#also i am not blaming bob for this

[made-my-peace-with-all-the-bad]

What if I tweak too close to the sun??????????????

[inmaki]

as an apology for my constant disappearing here is a preview for my virgin nanami fic, hopefully done by the end of this month <3

hurt (comfort in full fic), making out, nanami being dumb

nanami kento was an orderly man.

not a single strand of his golden hair ever strayed from its place. his tie was never too far to the right or the left — only smack dab in the middle against his built chest.

his crisp, navy shirt didn't dare have a wrinkle on it, much like his allen edmond shoes that were free from any creases despite being worn every day for years.

it made you want to ruin him. ruin such perfection in all his towering glory.

and you did - at least, at much as nanami would let you.

intense makeout sessions happened every so often: during impromptu movie nights on the couch, in the morning under the warmth of your shared blankets, and especially after extra-hard days at work.

yet it never went further, no matter how hard you tried to initiate anything — whether it be a hand sliding down too low, or a soft moan into his mouth, nanami would be fumbling up an excuse to leave immediately. just like now.

"mmph.. 'missed you," you mumble against his swollen lips, sucking the bottom one greedily. the man had only just walked into the kitchen when you'd practically pounced on him in hunger.

despite his surprise, kento gives you the privilege of running your nails through his once-perfectly-slicked-back hair, grunting as you yank him even closer with his tie, loosening it in the process.

"missed you too, honey." even the simplicity of his giant hands caressing your waist sends a rush of arousal through your body, humming as you rub a hand down the solid ridges of his abs. he tasted like the coffee he'd probably been sipping languidly throughout the day, mixed in with the natural flavor of him.

memories of the sorcerer slipping in and out of the shower shirtless — toned torso on display and all — were some of the hardest in your book. occasionally, you would joke to him about dropping your panties then and there. you never actually dropped them (that could easily change if he so asked), but you were pretty much hanging on to them for dear life every afternoon.

and in response to your compliment, nanami would only chuckle nervously before shutting the door behind him to change in the closet. an ugly feeling would blossom in your chest every time at his lack of enthusiam or reciprocation to your desire, though you never let the thought spiral.

a few minutes later, your lips remained glued to his, passionately making out against the counter while continuing your adventure around his body, never straying below his belt.

nanami felt dizzy as he finally pushed away to take a breath. usually he was quite good at keeping up with your ineffable needs — he placed the blame on his depletion from work.

a groan involuntarily escapes him as you lower your lips to suck beneath his jawline, bound to leave a mark. "my love, what's got you so worked up?" he inquires with closed eyes, tilting his head up to give you further access.

you hum in approval of the action, sucking even harder. "told you, i missed you."

before you could stop to think, your hand that was once on his abs instinctively moved lower to rest just above his bulge, and then everything stopped.

with a shaky clear of his throat, nanami pushes off the counter, forcing you to back away while his hands drop to his beige dress pants.

your brows furrow. "what-"

"i'm gonna take a shower." his eyes avert, adam’s apple bobbing smoothly.

not another word follows as your boyfriend paces to the apartment's shared bedroom, leaving you to drown in your cynical thoughts.

if u wanna be tagged comment/send an ask! srry this is short but the full fic is much longer!!! i am like 3/4 done! i js procrastinate writing the smut (also the reason part 2 of my gojo fic is taking forever) T-T

read virgin gojo while u wait <3

[basketobread]

LUNAR ECLIPSE NATION RIIIIISSSSSEEEE EVERYONE STAND FOR OUR NATIONAL ANTHEM IN YURI WE TRUST I LOVE YOU LUNARA X HAIMA ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

lunara and haima update we made them kiss . also i made this

@basketobread

[gatorbites-imagines]

I am absolutely IN LOVE with the Gambit x sea monster mutant you did. Sea monster stories are my favorite thing EVER and it got me thinking about random little tidbits of Remy and leviathan’s life that I wanted to share

The first time Remy sees the sea serpent form he’s definitely a little scared and maybe a bit horny because hot DAMN. I can see him having a huge fixation on leviathan’s teeth, whether it’s the huge fucking chompers that could snap his spine in half or the human sized teeth that are a bit sharper than they should be

Remy placing a cute kiss on leviathan’s cheek while he’s in serpent form. He’s much smaller than him and leviathan can barely feel it, but he loves the gesture

Sex is definitely something that takes a bit to get used to. Leviathan’s skin is tougher than most and the first few times they do it, Remy finds himself having to do something skin aftercare due to the scaly version of beard burn. While I LOVE the idea of bottom Remy, I REALLY love the idea of him being in control. Leviathan is powerful and often finds that people expect him to take on a more dominant role in every day life so he LOVES being able to trust Remy to take care of him. It also gives Remy a HUGE ego boost, knowing that leviathan has that trust in him

Leviathan telling Remy all about the different sea life he encounters

Someone asks Remy about his jewelry and he proudly says “my boyfriend made it”

Remy Lebeau x Mutant male reader

Headcanons

Part two to a thing I wrote a while ago, which you can find here.

Finaly went on Christmas break, so I can hopefully sleep off this sickness I’ve been dealing with all week. How’s everyone else doing?

I imagine the first time you discovered that you could turn into a serpent was an accident. It was sometime during your time apart, where Remy was an X-man, and you were… doing whatever you were doing.

Maybe it was even during a fight with good ol Namor, who was pissed about some other being, entering his territory, since you carry such a powerful aura. The fighting came to a stop when you turned into a massive serpent.

It probably didn’t help your case that your serpent form had some waterproof feathers and was pretty damn colorful underwater. Or the fact that you could make rain, rainbows, extreme storms, so on and so forth.

After that Namor seemed to just accept you as his “brother”, in his own way… he was and is an arrogant ass, but he’s cool, if hed just stop his people from trying to worship you. At least Namor turned out to be a great help when it came to mastering your new serpent form.

After all of this, and you finally feel comfortable with it, you finally show it to Remy. At some point when he’s taking a break from the team or he’s just got some time off, that he spends near the sea since it’s close to you.

At this point you two arent dating, so Remy is very thankful for his coat, since it helps him cover the very sudden heavy pressure between his thighs when he watches you transform.

It’s not his fault is almost erotic, to him at least. Just the way your body lengthens, your muscles stretch and twist, how your scales grow and spread, and feathers burst out. The huge teeth bigger than his own body also has a lot of blood rushing south, something he doesn’t feel interested in exploring why.

He blames it on it being you.

It’s a very comical sight to see you two together around Krakoa most days, since you are very comfortable in the serpent form. So, it’s just you bobbing around outside the island, with Remy riding on top of your head.

Anyone with eyesight good enough can see Remy regularly leaning down to kiss the top of your scaley head, or how he wraps himself in the giant feathers.

But people also know not to look too closely, since Remy likes to… sunbathe up there. Or he says it’s sunbathing. And most days it is, but other days… well, its likely that it isn’t sunscreen splattered across his chest, and his twitching body and flushed appearance doesn’t help.

You almost always dump him into the ocean before putting him back on land, since he likes chilling up there for very long, and will give himself heatstroke doing so. This is where your feathers help, since they act as a parasol or cover at times.

It’s not as if you can feel much of what he does up there, since he’s sitting on top of your head and outside your field of vision. But just knowing he’s there, and sometimes smelling his more intimate actions makes your blood rush.

Remy also always demands kisses before going on missions, or you leaving for longer periods of time. This is both in your serpent form and your more human form, you better kiss him enough to make up for all the kisses he’s gonna miss when you’re apart.

I don’t think Remy does a whole lot of topping in the relationship, since he gets real hot and bothered about how big you are and how much you fill him. But he does do a lot of power bottoming.

He will never hear you complain though, since it allows you to lay back and watch as that half feral haze falls over Remy’s face, and his movements get rough and needy.

Even better if you purr or growl, flashing your teeth at him so it “seems” like you’re not just laying back and being lazy. You both know logically you could very easily throw him off and overpower him, but it makes Remy feel really good to be on top, and you feel good too when he does it, so why not.

Remy is very saddened that he can’t leave hickeys on you though, thanks to your scales, healing factor and just you being sturdy in general. You guys can’t even go with something more extreme like using a knife or leaving scars, since it heals up.

The closest you guys have ever gotten to a lasting hickey on you was after Remy spent hours sucking and biting at the same spot on the front of your neck, on a spot of skin without scales, and that faded after an hour or so.

Remy ends up having to cope, which results in him drawing on you instead with markers. He even finds ones he can use on your scales, and ones in colors that almost look like bruises. It’s not the same but its good enough.

I get the feeling the x-men have met Namor at some point, or will in the future. They don’t get why he’s extra sassy towards Remy, until you casually mention knowing him and how you guys fight on the regular as a “bonding activity”.

Apparently Namor is just mad that you’re dating someone from the surface since they all suck in his eyes, but you couldn’t care less. You love your Cajun.

You end up having to draw a lot of the sea creatures you see, since cameras can’t stand the pressure or see in the same way as your eyes, so Remy has a lot of those drawings saved in a folder. Hes debated on getting one or two tattooed.

He doesn’t know too much about the ocean, even after you guys have been together for a while, since very little is known about the ocean, but hes always curious and ready to listen.

There being a whole ocean people did freak him out for a bit, because obviously there were. There were literally people from space, so why not in the ocean? Them wanting to worship you at least got a good laugh and some flirty jokes out of him.

Speaking of Namors people. They would treat Remy better than other surface people, especially if he’s wearing jewelry made from your scales and feathers. They still don’t really like him, but they respect you so…

Remy is also definingly the kind to always wear the stuff you make him, he’s got multiple sets and many different pieces of jewelry. The feathers are most colorful and fit any outfit, but there are also normal stud earrings made from an old scale.

Remy likes wearing stuff you make him. But you also like seeing him wear it, since it puts your mark on him even if you hadn’t thought about that at the time.

[wayward-dreamer]

Playing With Fate

Square/s filled: "You need to get your strength back" @anyfandomkinkbingo (quote in bold) |

Pairing: Demon!Dean x F!Reader

Word count: 3,545

Summary: Y/N offers to help with the search for Dean after he becomes a demon and leaves the bunker. Her plan doesn't go the way she intended, but that didn't mean it wasn't a desired outcome.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, smut: dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), vaginal fingering, hair pulling, choking, spanking, dacryphilia, degradation, dubcon, rough sex, mirror sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up people), squirting, I think that's it, but lmk if I missed anything!

A/N: Please blame the s10 rewatch I was in the middle of for this. I take no responsibility for the level of horny everyone's going to be after this lmao... Also, I've done things a little differently with this one, so I hope y'all enjoy! As always thanks to my loves @hintsofhoney and @makeadealwithdean for betaing this. Don't know where I'd be without either of you <3

What the fuck am I doing?

That was the first thought that entered Y/N’s mind, but it was fleeting, disappearing as she looked up at Dean from her submissive position on her knees, her mouth wrapped tight around his thick girth as her hands pressed into the muscle of his bare thighs. His gaze was intense, green orbs that occasionally gave way to solid black, something she had never anticipated would arouse her the way it had from the first moment he revealed them to her. He caressed her hollowed cheeks with his thumb, his other hand in her hair as her head bobbed back and forth, taking his length deep into her throat. It soon wasn’t enough for him, his grip tightening in her strands as he held her still, his pelvis smacking vigorously against her. Saliva dripped in long strings around her mouth as he chuckled, relishing in the way she choked and gagged around him, the glugging of her throat adding to the pleasurable cacophony that reached his ears.

Tears pricked her eyes as she moaned and spluttered around his shaft, her own thighs squeezing together to keep her arousal at bay for a moment. He noticed the way she squirmed, the way her flesh pressed tightly, the signs of her need obvious to him. He drew back from her throat, a harsh gasp leaving as her lungs burned, her chest heaving as she sucked in air and met his gaze.

“Spread your legs, sweetheart,” he ordered, grinning as he wiped her saliva around her lips. “Want that pussy of yours as wet as your mouth, got it?”

“Y-Yes,” she stuttered, nodding weakly.

“Yes what?” he growled, tugging at the roots of her hair and making her whimper.

