scars around him. Without warning Ray goes up behind them taking their hand and then kissing the scars on Mistin’s arm, making Mistin’s face a bit pink. “Hey! Don’t make me cover them up again old man!” Ray only laughs as he got used to them calling him old man long ago. Soon after awhile they ended up finishing the recipe also cleaning up a bit. Then Mistin decided to make something extra, ending up getting frosting on their face. Ray chuckled as he wipes a bit of it away with his thumb. At this point Mistin had already put their sleeves back down since what they made was practically done and they’re arms were getting marks from their own sleeves which was uncomfortable. “Ray wha- haha!”

“Gee Star getting messy again on my birthday?”

“Hey! Of course I’m gonna make a bit of a mess when cooking. Haha!” With that Mistin stuck out their tongue and Ray only smiles, he was having a good time. Soon afterwards they ate the food. “Oh shit! Right almost forgot.” Mistin gone over to their bedside table and grab the thing they made. Mistin gave it to them. Ray looked at it and saw two silhouettes in a starry sky holding each other. “I decided to describe how felt around you, in a form of I guess artwork… I don’t usually do it but… Ray… you make me happy. Even if the world we know is fucked up… at least we found each other… right?” Ray didn’t know what to say, but he place it to the side and kiss them. When he pulled away he held them close. “I’m glad I saw you that night.. I’m very lucky you know that?” Mistin leaned into him. “I’m lucky to have finally met you in the café.”

With that Ray spent the night, they were called in the next day, but Mistin knew he’d be back, after all. They were both caught in a pre ordained dance….

They met.

.

They collided….

.

They orbit around each other.

.

.

.

.

Thank you for reading this.

✨Happy Birthday Ray!✨

✨Hopefully I did good at writing this, it’s been long while since I’ve written actual Nsfw Ehehe… as alway! Comments are open if there are any criticisms you’d like to give. I’ll be sure to keep it in mind for the future! Bye bye!✨

[amoristt]

Grazing the Fire | IV

well hello. here i am, four years later, once again enamored with nathan enough to finally dust this baby off and pick up where i left it. im a little rusty so bear with me this chapter! much more to come <3

reblogs + tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this :)! it also helps motivate me!

story continues beneath the read more. let me know if you can’t access it!

Warning: language, very vague s/a mentions

want to support me? heres my kofi!

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“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?” 

A few hands raise in the corners of your eye, but yours remains atop your desk. Eyes far away, mind in a murky haze and almost completely unaware. All you could focus on were the memories playing on repeat within the confines of your tired, tired brain. Hours ago, you were warm, you were comfortable. Safe.

Cheeks heated to a dusting blush when you remind yourself just how you had awoken that morning. At some point in the night, an angel had blessed you. Allowed you to wake up wrapped around none other than big, bad, Nathan Prescott. Your face nuzzled into his chest, broad but wiry hands pressed firmly over your shoulder and his arm slung over your waist to keep you against him. Thankfully you had been the first to wake up, blinking away the morning sun blazing through his blinds and painting the room stripes of gold. At that moment, before your headache came crashing down onto your skull, you were astounded by him. 

Eye lashes brushing the top of his cheeks, his lips parted ever so slightly, chest rising and falling rhythmically. In that moment, there was no anger, no bitterness. Just a soft and peaceful slumber. It was like being the sole viewer of a magnificent painting- each stroke and detail placed just there just for you to pick out, to remember the curves and sharp edges down to the very foundation. From his unkempt hair down to the way his hand flattened onto the mattress where your indent still lived. Nathan was so beautiful like this. 

For a long time you stayed there. It was as though you were afraid to move- you couldn’t bear to disturb him. You had wondered, if he was always like this, so at peace, what would he be like? Likely soft voiced, mild mannered. He’d do his school assignments without hassle and donate to the charity board. He would wander the town with his friends and listen to music in a beat up truck flying down the stretch of highway overlooking the bold, blue, and beautiful ocean. An entirely different version of himself- carefree, and a fair blue as opposed to a burning flame of red. 

But, if that were the case, you’d never have gotten here. You’d never been both the outsider, and the only seeing eye. A lucky, albeit firstly unwilling witness to the display of depth before you. 

It never hit you like it had quite in that moment how lucky you were.

But- just then- an alarm disturbed what serendipity existed. You nearly leapt out of your skin, clutched your hands to your chest at the sudden sound. A headache wove its way into your once untouched temples. Nathan groaned, mumbled, ‘god damn it’, under his breath, and thus his body was reanimated into life. He rubbed his eyes and he stretched, that familiar scowl coming over his eyes and lips as he took in the sunlight damn near blinding him. A polar opposite to the being you’d appreciated just moments earlier.

“Ugh, fuck, how the fuck is it seven already.” He groaned. “I feel like shit.”

“Well good morning to you too,” You started, welcoming Nathan into the world. “‘I’m feeling pretty shitty as well.” 

You said that, but really… You were more than alright. Your head had hurt, slight nausea crept into the wells of your stomach, but other than that you’re sure you were phenomenally better than you’d have been waking up whereverTate would have left your ass.

“You need to get outta here, before everyone gets up.” Nathan drawled, but he didn’t sound as urgent as you expected him to be. You’d expected him to be angry that you were still in his room, but instead he just… accepted it. 

You snickered, climbing out of his throne of a bed. “Wow, you’re giving me the morning after treatment?” 

“Sure am. Get outta here, whore.”

“Oh fuck you.” 

You located your heels from last night, resting upright near his dorm room door. Heels didn’t sound like the most  practical to sneak out of a dorm with, so you instead opted to grappling them by the straps and carrying them at your side. Hair a mess, outfit riddled with wrinkles and makeup smudged under your eyes, you stood before Nathan in all your glory. He stared at you for a long, odd moment- and you for some reason felt exposed, or even, shy. 

“What?” You ask expectantly, placing a hand on your hip. 

His eyes trail to your line of vision. He shakes his head. “Just thinking about how now you really do look like my morning after.”

“Yeah?” You hummed. “Find it hard to believe you get a lot of those.”

Nathan shoots you a suggestive glance. “You’d be surprised. Everyone wants a piece of Prescott.”

Surely, he was joking, or maybe he wasn’t, but you… Didn’t like hearing that. It made your stomach feel odd, uncomfortably heavy.  As he stood up, reminding you how many inches he had over your size, you swallowed and cleared your throat to flush out that crappy feeling. “Well,” you started, mood having dropped. “I’m gonna go, then.” 

“What got your panties in a twist all the sudden?” He asked, raising a brow and pulling some clothes from his closet, tossing them onto the bed.

The bed you two had shared.

You hated the idea of his morning afters- whoever they may be. 

“Not feeling great. Probably a side effect of the roofies.” You mumbled.

Nathan breathed a laugh. “Probably.”

He seemed so calm, right now. Perhaps due to it being so early, before the outside world had a chance to remind him just why he was so uptight all the tight. Before he needed to be so uptight all the time. He really did have so many versions of himself- all of whom you were slowly becoming familiar with. Compared to the person you’d believed him to be before your run ins, you’d never have assumed someone so dangerous could be so soft as last night, as this morning. In the beginning, you’d feared him. Avoided him like a plague, or a wild animal. Even when you were enraptured in the existence of him, you still wanted to keep away. You’d never have believed someone like you could wake up clutched to his chest, as though he were afraid if he released you, you’d be gone long before he woke. 

Then, a sudden thought struck your mind. 

He’d held you so tight. He’d welcomed you in the morning. No anger, no annoyance. His soft laugh at your banter and taunts. How your heels were standing upright instead of tossed haphazardly into some random corner, where he’d watch your struggle to find. 

How he’d stayed awake to ensure your sleep.

“So are you just gonna stand there?” Nathan called you back to reality, hands gripping the hems of his shirt. “I gotta get ready and you need to wash up so you don’t look like a five dollar stripper.” Cruel words, but with absolutely no bite. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah. But, hey,” You started. “Thank you for last night.” 

“Yeah, yeah. You gotta start learning to watch your own back.” He says. “There’s gonna be times I won’t be there to drag your ass out of the fire.”

If you’d been charged, if you’d been stricken with a strange defensiveness, you’d have retorted, ‘than stop helping me’, but… Instead you allowed yourself the comfort of protection. You allowed Nathan Prescott to watch you.  

“I know,” You reached for the door. “Thank you.”

With that, you bounded out of the dorm silent as a mouse. 

-----------

In hindsight, you should have left earlier. Class was merely 15 minutes away when you slipped out of Nathan's room and bounded towards the women's dorm. Albeit not exactly a long walk, by the time you discreetly snuck back into your own dorm, you had roughly twenty minutes to somehow pick an outfit from your countless unopened boxes and make yourself even slightly presentable. 

Wiping off whatever make-up you could get and reapplying it, brushing out the tangles of your hair and nearly tearing off your scalp in the process, scattering your nightclothes over your floor and managing to scrounge out a semi-decent outfit for the day… You still looked a mess. If the mirror could laugh, it would have. Black mascara smudges under your eyes and frizzy untreated hair. What a lovely look. 

You’d made it to class just five minutes late, but those five minutes were all it took for all eyes to be on you as you tried to slide into the classroom unnoticed. A couple classmates whispered to their table mates as you passed by, smelling of oversaturated cherry blossom perfume to hopefully cover the scent of alcohol. You sauntered to your seat and sank down with all your weight, suddenly exhausted. You’d made it with just five minutes tainting your record of attendance. The teacher greeted you with a disappointed sigh, and thus, the day began. 

But, it was so hard to focus. All you could think about was Nathan. 

“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?” 

You lowered your head. 

“Ah, how about, ___?”

You snaked back into reality, blinking up at the chalk board that was somehow already riddled with math equations. Since you hadn’t been paying attention even in the slightest, your mouth gaped wide open, eyes scanning for something you understood even slightly so you didn’t look like a total idiot. 

Sadly, you were out of luck. The teacher shook his head. “I’m shocked,” He said. “You're normally so on top of things. Oh well.”

“Oh, I’m sure she was on top of things,” A female voice sniggered behind you “Last night.”

Your face flushed a red, hot, ruby. What the hell was she talking about? How had they found out you were with Nathan? You were so sure of being sneaky, there was no way-

“Her and Tate totally got it on last night.”

You whipped around in your seat, facing girls who looked to be clones of some sort. Both with the same dark eyes, short brown hair, and freckles. “What?”

“Alright-” Your teacher blurted. “That's enough. April, May, enough. Let’s not discuss things outside of the classroom.”

The two girls batted their eyes. “Sorry sir.” One spoke, twirling a hand through her hair. Her sister's wide toothy grin never fumbled. 

“Back to it then. Kate, can you help out __ with number four?” 

The small, blonde girl nodded quickly, brushing a lock of hair behind her eyes and offering an empathic nod. 

As you turned around in your seat, her answer fell on deaf ears. Your heart was racing in your chest, hands balled into fists while you stared ahead blankly.  

They couldn’t seriously think that you chose to leave with Tate, could they? Surely someone must have seen the state you were in. Someone other than Nathan.

The clock ticks forward but time feels like it's passing almost unnaturally slow. With just 10 minutes left, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

‘Nathan: consider ur favor officially returned 

Your tongue poked from your lips, the tiniest of smiles taking over your once sullen features. Terrible thoughts and worries flew out the window while you type back, ‘damn. here i was gonna to ask you to do a backflip off the roof with me. there goes my plans.’

Nathan types for a moment. Typing, stopping, typing again. 

‘Nathan: soundz like a blast. where and when?’

A small blush heats your cheeks. ‘very funny. thanks to last night i have an entire 24 hour session of studying to catch up with.’

His response is almost instant. ‘Nathan: boringgg. txt me when ur fun.’

Rolling your eyes, you shove your phone back into your pocket. It seems you’ve been able to secure enough of a friendship with him for some mindless banter even outside your little visits. You smile. He’s… Fun to talk to. Surprisingly. 

Class comes to an end and you start to pack up the books and papers you’d hardly even glanced at the whole period. Whatever had been upsetting you before is lost in your mind while you think of the morning, the night before. All the things in-between. But, your happiness doesn’t last long. As you get up, you’re almost forced right back into your seat as a weight shoves into your shoulder. Your books scatter to the floor. April, the one who’d remarked about you earlier, glares at you in what looks to be disgust. 

“Careful April,” Her sister hums as she saunters past you, keeping distance and raising her already shrill tone of voice. “Might wanna watch where you’re walking- I’d hate for you to catch something from this slut.”

You absolutely gawk at her. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

April scoffs. “Oh come on, like everyone doesn’t know what you were up to last night.”

“Sleeping around isn’t a good color on you.” May hikes her bag over her shoulder and snickers at you. They both leave the class together, sickeningly in sync. You’re left stunned where you stand, unsure how the hell your life came to this so quickly. How you’ve stooped so low that the daughters of the world's most uncreative parents are able to bully you based on something that didn’t even happen.

Next class goes no better. The person to your right, a jockey looking brunette guy, asks, ‘have you ever heard of a Tate?’. You say no, that that’s the dumbest name you’ve ever heard. The idiot grins and goes back to marking down likely wrong answers on his test sheet and you debate kicking the leg of his chair out- but you don’t to avoid even more eyes on you. It makes you sick to your stomach- even more than recovering from the roofies does. How can everyone believe it? You barely even knew the guy and you were clearly uncomfortable with his advances. No one saw that? 

After everything you’d worked for to build a reputation, trying so hard to not call out peoples shit for the sake of seeming friendly, tainted over something that didn’t even happen? And the kicker was that it hadn’t even been your fault! He’d drugged you, he’d have taken advantage of you! Yet you were the bad person? 

Class came and went in the blink of an eye this time. Your mind wrapped up in the situation, your stomach churning. You wanted the day to be over with but you still had 4 more classes to suffer through. Why was this happening to you? Was Tate being treated just as horribly, or was he getting pats on the backs of his unaware friends?

Wandering down the halls to your locker, you noticed Lance and Kaz hanging around one of the drinking fountains. Your nerves quelled- your friends would surely make you feel much better. Especially since they had witnessed how awful you were feeling as you left. You approach with a relieved smile, ready to say your truth and finally have someone on your side.

“Hey guys.” You smile, but Lance looks down at his feet while Kaz places her hands to his hips. Your smile fades.

“You could have told us you were gonna spend the night with Tate,” Kaz snaps. “You didn’t need to lie like that just to leave. We were all worried about you and it was for nothing.”

“What?” You feel like you could cry. “No, Kaz, I really did try to leave. Tate tried to drug me and take me home, and-”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Lance interrupts, with a frown. He looks back down at the floor with knitted brows. “I’ve known Tate since before time. He wouldn't do something like that, especially not to one of my best friends. Plus he told me he was really into you. Why would he even try?”

“Are you serious?” You sputter. “You think I’d lie about something like that?”

“You’ve been lying about all sorts of things!” Kaz huffs. “What’s going on with you lately? You’ve been so distant, and secretive. What are you hiding that’s making you lie like this? We’re supposed to be your friends and then you lie to our faces just to go and fuck the first guy that shows you attention.”

“What…?” It was like acid. It was like the rug had been pulled from your feet sending you spiraling down the unending cliff. Kaz, your best friend, all that venom. How could they turn against you like this? What the hell is going on? You felt your throat tighten. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been distant, but I’m not lying to you, I-”

“We gotta go.” Lance isn’t in the mood to hear it. “We’ll catch up to you.. Some other time.”

Kaz says nothing as she pushes past you. Lance, at least, spares a short glance over his shoulder. You stood there alone in the hallway, your bag falling off your shoulder and clattering onto the floor with a thud echoing off the walls. Everything you had, all gone at once. 

No one believed you.

---------

With nowhere to go where you felt like you could truly allow yourself to process the day's events, you went to the only place you knew. 

Just outside of campus, where rocks lined the edge of the boundary, overlooking the outskirts of the town and the ocean stretching as far as the eye could see. You settled yourself there, staring at the vast waters and wondering how this had all happened. Unlucky didn’t even begin to cover how it felt. Not only did you feel violated with Tate attempting to do unthinkable things with your unconscious body, but you also felt alone, and walked on. Your best friends hadn’t believed you. While Lance seemed saddened, Kaz was so… Angry. Her words cut like knives into your skin. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve this.

