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urdreamydoodles · 1 month ago

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loved your x-men x omega kid mutant reader can you do a part 2 but with hank, colossus, Emma, Kurt, rogue, and gambit

X-Men x Kid!Reader (Part.2)

Their relationship with you—a omega-level mutant (Part.2)

After being abandoned by your parents due to your dangerous omega-level mutation, you arrive at the Xavier Institute, where a X-Man take you under their wing. They help you navigate the overwhelming potential of your powers, becoming mentors and parental figures as they guide you toward self-acceptance and control.

Characters: Hank McCoy, Colossus, Emma Frost, Kurt Wagner, Rogue, Remy LeBeau (+ my personal addition: Wanda Maximoff, Laura Kinney & Bobby Drake)

Thanks, glad you liked it ♡ And you asked therefore I deliver, hope you love it! — Love, Marie, your friendly marvel fangirl

Hank McCoy (Beast)

When you first arrive at the mansion, you expect to be met with fear or, at the very least, hesitation. After all, that’s what your own parents showed you the moment your mutation manifested. But Hank McCoy is different. The moment he sees you—standing small and uncertain in the foyer, your dangerous power tightly coiled within you—he greets you with a wide smile. His blue fur contrasts with the warm, fatherly energy radiating from him, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel like you’re something to be feared.

Hank’s reaction to your omega-level mutation isn’t one of intimidation, but fascination. He wants to know everything about it—not just how it works, but how you feel about it. He sits with you, cross-legged in his library, listening patiently as you explain the fear and confusion you carry. His sharp intellect is only matched by his compassion, and he tells you that your mutation, like all gifts, can be harnessed for good.

As the weeks pass, Hank takes on more than the role of a mentor—he becomes a father figure. He’s patient when you accidentally lose control of your powers, and his gentle, reassuring voice never wavers when you apologize. He teaches you more than just science and literature (though you spend countless hours in his lab, tinkering with gadgets and discussing equations that make your head spin), but he also teaches you how to trust yourself. You realize that beneath his towering intellect and beastly appearance, Hank has experienced his own battles with self-acceptance.

In those moments where you feel overwhelmed by your mutation’s dangerous potential, Hank is the one who grounds you. He teaches you breathing exercises, how to center your thoughts, and reminds you that you are not defined by the destructive aspects of your power. He always emphasizes your potential to create and heal. Over time, you learn to admire the way he’s mastered his own transformation into something powerful and kind, and you aspire to do the same.

One day, after a particularly rough session where you nearly lost control, you find yourself sitting with him in the lab, head in your hands. He places a large, gentle hand on your shoulder and says, “You are far stronger than you realize. And not just because of your powers.” Those words stick with you, and for the first time, you begin to believe that maybe he’s right.

Piotr Rasputin (Colossus)

When you first meet Piotr, you’re terrified. Not of him, but of yourself. The adults around you seem constantly wary, as if the wrong word or move could send you into a catastrophic spiral. But when Piotr looks at you, he doesn’t see a threat. He sees a scared child who needs someone to believe in them. His calm demeanor and towering metal form should be intimidating, but instead, he kneels down to your level, his eyes soft and warm.

He doesn’t say much at first. Piotr is a man of few words, but his actions speak volumes. He’s always nearby, quietly watching over you, making sure you feel safe in this new, unfamiliar place. You notice that he doesn’t flinch when your powers flare up—he simply stands firm, as solid as a mountain, reassuring you with his presence alone.

As you spend more time together, Piotr becomes something of a gentle giant in your life. He treats you with such care, like a delicate flower that needs protection, but never with pity. When you accidentally lose control, he’s the one who steps in, not with fear, but with understanding. He transforms into his metal form, allowing your energy to crash against him without harm. “It is okay,” he says in his thick Russian accent, his voice steady. “You are not a monster. You are just learning.”

Over time, Piotr becomes like a father to you, though he never pushes the role on you. It’s in the small things—the way he always makes sure you eat, the way he invites you to sit with him while he paints in the garden, the way he calls you маленький друг (little friend) with such tenderness. His quiet strength gives you something to lean on, and his patient, steady nature helps you feel grounded.

Piotr encourages you to find creative outlets for your power, much like he channels his emotions through his art. Sometimes, he sets up a canvas for you next to his, and though you’re nowhere near as talented, the way he praises your efforts makes you feel proud. His belief in you never wavers, even on the days when you doubt yourself.

The bond you share with Piotr isn’t one of grand gestures, but small, steady moments of kindness and understanding. In his presence, you feel less like a danger to the world and more like a person who is still growing, still learning. He shows you that strength isn’t just about control—it’s about knowing when to be gentle, and when to forgive yourself.

Emma Frost

The first time you meet Emma Frost, you’re immediately struck by her confidence. She exudes an air of authority that makes you feel small, but not in a way that diminishes you. It’s clear from the moment she lays eyes on you that she knows exactly what you are—an omega-level mutant with a dangerous mutation—and yet, there’s no fear in her eyes. Only curiosity, and perhaps a little bit of something else you can’t quite place.

Emma doesn’t sugarcoat things. She tells you straight up that your power is dangerous, and that learning control won’t be easy. But there’s something in the way she says it that makes you feel like she’s offering you a challenge, rather than a warning. And, for some reason, you want to rise to meet it. She doesn’t coddle you like some of the others; she expects you to be strong, to push yourself, and in her own way, she’s telling you she believes you can handle it.

Your relationship with Emma is complex. She’s not the nurturing type, at least not in the way most people expect. Instead, she’s fiercely protective in a way that makes you feel powerful, not weak. When you have doubts about your abilities, she’s the first to shut them down, reminding you that you’re an omega-level mutant for a reason. “The world will try to tell you what you can’t do,” she says one day, her voice sharp and precise. “Don’t ever let them. You decide what you’re capable of.”

At first, you’re intimidated by her, and that’s exactly how she likes it. Emma teaches you to embrace the power within you, not to fear it. She drills into you the importance of control, but not because you’re dangerous—because you’re capable. She wants you to understand that your mutation is a gift, not a curse, and she’s determined to make sure you see that, too.

As time goes on, you realize that Emma’s tough exterior hides a deep well of care. She may not show it in obvious ways, but every sharp word, every push to be better, is because she wants you to succeed. She doesn’t allow you to wallow in self-pity or fear, and in her own way, she becomes the mother figure you never expected. She teaches you how to stand tall, to take control of your narrative, and to never let anyone make you feel less than what you are.

One day, after a particularly grueling session where you finally manage to control your power in a way you never thought possible, she looks at you with something resembling pride in her eyes. “Well done,” she says, her voice cool and composed, but you can feel the weight behind the words. Coming from Emma Frost, that means everything.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

When you first arrive at the mansion, Kurt is the first person to approach you. He’s not like the others—he doesn’t move cautiously or tiptoe around you like you’re some volatile bomb waiting to go off. Instead, he teleports right in front of you with a playful grin and a flash of blue fur. “Guten Tag! You must be our new student.” His tail sways as he regards you, his eyes warm and welcoming, and for a moment, you almost forget the danger inside you.

At first, you don’t know what to make of him. He’s playful and lighthearted, yet somehow, you can tell that he understands the heaviness in your heart. Kurt never treats you like you’re something to be feared, which is so different from the way your parents acted. He takes your hand, introduces you to the other kids, and makes sure that you never feel like an outsider. His teleportation tricks make you laugh, and in a world where you’ve felt isolated by your dangerous powers, laughter feels like a rare gift.

As you spend more time with him, Kurt becomes something like an older brother—or maybe even a father, though his playful nature makes it hard to think of him that way at first. He’s patient, but he never tries to smother you with concern. Instead, he teaches you how to balance the weight of your power with a sense of hope. When you struggle with control, he’s always there, not just to comfort you but to help you find the joy in your abilities.

One evening, after a long day of training where you almost lost control, Kurt sits beside you in the chapel he’s created at the mansion. You can sense that his faith is important to him, and though he never pushes it on you, his quiet prayers bring you peace. “You are not a danger, mein Kind,” he says softly, his hand resting on your shoulder. “You are a blessing. Even when the world feels dark, you are not alone.” It’s the first time you realize that Kurt sees more in you than just your mutation—he sees your heart.

Over time, you grow closer to him. Kurt teaches you not only how to manage your powers, but how to believe in yourself. He encourages you to embrace the good in the world, even when it feels overshadowed by your fear of losing control. He teaches you to laugh, to play, and to find joy in the smallest things. And when you falter, when your powers flare and you feel overwhelmed, Kurt is always there with a kind word and a teleportation trick that makes everything feel lighter.

Rogue (Anna-Marie)

When you first meet Rogue, she looks at you with a kind of understanding that surprises you. She knows what it’s like to have a power that’s dangerous, one that pushes people away. You don’t have to explain the fear in your eyes—she sees it, because she’s lived it. “Hey, sugar,” she says softly, her Southern accent warm and inviting. “Don’t worry, I know what it’s like to be scared of what you can do.”

At first, Rogue is cautious around you, not because she’s afraid of you, but because she’s learned to be careful with her own powers. But she never makes you feel like you’re too dangerous to be near. Instead, she shows you that even with abilities that can hurt others, you can still find connection and love. She tells you about her own struggles with her mutation, how she’s learned to live with the isolation, and how she’s found family in the X-Men.

It doesn’t take long for you to see Rogue as a mother figure. She’s fiercely protective of you, and she teaches you to be strong, even when the world feels like it’s against you. She understands when you have bad days, when the weight of your mutation feels like too much to bear. “You’re tougher than you think, darlin’,” she tells you, her gloved hand resting gently on your shoulder. “You’ve got a power, sure, but you’ve also got a heart. Don’t forget that.”

As the months pass, Rogue becomes the person you turn to when you need comfort. She knows how to pull you out of your darkest moments, sometimes with a tough-love approach, but always with care. She never lets you wallow in self-pity for long, pushing you to see the strength inside yourself. When you accidentally let your powers slip, she’s the first one to remind you that it’s okay to make mistakes. “Ain’t nobody perfect,” she says, her green eyes sparkling with determination. “What matters is that you keep tryin’.”

Rogue’s tough exterior hides a deep well of love, and you come to rely on her more than you expected. She doesn’t sugarcoat things—she’ll tell you when you’re being too hard on yourself or when you’re letting fear control you. But she always does it with your best interests at heart. In her, you find not just a mentor, but someone who sees the good in you, even when you can’t see it yourself.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

Your first impression of Remy is that he’s a little too smooth for his own good. He saunters into the room with his usual swagger, flashing a mischievous smile that makes you immediately suspicious. But there’s something about him that puts you at ease, too. Maybe it’s the way he calls you petite, or the way he doesn’t treat you like you’re fragile. Instead, he talks to you like you’re just another one of the X-Men, not some ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

“Don’t worry, chérie,” he says the first time you meet. “Ain’t nobody here scared of ya. We all got somethin’ we don’t like about ourselves. But that don’t mean we ain’t family, non?” His Cajun drawl is light, but his words carry weight, and you find yourself slowly starting to trust him.

Remy isn’t the type to hover over you or offer unsolicited advice, but he has a way of being there when you need him most. He’s the first to notice when you’re feeling overwhelmed by your powers, and he’ll distract you with a card trick or some ridiculous story from his past. “Life’s all about balance, petite,” he tells you one day, flicking a charged card in your direction before catching it mid-air. “You gotta learn how to take the good with the bad. Ain’t nobody perfect, but that don’t mean we stop tryin’, eh?”

As time goes on, Remy becomes like a father figure to you—though he’s more of the laid-back, cool dad type. He teaches you to loosen up, to stop being so hard on yourself. When you mess up, he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. “Everybody loses control sometimes,” he says with a shrug. “What matters is what you do after.” He teaches you how to find joy in the little things, whether it’s a good meal or a game of cards, and his easygoing nature helps you relax in ways you didn’t think were possible.

But there’s more to Remy than just charm and clever words. When things get tough—when you feel like your mutation is too much to handle—he’s there with quiet, steady support. He may not say much, but the way he’s always around when you need him speaks volumes. He’ll sit with you in silence, letting you work through your emotions without pushing you. And when you’re ready, he’ll offer a bit of wisdom wrapped in his usual playful tone, but you know he means every word.

Over time, you come to trust Remy completely. He teaches you that life isn’t just about controlling your powers—it’s about living with them, accepting that sometimes things will go wrong, but that doesn’t define who you are. In him, you find a balance between strength and vulnerability, and though he may act like he’s carefree, you know that he cares deeply for you.

Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)

When you first meet Wanda Maximoff, her presence is almost overwhelming. There’s something ethereal about her—an intensity that both draws you in and makes you nervous. She knows power. She understands what it’s like to have abilities that can warp reality, that can tip the balance of everything if you’re not careful. And yet, when she looks at you, her eyes are soft, her smile warm. She doesn’t see you as dangerous. She sees a young mutant who, like her, needs guidance.

Wanda’s first reaction to you is understanding—an understanding so deep that it surprises you. She doesn’t shy away from discussing how hard it can be to live with a power that could spiral out of control. “It’s not about being afraid of what you can do,” she tells you, her voice low and calm. “It’s about learning how to be with your power, how to trust yourself. That’s the hardest part.”

She takes you under her wing without hesitation, and as you spend more time with her, you realize how much she truly understands your struggles. Wanda never sugarcoats things—she’s open about her own past, her own mistakes, and how she’s still learning to forgive herself. In those first few weeks, she teaches you not only about control, but about acceptance. She wants you to understand that your mutation is part of you, but it doesn’t define you. “You’re more than just your powers,” she says softly one day. “You are who you choose to be.”

As the bond between you deepens, Wanda becomes something like a mother figure. She’s protective in a quiet, fierce way. When your powers feel too heavy, when you’re scared of hurting those around you, she’s the one who sits beside you, her presence calming the storm inside. She teaches you rituals to center yourself—small, everyday things like focusing your energy on a candle flame or holding a crystal in your hand. “It’s not magic,” she explains, “it’s just learning to find your center. And from there, you can control anything.”

Wanda is patient with you. She never pushes too hard, but she always encourages you to keep going, even when you feel like giving up. She doesn’t believe in failure, only in learning. “Every time you falter,” she tells you, “you get stronger. Remember that.”

The relationship you develop with Wanda isn’t just about mentorship—it’s about family. She becomes the person you trust most, the one who understands your fears and your hopes without needing to say much. And in her, you find someone who knows how to harness immense power while still holding onto her humanity. That’s what she teaches you most of all: how to remain you even when everything feels like it’s spiraling out of control.