“Yes sir,” she added, staring up at him.

The smirk never left his face as he thrusted into her waiting mouth once more. Following his instruction and opening her legs, her fingers moving between them and finding her clit already lightly covered in her wetness. She moaned wantonly as she circled the swollen nub, her eyes fluttering with the euphoria that coursed through her. Not only at the feeling of her hand between her legs, but at the way he was using her, and the shame of willingly letting him fading away with every plunge of his cock into her throat.

This hadn’t been the plan when she first found him. Far from it, in fact.

When Sam had called her with the location of the bar Dean had been frequenting, she had full intention of stepping in and setting him straight. He had warned her about Dean being a demon now, something that had happened several weeks before and which she chastised him for not telling her sooner. She could’ve helped and maybe with their “geek brains” together, as the elder Winchester liked to call them, they could’ve found him sooner. She wished she had known; her and Dean were friends, and she hated the fact that she hadn’t been there for him.

Friends were supposed to look out for each other. Especially those types of friends that were sometimes, on occasion, more than that.

Nevertheless, Sam said he would join her but she insisted on doing this alone, not listening to his protests and telling him to call her back once he had found Dean’s whereabouts.

When Y/N walked into that dive and took a seat at the bar, her eyes immediately found him. There he sat, at a table in the middle of the room, whiskey tumbler in hand. He didn’t look any different to the normal Dean she knew, not even when a blonde waitress came over to him and handed him another glass, draping her arm across his broad shoulders. She shrugged it off, now wasn’t the time to get jealous. She ordered herself a whiskey too, taking it and facing the room, crossing one leg over the other which allowed her denim skirt to ride up her thigh. That along with a tight, black tank top and black heeled ankle boots were her attire for the night; completely different to the usual hunter gear she’d be wearing but she needed something to catch his eye.

And sure enough, it did.

Dean had always had a higher level of awareness thanks to being a hunter, but after becoming a demon it had become a sixth sense. A familiar energy caught his attention as soon as it stepped into the room, his head lifting up to meet Y/N’s eyes as she stared back at him. He hadn’t seen her for a while, and if she was here that meant Sam had gotten to her. He had the initial thought of sending her on her way as he stood up, but as he made his way over to her, caught the way her thighs pressed together where they were crossed, he knew he could have some fun with her.

A grin pulled at his face as he gazed down at her, seeing her perfect mouth taking his intimidating length with each thrust, and he was glad that he had been right. It had been a long time since they had been together like this, and it was clear that he hadn’t taken advantage of their situation as often as he should have from the way she was working her tongue around him. She was unmistakably desperate to please him, to be with him in any way possible, even if he did have a new set of black eyes.

He had no problem exploiting that fact.

“Look so good choking on my cock, baby,” he groaned, holding her down against his pelvis.

His hand tightened in her hair once more and pulled her off his cock again, a dark chuckle escaping him as he heard her shuddering breath. Saliva hung off the edge of her chin, dripping onto the swell of her breasts, her eyes wide as she waited obediently for whatever he had planned for her next.

“Stand in front of the mirror,” he instructed, glancing up at the corner of the room before looking back at her. “Want you to see yourself losing control while I fuck you.”

Y/N somehow found the strength to stand from her position on the floor, the burning in her limbs only adding to the fire that was rising within her with each staggered step towards the mirror. Her appearance reflecting back to her was already a mess; her hair tangled in certain places, saliva drying and hardening at the edges of her mouth. As she spread her legs and curled her hands on either side of the frame, Dean stepped up behind her, calloused fingers sliding down the smooth skin of her back. Their eyes briefly met in the mirror before his gaze shifted down, following the movement of his hands as they admired the curve of her ass, a groan escaping him as his thumb grazed her puckered hole down to the sticky, wet warmth of her folds. She gasped as she felt the thick digit slide back and forth, no doubt wetting his skin as her arousal grew and dripped from her sex.

“So fucking wet,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, but he finally left his eyes and addressed her again. “Ready to take my cock, aren’t ya?”

Her lack of response earned her a heavy hand against the flesh of her ass, causing a yelp to escape her. Her eyes widened as they made contact with his, narrowed and glaring at her through the mirror. He had barely done anything to her and she was already overwhelmed by his actions. Her mind was caught somewhere between not knowing how much more she could take, and wanting to take everything he had to give. Now that he was a demon, she had no idea how much that was, but she was more than willing to find out.

His hand came down twice more in quick succession, making her jolt forward as she shrieked. The sting was intense but delicious as the sensation spread through her whole body, and she knew this was only the beginning.

“You better be fucking ready for me, sweetheart. ‘Cause I ain’t holding back.”

The implication of his words was clear. He wasn’t the Dean she knew anymore, and she shouldn’t expect him to be.

A brief nod was all she could muster as an answer to his earlier question, and that was all he needed. He brought his thumb to his mouth, glistening with her wetness as his plump lips wrapped around it. He kept his gaze on the reflection in front of him, their eyes locked as she breathed heavily, a groan leaving him as he sucked at the digit and took hold of his shaft, rubbing it through her folds. It wasn’t the first time she had seen him do that; taste her off his fingers,  but it hit differently now.

Before she could register what was happening, he lined himself to her entrance and slammed into her, her walls sheathing his thickness completely as a ragged moan fell from her lips.

The sound was a harsh contrast to the soft whimper that she had tried to suppress when he sat down in front of her at the bar, flagging down the bartender and ordering himself another whiskey. He turned to her, his eyes taking her in as they roamed down her frame, an eyebrow lifting in approval at her low cut top and the way her skirt had ridden up slightly, exposing more of her thigh as she sat.

“Didn’t think Sammy would send someone else to do his job,” he started, sipping his whiskey once it was in front of him. “Guess he’s losing practice without me, huh?”

“He didn’t send me,” she clarified, trying to remain firm in his presence. “And there’s a quick fix for that. Just come home.”

He scoffed, chuckling as he dropped his head and shook it. “No fucking way.”

The bite and careless lilt of his laugh and words stung, but she couldn’t dwell on it.

“Dean, this isn’t you,” she reasoned.

“Oh, but it is, Y/N,” he countered, as he turned on the bar stool and leaned his forearms back on the bar, his eyes never leaving her. “It’s the new me.”

Green irises flashed to solid black, holding her gaze long enough for a fear she had never experienced before to run down her back. Along with another strange yet familiar feeling between her legs. Strange because this wasn’t the time or place for it. As his eyes quickly returned to normal, Y/N’s jaw clenched as she stared up at him.

“Dean, look, you don’t have any options here,” she stated, pushing her drink aside and reaching into the left pocket of her denim skirt. “You’re coming with me back to the bunker, and Sam’s gonna get to work on curing you. End of discussion.”

Dean sipped his drink as he watched her take out a pair of silver handcuffs, devil’s traps carved into them. He slowly placed his drink down as he smirked, his gaze shifting from them up to her. “I think those are gonna look better on you tonight, sweetheart.”

She rolled her eyes, but she knew they weren’t as effective as usual. He was getting under her skin and they both knew it. From her other pocket, she pulled out the top of a flask as she stared up at him, waiting for him to look back at her as he glanced down.

“Don’t make this harder-” she started but his sinister scoff stopped her.

His green eyes, that once held so much admiration for her, were now void of any kind of emotion as he finally looked at her. Slowly, the shift almost imperceptible, his face hovered an inch away from hers.  “I thought you liked it hard, Y/N. Hard… fast… so rough you wanna feel that ache between your legs for days.”

A shuddered exhale fell from her lips, one she hadn’t realized she had been holding, causing him to chuckle.

“So how ‘bout you stop wastin’ your breath on this back and forth,” he continued, gesturing between them as a smirk spread across his face. “And admit that you’re real curious to know what it’s like to get fucked by a demon.”

Their gazes remained locked as he tested the waters; tested whether temptation would coax her into letting him corrupt her for no other reason than pleasurable amusement. He saw the way fear, guilt and thirst circled in the depths of her eyes, and he hoped it was the last of those that would win.

As Dean peered into those eyes once again, through the mirror’s reflection, he saw all of those things give way to euphoria as he pounded deep into the tight heat between her thighs.

Y/N barely recognized the face staring back at her. Hooded eyes, her mouth agape as a string of erotic noises escaped her with every slap of his hips against the curve of her ass. He had been right. She did enjoy sex when it was harder, faster, so rough that she felt the constant throb at the apex of her thighs. The Dean she knew was well aware of that fact, and this Dean, this… twisted version of him was using that to his full advantage. She wasn’t sure if she was willingly letting him, or if he was coercing her into this sinful act, but it was bliss.

A heavy hand slid up her back and into the strands of her hair, pulling harshly as his sweat slicked chest pressed up against her. His breath fanned over her ear and cheek as they stared at each other. A loud, lustful cry erupted from between her lips as the head of his cock drove deeper into her at this new angle, reaching places within her that hadn’t been explored in a long time. A tear brimmed at the corner of her waterline, rolling down slowly as another followed from the other, her thoughts as overwhelmed as her body by everything she was feeling. He laughed in her ear, the sound wicked as it rumbled from his chest against her back, watching the tears make tracks on her face.

Dean leaned down, the tip of his tongue slipping out between his pouty lips and dragging over the skin, the tang against his taste buds making him groan. Her eyes widened in disbelief, but her core tightened within arousal from the act.

“So fucking hot seeing you like this,” he whispered against her ear. “Just mine to use. You can’t lie to me, Y/N. I can see it in your eyes, can feel it from the way you’re squeezing around me. You love my cock inside this tight, little pussy. You don’t care anymore that I’m a demon, do ya?”

Y/N couldn’t remember the words she had spoken in agreement to leave the bar with him. All she could remember was his hands on her hips, pushing her up against the brick wall, rough lips fused to hers as his thumbs played at the strip of skin exposed between her top and her skirt. All she could recall was the way his fingers slipped under the hem, making her breath hitch as they danced over the flesh of her inner thigh and pulled her thong aside, moving between her folds.

He smirked into the kiss, pulling away and looking deep into her eyes. “So wet already, sweetheart. My black eyes got somethin’ to do with this?”

“No,” she whimpered, trying to remain defiant but she was flailing.

The amused grin he had given her in response then matched the way he was staring back at her through the mirror at that moment.

“N-no,” she moaned, a small smile playing on her lips. “I don’t care anymore…”

Her words had somehow emboldened the pace of his thrusts, the scream silenced in her throat as his calloused fingers wrapped over it tight, his other hand groping at her breasts as he slammed into her. Her own hands struggled to hold herself steady against the mirror, the frame shaking from the brutal force of his hips smacking against her. Her walls clenched around his girth, causing sounds only akin to a feral animal to come from him right against the shell of her ear. Along with the loud squelch between her legs and her own choked moans, she knew it wouldn’t be much longer before she fell over the edge into the deepest depths of hell with him.

No matter how heavenly it felt to have him inside her, she knew she was headed for the fiery pit for what she was doing. It was debauchery at its finest, and yet she couldn’t care less.

Y/N wasn’t sure when it happened. Maybe it was the short walk from the bar across the street to the motel, maybe it was when they stepped through the door, or when they stripped each other of their clothes as their kiss became as heated as their frenzied touches. Maybe it was when she fell to her knees in front of him and wondered what the fuck she was doing, allowing a demon, something she hunted on a regular basis, to invade her every thought and sensation. Even if it was a man she knew very well, it had been wrong.

But it had also never felt so right.

The familiar pull in her core had her eyes squeeze shut, but a tug from Dean’s hand in her hair had them opening again. He made her watch their sinful actions in the mirror once more, as he felt her walls like vice around him.

“Such a good slut just for me,” he groaned, nipping her earlobe. “You’re all mine now, right?”

The lewd moan that escaped her wasn’t enough of an answer for him, as his hand cracked against the globe of her ass, causing her to shriek.

“Tell me,” he growled.

“I-I’m yours,” she finally replied, her voice sounding like a stranger’s from how hoarse it was.

“Damn right,” he grunted.