You want to talk to Nathan, but knowing him, he’d see your state and bounce instantly. After all, this isn’t exactly very fun of you.

As the sun began to fall, splaying orange and blues over the wide open sky, behind you, you could hear voices. A group of them, some male, some female. Memories of when your notebook had gotten snatched by those two horsed face assholes came flooding back and with all your alertness, you stood up, and decided that this sitting place was no longer safe. Nothing was.

Before you even made it ten feet away, the group had found their way to your spot and gotten comfortable, one of the girls cheering, ‘this’ll be our hangout! look at how pretty the view is!’

You took a short drive down the stretches of road and decided that if you were going to lament in your own sadness, you were at least going to do so in a place that had something to cover the sound of your tears. Plus a nice view.

The beach, littered with its picnic tables and the sounds of crashing waves would suffice just fine. So, you pulled in the desolate parking lot and wandered down the sandy shores until you stumbled upon a picnic table shaded by a large willow cascading lushious branches to block out the sun- a perfect canopy for you to wallow under. 

You had nothing at that moment. No friends, no reputation, no one to believe your tragic tale. And now, you’d just lost the one spot that made you feel comfortable when stress was building into your body like concrete. Tears pricked into the corners of your eyes and you bit your lip, dreading that feeling of a lump in your throat. Why you? Everything had been going so well. How could not even a single person believe that Tate had tried to hurt you?

Well, actually, there was one person.

Of course Nathan believed you. He’d been the one to rescue you, after all. Time and time again it seemed.  How was it that even the ones closest to you would turn their back so fast, yet Nathan seemed to be there even when you didn’t want him to be? Even when you yelled at him, and he yelled right back, fire and sparks falling into embers around the two of you. 

In that moment, you almost felt like you could finally relate to him. A reputation based on lies and things out of your control, paired with a hardheaded attitude to try and combat all the assumptions. 

No wonder he was so angry. 

“Hey bitch,” A voice suddenly called, and you had a split second moment where you were terrified of once again being the victim of a cruel prank or some classmates boredom. “How about next time you have a pity party you don’t fucking call me in the middle of it.”

You blinked away your tears and through the blurriness saw a figure coming towards you. All that sass, the tone...

“Nathan?” You breathed. It only takes moments before he’s in front of you, holding his phone in view, seeing that the call that had been running for nearly ten minute. You flush in embarrassment, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “How did that happen?”

“Well, can your ass dial numbers?” He taunts, ending the call. 

“Damn it, dumb phone must have butt-dialed you. I knew I should’ve gotten a different one.” You mentally kick yourself. “It must have unlocked in my pocket.”

“You don’t have a password on your phone?” He taunts. When you shake your head, he whistles. “You are just begging for a robbery. I’ll keep that in mind when I’m in the mood to send random messages to all your buddies.” 

“Fuck off.” You scowl, and he grins, hopping up on the picnic table next to you. The sun flatters his skin. He’s almost glowing. 

“Speaking of buddies, how the hell did it pick my number out of your sea of friends?”

You shrug. “Probably cuz’ it’s a priority contact.” 

“Oh lala, I’ve been upgraded to priority huh? Does it display a superman logo whenever you give it a ring?”

“Nope. When I press call it rings the nearest asshole in my vicinity. The fact that it’s you is your own problem.”

“Haha, fucking ha.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He stares out at the water, watching waves pull and crash onto the beach. It’s almost beautiful, until he ruins it. “Yknow, you’re a really ugly crier.”

“Wow, thanks.” You shake your head. “That's exactly what I needed to hear right now. Why did you even stay on the line?.” Wiping your eyes, you start to forget your tears. “Couldn’t have been that wild of a conversation.”

Nathan shrugs. “Between the crying and the sound of the waves it was pretty nice.” He grins. “Very educational.” 

“Awesome. Glad I was able to make your day.” It doesn’t feel like your usual bitey remarks. You’re tired, you’re still a little hurt and you can’t stop thinking about how such an amazing morning had turned into such a horrible day.

“So what’s got you all fucked up? Never seen you act like this big of a baby before.”

“Nothing. You already paid off your debt to me per this morning, so feel free to resume our regularly scheduled mutual hatred.” You say, lying through your teeth. You know you’re both past the point of hatred, but you’re feeling jaded, you can’t help it. 

“Oh shut the fuck up,” He groans. “I didn’t drag my ass all the fucking way out to this shit hole of a beach just for you to give me that bullshit. What, did you fail a test? No one matched you on tinder?”

“Everyone thinks me and Tate slept together last night.” You blurt. “I think he’s telling people me and him had sex.”

Nathan tenses his shoulders and grimaces. “Fucking werido.”

“I told my best friends that he tried to take advantage of me and they don’t believe me. One of em’ even said he wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Fuck em’. Who needs best friends.”

“And to make everything so much better, these two bitches that I share four of my classes with harassed me all goddamn day. I mean, fucks sake, how the hell are girls named April and May of all things able to get to me. It’s bullshit. And to make matters worse, Tate is just… Getting away with it.”

“Yeah well, something tells me that Tate’s gonna get a real nice fucking taste of medicine eventually. I just gotta find him first. He’s got a lot of nerve spreading shit around given I knocked his ass onto the pavement.” Nathan brows knit at the memory.

You test the waters. “Why would you do that for me?”

He seems caught off guard, or maybe, surprised that you’d ask. Maybe he thinks you’re both beyond that point. He grumbles, “Why does it matter.”

“I’m just curious. We don’t owe each other anything, remember?”

“Yeah, well,” He huffs. “Don’t ask me questions to shit I don’t know the answer to.”

“You say that an awful lot.” You tease.

“Yeah well you ask dumbass questions an awful lot. Not everything I do has to have some weird ass motives behind it, ___. Maybe I’ve got beef with Tate that’s outside of you.”

“Uhuh. Sure.” You’re about to say something else, when your phone lights up with a text. The display makes your heart fall all over again. 

Unknown Number: you should just pack up and go somewhere else. no one wants std’s from breathing your air xoxo

You don’t even know who that is. Now absolute strangers are on your case. You want to throw your phone into the ocean and leave.

Nathan scoffs. “Don’t even bat a fucking eye for that bitch, whoever the hell they are. Half the hoes you’ve mentioned have slept with half the football team,” he pinches his jacket, “and I would know.”

“Ew, Nathan,” You grimace, that same feeling from the morning returning. It feels, oddly, like jealousy.  He nudges your arm with his elbow and grins playfully. It’s cute.

“Chill, I’m just fucking with you. You gotta know even I wouldn’t fuck girls that desperate. I’m a man of class.”

That last comment actually forces a laugh from you. It’s soft, but it’s real. The first laugh you’ve genuinely had all day. “That’s horrible.” You remark, giggling again.

It's almost like the slight restoration of your mood puts him at ease as well. He leans back on his hands and stares off into the ocean, those sparkling waters under the setting, orange sun. “I’m for real though. Those hoes aren’t worth your time. One day when we blow this shithole of a town they’re not even gonna matter.”

Your brows knit, eyes blinking up at him. Had you heard that right? 

“We?” You ask, perplexed, albeit a little… Hopeful.

Nathan sputters. “Well- Like, when everyone’s older and-”

“You know what, it's fine.” You interrupt. “Fuck it. You’re right. We’re gonna blow this town and they’re just gonna be some shitty memories.”

He sucks in a shaky breath. You’ve never heard him scramble like that, like he’s been unmasked. The look he casts you when you agree, when you don’t tease or patronize and finally hop on the idea that yeah, what if the two of you really didn’t have to deal with it anymore.

What if the two of you could just exist, without the anger. 

You look up at him. “Would you actually do that though?” You start. “With me, of all people?”

He swallows. His expression is tense, but he’s not upset. He appears nervous, caught off guard. Nathan tries, “I-”

Your phone rings. Shrill, piercing. Mood destroying. 

“Jesus Christ, it’s my mom.” You grab your phone and Nathan looks forward, stone faced and silent as you hop off the table and answer. It’s your mother, who all but shouts into the phone that her and your father are taking a surprising visit to Arcadia Bay while they’re traveling by on their vacation. She insists that you be ready in about an hour for dinner, and likely there will be family photos. 

Which means if you still look as wrecked as you did this morning, you’re gonna have a lot of washing up to do. With a quick goodbye, a short and sweet, ‘love you’, you hang up and sigh. 

“You still tell your mom you love her?” He teases. “What are you, five?”

You frown. “You don’t tell your parents you love them?”

Nathan side eyes you, and just shrugs. It is all the answer you need, really, and for his sake you decide it wouldn’t be best to press the issue. Not now. But- it still makes your heart hurt just a little. You wished that he’d had it better growing up. 

“Right… Do you want a ride home?”

“Fuck no, what am I,” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “a fucking girl scout?” 

“I was just offering, weirdo.” When he doesn't get up, you feel like you’re missing out. Like if you stayed, maybe, just maybe, you’d get to know him a little better. “Hey, if you want, I can stay for a bit longer.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re needed elsewhere. But,” he shrugs. “I don’t know. Fuckin’... Text me or something. Or not, I don’t care either way.”

There’s a small warmth in your chest that rises to your cheeks. He wants you to text him. “Yeah,” You say. “If I’m feeling fun.”

And with that, you bid him farewell, beginning your descent to the parking lot. 

“Hey,” He calls, and you turn just in time to catch a small item he’s tossed right at you. A tiny key resides in the palm of your hand. “Spare. If shit hits the fan again-...” He shrugs, and actually looks away. “Just don’t be too fucking loud of I’ll kick your ass out myself. No Madison needed.”

The widest grin plays over your lips. “I’m gonna re-decorate your room while you’re gone.”

“Ah, you fucking better not.” He shouts. “Actually- you know what, give it back.” 

“No, no! I’m sorry.” You play with the key between your fingers. “Thanks for this.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t lose it and remember- emergencies only. I don’t need you watching me sleep like fucking freak. We’re past that stage.” 

“How many times will I have to say I was never watching you. Christ… But, alright. See ya, then.” The key is heavy in your palm. 

You place it into your pocket and give him one last glance before you take off, leaving him to enjoy the sound of waves, birds, and the absence of your tears.

[dimples-of-discontent]

Oh anons flooding my inbox to tell me that I’m a conspiracy theorist for thinking there’s more to this finale than meets the eye and/or that it’s totally the writers’ fault, you have no idea how much I do not care! I’m tagging anything related as “finale theories” and you should feel free to blacklist it using whatever method you so choose. I’m staying away, until the dust settles, from drawing any conclusions about what exactly happened to the script (either to make it what it was pre-covid or post-covid) or what cut scenes might have contained, or who was at fault for how it all turned out.

To the anons who think I’m reading too much into Jensen and Misha’s relative “silence” on the finale, I have some comments. With Misha it’s harder to tell, but I am completely convinced that Jensen is deliberately not engaging with finale-related content because he’s so alienated, angry, and disappointed. I think Misha is finding ways to talk about it that he thinks will support the fandom, rather than the network, and frankly he is far more used to having to deal with the feeling of being screwed by the network but still loving the fans. But Jensen really trusted them and they did him really dirty.

Leaving aside the fact that neither Jensen nor Misha was in the CW “thank you” video--which is LOUD AF of them--let’s look at the social media angle. We already know that Jensen wasn’t happy with the finale as it was written (which likely included Dean dying and, yes, that was probably his biggest beef, but I’ll bet he had some words about Misha’s character too) and talked to several people about it. He was then told to accept it and make his peace and he did that and did the best he could. Now, since November 5th we’ve heard very little from him and definitely not in the ways you would expect to hear from the star of a long-running show like SPN.

He’s been much more forthcoming about how proud he was of the scene he shot with Misha in “Despair.” Jensen and Misha both posted about 15x18 and Jensen happily talked about it on a livestream. It meant so much to him personally (as the last scene they’d film together, or as a momentous moment in the show, or as something else) that he had someone film it on his phone just for him and admitted breaking character. They talked it through beforehand a lot. They talked about it after a lot and texted each other fan reaction videos. They were glad to be able to do something that meant so much to us and that brought the story to this point.

Over on Twitter, Misha seems pretty much his same self, using the proper hashtag (which in the old days of Twitter he used to mock Jensen for not knowing how to do) and RTing nostalgic comments from Kripke, Jim Michaels, etc. His personal tweets just tagged Jensen and Jared. The set pics he shared were from 15x18. Jensen just gave Entertainment Weekly a RT for the finale. He’s pretty much full-time on Instagram, but that’s still pretty little engagement. He liked two tweets, both on 11/5 when 15x18 was airing, by Misha and Bobo Berens, but zero tweets related to the finale. (Jared tweeted during the finale a few times and then sent some comfort to the fans. FWIW he also didn’t RT or tag any network folks. I think he’s probably less happy than he seems, but he’s a company boy doing a new show with them so his hands are tied.)

Over on Instagram, on the day of the finale Misha was busy. He posted a pic of Maise “Spon on-set props assistant” in a trench coat robe. Jensen liked that. He also posted a video recapping and asking people to tune into the finale. Jensen did not like that. THEN he posted a pic of him and Jensen filming 15x18. Jensen liked that. Pic of Misha and the kids about to watch SPN? Jensen likes it. Pic of Misha crying during the finale and saying how much he’s going to miss Sam and Dean that actually tags Jensen? Jensen does not like it. The gist? Jensen “likes” all Misha’s posts from that day except the two related to the content of the finale (rather than watching it with West and Maison...and besides, soft boy Jensen isn’t going to not like a pic of West and Maison!).

And here’s Jensen’s account. On November 3rd, Jensen posts to thank TV Guide. On the 19th he posts to thank Entertainment Weekly. On the day of the finale, he posts a pic of Dean’s boots and a video of him getting dressed as Dean “for the last time - for now.” (I think that was a clumsy attempt not to spoil anything but I will also hold onto the idea that maybe he will do his own version of a sequel. The day after the finale he posts a slightly salty photo of the piece of rebar (aka “the rusty nail”) that killed Dean captioned “Excuse me....uh, ‘set dec’!!! Can we get this removed please?!?!” and uses the hashtag “spnfamilyforever.” That’s the hashtag for us--for the fans--rather than anything official. Those posts were both for us too, showing him loving Dean and loving being Dean and being just as pissed as us about his death. (For the record, Jared posted a pic of him watching the finale, also hashtagging the spnfamily, and Jensen liked it.)

All the people that he’s not thanking reads very loudly. Contrast to all the thanks he (and everyone else) were throwing like roses at the 300th episode party. Jensen is a generous guy. He’s professional, everyone likes him, and he likes to credit everyone for their accomplishments. For him to be this silent and not write a single caption thanking ANYONE aside from TV Guide and Entertainment Weekly (who he needs to keep on his good side for his own production company)? IS SO OUT OF CHARACTER!!! Every con, every interview, he talks about how they couldn’t do what they do without the help of all these other people along the way. To not have it in him to thank those people? He must be hurting so incredibly badly.

He cares about us so he’ll do what he can for the SPN family. But it won’t surprise me if the clusterfuck of an ending alienated him so much that we don’t get things we might otherwise (more panels, for example, or cons) because he is just done working with the people who hurt him. I’m glad he was smiling in that most recent livestream because he sure doesn’t seem happy right now.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Banjo-Kazooie Spotlight

Hello, all! Guest writer Bynine here with an article on my favorite game of all time! Despite the immense popularity of this beloved N64 classic, the enemies of Banjo-Kazooie are not something that often comes up in discussion. Well, I'm here to change that!! Or at least, write well too much about some choice picks from the bestiary. Let's go!

Topper

Topper is the first in a small collection of sentient, googly-eyed vegetables that live in Spiral Mountain, where heroes Banjo and Kazooie also reside. Get used to those googly eyes, by the way, because you'll be seeing them a lot. Anywho, I really like the name Topper. You know, like "carrot top"! Great names are another feature of this series.

Bawl

Speaking of which, here's Bawl. Bawl is a fun name! It's hard to say without a southern drawl - bawwwl. Besides that, I don't have much to say about this hopping onion, but I still appreciate you, Bawl.