Laura Kinney (X-23/Wolverine)

When Laura Kinney first meets you, she’s quiet. You can feel her eyes on you, measuring, assessing, but there’s no judgment in her gaze. If anything, you sense that Laura understands more than she’s letting on. There’s a sharpness to her, an edge that you can’t quite define, but also a sense of protection. She’s wary, but she’s not afraid of you—or your powers. She simply nods at you when you’re introduced, and from that moment on, you know that Laura is different from the others.

Laura doesn’t rush to take you under her wing. Instead, she gives you space—space to figure out your place in the mansion, to figure out who you are. It’s only later that you realize she’s been watching over you the whole time, silently keeping an eye on you, making sure you’re safe. She’s not the type to coddle or offer comforting words, but her actions speak louder than any platitudes could.

At first, you’re intimidated by her. Laura’s quiet intensity, her ability to shift from stillness to action in a heartbeat, makes you wary of getting too close. But it’s during training sessions that you begin to see a different side of her. She pushes you hard, never letting you slack or hide behind fear, but she also teaches you how to trust your instincts. “You’re stronger than you think,” she tells you one day after a particularly grueling session. Her voice is calm, steady, and when she says it, you believe her.

As the days turn into weeks, you begin to understand that Laura is someone who knows what it’s like to be feared, to be seen as a weapon rather than a person. She doesn’t talk much about her past, but in those rare moments when she opens up, you learn that she’s been through more than you can imagine. And yet, she’s still standing, still fighting, still protecting those she cares about. Slowly, Laura becomes someone you look up to—not just as a mentor, but as a protector, even a sister.

Laura teaches you how to fight, how to defend yourself—not just physically, but mentally. She’s always telling you to be prepared, to never let your guard down. “You can’t control everything,” she says one day as you both sit on the roof of the mansion, looking out at the grounds. “But you can control yourself. And that’s enough.”

Though she’s not overly affectionate, there’s a quiet bond that forms between the two of you. Laura isn’t the type to offer hugs or soothing words, but she’s always there when you need her—silent, dependable, and unyielding. In her, you find someone who understands what it’s like to live with power and the fear that comes with it. And in her own quiet way, she teaches you that you can be both strong and vulnerable, both fierce and kind.

Bobby Drake (Iceman)

When Bobby Drake first meets you, he’s all smiles and jokes, his easygoing nature immediately putting you at ease. He doesn’t treat you like some dangerous mutant whose powers could spiral out of control at any second. Instead, he greets you with a lightheartedness that makes you feel like you’re just another kid at the mansion. “Hey there, powerhouse,” he says with a wink. “Don’t worry, we’re all a little scary sometimes.”

Bobby’s approach is different from the others. He doesn’t focus on the danger of your powers or the fear that’s been building inside you. Instead, he’s all about making you feel comfortable, making you laugh when you’re tense or unsure. He cracks jokes during training sessions, makes silly ice sculptures just to see you smile, and generally keeps the atmosphere light. At first, you wonder if he even takes your powers seriously, but as you spend more time with him, you realize that Bobby’s humor is his way of helping you relax, helping you see that your powers don’t have to be a source of constant fear.

As you grow closer, Bobby becomes like an older brother to you. He’s the one you turn to when everything feels too heavy, when the weight of your mutation seems unbearable. He doesn’t give you grand speeches or deep advice—instead, he just sits with you, makes you laugh, and reminds you that it’s okay to mess up sometimes. “We’re mutants,” he says one day, creating an ice sculpture in the shape of a dragon just to make you laugh. “We’re not exactly built for normal. And that’s a good thing.”

Despite his laid-back attitude, Bobby is fiercely protective of you. When you have moments where your powers slip out of control, he’s always there, calming you down with a joke or distracting you with his own powers. He never makes you feel like you’re a danger to those around you—instead, he makes you feel like you belong. “You’re part of the team now,” he says with a grin. “And trust me, we’ve all had our moments of crazy power freak-outs.”

Over time, Bobby helps you see that your powers aren’t just something to be controlled—they’re something to have fun with. He teaches you to see the joy in what you can do, to experiment and play with your abilities rather than always being afraid of them. His easygoing nature helps you find a sense of normalcy in the chaos of being an omega-level mutant, and his constant support reminds you that you’re not alone in this.

Bobby may act like the class clown, but underneath all the jokes and ice puns, he’s someone you can rely on. He’s always there when you need him, always ready to cheer you up or help you figure things out. And in his own goofy, brotherly way, he shows you that you can be powerful and still have fun—that your mutation doesn’t have to define your life, but it can be a part of it that brings you joy.

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yanderes-galore · 1 year ago

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Short/one shot of Jinx from Arcane "adopting" (read: kidnapping) a new "sister" to make everything better and replace liar-abandoner-Vi(can be after the final events of the last season 1 episode or before, up to you). Platonic, female (or Jinx just doesn't care, they're still her "sister" now), darling is an adult as according to the rules- 🧪

Sure! Writing some Delusional Jinx could be cool. I just hope I get her right as she is a very deep character. Takes place in no specific part of the series, could be during or after season 1.

Sisters

Yandere! Platonic! Jinx Short

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Kidnapping, Murder, Violence, Delusional behavior, Manipulation, Darling has a mentioned sibling, Stalking, Parasocial relationship mention, Forced companionship/family dynamic, Possible OOC Jinx at times.

It just takes one spark.

It takes one little spark before a fire starts and grows out of control.

Jinx saw familiarity in you. By chance she saw you on one of her "outings". She witnessed your caring nature in action... a display of love towards someone you cared for.

You were someone completely random. Someone who happened to also have a sibling... a sight echoing the past she yearned to forget. Despite the pain watching you caused... she kept her gaze on you whenever she could.

You were never far from your sibling. It looked like you were similar ages. Jinx felt... envious of your care.

When she sees you, she thinks of Vi. The thought makes her grit her teeth. Yet at the same time... she feels you're different.

She sees you never abandon your sibling as she watches you. She admits she shouldn't be watching, there's nothing special here. But Jinx wishes so deeply to have a piece of that love.

Watching you becomes a past time. She feels happier when you are away from that sibling of yours. It gives her delusions time to fester.

When she watches you alone she imagines you as her sister. She fantasizes of the care you give and the love you show. All a feeling she lost long ago.

Jinx even gets braver and follows you home. When you reside in your home she watches from the windows. All the while she sees you as a new sister, one that can help her, one better than Vi.

When she sees your sibling greet and hug you rage brews in her. She feels her fingers cut into her palms as she watches you and them be happy. She wants that.

Jinx develops a parasocial relationship with you. She believes you're meant to be her sister. She thinks you'll love her like you do your sibling.

Meanwhile all you see is the shape of a young woman in the darkness. You just see glimpses out of the corner of your eye of blue hair late at night. Then by your window you swear you see intense purple eyes.

To you, Jinx is just something... someone you see out of the corner of your eye.

Up until she decides to let herself in and become part of your life.

---

Graffiti art lines the walls in blinding pinks and blues. It's the first thing that meets your eyes in the dimly lit room. Other than that, most of your body feels heavy.

As you regain consciousness you slowly learn more about your situation. Ropes tie you to a chair, restricting your movement. You try to cry out... only for a cloth gag to prevent any noise.

You try to figure out where you are but the location is too unfamiliar. Various things hang from the wall and inventions line a table. It looks like a hideout.

But for who?

"Good to see your awake! Waiting for you was getting boring." A chipper voice rings from the shadows. You feel your body go rigid when a silhouette comes into view. A young woman with long blue braids stares at you with purple eyes.

She gives you a smile before kneeling beside you. Something about her seems familiar but you can't quite tell. Something about those swirling purple eyes unnerves you when she looks at you.

Like they've haunted you for awhile now.

"I was hoping my new sister would be more excited, but I guess it's because we've never met!" The woman sighs, nearly leaning on you. She never takes her eyes off you. She just stares lovingly... like she's been waiting for this.

Sister...?

"Don't scream." Her words are a command as she moves the wet cloth away from your mouth. You cough a few times, your mouth feeling strange and dry. You then see the woman toss the cloth away haphazardly.

"Where am I!? Who are you...?" You find yourself asking in search of some sort of answer. The woman giggles to herself, laying her head in your lap.

"Well... you can call me Jinx. In terms of where you are... you're in your new home!" The woman, Jinx, explains as she makes herself comfortable halfway on your lap.

"Why'd you call me sister...?" You ask cautiously. Jinx's gaze darkens for a moment and she gets off you to pace about the room.

"Because that's what we are! Sisters... we're sisters, aren't we? Ones that never abandon each other... or call each other useless...."

Jinx's tone shifts, lost in thought before shaking herself out of it. You're still confused on what she means. You've never met her before.

"I've never met you... I'm only a sister to one person and that's-"

"Not anymore." Her words are brief and quick. Those same haunting purple eyes glare at you before softening. She then bursts into another fir of giggles. "No, no... they're gone! Just like Vi! It's just us, two sisters... happy with each other!"

You feel anxiety squeeze your gut at her words. Not anymore... she-?

"What did you do!?" You quickly ask, Jinx swapping back to her darker gaze.

"Replaced them I guess." Jinx hums as you choke back a sob. "You don't need them just like I don't need Vi. With you... things will be okay. You'll love me just like them... won't you?"

Jinx stalks closer, her words dangerous. Her gaze stares at you like an apex predator. You say nothing... and she wraps herself around you.

"I'd do anything to be your sister..." Jinx whispers, her grip tightening. "I'd kill for you... anything just to feel your warmth and earn your praise."

"You killed them...?" Your voice is barely a whisper and tears fall from your face. Jinx softly wipes them away before nuzzling her face into your shoulder.

"We were meant to be sisters." Jinx simply continues, not answering your question fully. "I just know you won't betray or abandon me. I won't let that happen."

Jinx giggles again, looking up at you. She strangely acts like a child towards you, smiling like a young kid. She acts like she hasn't killed someone close to you.

"Ever since I first saw you I knew you'd be perfect. I knew you'd be better than... her." Jinx hisses the last bit before sighing. "You'll love me... eventually."

She then jumps off you before swinging herself behind you. You feel her grip your chin before forcing you to look at her. A disturbing grin sears into your memory... accompanied by swirling purple eyes of adoration.

"We've got all the time we could ever need to get to know each other..." Jinx hums before kneeling beside the chair again.

"I just know you'll be different than that liar... won't you, sister?"

💙

#yandere arcane #yandere jinx #yandere league of legends #platonic yandere

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sendpseuds · 5 months ago

Text

“Christ, Spencer’s still exists!?”

It has been many years since Obi-Wan has found himself at the mall, and if it weren’t for fear of incurring the wrath of his ex-wife, he’s fairly certain he never would have returned to this godforsaken place.

“You know what Spencer’s is?”

Korkie’s voice is incredulous, arms crossed over his chest, staring up at Obi-Wan with his mother’s arched eyebrow like his father can’t possibly have knowledge about anything even mildly fun or cool.

Obi-Wan wants to roll his eyes.

Instead, he digs his nails into his palm.

Before you I was fun.

Before you I was cool.

“Of course I do,” he replies with a haughty huff, trying to swallow the defensive feeling in his throat, “When I was your age we would actually hang out at the mall.”

Korkie laughs.

Not kindly.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan feels even less cool than he had a moment before.

“You know,” Korkie muses as they near the novelty shop in question, his voice settling to a low note Obi-Wan isn’t sure he’s heard the boy hit before, finally settling into all the terrible changes and challenges of being a teenager, “Mom never lets me go in there—”

Translation: Here’s your chance to be the fun parent. The cool parent.

It’s the oldest trick in the book, and frankly, he expects more from his own son, but they’ve got a long terrible day of ex-wife-mandated back-to-school shopping ahead of them and Obi-Wan thinks he’d rather start the nightmare with a smiling teen than a sulking one.

“I am curious,” Obi-Wan says, completely bypassing the comment about Satine. If he’s taking his son into what is, essentially, every teenager’s first sex shop, he’s at least going to make it his idea, “I wonder how much has changed.”

The excited smile on Korkie’s face looks a whole lot like victory.

“You can’t tell your mother.”

“Never,” Korkie promises before rushing ahead and into the dimly lit store.

Somehow, decades later, this place looks exactly the same.

Dark.

Disorganized.

Debaucherous.

So very dark.

The front of the shop is littered with graphic t-shirts and novelty items — party games, gag gifts, and kitschy decor — the merchandise growing more and more adult the further back the display is. Obi-Wan is sure there are fuzzy handcuffs and dildos back by the Playboy posters and lava lamps but he remembers what it was like to be a teenage boy and Korkie’s going to learn about all of it sooner or later.

[And Satine is certainly not going to teach him about it if the boy’s recounting of her almost horrifyingly clinical sex talk is anything to go by.]

Korkie runs his hand over the orange owl on a black Hooter’s shirt and now, Obi-Wan does roll his eyes.

When the boy looks up, the mischievous smile on his face immediately transforms into a seething scowl.

He’s getting quite good at that look.

He looks so much like his mother.

“Don’t follow me, Dad!” Korkie bites out, scoffing loudly when Obi-Wan holds his hands up in surrender, turning on his heal and disappearing behind a shelf of alien-themed housewares.

“Yeah, Dad,” an unfamiliar voice says from somewhere behind him, the man’s tone low and teasing, “Leave him alone.”

Obi-Wan turns and finds himself pinned in place by eyes as blue as the Bad Bitch neon hanging beside him.

The beautiful young man standing behind the counter is wrapped all in black, ripped jeans slung low on his hips, plain black t-shirt beneath a leather harness, the sort Obi-Wan has never seen anyone wear outside of a porno and certainly never in public. Dyed black hair is growing out blonde at the roots and there’s a scar through the eyebrow that isn’t pierced and the way his stunning smile only grows makes something stir in the pit of Obi-Wan’s stomach.

I used to be cool.

I used to wear risky clothing and a ring in my ear.

I used to pop pills and smoke cigarettes.

I used to be young and hot.

Now, I’m just Dad.

“Well, that’s a surprise,” the stunning creature working at Spencer’s says, his voice lower than it was a moment ago, those wild blue eyes unabashedly tracing up and down Obi-Wan’s body with an amused grin, placing both his hands flat on the counter and hinging forward at the hips, arching his spine in a way that makes Obi-Wan sway forward, his eyes falling to a pair of perfect pink lips, imagining the metal piercing hard and cold between his teeth as they part to speak.

“I think I’d rather call you Daddy.”