Her eyes rolled back as her air was still cut off by his heavy grip on her throat, but suddenly it dropped to grip her hips tightly with both hands, as his own began to falter with each frantic thrust. Her lungs burned as short breaths left her, moans turning into loud cries of his name as she reached that euphoric peak, her body convulsing as a stream of liquid gushed down her thigh, pushing his cock out as her wetness spurted against the mirror and dripped onto the carpeted floor. Her chest heaved as she breathed harshly, her vision blurred and unable to focus.

Dean took hold of his shaft, slicked up by her release and pumped his hand back and forth, expletives and groans falling from his parted lips as his cock pulsed in his grip. With one last tug, the veins in his neck strained as he let out a strangled grunt, his eyes flashing to solid black as ropes of his release shot over the small of her back. He grinned as he looked at her with those demon eyes she had found herself aroused by, and she smiled back slightly.

This was definitely not how tonight was supposed to go.

“Fuck, that was hot,” he muttered, grabbing her by her shoulders to steady her.

“Yeah,” was all she managed to push past her heavy breaths as she came down from her high.

“Well, I’m good to go again, but,” he smirked as his eyes flashed back to green irises. “You need to get your strength back.”

Y/N was taken aback by the concern, but she knew better than to assume it was for any other reason than needing her recharged for another round. He moved away from her, but not before smacking her ass once more as he walked away. She stumbled to the edge of the bed, still able to see herself in the mirror, her hand admiring the scratches and bruises forming along her skin. With a strangely content sigh, she fell back against the bed, unbothered by his cum sticking between her and the sheets underneath. She glanced to the side as he sat down next to her, his hand roaming over her body, fingers flicking over her nipple, making her moan softly.

“Take five, sweetheart, ‘cause I ain’t done with you yet.”

She bit her lip as she looked away from him, staring up at the ceiling. She heard a small buzz from her phone in the pocket of skirt, but made no move to search for it on the floor. It was no doubt Sam, texting for an update on how things were going. This was definitely a unique way of laying a trap, certainly not one she was planning, but at least this way Dean would never suspect that she had him right where she wanted him this whole time.

She’d let Sam know where she was eventually. She just wanted to enjoy playing with her own fate a little more.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

"Listen." The villain grabbed the hero's arm. "I'm on a tight leash here."

The hero's mouth curled into a smile. "You mind repeating that?"

But the villain was quite serious, although their grip around the hero's forearm loosened.

"They will kill me if anything happens to you, you know that," the villain said.

"Womp womp."

The villain laughed hollowly and stared at the hero in disbelief.

"You're unbelievable."

Their nemesis had always been an incredibly unserious person - and an annoying one - but ever since the villain had been captured and assigned to protect them, it had gotten worse. Somehow, the villain couldn't blame them. The hero was, after all, a secretive person who didn't need any type of surveillance.

"I don't need a bodyguard," the hero said. They bobbed their head confidently. "I am not the best ranked hero in the entire city for nothing."

"Come on, don't be cocky now. I wouldn't be here if the agency actually believed that," the villain said and they meant every word. It was a kind of community service that was meant to reform the villain. Protecting people, watching the hero work - they assumed that was the goal of this entire operation.

However, the hero made it very easy to dislike heroes in general. They had a big mouth, viewed themselves as some kind of saint and (arguably) the worst thing above all: they also looked good while doing it.

The hero let out a big sigh and started stretching, followed by a yawn and a bored expression. It was clear that the hero wanted to fall into the bed of the shared hotel room and sleep until the afternoon.

"Little piece of advice?" They sat down on the bed. "Don't read too much into it. I doubt they know what they are doing themselves."

"They are in charge of internal security, they should know what they are doing."

"You think it's smart to put two nemeses in a hotel room with only one bed?" the hero asked. They wiggled with their eyebrows and all the villain could do was roll their eyes. "This agency is a real shit show and everyone smart enough should stay as far away from them as possible."

"I have no choice in that matter. You die, I die too. They will find a way to blame me. I'm supposed to jump in front of you when people shoot at you. I am nothing more than a human shield."

"Gorgeous human shield."

"I'm flattered," the villain said flatly. They took in a deep breath and let themselves fall next to the hero on the bed. They put their head in their hands and rubbed their face. If the hero continued to be reckless, if they continued to be so stupidly bold, the villain would start to feel the consequences pretty quickly.

"Don't be. I'm merely observing objective beauty."

"Ugh. Fuck off." The villain squeezed their eyes shut. They needed to think. If the agency was experimenting on them, the villain was meant to be the test subject which meant the agency wanted to control them.

The villain knew they had implanted a chip in them which tracked heartbeat and location. The only question now was: how was the agency going to kill them? Was the chip responsible? Was it something else?

"You're worrying so much, no wonder you are always so grumpy." The villain raised their head and before they could answer, the hero's hand was already on their back, delicate fingertips digging into sensitive spots. The villain bit back a moan and pulled back gently.

"Let's not...complicate things."

"Of course not," the hero said. "But honestly, don't break that head of yours trying to figure out their next plan. They won't kill you until absolutely necessary and I am very good at taking care of myself. So unless you are very incompetent - which you are not - you are good for now."

"For now," the villain echoed. They had to admit, the hero's fingertips had felt good on their back. They had never expected the hero to be capable of being serious enough to try comforting the villain. If it even was what they had tried to achieve.

As the villain looked at them, they couldn't help but concentrate on their jawline. On the darker colours of their eyes. Their fingers. Those damn fingers.

The villain hadn't recovered from that quite yet and they started to regret their words. They knew the hero flirted often, but they weren't sure how much of it was boredom and how much was real.

And even if something was to happen tonight, the agency would know about an increased heartbeat in the middle of the night in the shared hotel room.

Which in the worst case, they would interpret as a fight.

But it was more likely that they wouldn't.

The villain bit the inside of their cheek. Shit, they needed to concentrate. The hero always threw them off their game.

"Did they chip you?" the villain asked.

The hero pulled up their sleeve and very suddenly the villain realised that they had never seen this arm naked. And they understood why - the entire forearm was covered in scar tissue.

"The better question is: how many times did they try?" the hero said. They covered their arm quickly again and cocked their head. "The agency learns pretty slowly but they realised eventually I wasn't willing to play any games. When dumb people get a fraction of power, no matter how small, they will abuse it."

The hero had never been this serious before. Not with the villain. And the villain could do nothing but stare as the hero casually told them how much the agency truly sucked.

"It's inevitable. But when it comes down to it, who is stronger? Some written words on a paper or a true superhero? These people are just people and I was sick of listening to someone tell me where to go or what to wear or what to say or whom not to save. I wanted to save as many people as possible. And that's exactly what I am doing now. Without someone monitoring my body or actions."

"And yet, you're with the agency," the villain pointed out.

"I made a deal with them. I will play nice with them in public and in return...they are keeping someone safe for me."

"A lover?"

"I wouldn't share this bed with you if I had a lover. And I wouldn't say the things I say to you," the hero said. They stared at their own hands and the villain saw little scars all over them. Like a messily woven rug. "It's my sibling. Outside of the country, I didn't want them to grow up here. But...yeah. They write me every week."

The hero smiled but they didn't seem to be happy.

"I'm not allowed to write back. Ever. I know it's better that way, but...I know they will forget me eventually."

The villain didn't say anything. They had never thought the hero would tell them something like this. And they had never expected them to go beyond their cocky persona. It was a little more than strange to hear this from someone whose main priority was flirting during battle.

"Maybe it's hypocritical of me. To say all of this and yet I am working with them to protect my sibling and pretend to be on good terms with them, but for my family, I am gladly the sinner. I would become the enemy to protect them."

"That's very admirable," the villain said. And it was. It was impressive. It was horribly understandable, too. "You're very special, I hope you're aware of that. You're a good person."

And now, the villain couldn't really hate them anymore. They couldn't even find a reason to. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

They took in another deep breath and tried for the last time today to think clearly.

"I appreciate that you told me this. But I think it’s late and we both need some res-"

"I know, I know, darling. Take good care of my secret, though. Or I’m afraid I’ll have to kill your pretty ass," the hero said. They pursed their lips.

"You're welcome to try." The villain had to grin.

"Hm, tempting…not right now, though.” They leaned over and traced the villain's collarbone with their index finger. "Or the poor agency will think we are doing worse things than fighting. Those chips are scarily precise when it comes to counting beats per minute."

Great minds and all.

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: LONG AWAITED

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SUMMARY ↳ When the going gets tough, you'll get going. You straighten up in your seat, feeling heat rush through your face. Damian beside you remains composed, his expression unreadable as he regards Ms. Varley with a calm demeanor. "Sorry," you squeak, quickly gathering your things and leaving. You ignore Victoria's questioning stare during ballet. You ignore Damian's heated gaze during art. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: none at all wc: 3.7k

You finish the nanite chamber the day before you go back to school. The last thing you do is place some badassium and watch as the machine powers to life. The iron spider suit floats inside, a swirl of energy trailing around it.

Damian is off to the side, eyeing the thing. Jon sits crisscross in the air, hands in his lap. “What is your suit made of? I’ve never seen something like it,” observes Jon, watching the compacted suit bob up and down slowly.

Now, you know nanotech is a thing in the DC verse, but for the life of you you can’t remember what for. “No clue,” you lie, shrugging. “My dad made it. That’s all I know.”

“But you made this.” Damian gestures to the nanite chamber.

“He left blueprints for one in my suit,” you shrug.

Jon floats closer, poking the glass. “What does it do, exactly?”

“Its main purpose is to charge the suit.” You lean back, crossing your arms. “It also repairs the suit if it’s damaged, though.”

Damian eyes the chamber with a mix of curiosity and skepticism, his gaze flickering between you and the pulsating suit. "Impressive," he finally remarks, his tone guarded yet intrigued. "Your father seems to have thought of everything."

You nod, a hint of pride awakening in you. "Yeah, he's always been good with tech. I've just been following his instructions."

Jon tilts his head, looking at you thoughtfully. "Must be handy, having something like this. Does it take a lot of maintenance?"

"Not really," you reply, relaxing a bit as you explain. "The badassium is a strong power source. That's all it really needs."

Damian's expression softens slightly as he observes the suit, perhaps seeing it in a new light. "And you're sure it's safe?"

You nod confidently. "Who do you think I am? Of course.”

“Of course. You wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn't.”

You scoff, reaching out to swat at his arm. He lets you, then grabs your hand and pulls you to him. Damian's grip is firm but gentle, and you find yourself pulled into a moment of unexpected closeness. His eyes meet yours, the intensity of his gaze softened by a hint of warmth.

Jon watches with interest, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he hovers nearby. "Looks like Damian's impressed," he teases lightly.

Damian rolls his eyes but doesn't let go of your hand. "Impressed might be a stretch," he mutters, but his tone lacks its usual edge.

“I’ll take what I can get,” you grin, pulling your hand from his.

Damian releases your hand, a faint smirk crossing his face. "Don't get used to it," he says, his voice returning to its usual cool demeanor.

Jon chuckles, floating back a bit. "Damian likes smart people.”

Damian shoots Jon a glare, which Jon returns with an innocent shrug. "Can't blame him," Jon adds playfully. "You are pretty amazing."

“Aw,” you croon, reaching out to pinch Jon’s cheek. “You’re sweet.”

You catch Jon’s arms reaching out towards you, so you dodge. Alas, he is quicker, and he picks up into the air with him. Jeez, they’re touchy today.

Damian shakes his head, a faint smirk lingering on his lips as he watches the interaction between you and Jon. "You two are incorrigible," he comments, though there's a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Okay, food time,” declares Jon, carrying you out of the cave with you in his arms. Your protests are ignored. “Time for you to eat.”

Damian and Jon share a look as they leave.

Damian holds his hand out for you as you step out of the car. You think that spending time with Jon, who grew up in the country (aka where manners are automatic) has rubbed off on him. It’s still as snowy as ever, and you feel it crunch under your shoe. As you step onto the snow-covered ground, the cold air nips at your cheeks.

"Thanks," you murmur, giving his hand a quick squeeze before letting go.

Some people give you glances as the both of you walk in. They’ll be seeing the pair of you much more, since you now live with him. You just hope the news won’t catch on too quickly. You’re not all that interested in being a new “Wayne” kid.

