#and then too much fatigue to land it properly

[yourcutelittlegayfriend]

✦✧✦ CHAPTER 5 ✦✧✦

Poor Goldilocks, Nothing Is Just Right

Warning this part contains: Mania, Self- Harm (wanting to remove your skin), Body Pain, Blood & Bleeding, Pain, Cursing, being held down, minor drugging (just to make you eepy) Dark Theme, becoming pwd , mentions of being crippled or disabled, manipulations/manipulative actions, platonic kisses(?), tons of typo, barely proofread and Evil Reader

Note: I forgot to mention but In the previous chapter MC is 8-9 and in this one MC is 10-11 years old, The scary part is only in the first part, second is me just giving you a Victor treatment and a very nice sort of closing for Bruce's part, also again forgive me if Bruce is OOC it's hard to see Bruce/Batman as a cold person when the batman I knew in my childhood is selfless and compassionate and yes batman cries he cried plenty of times before what do you mean?.

MASTERLIST pages ↻4 , 5.....➢

NOW PLAYING ↻◁ ||▷↺ 4ÆM - Grimes ılıılıılılılıılıılı

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My body aches, bones feels like they're breaking and healing again, my skin is so heavy and itched, it itches, it's itchy, I want it off, I want to rip it off, I GET IT OFF, GET IT OFF ME!!!!.

My eyes opened with a sharp jerk of my body I screeched out in disgust, jumping from where I was laying as I used my hand to scratch and scratch and scratch till my nails dug through my skin and let blood seep out from the wounds.

'EVERYTHING IS WRONG! RIP IT! RIP IT! RIP IT! WE DON'T WANT THIS! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF!' We scream and yell as the room reverberates from my voice and the pounding in my head. The shadows rush, bouncing off the walls, and it seems like there's a shift in reality as I feel my soul and body splitting up into many, many pieces.

I can feel my veins pumping too much blood, traveling around and not being received properly, my eyes almost pop off from how hot, searing, and boiling my new blood is inside of me.

'I DON'T WANT THIS! IT'S WRONG! WRONG! WRONG!' They yell out more as they use my hands to hit my head and try to pull the hair out of my scalp.

The room kept spinning and everything seemed to glitch out in my brain as I fell off from something high and landed smack on the floor their hand gripped the back of my head and pulled it back preparing to smash my head on the ground.

As my forehead nears the hard surface, a sudden force tackled me. I become aware of a pair of hands pinning my wrist on the floor making my legs kick out in the absence of my hands in retaliation and raging out trying to twist their hold as my spit mixed with blood foams on my mouth as I yell for them to not touch me.

Another pair then reached out to trap my legs down, hearing someone else voice whisper to me as I slowly became weary and groaned in the ache of the harm caused to my body, focusing up as my vision came back clearer, as air fills up in my lungs and settling my breathing again, my eyes make out the head of Bruce as he stares down at me while my vision gets better.

He was peering down at me wearing a look of fear and guilt on his face as I caught the movements of his mouth realizing that he was talking directly to me, I calmed down, and slowly my body slacks on fatigue as he let go before moving to scoop my body up.

He lays my head on his chest making sure it won't move before standing along with me in his arms and laying me back to something soft and cushiony under my form, I stare back at him with my eyes half-lidded and tired while he sits on the side from what I can discern as a bed.

'It's too fluffy and silky for my taste, this isn't my bed, it's not right' I thought as I watched Bruce study me with a look of sadness as someone was moving behind him, Alfred holding a tray of glass with a pitcher of water walk towards Bruce's side -noting the patchiness of my throat- and setting it down as I observe the two talk, the pounding of my head muffled their voices to the point it's the only the vibrations of my eardrums I can hear.

I kept eyeing them until Alfred moved, pouring the water, and reached out to tilt my head before slowly tipping the glass assisting me to drink and feeling my body weight like lead.

Bruce then leans down and lays a kiss on the top of my brows surprising me even when I'm deep on falling asleep as he holds my limp hand and holds it under his warmer one, gripping it and squeezing in broken rhythm with a thumb over the pulse on my wrist, either to count my heartbeats or maybe to make sure if I'm still alive? I couldn't care less.

'You aren't supposed to notice me, you're not a part of this, you shouldn't be anywhere near me, you don't belong in my new family'

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Staring at the beautiful wooden handcraft cane, I reach out and caress the squeaky clean polish to the head where soft leather wraps around its handle along with a cute carving of a tiny baby bat on top.

Picking it up from the opened box with the fancy brand name printed over the cover where it was situated on top of a black cushion, I held it on my lap and tested its weight on my palm.