[part two]

#happy father's day #divorced dad/mall goth AU #drabbles #blame pal

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ouiouimochi · 4 months ago

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happy super belated birthday to bbgurl abyss ( I deffo didn't just learn it and decided to write rn-)

I've had this prompt in my brain for a while so at least hey it's gonna be out now

warnings: a bit long (would need part 2), not fully proofread, and poopy writing. a bit messy. not everything I put in here is canon compliant since there's a lot of things I'm unsure of, like if he was born into only a normal commoner household or what— for the sake of plot, he's from a noble family

apologies in advance since it's been a very long while since I last wrote anything past prompts

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synopsis : you met abyss at a masquerade ball after a small stunt you pulled and basically dragged him into it. so you promise to make it up to him the next time you meet

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• abyss was wondering why his parents decided to drag him to a masquerade ball for high society all of a sudden when they don't even treat him as normal person at all

• they reasoned that they have to keep up with appearances of being a harmonious family even after how they treated him all this time

• they also strictly instructed— more of commanded— that he never take his mask of in fear that people would judge and criticize their family

• so here he was, in a completely unfamiliar environment

• despite being surrounded by people who wore masks like himself, he felt out of place

• not belonging in the event, never in society

• that's why he's alone in the peaceful back garden of the venue, basking under the blanket of stars as the bustle can be faintly heard in the background

• the boy walks around near the balcony of where the ballroom was, hoping to witness a semblance of lost belonging from hearing and observing the event from a distance

• clicking of heels quickly approached the end of the balcony overlooking the garden

• “my lady, please cooperate just this once!!” a panicked and exhausted voice of an adult exclaimed from the further side of the terrace from abyss

• “bleh!”

• it happened so fast that abyss barely reacted in time

• he never expected that the owner of the heeled footsteps earlier would recklessly jump down from the balcony

• while the girl was mid air, the two made eye contact— well it was obvious they were looking at each other even with their masks on

Surprise was evident on both of your countenances— your and abyss’ masks doing nothing to hide it. You actually had a spell prepared to smoothen your landing but you really didn't expect your escape route to have a person, so you kind of just forgot about the spell. Before both of you knew it, you directly flew— well landed on the poor boy as he barely managed to at least catch you before you both can get seriously hurt.

However, due to the abruptness, Abyss loses balance and you both land on the floor as the boy groans in pain.

“My lady!!!!” The same voice from earlier cries as footsteps quickly approached the railings of the balcony.

You panicked a bit at that and swiftly pulled the blue haired boy into the thick shrubbery

Abyss was a bit startled, almost releasing a yelp but you immediately covered his mouth up just in time. Right above where you two were hidden, your attendant cries to herself— muttering something about being dead meat if your father finds out.

Then the sounds of hurried footsteps faded away from your earshot, your attendant leaving to search for you, opting for a safer route.

You let a few seconds pass by before allowing yourself to conclude that the coast was clear. Releasing the unknowingly tight grip you had on the poor light blue haired boy’s mouth.

You breathe out a sigh of relief. Feeling a sense of accomplishment from a successful(?) escape once again.

You face the unsuspecting victim of your little stunt, quickly making an observation. He was quite tall and lean with long, light-blue hair pulled up into a high ponytail. Your eyes then quickly scan his face and immediately mentally comment on how pretty he is. He also seemed to be around your age.

He looked stunned— understandably so. Who in their right mind would jump off the second floor balcony just like that and pull a random bystander to hide with them?

Apparently, you would. Maybe not even in the right mind.

You laugh a bit, finding the situation a bit funny in the moment. You did feel bad for accidentally dragging him into your shenanigans though.

Picking up the fallen objects on the ground before standing up, you then offer the boy a hand which he wordlessly accepts as he stands up as well. Both of you dust yourselves off.

You were running out of time, so you also had to make the interaction quick.

You belatedly introduce yourself like how nobility would as he returned the greeting with his own name as well— albeit barely managing to stammer it out.

“Abyss, huh? I'd really want to apologize for dragging you into this since I only acted on impulse. You must have been surprised.”

Surprise was a huge understatement, to say the least, but Abyss nodded. It was the best he could do, having no experience interacting with people other than his parents, much less a girl.

You bring out a pocket watch and bit your lip upon checking the time. You really had to leave if you wanted to catch up to the auction being held nearby.

You look at Abyss, “I'd like to apologize once again, but I really have to leave. I promise to make it up to the next time we meet.”

You quickly hand him his mask that you picked up earlier from the ground then pulled out a cloak seemingly from nowhere. You then summoned a portal big enough for yourself from the ground.

You turn back to the light-blue haired boy as you put the cloak on, “‘til next time, pretty boy!” before jumping into the portal you made. It disappeared the moment the top of your hood got inside.

Meanwhile, the silence and isolation might've been serving Abyss better than earlier as he was completely red in the face.

First, he was angry at himself for having his ugly feature be seen by a noble lady due to him not noticing that his mask fell off. Then next, she hurries in leaving and complimented him— making him embarrassed. Lastly, he realises it's the first time someone directly saw his cursed Evil Eye and not even as much as bat an eye or comment on it.

He went through multiple emotions in such a short while that he was having whiplash.

Abyss didn't hate the experience at all. If anything, he might've been holding on to the hope that they'd meet someday and he can have someone who'll treat him like a normal person.

He stared at the mask in his hands before looking up at the sky, wanting for his hope and wish to come true even if it would take a while. He'd be willing to wait for that moment to come.

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Part 2 - Part 3

#mashle #mashle x reader #abyss #abyss razor #abyss razor x reader #abyss x reader #mashle magic and muscles

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thehistoriccemetery · 8 months ago

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Karlach’s First Night in Avernus

Karlach’s story is, obviously, one of the most devastating in BG3 when you look at it in its entirety: trapped in the hells for ten years. But the more you break her story into the little moments, the sadder it gets.

What must it have been like that first night in Avernus? Even before Zariel strapped her down and tore out her heart, shoving an engine in its place.

How long could she cry before the tears stopped coming? Was she even given a decent tent or bedroll to cry in, or was she forced to do it surrounded by unfamiliar strangers? I know she would have given anything to be crying in her own bed. Oh gods, if she had to embrace such terror why couldn’t she do it surrounded by the smell of clean linens, the smell that had always reminded her of her mother? She missed her mother. She missed her friends. She missed everyone who wasn’t here with here with her. Alone.

She was hardly an adult. She hadn’t quite learned to navigate on her own yet. Was it that she was young, or was this just an impossible situation to navigate? Both. It was the most horrible combination of both. No one should have ever been forced to navigate this situation Alone.

Did she even speak infernal when she arrived, or were the unfamiliar people around her also speaking in an unfamiliar tongue? Did people try to speak to her only to be met with a fragile “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.” Did they offer her a sympathetic smile or did they just walk away? Even a stranger could have been a comfort to her then. But who was she to speak to? Alone.

Did she have Clive with her that first night? Did she hold him tight to her chest and quietly whisper all the comforts to him she so desperately needed someone to offer to her? It’s okay, buddy. I know everything feels really really scary right now and like things might not ever be okay again, but they will be, okay? I’ve got you, I promise. He couldn’t provide half the comforts of a living companion, but he could, at least, make her feel a little less Alone.

Were there blissful moments of distraction? Simple things that could make her forget, for a fleeting moment, where she was? Oh, but that sinking feeling that set in her stomach each time she was drawn back to reality. The more she thought about it the more details she found to terrify her. The only “water” sources down here were full of blood. How was she going to bathe? She doubted Zariel was going to cook her supper and baked imp hardly sounded appetizing. What was she going to eat? She was in hell, and home was so so far away. And worse yet she was robbed of all the people she left behind. You can’t even send a sending spell from Avernus. She needed someone, anyone. But there was no such thing as good company in hell.

Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone.

#sad Karlach hour #a character study that may or may not become a series #I could write so many of these #i think about this a lot #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 karlach #karlach

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imagine-knowing-a-name · 1 year ago

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we could be heroes

summary: with Natasha dead and forgotten to the world, your hurt leads you down a path she never wanted for you. It's up to Yelena to stop you before it goes too far.

Word Count: 2660 Pairing: Natasha Romanoff & daughter!Reader. Yelena Belova & Reader Warnings: Bit of angst with comfort at the end. Nat is dead. A/N: This is based on a prompt given to me by @lovely-nighttt. I also wrote this within a day and proofread it at 3am, so please excuse any mistakes lol. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

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Nobody cried at her funeral, if it could even be called that. Just a handful of people gathered around an empty coffin.

Clint's family alone accounted for half the attendance. Then there was you, Steve, Bruce, Maria, and Fury... that was it; nothing like Tony's funeral, with everyone in attendance and expert planning. This one was an afterthought, organised by a newly-orphaned 16 year old when no adult stepped up to do it.

She deserved a big procession. She deserved mournful tears and celebration for her actions. She deserved to be buried, not left on an unfamiliar planet in an unfamiliar time.

If you flew out to bring her home now, all you'd find is a skeleton left 9 years to rot.

You deserved to see your mother alive.

The world had changed now that she was gone; you were changed. And as hard as you tried, tears wouldn't come to your eyes because that wasn't what you were feeling. Without her to keep an eye on you, nobody noticed the anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

The speeches finished and you slipped out. You didn't want to hear the sympathy, regret, or straight up excuses from those who had been alive during the Blip. You just wanted your mother, but the world wouldn't bring her back.

16 years old and alone in the world, you let anger fuel you. None of the Avengers offered you help, and bitterness stopped you from asking them for it, not when they cared so little about your mother that they wouldn't even check up on her child. You had no place of your own and no money to your name, but you were determined to get by on your own without any of their help.

—————————————————

Natasha had never neglected you for work, she'd come home from missions undoubtedly tired, but still cook you a meal and ask about your day. Her days off would be spent with you, from cuddling up in a pillow fort for a movie marathon, to sparring in the fields outside -- but only because you'd asked to learn.

She was everything you wanted to be when you grew up, so her free time was spent training you to achieve that. You weren't as skilled as she had been at 16 but, unlike her, your survival had never depended on it. Natasha had never pushed or punished you in her training, but her calm teaching still gave you skills beyond the average person, and you planned to put them to use.

—————————————————

You had lived well within the law all your life, never daring to stray even close to the line, lest the consequences come back to target not you, but your mother. Her grimace was still ingrained in your mind from when SHIELD agents came to talk to you. She had stood behind you when an agent knelt before you, and wrapped her arms around your shoulders in a subtle show of protectiveness.

You couldn't have been older than 5, but the agent explained the 'bad things your mommy did in the past' and emphasised the importance of the law to both of you. The threat of consequences on Natasha went over your head at the time, but now it was clear as day. You had looked back at her for confirmation of the truth, since her word was everything to you back then, but all you had seen was a blank glare at the agents, then a polite smile, before she caught your eye and gave the first genuine smile of the encounter.

Once they had left, she sat you down and explained her past in ways you could understand, namely that she had done some bad things, but now she was good, and that you should always be good.

"The difference between a hero and a villain," she had explained, when you were still young enough to believe in such things, "is not to do with the law. It's to do with morals. I need you to stay within the law for me, Y/N/N, otherwise the agents will come back again." You remembered the eye roll that accompanied the 'again', designed to make you laugh. "But when you're older... follow your morals, do everything you can to help people, not hurt them, even if it's against the law."

She had smiled after that and ruffled your hair. "Nothing to worry about for a long, long time to come," she had promised.

But now was that time.

—————————————————

At the start, you contemplated what Natasha would have wanted before each step you took. Realistically, she would have wanted you to go to Clint, or someone else she considered family, but that wasn't an option right now.

You needed food, and you knew how to get away with stealing it, so that was what you did. If you break the law, don't get caught – that was your mother's advice.

You targeted large stores, the ones which always dealt in excess, then slipped small snacks and packets into your pockets in places where you knew the cameras weren't pointing. Walking out with confidence was the next important step, you couldn't let guilt display on your face or else it would betray you. Pockets full, head high, walk out and don't look back.

Until your fortunes changed, you would stay on the move. Nobody in that shop would see you again.

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Things spiralled quickly; your actions got harder to justify, but you were just trying to survive.

You travelled from town to town, breaking into empty houses for shelter in the nights, stealing the essentials you need, and most importantly, not getting caught. That was, until you returned to New York City. Memorials of Tony Stark and Steve Rogers plastered the skyline, from illuminated billboards to alleyway murals, the world mourned for them, but never for Natasha. Steve wasn't even dead, but he got more thanks than your mother, who gave her life just to give them a chance.

The anger returned to your veins and you began to get reckless. You didn't care if you got caught because if your mother's actions don't matter, then why should yours?

It was only a matter of time before the darker side of New York caught up to you. They'd noticed you, when you thought nobody in the world blinked an eye at your actions, they'd seen you. Your small skills drew interest, they knew you could be a valuable asset, but there was one more thing they had to test before approaching you.

Muggers were sent to attack you, 3 against 1, armed against unarmed, but you didn't weaken in the face of a gun. You walked out of the alley without a scratch, while the three men lay beaten, bound, and disarmed, ready to be embarrassed when their boss picked them up.

Not long after that, another group approached you, unarmed this time, but the strongest candidates the gang had. Unlike before, these ones didn't start a fight but made you an offer. Protection, pay, and shelter in exchange for your skilled services. It has been months since the funeral at this point, and your luck was yet to show any signs of changing. You agreed.

The bosses never asked for your full name, thankfully, because you wouldn't have given it, but they gave you an alibi for each task they required of you. You knew by now that Natasha would never have approved of either your company or your actions, but you continued on regardless; it's not like she was around to stop you.

Besides, all they asked you to do was to rough up their enemies. They gave you an address, you'd find your way in and hit them with a few warning blows. You got paid, and the victims survived without even any lasting damages. It was the best you could get and if they made you do worse, you could just leave, right?

You justified it well enough to cover the guilt seeping around your heart; you wouldn't let that bother you. You couldn't let that bother you.

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As the months passed, the bosses started to push you. They'd request more injuries, stronger hits; you were put into training with their bodyguards and, unlike Natasha, they didn't hold back. When they spotted a weakness, there was no stopping to correct you, they capitalised on it instead and hit you as hard as they could to leave you littered with bruises and patching your own broken bones.

You cried at night for Natasha, wishing she could still patch your wounds and rescue you from the hell you had gotten yourself into. But she couldn't.

The training shaped you into the tool your bosses wanted, and that was all they cared about. The pain that came with it was yours to bear alone.

You put up with it and followed orders, if they said to hit harder, you would, even at the expense of the victim's pain and your own moral guilt. There was no place for your feelings here, only the job that needed to be done.

Your superior eventually called you into his office, a sombre air about him that made your hairs stand on end, but still you followed him in.

He took a seat at his desk while you stood ready on the other side. The man watched you carefully, judging your every move as he relaxed further into the chair. Eventually, he spoke. "I have a different mission for you today."

Natasha's voice haunted your brain no matter how hard you tried to suppress the memory. It wasn't the time to reminisce, but your mind wandered back to all the times she has said the same line to you as a child. When she used to call all of your chores 'missions' because she knew you wholly, and she knew you wanted to be like her and have her job more than anything else.