Once inside, the warmth of the building envelops you, a stark contrast to the chill outside. It’s never a fun time being back in school after a break, but you think you feel less strongly than other kids. School is just easy for you.

Damian and you take your seats beside one another. You sigh at the familiar space. Ms. Varley looks even less happy to be here than your peers, not that you’re really surprised. Her monotone voice drones through the morning announcements, barely registering in your mind. You steal a glance at Damian, who seems equally disinterested in the proceedings. His focus drifts to the window, where snowflakes dance against the glass, a serene contrast to the mundane classroom scene.

Then, he glances at you. The two of you hold eye contact, simply just taking the other in. You find yourself drawn to his piercing gaze, a mixture of curiosity and something deeper stirring within you. He leans closer, you hope he doesn’t somehow hear you gulp. “You’re staring,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear.

“So are you.” The air between you feels charged. His closeness sends a shiver down your spine, a mixture of excitement and uncertainty swirling within you.

The classroom seems to fade into the background as you both exchange glances, each moment stretching with anticipation. You can almost feel the weight of his presence, his proximity stirring something deep within you. Ms. Varley's voice continues to drone on, but neither of you are truly listening. Damian's hand brushes against yours subtly, a silent reassurance that sends a thrill through you.

You tilt your head slightly towards him, catching the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering winter air. "Guess we're both guilty," you reply in a hushed tone, your breath barely grazing his cheek.

The bell rings, signaling the end of class. Students begin shuffling out of the room, but you and Damian remain seated, caught in your own private world. Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice low and intimate.

"Would you... like to do something after school?" Damian's question hangs in the air, laden with possibilities.

“Like what?” you echo softly, leaning in a bit closer. Your thumb travels up to your face. You take your nail between your lips, biting it in anticipation. His eyes stare unabashedly.

"Anything," he replies softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Whatever you'd like."

“There's a new exhibit at the Gotham Museum of Art," you suggest, voice steady yet tentative. "I think you’d like it.”

“Ahem.”

You startle, because, holy shit, what were you thinking? Ms. Varley has her hands on her hips, glaring at you two. “Class ended two minutes ago.” Her tone is sharp, cutting through the lingering atmosphere between you and Damian.

You straighten up in your seat, feeling heat rush through your face. Damian beside you remains composed, his expression unreadable as he regards Ms. Varley with a calm demeanor. “Sorry,” you squeak, quickly gathering your things and leaving. Damian follows you out.

You ignore Victoria’s questioning stare during ballet.

You ignore Damian’s heated gaze during art.

Damian tells Alfred to drop you two off at the museum. He says it’s for your art class, that you've been assigned to study some pieces there. You wonder why he lied, since the two of you aren’t doing anything wrong. You’re just hanging out, right?

As Alfred drops you off at the museum, Damian’s demeanor is composed, his posture elegant as always. You step out onto the bustling street, the crisp air mingling with the sounds of Gotham's urban rhythm. The museum stands before you, its grand façade a testament to the city's rich heritage.

"Thank you, Pennyworth," Damian nods to the butler before turning to you. "Shall we?"

You nod, mentally preparing yourself. Preparing yourself for what? You’re not sure. Inside the museum, the atmosphere is serene, with the soft murmur of visitors and the occasional echo of footsteps on marble floors. Damian leads you through the corridors lined with artwork, his knowledge of the pieces evident as he shares insights and observations with you.

You find yourself drawn into conversations of others that range from the profound to the whimsical, discussing everything from classical masterpieces to contemporary expressions of art. Damian's presence is reassuring, his occasional smiles and thoughtful gestures adding to the richness of the experience.

As you explore the exhibits together, you notice how Damian's demeanor softens, his usual guardedness giving way to moments of genuine interest. The museum becomes a backdrop, noises muffling.

At one point, you find yourselves standing before a striking abstract painting, its vibrant colors and bold strokes capturing your attention. Damian watches you quietly, his expression contemplative as he takes in your reaction.

"This one's interesting," you comment, studying the painting with a thoughtful expression.

Damian nods, his gaze lingering on the artwork. "It's meant to evoke a sense of movement and emotion," he remarks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Movement? Emotion?” you remake, mind thinking inappropriately. You can’t help it.

You let out a surprised yelp as Damian pinches your side, a smirk dancing on his lips. "Hey!" you protest, swatting his hand away with a laugh.

He chuckles softly, a rare sound that warms your heart. "Pay attention to the art, not your thoughts," he chides gently, though his eyes betray a glint of amusement.

Your eyes catch color off to the side, and before you know it, your feet are carrying you across the hall. The painting isn’t grand or anything, but you resonate with it. A person, multiple persons, stare at you. The colors remind you of a portal. The faces remind you of you. And other Peter Parker's, and other Gwen Stacy's, and other MJ’s. All you are and all you'll never be.

…

Man, you miss home.

As you stand before the painting, its vibrant hues and abstract forms seem to swirl with a life of their own. Each brushstroke tells a story, evoking memories and emotions you thought were buried deep within. Damian watches you silently, his gaze contemplative as he senses your introspection.

"Are you alright?" he asks softly, his voice breaking the stillness around you.

You blink, refocusing on Damian's concerned expression. "Yeah, just... this painting," you begin, struggling to find the right words. "It's like... it's like looking into a mirror of sorts."

He looks at you. “I don’t always know who I am, or who I’m supposed to be,” you admit. “I just know I want to keep doing what I want to do.”

Damian listens intently, his expression softening as he takes in your words. He reaches out, his hand gently grasping yours, a silent gesture of understanding and support. "You don't have to have all the answers right now," he reassures you, his voice quiet yet reassuring. "Just know that you're not alone."

You try to pull away, but his hand grips yours, tight and assured. His touch grounds you, anchoring you in the moment as you look into his eyes. There's a warmth there, a depth of understanding that surprises you.

After a moment, Damian gently squeezes your hand, silently asking if you're ready to move on. You nod, but you find yourself reluctant to let go of his hand. You should let go, you know, but you just can’t.

Damian takes you to a smaller gallery tucked away from the main halls. The lighting is softer here, casting a warm glow over the carefully curated pieces. Damian stops before a painting that contrasts sharply with the abstracts and vibrant colors you've seen so far.

It's a portrait, meticulously detailed and imbued with a sense of emotion that transcends its stillness. The subject is a young boy, his expression a mixture of innocence and quiet strength. The artist has captured every nuance, from the play of light on his face to the subtle curve of his smile.

Damian gazes at the painting with a quiet intensity, his eyes tracing the contours of the boy's face as if searching for something deeper. "This," he begins softly, his voice barely above a whisper, "is my favorite."

You stand beside him, studying the painting with newfound respect. "It's beautiful," you murmur, your voice touched with genuine admiration.

"It's more than that," Damian continues, his tone thoughtful. "It's a reminder of... resilience. The ability to endure despite the odds."

You nod, understanding his words on a level that goes beyond the surface. The painting speaks volumes about Damian himself, about the strength and complexity hidden beneath his aloof exterior

As you both stand there, sharing this moment of quiet contemplation, you feel a connection deepen between you. It's not just about the art anymore; it's about the shared experience, the unspoken understanding that bridges the gap between your worlds.

“I get it.” Because a couple of months ago, Damian Wayne and Jon Kent were nothing more than words and colors. You’ve experienced his grievances, his growth. You understand because you know. And also, just look at yourself. You’re stuck in a universe not your own, but you’re doing fine. Dare you say… you’re pretty… content.

“You do?”

“I do.”

His eyes bore into yours, taking you in. His gaze is piercing, strong and relentless. Without a word, he takes your hand again, leading you away from the crowded gallery into a quieter alcove.

The moment stretches, charged with anticipation as you stand face to face. "You're amazing," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. "I've never met anyone like you."

His hands raise, hovering at your sides. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Huh–

His hands grasp under your thighs, heaving you up against him with ease. His fingers squeeze into your flesh, sending your mind spiraling.

And his lips– oh. His lips crash into yours. They feel… they feel good against your own. Plush, soft, and oh so desired. An exploration between souls. The kiss deepens, giving in to a deep hunger.

Your arms betray you, hooking over his shoulders, hands finding their place in his hair. You ruffle and grip it, messing it up from its meticulous presentation. Damian presses you against the wall, breathing heavily through his nose. Your lips part, allowing him to slip his tongue inside–Jesus.

Your legs tighten around his waist, as it’s the only thing you can think to do. Where else would they go? He’s holding you up so good, it’s only natural. He draws you impossibly closer, moving his body against yours. He sighs into your mouth, shoulders flexing. Damian is all taking, like he’s drawing something out of you after so long.

You furrow your brows, drawing back. He chases you, unwilling to let you go now. He hums like he’s confused at your movement. Your pulse is thundering. You can hear his doing the same. Need claws at your ribcage. Your breath catches. He shudders against you.

Damian pulls back, only to take a breath. His gaze is unbelievably intense, as if he is unraveling secrets with his eyes alone. The air around you is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You can feel the heat of his breath mingling with yours. Your proximity closes as he presses his lips to yours once more with one kiss, two kisses, three. A plethora of tiny fleeting kisses, no less mind-numbing than the other. Time seems to stand still as you both linger in the sweetness of those chaste kisses, each one leaving you yearning for more.

The area is filled with smacks of your lips. He moves languidly against you, completely content. Finally, he pulls away, leaving your lips tingling. His eyes stay on them for a while, looking down at you wrapped around him before trailing up to meet your eyes. You savor the way his chest heaves against yours.

“Damian,” you breathe. He closes his eyes, like your voice itself sets him off.

“Habib(t)i,” he sighs, leaning in to press his face against yours. Oh, God. “My beloved,” he croons. How whipped is he from just a kiss?

A kiss. Oh. Oh, wait. No. Nonono. This can’t happen. This cannot happen.

You push off of his shoulders, tugging against his grip to land on solid ground. His grip loosens reluctantly, his expression a blend of confusion and concern. "What?" he asks softly, reaching out tentatively as if afraid you might vanish. “What is it?”

“Damian,” you manage.

He stands there, watching you with an intensity that speaks of his own turmoil. "Tell me," he presses gently, taking a step closer, his hand hovering near yours as if seeking reassurance.

“You… Jon,” you say desperately, turning away. “You, you’re–” You risk a glance at him, hoping for clarity but finding only the storm of emotions in his eyes. “You’re confused.”

“I am not,” he growls, offended.

“I… this can’t happen,” you stress. “I’m sorry, but this can’t happen. Not for me.”

He scoffs, but lacks his usual bravado. “Don’t push me away because of fear.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, but you steel yourself, taking a deep breath to calm the swirling emotions threatening to consume you. “It’s not fear, Damian,” you reply, voice trembling.

“Then what?” he asks, borderline desperate. "Tell me what you need."

“I can’t…” Are you a… homewrecker? Are they officially together? “I just can’t. Right now.” You turn around, hands trembling. His hands reach out for you. “[Name]–”

“We’ll talk later. I swear.” Your feet carry out across the room. “But I just can’t right now.” The air crackles with tension as you move away, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between you. Damian stands there, conflicted and vulnerable, his usual composure shaken by. His hand hesitates in the air, reaching out for you but falling back to his side as you retreat.

Your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest by the time you make it outside. You hardly feel the cold biting at your skin. What have you done? You hands struggle to get a grip on your phone, opening your texts with Jon.

please get this boy some brown contacts

jon im so sorry

He responds seconds later.

???

i kissed damian

!??!?!?!

LOOK OUT

You gasp, moving out of the way as a car barrels past you. The bastard honks at you, asshole. You sigh, looking back to your phone–your phone. That’s not in your hand anymore. Where is your phone?

Oh, no. You see it now. On the ground, screen cracked beyond repair. The car must of ran over it, you guess. You close your eyes and breathe, just breathe. “Great,” you mutter under your breath, pocketing the useless device. You glance around, feeling a mix of frustration and regret swirling inside you. The street is bustling with people going about their day, oblivious to the turmoil in your mind.

You detour into a nearby alley. Probably not the smartest thing to do in Gotham, but you can take care of yourself. Knees giving out, you sink the ground against the wall.