Colliwobble

The finale of our vegetable trio, and I'll be honest, I've saved the best for last. Sorry, Topper and Bawl, but it's a flying cauliflower called Colliwobble! How can you not love that? It flaps around gently with its big leaves, sustaining flight in a physically improbable yet adorable manner. How come the real thing can't do that, huh? No amount of bourbon roasted, brown butter baked cauliflower can convince me that we didn't get the short end of the stick here.

Gruntlings

The henchmen of the villainous witch Gruntilda, these oafish ogres patrol the halls of her lair, running after Banjo in a stance I'm sure they think is very intimidating.

Or maybe they want a hug? C'mere, big fella.

The most striking thing about Gruntlings to me is their impeccable fashion sense. They come in a variety of colors, and each one has a rakishly charming cloak to match, emblazoned with a fetching skull emblem. Would you mind stretching your arms out, Mr. Black Gruntling?

Thank you. Did Gruntilda coordinate these outfits? I'd believe it - she has a great ensemble herself, replete with a gorgeous purple striped scarf. And this is the same lady who's decorated her entire lair with images of her own face, after all...

Shrapnel

These ornery armaments are in the tragic category of enemies whose only goal in life is to detonate directly next to you. It's fitting then that they're based on a naval mine, but they also (perhaps unintentionally?) resemble sea urchins! How fun!

Normally they look fairly docile, even cute with their little underbite, but when Banjo draws near they growl and do... this. You okay there, buddy?

They're also the only enemies that appear in every Banjo-Kazooie platformer game! Clearly Rare knew they had a winner on their hands. Look at their pretty colors in Banjo Tooie! Look, but don't touch, please. It won't end well for anybody.

Sir Slush

Anyone who's played Banjo-Kazooie will be familiar with these goons. Living snowmen are usually quite jolly, and Sir Slush is no exception, with his consistent and hearty laughter. However, instead of frolicking in the snow, all Sir Slush does is pelt our heroes with snowballs. Rude!

Similar to the platonic ideal of living snowman himself, Frosty the Snowman, the life force of Sir Slush seems to be concentrated in its hat. It's invulnerable to most forms of damage, but if Kazooie strikes its hat at high velocity, it will be blown into icy chunks. Is this a similar principle to the "aim-for-the-head" zombie-killing technique? Are snowmen not merely zombies, extra ice, hold the flesh? Human bodies are 70% water anyway! 

Slappa

Another classic bestiary staple, the living hand! Slappa are gargantuan mummified arm-hand combos that pop up without warning from the dusty sands of Gobi's Valley, the requisite desert level of Banjo-Kazooie. True to their name, their main method of attack is a slap, where they simply fall over, crushing anything in their path. The most confusing thing about Slappas is that they have the ability to speak - they laugh if they manage to land a hit, and groan in pain when defeated. How are you talking, Slappa? Do you have a mouth hidden under those bandages? Maybe a whole face?

Artist's interpretation

There also exists a single non-violent Slappa called Grabba, who clutches onto a Jiggy and hides underground with it if you get too close. Should you manage to grab it, they mention having had it for a thousand years, but then congratulate you on your technique. Of all the traits to be assigned to a mummified hand, "sportsmanlike" was not one I was expecting, but I'll gladly take it.

Tee-Hee

Another winner of a name! Tee-Hee! That's great! This design is great too, in my humble opinion. You wouldn't expect a ghost to have such a goblinoid appearance, but Tee-Hee delivers both flavors of common RPG monster at once in an elegant package. Naturally Tee-Hees can phase through walls and are invincible to most attacks, staples of any Game Ghost (TM), and their pursuit is marked with constant laughter. Admittedly their laugh is more of a "mua-ha-ha" than a "tee-hee", but I'm willing to forgive it.

There's also a purple version! This one ignores Banjo and Kazooie entirely, preferring to move around in square patterns. Don't worry, though, it still laughs a lot. What's so funny about squares? Only the purple Tee-Hee knows.

Grimlet

Appearing on a ship known as the Rusty Bucket, Grimlet will disguise themselves as ordinary pipes, only showing their eyes and fangs when Banjo and Kazooie draw near. Despite their metallic appearance, they can stretch their bodies way out to take a bite out of bears and birds alike. You know, I like this design, but I feel like it could be improved somehow. Hmm...

Ooh! The beta version of Grimlet has a really interesting twist- eyes in its own mouth! Of course, any monster is improved when it puts its peepers in its gullet, and Grimlet is no exception. Well, let's keep going! 

An even earlier screenshot shows them with white, human eyes... and with a fleshy inner maw... Nope, I don't like this one bit. Abort!

Ahhh... Much better. Now that's a sentient cowl ventilator that I'd let take a chunk out of me. No, I don't have a problem! Quiet, you!

Of course, there are many more denizens of the BK universe worthy of scrutiny - in a universe where even common collectibles will strike up a conversation with you, that's not surprising. In particular, a Banjo-Tooie showcase would be a lot of fun... But I have to stop myself somewhere. Until next time!

[hercleverboy]

love story

spencer reid x reader 

summary ↠ the story of how spencer and the reader met, and how they began to fall in love.

category ↠ fluff

warnings/includes ↠ none

word count ↠ 4.2k

“We are all better versions of ourselves when we are loved.” — Unknown

Spencer was insane, he was sure of it.

What else would you call him finding himself hopelessly falling for a woman he’d known for less than a month?

Pure insanity.

They first day they’d spoken he hadn’t been paying much attention. It was a beautifully sunny day, with blue skies for as far as the eye could see. It was Saturday, and the team had been graced with the entire weekend off, with Garcia even joking that serial killers seemed to have taken the backseat. And so, Spencer went where he often spent his spare time- the local park, where he could sit with his chess board for hours on end.

Initially, he didn’t notice when someone sat across from him, too engrossed in his game. It’s only when she cleared her throat slightly that he looked up.

The breath quite literally left his lungs, he felt like he was choking.

She was so beautiful.

Far too beautiful to be talking to you, he thought. 

“Hi, I’m sorry to disrupt your game, and please tell me If I’m annoying you and I’ll go but- I was just wondering if you wanted someone to play with?” She asked shyly, a sheepish grin on her lips. She stood next to the table, clutching the strap of her bag in her hands. 

He was staggered to say the least but managed to string together some form of a sentence. “You- you play?”

She let out a small chuckle. “I dabble. My father taught me as a kid, but I don’t play often, so forgive me if I’m a little rusty.” She joked, and he just nodded at her wearily.

He was confused, in all honesty. He moved to look over his shoulder, surveying the many other patrons of the park on this particular Saturday. Out of all the people she could’ve chosen to strike up conversation with, she chose him? 

He was overthinking everything, like he normally did.

It doesn’t mean anything, Spencer. She’s just looking for some company, and god knows you need it. Just don’t scare her off.

He just nodded at her, words escaping him. She perked up at his approval, joyfully taking a seat opposite him and placing her bag by her feet. 

Unsurprisingly, Spencer won easily, within minutes of them sitting down to play. 

“You weren’t kidding when you said you were rusty.” Spencer remarked, a poor attempt at a joke. He then quickly realised how cocky and ignorant that must’ve sounded. “I’m- I’m sorry, that wasn’t how I wanted that to sound at all I-”

She’s gonna laugh at you, you know? IQ of 187 means nothing when there’s a pretty girl in front of you, right Reid?

Spencer braced himself to be humiliated, as he was used to being. A feeling of unsettledness filled him as he mentally berated himself for not knowing when to keep his damn mouth shut- wait, why wasn’t she laughing at him? He relaxed slightly, looking over at her cautiously. 

She was watching him intently, a small frown on her face. 

“You don’t have to apologise, I’m not offended. In fact, you’re absolutely right. I should really brush up on my skills before I try playing a professional such as yourself.” She smiled, and Spencer blushed as he ducked his head down, avoiding her eyes.

“I’m not a professional.” He mumbled, trying to hide the smile that pulled at his lips. 

“You’re not? Then you must be a genius.” 

Spencer figured she was probably joking, but having never been very good with social cues, he simply nodded his head at her. When he saw her curious expression, he scrambled to explain himself.  “I am, technically. I have an IQ of 187, I can read 20,000 words a minute and I have an eidetic memory.”

Great, now it sounds like you’re boasting. Why are you being such a showoff, she’s not gonna like that!

Spencer cringed, sighing inwardly, preparing for her to make fun of him. Any possible chance he could’ve had with her was gone, surely she’d think he was weird now.

“Wow, you are? That’s- that’s awesome.” She smiled, and Spencer’s head shot up in slight shock. She smiled at his reaction.

“It’s- I’m- awesome?” He stuttered, and Y/N refrained from showing how his lack of self-confidence made her heart ache a little for him. 

“You sure are. I can only imagine all the cool things you know.” 

He blushed again, smiling slightly at the compliment.

She grinned at him, happy she’d managed to make him smile. “I’m Y/N.” She reached her hand out across the table for him to shake. He just stared at her hand, and she quickly understood, moving her hand back. “Oh, bit of a germaphobe huh? It’s okay, I get it. I once read that with the number of pathogens passed on with a handshake, it’s actually much safer to kiss.”

Huh. As if she wasn’t perfect enough already.

“You knew that?” He breathed.

“Hm. I might not be a genius, but I know a few things.” 

He chuckled a little awkwardly. “I’m- I’m Dr Spencer Reid- I’m Spencer, you don’t have to call me Doctor.” He could feel himself getting flustered under her gaze. 

“You’re a Doctor? Like, of medicine?” She asked inquisitively, tilting her head to the side slightly. 

He shook his head, moving his hands from where they rested on the table to wipe them on his trousers, only then noticing how sweaty they’d gotten. “No, I have three PHD’s, actually. But none in medicine.”

“Three?”

 “I uh- yeah.” He swallowed, nervous as a silence overcame them. Spencer took note of how comfortable he felt, despite his visible nervousness. 

“You- you’re really something special, Dr Spencer Reid.” She smiled, and he could tell it wasn’t meant to sound sarcastic or mean, but instead a warming compliment.

“Uh- thanks.” He uttered, unsure of what to say next. 

You’re beautiful.

That’s what he wanted to say but he couldn’t force his mouth to form the words, no matter how hard he tried.

She flicked her watch up, checking the time before grabbing her little lavender coloured bag. “Sorry but I have to get going. I’ll uh- I’ll see you around?” She smiled, getting up from the seat. Spencer’s eyes followed her as she stood, willing himself to speak his mind.

Please don’t go, not yet.

Stay.

But the only words that left his lips were. “Y-yeah. I’ll see you.”

And then she was gone.

Spencer couldn’t help the smile that graced his lips as he watched her walk away.

*

He didn’t see her for two weeks after that. He’d been called away twice for a case, but every spare minute he had when he wasn’t working he spent sat at the table in the park, waiting to see if she would turn up that day. He felt silly, all the days he’d sat there waiting to see if she’d show. He rarely ever actually played any chess, just attempted to make himself look busy in case she just happened to swing by.

He was starting to lose hope that he’d ever see her again when he felt a familiar presence sit opposite him, the sight of her lavender bag being dropped by her feet. 

“Are you up for a rematch?”

He looked up, trying to act as though he hadn’t dreamt of seeing her again for the last two weeks. 

“Y/N.” Her name left his lips as a statement, relief that she was finally in front of him again. His lips pulled up in a small smile as he took in how she looked, ethereal as ever.

“Dr Reid. How have you been?”

“I’m good, how- how about you?”

“I’m great, thank you.” She beamed, a smile that radiated a warmth that spencer could only compare to the sun. “I was wondering when I’d get to see you again.”

“S-same here.” He grinned bashfully. 

“I came here the other day hoping to see you, but you were nowhere to be found.” She commented, and Spencer cringed.

“I- yeah. I was away for work for a few days.”

“Ah. What do you do for work, if you don’t mind me asking?” She moved to lean her elbows on the table. 

Of course he didn’t mind her asking. He wasn’t sure there was anything he wouldn’t do for her.

Stop. Stop that. You don’t know this girl, Spencer. Don’t fall in love with her, she won’t ever look at you like that.

“No, it’s okay. I uh, work for the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI.” He winced at how much it sounded like he was flaunting. 

“The FBI, no way.” She smiled, and he simply nodded his head. “That’s another thing to add to the already impressive list of reasons why you’re a pretty awesome guy, Spencer.”

His cheeks flushed again, looking away. Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, she smiled sincerely and then looked down at the board between them. “So uh, obviously I’m not very good at chess, and you’re brilliant at it. Would I be overstepping If I asked you to teach me?” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth nervously.

Smiling lightly with a little chuckle. “I- uh- no, not overstepping at all. I’d love to teach you.”

“Great!” She looked down at her watch. “I’ve actually got to run, but I’m free tomorrow if you’re about? How’s 11am for you?”

He found himself nodding, even though his mind was nagging at him.

“Cool. I’ll see you tomorrow, Spencer.” She smiled before standing up, grabbing her bag and waving kindly before turning to leave.

and then again, she was out of sight.

He felt dazed as he stared after her longingly.

*

When 11am rolled around the following day, Spencer made his way to the park with a little skip in his step. He had to keep reminding himself that this was most definitely not a date. He was simply going to help teach her how to play chess, right? Nothing else. 

Don’t get your hopes up. Last time you did you ended up hurt. You remember that? Don’t kid yourself, Reid. 

He pushed the self-depreciating thought deep down, locking it away in his mind. Instead, he focused on the warm feeling he got as he approached their table, seeing her already sat waiting for him. 

He had never been more grateful to not be interrupted by his work. 

She beamed up at him as he took his seat across from her. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

“I don’t have anywhere to be today, so I’m all yours Doctor.” She joked, and he chuckled a little, ignoring the small twinge of pain in his chest as he thought about how desperately he wanted that to be true. 

If only you were mine. 

They spent the majority of the day together, Spencer trying numerous tactics to get her to have a better understanding of how the game worked. They even took a lunch break to grab coffee and pretzels from the little stand in the park. Eventually she was playing at a fairly decent level, although still no match for Spencer.

Y/N watched intently as he moved one of his pieces. She knew exactly what he was doing, but still moved her final piece. 

Spencer grinned over at her. “Hey! You won.” He met her eyes, his smile faltering a little. “What?” 

“You totally just let me win.” She deadpanned, and Spencer gasped dramatically. 

“I did not! You’re just that good, I guess.” He shrugged and she squinted her eyes at him playfully, unable to stop the wide smile from forming on her lips. 

Of course, he had obviously let her win. He should’ve known she would be smart enough to see that he’d evidently threw the round so she would win. Spencer reckoned that he’d happily lose every round if it meant he could see her smile like that. 

Spencer didn’t even realise how late it had gotten until the sun began to set, casting a beautiful golden glow across the park- and her.

Y/N tapped the home screen of her phone, and Spencer watched as the screen lit up, displaying the time. “Wow, it got late quickly.” She quipped. “I should- I should really get going.” She stood from her seat, grabbing her bag and hanging it over her shoulder. 

Spencer clumsily stood as well, somehow nearly tripping in the process. “Y-yeah yeah, of course.”

“Thank you for today, Spencer. I had fun.”

“That’s good- that’s good. I’m glad. I had fun too.” He replied, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck nervously. 

She simply smiled with a nod before beginning to walk away, waving as she left.

Spencer’s brain was screaming at him. 

Spencer Reid if you dare let this woman walk away from you for a third time without asking her out I swear to god-

“Hey, Y/N!” He’d already called after her before even thinking about what he was going to say.

She turned around, frowning a little as he caught up to her. “Everything okay?” She asked.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just um- I was wondering if you’d want to go out sometime? I’d love to- to take you out for dinner or something?”

Okay, Reid. Be smooth, stand up straight, stop stuttering. Deep breaths, man. Come on. 

She seemed stunned that he’d asked, and he started to backtrack, apologising profusely for even thinking for a second that she might like him. “I’m sorry, forget I said anything. Have a good night, Y/N.” He turned to walk away, trying to eliminate the burning feeling in his chest when she called his name. When he looked back at her, she was smiling at him. 

“Of course, Spencer. I’d love to go out with you sometime.” 

Relief filled him as he nodded happily, giving her a tight-lipped smile. “Uh well- how about the little Italian restaurant that’s just down the road from here? Does- does Friday around 7pm sound good for you?”

She nodded, grinning contentedly. She then leaned toward him slightly, and Spencer froze. 

Holy shit, she’s totally going to kiss you.