You got your wish, in a way, but you'd broken your mother's wish to get there.

"When you're older... follow your morals, do everything you can to help people, not hurt them, even if it's against the law"

How had you gone so wrong?

You snapped back to the present. You couldn't afford to keep your superiors waiting. "What is the mission, sir?"

Instead of speaking, the man reached into the inside pocket of his blazer and, very slowly, so as not to startle you, pulled a small pistol out of it before setting it on the table. He beckoned for you to assess it.

"You've had gun training, I presume?"

"A little. When I was younger."

"Then here's a way to get more practice. Follow me."

You nodded, checking the safety and holstering the gun just like Natasha had taught you before following him out and into the adjoining warehouse.

"Wait there," the boss ordered when you were just through the doorway. You saw another man seated in the centre of the room, and the boss carried on towards him.

It was only when the seated man struggled to get away that you noticed he was bound, tied to the chair and gagged, but his uncovered eyes met yours with frantic pleading.

"You have great potential," your boss announced. He leant on the back of the chair and kept his eyes on you. "I think you could even take my place one day, with a bit of work, but I need to know you're committed. You joined for the money, I know, but at this stage, I need you to be willing to die for us. More importantly, I need you to be willing to kill for us."

The gun felt heavy in your hand; you knew where this was going.

"Shoot him." Your boss laid a finger gently on the forehead of the bound man before continuing, "right here."

You aimed the pistol and even though your body trembled, your hands stayed steady. If you pulled the trigger, you knew it would be a perfect shot.

The boss ambled back to your side. The buzz of his smartwatch faltered his carefree attitude for just a second before he recomposed himself and stood upright beside you. "Take the shot," he urged, "this is someone who deserves it; you'd be doing the city a justice."

Still you hesitated. The other injuries you'd afflicted had been minor, whereas this was permanent, a slight movement of your finger and this man's life would be over, his death permanently on your hands and your record. There was never a justification for that, no matter what he did, your action would follow you forever.

Another gun clicked, and black metal filled your peripheral vision. "Take. The. Shot."

The options were weighed now. You either live with blood on your hands, or die for keeping a clean slate; you know which one your mother would have chosen – the one she did choose in the end. But that was her at the end, in her life before that, when her sacrifice would have meant so little, she had killed without mercy to survive. Would that be you? Could you go that far?

The 'shing' of a knife blade wedged a third option into the mix and proceeded a threat: "get that gun away from my niece." Your answer was determined for you; you could choose the out.

Tears blurred your vision when you looked to the side, but you recognised the figure from her voice alone. Yelena had a knife to the boss's throat, gritting her teeth as she subdued him until eventually he relented and dropped the gun to the ground.

Your will was unthreatened once again, but your gun was still pointed at the man. Your body desperately looked for approval and success even when your mind protested.

"Don't," Yelena warned. With a well balanced punch, she knocked the man in her hold unconscious, then approached you slowly, her hands empty in front of her. "I'm sorry I wasn't there afterwards. I was too late into America for the funeral, then swayed down the same path as you were, likely by the same grief."

She sighed. Yelena was right beside you now; you let her wrap her hands around yours and take the gun from your grasp.

"Clint brought me out of it when I tried to kill him, let me be the same for you. Without the killing."

"You tried to kill Clint?" Your voice was small, it lacked the bravado you had put on in the recent months. Now it was just you and your aunt, she brought out the side of you that you'd thought died with your mother.

"I was told he killed Natasha," Yelena defended, smiling when she saw the faintest hint of a smile return to your face; she swore to bring you back completely. "And for my honour, I could have killed him. It is not try, he just put sense back into me."

"I think I need that right now," you muttered.

Yelena pulled you into a hug, both of her arms over your shoulders to pretend that you weren't taller than her now. The familiarity gave you cause to smile, but also had your sobbing on your aunt's shoulder when the grief and the guilt hit all at once.

"Let me be that for you, Y/N/N" she offered, "come stay with me. We'll try this grieving thing over again."

You left the building like that, Yelena's arm around you guiding you out. You were protected in her arms and together, you would work out how to live without Natasha.

"Yelena," you said, just before getting in her car, "we forgot to untie the guy in the chair."

"Гавно. We just walked all that way," (shit) she moaned, "can we just leave him?"

"My mom wouldn't. She said it was a hero's-"

"No, no, I heard that speech enough times. Okay. Let's be heroes."

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#natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff & reader #natasha romanoff & y/n #natasha romanoff & you #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff & daughter!reader #yelena belova #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova & reader #yelena belova & y/n #yelena belova & you #natasha romanoff angst #ikan writes #marvel #fanfiction

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delopsia · 9 months ago

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Coyote | Miles Miller x Reader

Word Count: 7,500 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+. AFAB!Reader, wolf! Reader, coyote! Miles (it's a werewolf AU with a twist), mentions of food PTSD and forced marriage, running away together, car sex, and overstimulation. No established time setting, so you can imagine this as a modern! AU or canon to when the movie took place :) Brief Summary: You've got no choice but to marry the son of a rivaling family in order to bring unity once and for all. But on the night before your dreaded wedding, Miles makes good on your wish to run away together.

This bed used to be comfortable.

Falling into it once felt like plummeting through the sky and being caught by a giant, fluffy cloud. Soft, delicately scented sheets, washed in a laundry detergent exclusively used for this room alone. One of the many perks of the honeymoon suite, alongside the extra space, pink interior, and a promise of complimentary, sweet drinks, so long as you took the time to visit the front desk and ask for them.

Your head lifts, craning to peer over your shoulder. The sleeping body that occupies your bed isn't the one that you're used to. Stiff. Not the snuggly presence that you've grown to associate with this mattress. His back has long since turned to you, growled snores rattling every last nerve you've got. And yet, you can't help but be thankful that he's not awake and looking at you.

Because then you'd be forced to confront the reality of this situation you've found yourself in.

Reluctant, your eyes flick to the dresser. It's usually up beneath the two-way mirror, but now, it has found itself awkwardly shoved into a vacant corner. If only the stark white wedding dress sitting on top of it had taken note and miraculously found its way into the dumpster. But like the gaudy ring sitting atop the bedside table, it hasn't moved an inch.

Come dawn, his nameless sisters will rush into the room and help shove you into it all. Dressing you in costume like one of their childhood dolls, powdering your face with extravagant makeup, and helping you into those too-high shoes that your future mother-in-law so stubbornly insisted you wear. As if walking down that aisle wasn't hard enough, to begin with.

It's cruel, truly.

Your feet are destined to walk a fine line between two families. To become the glue—no, the contract that will bind them together for the rest of eternity. A purpose that was placed upon your shoulders before they had even formed in the womb. Because a bunch of old men and women couldn't settle things like adults, crying about how its not the way your ancestors would have wanted it.

Werewolves. Stuck so far in the past that even modern history does not recognize them.

Up until recent, you'd found them all to be the same. Clinging to the shiny title of their ancestors, vying to establish themselves using the accomplishments of those before them. Stubbornly clinging to their old ways, fearing the concept of change more than the fangs of a hungry vampire.

You'd thought it when you were approached with the demand that you meet the son of the family that rivaled your own. Travel from the warm comforts of one state and into a cold, unfamiliar one every weekend to meet him and to fall in love. And if you could not find love, you would need to learn tolerance. Accept this unhappy future for the sake of the family, they said. For your troubles, you were offered a reservation at a comfortable hotel. A place to rest in between the drive and enjoy the last of your freedoms before the wedding bells rang.

Oh, but that doe-eyed boy behind the reception desk...

Miles.

In the past, you've heard your family refer to families of coyote-based shifters, but until you stumbled into this little hotel, you'd never met one in person. And even then, you couldn't pick one out of a lineup if your life depended on it. But from the moment you heard him knock on your door during your very first stay, you'd known something was different about him.

"I-I'm sorry," he stuttered, wild blue eyes darting every which way as he held out a small, familiar object in his hand. Your wallet. "You—you forgot this on my desk."

He could have kept it. Lord knows he needed every penny in there, but he'd brought it back to you just as you'd left it.

"Oh," quite frankly, you were speechless. Even now, you can't think of anything you could have said to fill the awkward gap of silence as you took it from his hand. "Thank you..." Your eyes frantically scanned across his jacket for that damned name tag. But it was upside down. Forcing you to tilt your head for a better read. "Miller?"

His eyebrows furrowed. Head tilted, like you had just spoken in a different language. "Huh?"

"That's your name, isn't it?" You nodded towards the nametag.

He had to follow your gaze to figure out what you were looking at. And as soon as he realized, his hands jumped into the air. "Oh!" Scurrying to fix it. Laughing. "I'm—I'm sorry. It's...my name is Miles..." Then, paused as he was in the process of flipping it, hesitantly meeting your eye. "Miller is my last name."

The only thing you'd known to do was to smile and correct yourself, but now the silence was unbearable. Miles and his awkward grin, wringing his hands, eyes flicking every which way. But then, all of a sudden, his head snapped toward the double doors of the lobby. He'd heard something, but you couldn't pick up a damn thing. Even as he apologized and darted off, you couldn't figure out what the hell he was hearing.

Strangest of all, a strange scent clung to the fabric of your wallet. Earthier. Like standing in a forest after a storm. That was no wolf scent; in fact, you had never encountered it before.

What was it?

You got your answer when, on your second visit, he ambled back up to your door—carrying a slice of pie fresh out of the oven, still steaming and hot to the touch. The same flavor you had looked for when you first arrived at the hotel, only to find that it was the one flavor freshly sold out. Originally, it was an apology for the off-putting note he'd left you on, but then he'd accidentally let go of the plate before you fully had a hold of it.

He'd yipped the moment the ceramic hit the ground. Then burst into an apology, claiming the noise to be some 'dumb coyote thing.'

The walk back to get another slice ended in chatter that has yet to die down.

Maybe he bewitched you with the sweet treats and cozy blankets he brought out of the exclusive bungalows because you didn't like the texture of the ones typically used to furnish your room. Or it could have been the soft touches and delicately whispered comments as if speaking any louder would cause the sentiment to lose all of its meaning.

But one way or another, you found your arms wrapped around those lithe shoulders. Catching each and every single one of his flurried kisses. Soft and giving, never demanding a thing, and so, so eager to give everything to you, even if that wasn't very much to start with. Stumbling backward until the back of your knees hit the bed, losing your balance in an instant.

You haven't quit falling since.

The body next to yours shifts, rolling closer to you, and the hand that skims your back does nothing but make you wriggle to the edge of the bed. Those aren't the hands that you've grown accustomed to, appearing softly at first. Feather-light fingertips stroking up the curve of your waist, gradually gaining confidence in his touch the further he goes until he flattens his palm against your belly.

A part of you can still hear what Miles would say right now.

"Is this still okay?" His lips always brush against your bare shoulder. Always seeking the reassurance that the boundary is still where it was a couple of hours ago, perhaps due to his own wavering line of what he can and can't handle.

The following whispered consent is religiously rewarded with a lingering kiss, his warm breath fanning out against your skin. Followed by another. And another. Guiding himself up your cheek to press one to your lips before nuzzling his nose into your neck.

They say coyotes and wolves don't mix, but you go together like lightning and thunder. Where Miles is swift and flickering, you are the booming, large presence that follows.

Tap.

Your head lifts.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

There's nobody outside the window; there are no curtains, no scent to reveal their presence. Your eyes are designed for this very lighting, and yet, you cannot spot a single thing out of place.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It's not coming from the window. No, the tapping is...inside the room.

As slow as you can physically manage, you slip from the bed, careful not to disturb your sleeping partner. The last thing you feel like dealing with is a know-it-all man stealing the reins from your more-than-capable hands. Like he did when Miles turned up at the door, returning the ring you intentionally left at his desk. He damn near shoved you out of the way, unable to allow a coyote like Miles around you, even for a second.

Tap. Tap.

Coming from your right. But that doesn't make any...

the mirror.

The mirror is open.

"Miles," you can barely recall the sensation of your feet crossing the floor. Slipping into his warm arms before you can think twice, uncaring of the awkward gap you must lean over. "How did you..."

"Shh," squeezing you as close as he can possibly manage. "If he catches us..."

You'll both be dead.

But the continued, growling snores insist he's not waking anytime soon.

Reluctant, you peel yourself away from him. Too eager to get a glimpse of his face. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to—I..." he pauses. Recollecting himself. Squeezing your shoulders in his palms. "Do you remember what you said about wantin' to run away with me?"

You don't...you don't know what to say. Head tilting to glance at the occupied bed. Then to your luggage. Just moments ago, you were daydreaming about Miles, but, but... God, where will you go? How will he hide you from the sensitive noses of your family?

"I—I got my car workin' again, and I found scent blockers, and," he gulps so hard that his Adam's apple bobs. Frantic eyes flicking to the bed. Then back to you. "I ain't been there in a while, but I've still got that little apartment I told you 'bout."

You know where he's going with this. And your heart is hammering against your chest. Begging you to say yes. But your head knows better. There's no way you can escape without being caught. "Miles..."

"I know I ain't got all that much. I don't...I know I can't give you the same kind of life he could, but I..." his forehead presses against yours. Big, warm hands rising to curl around your cheeks. Blocking out the rest of the world as his heart continues to pour off of his tongue. "I can promise I'll love you until you're absolutely sick of me. Like you are of that pie I keep bringin' you."

As if that wasn't enough, he leans in and seals it by leaning in and meeting your lips. The gentlest of locks, hardly enough to count as a kiss at all. It feels like the first, all over again.

And you'll be damned if it's the last.

It takes five and a half steps to reach your suitcase. Three to slip into your shoes. One more to snatch that gaudy ring off of the bedside table. Ugly but valuable, given all of the things you've heard about it since it was shoved onto your finger.

The wheel clangs against the wall as you lift it. Miles goes pale. You freeze. The whole world stops turning. Slow, as if moving too quickly will cause the man in bed to stir, you turn your head.

Still asleep.

Getting the suitcase through the mirror should have been the hard part, but in reality, it's figuring out how to get up and swing your legs through the gap without smacking your head on the top. Miles's guiding hands are the only thing that helps you pull it off, firm against your waist, holding you firm in the event you lose your balance.

One foot leaves the worn hotel carpet.

The other lands on the solid, cement floor of the hidden corridor.

Miles swings the mirror shut. The latches audibly slide back into place. And suddenly, it's completely and utterly silent. Mere feet away from a man you've already forgotten the name of. Maybe you would remember if your attention wasn't wrapped up in the sight of Miles himself. Soft and real and dressed in that cozy mustard yellow cardigan.

He looks at you.

You look at him.

For a split second, telepathy is real. And you're both thinking the same damn thing.

"Oh, what the heck," he breathes, arms already beginning to open up, "c'mere."