You just want to go home.

The world spins around you, the weight of your actions crashing down. Everything feels like it's slipping through your fingers. You rest your head against the cold brick wall, trying to gather your thoughts amidst the chaos.

Moments pass, or maybe it's minutes. Time seems to stretch and warp around you, the sounds of the city fading into a dull hum. You press your palms against your eyes, trying to block out the swirling thoughts.

What have you done? Jon. Oh, Jon. Damian. Damian Damian Damian.

Taking a deep breath, you push yourself off the wall, steeling yourself for what comes next. There’s an ache in your chest, somewhat familiar.

hey look it

Huh?

over there!

What is that? An explosion color. Visual kaleidoscope. A swirling vortex of hues, shimmering and pulsating with an otherworldly energy. Your heart races. The air around you crackles with energy, pulling you towards the known unknown.

A figure steps out hand outstretched. His blue and red suit is familiar.

“[Name],” he calls. Miguel.

“Miguel,” you whisper, hand reaching out without hesitation. He grasps yours reassuringly, slowly pulling you into the portal. The bright light is welcoming. You don’t even squint as you pass through the universe.

You breathe as you step into your destination. Nueva York is something ethereal to you. Your favorite part of this Earth might just be a Lunar Train. Really, a train to the moon? How cool is that? You can see the line stretching into the sky from here.

Miguel's hands land on your shoulder, gently turning you around. “Are you hurt?”

You manage to shake your head. “No.” His eyes roam you for injuries, nodding in satisfaction when he finds none.

“[Name]!”

Arms wrap around you, nearly tackling you to the ground. Soft hair presses into your cheek as Pav grips you tight. A grin stretches across your face automatically, arms coming up to embrace him. “Pav!”

He laughs breathily. “Missed you,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your shoulder.

“Missed you too,” you reply softly, squeezing him tightly before pulling back slightly to look at him. His eyes are a little watery. He turns to the side waving his arm. “It’s [Name]! They’re here!”

You watch as your friends barrel around the corner. Miles trips a little bit as he runs towards you. Gwen is tearing up as soon as she spots you. They join your little group hug with yells of your name. Hobie rounds the corner with Peter B., hands in his pockets casually. You hold out a hand to him and he joins in, gripping you all tightly. Peter beams at your group, Mayday in his hands.

“[Name],” sniffles Miles, “where have ya been?”

Gwen wipes away a tear, her expression a mix of joy and concern. "Are you okay? What happened?"

You only hold them tighter, eyes shutting tight. A traitorous tear falls down your face. Hobie diligently wipes it away. You don’t want to talk right now.

You’re finally back.

notes: everytime i write a damian scene he gets 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 i swear (its not on purpose it just happens </3)

i actually wanted jon to have the first kiss in the fic, but i dont think he'd let reader get away tbh lol, and if he did he's sticking an ear out because he's worried ab em.

[drabbles-mc]

Just Like Old Times

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin & F!Reader

Written for @narcosfandomdiscord Book of Inception: fanwork that provides an origin story for a character that doesn't have one & "He made me who I am" & improvement

Warnings: 18+, language

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: the way that the last week or so has gone really just zapped all the motivation and creativity out of me, so getting this written really fought me every step of the way lmao. but i will say, that thinking about Jake Seresin in high school was fun. giving him a brother was also fun. going three for three on these prompts was challenging and rewarding and fun. and now i want to revisit these two at some point because idk i have issues lmao

You knew from the second that you’d walked into The Hard Deck that night that he didn’t remember you. Part of you didn’t really blame him, high school being such a distant memory for all of you now. Not just in years, but in all the experiences you’d packed into those years as well. From one standpoint you understood it…sort of.

From another standpoint you couldn’t believe that he could look you in the face and not say a word, not have even the tiniest flicker of recognition. He had looked right at you, and moved right on along to the next person. No matter how much things changed, they always stayed the fucking same.

It wasn’t until everyone was sitting out on the beach after the football game that the two of you even had a real conversation. Up until that point everyone had been running circles around each other, and you had much bigger things to worry about than Jake Seresin’s recollections of you, or lack thereof.

You were mid-conversation with Bob and Natasha when you noticed that neither of them were really looking at you anymore. You searched their faces, trying to figure out what it was that they were looking at.

Natasha leaned back, palms sinking into the sand as she said, “Bagman, six o’clock and incoming.”

You rolled your eyes, still not turning around to look at him. “Man knows how to ruin a good day.”

You didn’t have to look back to know how close he was, the tilts of Bob’s and Natasha’s head spelling out that information for you. His footfalls were nearly silent on the sand. Without realizing it, the closer he got, the deeper you pushed your fingertips into the sand like you were searching for something to grip onto.

Suddenly you were cast in Hangman’s shadow as he stood directly behind you. You shut your eyes for a moment, the longest blink ever as you tried hard to bite your tongue.

“Ladies,” he said, and you didn’t have to be looking at him to know exactly what his face looked like. “Bobby.”

Natasha was squinting against the sun but she still pulled a bit of a face. “It’s a good day, Hangman,” she said with just enough warning in her tone. “Let’s keep it that way.”

He chuckled, and you could see from the movement of his shadow that he was holding his hands out. “Every day at Top Gun is a good day, Phoenix. Thought you would’ve known that already.”

You were hoping that it was just going to be a quick thing, an in-passing comment that he made because he simply couldn’t bring himself to walk by your little trio without saying anything. But of course it wasn’t. Somehow the shift went from Natasha making extremely thinly veiled comments to the effect that Jake should hit the goddamn bricks, to him plopping down on the ground right there with you. He wedged himself right there between you and Bob like he had been there the whole time.

It didn’t take very long after that for Natasha to find a reason to leave. And wherever Natasha went, Bob was only ever a few steps behind. That left it with just you and Jake and the ocean that was slowly beginning to calm in front of you. It was a scene that could’ve been a peaceful one if the man sitting next to you had any interest in that.

Legs bent and pulled up towards you, you draped your arms across your knees. You were staring out at the receding waves as you asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure, Seresin?”

You could feel him staring at you and you made a point to not return the gesture. “Where’d you say you were from?”

You shook your head. “I didn’t. Also don’t think you’ve actually asked me a question directly the entire time we’ve been here.” You cast him a glance. “Too busy giving Rooster a hard time.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly at you like he was studying you, but there was still a smirk on his face. The more time you spent around him, the more you wondered if that was just what his face defaulted to these days. He leaned back on his palms, legs stretched out in front of him.

“Wasn’t until I heard Phoenix call you by your last name earlier that I realized—”

“Wow,” you barked out with a laugh, unable to stop yourself. “You’ve been running drills and sitting in class with me for how long and it took until today for you to recognize me? No sense of déjà vu sitting two rows over from me and picking on other kids in class? Nothin’ jogged your memory even a little?”

He leaned back, brows meeting for a moment. “When did you—”

“The first night we all got here!” you said, gesturing emphatically at nothing.

The smirk instantly returned to his face. “I’m that memorable, huh?”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “Fuck off.”

“What? C’mon, you can’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“No?” he asked, chuckling like he knew better than to believe you. A lot of confidence in your character for someone who only remembered who you were within the last two hours.

“No. Being mad would suggest that I’m somehow surprised that you’re still the way that you are. And I’m definitely…not.” You sighed. “You’re still Jake Seresin. Only difference now is—”

“My rank? The number of confirmed kills I have?” he tried to fill in the blanks, cocky as he’d ever been.

You looked at him. “Only difference is now you’re old enough to know better.” You saw the way he rolled his eyes at you and couldn’t help but to say, “I don't get you, Jake.”

The look on his face let you know that it had been a long time since someone referred to him by just his first name, not his last or his callsign. There was something intimate about it in a way. You wouldn't have given it any thought if he hadn't flinched at it.

He recovered as quickly as he could, that air of nonchalance reappearing around him. “I'm no Mystery Man.” He held his hands out in a brief gesture, like an invitation to scan him over. “What you see is what you get.”

It wasn't untrue. Jake Seresin had never been the type of person who lived a double life. Who he was around you was exactly who he was around everyone else. Maybe when it was just him, when there was no one else in the room looking to him or expecting anything from him, he was a different person. Not that it mattered—the world was never going to know. Reaching as far back as you could in your brain for memories of him, he'd always been some version of the man sitting in the sand next to you. He was just looking a little more refined these days.

You had just been hoping, when you'd seen him again, that maybe he would've changed by now. Nothing would be different if he wasn't different, but it would've been nice if it could be. The longer you looked at him, the more you tried to un-blur all of the memories that you hadn't bothered to tap into in a long time.

“How's your brother these days?” you asked, diverting course just slightly.

The question was immediately met with an eye-roll. “Fine.”

You had to let out a quiet laugh at that. “Yeah? That good, huh?”

He shrugged. “You want the play-by-play or something?” He shook his head, looking out at the ocean instead of at you. “He's fine.”

“You two not get along anymore or something? I thought you were both—”

“I see him on holidays. We text on birthdays. He is off doing…whatever he does.”

You hadn't expected the tension. From what you remembered, the two of them had gotten along well enough. His brother was a few years ahead of both of you, in his senior year of high school when the two of you were freshman. But he'd always been nice, nicer than Jake had been anyway. But they ran in a lot of the same circles, played a lot of the same sports, and they seemed to have a relatively good time doing it. Judging by the way that Jake was avoiding looking in your direction, you were now wondering if you were misremembering it all.

“We're grown-ups now, you know,” you offered up finally. “If you don't want to talk about him you can just say that.”

He flipped it right back on you. “We're grown-ups now, I can answer questions about Tommy if you have them.”

You laughed quietly and shook your head. “I can see that. The answers you've given so far have been so thorough and paint such a clear picture.” It got him to laugh even though you could tell that he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction. After a moment you cleared your throat. “You guys just seemed to get along back then, is all.”

Now he was looking at you again. “Yeah, Tommy got along with everyone back then—still does.”

You hummed in amusement. “Guess that trait isn't a genetic one, then.”

He cracked a small grin as he swatted sand at you. “Funny.” There was a pause, and you were waiting for him to pick something else to talk about, or for him to just get up and leave. Instead, he gave himself a moment and then said, “Tommy graduated with a full ride, but even when he was gone somehow I was still…” he trailed off. “Navy was the first place I wasn't a legacy kid. No footsteps to follow. Just me.”

“Hmm,” you nodded, not sure what you really wanted to say in response to that.

He caught your uncertainty. “What?”

“Nothing, I just…you wanna say that your brother, your family, your whoever was why you were like that back then. Fine, I get that, kind of. But then why,” you curled your fingers into the sand, “are you still up to all the same shit?”

“I'm not—”

“You are.” The laugh you let out was dry. “I'm one of the only people here that you can't lie to about that. I knew you back then, and I know you now, and from what I've seen? Not much has changed.”

The pinch of his brows let you know that what you were saying was getting to him, whether he admitted to it or not. He tried to hide it, and was semi-successful at it—it probably would've fooled someone else. “If it ain't broke—”

You didn't let him get to the end of the sentence. “There's always room for improvement.”

You were used to laughing at your own little one-liners, but Jake laughing at them too was new, especially when they were at his expense. Whatever the two of you were doing in that moment, it was the closest to being friends that you'd ever been. It was still a stretch but it was something.

“I don't know, you stack my resumé up against anyone else's here and I'd say I'm about as improved as it gets.”

“I think the one thing that could definitely still do with some improving is your humility,” you rebutted with a laugh. You geared up to hear some comment about how there was no need to be humble if he could back up everything that he was saying. When he didn’t, you said, “And, if you feel like taking suggestions—”

“You got another one for me?” he joked.

You laughed. “Yeah, of course.” You cleared your throat. “You said it yourself that this is the one place where none of that other stuff matters, like it never happened. So maybe, when you get a chance, you should get around to dropping all the bitterness that goes along with the brotherhood rivalry.” You shrugged, offering a small smile. “Cocky doesn't pair well with the sad, ‘He made me who I am,’ shtick.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise as he laughed. “You're meaner than I remember.”