She quickly pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek before pulling back with a joyful smile. “I’ll see you on Friday, Spencer.”

Then she walked away again. But this time, Spencer had hope. He put his hand to his cheek, touching the place where her lips had lingered mere seconds before. A smile spread out over his lips. He felt an unfamiliar warmth is his chest. 

He felt happy.

For a split-second, anyway. 

Then his mind caught up with him, and the realisation hit. 

What if you get a case? What’re you gonna do? You didn’t get her number, so you can’t tell her why you won’t be there. She’s gonna think you’ve stood her up!

Spencer sighed, his head dropping into his hands. 

For a genius, you sure are pretty stupid sometimes.

And because it’s just his luck, his phone chimed with a text from Garcia. 

‘Crime fighters! We got ourselves a case!’

Of course.

*

He sat in the local police station, trying to focus on the case files in front of him. But he simply couldn’t focus. His mind kept drifting to her. How she was definitely sat at the dinner table of the tiny Italian restaurant he’d made reservations for, waiting for him. It made his heart ache. He wished he had a way to tell her why he was absent. She deserved better than to be stood up by him.

Morgan was sat next to him at the table, watching his friend intently. When he noticed how long it was taking Reid to read the pages of the case file, which would normally take him a matter of minutes, he knew something was up. So he chucked the case file he was reading down on the table, the loud bang getting Spencer’s attention.

“Okay, Pretty boy. Spit it out.” Derek demanded, in his ‘no nonsense’ tone. 

Spencer’s brows creased in confusion. “Spit what out?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, kid. You’ve been staring at that same page for like fifteen minutes. I know for a fact that your smartass would’ve finished ages ago. Come on, tell me. What’s on your mind?” 

Spencer still tried to play it off, shrugging his shoulders. He really didn’t want any of his friends finding out about Y/N. Not until he was sure if there was something going on between them.

Morgan put on his ‘serious face’, giving Spencer an unamused glare. “You know you can tell me anything, right? Anything you say, I’ll keep between us.” He attempted to persuade him.

Spencer’s shoulders dropped in defeat. It would be nice to get his worries off his chest, and if he showed Morgan how truly bothered by it he was, he wouldn’t ridicule him for it. Hopefully. 

“Okay. This doesn’t leave this room though.” Spencer said, deadly serious.

Morgan smirked a little triumphantly, before crossing over his heart with his finger. “Cross my heart.”

Spencer took a deep breath before starting. “I met this girl.”

Morgan couldn’t contain his reaction, a smile lighting up his face as he leaned over the table to clap Spencer on the back as he grinned. “My man!”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “It’s not like that. At least not yet. I’ve only met her three times. She sat across from me at one of the chess tables in the park. She’s just- she’s beautiful.” Spencer’s last few words were whispered, and he smiled at the thought of her.

“So? Why don’t you go for it?” Morgan asked, as if it was the simplest solution in the world.

“Well- because. I mean- why would she- she wouldn’t like me.” He visibly deflated as he spoke. Morgan was quick to shake his head, leaning forward on his elbows.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Reid. She’d be lucky to have you. Did you at least get her number?”

Spencer shook his head. “No, ‘cause I’m in idiot. I asked her to meet me for dinner today, but then we got called away on this case and now I have no way of telling her that I haven’t stood her up.“ Spencer’s breathing was picking up a little, and Morgan could tell how awful he felt about it all.

Morgan nodded along in understanding. “Hey, hey. Calm down, Reid. It’s okay. When we get back, you’ll just have to find her in the park again and explain everything to her.”

Spencer nodded but still sighed. “And if she doesn’t want anything to do with me?”

“Then it’ll be her loss.” Morgan promised, and Spencer just nodded, biting down on his lip.

That didn’t help at all. She still going to think you’re an ass.

*

Luckily for Spencer, the case didn’t take much longer to crack. Two days later they were touching down on the tarmac at Quantico. Spencer had been nervously bouncing his knee for the entirety of the flight and drinking copious amounts of coffee (his form of liquid courage.)

With some last words of encouragement, Morgan watched as Spencer practically ran down the steps of the jet, grabbing his go bag and heading off. “Go get her, pretty boy!” He called after him, promising to tell his confused team what that meant later. 

Spencer drove quickly to get to the park, where he could only hope she’d be. As he tried his best to focus on the road, he couldn’t help the way he found himself begging all and anyone who was listening to let him fix this. 

Please, if you ever do anything for me Universe, please let it be this. I’m a good guy, all I’ve ever done is help people, so i think you owe me this one. Just please, please let her be there. 

As soon as he stepped through the entryway to the park, he was immediately scanning the few who were there, hoping to find the one person her cared to look for. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to stop stressing out and think for just one moment. He headed towards where they always sat, the place he would now proudly label their seats. 

He didn’t think he’d ever felt happier than when he saw her sat in their spots, her back facing him. He knew it was her by the colour of her hair, and that lavender bag that sat by her feet. 

He took a moment to breathe and calm himself down before approaching her. 

Alright, Reid. This can go one of two ways- Either she hates you, throws everything back in your face, and you never see her again. Or she’s kind enough to give your stupid ass a second chance which you cannot afford mess up. Just, keep it together. 

As he got closer, he noticed how she was playing a game of chess by herself, a skill he’d taught her. He’d mentioned before how being two players really gives you an understanding of the board. He smiled slightly at the sight, knowing she’d taken his words in and actually valued his advice. He sheepishly sat down opposite her and saw how her shoulders visibly tensed as she recognised his presence. 

“I see checkmate in five.” She murmured, not meeting his eyes yet. 

He frowned, that wasn’t what he expected her to say. He observed the board, the cogs turning in his head as he took note of where each piece sat on the board. “I see it in three.” He mumbled, feeling slightly relieved when her eyes flicked up to meet his. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” She whispered back. 

fixitfixitfixityouhavetofixit-

“Y/N I’m so so sorry.” Those were the first words to leave his lips, as he tried to poor as much sincerity into the apology as he could. He was never very good at apologies, and he’d also never felt this way for someone before. In all honesty, it frightened him. He didn’t want to seem vulnerable. Was he supposed to just hand her his heart and trust she wouldn’t break it? 

She smiled sadly at him. “If you changed your mind Spencer you could’ve found me and told me. You know? Instead of just standing me up.” She gave a weak chuckle at that. 

He cringed when she said that. “I didn’t stand you up- well technically I did- but not on purpose! I got called into work for a case and I had to fly to a different state, and I forgot to ask for your number and I had no way to contact you and tell you that I wasn’t standing you up.” He rambled, and Y/N’s eyes widened in realisation. She knew he was telling the truth. He worked for the FBI, it was bound to be a demanding job.

“Oh.” She murmured, not sure what to say. 

He breathed out a heavy sigh, hoping he could still attempt to convince her of how sorry he was. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am. I didn’t want to upset you. Believe me, I was so excited to take you out. Well I was more nervous than anything-“

“Nervous? Why?” She asked inquisitively.

Spencer frowned. It seemed a silly question, wasn’t it obvious? “Why? Why- because you’re absolutely beautiful, that’s why. And for some, unheard of, unimaginable reason you wanted to go on a date with me.”

“Why’s that so hard to believe?” 

“Because- because I’m weird. I talk too much and ramble about things no one cares about, I wear mismatched socks and have a phone that’s ancient ‘cause I repel technology-“ He would’ve continued had Y/N not interrupted him.

“I think you’re phenomenal.” She breathed out, smiling a little. “And you’re very handsome, too.”

“I- thank you.” He looked down at his hands, watching how his thumbs nervously intertwined. “I know you probably can’t forgive me, but I just needed you to know I was sorry. You deserved an explanation.” He mumbled, his shoulders dropping sadly.

“Spencer. I forgive you. It’s okay, really. You work for the FBI, for god’s sake. I think saving lives was more important than dinner. And besides, we can just reschedule for whenever you’re free.” She promised, shrugging like it didn’t matter- because it didn’t, not in the grand scheme of things. 

Spencer was shocked that she wasn’t kicking him to the curb, leaving him like most people in his life seemed to. “You- you don’t- you still want to go out? With me?”

“Yeah, of course I do. I like you, Spencer.” She blushed.

“I- I like you, too. A lot.” He chuckled, and she laughed with him, as he unsuccessfully tried to downplay how attracted to her he was. 

A silence fell on them, both just smiling nervously, trying to figure out where to go next. 

“Would you want to-”

“I just wanted to say-” 

They both stopped midsentence, laughing at one another. 

“You go first.” Y/N giggled. 

“I was just wondering- if you would- would you like to go for a walk maybe? If you don’t have somewhere else to be, that is.” 

She shook her head, biting her lip softly. “A walk sounds lovely.” 

As they began to walk side by side, Spencer, in a move that shocked even him, reached out to gently take her hand in his, intertwining their fingers together. 

It wasn’t love, yet. 

But it was something.

Something that would only blossom into more than either of them could have ever imagined.

*

Tag list (which I completely forgot to put on here when I first posted this fic lmao) : @beyonces-breastmilk @pinkdiamond1016 @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @thelovelyrose

[arvinsescape]

Peter Parker’s Pianist.

A/N: So this is my first Peter Parker one shot that is not a request, it has literally taken me hours to complete! But I hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think, I accept constructive criticism. This does not reflect any particular version of MJ, I love her as a fictional character!

Summary: Peter Parker is completely in love with his elegant piano player.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex and suggestive content. Mentions of guns, maybe a few typos and I think that’s it.

W/C: 5.5K

Peter had first met Y/N when he was scoping out a building that was apparently going to be robbed, he had been hiding out on the roof when he had first heard her play. It was a tune he was familiar with but couldn’t name, one of those beautiful classical pieces, he couldn’t help but sit on top of the roof as the music drifted out of the window.

Peter sat on the rooftop waiting for the mayhem to start, he’d been tipped off by the police that there was to be a burglary that night, some old music hall that still had a lot of valuable instruments in it. It wasn’t abandoned per se, it just wasn’t used very often. Peter had received the call a few hours prior, the police didn’t have the funding to deal with the incident and who better to help than the friendly neighbourhood Spiderman?

He became almost lost in the way the music was being played, it had his complete attention and he wondered if that was why he’d missed the group of men entering the building. He’d been told no one should be in it but clearly someone was, and they were pulling him into a trance he had to shake himself out of as he heard a crash from one of the lower levels. Shit, he thought to himself.

Whoever it was that was playing the piano so beautifully clearly hadn’t heard the commotion from the lower level and Peter felt a sense of protectiveness wash over him, whoever it was, he needed to get out of that building before he even considered approaching the men that were currently ransacking the place.

It would appear he wasn’t the only person that had heard the music and was in a desperate rush to get to them because as soon as he swung through the window to help whoever it was that was in there, four men burst through the door on the opposite side. That’s when the music stopped and she looked up from her sheet music, their eyes caught for a brief second before Peter sprang into action.

One of the men had aimed his pistol right at her and Peter fell into a panic as he aimed a web straight for it and pulled it from the man’s grasp. It all happened at once as she moved from her seat and Peter shot out a web to pull the woman towards him, a slight scream leaving her lips as her chest connected with his. It was like electricity started coursing through his veins, his senses running wilder than they ever had before.

He pulled her out of the way as he flipped a table, encouraging her to hide behind it as shots went off throughout the room. He watched as she pulled her knees to her chest and placed her hands over her ears, the fear in her eyes was prominent as she looked wildly at him, almost begging for him to help and he’d never in his life felt more of an urge to help someone.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Peter found himself saying softly as her eyes locked onto his. “I’ll get you out of here I promise. I just need you to stay here until I’ve sorted these guys okay?” He watched as a tear slipped from her cheek and he couldn’t stop himself from taking her hands in his as he forced her to stay focused on him. “I promise I’m going to get you out of here.” He said and she nodded slightly as a bullet flew over the top of the table, smashing a window behind them, a small scream leaving her lips.

This part was easy for Peter, a few careful dodges here and there, a few well placed webs meant that within five minutes all four men were disarmed and strung up waiting for arrest. Now he just needed to make sure the woman got home safely. She did exactly as she was told, he found her in the same position he had left her in. She still looked frightened, he supposed to her she didn’t quite understand that the threat was dealt with, she was safe now.

“Come on, let’s get you home.” He said as he held a hand out, she took it, a vice like grip to her hold, she looked so frightened and he wished she didn’t, wished she knew he was here to protect her. He helped her stand, her legs shaking like leaves, she looked as if she might be in some sort of shock, maybe she was. She was quiet, only speaking when she was directing him towards her home. When they eventually arrived outside her house she was less tense than she’d been when they set off.

“Thank you.” She said quietly and Peter smiled but then realized she wouldn’t have been able to see that, so he spoke instead.

“Anytime, just promise me you won’t hang around those places on your own from now on.” He said and he hoped she’d listen; he didn’t want her to put herself in danger again and he relaxed as he watched her nod.

“I promise.” She reassured. “Again, thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t there.”

“You’re welcome, but don’t think about that. You’re okay and that’s all that matters.” He said and she gave him the first smile he’d seen from her and christ if he wasn’t enamored before he certainly was now.

He’d found himself looking for her as he swung through the city, hoping to catch a glimpse of her again or hear that beautiful piano through the night, but it had been two weeks and no such luck. It wasn’t until he’d finished dealing with a robbery fifteen days after the encounter that he’d heard her again.

He was on his way home, telling the police where he’d left the men when he heard the sound of a piano coming from the music hall across the road, the music was faint but due to his advanced hearing he didn’t miss it like other ears may have done. He couldn’t help as he climbed the building, he wanted to know if it was her again.

When he got to the window he felt his heart race, there she was, playing another classical piece he’d heard before, he was yet again thrown into a trance as he watched her fingers elegantly glide across the keys. The concentration on her face as she read the music sheet in front of her. She looked so beautiful, and the music only matched her elegance and beauty. He found himself sitting and listening to her play until she’d finished.

He couldn’t help as he waited for her to leave, kept a safe distance as he made sure she got home safe. He wondered if it came across stalkerish, but he only wanted to make sure she got home safely, a guardian angel of sorts, he thought to himself.

This continued on for a good few weeks, he found himself seeking her out at her new place of practice after every patrol, they way she played calmed in, he was becoming completely infatuated with her. Every time he watched and heard her play his feelings for the woman grew. It wasn’t until a month later that he finally plucked up the courage to speak to her.

“You’re really good. The best I think I’ve ever heard.” He spoke as he entered the room through the window, her playing coming to a stop as she turned to look at him.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to finally speak.” She said and her voice was much steadier than the first night he’d met her. Her voice was soft but firm, more music to his ears. He wondered if he’d ever get over his breakup with MJ last year and here he was, looking at the woman in front of him and knowing that he had. Peter’s face flushed in embarrassment; did she think he was some kind of weird stalker?

“I um,” Peter said as he cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you’d realised.” He admitted honestly. She smiled back at him, one of the most beautiful he’d ever seen.

“Truth be told I’ve been hoping you’d finally say something.” She said, soft smile still gracing her lips.

“Sorry I just never wanted to interrupt your playing. It’s amazing.” He said as she gestured him to join her, he did, sitting next to her on the piano stool, the close proximity had his heart racing and his stomach doing flips. He felt like a teenager again, not the twenty-two-year-old he’d become.

“What do you want me to play?” She asked. “It’s the least I can do after you saved my life.” She continued.

“I don’t really know that many piano pieces.” He admitted shyly and she laughed, not in a mocking way.

“Any one you like, I’ll play.” She encouraged. “So long as I know it, or the sheet music is knocking around the room.” She added with a small laugh.

“Well, I like that moonlight sonata.” He shyly admitted, he felt out of his element, she probably thought he was ridiculous for suggesting such a well-known piece. She only smiled at him.

“I haven’t played that one in a while. I might be a little rusty.” She laughed as her fingers ran over the keys, he wanted to reach out and hold her hand, but held himself back as he listened to her play. She played it perfectly and so effortlessly, a calm washed over him that he’d never had before, it almost felt like it was just the two of them in the whole world. It felt as though a parade could waltz through the door and neither of them would notice, he liked the calm it brought.

“Y/N, by the way.” She spoke as she finished. “Don’t worry, I’m not expecting your name. Secret identity and all that.” She said with a small smile, and he found himself wanting to open up to her, tell her who he was but he didn’t.