It's the easiest thing you've done in your life. Stepping forward, shrinking that gap between your bodies in an instant. Arms draping across those lithe shoulders, noses crashing together as he clumsily kisses you. Careful arms curling around your waist.

Oh, it's everything you were just dreaming about. The dizzying sensation of him using his weight to push your back up against the chilly cement wall. Such a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating off of him, daring to press up against you.

You're melting like ice cream in the sweltering summer sun. Fingers lazily tangling in his hair, falling into the plush caress of his lips against yours. He tastes like the cola he keeps hidden behind the bar, so sweet that you reckon he's giving you a secondhand sugar rush, chasing away the remnants of sleep that still cling to your psyche.

The tips of his fingers brush at your nape, crawling to trace against your cheek, then down your shoulder. Can never seem to keep those big, weathered hands occupied for more than a few seconds at a time. Always has to be moving. Always.

You need to get going. Run before anyone notices your absence and comes looking. Can't even begin to imagine the things they would say if they walked in on you like this. Running away on the night before your wedding, tangled up with your new lover before a minute has even passed.

"Miles..." speaking against his lips. A half-assed effort that dies down as soon as he closes that gap again. Leading with his nose, the cold tip of it brushing against your cheek.

"We should stop..." he whines into your kiss like he's been longing for it all his life. On the same damn page as you, just as helpless, too. "We should..."

His hips twitch forward. Clumsily knocking into yours. The slightest brush of your bodies, and yet it's enough for you to catch onto what you've done to him. Hard as a rock in those stretchy work pants, so damn visible that you can see the bulge of his cock, right here in the dark.

Bold, you push forward. Foreheads bumping together as Miles struggles to back track, feet tangling, falling back against the wall with a surprised grunt. Wide eyes peer back at you, confused, but only for a moment. His unspoken question is answered by the sudden pressure of your palm, curling around the outline of him through his slacks.

Those pretty eyes fall shut, sucking in a breath. "Wha—here?" Though he's not putting up much of an argument against it. Struggling to suppress the whine that rolls past his lips, hips twitching up into you. So, so sensitive, no matter how many times you've done this to him.

"Do you want me to stop?" You're almost certain what his answer will be, thumb already toying with the metal of his button.

But his silence still has you waiting.

His head drops, forehead landing against your shoulder, almost ashamed to whisper, "...no."

The drag of his zipper is enough to make the button pop loose, so cheaply made that it was barely fastened in the first place. Your daring fingers slip inside, seeking the soft material of his boxers...that you don't find.

No, instead, your fingertips brush against warm skin, not another layer of clothing there to separate you from his heavy cock. And despite your surprise, your hand is already wrapping around him.

"Had a customer while I was gettin' dressed," Miles blurts, suddenly talkative as you give him a loose, experimental stroke, figuring out which angle is most comfortable for your arm, "I didn't have time—oh," your thump swipes over his weeping tip, always so wet for you, "and then, and then you walked in the door and I..."

"Forgot?" Filling in the blanks. Hardly able to pay attention to what he's saying. Too busy paying attention to the weight of him in your grasp, how his cute hips rock back and forth on their own, subtle accord. You shouldn't get this much pleasure out of stroking him, spreading his precum down his shaft.

His head nods against your shoulder, hair tickling your neck. "Uhuh."

Your eyes flick to the mirror, peering through the darkness of the hotel room you were in just minutes ago. Not a soul has noticed your absence yet. But even if they had, you don't think you'd be able to care. Too wrapped up in the soft whimpers that fall off Miles's tongue, the way they grow louder when your spare hand twists in his hair, pulling gently.

His head lifts, and your mouths crash together with all the grace of a trainwreck. Teeth clattering. Tongues meeting without a shred of notice. Messily tangling in the chilly air. Punctuated by Miles's sharp inhale.

Outside, a truck engine roars to life.

"Car," Miles chokes, "we gotta..."

It's the biggest power struggle of the century, his lithe body rolling against yours, too eager to feel you and have you and eat you alive, all at the same time. The sly twist of your wrist does absolutely nothing to help his case, eyes scrunching shut at the feeling. He's only got control of his hand, darting into his pocket. Returns with a thin plastic tube that you smell before you see.

Roll-on scent blocker. The nastiest combination of chemicals you've ever encountered, but they do their job as promised. Warm against your temple as he rubs it on you, covering your scent glands, one at a time. The ones on your neck, behind your ears, and the insides of each of your wrists, that horrid, sterile stench assaulting your nose like a bad memory. An unpleasant experience drawn out by the way you continue to torment your lover, thumb massaging beneath his sensitive tip all the while

But it's on, and Miles is damn dragging himself away, shoving himself back into the confines of his pants before he can even begin to second-guess his decision. Lips so wet that they shine, catching in the fraction of light provided in this dark little corridor as he bends down to grab the handle of your suitcase.

"Car," he repeats as if he's trying to convince himself more than you.

His spare hand reaches out, an open invitation that you're already halfway into taking. Fingers locking around each other, tightening as he guides you down this maze of a hallway. Past room after room, around two sharp bends, toward a dull, hardly helpful light. You're pretty sure he borrowed that bulb from one of the bungalows after management defaulted on their usual payment for supplies.

You wonder if this is the last time you'll ever see this hotel.

The somewhat offputting taxidermy behind the reception desk. Clashing with the refined purples and blues of this section of the building. Dusty gambling machines and tables that haven't seen a game since last winter are now only useful for storing cleaning products and a stash of towels.

All so dead compared to the vivid gold, orange, and brown across the room. Warm lighting and the equally cozy booths snuggled into the lower floor. Far too pretty to be surrounded by a floor tile that aims to recreate an enchanting stone pathway, and has instead become a heaven to dirt and trash that no mop or vacuum can fully collect.

It's all there and gone in a second, cut short by the squeal of the front doors, opening up to a big, rainy world, all yours to explore. The parking lot is so flooded that it's become one big puddle, splashing as you run through it, licking at your exposed ankles. You can hardly tell where you're going, blindly led by the hand that has yet to let go of yours.

The car is parked all by its lonesome in the center of the lot, away from the other residents and directly across from the vehicle you were driven here in. Only when you're close does Miles let go of you, treading toward the back of the vehicle while you reach for the car door. You've never been so thankful to find that something is unlocked, damn near falling into the backseat.

Miles is on you before you even hear the trunk close. Hips slotting between your thighs as he squirms on top of you, giggling as he trails kisses up the side of your neck. Leading himself over your jaw and across your cheek, moving so quickly that it almost tickles. Only pausing to linger when he meets your mouth, humming like the cat who got the cream.

"Whole darn weddin' party is parked out here," he grunts, unabashedly rolling himself against your thigh, "almost feel bad for stealin' you away."

"Don't," sucking in a breath, tugging at that damned cardigan of his, "the wedding was more for them than it was for me."

He leans back on his haunches, tugging the flimsy material from his shoulders. Tosses it somewhere up in the front seat. "Promise I won't make ya feel like that if we ever get to have one."

Your head is spinning, struggling for an ounce of sanity in this cramped little car as you reach to push your shorts down your legs. "Do you want me to go back for the dress so you can marry me before the sun is up?" Half joking.

You fear you'd do it if he asked.

But his head just shakes, already beginning to fumble with the buttons of his work shirt. "Nah," two snap off entirely, scattering into the leather seat. By the time you realize he's got it off, he's already halfway into peeling that final layer over his head. He's on you before the old tee has even landed on the floorboard. Returning to his favorite place between your legs. "You were right when you said that the dress doesn't suit ya at all."

It's hard to lift your hand to your heart and feign shock when his chest is pressed up against your own, careful lips pressing kisses to the underside of your jaw. Hell, working up a tone of mock surprise is even a task. "You were watching me change?"

"You," kiss, "were facing the mirror," another kiss, "lookin' right back at me the whole time." One more, right on your lips. Too innocent for what goes on down below, the heavy bulge of his cock rubbing against you.

On their own accord, your legs are circling him, pulling those lithe hips even closer; he's got the idea, already beginning to grind into you in earnest. Makes it so, so hard for you to focus on your half-assed attempt at defending yourself. "I was trying to see what I looked like!"

"Do you always mouth my name when you undress?" His words come out breathy, like the very memory is enough to get under his skin. "Had half the mind to open the mirror right then 'n there."

You can't even begin to imagine what kind of hell would unravel if he'd done that. Haven't a doubt in your mind that you would have been on him in a second, much like you are right now. Frenzied hands smoothing past his biceps, scurrying up to slide across his back. Silky smooth beneath your palms, interrupted by a raised scar that sits next to the knobs of his spine, with a story you'd rather not recall.

All too quickly, it's fallen quiet in this little car. Nothing but the soft pitter-patter of rain against the roof, set alight by the distinct red glow of the grand, neon sign hanging overhead. As if anyone could possibly forget they were staying at the El Royale. So damn bright that it reflects off Miles's pale skin, glistening as he kisses down your neck, soft mouth so feather-light that it tickles in the best of ways.

He jerks backward. Face twisting like he's eaten something sour. Barely manages to keep his eyes open.

"Get a taste of that scent blocker?" You giggle, already halfway into reaching up, curling your palm around his cheek. Now, it's your hand that is bathed in the warm, red glow.

"Uhuh," and he's already responding to the faint nudge of your fingertips, eyelashes fluttering closed as he meets you halfway.

And despite it all, it's as gentle as it has always been. The sort of thing that melts you around the edges, with the slow guide of his lips, massaging against yours in an elegant dance that no soul can recreate. Head spinning like a tiny ballerina in a music box, moving to a melody that only you two can hear.

But then your delicate tongue is swiping against his lower lip, and he's parting with a dizzying gasp. Downright placid as you lick into his mouth, so shy he can hardly rise to greet you, darting away the moment you meet. But then he's back again, lazily tangling with you, fleeting meetings and contented hums, bodies pressing impossibly closer. His hips involuntarily twitch up into yours, the outline of his cock rubbing against your cunt, and the two thin layers between you do nothing to stop you from feeling how he spasms in his slacks.

Your touches are wandering. Skating down his neck and across his chest, svelte and gently muscled, like you're running your palms across a marble statue. Dancing over the slight dent of a scar on his belly, the one he's only recently felt comfortable having touched, past the divots of his ribs and down his sensitive sides.

He's everything, and he doesn't even know it.

"Miles..." gasping into his mouth, breathless.

His head tilts. You can almost see those large, pointed ears twisting on the sides of his head. Always curious. "Hm?"

Hell. You don't even know what you were saying his name for. Wordless, your hand continues to wander between your bodies and across the hem of his pants, cupping him through them. Rewards you with a groan far too loud for this tranquil backseat.

Overhead, thunder rolls as if Mother Nature herself has risen from her slumber to remind you of where you are. How easily you can get caught if someone notices your absence and walks out into the parking lot. One little peak into the windows is all it would take.

You don't have the luxury of taking your time. Not tonight, at least.

So you do the only thing you can think of. You hitch your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear and tug. With Miles between your legs, you're forced to draw your knees to your chest to fully draw them down, forcing him to lean back. He's already batting your hands away, pulling the thin material past your heels and dropping them on top of his own clothes.

It happens so quickly compared to how slowly things were progressing just moments before. Your curious fingers pulling at his zipper for the second time today, too eager to see him spill out of his slacks once more, pink tip flushed so red that it rivals the neon glow cast upon you. Not necessarily big in size, but thick enough for it to be noticeable.

Ugh, you hadn't realized how wet you were until now, cunt leaving him glistening from dragging between your folds alone.

"Fuck," you whisper over an airy breath, struggling to keep your eyes open, "I missed this."

The corner of Miles's lip rises, eyelashes fluttering like tiny butterflies, bashfully smug in a fashion that only he can pull off. His mouth moves, but not a word comes out, too focused on watching his cock head drag against your clit to produce more than a hum. Those narrow hips have already found the pace you didn't realize you were craving; he always has been a quick learner.

It's mesmerizing to watch the plush tip gliding in and out of your view, leaking a bead of precum that gets lost in your wetness. And you can't help but reach down and run your fingers overtop of him, feeling over the myriad of bulging veins.

Without warning, his body twitches backward a smidgen too far, unintentionally sliding down to nudge against your entrance. Delicious pressure blooms, and you fear you're too far gone to put it off any longer. Eager hands rise to curl around his biceps, squeezing lightly as his head slips inside.

"I..." those eyes of his are focused where your bodies meet, helpless to stop himself as he sinks into your pussy, "condom...forgot..."

A part of you should be worried about it. There's no way that you'll be able to go inside and clean up, and lord only knows how long it'll take to get to his apartment. Yet your eager legs are wrapping around him before he can think twice about it, drawing him deeper.

"That's okay," you pant, don't particularly mind the idea of feeling him spasm and fill you up again. It's been so long that you can't remember the last time it happened.

Six weeks without him was far too long. This is what you've been missing. The heavy drag of him inside you, curved in such a way that he rubs into the nerves hidden there, kissing them on his way past. A dull ache grows as he stretches you open, so damn thick that you ought to win an award for taking him to the base.

Miles wavers, forearms shivering as he fights to keep himself upright. A weak leaf shaking in the wind, breaking the moment you pull him in, collapsing into you with a loud, echoing whimper. He's already bottoming out, the soft material of his pants flush against your ass. There goes every bit of rationality you have left.

"You can move," you're speaking clearly. At least, you think you are, but your favorite coyote doesn't seem to hear you. Soft nose bumping into the side of your neck, a little too comfortable there. "Miles." Nothing.

Your hand slips down to smack his ass.

He grunts. Jolting into you. Whether or not he heard what you said is anyone's guess, but he's starting to move. Peeling his soft, warm body backward, cock withdrawing. For a moment, you can breathe. Blessed with a moment of sanity before he sinks back in, gingerly nudging the air from your lungs.

"Is that..." his warm cheek brushes against yours. Always has to be so close, "Is that okay?" The swell of his ass pushes into your hand; you can't help but grab a handful of it.

"More than okay," it's difficult to recognize this tone of your voice, so airy that it might as well have been whispered by the wind.

You don't understand how something simple can feel so good. The gentle roll of his hips are so fluid that his thrusts almost feel smooth. No harsh smack of skin on skin or jostling meetings of your bodies, the curve of his cock rubbing into every nerve it can find. Has your cunt so wet around him that you can hear it. Sickening squelches too damn out of place for such delicate movements.

Lips ghost across the side of your jaw, peppered by the faint whimpers that slip from Miles's throat, fussy in that stereotypical coyote fashion. It does nothing to change what you're feeling, yet you're pulsing around him, set off by those sweet little noises.

"You look so beautiful underneath me," he mewls against the corner of your lips, half-lidded eyes gazing down at you with a familiar glimmer. Only he can look at you like that. Not anyone you've ever crossed paths with. And certainly not the man you were meant to marry come sunrise.