“Yeah, that's because you don't remember me,” you said, the lift at the ends of your lips taking the sting out of your words.

The look of surprise didn’t fade from his face, neither did the amusement. “Damn.”

You still had a smile on your face as you stood back up. Brushing the sand off the backs of your legs, you looked at him. It was a strange feeling, caught between remembering how things were back then and knowing how they were now. A lot of things hadn't changed, clearly, but the circumstances certainly had. You wanted more of it to be different, but there was no saying it so plainly.

“You heading back?” you asked, standing completely upright.

He looked up at you from where he was sitting. Shaking his head, he replied, “Not yet.”

You cocked your head to the side, folding your arms over your chest. “Going to sit out here with your thoughts?”

He chuckled and shrugged. “Well, you did give me a lot to think about.”

“Don't think too hard,” you joked as you started to walk away, “otherwise smoke’ll start coming out of your ears.”

“Your concern is touching!” he called after you, laughing as he spoke.

Turning around to face him, you continued walking away. “Guess I'm just too sentimental for my own good!” you replied, throwing your hands up in apparent exasperation with yourself.

You could still see the grin on his face as you turned back around. Even with your back to him, you still found yourself smiling too. You knew better than to get your hopes up for much, but there was still part of you that was thinking that maybe there was still a chance for things to start changing before all was said and done.

There was still the very large possibility that things would continue to be the same as they ever were. You knew that. But, the same way you'd been wanting things to be different the first night you turned up at The Hard Deck, you still wanted things to be different now. It felt a little more attainable now than it had then. And, if nothing else, at least you knew that this time everything was going to be a bit more memorable.

(divider by @inklore 🩶)

TGM Taglist: @garbinge @proceduralpassion @cositapreciosa @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

[teddy06writes]

Whumptober Masterlist/Overview

Hey guys! I'm going to be attempting to participate in Whumptober this year (though admittedly I did kind of mash together a few different prompt lists). I have about 20 days planned out right now, and I really hope to get through them, but no guarantees unfortunately, because I do have other stuff going on in my life. Also most of these are in fact just going to be hurt/comfort because I am a weak man. Also yes I am aware that the variation in these characters is kind of insane, don't come at me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Day One - Survivors Guilt/"It's not your fault." - Robert 'Bob' Floyd - An accident during a training hop leaves your WSO badly injured, and you can't help but blame yourself. Bob makes it his mission to convince you otherwise.

Day Two - Migraines - Darry Curtis - Juggling a migraine and the Curtis gang is not the easiest thing in the world. Luckily, Darry is there to come to your rescue and tell the others off

Day Three - Overstimulation - Diego Hargreeves - (1960s, autistic Reader) - Between the prison break, Diego's strange brother, and home movie footage showing the assassination of the president, your not sure how much more you can take.

Day Four- Field medicine/"Hang on, we're going to have to improvise." - Fili - Even with the battle beginning to turn in your favor, there are still many losses to come, no matter how hard you work to prevent them.

Day Five - "You don't need to earn this." - Tommy Shelby - When your surprises and gentle treatment catch Tommy by surprise, he questions what he'd done to deserve it.

Day Six - Hostile environment/"I don't know how anyone could survive that." - Alfie Solomons - (War Era, Male Reader) - A poorly planned attack leaves you stuck in no mans land. Even if you make it back to the so called "safety" of the English trenches, nothing will ever be the same.

Day Seven - Needles/Stitching - John Shelby - After being sent on another needless errand by his brother, John returns late, exhausted and bloody.

Day Eight - Panic Attack - Aaron Hotchner - When a case that hits too close to home has too many missing pieces, and seemingly no end, you can't help but fall prey to a growing sense of panic.

Day Nine - Falling Asleep in a hospital room - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw - When a training incident gone wrong lands Bradley in the hospital, you take it upon yourself to stay with him.

Day Ten - "Shhh, I've got you now, I'm here." - Alfie Solomons - Sabini's men kidnap you in a desperate attempt to get a leg up on your husband. When Alfie finds out, he's ready to burn the world down to get to you.

Day Eleven - Chronic pain - Boromir - The first day of a cold spell causes your pain to flare up, but you're determined to grit your teeth through the pain. Boromir however, is determined to get you to rest.

Days Twelve - Fourteen Break Days

Day Fifteen - Hiding an Injury - Aragorn - Somewhere in the thicket of Helms Deep, you're injured, but in the chaos that follows, doing anything about it seems to slip your mind.

Day Sixteen - "I did good, right?" - Umbrella Academy Unit - A mission gone wrong forces you to over use your powers, pushing you too far.

Day Seventeen - Bleeding Through Bandages - Kili - After being injured in escaping the Orcs, Oin does his best to heal you, but miles down the road, it doesn't seem to be enough.

Day Eighteen - Nightmare - Alfie Solomons - Night after night, you are plagued with nightmares, and Alfie seems to be the only thing that can cure them.

Day Nineteen - Scars - Diego Hargreeves - While patching Diego up after a fight, you see his scars for the first time.

Day Twenty - "Who did this to you?" - Dallas Winston - You get jumped, Dally plots revenge.

Day Twenty One - "You haven't done anything wrong." - Aaron Hotchner - (Autistic reader) - After a particularly long day, you find yourself overwhelmed and unsure. Luckily Aaron is there to help you calm down, no matter how much you protest.

Day Twenty Two - Chronic Pain (again) - Alife Solomons - Getting Alfie to take a day off when his sciatica is bothering him is a full time job.

Day Twenty Three - Exhaustion - Darry Curtis - Darry has been working himself to the utter bone. You take it upon yourself to make him rest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

These might not get posted consecutively, but I'll do my best.

[childrenofcain-if]

I believe content creators are taken for granted to the point of dehumanization. For some stupid reason (entitlement) people easily discard the fact creators put their blood and sweat and tears into their work, and by sharing it they're being vulnerable because there will always be a part wondering "what if there's a bad review, what if someone doesn't like it". It's so easy to exit a page they're not fucking with and yet, they still go out of their way to be rude for nothing but five seconds of apparent superiority because gods know there's nothing else relevant enough going on in their lives.

I know I'm just a stranger online, but I mean it when I say I am proud of your strength to return after being so grossly disrespected and having your privacy violated. You shouldn't have had to be strong, but you were and are and that's still commendable regardless of how infuriating.

Now... shall we open that can of worms??? (i am opening it). In my free time during these past two days I've managed a 6 page doc on my mc 🫠🫠 i am not joking when i say it has taken over my life (no pressure or anything I'm just very proud of it and I've adopted my own character like it's a stray dog getting famous on ig. also, any typos etc and i blame it on English not being my native language)

https://eu.docworkspace.com/d/sINHdr5iUAvqkjbgG?sa=601.1123

Also, Céline will indeed be pegged and gagged (affectionately) once mc comes for her feelings-denying ass, xe will singlehandedly fix her like xe's bob the builder

anyways... i have taken enough of your time ✋🏻😞 proceed cooking with your whole chest

i thought you were joking but you really went all out hELP 😭 also, i’m convinced some of y’all are peeking into my notes because how tf do you know that MC may get a chance to adopt a hypoallergenic stray cat one day 🫣

the way your MC is jealous of how close C and D are is so real please 😭 people in their summer camp were so sure they were dating but they were so disgusted with the idea since they’re practically siblings atp.

i’m going to keep your doc as one of my references ngl. i salute you, dear bonnie 🫡 lex has become one of my fav fan OCs ever.

[seat-safety-switch]

I love my fireworks, say all my neighbours as they cram a flimsy plastic tube full of low-yield explosives. Surely everyone in my community will also appreciate them. If not, they are some kind of Grumpy Gus and are not invited to the block party cookout. Friends, I can tell you this right now: I am not going to that barbecue.

As you might have imagined, the residents of my area of the world like to shoot off a bunch of Roman candles when they feel like it. Sure, fireworks are fun and all, but I feel like if you're burning three or four hundred dollars worth of illegal noise-and-light generators every couple of weeks, you might as well just take up smoking again.

At first, it was a lot of fun. Very festive. It helped the community spirit, even if all the dogs were constantly terrified and kept trying to chew through a fence to escape. Ol' Ray down the block lost a finger trying to grab onto what he called a "Winky Sprinkler," though, and then everything changed.

Once there was a scent of blood in the air, it became a competition. Ray needed to "make it worth" his sacrifice, so he started amping up his production. Bigger shows. Coordinated by electronics. More frequently. This drew the ire of another rich asshole (Bob Winsome, who used to own the Ford dealership) with poor impulse disorder, and soon the two of them were getting up to a night-time artillery show that the police were not equipped to stop, mostly because they were at the doughnut store or trying to knock over a casino for some quick cash in the retirement fund at the time.

Nearly every night became a terror of pop-pop-pop. although I am very good at ignoring troublesome noises, those noises are usually generated by my own car while I'm driving them. Not constantly happening while I'm trying to focus on my usual problems: things like "why is this bolt stripped," and "where did this pile of wires I just cut through go to?"

As the Constitution says, though: "fuck 'em if they can't take a joke." After one particularly rough night of having exploding munitions going off directly over my head while I was trying to find the origin of some faint valve clatter, I decided to respond in kind. A friend of mine, who will be called Millie Teri for reasons that are about to become clear, loaned me a couple pieces from her private collection. I had myself a patriotic parade that night. Courtesy, of course, of some army bases didn't really pay too close attention to what they listed on eBay. That's what they call "taxpayer value," even if I did have to technically buy the low-shrapnel M107 flash shells twice.

I had expected to draw a truce after demonstrating my superior firepower, much like how French tourists can shut down any discussion of cheese. After bombarding both rich pricks' homes, however, it soon became apparent that the dickheads blamed each other for the massive destruction wrought on their properties, and refused to believe that a belligerent third party could have done such a thing to them just for "several months of sleepless nights courtesy of constant 120dB outside noise."

After the mutually-assured destruction finished, though, I never saw or heard another fireworks display from Ol' Ray or Bob Winsome. If they ever find an identifiable chunk of either of their bodies, we'll probably have a pretty cool tribute at the funeral using up whatever unexploded fireworks they have still left in the scorched remnants of their family homes.

[caystar13star]

Update: I wrote it:

Ok I know it was said that originally Jake was supposed to be Iceman’s son. Let’s say he is, along with his twin brother, Tyler. They grew up mostly in Texas because that’s where their Aunt Sarah and Uncle Slider ended up when Ice started climbing the ranks. They decided as a family (Ice/Mav and Sarah/Slider) that the boys would be better off having a stable home. They did spend their summers with their dad and Mav whenever they could, and they would come visit the boys when they were on leave.

They knew Bradley, but weren’t especially close since he was several years older. Tyler was jealous of him because he lived with Ice and Mav after Carole died (he and Jake were offered the choice but Jake didn’t want to leave their school and Tyler didn’t want to leave Jake.)

Anyway, both boys were super excited about going to the Academy and becoming aviators like their dad(s) and uncles. They were popular in school, but while Jake played baseball and football, Tyler rode in the rodeo.

Tyler was good, like potentially going pro good, until he was stepped on by a bull when he was sixteen. It broke the bone in his thigh, leading to him having a rod put in to stabilize it. He woke up from surgery to see Jake passed out in Mav’s lap, and Mav crying as he held Tyler’s hand.

“Pops?” he croaked, squeezing his hand softly. “Where’s Dad?”

Mav wiped his tears and leaned over to kiss Tyler’s forehead. “He’s coming, baby. He had to wrap some stuff up in Hawaii, and I was closer so I got here faster.”

Tyler tried to figure out the look on Mav’s face. It reminded him of when someone would bring up Bradley. He wasn’t sure why he was on the other side of that look.

“Ty, baby, we need to talk,” Mav shuddered and braced himself, not ready to do this again, but he had to be the parent here. “They had to operate on your leg, sweetheart.”

Tyler glanced down, seeing the bulky cast that reached from his ankle almost to his hip. He remembered the blinding pain he felt as the bull came down directly on his thigh. He was pretty sure he’d passed out immediately.

“Okay? Am I going to lose my leg or something?” That would explain the look. Mav didn’t do pity, but he oozed empathy. He took everyone’s pain as his own.