This became a routine for the two. He’d sit with her as she played. ‘Moonlight sonata’ almost felt like their song, a song that was made for the two of them, it was one of his favourites she’d play. He fell in love with her at some point in the months they’d been doing this. She’d play for him, and he’d walk her home in return. He remembers when she found out who he was, his real name.

“I have really strong feelings for you.” He blurted out halfway through one of her pieces, her fingers suddenly stopped on the keys she looked at him, shock written all over her face.

“You what?” She asked, voice soft as ever, it held a hint of disbelief to it.

“I have really strong feeling for you.” He repeated. He didn’t want to tell her he was in love with her, didn’t want to scare her off. “I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go on a date?” He asked, hope laced his tone. “If you don’t feel the same, I understand.” He added quickly, he just needed to get his feelings off his chest.

“It’s not that I don’t feel the same, but I don’t know who you are under the mask. I can’t exactly go on a date with spiderman.” She said and his heart soared, she liked him back? “You’re the friendly neighbourhood spiderman and I’m just me.” She said and Peter hated it, hated that she couldn’t see how truly amazing she is.

“You know, under the mask, I’m just a regular guy.” He said.

“I imagine so, but I don’t know that guy.” She said with a sad smile.

“Do you want to?” He asked, he was never more sure of telling someone who he was in his life.

“Of course I do.” She answered honestly. He moved to remove his mask, he felt confident. She smiled again as he revealed himself to her, he knew he could trust her, every part of her screamed that he could and maybe that was why he had no hesitation now that the time was here.

“Then I suppose you should meet Peter Parker.” He grinned.

She’d never told a soul and their interactions became easier as they became more comfortable around each other. Some nights she’d sit in his lap as she played, his arms securely around her frame as he pressed his cheek into her back and listened to her play.

“Why don’t you play for other people to hear?” He asked one day, head on her shoulder as hers was thrown back onto his.

“I’m not that good Pete.” She said.

“You are.” He fired back.

“You’re biased.” She laughed.

“Am not.” He defended himself. “You could make a living out of how good you are.” He added. She turned her head to kiss his cheek.

“Nah, I like it just being you that hears me.” She said and Peter grinned.

“I love you.” He said as he turned his head to look at her.

“I love you.” She returned, almost instantly. He caught her lips with his and smiled as she happily returned the gesture. He pulled away as he rubbed his nose against hers, their relationship had blossomed into something so comfortable and serene. He loved her with everything he had to give, she was his first priority, always.

Although their relationship was so perfect to him, it didn’t mean they didn’t fight, they’d fought many times over the last two and a half years. He remembers when he’d missed a date because someone was terrorizing the city when he was returning home from work, he couldn’t just walk passed it. Although she was always his top priority, sometimes things came up, but never too often.

He knew he’d find her here. He felt immensely guilty for missing their dinner, she’d been so excited the night before, the texts he’d received throughout the day solidifying her excitement. She was playing the piano again, but this time more harshly than he’d ever seen her play, the tune was darker than usual. She was angry, he could tell through the way she was playing, it still sounded beautiful to him.

“Baby, I’m sorry.” He said as he sat next to her. She didn’t look at him as she continued to play. “I tried to text, but I had no service.” He added. When she didn’t respond he waited for her to finish, let her play through her feelings, once she’d finished he spoke again. “Baby, I’m truly sorry.” He said and she looked at him, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

“I know.” She said in defeat. “I understand, you’re spiderman, something came up, right?” She asked and he nodded.

“I tried to get there, I did. But it all ended up in me chasing them through the city in a car chase. I’m so sorry.” He said and she smiled sadly.

“I know. I’ll get over it, I’m just upset that’s all, I was so looking forward to tonight.” She said and Peter’s heart fell, he never wanted her to feel upset with him. “It’s not like it happens all the time, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be upset.” She said as she placed her hands on his cheeks.

“No I get it.” He said and she smiled again, this time less sadness in it as she leaned over and kissed him.

“I expect you to make it up to me.” She said as she looked at him, seduction clear in her eyes and Peter grinned.

“Oh baby, you have no idea.” He said as he captured her lips in his again.

Not all of their fights were worked out so easily. Sometimes their anger got the better of them both, being spiderman took its toll on both of them occasionally.

“Peter! Fuck.” She said as he fell through the door to their house, they’d moved in together recently, the house was gorgeous. Blood soaked his suit and he’d startled her as he fell through the door.

“Hi.” He said in a small voice. He tried to keep himself stood upright, tried to manoeuvre into the living room without getting blood all over the place.

“What happened?” She panicked as she made her way over to him, helping him stand. “You need to go to the hospital.” She continued her panic as she got him to the couch, reaching for her phone. Peter stopped her.

“I’ll be okay. It’s just a few cuts and bruises.” He reassured and she looked at him with concern in her eyes.

“Just a few- Are you fucking kidding me?” She screamed as she set off towards the bathroom, muttering under her breath. This wasn’t the first time he’d come home like this. He worried that one day she’d leave him because of it, MJ had. MJ couldn’t deal with the missed dates and the constant worry that came with dating spiderman; she’d asked him to give it up but he couldn’t.

“Baby, I heal fast.” He reassured as she reappeared, first aid box in hand.

“It’s not the point Peter.” She snapped, he wondered why she was so angry, she wasn’t like this last time.

“I just got overwhelmed, that’s all.” He said and she shook her head.

“You need to be more careful.” She said and he nodded.

“I know. I’ll be okay though, I promise.”

“It’s still not the point.” She snapped and his anger flared.

“Look, I’m spiderman, these things are bound to happen from time to time.” She was yet to look at him as she patched up his hand. Her hands were so careful. “I don’t know what you want me to do.” He said.

“Be more careful.” She muttered and he grew annoyed.

“Right, because I went out tonight, not thinking to be careful. I wanted to come home looking like this.” He snapped. She still hadn’t looked at him.

“Just let me patch you up.” She sighed.

“You might hate the fact that I’m spiderman but it’s a part of my life, I don’t know what you want from me.” He said in frustration and that was when she looked at him for the first time and he instantly regretted his tone, her eyes were swimming with unshed tears, but his anger had risen now.

“It has nothing to do with that!” She said in frustration.

“Then what the fuck is it?” He shouted and her tears fell, his face softening completely, his anger washing away as he regretted his tone with her for the second time in a thirty second period.

“I’m terrified!” She shouted as she stood. “I’m absolutely fucking terrified that one day you won’t come home!” She said as she ran her hands through her hair. “I love what you do, truly I do. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for spiderman but fucking hell Peter, you can’t keep being so reckless.” She was shouting now; her tears had become uncontrollable. “I’m not asking you to give it up, I’m asking you to be more careful, I can’t remember the last time I saw you without some bruise or scar.” She was pacing now.

“And I know you heal fast, that they only last a few days.” She continued, he was watching her intently now, she needed to get this out and he needed to hear it. “It’s hard for me to watch. To pretend I’m okay with how much you get beaten up. I want spiderman to carry on doing what he does, fuck knows what the city would be like without him, but I don’t like what that does to Peter. I need you to be okay.” She stopped as she looked at him, desperation in her eyes. “I need you to always come home to me.” She admitted, tone defeated.

“Hey hey hey,” he said as he stood, he instantly engulfed her in his arms, neither of them caring about the transfer of blood. She cried into his chest as he rested his chin atop her head, one hand rubbing her back, the other in her hair. “I’ll always come home to you baby, always.” He said. “I love you okay. I promise I’ll be more careful. You’re stuck with me now.” He said as he let her get it out, let her cry into his chest as he held her.

He understood now, she didn’t dislike the fact that he was spiderman, not in the same way MJ did. It wasn’t because he missed things sometimes or because he wasn’t as available as she wanted him to be, it was because she loved him, and she didn’t want anything to happen to him. It made him realise in that moment just how much she was the one for him, she didn’t want him to separate the two she wanted him to take care of both Peter and spiderman.

She was scared he wouldn’t come home, whereas MJ had always been angry he missed things or came home after she’d gone to sleep. Y/N? No. She was concerned about losing him and it filled him with so much happiness, sure, he was a super-hero, but she wanted to take care of him, she wanted him as safe as he wanted her. Fuck, he loved this woman and he wondered, if she asked him to, if he’d give it all up. He decided he probably would, but unlike MJ, she’d never ask.

“How about we get cleaned up? Have a shower? Then I’ll take you to bed and we can cuddle okay?” He said as he coaxed her head from his chest, running his thumbs over her cheeks to rid her of her tears. “I promise I’ll be more careful. I love you so much baby. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize what this was doing to you.”

“I love you.” She said as he picked her up, wincing slightly as she caught a particularly prominent bruise. “Sorry.” She mumbled and he kissed her temple in response.

“Please don’t ever apologize for loving me. I’ve never been loved by anyone the way you love me. Baby, I love you so much.” This was what she needed, she needed him to remind her that he wasn’t going anywhere, that he was all hers and that he would always, without any shadow of a doubt, come home to her.

He loved her, with everything he had in him. She was utterly perfect for him, asking her to move in with him had been the best thing he’d ever done. They’d bought an old house, one that needed a ton of work doing to it. Peter had spent hours and many late nights doing it up so they could live in it. There was one room he’d banned her from entering until he was finished, it was the room he took the most pride in.

“Okay, I hope you like it.” Peter said nerves evident in his tone.

“I’m sure I’ll love it.” She said, biting her lip in anticipation. Peter gulped slightly, he really wanted her to love this. He removed his hands that were covering her eyes and she gasped as she put her own over her mouth.

“Please tell me you like it.” Peter worried and she turned to look at him before throwing her arms around him, jumping on him, he only just caught her time. She wrapped her legs around his waist as she peppered kisses on his face.

“Baby, I love it.” She said as happy tears made their way down her face and Peter couldn’t stop his grin.

He let her down and watched as she made her way around the room that had taken him a week to perfect. The room was painted a purple she was in love with, not too bright and not too dark, almost a perfectly calm colour. She approached the bookshelf he’d made; it was a beautiful mahogany; she ran her fingers over it before looking back at him.

“Did you make this?” She asked as he nodded. “I love it.” She smiled. She made her way over to the one thing he’d spent months saving up for, the one thing he’d hoped to get right. He watched as she ran her fingers across the top of the grand piano. She looked mesmerised by it, completely in love and he felt proud of himself. He approached her as she examined the piano and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“I’m glad you like it.” He said as he kissed her cheek.

“I love it. It’s perfect.” She replied as she turned in his hold to kiss him. The kiss grew heated quickly and it became the first room in the house they blessed. They’d had sex on that piano stool more times than either of them would admit to.

He remembers when she’d broken her fingers, an accident that had happened at work. She was so upset that she couldn’t play, and Peter didn’t know how to help her as she grew frustrated, especially when she was building the strength back up in her fingers, but he found a way.

“Peter, it’s pointless!” She said in frustration. “I can’t play anymore.”

“You can, you just need to build up the strength in your fingers again.” He comforted. He was sat next to her as he watched her try to play only for her fingers to cramp up after ten minutes.

“I wish I could get through a piece without having to take a break, it’s infuriating.” She let out a huff.

“Come here.” Peter said as he motioned for her to sit on his lap. He encouraged her to place her injured hand on top of his own. “Guide my hand, play through me, then you’re not constantly playing against a hard object.” He had no idea if this would even work but he was willing to try again, she’d grown so frustrated over the time she couldn’t play that he was willing to try just about anything.

It was awkward at first as she guided his fingers over the correct keys, awkward but it made her laugh as she watched him try and help. She said he had a ‘cute look of concentration on his face.’ It became something they enjoyed doing together, even starting to do it with both hands as it became a fun way for them to interact together. Eventually they got it right and Peter smiled triumphantly when they played a song together, he’d never remember they keys himself, but he didn’t care.

She eventually got her strength back but that didn’t stop them from occasionally revisiting their new way of playing together. Although usually it led to her being pinned underneath him as he made her a moaning mess for him.

He was completely head over heals for her and he knew now that she was the one for him, especially after his encounter with MJ a week prior. He always thought seeing the woman he’d first fallen in love with would bring back feelings for him, but it didn’t, not in the way he thought they would.

“Pete?” He heard from behind him, he spun around to look at the face he knew the voice belonged to.

“Hey, MJ.” He smiled; he was happier to see her than he thought he would be. He thought she’d bring back that rush of emotions, but she didn’t, he was still thinking about Y/N.

“Long time no see.” She laughed and he returned it.

“Yeah, how’ve you been?” He asked and she smiled.

“I’ve been really great actually, I met someone.” She said as she held her hand up for him an engagement ring sparkling on her finger. He felt genuinely happy for her, no feeling of bitterness but why would he? He had his Y/N.

“I’m so happy for you.” He said brightly and she smiled.

“What about you? You must be a taken man by now.” She asked and he smiled as he thought about Y/N.

“Yeah, I am.” He said a smile on his face that had MJ smiling for him.

“Who is she? Did we go to school with her?” She pried, only in an interested way, no mocking.

“No, we didn’t. It’s Y/N L/N, she’s amazing. I’ve never met a woman like her.” Peter gushed before realising what he was saying. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be, I’m happy for you.” She smiled. “Are you engaged or?” MJ asked carefully and Peter shook his head. “You should ask her, if she’s so amazing I mean. You wouldn’t want anyone to snatch her up.” MJ laughed and Peter joined but he thought about it, really thought about it and he wondered why he hadn’t asked her sooner. She was the one for him, that much was clear.

“Maybe I will.” Peter said.

So here he was sweaty palms and ring in his pocket as he followed the sound of her music through the house. She was in her music room, exactly where he knew she’d be.

“Hey.” She smiled as he caught her attention from the doorway, his nerves were setting in now.

“Can you play our song?” He blurted out and he watched as smile spread across her face, he needed to calm his nerves, and this was the best way he knew.

“Sure, you gonna sit or just stand there?” She laughed.

“Sorry.” He said as he took a seat next to her, she studied him before taking his hands in hers.

“You seem nervous.” She spoke as she kissed his knuckles, an action she also knew calmed him.

“I just wanna hear you play, it calms me. Always has.” He said and she smiled.

“Okay.” She agreed as she took her hands from his and began to play, Peter listened to the song as it the melody calmed him. She played so beautifully always has and she was enchanting him as she always had, he watched her play and listened to the music, his nerves leaving him. He was ready to do this, ready for the next step with her, he always would be. He waited until she’d finished before he stood, moving to stand in front of her, she looked at him confused before he got down on one knee, her hands covering her mouth as she gasped.

“Y/N L/N,” he said as he took the ring from his pocket, presenting it to her. She had tears in her eyes and Peter felt his own appear. “You have made me the happiest I have ever been. You had me from the minute I first heard you play, I’ve always found it beautiful and elegant, just like you.” Tears of happiness where streaming down the couples faces. “I can’t think of another person who gets me better than you do. You’re the first person in my life who has loved me for being both Peter Parker and spiderman and it means so much to me, more than you could ever understand. Baby, you are everything I want from life and more so please, will you marry me?” He finished and she cried as she flung herself at him, it caught him off guard as he fell backwards, she was on top of him.

“Yes!” She said as she placed kisses all over his face and he’d never felt his heart full of so much love and joy. She was going to be his forever; she’d just agreed to spend the rest of her life with him. He grinned as he let her continue place kisses on his face. She eventually ceased, sitting up as Peter followed, grasping her hand and placing the ring on her finger.

“Suits you.” He grinned.

“I’m so glad I was stupid enough to go that music hall on my own that night.” She grinned as she held her hand out, examining the ring on her finger.

“I love you.” He said as he kissed her cheek.

“I love you so much Pete. Now let me play our song again.” She said excitedly, getting up from her position on the floor, Peter following as they sat on the bench together. He was so glad he met her and she him.

[blockgamepirate]

So we were talking on Discord about a DSMP superpowers AU, specifically Syndicate as an anarchist superhero team who are perceived as villains by pretty much everybody. (There were a bunch of people involved in the brainstorming but I wanna particularly credit @macachee for the idea for Techno’s superpowers, even though I ended up using a slightly different version than theirs.)

Anyway I know I don't really write fanfic anymore and I'm extremely rusty but uh... my hand slipped?