Your legs are squeezing tighter around him, drawing his warm frame impossibly close, as if he could slip away from you at any given moment. Best of all, he lets you. Situating his forearms to rest on either side of your head, chests snug against each other, leaning up just enough to keep looking into your eyes. One of those big hands curls around your cheek, cradling it like glass.

His angle shifts, driving up into those little nerves so hard that your legs twitch, body jerking on its own accord. Must be a mutual thing because it has you gasping against each other's lips, quiet whines dancing through the dark car and out into the parking lot, washed away by the pouring rain.

"I can't get enough of you," Miles croaks, a little waver in his tone. All of a sudden, his eyes squeeze shut. Brows knitting together with a pained noise.

"Miles?" The haze is dissipating, your careful hands rising to cradle his head. "Are you okay?"

For a moment, he doesn't move.

"Uhuh," shallowly nodding, like that little motion even manages to hurt him, "I pulled a muscle in my back the other day, 's all." But then his body twitches forward, driving his cock back into you, and his face twists again.

You're only got one solution on deck.

Despite the overwhelming sense of emptiness you're left with when Miles pulls out of you, sitting up is easy. He doesn't need any help falling into the seat, legs a smidgen too long to sit back here, his knees digging into the backside of the passenger seat. And you're fortunate that the ceiling in this car is rather high because sitting on his lap puts you up much higher than you expected.

His hand disappears between your thighs, carefully taking hold of himself and guiding the tip back to nudge at your cunt. Ugh, it's perfect. The aching stretch of taking him once more, how he manages to still find those niche little spots that toys always seem to miss. So good that your jaw is slack before you've even taken all of him.

"Better?" You're already breathless, arms lazily coming to rest around his shoulders.

He's not doing much better than you are, head leaned back against the cushion, peering back at you with such an unfocused gaze that you reckon he might be on another planet. "Uhuh." But his hands rise to squeeze the sides of your hips, hanging on as you rise up.

You're gonna be in so much trouble if one of your wedding guests walks outside and catches a glimpse of your silhouette rising and falling. Never in their wildest dreams would they suspect that you're getting fucked by the coyote from the front desk. Your dripping pussy clenching around him like a vice, so wet that he almost slips out of you entirely.

"Fuck," hissing, your nails biting into the back of his pale neck, "Miles."

You were trying to go slow, but you can hardly control your own body, rhythm dissolving before you can even get it established—short, jerky movements, so frenzied that you can feel the vehicle sway with it. Mouths clash. Teeth knocking together. Miles and his pitchy whimpers damn near eat you alive.

"This is so bad," he's panting like a dog, cheeks flushed so red that you can see it through the neon glow. "So bad..."

Beneath you, his hips jerk upward, meeting you halfway. By the sound of it, he surprises both of you, crying out so sharply that you reckon the whole damn hotel heard it. You can't even find it in yourself to worry about getting caught. Not when he's twitching inside of you, hitting right where you crave him most.

"Feels good, feels good, oh my god," tears welling up in his eyes, already threatening to creep past his waterline, "fuck." Whimpering in the pitchiest little tone you've ever heard out of him.

He's so perfect. You think you could die happy right here and now.

It's so distracting that you don't realize what he's doing until his rough thumb is bumping against your clit. His pressure wavers, light as a feather one moment and then directly rubbing into it the next, struggling to keep up with your frenzied pace. But it's...it's...

"Miles, keep—" begging like your life depends on it. Punctuated by the lewd slap of skin on skin. "Keep doing that."

Those tears spill over his cheeks, a hiccup bubbling out of him, unraveling right in front of you. His legs squirm behind you, knees knocking together, can't stay still to save his life.

"Oh god, oh god," he's babbling. Head lolling back and forth like it's too heavy for him to keep up, yet his watery eyes remain on you, never once glancing away.

It's so much. You don't—you don't know how you're keeping it together. An ache blooming in the muscle of your thighs, knees digging uncomfortably into the crook of the seat. You're certain it'll leave a visible mark on them, but you can't stop. Hopelessly chasing the kiss of his cock head against your nerves and the drag of his length inside of you.

"I'm gonna...I'm gonna..." you know what he's trying to say; you're feeling it too. He stiffens, fighting to speak. "Baby, I'm gonna cum in you if you don't stop—"

"Cum in me, Miles," cutting him off entirely. Too damn impatient to keep quiet. Not when you can already feel a burning coil in your lower belly, winding tighter and tighter.

Those pretty blue eyes roll into the back of his head without further warning. Back arching, hips lifting off the seat, lips parted with a silent cry. The thumb on your clit spasms in tune with his cock, pulsing deep inside, flooding your pussy with his cum.

But you're not there yet. Trapped on a frustrating edge that you can't seem to fall over. Clenching so tight around him that you can already feel his cum spilling out and onto his pants, making a horrible mess that you don't have the means to clean. Your dominant hand drops down, knocking his out of the way, fingertips finding your clit.

All of a sudden, Miles is alive. His whole body jerks. Squirming back and forth. Whimpering. Whining. Feet kicking at the floorboard. It's too much for him, you know it is, but this isn't his first rodeo, and he's not telling you to stop.

"Feels too good, feels—" his hands clamp over his own mouth, one over top of the other, and even that hardly works.

"No," pawing at his wrists with your other hand, half-hearted, but the intent is still there. "I wanna hear you."

And he does. Arms hesitantly falling. Grabbing at the seats like he doesn't trust himself to not do it again. His head tilts back, a flurry of short, pitchy noises falling from his parted lips. Moaning like a cheap whore. Oversensitive. So damn eager to let you use him. Uncaring of who may overhear or what goes on outside this tiny car.

Heat rushes through you, skin prickling with a familiar tension. There's a tremor in your thighs that wasn't there before, cunt fluttering around him, muscles set alight. The coil in your lower belly winding tighter and tighter until you can't fucking breathe.

"C-cum," Miles stammers through a hiccup, blinking up at you, "cum on my cock, please."

And you do. Freezing without an ounce of warning, the car seeming to spin on its own as your orgasm finally, finally washes over you. It's as if you've been sucked out the window and up into the storm clouds above, absolutely fucking weightless as you cum around his cock. Every little twitch has him bumping into those abused spots, so exhausted that the only thing they can do is send a tingle through your thighs.

It takes you a good minute to realize why your forehead is so warm all of a sudden.

"I think..." Miles only starts talking when you lift your face from the crook of his shoulder, leaning back to get a look at him, "I think you almost killed me." But he accepts your kiss without complaint, humming into it with a grin.

"I can take you for another round if that's what you want," teasing, just to get a reaction out of him. You don't know if you could go again, even if you wanted to.

His head shakes back and forth, tear-stained cheeks glistening in the light. "Nuh-uh," interrupted by a giggle, "doll, you wear me out anymore, 'n I'll be asleep before you're even finished with me."

Your noses unintentionally bump into each other, a little too close. Miles shakes his head once more, rubbing them together.

"You still certain you wanna run with me?" He murmurs after a moment. There's a softness in his eye that suggests he wouldn't hold it against you if you were to turn and go back into your hotel room. Accept an incompatible partner in exchange for certain financial stability and status.

Someone who doesn't bury his head under your shirt and listen to your heartbeat when the hotel down the road sets off fireworks. Who won't wake you in the middle of the night, shivering over a dream that he never wants to describe.

Miles doesn't have all that much to offer. You know it. He knows it. But just looking at him has made you happier than anyone else ever has, flaws and all. Lord knows he wasn't lying when he promised to love you until you couldn't stand it because he already does.

You couldn't ask for anything more.

"For you?" Whispering against his lips, a secret to be shared just between the two of you. "Always."

For eleven months, nobody knows what happened to you.

A newspaper calls you an altar runaway but doesn't quite blame you for doing it, either. Photographs of you litter the streets of your hometown and the little city that the El Royale is considered a part of, but you're a long way from there. Settled down in an adorable apartment, working a job where no one recognizes you.

You're beginning to think that this is what bliss feels like. Miles and his warm arms, endearing coyote quirks, and sudden bursts of energy that leave you two giggling on the couch or venturing into a diner in a faraway town, just for the hell of it. He breaks apart on some days, but his promise never loses its shimmer, undamaged, regardless of it all.

The author of that article claims she spotted you walking out of a grocery store, hand in hand with a man who smelled like a coyote, with a dainty little ring around your finger. Nobody believes her when she reports it on the front page, and that's okay because it's your own little secret.

It's no one's business where this ring came from, how Miles painstakingly saved and designed it at a jewelry shop down the road, whittled a ring box with his own two hands. Whether or not it's a wedding or a promise ring is anyone's guess; you've no plans to tell.

"Honey," Miles whines, feet audibly padding into the room. You've hardly got the energy to lift your head. "You gotta quit leavin' your purse on the counter."

Wary, you pry one eye open. "Did you spill water on it again?"

"Might've," and you suppose that's why you can hear the fan running in the dead of winter.

The bed dips as Miles slips under the covers, bare legs tangling with yours before he can even get settled. One of these days, it will get cold enough to convince him to wear more than just an oversized t-shirt to bed, but today isn't that day. Hell, it may never come because he's long since figured out that he can nuzzle up and steal the heat off of you instead.

You don't need to look to know that he's beckoning you in; that fussy little whine of his tells it all. Coyotes. Talkative even when they're not using their words. Snuggle bugs, too. Miles already has his head nestled on top of yours, and you're not even finished getting situated.

"I love you," he whispers, those three little words far too delicate to be said any louder.

"I know," giggling. He told you while you were brushing your teeth just a few minutes ago, can never seem to quit saying it. "I love you too."

This bed is comfortable, but it'll never match the warmth that his arms bring.

#miles miller #miles miller x reader #bad times at the el royale #oneshot #werewolf au

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npcemi · 1 year ago

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The long road of how starting a fight with superman over clone parenting eventually lead to Danny Phantom become God Part 2:Danny's happy talk with Superman that definitely starts everyone off on the right foot

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47818321/chapters/120907324

“It's not right, Dad. Conner shouldn’t be treated like that,” Dani insisted, her eyes glowing fiercely.

“I couldn’t agree more, Dani but I’m not supposed to ‘interfere’ with the matters of ‘mortals’.” Danny responded remembering the latest lecturer he got from the observants. An intro into being one of the most powerful beings in the universe. All it really summed down to was hands-off until absolutely necessary. Being the King was way more boring than he expected.

Danny looked at Clockwork hoping they would side with him. Not wanting to draw attention to himself. He was almost ready to begin his senior year. He didn’t want to go near the JL, they could cause a lot of problems for Amity Park and him personally.

“I think a conversation could be good for both Conner and Kal-El.” Clockwork shifted into their young adult form with a grin. Danny narrowed his eyes, he knew when the Ancient was planning something.

“I guess I can have a talk with him,” Danny sighed as Danielle jumped up thanking him with a big hug.

The main members of the Justice League were called to a meeting by John Constantine. He wanted to discuss a potential threat to the supernatural from the US government. The members were hesitant to come to the meeting, however, after some convincing from Bruce that Constantine’s issue was legitimate they all agreed to come. John started his slideshow.

The topic was an intro to the supernatural and how we should leave it alone. There was a collective mirth among the attendees because anyone who knew the man knew that he could not leave well enough alone. It could be said that Constantine preferred to poke at the supernatural with a stick until something interesting happened.

“As you all know, after a ghost single-handedly took out hundreds of US government facilities and went with The Pandora to the US Congress to get them to not nuke the Infinite realms. A measure which only barely passed and still left corrupt laws and the government organization that was going to Nuke the realms intact.”

“And then they learned not to start dimensional warfare and ideally leave those threats to us, no big.” The flash interjected. Constantine pinched the bridge of his nose. They had a long way to go.

“Mate, it’s a big deal. Out of all the special entities they could piss off, they pissed off the one who should not under any circumstances even risk irritating the tiniest bit.” Before anyone could respond a new unfamiliar voice sounded from the other side of the room.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt your meeting, but I need to talk to Superman.” Everyone turned to look at the source of the voice. They saw a teen whose age was hard to place. He looked like he could be as young as fourteen yet somehow at the same time as old as nineteen. He had a soft glow to him. He had fluffy white hair and Lazarus green eyes. On his left arm, he had Lichtenberg figures racing up his left arm that were eventually covered by a black T-shirt with a green NASA logo, blue jeans, and Converse-style shoes where the canvas was green like the boy’s eyes and the rubber parts were black. Everyone was too focused on the boy to notice Constantine drop the cigarette from his mouth. His eyes were wide, his jaw slack, and his hands shaking. Superman got up to greet the boy and walked up to him.

“How did you get in here?”

“Portal, but that’s not important. We need to talk.” Superman grossly misinterpreted the Boy’s reasoning for needing to talk.

“I see, well I’m Superman, but you can call me Clark.” The man of steel shook the boy’s hand.

“I'm Danny Fenton, Phantom, Danny Phantom.” Danny was pissed at himself for that mistake. He never let the secret identity slip, of course, it had to happen in front of his heroes. Unfortunately, that slip-up confirmed Superman’s misconception.

“It’s always good to meet a new hero, I would be happy to help mentor you, there’s even a team of young heroes around your age I can introduce you to,” Danny held his hand up in a full stop motion.

“I don’t need a mentor, look Clark we need to talk.”

“Look kid, I know it doesn’t seem like it…” Danny pursed his lips and Constantine let out a desperate sound somewhere between a groan and a croak.

“Not a Kid…”

“Look, I know you think you’re mature at this age, but a new meta like you….”

“I’m not a meta, I’m a ghost, ya know dead and everything.” As Danny explained, Superman once again misinterpreted Danny’s intentions, also thinking this was some grand test Constantine organized.

“I see, so how did you die, who killed you and how can we help?” Superman said with undeserved confidence. Constantine finally out of his shock muttered a small desperate “Aww fuck.”

Danny’s reaction was almost unnoticeable except for a small flash of green in his eyes. Internally he had a flashback. The feeling of the electricity burning its way through his body tearing it apart. The pain of all his muscles being forced to contract. The smell of his flesh burning, the echo of his scream, the feeling of the wave of ectoplasm that tore him apart and reconstructed him cell by cell. The memories and emotions. How betrayed he felt that his parents left the lab unguarded and basically allowed him to die. His anger at them for having the on switch on the inside of the portal. The worry about if the portal out right exploded and hurt his friends and sister. The despair he felt that his life was cut short, how he would never become an astronaut. Never see Space. He relived all of this in an instant.

Danny grabbed Superman and threw him through the nearest wall in frustration. He took a second to look at the damage he caused. Glad it was only one wall that he threw the man through. He had finally gotten the hang of his power level, thankful for this new base form that limited his power.