Mav shook his head and grabbed his hand tighter. “No, baby, no! You’ll be just fine,” he assured him. “You have a long recovery ahead, but you should be able to walk and run eventually.”

Tyler sighed in relief, looking down at his twin, noticing the dark circles under Jake’s eyes. He’d been at the rodeo, with a rowdy group of his football teammates. He must have been so worried.

“Ty,” Mav called his attention back. “They had to put a metal rod in your leg. You lost some of the bone and this was the only way to stabilize it.”

Tyler didn’t understand why he sounded so apologetic. Mav must have seen his confusion and he sighed. “Tyler, you won’t be able to fly for the Navy.”

His brain whited out for a moment, like a record scratch. His whole life had been planned as long as he could remember. He and Jake. Together in school and in the sky. They already had their pilots’ licenses as soon as they could get them. They flew their dad’s Cessna regularly just to stay fresh. But the F-18 was the goal.

What was he going to do now?

Also, Tyler has no patience for Bradley’s temper tantrum after this. He didn’t come see him when Tyler was in the hospital, and that irritated Jake too.

After the mission, they’re all reconnected and Bradley and Jake come visit Tyler to introduce him to Phoenix and Bob. Tyler is sweet and welcoming to everyone except Bradley.

Days go by and Jake wakes up one morning to hear Bradley and Tyler yelling at each other on the back porch. He runs down to play interference.

“You don’t understand, Ty! I had a right to be mad!!”

“Oh, no,” Tyler scoffed loudly, “I wouldn’t know anything about having my dreams ripped out from under me and having to completely change my life plans! I wouldn’t understand that at all!”

[yangcherie]

i am obsessed with your writing. really. i would love to read your view on a shadowheart trying to win your heart when she realizes that the other companions also want you. be as fluff or smut as you want! (and of course you don't need to write anything you don't want, really, no pressure) 💕🩷

one step ahead

pairing: shadowheart, background cast x gender-neutral!tav (reader.)

content warnings: alcoholic consumption, lightest bit of suggestive. reverse comfort. religious trauma (shar.), pre-selune shart.

author’s note: i don’t quite know. this is the first time i wrote wothout being high so ahm. this might suck. Uh. so sorry, dear... begging the nines for this to flop. praying hands emoji.

Before discovering:

You’re a darling thing – considerate, easy to like.

Shadowheart vies for your heart, confident she’s the only one. The party is big and Farûn even bigger, surely, they will not take this one thing away from her? She doesn’t take it seriously at first, the way they touch you, look at you, speak of you. No, she ignores it, continues to court you with soft flowers and fold and prayers of blessings upon you. You’re a priority to her, first and foremost. The only thing she has besides Shar’s teachings.

You like her. The way she feels about you is nothing if not refreshing, rid of lust. So you laugh with her, thank her so prettily for her gifts. She’s confident.

After discovering:

It comes to her late at night. She is not the only one who gives you flowers and gold and prayers, it seems. What meager she has to offer the others are extravagant with. She begrudgingly stumbles upon the possibility that you might’ve served more as a distraction than a lover, you’ve been challenging her faith and focus.

Have you swayed her? The same way you have seemingly swayed the other ones in the party?

If there’s one thing Shadowheart has discovered about herself, it’s that she does not like to share. But you are not hers. And is then she begins to descend into thoughts she does not like, about how it would feel to stake a claim over you.

You become more of a trial to overcome, something to have a crisis over.

Shadowheart purses her lips, sulking by the fire. She’s alone, thankfully – but the night is not peaceful for her, as it may be for the others slumbering around. The wind bites at her legs and something akin to heartbreak and envy chews at her heart as she stares at your tent. An abandoned, emptied bottle of putrid wine lay on its side near her.

It should be alarming, how quickly she’s taken to a different sort of nightly activity; chasing away her thoughts of you with wine and whisky instead of praying. She’s half-convinced you’re a hidden disciple of Lady Shar, with the way you invoke loss so easily in her. You must be a test of faith – one she is losing.

If she is bound to lose, she will not go down without tooth and nail. She’s opted for trying to sweep you off your feet, bouquets of orchids, opening her heart to you. Unfortunately, for every endeavor, you’ve tugged an endearing smile at. You’ve sung her praises on how darling of a friend she was – and she had been laughed at, patted on the back with sympathy by those in the party.

She wonders if you’ve even paid mind to how her advances have faltered. How she had herself distanced from you.

Shadowheart huffs, petty. Your heart has been something hotly-contested amongst the camp – for fuck’s sake, amongst everyone you cross, from drows and tieflings to cambions and lords alike. She knows it, she sees how those in the party - especially that damned vampire, drink in your bodice. The lilted curve of your smile. The bob of your throat. She sees how they could just maim one another for a chance at you, and she cannot blame them for their hunger – but it does not soothe her misery.

The idiots make it a competition of sorts; how far they could skirt around their affections without being caught — but Astarion seems to be winning. It is no secret to everyone, of the trysts you share with the vampire. It haunts her; how in the absence of light, he leans over you, pins you to the ground and sinks his teeth into the soft, welcoming flesh of your florid neck. He licks and savors the sanguine off of your skin whilst you whimper in pain beneath him.

During those nights, she cannot help but stay up, even long after the vampire has sauntered off, leaving you bloodless, limping. She strains her ears to listen to you breathe stiltedly. What she wouldn’t give for the chance to eat you up, whisper pretty things to you even as you push against her and whimper.

(During those nights, it is where she cannot help but truly resonate with Lady Shar’s teachings. Embittered, speared with loss with the fact you have plenty of beds to warm, hearts to hold – but none are hers.)

In the morning, she alone fusses and casts a light heal over you, brushing over your wounded neck, ignoring how Astarion will make an innuedo of your taste to irritate his fellow, seething companions. She will ignore how you flush.

Shadowheart is not blind – even the most foolish of fools could see she is not the only one to vie for your heart. She kicks around in the dirt, disgruntled, raking a hand through her otherwise pristine hair. You are a ridiculous conundrum, an enigma that puts her faith, her control at a losing trial — a groan is forced out of her. She would kill to have anything else on her mind but you, you, you, you, who has swarmed and consumed much of her waking thoughts.

Damn you. Damn you for all you are. You must be a cambion amongst the likes of Haarlep with the way you’ve ensnared her.

Before the cleric can run off with gritted teeth, however, a weight is settled on her shoulder from behind. Mortification is quick to take over her, a chill like winter in Icewind Dale, or worse, High Ice, crawling on her spine.

“Hey, you.” Your voice softly greets her. You do not wait for her answer, she figures when you decide to sit down on the log and huddle up to her as a comforting anchor, unaware to the flushed grimace on her face.

It is a brief thought that passes; what if the Nightsong Lady was watching her right at this moment? How will she ever explain this in her prayers? Should she beg that the Lady spare you? She gapes like a dehydrated fish on land when you burrow yourself further to her side and meet eyes with her.

You do not know you look how ambrosian you are at this moment. You are warm. You are soft and you are alone. Right in front of her, nestling into her, even – unknowing that she is on the prepice of some circle of hell, one riddled with indecision. Should she swoop you off your feet, profess her affections to you and press her mouth to yours until you’re stupid enough to let her bed you for the night?

Or should she gather you in her jaws and bite voraciously hard enough that you will turn limp? Spare you from what is her maw? The pit of her want she could condemn you to?

(But hers must be more merciful than the rest’s, surely? Would you prefer it to be her that destroys you?)

She is now convinced, you are the greatest trial of forbearance and endurance Shar has thrown her way.

“Shadowheart?” You murmur worriedly, a few seconds later to her silence, the fire casting a sultry, welcoming flush over you. She watches as you reach a hand up to your own face; undoubtedly thinking, why is she staring at you like you’ve burnt down the entirety of Faerûn? Shadowheart swallows, jittery; she cannot bear to tear herself away from your embrace.

“Why... why have you come here? To me?” It is all she manages to wrench out of her dry throat. Her waist trembles when you wrap an arm around it. She wishes to ask more; what are we? What am i to you? What do you want from me? Why are you doing this to me—?

“You looked lonely, was all.” You yawned, something ladened with slumber. She could not fathom the thought that this, whatever you were doing, could be casual to you. Was it an everyday occurence for you to ensconcing with whoever you deemed warm enough? “You could do with some company.”

Company? Does she deserve it? You could be with Karlach or Halsin, right now. Their arms were built to sweep you right off your feet. Or Astarion, surely? Was her company so special to you, you had refused your nightly tryst with him?

No, the rational part of her hisses. You’re thinking too highly of yourself; and what it says is true. She’s nothing more than some elf, one who cannot even string herself together.

It’s an uncomfortable silence – though it seems onesided, with how you flutter and cosy up to her despite how stiff she is. Somewhere in between, she feels a frown on your face pressed to her shoulder. She swallows, a prayer of repentance and a lash against her back is what she deserves. She’s a fool. There is no other but herself to fault if she was to fail the trial you pose.

“Shadowheart,” you mutter, more fiercely, another question on your mouth. She reveres the image of you, with your brows are wrinkled with worry for her. “Are you okay?”

But if the punishment is inevitable, she might as well just enjoy the buildup, right?

The cleric shakes her head, the witty response she has wilting when the instantaneous tightening of your arms around her fills her with the most innocent surge of need she’s ever felt – and her body wraps its arms around you before her mind has a say on it.

“Y-You torment me, you know?” She says, breathy, unnerved. The way you look at her and search her eyes for anything that could give her away has her breathless, and she can’t quit decide if that’s a good thing. It feels dirty, almost as if you’re looking for sin in her. She has plenty to go around.

“Why?” You ask, pushing on.

“You confuse me.” Shadowheart shakes her head, allowing the warmth of your palm to slide on her face. She graces it with her own. Shar cannot be watching, damn her. “So much.”

She continues, clutching onto your fingers, “I cannot be with you, I cannot – but gods,” she chokes, lips quivering once. “you make it so hard to stay away.”

You flush at it, what she means. Shadowheart follows. She wonders if you can hear it, the thrum of her heart, a testament of her sin, her unforgivable wrongdoings. She wonders if you know she’s starting to look at you as more of a salvation then a trial. You feel like it.

“Where is this coming from?” You ask, so gently, so reassured. You even tuck her hair behind her ears and it makes her flush with delight. “What makes you so sure you cannot be with me, hm?”

“Why me?” It clicks to you why she had asked that earlier. You frown, smoothing your thumb over the apple of her supple cheek. Her voice trembles. “You could have anyone you wanted, you know. Soldiers, or dukes. But you, you act like this towards me; and I’m just me.”

She does not say how afraid she feels that she could taint you with sin.

“And I like you for you.” You interject; and the butterflies in her stomach seem to triple, despite her eyes burning with exhaustion. “You are more than enough for me. You are wonderful to me.”

“You’re fine, we’re fine. I want to be with you.”

(She wonders if you mean for the rest of your life or this night only.)

Your words ring in her mind. She wonders if you want her to the same extent she does with you. But whatever — she’ll deal with it in the morning, the talk, the regret, the prayers, her reward and consequences. For now, she will let you soothe down the mess she’s made of her hair and hold her, entangle yourself to her as if to share warmth in place of the dying fire.

She could be enough for you, she could take care to not damage you with what she is. And she’s sure that she deserves this, snugly rocking in your arms, even for a night or two. And maybe you deserve a pretty flower again.

If she cannot have you, she can at the very least make sure you have her.

[generalluxun]

Fit for Inspection

A little 'what if' scenario set a year or two pre-canon, with Transfemme Sabrina Raincomprix.

The reflection in the mirror made Sabrina’s heart race, but also set the roof of her mouth and backs of her knees tingling. Thoughts, joys, fears, hopes, and anticipation all burned in the crucible of her belly. The sounds of Chloé grumbling from her bathroom was a blessedly normal thing on this most experimental of days.

The blonde head in question poked out into the bedroom, hair still loose. “You’re wearing that?”

Sabrina swallowed, and told the reflection. “It makes me happy.”