(CW: nothing major but there are repeated mentions of fire and some pretty tame violence)

×××

"Professor Underscore, I presume?"

The distinctive deep voice of an infamous supervillain was really not something anyone wanted to hear after 14 hours of last minute bug-fixing on a prototype superweapon in a secret laboratory. Especially when all your assistants had already called it a day and gone home.

Without even looking around, Tubbo reached for the gun in his desk drawer but before he could pull it out, a blade smashed into the wood right next to his hand.

"Nope", said the voice, "you don't get to have weapons, I get to have weapons. And speaking of weapons..."

Tubbo carefully turned around on his chair to face his attacker. As expected, it was a huge, hulking pigman dressed in flashy red and a golden mask.

"You are Protesilaus, aren't you? From the Syndicate?"

Protesilaus blinked at him. "You're a LOT younger than I expected, professor."

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

"I mean it's very impressive though, good for you."

"Thanks."

"So anyway, I'm here for the weapons."

"The weapons are kinda reserved already. You know, for the military."

"Don't give a shit", said a voice from the door. "Gib."

Protesilaus sighed. "Zephyrus, you're supposed to be the secret back-up."

The man hiding by the door frame laughed. "We already took care of the guards. There's nobody here but him, it's fiiine."

"But what if HE has his own secret back-up? What then? Well, it's too late now so just keep a look-out, alright?"

Zephyrus laughed again. "Sure."

"Alright." Protesilaus pointed his sword at Tubbo. "Show us to the weapons."

×××

There wasn't much he could think of doing to stall except try and tap in the pin codes on the doors as slowly as humanly possible. To be fair he didn't even really know what he was stalling for exactly. Secret back-up would have been nice but if they’d really taken out all the guards then none was likely to come.

Protesilaus was following him, sword in hand, making random small talk on the way as if he didn't know how to deal with the silence. Tubbo had only caught a few glimpses of Zephyrus, the winged man, in the background or in reflections. He seemed to be tampering with the security systems on the way, meaning that Tubbo really might be completely alone on this if the sabotage was successful. Zephyrus was also pulling along a big wheeled container of some sort that was probably intended for the weapons.

The two of them were the known members of the Syndicate, a team of anarchist terrorists who gave nightmares to the local police forces, the national guard and occasionally the military, but it was also widely theorized to have a secret third member with fire powers. Nobody had ever managed to catch them in the act, the only evidence of the secret member's existence was the trail of smoking ruins following the pair, their targets always burned down in a blaze of extremely memorable pink flames.

Tubbo had a theory that there were actually two secret members in the Syndicate, because if you're going to have one secret member you might as well have two, right? Maybe even three! It just made sense.

His assistants hadn't seemed convinced by this logic.

They arrived at the large hall leading up to the main vault where the prototypes were hidden and Tubbo finally had a plan. Somebody (probably him, honestly) had left the remote control of his battle bots lying around on a sidetable. He took advantage of his captors checking the space for surprise guards and inched slowly towards the remote.

"Everything good up there?" Protesilaus called out to Zephyrus who had flown up to the rafters.

"All good."

"Alright, seems safe enough", said Protesilaus. "Now, open the vault."

Tubbo just needed to stall a little bit longer until he could grab the remote undetected. "Actually, maybe I just won't be able to live with the fact that I let you guys get your hands on superweapons? What if I'd rather die than let you have them?"

Protesilaus sighed. "Look, don't worry, it's for a good cause, I promise."

"I mean, you guys are supervillains."

"Oh yeah sure, you're literally making weapons for an imperialist government but we're the villains?"

"What about that orphanage you burned down?" Tubbo kept moving towards the sidetable, trying to make it look like he was just pacing nervously.

"I have NEVER burned down any orphanages, I do NOT have an irrational hatred of small children, in fact I LOVE orphans in particular, you can ask anyone."

"You did, though! That was like two years ago, back when you were part of the Sleepy Bois Inc!"

Tubbo actually knew quite a lot about the Sleepy Bois, the infamous villain team who were particularly known for conning people into taking part in some sort of strange experiments, like that time they somehow transported a hundred people to the moon and told them to terraform a random area. The group had broken up a while back and two of the four had since reformed. Well, more or less reformed anyway. Actually not really reformed, but they were at least sticking to smaller crimes these days.

Anyway Mr. Business was now one of Tubbo's best friends, although nobody was supposed to know that. And Dirty Crime Boy seemed like a surprisingly nice guy. He was out there running what seemed to be some kind of a drug van but Tubbo had chosen not to worry about it too much.

The other two members, however...

"Sleepy Boys? Doesn't ring a bell." Protesilaus' face was suspiciously blank.

"You know, back when you called yourself the Blood God."

"Nah nah nah, I'm Protesilaus, not the Blood God."

"Come on, you're OBVIOUSLY the Blood God."

"I've never even heard of that guy."

"You're LITERALLY a pigman with superhealing powers and a shiny magical sword, you wear a crown AND you're hanging out with a blond guy with wings who looks just like the Angel of Death."

"Wow, wild coincidence", said Protesilaus

“Not gonna lie, the Angel of Death is a really cool name“, said Zephyrus.

Tubbo ignored them. "And you sound exactly like the Blood God."

"I don't hear it", said Protesilaus.

"You said you don't even know who he is!"

"Exactly."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'EXACTLY'??? THAT DOESN'T EVEN MAKE SENSE!!!"

"Well I can't hear it if I've never even heard him speak. That's just logic."

Up in the rafters Zephyrus was cackling like a madman.

"You annoy me so much", said Tubbo.

"Aaaanyways, just give us a little peek into the vault, alright? Just out of curiosity, you know."

Tubbo had made it to the remote, he just needed one more distraction to cover for him grabbing it. "Uh..." Then he had an idea: he just took a quick sudden glance at the exit, as if he'd seen something over there and sure enough both of the criminals immediately turned to check. It was just long enough. He got the remote. "Okay fine, you can see the vault."

"Nice, nice." Protesilaus was still glancing around suspiciously but he had no idea what he should have been suspicious of.

Tubbo was more than happy to open the vault now. It might be holding the prototypes but it was also filled with a small army of robots.

All of which came to life with the press of a button.

"Ah", said Protesilaus. "There's his secret back-up."

"Oh Jesus", said Zephyrus. "I think we fucked up."

"You could say that", said Tubbo. "If you just leave peacefully I might let you go", he added in a sudden fit of uncharacteristic levels of confidence.

Protesilaus raised his sword. "Well you see, I really want those weapons, though."

"I guess you'll just have to fight the robots for it then", said Tubbo, configuring the targetting system.

"Mate, they've got guns on them", Zephyrus called out from above.

"Take cover then", said Protesilaus, very much not taking any cover at all himself.

Tubbo, pretty sure the bots knew which people to fight, released them on the criminals.

Protesilaus immediately managed to dodge the first few lazer bolts from the bots, but the third hit him on the arm. He flinched a bit but didn't seem too bothered. "Ouch. Okay so they can actually aim."

Still dancing around the shots, he held his hand to the wound and once he took it off, only the singed hole on his sleeve remained. The Blood God had been known for some kind of healing powers and coincidentally Protesilaus of the Syndicate, who apparently definitely wasn't the Blood God, just happened to also have healing powers. This fight was going to be hard even for thirty robots.

The pigman finally took some cover, hiding behind a pillar. The robots would have to move closer and Tubbo could already tell that if he'd manage to single them out, Protesilaus would easily take them down one by one.

Even worse, Zephyrus had hidden behind a different pillar up near the ceiling and was sniping the bots from above. They were supposed to be bulletproof but the man was absolutely cracked and managed to keep hitting them in the joints and in the eyes.

But at least the bots had given Tubbo some room to work with. He bolted into the vault and headed straight for a very specific section.

"So I just wanna know, professor", Protesilaus called out from the hall, "how are you NOT the evil mastermind here? You have a LITERAL horde of robots in your control that you can just let loose on people!"

"What do you MEAN? They're for fighting people like you! In this exact kind of situation!" Tubbo found what he was looking for and quickly unbuckled the huge harnesses holding it in place. He had to get a stool to reach the highest ones and nearly tripped on it in his hurry.

"Oh and how many of these have you sold to the government? And what if they just decide that they'd be very convenient for taking care of dissenters?"

"Well if the dissenters are literal supervillains, that sounds great." He climbed the ladder on the wall up to the platform by the mech suit and jumped inside.

He couldn't hear what Protesilaus responded after he pulled down the dome of the suit over his body. The sounds of fighting and the bulletproof glass drowned it all out from this distance, and the sound system wasn’t turned on yet. Now the odds should be a lot more even, though. Let’s see how they deal with this, he thought. He settled in and launched the mech--

... and then maneuvered awkwardly through the mess of secret weapons and machines inside his vault. He was pretty sure he didn't break too many things on the way, it was fine. In the corner of his eye he thought he saw a flash of pink and for a second he worried that the pigman had followed him into the vault where it would be almost impossible for him to fight in the suit but luckily he could still hear the sound of sword clanging into metal from outside.

He moved over to the vault door as sneakily as he could while piloting a 12-foot-tall machine in a tight space and looked out into the hall. The floor was littered with broken robots, and there were several blinded ones aimlessly wandering around and getting in the way of the ones that still functioned properly. Protesilaus was towards the back of the hall, stabbing a bot in the armpit and tearing off its arm, Zephyrus on the other hand, still perching on the rafters, had moved around the pillar he had hidden behind, now aiming away from the vault. Neither of them were looking at Tubbo. He took aim and shot at one of the huge grey wings.

"Ah! Fuck!" Zephyrus spun around. "You little shit!"

"Zephyrus, are you okay??" Protesilaus immediately looked over to his ally and took another hit himself.

"I'm FINE, dude!" Zephyrus sounded exasperated but fond. "Look out yourself! Also the kid has a fucking mech."

"A what?"

Tubbo slammed the vault door shut. Good luck getting in there now, Syndicate. Then he tossed aside some robot carcasses to clear out the floor and threw one at Protesilaus who dodged it easily but in the process took another hit from a different robot. He was starting to look tired and he was obviously distracted by Zephyrus getting hurt. That was promising.

Tubbo started climbing the pillar up to the ceiling. Zephyrus cursed again and tried to hop around the pillar to run across to the other side but his hurt wing didn't open properly so he lost his balance, slipped up and fell. "Shit!"

"ZEPHYRUS!"

The man managed to open his wings and soften the fall but the injury made him veer dangerously to the left and crash into a pile of broken robots. Protesilaus leaped over to him, dropping his sword and laying his hands on his friend's wing and back. A faint red glow emitted from the touch points.

Tubbo jumped back down to the ground and stormed at them. He punched the pigman right in the chin, sending him flying across the room. He then tried to grab Zephyrus but the man had already slipped away and had apparently managed to pick up his friend's sword. "You motherfucker", the man said, "I'm going to take that fucking suit apart and then it's your turn."

"Zeph!" Protesilaus called from the side and Zephyrus tossed the sword to him without taking his eyes of off Tubbo. Then the man pulled up his sniper rifle again and Tubbo quickly covered his weak points with his armoured arms and jumped behind a pillar. He needed to disarm Zephyrus ASAP.

Behind them, Protesilaus was taking care of the last few robots. Tubbo didn't have much time, but he couldn't do anything until Zephyrus would have to reload, the guy was just too accurate...

"Oh fuck", said Zephyrus suddenly. "Prot, the door!"

They all turned to look at the exit.

There, at the door, was Ranboo, widened eyes flicking between Tubbo, the broken robots and the Syndicade. He was holding a bowl of biscuits and a cup of tea. "Uh... hello? Hi?"

Ranboo was actually NOT allowed in the vaults but how do you stop someone who can literally teleport anyway? Tubbo was glad to see him sneaking in, though.

"Ranboo! Help! They're trying to steal the weapons!"

"I..." Ranboo seemed frozen in place.

"Ranboo!" Tubbo was starting to get worried. His husband wasn't even taking any shelter. He drove the mech over to him to at least give him some protection.

"I just came to bring you cookies? Coz I thought maybe you were staying late to make the deadline and I thought--"

"Ranboo, I'm being attacked by supervillains right now!"

"Look, what if we just talked this through? I'm sure everybody here would rather not kill each other, right?" Ranboo was tall enough to lay a hand on Tubbo's shoulder even when he was wearing the mech suit which kind of pissed Tubbo off to be quite honest.

"Sure", said Protesilaus, "I love negotiating. Give us the weapons and their blueprints and we're more than happy to go."

"See? That's good, right? Tubbo, we can just let them have the weapons."

"Ranboo, sometimes you're a bit too quirky for my liking. Stop being quirky, help me fight them. You can use your... T-E-L-I-P-O-R-T-A-T-I-O-N powers."

Everybody just stared at him for a second.

"Shouldn't it be T-E-L-E?" said Protesilaus.

"Tubbo, you realise they can spell words too, you know, like most people who graduated elementary school?" said Ranboo.

"I'M SORRY! I'M TIRED, OKAY?"

“You could have just said ‘use your powers’, I mean, I know what my powers are.”

“IT'S BEEN A REALLY LONG DAY!“

"Zephyrus, I think this guy might be too much for us, I've never met such intimidating intellect", said Protesilaus. Zephyrus seemed to already be dying of laughter and his ally's words did not help.

"Now that's just rude," said Tubbo.

He'd barely finished his sentence when a horrible whistling sound hit them all like an invisible cargo train. After a second Tubbo managed to reassemble his braincells long enough to figure it out: "The fire alarm!"

Then he noticed the grin on his enemy's face. "Well, good job, everyone! Let's go home, Zephyrus", said Protesilaus cheerfully.

"Sure, mate."

The secret third member of the Syndicate, Tubbo suddenly remembered. The container they'd brought with them was gone too. Well, fuck. "This whole thing was a diversion??"

"Yep." The Protesilaus was already at the exit and Zephyrus was following right behind him. "See ya, losers!"

Something inside the vault exploded, making a muffled bang through the door, as if just to prove where exactly the fire had been lit.

"Oh man..." Tubbo flopped down on his seat. "I spent SO LONG building all those things!"

"Tubbo, we need to get out." Ranboo took him by the hand of his mech suit and pulled him along.

"No, we could still go in and save the--"

"No, Tubbo. Let's NOT run into the vault full of dangerous chemicals that's literally on fire, actually."

×××

By the time the fire department showed up, pink flames had enveloped the entire lab complex. The terrorists presumably had at least one of the prototypes now and all the remaining ones were a lost cause.

It's not like all the work was gone to waste, they'd made some backups at least, but it would be a pain to find a new lab and order all the extremely volatile chemicals again. So much paperwork. Tubbo was really not good at paperwork.

"Well, there goes my summer holidays I guess", he said.

"Yeah", said Ranboo. "There they go."

×××

"So... Lethe", said Techno at the next Syndicate meeting, "you never happened to mention you were friends with Professor Underscore."

Ranboo shifted nervously in his chair. "I mean... in my defence, you never said you were going to raid his lab?"

"True, true. It didn't seem like relevant information at the time I suppose. You know, because you're kinda more in the group just for the book club and Bake Off Fridays and not so much for the vigilante thing."

"How do you know Professor Underscore, Lethe?" asked Niki gently.

Ranboo looked around the table. He was fairly certain that the others wouldn't kill him for fraternizing with the enemy. He was pretty sure anyway. At least 70% sure.

Also they were all staring at him now.

"Uh... he's my... husband?"

The staring continued.

"Oh!" said Niki.

"Well", said Techno. "This is awkward."

"Uh huh?" Ranboo responded, his entire body tense and slightly wobbly.

"Techno", Phil said softly. Techno brushed him off.

"So uh, are you attached to him, Lethe?"

"Y-yes?" Ranboo straightened his back. "Yes." he said again, more firmly.

"Alright. I guess in the future we should try not to kill him then."

[dreamsclock]

Okay but I was thinking, what if they knew they were in a video game? Like they were playing on really advanced virtual reality. And it's just supposed to be a game, it's supposed to be fun. And it is! They have fun together, building things, discovering this new virtual land. Until Dream starts getting a little too pulled in by the game, becoming more and more distant from reality. Everything's a game and a story now, and the others are just his characters to play with. The disks are a step too far and everything else just snowballs as he loses his grip on what and who's real or not.