“Ope, sorry about that, but Clark we really need to talk about your son Conner.” Superman picked himself up angry that this untrained meta kid lost his temper over something so stupid as a question as to how they could help him. Now the kid wants to talk about that thing Lex created.

“You mean the clone, that thing?” Superman asked, wondering when Conner had time to even talk to this new kid he never heard of before.

“Excuse you?” Danny said with a wave of sharp anger. He called a clone a thing. He called someone like his daughter, the most important person in the world to him. He called them a thing. Bruce was perceptive enough to see Danny’s rising anger. He attempted to tell Danny he had been working with Clark on how to work with Conner. The dark knight’s attempt to placate Danny failed.

“What do you mean excuse me, look I was violated and that clone is nothing but an imperfect reminder of that violation!”

“And your feelings are perfectly valid, but that doesn’t excuse you for treating Conner like shit.” Danny ground out.

“But watch yourself when speaking about the Mirror Born in my presence,” Danny warned as his voice now carried an unnatural echo. The Man of Steel scoffed at the term Mirror Born, did this kid really celebrate, perhaps even honor such violations of genetic autonomy? Clark was about to speak up before being interrupted by Constantine.

“Supes, please just shut the fuck…”

“Mind your own business, Constantine.” Superman ordered before turning to Danny.

“Look, kid, you don’t need to use some fancy new term to placate the feelings of those things, none of them are here. I need you to understand, I do tolerate Conner.” Danny’s mind boiled with rage. It was clear that he wasn’t going to get through to the man. He couldn’t even start the conversation properly. No wonder his daughter seemed so out of sorts. He only had two words to use to respond to the supposed hero.

“Fright Knight!” His order echoed through the realms as the massive black armored knight appeared behind Superman and sent the soul shredder through his chest sending him to the nightmare dimension before disappearing.

The justice league didn’t know what happened. All they knew Danny did was something to Superman, so they all attacked. Well, everyone except Dr. Fate, Shazam, Constantine, and Zatanna. Danny casually evaded all of their attacks, not even the Flash using his speed could touch Danny despite the Flash feeling like he was still faster than the boy. Danny kept this up for ten minutes before ordering the Fright Knight once again.

Superman popped back into existence. Danny slammed Superman to the ground and released an ectoplasmic wave of energy that knocked all the other heroes back. With a foot on Superman's chest, he spoke his voice loudly echoing through the room. If anyone was paying attention they would have heard a second almost feminine voice layering in over Danny’s.

“Listen to me closely Kal-El, you need to realize that the mirror born have their own life. Their own hopes, and fears. They could even be progressively aged faster, however, they still seek the same things any of us do. Love, acceptance, guidance, a sense of belonging are all they ask for from us.

I suggest getting a therapist to work through your issues, however, I will give you one month to begin to repair your relationship with Conner.” Danny then pulled a bunch of various pamphlets on top of Superman. They ranged from, ‘so you’ve been cloned’, ‘how to forgive a clone who tried to kill you’, all the way to ‘how to raise your clone as your own child’.

Danny then turned to look at Constantine, “It looks like you just started your lessons on dealing with ghosts.” There was a distinctive change in Danny, his eyes were the biggest change. The sclera was bright green and his pupils were the darkest black that Constantine had ever seen. It was like they had absorbed all light leaving nothing behind. Like endless black holes.

“John Thomas Constantine, ̸̢̪̉t̵͉̩͊̌é̴͚a̴͔̥͆̂c̸̪̳̔͝h̷̖̞̃̎ ̶̢͔̅͐ę̸̘̈́̕v̸̝͙̈̊e̷̗͚͋ṙ̴̞̜y̸͕̤̒ǫ̸͕̉̔n̸̯̄e̵̥̠̓͗ ̷̢̧̄h̸̟͗o̴̺̩̅w̷̝͌ ̵͚̈́́t̷̖̍̀o̵̠͝ ̴͖̍͠ͅp̸̡̞̎̌r̸̞̝͋͘o̶̎̎͜p̵̰̉ͅę̶̛̔r̸̦̻̂ļ̷̳̏ÿ̷̭̺́ ̵͚̗̅͘ŕ̶͎̇e̷̛̯͊s̸͔̃̄p̸͘ͅe̵̢̘̍ĉ̷̺̜̄ţ̷͗̕ͅ ̷̩͉͆t̸̥͔̔̐h̸̻̊e̴̝͘̕ ̸͉́͂ ̸͓̱͌́a̴̢̓n̶̺̺͂̋c̸̗͋͜ị̶̀̀ḛ̷̭̀͊n̷̳͍̾t̸͓̭͠s̷̩͆͛.

I suggest you start with etiquette.”

There was definitely another voice layered with Phantom’s, it was a feminine voice that was exactly a perfect fifth above Phantom’s own. Danny tilted his head and looked at the occultist with a grin that looked like a feral saber-toothed cat before disappearing. Constantine turned to look at Superman who was being helped to his feet by Wonder Woman and Batman.

“Clark how the absolute fuck did you manage to piss off the King of the Infinite Realms before we even sent a delegation to smooth things over with him, you absolute wanker!”

#dpxdc #dpxdc au #dp x dc fanfic #dp #danny fenton #Danny Phantom #Superman is a dick #Constantine wants a new job

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cuddlyfunk · 29 days ago

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Oh, Summer Child

What if Eddie Munson had a half sister? What if he never knew about her until she was forced to come to Hawkins?

Chloe Munson gave up searching for home after her mom abandoned her. Maybe all it takes is a town she never wanted to move to and a brother she never knew existed to find what she's looking for.

-Word Count: ~2.8K

There was something behind that thing people say about the only constant in life being change. Chloe Munson knew this deep in the fiber of her being. Her life was that constant. A whirlwind she could rarely comprehend herself.

The first seven years of her life were spent with her mother. Amelia Crowder wasn’t a terrible woman. But she wasn't prepared to be a mom in any sense. Chloe's memory of that time mostly consisted of the smell of alcohol, being left alone in shabby motel rooms and wondering a million things. Why was her mom gone so much? Why couldn’t they live in a house? Why were their last names different? Why didn’t she have a dad? Some of these questions were answered in a rather unfortunate way when Amelia Crowder bought an apartment near Vegas and decided she didn’t want to tote a kid around anymore. So the year Chloe Munson turned eight, she was dropped off in an unfamiliar place with a man she didn’t know while her mom traveled across the country. Without her. The transition was foggy in her memory. Al Munson was different from Amelia Crowder and Chloe's memories of time with him mostly consisted of learning. Though the lessons from him were different from ones she might’ve learned if she was in school.

She learned not to cry, she made that mistake in front of this man that was supposed to be her dad once.

She learned to appreciate her mom. At least she didn’t get angry when she drank.

She learned she was a mistake. Al had a habit of reminding her.

She learned to take care of herself, to stay out of trouble and avoid attention whenever possible.

Everything she learned added another brick to a wall she slowly built around herself. The number one thing she learned. She learned how to protect herself. Even if that meant going along with whatever her dad said.

Maybe it was another cruel irony of the world that her dad got arrested on her tenth birthday. He had been gone all day, but that wasn’t unusual. She sat in the yard, fiddling with an old radio she scored from the dump. She was curious if she could get it working again, an old woman had given her ten dollars for fixing her TV once.

When the police car pulled up, she suspected something was wrong. It was when the policeman asked, “are you Chloe Munson?” that she knew something was wrong.

It was personal.

After that, everything was a blur. She remembered phone calls, going to a weird smelling building with other kids and adults, social workers. That was the day she learned about her Uncle and her half-brother, who a social worker, overly chirpy, said she would be going to live with.

Worst Birthday present ever.

And that's how she ended up on a car ride to a town she had never heard of to live with people who shared the same descriptor as the town.

That’s how she ended up in a trailer, holding a trash bag with nearly all her worldly possessions and looking at this old man they called her Uncle. Uncle Wayne.

It wasn’t the first time she wished her mom cared enough to raise her own daughter, but now it was like a wave crashing into her, pushing her to the floor and dragging her into cold, dark water.

“So, you’re Chloe.”

She didn’t respond. Her fingernails still had dirt under them from her time outside and it was starting to bother her.

The man sighed, “right… Well, Eddie should be home real soon. You two got the same eyes, you know.”

Chloe hated her eyes. They reminded her of her dad.

“Actually, you remind me a lot of him when he was your age.”

When she was little, sometimes people would stop her and her mom when they went somewhere together.

“She’s your mini-me,” they’d say or, “she looks just like you.”

It was their hair, maybe. The same puffy dirty blonde hair. Or the freckles, constellations dotting near everywhere on her and her moms skin.

When she lived with her dad, well, she couldn’t escape her similarities to him.

Now it was just the same with this Eddie. Her brother. Half-brother.

Another relative to be measured against.

There was a pause, long and uncomfortable. But Chloe refused to break it, almost like a challenge.

She counted it a little victory when her supposed Uncle broke it instead, “you’re free to look around and all. Make yourself at home.”

Home. Right. Like this was her home. She had never had a home, not really.

Looking around the place, she decided this wouldn’t last a week. This would never be her ‘home’.

That’s when the door opened.

She turned as soon as she heard the footsteps coming up to it. She didn’t need the introduction her Uncle was giving, she already knew who this was. Some guy with dark curly and dark brown eyes looking right at her. He was right, she and Eddie did have the same eyes.

It must’ve been a shock to come home to a new sister. Half-sister. Chloe could recognize that. It was a shock to be moved to a home with a new brother. Half-brother. She wished he’d stop staring at her, anyways. It made her feel like the bugs she used to collect when she was little, being held in a jar to be observed.

She didn’t really pay attention to the conversation. She didn’t really care what the explanation was for her being there. She busied herself looking around the trailer. Better than being caught examining the people. It was… homey. Small and cluttered, but more in a lived in way than a really messy way. She kind of liked it, if she was being honest. She wouldn’t tell them that.

Chloe only started paying attention when she heard her name, she looked at Eddie, the one who said it, “huh?”

He smiled at her. It was weird, “I asked what you like to do. You know, your passion.”

She blinked. It felt like a trick question. She didn’t want to answer wrong, but she didn’t know what the wrong answer was. She looked at the ground and hoped for the best, speaking quietly, “I fix stuff.”

She figured this was true, no one could accuse her of lying, and it was a useful skill. A reason to keep her around. So there was that.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, “fix stuff?”

She shrugged and glanced between the two men from under her brow, “TVs, radios, cars…”

Uncle Wayne spoke up in surprise, “cars, huh?”

She nodded, “actually, I like cars most. Their insides are so interesting…” She trailed off, forcing herself to resist the urge to ramble on about engines and batteries. She had learned when to shut up.

“You know, that’s pretty cool, you must be smart.” Eddie smiled at her again. She felt the compliment in her stomach, making it flip around. But she quickly had to deny it, shaking her head harshly. Because she wasn’t. Anyone who had ever commented on her intelligence had only used words like ‘dumb’, ‘slow’, ‘stupid. She appreciated Eddie trying to be nice, but she wished he wouldn’t lie to her. Or at least know to lower his expectations. She didn’t want to disappoint him so early in their meeting.

“I’m not,” Chloe insisted, “I just like cars.”

Eddie made a face, he looked like he wanted to say something about it, but he didn’t. She was grateful for that at least.

Chloe tugged on the cuff of her flannel shirt. It was too hot for any kind of long sleeved shirt, but it made her feel less exposed. So there was that. Not that anyone really cared to notice what she was wearing unless it was to make fun of her.

“There’s a bedroom.” Eddie said, Chloe caught him glancing at Wayne when she looked up.

“Huh?” she tilted her head, unsure why he was bringing this up.

“There’s only one bedroom, I mean. Mine.”

“We’ll make it work,” Wayne said gruffly.

“I don’t need nothin’. I can sleep anywhere.” Chloe insisted hurriedly.

“You can have the bed. I’m not kicking you to the couch.” Eddie argued.

The two glared at each other. Chloe stood her ground. She didn’t want to owe these people. She didn’t even know them. She wasn’t taking favors.

But the strange thing was, Eddie stood his ground too. He didn’t jump at the opportunity to not have to give up his own space for her. Someone he just met.

Eventually, Wayne stepped in. “Sleep’s still a ways off. We’ll get it worked out. Don’t you wanna put that bag down, Chloe?”

The weight in her arms hadn’t bothered her until he suggested it. Not that it had that much in it. She supposed the few tools she stuffed in there were a bit heavy. Not that she had much of those. Or anything.

So she shrugged.

Eddie nodded towards the hallway, “you can put it in the room.”

Chloe thought about this for a moment. She figured it wouldn’t do any harm. Her stuff would be here anyways. It didn’t really matter what room she put it in. So she nodded. And Eddie showed her the room while their uncle said he’d start dinner.

The first thing she thought entering the room was that she liked it. Not that she’d tell him that. But it felt distinctly lived in, similar to the rest of the trailer. Posters of people, names and images she didn’t recognize lined the walls, including a large banner with ‘Corroded Coffin’ written in large spiky letters. It was cool, even if she didn’t know what it meant. But the best thing was the guitar. She snuck glances at it as she carefully tucked the trash bag in a corner where it wouldn’t bother anyone.

“You like music?” Eddie asked. Maybe she hadn’t been as discrete with the looks as she had intended.

She shrugged.

“Is that an ‘I don’t know’ or a ‘I don’t want to talk to you’ shrug?”

“I don’t listen to a lotta music,” she muttered.

He grinned at her. She was starting to wonder why he kept smiling at her like that, “don’t worry, little sister, I’ve got the best music in all of Hawkins. I’ll introduce you to the gods of metal.”

It felt nice to have someone promising to help her. In any way, really. Even if it was a bit silly. And it felt nice for him to call her his little sister. Not that she’d tell him that. So she stayed silent.

“Not much of a talker, I’ve gathered,” Eddie said after a moment.

Chloe shrugged. She realized about two seconds later when he laughed that it wasn’t helping her case. She opted to glare at him to stop him from laughing. It only half worked.

“Well, anyways, you’re probably hungry. Let's go see what’s for dinner, yeah?”

She nodded, she didn’t really care either way. But she was hungry.

Pasta was for dinner, apparently. Spaghetti and meatballs. She passed on the sauce, never having liked tomatoes much.

It was a quiet dinner, but she liked it that way. No shouting, no fighting. Just a few simple questions she answered as quickly as possible. It was nice, really. She liked having dinner with these people, she liked the food well enough, too. Not that she’d tell them that.

“Suppose you’ll be wonderin’ ‘bout sleeping arrangements,” Wayne remarked, looking at Chloe.

“I guess,” she said before shoving a forkful of food in her mouth.

“Well, we don’t got an extra bed for you yet…” Chloe cut in, “I can sleep on the couch or somethin’,” she offered again quickly.