Pink lips parting around a pinker tip; her friend literally biting  her tongue before, “Fine. Whatever, “ and vanishing again.

Sabrina looked back at herself. It was a huge change. She couldn’t really blame Chloé for being shocked. Memory painted itself across the reflective surface; a first meeting. That one girl amongst the kindergarteners who shone above all the rest. The perfect model of commercial womanhood, at age five.

“Can you show me how to be pretty?” she had asked the golden goddess.

Lips plump with baby fat and painted bloody red had pulled into a grin. “I can show anyone how to be pretty.”

She had. Outfits, makeup, walk, posture, tone, everything that was feminine Chloé had known before she had known addition. Sabrina had wrapped herself in it, safe.

Today was different. Sabrina’s hair fell in a straight bob. No clips, no pins, no braids or tails. It was just her. Her glasses were a pair she had picked out with her father, not any of the dozen designer frames Chloé had bestowed upon her. Her blouse was plain, soft, comfy. The sweater vest she wore was cozy, but not stylish, not ‘girlie’, not a shield. Practical, unflattering shorts and warm leggings that weren’t even remotely good at hiding her stick legs and knobby knees finished off the look that betrayed everything she had learned.

One part of her mind was shouting for joy, another was screaming in horror.

Sabrina’s nerves frayed and she was thumbing the hem of her sweater when Chloé came out. Maybe I can wait one more day…

Chloé’s hands gripped her shoulders and spun her, dislodging the thought. Deft judgmental fingers plucked and primped the outfit, anchoring Sabrina in her body. Sharp tsks and huffs judged Sabrina’s choices, but not her.

“... kept the lipstick at least. This is really what you’re going with?”

Sabrina fidgeted, “It’s me.”

Chloé klucked her tongue, “It’s horridly unfashionable.”

Sabrina nodded, eyes downcast. “I know.”

Chloé sighed and flicked her nails, “Well, I suppose you’ll make me look better by comparison… not that I need it.”

Sabrina looked in the mirror again, two images overlapping in her reflection. “There’s nothing else… wrong… with it?”

Chloé had been about to walk away. She looked back, “What, being the mousiest girl in the classroom isn’t enough? You’ll give Du-Pain-Cheng a run for her money.”

Mousiest girl. Sabrina smiled to herself. Her doubts wouldn’t quite leave her alone yet though. “Chloé,” she asked, “Do you remember Sean?”

Chloé’s pause was long enough to be an admission. It made her faux disinterested answer, “Am I supposed to?” banish one of those two reflections.

Sabrina shook her head, smiling openly this time, “No.”

Chloé turned away, “Hurry up, Sabrina. We’ll be late.”

Sabrina jogged to grab her bag, “Coming!”

[lilac-witch]

If My Wish Came True, It Would've Been You - Azriel x OC

CHAPTER ONE: ALL YOU HAVE IS YOUR FIRE AND THE PLACE YOU NEED TO REACH

word count: 1.1k

synopsis: Koschei's forces are growing stronger by the day, and the fae of Prythian need an answer to their prayers. Thankfully, the Most Handsome High Lord is full of entertaining ideas.

warnings: strong language.

a/n: the above media work is not mine and I have no idea who to credit 😢 if you are the owner/know the owner, please let me know so I can credit their work or replace it should you/they not wish to have it displayed. also, the plot of this series may not align with the writings of SJM completely, and that is because I am taking creative liberties to lead the story in the direction I want it to go 😁

main masterlist | series masterlist

Formal meetings had never been Azriel’s strong suit. Too many fae and no shadows to hide in and watch from—forced to sit in an uncomfortable chair not made to accommodate his wings—subjected to the flamboyant disagreements of those who held power.

“If you sit any straighter your spine may stay fixed in that position.”

Azriel’s head swayed slightly to the right, meeting the amused violet-blue eyes of his High Lord. “It’s not my fault that these fucking chairs make it feel like someone is busy shoving a stick up your arse.”

Azriel’s keen eyes caught the slight uplift of Rhysand’s mouth despite his cool, composed posture.

“Such vulgar language, Az! I think you’ve been spending too much time with Cassian and Nesta.”

Azriel resisted the urge to give Rhys the finger, so as to avoid an uncomfortable conversation with the company they presently shared.

For the last several hours, Azriel had found himself sharing a space with not only one, but seven High Lords. The bi-annual High Lord’s meeting—the only time of the year when one could expect to find all of the great powers of Prythian in one room together.

“Are you going to bring it up?”

Rhys’s eyes narrowed in displeasure, face souring ever so slightly.

“Yes, in a few moments. We can’t delay the inevitable, I suppose.”

Azriel watched his High Lord for a moment before responding. “You’re not to blame. You know that right?”

Rhys's head bobbed—in agreeance or thanks, Azriel wasn’t completely sure.

Rhys cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the bickering High Lords scattered around the table. “As much as I enjoy watching the lot of you nip at each other's tails, there is a much more… pressing matter to discuss.”

“And what would that be Rhysand?” the red-headed lord mused. “Here to tell us you are the mother’s gift to us all? That we ought to bow before your feet? Name you King?”

Azriel snarled in warning, only to be waved off by Rhys. Beron, High Lord of the Autumn Court—and the greatest waste of space Azriel had come across in over 500 years of existence.

“That’s right. Call your dog off,” Beron said, lips parting to reveal that smug smile of victory. Cauldron, it made him want to knock the arrogant redheads’ teeth out.

“As I was saying…” Rhys drawled. “There are signs of Koschei’s troops gathering in great numbers. We assume they are planning to attack. The question begs as to when.”

“And you learnt this from the shadows that whisper in your dog’s ear, I presume?” Beron questioned, the remark causing Azriel’s fists to clench.

“He’s a prick. Don’t let him get to you.”

Azriel took a deep breath as Rhys’s voice infiltrated his mind. In. Out. In. Out. Slowly, his hands relaxed, settling palms down on his leather-bound knees.

“Elain has been having visions,” Rhys revealed as Azriel monitored shocked expressions litter the faces of those who sat around the table.

“Well…that is most concerning,” Thesan breathed, slouching back in his chair—chin finding the cup of his palm.

“You’re certain it’s Koschei she’s seeing?” Helion asked, leaning forward to rest his weight on his onyx forearms. Azriel couldn’t recall a time when he had seen the High Lord of Day look so serious.

Rhys nodded. “We’re almost completely confident that Elain is seeing the death god–”

“And what would you have us do, Rhysand? Our troops are a little thin after the last war you led us into.”

Azriel resisted releasing the primal growl that rose up through his chest—threatening to rattle his ribcage like one of the musical shakers he’d seen being played in the street of Velaris.  “You seem to be misinformed about your own cavalry, High Lord. From what my sources tell me, your troops were barely dented by the war, unlike the rest of the courts.”

Beron snarled at him, eyes ablaze with that raging fire that ran through his Autumn Court veins. A compulsive liar—just like his eldest son.

“So, another war is upon us, and we are low on means of muscle and protection,” Kallias stated, rubbing at the skin between his stark white eyebrows. “What do you suggest as a solution? Will the mortal queens aid us?”

“Vassa might, but Mother knows Koschei will do everything he can to tighten his noose around her.” Rhys leaned back in his chair, and Azriel noted his attempt to appear nonchalant despite his growing agitation. “There is another option…”

Azriel knew that pondering look on his brother’s face too well. That was a look of scheming—of plans that may or may not get them killed…again.

Rhys took a breath before continuing. “A few months ago, the Night Court received a visitor from a distant land. A very distant land.”

Azriel’s breath caught in his throat. No… Rhys would have to be out of his god's damned mind to be suggesting this.

“Her name was Bryce Quinlan. Fae, although not completely like us, but not entirely different either. She possessed the power of a star. And she fell through worlds…”

“Are you meaning to tell us that you had a fae from another world land on your doorstep?” Helion blanched, his deep-coloured skin seeming to glow with excitement. “Why in the name of all things good are you only telling us this now!”

It was Azriel who spoke next. “We didn’t know who she was, what she was, and what she was capable of. We didn’t want to take the chance of word getting out, and the issue becoming larger than what it was.”

Rhys looked to Thesan, whose intelligent eyes were combing through this newfound information. “She’s back on her home planet, where she belongs. Her stay was brief, but her impact… tremendous.”

“You wish to seek out her help.”

“Yes,” Rhys confirmed. “She mentioned great powers that protected her world from harm. Warriors of unparalleled strength. She called them Valkyrie.”

“That’s not possible,” Helion countered. “The Valkyrie died out centuries ago.”

Rhys simply nodded. “They did. In our world.”

The silence that followed was almost painful. No one dared to utter a word—as if fearing that everything would shatter like glass.

Surprisingly, it was the Lord of Spring who broke the spell. “Let’s say your idea holds value. How do you plan on contacting this… Bryce Quinlan, when she is worlds away?”

Rhys’s lips turned up in that arrogant smirk that had earned him his nickname—prick. It was then that Azriel realized. Rhys had been thinking about this for a while—a long while. And he had formulated a plan that he was seemingly confident about.

“My second in command has some incredibly useful qualities,” Rhys hummed, threading his fingers together. “Why don’t you leave the details to me.”

Eeek!!!

I'm so happy to finally be uploading this! I've been mulling over this idea for ages and it feels so good to finally put pen to paper... kind of. I hope you guys love it, and I can't wait for the chapters to come!

Tag List: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @talesofadragon

[always-andromeda]

I am so hyped by all the little extended scenes in Until Dawn. Especially in the little prologue section. That bit always felt a little rushed to me in the original. But now, not only do we get to better see the bond between the Washington siblings but I think we also get to truly understand just how mortifying that prank on Hannah is?

We learn later that Josh already deals with depression even before his sisters are gone. We also get the vibe that their parents aren't the most present forces in their lives considering Bob Washington's career as a famous film director. So those pieces of information tell me that in the absence of their parents, Beth and Hannah most likely did a lot of the heavy lifting caring for Josh if his mental health got bad (that’s my assumption at least). We finally get to see that bond in action when Beth and Hannah move a drunken Josh from the counter over to the couch in front of the fire. And honestly, I think it just makes it all the more heartbreaking for Josh knowing that he may or may not even remember the last time he truly saw his sisters? And if he does...then he had to grapple with the fact that baby sisters were taking care of him until the end while he wasn't even sober enough to be awake and around to help them when they needed it most.

Now we gotta talk about the prank itself. In the original, the note that "Mike" leaves for Hannah is purely him saying she's hot and inviting her to have sex later. The note in the remaster is almost entirely different. The proposal to meet him later is the same but what precedes it has changed. It's "Mike" telling Hannah that no one gets him like she does. Not only is it way more subtle but I think it cuts so much deeper?

It communicates to Hannah that Mike genuinely reciprocates her feelings for him, not that he just wants to use her for a quick hook up. The anticipation, the excitement, and the anxiety are so palpable from her when she reads the note and gets ready for the meeting. She's had a crush on Mike for how long? A crush that she's been so firm on that she got a tattoo because a dumb teen magazine said it could catch his attention. And here he is in this note, seemingly opening up and showing her a softer side of himself; making her feel special.

So the fact that it's all just a trick? And that all of her supposed friends knew about it? Like yeah, the betrayal was obvious in the original, but I think the slight alterations of the remaster make the inciting incident that much more cruel.

I even noticed a difference in the reaction from Mike as well? In the original he starts to say, "Hell yeah..." and clearly gets excited when Hannah starts to unbutton her shirt before quickly apologizing once she realizes what's going on. In the remaster that "hell yeah" is gone and I would even venture to say that Mike looks a little uncomfortable and earnest when he apologizes?

And the fact that Sam sort of reveals the prank instead of Hannah figuring it out on her own is especially clever in my opinion. To be clear, I don't think Sam deserves nearly as much blame as Mike, Emily, Jessica, Ashley, and Matt do. But with the way this scene is framed, we better understand now that in Hannah's eyes her own best friend knew about the prank and did nothing to either stop them or warn her before it could happen. Everything she once believed about her entire friend group has just been shattered.

And honestly, if I were a teenager being tricked like that, I might impulsively run out into the snow in the middle of the night just to get away from it all as well.