And the others could leave, yeah. They could leave him alone in this world he created, just log off or jump ship. But they don’t, because they won’t leave their friend alone, when he's barely holding on as it is. They try to reason, and when that fails, they try to punish. Maybe they’re getting a little too invested in the game as well. While Dream keeps slipping away from them like sand between their fingers. -Minotaur

minotaur anon. MINOTAUR ANON. you have taken my breath away i am obsessed with this au i cannot breathe this is the best ask ihave ever been sent /lh

seriously though oh my GOD i love this so much ,,, have A Very Long Ficlet for it bc i am so obsessed :D

warnings: dereality, derealisation, depersonalisation, mental illness, mental deterioration, psychosis (not being able to tell what’s real anymore), pandora’s vault, exile arc mentions, unhealthy coping mechanisms, obsession, dark themes !! proceed with warning ESPECIALLY if you struggle with any of the above <3

Sapnap is the first to notice Dream isn’t looking like himself. 

“Dream, man,” he says, concerned, “no offence, you look like shit. When was the last time you slept?”

Dream blinks. “You can see my face?”

When Sapnap just stares at him, he curses himself internally, because of course his face is visible, he’s not wearing a mask in this reality - in reality, the only reality, he reminds himself firmly, because the other reality isn’t real at all.

(It doesn’t matter how real it feels. It’s not real. And he knows that.)

“Sorry, sorry,” he dismisses with a snort, running a hand down his face (there should be a scar on his nose from a swordfight with Techno, it doesn’t make sense), “I guess I’ve been wrapped up in the game.”

Sapnap snorts. “Yeah, no kidding.” He shoots him a look; fond, worried. “Maybe you should take the night off, get an early night. I’ll tell Tommy and Wilbur and shit to postpone, and-”

“Sapnap,” Dream whines, “I’m not twelve, Jesus, I’ll be fine, I promise.” He grins, beckoning his friend back towards the virtual transporter that takes their bodies back into the game. “Come on. We have a war to win.”

-

-

“Aaaand I’m done!” Wilbur whoops, still in the voice chat despite having logged out. “What did we think? Was that good?”

There are laughs and claps of agreement - the finale of the Pogtopia arc has left them all on a high - but Dream finds himself rooted in spot, unable to leave the game. He’s standing on a precipice overlooking what’s left of L’Manburg, weary on his feet, but he’s never felt more alive. This is what reality feels like - the rush of wind through his hair, the exhilaration and satisfaction pooling in his chest and the destruction beneath him. It’s godlike, and he closes his eyes, taking it all in. He could lose himself to this feeling. It’s-

“Dream?”

Dream flinches away from a hand laying on his shoulder. It’s Wilbur. He’s logged back in. When had it got dark? When had the voice chat fallen silent? “Wilbur,” he says, voice rusty with disuse, “hi. Sorry, I was just...”

The words die in his throat. Wilbur is looking at him with more knowing than he’d like to see. 

“Dream, man, listen to me a second,” Wilbur says, voice quiet. There’s no sign of the mania glinting in his eyes when he’d pressed the button, or the past few times they’ve interacted - this isn’t his version of Wilbur, Dream knows; this is reality’s Wilbur, far less destructive, far more caring. “You’re heading down a dangerous path. It’s why I’m taking a break - I felt myself begin to slip, and I know you are too.” He sighs, stepping back from the edge. Dream doesn’t follow him. “Look, we’ve finished the plot. We can all relax a bit now, go back to the way things were at the start of the server. Come offline for a bit, man. It’s been weeks since you’ve seen anyone out of here.”

Dream’s eyes turn back to L’Manburg. Behind the mask, he almost smiles. It’s pretty.

“I’ll come soon,” Dream promises him, promise already forgotten as soon as it leaves his lips, “I just- I just need a minute.”

And his eyes are fixated on the rubble of the blood smeared podium, so he misses the sadness in Wilbur’s eyes, misses the fact he hesitates before logging off for the night. Dream stands there for two more hours, and when exhaustion gets too much, sits down to watch the sun rise.

It rains that night. In Dream’s game, it rains a lot.

-

-

Tommy confronts him after the exile announcement, looking exhausted. “Dream, look, as much I’m loving all this improv, dude, I’m not sure about exile. I have stuff to do, I’m tired, it’s so soon after Wilbur logged off- I was thinking maybe we could-”

Dream stares impassively at him. “Tommy, look. Either you give me the disks and learn to behave, or it’s simple: I exile you. I already told you this. You’ve pushed me too far this time.”

“Cut the bullshit character for a minute.” Tommy groans, running a hand over his face. “I think WIlbur might’ve been right, I think you’re losing your shit. Look, I told you, I don’t like this exile bit you’re pulling. We could change it to one last big fight between us, and then-”

“You better keep in line.” Dream turns away from him, body aching: when had been the last time he’d taken off his armour? He doesn’t remember. “This isn’t a bit, Tommy, this is what’s happening, whether you like it or not. I don’t want to have to do this to you, but if you’re going to push me like this, then I’ll have to-”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Tommy demands, grabbing his shoulder and whirling him back round. “Look, Dream, I’m serious. Log the fuck off. Log off right now, or I swear to God, I’ll get Wilbur and-”

Dream sneers at him, shoving Tommy back and feeling a swell of satisfied tiredness at the sight of the distress on the kid’s face. “If you touch me again, I’ll exile you right now. Look, I’ve given you chances! I’ve-”

The plug is pulled on his PC. Dream is logged out. His legs buckle, and, behind the mask, he can’t breathe. This world is too solid and soft edged: he misses the thin SMP air already. 

Sapnap catches him as he falls, expression grim, miserable. “You can’t keep going like this,” he says, uneasy, “you’re going to destroy yourself.”

Dream’s vision swims. No, he thinks, I’m going to destroy Tommy.

Lifting a hand to his face, he manages to knock his mask aside before his vision goes back.

(He smiles.)

(There’s a scar on his nose from a swordfight with Techno.)

-

-

“When was the last time you ate?” Punz asks tentatively, the day before the final fight. 

Dream doesn’t even look round. “A few hours ago,” he says blithely, “well, it was a potion, but my hunger bars are full, and so are my hearts, so-”

“I mean... In the real world.” Punz winces at the stillness that suddenly appears in Dream’s movements. “In reality, Dream. When was the last time you ate? Slept? Can you even remember?”

Tilting his head behind the mask, Dream steps closer to Punz, who stands ready to defend himself if needed. He doesn’t want to hurt Dream, but his friend hasn’t been the same in a long, long time. 

It’s the only reason he’s helping Tommy tomorrow. He cares about gold and money in-game, of course he does. But while Dream refuses to log out, the other SMP members spend their nights discussing how best to save their friend. He’d helped so many of them, after all. It’s only fair that they help him now.

“Are you feeling alright, Punz?” Dream asks quizzically. “You aren’t making sense.”

Punz’s mouth is dry. “Dream,” he says, quietly, “where do you think we are right now?”

Dream doesn’t respond for a long, long minute.

“I’m where I need to be,” he replies, before walking out.

-

-

“...Hey, Dream,” Tommy says in the long silence, mouth dry, “how’ve you been?”

Dream stares at him. There’s almost nothing behind his eyes. They’re dull and exhausted and defeated and bitter; nothing like the man Tommy had once called a good friend. And it hurts more than a little, to see Dream like this. It hurts more than a little after everything he’d put him through - exile, Doomsday, the finale - but Tommy is nothing if not stubborn. 

Everyone tells him he can log out if he needs to. He’s determined to stay here with Dream until he can yank Dream out of this spiral: he’s determined not to give in to the same path Dream has gone down. He knows what reality is. And what Dream’s living? Is anything but.

Dream seems long past the point of knowing that, though. The prison had been a last resort: a last ditch idea of “let’s throw him in the prison until he’s forced to log out due to the awful conditions”. But he’s yet to do so. Pulling the plug is too dangerous at this point - according to Sapnap and George, it had almost killed him last time - so he has to leave on his own accord.

“Once he does,” Sapnap says seriously, “we’re going to smash the transporter to smithereens.”

...Tommy’s not so certain he will. Because Dream isn’t the only one who’s struggling to disconnect reality from this world anymore. Sam has been spending an unhealthy amount of time here, Ranboo sometimes forgets to log off, nobody has seen Quackity log off in weeks. People are beginning to crumble, just like Wilbur, who is better than he’s ever been after a prolonged break, just like Dream, who is worse than ever after four months without leaving.

“I don’t know.” Dream’s voice is distant, dull blades grinding against metal. “I don’t know how to feel anymore.”

Tommy steps forwards. Pandora’s Vault is no place to be; for a fleeting moment, he feels worse for Dream. “This isn’t real, Dream. You need to come home. People in the real world are worried for you, man. Please.”

Dream meets his eyes with an effort. He’s skinnier than he’s ever been and shivering despite being burned and too warm and Tommy can’t help but wonder how long he has left. “I don’t have anyone,” he tells him, “I don’t need anyone. I’m— I’m okay here.”

“Do you even remember how to log off?” Tommy asks desperately. “Can you even figure out how to disconnect?”

There’s a flinch and a blank stare in reply.

They’re losing him.

They’re losing him.

-

-

Dream smiles emptily when Quackity pays him his first visit, hollow eyes tracking his old friend’s every move.

“It’s been a while since you’ve logged off.” He rasps, voice soft, almost inaudible. “Have you forgotten how?”

Quackity stares at him, face creasing in contempt and mild confusion. “You’ve lost your mind in here, Dream,” he tells him, and Dream laughs, “what the fuck do you mean, log off?”

For a minute, Dream concentrates, and sees his button. QUIT. It’s so tempting: he’s been looking at it more and more these past few weeks after seeing it for the first time he’d stumbled into lava.

But with an effort, he pushes it away. Because he knows what true reality is now, yes, but he’s not real anymore. He’s a character, he’s the villain, he’s playing a part in a story he’s written. He doesn’t get to log off until the story is over, and until he’s paid the price for his actions.

Quackity’s axe swings towards him, and for a moment, Dream screams out for someone to save him.

(They’re all offline.)

[waitimcomingtoo]

fine line - p.p

chapter 5

pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Synopsis: there’s a fine line between love and hate and you and Peter dance it on a regular basis

Series Masterlist and Regular Masterlist

Peter found you in the kitchen the next morning, smiling shyly you as he stood in the door. Unsure of how to interact after the night before, he kept his distance as to not overwhelm you. You nodded towards the empty seat next to you, and a relieved smile appeared on Peters face as he grabbed a cereal bowl and joined you at the table. You silently pushed the milk towards him, feeling your face heat up when his fingertips brushed yours.

“Thanks.” Peter said as he poured the milk into his bowl.

“You’re welcome.” You kept your eyes down, focused on your cereal as you raked your brain for something better to say.

“So, am I like your girlfriend now or-“

“I would like that very much.” Peter said quickly, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment at how desperate he sounded. You laughed at his eagerness, feeling inclined to lean in and kiss him right there at the kitchen table. He happily kissed you back as soon as he was able to stop smiling. You pulled away and rested your forehead against his, already enjoying this version of your relationship with him.

“I like you so much.” Peter mumbled, peering at your through his eyelashes.

“I like you too.” You giggled, still finding it funny to hear those words from your own mouth.

“Well, this is quite a turn of events.” Tony commented as he entered the room, making you and Peter jump apart.

“We were just-“ Peter began.

“Save it, skip. FRIDAY logged you going into my daughters room last night but never logged you going out. My guess was you snapped and killed each other or finally kissed and made up. I’m assuming it’s the latter, no?” Tony raised his eyebrows, asking a question he already knew the answer to.

“I’m sorry, sir.” Peter apologized. “All we did was talk and sleep. It won’t happen again.”

“I don’t need details.” Tony stuck out his tongue and gagged. “Just try not to break my daughters heart, yeah spiderling? Mark 45 is getting a bit rusty and would be more than happy to take you out.”

“I won’t, Mr. Stark.” Peter said confidently

“Good. Because if it came down to you or her, I’d pick my princess every time. No offense.” Tony waved his hand dismissively as a surprised smile crossed your face.

“Really?” You wondered after his recent actions implies the opposite.

“Oh, absolutely.” Tony said like it was obvious. “Peters great and all, but nobody compares to you. You are a Stark, after all. That means you’re predestined to be better than the rest.”

“Thanks, Daddy. It’s nice to hear that.” You grinned, his words meaning more to you than he knew.

“Don’t get too excited. You’ll be less happy to hear that we have to head to Florida tonight to check out some psychedelic weapons being sold. Should be a drag but that’s what we’re here for.” Tony pulled at his collar and grimaced.

“We?” You asked hesitantly. “As in me too?”

“Well Romeo here is great and all, stupendous really, but I’ve missed you by my side.” Tony said causally. “And also you don’t make the whole jet smell like axe body spray and Proactive.”

“It’s Clean and Clear, sir.” Peter corrected your father, retreating when Tony shot him a look.

“Well, you should pack. We leave after dinner. Plenty of time to say goodbye to lover boy.” Tony shrugged, making you and Peter flush. “Parting is such sweet sorrow and all that. See you tonight.”

“See you tonight.” You nodded eagerly as Peter squeezed your hand under the table.

Tony winked and knocked the table twice before exiting the kitchen.

“Did you say something to him?” You looked curiously at Peter once your dad was out of earshot. “It’s been over a month since he’s taken me on a mission. And I’m pretty sure I’m the least qualified person in this tower to recovery illegal weapons.”

“Would you be mad if I did?” Peter asked, scrunching his face nervously. You looked at Peter fondly before grabbing his face and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you.” You whispered as you rested your forehead against his once again. “Thanks for being patient with me.”

“You were worth waiting for.” Peter smiled softly as he tucked your hair behind your ear. “I still want you to clean up your cereal bowls though.”

“I’ll think about it.” You giggled, moving your spoon around in your cereal. “As long as you promise not to dip your fingers in my brownie batter.”

“Gross.” A voice came from in front of you, startling you and Peter. You looked up and saw Drax with a bowl of cereal in hand, staring directly at you and Peter.

“Drax?” You shrieked. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m visiting the city. I always wanted to see the Statue of Liberty. It’s been a dream of mine since I was a child.” He deadpanned before slowly raising his spoon to his mouth.

“How long have you been there?” Peter stared at him with wide eyes.

“I don’t know.” Drax thought. “When did Iron Man come in?”

“A few minutes ago.” You shrugged, still staring at him in confusion.

“Long before that.” Drax concluded, making you and Peter look at each other.

“Oh my God.” You groaned.

“Could you give us a few minutes?” Peter asked with a fake smile.

“Okay.” Drax nodded and walked out of the room.

“So as I was-

“How many?” Drax popped back in and interrupted Peter.

“What?” Peter asked, growing annoyed.

“How many minutes do you need?” Drax wondered.

“A lot.” Peter stated through gritted teeth.

“All of them, if we’re honest.” You mumbled.

“Okay. Bye guys.” Drax waved and left the room again.

“Bye.” Peter grunted, rolling his eyes in disbelief. “Where were we? I forget.”

“I could try and remind you.” You smiled as you leaned in to kiss him. Right before your lips could touch, the doorbell rang. You hung your head in disappointment and sighed.

“Oh my God. What now?” You whined.

“I’ll get it. Stay here.” Peter rubbed your arm comfortingly and made his way to the door. Peter opened the door to find a clean cut brunette in a crisp button down.

“Hey.” The boy smiled. “FRIDAY let me up.”

“Oh, okay.” Peter nodded. “And you are?”

“Harry Osborn.” The boy said, making Peters heart stop. “You’re Peter right? Y/n has told me a thing or two about you. Is she here?”

“In the bathroom.” Peter fibbed. “Can I ask why you’re here?”

“We cut our date short last night so I thought I’d surprise her.” Harry replied.

“How nice. She’s gonna be really really surprised.” Peter began to sweat, not knowing how to deal with his new girlfriends almost boyfriend.

“Yeah. I’m gonna ask her to be my girlfriend today.” Harry announced, making Peters heart stop. “I’ve waited too long, you know? And hot billionaires don’t fall into your lap everyday.”

“I don’t…” Peter trailed off, looking over his shoulder at you in the kitchen. You gave him a friendly wave, and he waved back before turning to Harry. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What? Why?” Harry sized Peter up, unhappy with his answer.