“I told you, you can take the bed, really,” Eddie rolled his eyes.

Before she could argue, Wayne interrupted, “well, I’ve gotta work tonight. You know, there’s a fold out bed in the livin’ room. You’re welcome to take it while I’m away, until we can get you somethin’ more permanent,” he nodded to Chloe, “if you’d like.”

She thought for a moment, “you don’t need it?”

“Not tonight,” he sighed.

“Okay, maybe,” she nodded. It felt odd, but she was almost disappointed. She kind of liked her Uncle. It was hard to imagine him leaving so soon when they had just met. He seemed to be able to look into her head like she could look at a car engine. She wondered dully as she ate if he might be able to fix her brain while he was in there.

From there, things seemed to pass far too quickly to Chloe. She didn’t really know how to react when she was left alone with a brother she barely knew. She didn’t really feel like talking to him or answering questions. She wished she still had the radio she was fixing this morning. Something for her hands to do, for her mind to slip into. But she didn’t have it, so she let Eddie talk when he wanted to. Otherwise she just sat in silence, imagining the parts in her mind, rearranging them until she could pretend it was fixed, even if just in her head.

At one point, Eddie looked up at the clock and asked something that confused her, “do you have any pajamas?”

She blinked, “huh?”

He turned to look at her, “just getting kinda late. I don’t think Uncle Wayne would appreciate me keeping you up too much. You got pajamas for bed?”

“I just kinda wear my clothes to sleep,” she admitted.

“That won’t do,” he exclaimed, “wait here, I’ll grab you something.”

Chloe was hesitant about this idea, but obediently stayed put anyway. She was curious to see what he’d bring back, in any case.

Although she had to admit, what he did bring back slightly confused her. A simple pair of clothes, a shirt and what looked like running shorts. The shirt said ‘Iron Maiden’ on it, which she had gathered was a band.

“Here, they might be a little big… but they’re comfortable anyways. Shouldn’t fall off,” he shrugged and held the items out to her.

She didn’t take them. Not yet. “For me?”

“Duh, who else? Come on, you’re not even sleeping on a real bed. Might as well have some good pajamas. Well, more comfortable than those jeans, I’m sure,” he gestured with one hand to her pants.

They weren’t the best to sleep in, that much was true. When she hesitated longer to take the clothes, they were unceremoniously shoved in her arms, to her surprise.

“Take them,” Eddie insisted.

Maybe, if they weren’t already in her arms, she wouldn’t have wanted to put them on. But, as it was, she found herself on the little fold out bed in the living room, wearing the shirt and shorts she was given. They were soft. Much more cool than her previous flannel and jeans. And though in the back of her mind it was weird to be wearing these clothes that didn’t belong to her, they felt too nice for her to care. She was starting to think, maybe, Eddie didn’t think she was just an annoying bug taking up space. Maybe he really was just nice.

He poked his head into the living room just then, “you ready for lights out, kid?”

Chloe looked up at him, for the first time she wondered if maybe he liked having a sister. She nodded, “yeah, I’m ready.”

“Need me to tuck you in?”

She glared at him, “I’m ten, not two.”

He held his hands up in defeat, “fine, I get it. Lights are going off now, then.” He flicked a switch and she sat in darkness.

“Goodnight, Chlo.” He called.

“Goodnight,” her reply was just loud enough to hear in the quiet night.

She heard footsteps and the creak of a door. She flopped back onto the bed, letting her leg dangle over the side, staring at the ceiling. Feeling her breath going in and out. Imagining she was in sync with Eddie. And maybe Wayne too. Just the three of them breathing at the same time without even realizing it.

As she lay on the little fold out bed in this unfamiliar trailer with the faint sound of crickets outside, she thought. And in her head she told herself that, maybe, she’d try and stay here more than a week. Maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad. She kind of liked it here. It was stable.

She rolled over and closed her eyes, feeling more at peace than she had in a long time.

Chloe Munson was home.

Thanks for reading!

If you enjoyed this, you can find more of my writing (specifically with Chloe) on the masterlist (all titles are now linked to this blog!)

...

This is an official repost from my main blog @harmonica-demon

#eddie and wayne munson #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things au #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things oc #wayne munson #writers

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cf8wrk4u-us · 4 months ago

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Transformers Prime/ A Quiet Place Crossover

Character Profile: June Darby

"I promise....I'll keep you kids safe"

Strength: 4/5

Speed: 4/5

Stealth: 3/5

Stress: 5/5

June always wanted to help people, her job as a nurse reflecting that. But the one thing that she placed over all her responsibilities and oaths as a healthcare worker, and that was her son Jackson.

With her husband gone, it's only been the two of them for the longest time.

She's so happy about the kind and responsible boy she helped raise and is grateful he chosen to get a job to help support himself and their family. It does make her feel a bit guilty though,kids shouldn't have to grow up so fast.

She loves her son.

That's why when the asteroids hit, when those things attacked New York, she got in her car quickly and rushed home to her son. Praying that he was safe, and he was. Jack hugged her tight trembling in her arms. How she tried to reassure him, herself, that it all be okay. That they'll be fine.

She was an adult, a mother, who tried to reassure her child that their world was going to be safe.

But how could she know? When June herself was terrified and so unsure herself.

But days past and June returned to work, asked, begged by her coworkers and supervisors to comeback. New of the aliens was fast and not very uplifting but heads of the Jasper Hospital assured that it was necessary to hold the hospital open for the community and anyone else suffering from the disaster.

June had just wanted to stay home with Jack, bunker down and ready themselves from the potential danger. But her obligations as a nurse had her returning to the hospital. Besides...the place made for a good supplier of medicine and essential medical tools. I hurt her to steal from her work, but honestly all she had to do was think of her son and the guilt ebbed away.

She at one point begged Jack to just stay home, to forget about work and school till they all knew for sure the military had this under control. But of course Jack refused, not only because he risked losing his job but also he wanted to feel things were still normal.

But then the worst happened.

The aliens attacked Jasper and soon the hospital was flooded with injured and desperate people. People bruised up from being nearly trampled by frantic runners, others cut up and concussed from car accidents while leaving town, and the worst with deep bleeding lacerations from unfamiliar claws.

It was chaos, doctors and staff rushed to help as many people as they could. The families and friends who came in just as haggard, crying and panicked.

And June...left.

She grabbed the supplies and ran into her car, straight towards the danger of the town.

It still haunts her, what she did.

Because in the end, she never saw any of her coworkers again. And the shame of that will always haunt her.

But she'll always do what she can to take care of her son, along with Miko and Raf. Two kids alone in this world after losing their families and homes.

June is the one who helps noise proof the house, gather supplies, and of course take care of any health related problems.

Along with that she's taught the kids to use ASL, learning it in college to help boost her career in health. It's helped the group immensely learning it, a silent way of communicating.

Life was dangerous for many different reasons but June knew whe had to be strong through all of it.

Meeting the bots she's skeptical of their intentions but warms up to them after they promise to provide protection to her new family.

#transformers #transformers prime #june darby #a quiet place #a quiet place day one

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actuallyitsstar · 3 months ago

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headcanon asks for Bradley: 1 and 19?

✨ send me a number + a character for headcanons! ✨

1: holiday headcanon

christmas was always one of bradley's favorite holidays, all throughout his childhood. every adult in young bradley's life, all with varying backgrounds and types of childhoods of their own, could come together to agree on one thing: bradley's christmases should be magical. carole, trying to keep the magic of those first three christmases with everyone all together alive; mav, trying to give bradley the kind of happy memories he never had; ice and slider, woven into the family by carole's steady hand, determined to give this little makeshift family what it needs. bradley remembers holiday baking with mom, learning about the traditions of ice's family, so different from theirs; neatly-wrapped gifts from santa, much lumpier gifts that were also "from santa", supposedly, but he knew those ones were from uncle mav- it would be fair to say bradley was a little spoiled when it came to the holiday season.

after carole is gone, and it's just he and mav, those years are empty and feel meaningless, but they try. they try for carole's memory, for each other, and for ice and the others. bradley's eventual disillusionment with the holiday doesn't start there- no, it starts after.

once he and mav have their falling out, it's like someone has flipped the light switch. the last few chrismases were quiet ones, lonely without mom, sure- but he and mav got thru them together. after losing mav, too, though, it's radio silence. bradley goes from loving and enjoying the christmas season to hating it, overnight. the first christmas after is bleak. a long december and a somehow even longer december 25th. the only accompaniment that he has for the next four years of college are the cards and the letters he doesn't open. he spends it in the dorms alone while everyone else goes back to their families.

once he meets phoenix in flight school, things start to look up, just a little. she has a lively, bustling family full of extended relatives and family friends, and they're happy to fold in one more. it still doesn't feel right. it doesn't make him feel at home. for all their effort and kindness, phoenix's mom is nothing like carole and phoenix's dad is is nothing like goose- and as much as he hates himself for thinking it, more importantly, is nothing like mav- and the traditions and energy are all so different that it just feels unfamiliar. though it tugs painfully on his emotional aches and pains, he is grateful to have somewhere to go and happy to be included, even if it only exemplifies to him how alone he really is, and how he really doesn't seem to belong anywhere.

post-mission, post-reconciliation, bradley isn't sure what to expect. he imagines that mav would have built a life without him in it by now and is dismayed to learn this is not the case. he isn't sure if mav will want him around for the holidays after everything he's done and said. phoenix pushes him, telling him that of course he's welcome at the trace family table again this year, but you really ought to stick around and sort this shit out. through much hesitation, bradley does.

the post-reconciliation christmas is not lively or bright or boisterous like the christmases of old. it'll never be the same, without mom, without uncle ice, when the other flyboys have families of their own to worry about now. but mav welcomes him, wants him to be there, and it's more at home than bradley has felt in fifteen long years. it's not about the food or the gifts or the decorations. it's about the people- person, actually. it's about being invited into mav's life and heart even when he knows he can never deserve to be in those places again. at the end of the day, the old christmases were always about family and love and connection, and even though they're quite different on the surface, the new christmas is about all those things, too.

19. favorite photograph headcanon

photos were and are such an important part of the bradshaw-mitchell family. bradley knows it- and it's a part of why, when he leaves, he doesn't take the photos of himself and mav. he knows that to mav, that will say something, loud and clear, and he wants to be hurtful- he wants his emotions to be heard and understood. instead, he takes with him only the photos of his mom and dad, and a couple with the flyboys that mav took, and subsequently was not in; but bradley tells himself that he doesn't need the pieces of a relationship that there's no point in trying to salvage, so he leaves all of those pieces behind.

except for one.

it's a somewhat dilapidated polaroid, taken with his dad's old camera, snapped by carole as she'd stood on the back porch of the little bungalow house that bradley grew up in. in it, a six-year-old bradley sits in mav's arms, held up at eye-level in one strong arm as mav points up with the other. bradley has one hand fisted into mav's shirt, and his gaze and rapt attention are locked overhead. mav always used to tell little bradley to look up at the stars if he missed him, because it's the same stars- they always have that between them, at least. in the photo, mav points out the constellations they share even when apart, and bradley listens intently, trying to commit the names to memory. when he became old enough to have one, bradley used to keep it in his wallet.

eventually, when it's all fallen apart and those connections between them have been severed, bradley gives a new photo the place of honor in his wallet, a photo of he and mom- but he can't just throw out the old picture, no matter how angry he feels when he looks at it, no matter how badly he wants to. it goes into the box with everything else, with letters and cards and artifacts that mav sends him or that he can't bring himself to throw away. sometimes on a quiet, lonely night aboard a carrier or on leave, floating adrift in the world with no anchors to speak of, he thinks about it. he looks at the stars and he sees that image in his mind's eye and he remembers being six years old and thinking mav would always be there, and he wonders sometimes in the most empty moments if the old man still remembers all that shit about the stars. if he ever still looks at them, still thinks of it, of bradley, if he ever wonders anything about bradley the way bradley wonders about him. deep down inside, he knows that he mustn't. deep down inside, he tells himself that there's no chance in hell mav does. because, if he does, it means bradley threw away something that was still alive. it's a fate he cannot bring himself to accept.

when they've reconciled, bradley will find that old beat-up picture in the box. he'll show it to mav. i never forgot, he'll quietly admit. i always thought about it. i- i guess i thought that you probably didn't even care to look at them anymore. i just- i thought it was over. mav will take the photo, tattered and much-handled, from bradley's outstretched hand, studying it with a reverence that bowls bradley right over. i looked at 'em every night, baby goose, he'll admit. always hoped you might be looking, too.

tysm for this ask !!! and for your infinite patience in my disastrous ability to reply 😭😭but i loved answering this ask sm !!! and i definitely did not answer it in longhand at my job and i also definitely did not accidentally write so much about the christmas thing that i had to chop it way down for this ask because it accidentally kind of became a chapter of something lol. i am a disaster. but thank u so much and i hope u enjoy and are well!! <3<3<3

#star unasks #top gun maverick #top gun #brambleberrycottage #bradley rooster bradshaw #ON A RELATED NOTE ABT THE PHOTO I JUST FOUND OUT LIKE V RECENTLY THAT I GUESS IN THE ORIGINAL SCRIPT #BRADLEY IS SUPPOSED TO BE STARING AT A PHOTO OF HIM AND MAV IN THE READY ROOM BEFORE HE HAS HIS FIGHT W MAV????#and im screaming crying throwing up about it #if i had known that when i wrote ttnp i swear to god. i would have exploited the HELL out of that #im so sad i didnt #😭😭#FINALLY APPROACHING 80K ON THE WIP BTW😭😭#so i have taken a break to try and answer some asks lol #also also: just found out this year is the last sicktember and i am torn bc i rly wanted to do it sometime but this would be my last chance #and im just like. i dont think i can write 63k words in one month kids. i dont think i have it in me. akdjfkfhfjg #so i am very very torn lol #stars scribbles

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harmonica-demon · 3 months ago

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Oh, Summer Child

Wowww, have I got a treat! I wrote a fic that has more than ~500 words. It's my au where Eddie has a 10 year old half-sister, I figured I've written enough of them that Chloe deserves an introduction. Can be read as a standalone fic, takes place in the same universe Enjoy! ...

She learned not to cry, she made that mistake in front of this man that was supposed to be her dad once.

She learned to appreciate her mom. She didn’t get angry when she drank.

She learned she was a mistake. Al had a habit of reminding her.

She learned to take care of herself, to stay out of trouble and avoid attention whenever possible.

Maybe it was another cruel irony of the world when her dad got arrested on her tenth birthday. He had been gone all day, but that wasn’t unusual. She sat in the yard, fiddling with an old radio she scored from the dump. She was curious if she could get it working again, an old woman had given her ten dollars once for fixing her TV.