“Well, she came home really upset last night.” Peter began, which was partially true. “I don’t think she wants to see you anymore.”

“What?” Harry laughed in disbelief. “Did she tell you that?”

“Yeah. She told me.” Peter folded him arms, standing his ground.

“Why would she tell you that?” Harry cocked his head. “She hates you.”

“She doesn’t hate me.” Peter snapped, his jaw locking.

“Hate to break it to you, Dude, but she does. You’re all she talks about. Hang on, fantasy football.” Harry held up a finger as he checked his phone, putting it away after seemingly reading something he liked. “Anyway, she said you were the worst thing that ever happened to her.”

“Well that’s not what she thought last night.” The words left Peters mouth before he could think them through, but he didn’t mind the look it left on Harry’s face. Peter smirked as Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“You two...”

“Yeah, we’re together.” Peter shrugged with his arms still folded. “Looks like you waited too long.”

“Wow. I guess there really is a fine line between love and hate.” Harry laughed bitterly, as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah, well, she and I have built a permanent residence on that line.” Peter told him. “Sorry about it.”

“Alright. I better go then.” Hardy said coldly, burning holes in Peter with his eyes.

“Thanks for stopping by.” Peter smiled widely as he shut the door. He returned to you in the kitchen, guilt building up in the back of his mind.

“Who was that?” You asked from the kitchen sink as you rinsed your bowl. Peter smiled at you listening to what he asked you to do, but it quickly faded.

“Uhh, Mailman.” He lied to you, adverting his eyes as he leaned against the counter.

“Really? Why did he come to this floor?” You chuckled curiously as you put your bowl in the dishwasher. “He usually leaves it in the mailbox in the lobby.”

“Oh well he wanted to see the main floor.” Peter said weakly. “Can’t blame him, the interior decoration is really something to behold.”

“You’re acting funny. Do you feel okay?” You furrowed your eyebrows, pressing the back of your hand to Peters forehead to check his temperature.

“I’m fine. Just happy to be with you.” Peter shrugged as he held your hands in his, his conscience getting the better of him by the minute. You noticed the sweat building on his forehead and slowly let go of his hands.

“Peter, where’s the mail?”

“The what?” Peter wondered before he remembered. “Oh, there was none.”

“Who was at the door, Peter?” You asked suspiciously, your face hardening as you broke through his web of lies.

“Harry. But I got rid of him!” Peter said quickly when your face showed signs of anger.

“Got rid of him how?” You demanded.

“I told him we were together.” Peter said timidly, weary of how you’d react.

“What?” You exclaimed. “Peter!”

“Whats wrong? We are together.” He reminded you, getting the feeling you wanted to hide that fact.

“That doesn’t mean he needed to know that. And he definitely didn’t need to find out like this.” You crossed your arms. “That’s not fair to him. Do you know how heart broken I’d be if he did that to me?”

“You said the date was lame. And you have a boyfriend now, so who cares?” Peter shrugged dismissively, growing frustrated over you caring about Harry’s feelings.

“I do, Peter.” You raised your voice. “Yeah the date was lame but that doesn’t mean he deserves to be blown off. He’s a person with feelings. He deserved to hear it from me.”

“Apparently he’s heard a lot of things from you.” Peter matched your anger. “Like how much you hate me, for instance.”

“What are you talking about?” You shook your head in confusion.

“You told him I was the worst thing that ever happened to you. Is that true? That’s how you feel?” Peters voice wavered between angry and upset as his eyes desperately searched your face for answers.

“I used to feel like that, but not anymore.” You retorted. “You know how I feel about you now.”

“Do I? Because you seem awfully concerned over hurting Harry’s feelings. Do you still like him?” Peter demanded answers, a mixture of insecurity and jealousy eating away at him.

“No.” You shouted. “I just don’t want to hurt him.“

“You had no problem hurting me when I first moved in.” Peter said coldly.

“And I apologized for that. God, you’re so jealous.” You spat, rolling your eyes at Peter and turning away. He gripped your arm to make you face him again, not enough to hurt you but enough to keep you in place.

“I wouldn’t have to be jealous if you weren’t so indecisive.” He seethed.

“I did decide.” You stepped you to him. “I chose you. But you had no right to send Harry away like that and lie to me about it.”

“Like how you lied about hating me?” He raised an eyebrow. “Do you know how it felt to hear him say that?”

“It’s a figure of speech.” You scoffed and yanked your arm out of his grip. “I never actually hated you. Do you have to knit pick everything you hear?”

“Apparently I do since you don’t know how to send a clear message to save your life.” He shouted. “You hate me, you love me, which is it?”

“I hate you!” You screamed, pointing a finger in his face.

“I hate you too!” He yelled back, stepping closer to you so your noses were touching. The fire in his eyes ignited one in your own, making you suck in a sharp breath.

“Good!” You barked.

“God, do you ever stop talking?” He gripped the counter angrily as he stared you down.

“Why don’t you make me stop talking?” You asked through gritted teeth.

“You are the most annoying girl I’ve ever met.” Peter growled as he towered over you.

“You’re no walk in the park either, Parker.” You hissed.

“My name is Peter.” He snarled, griping your hips. “Say it.”

“You wish.” You laughed shortly. That was all Peter needed you hear to push him over the edge. He grabbed your face and pressed a searing kiss to your lips. You clutched his shirt, gripping it firmly to keep him as close as possible as he trailed kisses down your neck.

“Peter.” You mumbled into his ear, making him chuckle when his plan worked.

“Fine line, huh?” He smirked as he held your chin between his fingers.

“Yep.” You laughed breathlessly and kissed him again. “The finest.”

Tag List 🏷

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[lesbianrobin]

hello em i have a request. can u please rate mr harrington's looks/outfits i just feel like u have the best takes and i'd LOVE to know how you'd rank his choices 👀

this is the single greatest ask i’ve ever received. i will be ranking the outfits, not steve’s moral alignment or actions in each scene. in order of appearance:

The Introduction

4/10

hair is tragic

steve copied this entire fit from a mannequin in the ralph lauren polo outlet store

would honestly be a 0/10 except for the obvious valiant effort being put forth by his lower half to resist the sexless curse of khaki pants. the devil (st costuming department) works hard but by god steve harrington (joe keery’s body) works harder

nice brown watch that certainly came from a department store

also gains points for being next to nancy’s anemic librarian fit, thus looking better by comparison

The Rich Bitch

8/10

thank god he ditched the khakis

hair looks much less demonic

it’s a simple look but the sweatshirt rides up when he shotguns the beer

he also gets wet

solid 8 for sluttiness alone

The Whore

10/10

wet

please note that his chest is waxed. keep this in mind.

The Heterosexual

2/10

hair looks like he dipped his head in glue

bold choice with the grey pants. unfortunately that choice was wrong

matching outfits with your comphet girlfriend isn’t as cute as you think it is stevie

you only get points because despite that ungodly pastel stripe pattern the polo’s decently fitted and makes your arm look kinda nice

The Dickhead

3/10

glue head pt. 2

at least the stripes aren’t pastel this time

The Cuck

6/10

hair slightly less glue-y

yet another striped polo is peeking out unfortunately

but! it’s green and green looks good on him

finally wearing jeans like a normal fucking human instead of weird slacks

pivotal moment in steve’s fashion evolution from preppy male model to sexy morally upright king

his morals are stored in the denim

The Final Girl

9/10

an outfit with a character arc to rival steve’s own

pretty fucking good hair if i do say so myself!!

it’s fluffy!

that shit looks like if you touched it it’d be soft... no glue here!

finally not copying from the goddamn l.l. bean catalog

iconic green slut sweatshirt? check! jacket and nikes? check! fucked-up gorgeous face and baseball bat full of rusty nails? check, baby!

looks good on its own OR with some blood on top

overall a very solid look

The Darling Little Drummer Boy

7/10

babe no... please don’t go back to the khakis... they won’t treat you like jeans do...

not quite glue head but not his best

apparently steve owns a single green sweatshirt, a thousand striped polos, and one very precious christmas sweater

almost makes up for prep-related khaki crimes by being really fucking cute

The Simp

8/10

glue head is DEAD

further evidence that steve harrington’s entire closet is just striped polos

this is his fifth unique striped polo

most of these points are for the sunglasses and the hair

actually all of these points are for the sunglasses and the hair

he’s finally let go of the fucking pastels thank jesus

and you can’t see it but he did wear jeans with this fit i just forgot to make sure they were pictured and it’s 4:15 am so i don’t feel like going back to remake this collage

cannot tell if this is a lighter blue version of the jacket he wore three times in s1 or if it IS the jacket he wore three times in s1 and the color grading is just that different

either way he loves jackets and i think that’s very sexy of him

The Intellectual

9/10

i’ve been waiting for this one... turn it up!

literally invented vests

excellent hair

loses a point for unfortunately introducing steve’s SIXTH unique striped fucking polo

i can’t see the collar but i know it’s there i know you’re wearing another fucking polo steve you can’t hide from me

can’t decide if he looks gay or just really preppy but either way he’s got some repression going on

still a very solid look

The Oh No Oh God It Hurts I’m Looking Away I Can’t Watch This

10/10

yes that middle picture is absolutely to show off the texture of his blazer and not at all me making sure that if i have to see his heartbroken little face then you all do too

anyways i Know that blazer cost at least $100 like i Know that shit’s expensive

excellent gorgeous soft-looking hair that someone ought to run their hands through but only people who haven’t dated him for a year while pining after someone else

emotional devastation... but make it unbelievably fucking sexy

stevie baby i know you’re a colorful guy but please wear more black

The Meathead Jock

9/10

aw christ whatever happened to standards?

introduction of the blue nikes <3

god his hair looked fucking good here

could have gained that final point by using tube socks with blue and GREEN stripes to tie together the shoes and the gym uniform :/

shorts could be shorter but are an altogether appropriate and enjoyable length

fun sweatstain to customize the look <3

The (is there a word for victim of bullying?) Serious Athlete

8/10

the yellow stripe was more fun

still cute though

The Sudsy Boy

11/10

wet

suds indicate that he’s washing his hair, presumably with faberge organics. is this why he’s being bullied?

steve brings his faberge organics shampoo and conditioner and his farrah fawcett spray to school with him whenever he has basketball practice

steve either has shampoo, conditioner, and hairspray in his backpack at all times, or he has a separate gym bag that’s mostly haircare products

just need to make sure we all know that

excellent freckle showcase

his chest is still waxed. please, i beg, keep this in mind

one of his strongest looks

The Babysitter

10/10

his most versatile look to date

a different jacket than the one(s) he’s worn before but it still has the same kind of collar. steve found a jacket he liked and bought it in at least three colors

the whole thing fits So fucking nicely! shirt, jacket, jeans... baby boy is TAILORED

return of the white nikes with the red check indicate that they are his fashion nikes, while the blue nikes with the white check are his sport nikes. interesting.

this fit lasts like 48 hours and steve simply looks sexier as time goes on which is a testament to its quality as well as his inherent power

every new accessory elevates his appearance. roses, nail bat, rubber gloves, blood, sweat, band-aids, bandana, goggles... each element complements the look in its own way!

an overall win

The Chauffeur

8/10

we can’t really see the whole fit but he’s not wearing a striped polo so i’m calling it a win regardless of what’s on his bottom half

cannot give him a 10/10 though because he might be wearing khakis

red is such a nice color on him when it’s not just from his blood

i lied when i said he should wear more black he should wear more colors

that plain sweater absolutely cost $85 or more

hair looks very nice and soft

excellent look!

The Sailor Man

9/10

very precious

absolutely the best hair i’ve ever seen

baby boy got highlights for his hot girl summer!

bright colors make his very red lips pop

shorts could be shorter

love the little accents! especially the white pockets and belt

excellent color coordination on steve’s part with the blue sneakers (notably different than his s2 blue basketball nikes) and the red bruising/blood

i hope you remembered that steve’s chest was waxed. as you can see his chest is now unwaxed. some change between s2 and s3 drove this decision, presumably either his breakup with nancy or the fact that he no longer showers in front of other guys at school. up to your interpretation

shock blanket at the very end is a nice touch so we don’t forget he’s traumatized

The Drowned Rat/The Man Overboard

10/10

wet

shorts could be shorter

the decision to purchase and wear a hoodless raincoat is absolutely ridiculous and stupid

however it is also very steve harrington and i value self-expression

The Chick Magnet/The Flaming Homosexual

100/10

what can i even say about this fit?

the absolute best pants he’s worn thus far. amazing fit, excellent classic wash. i say this as a former american eagle outfitters associate and the winner of my freshman year dorm’s “best at folding jeans” award

manages to make blue jeans with a half-blue denim vest work effortlessly

bold primary colors make him stand out without being too gaudy

excellent pairing of t-shirt with simple stripes and vest with simple color blocking to create a complex yet cohesive and flattering look

simple brown belt gives the look a put-together yet down-to-earth vibe

hair has only gotten better

still wearing that same brown watch that he’s had since the introduction

this man looks like he waxes his chest

this is steve in his final form

thank you for your time

[phoenixtakaramono]

Current Progress on ‘the Untold Tale’ Book Cover Mockups

(In reference to this post, and this post)

Since I have been seeing interest expressed for a hard copy version of the currently ongoing The Untold Tale on AO3 (I feel so honored, you guys!!!), I’ve begun the preparations ahead of time so that I can share the option with everyone that’s still interested. 😌 The final minimalist design that will be ready for self-print will pretty much be what you see currently (it’ll only require me to make a minor tweak to the total width to account for TUT’s final wordcount when the story is marked as complete), which only leaves the C-novel style cover to work on + the additional standalone illustrations of mortal!Shen Yuan, mortal!Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, and deity!ASTTS. (Since the cover art is bingyuan centric, I might consider a moshang illustration—but we’ll see! No promises yet.)

Minimalist Cover Option (paperback/hardback)

*Bolded = what I recommend (but you can choose what you like)

DIY Self-Printed at Home (not final proof; I was just curious to see what it’d look like in real scale)

What I like about this cover is how innocuous and minimalistic it looks, especially with the monochromatic B&W aesthetic and the brushstrokes. But there are lowkey references to the fanfic itself in its design. I was really inspired by book designs that show what the story is about upon first glance and subtly reference the story. Can you see the buffering wheel (also somewhat of an abstract reference to the yin yang symbol), the phoenix-and-dragon symbolism, and the abstract scenery the brushstrokes show? Plus, lowkey, you could have it lying out innocuously and no one will suspect a thing, haha.

Working on the C-Novel Style Cover

WIP of the C-Novel Style Cover (paperback/ hardback)

The cover art I did for TUT originally wasn’t sized for the standard 6x9 book cover format, so I’ll fill it in with more of the lily garden background and night scene with the fireflies. I lowkey want to emulate the Chinese light novel aesthetic for this book design.

I have gotten a question about whether there’ll be an option to print the minimalist design on a hardcover and have the C-Novel Style cover printed on a dust jacket/ book jacket. And I thought...why not? That’s a brill idea! So unless I hear otherwise, I’ll include a dust jacket option to the Google Drive file that I’ll link to on the bottom of my endnotes on AO3.

Right now I have a tasklist of everything I’ll need to prepare for you guys. I’ll check off the list one-by-one over time. When TUT is finished, you’ll see the final PDF options that you can select to use to customize your own hard copy of TUT. :) Right now the files will be in jpegs just to give an idea of what it’ll look like. Only PDF files should be used for final print.

Don’t be surprised when you eventually see a link to Google Drive in my AO3 endnote down at the very bottom of the story. The files inside won’t be the final production files yet (you’ll know they’re ready when you see them in PDF instead of jpeg, etc). I’m so excited to see the proofs when TUT finally wraps up and I can actually hold my fanfic in my hands. It’s so cool!

A Big Thank You to All

Lowkey, I have not done anything remotely related to graphic design and/or branding in...approximately 4 years! So while I’m rusty, I’m pleased by how the illustrated book covers are turning out for TUT! (Ah, this really brings back memories of printing so many proofs of minor differences just to choose the one that I think looks good compositionally. I’m glad you guys like what I’ve come out with!) It is this writer’s sincere hope for everyone who wishes to own a copy for themselves to find the end result satisfactory!

(Update in Part II)