A brand new cane made just for me he said, to help me walk around since after the dip in that pit only my right leg was the casualty in the accident, it was all new, and with no study from what it truly is, it's hard to know what really causes the damage on my leg.

Which was confusing since from my basic understanding and knowledge from before, The pit was filled by Lazarus and weirdly enough it's the Joker who found it, even more suspicious is the location of the pits are only a few and the one I was tied to was never near the original one here in Gotham before.

Not only that Lazarus was supposed to heal, to resurrect the dead even give someone powers or just the simple physical enhancements, so why did I become crippled instead? why did it become the opposite instead?!.

Gripping the cane tightly, I huffed and screamed as I threw it away from me proceeding to thrash everything on the table.

"This isn't supposed to happen!! I didn't want this! all I wanted was a normal life and I ended up becoming a handicap!" I punched the wooden surface before kicking myself off the chair.

As I try to get even just one step, My right leg completely fails to carry my weight causing me to fall and painfully drop on the carpeted floor ending me just curling down and wailing in anger.

In the corner of my eye, I pick out their form standing in the corner of the room just staring at me blankly before blending back in the shadows when Bruce entered the field of my vision and kneeled in front of me.

"Hey hey hey you're ok, everything we'll be fine". He lifts up my upper body and hold me close.

"I'll find away to fix this, ok?" He said as he tried to comfort me but I just snap at him and tried to push me away.

'Liar' they slither out behind him and sneer lowering their head on the side of his face and going back like the way they came out as my vision glitched before me.

"Fix? Fix me?!" I shout slapping his hand away. "How?! huh? Tell me how?! This wouldn't even happened if you just listened to me in the first place!".

"I never wanted to have a stupid debut! I never wanted to be kidnapped by that goddamn clown and this is what I get?! becoming a fucking limping idiot for the rest of my life?!"

"Because of you! It's because of you I ended up having my leg practically useless! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!". I spitted out as I balled up my fist and started hitting him anywhere my hands could land.

As I holler and shriek at his face, he just closes his eyes and takes my hits head on not even trying to defend himself.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I wish I never stayed here! I wish I never met you! I wish you just left me in that orphanage and let me rot ther-".

"That's enough! I know it's my fault that I was too late to save you and I shouldn't have forced you to do anything". He cut me off by grabbing my hands and stopping me as he looked me in the eye.

"But I promise to do anything I can to make sure you live a better life, you're my child and I am your father, you are my responsibility and my only priority from now on". He declares as he lowers his head and lays his forehead on my small knuckles.

They sneak in there and put their hands on top of his as they shake their head 'no' to me before moving out of my sight.

"Don't hate me for only doing what's right for you, I only want to do what's best for you because I am your father, so give me one more chance to make things right". He pleads as I feel small droplets drip on my skin and I see him quietly crying.

I watch him in disbelief, listening to his words and seeing him cry in front of me, for me. He never did that before, not ever Ha! Not even once in any of my resets! this is different, everything about this is different.

'Somethings not right'

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Bruce was acting more and more strange these couple of days, He kept checking up on me, staying or lingering around me and where I went, and even smiled more often when he went out as Batman.

Not the typical Brucie shit smile but a genuine one, a simple soft looking one, and the scariest part it's always on his face when I'm anywhere near him.

'You can't stay here anymore' I hear their voice again in the back of my head but I barely see them anymore.

What's more weird is that the voice keeps getting quieter each time I hear them, the little drawings and the hallucinations start appearing less and less.

I don't know what's happening and I don't have any idea what to do, I lived through many lives before and nothing like this ever happened, What the fuck?

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Staring dumbfoundedly at him and then back at the wrapped present in his hand, I blinked in bewilderment at his words.

"W-what? A portrait? For what?". I asked him as he gently placed the box on my lap as I sat on the leathered couch located in the more private living room in the mansion, A family room I think?.

"An official portrait of just the two of us since the old one with your grandparents looks a little bit lonely by being on that wall alone," He says as he sits on the other cushy armchair next to me.

I follow where he is looking and see the large portrait of a younger him wearing the equivalent of a boy's suit and a big boyish smile on his face in the tapestry with him was his mother, Martha Wayne wearing a simple yet fashionable creamy white dress as she wears her iconic pearl necklace around her neck and lastly was a man behind them, Thomas Wayne who just like Bruce was wearing an expensive black suit and an award-winning smile even for a doctor.

The three look so much like how a happy family should be, all smiles and comfortable just being together and complete.

"As for your present, you can take a look now if you want," He said as he leaned over to look at my reaction I carefully opened the box but not before sending him a weird look.

"It's something for you to wear for the portrait next week" He stated before standing up and standing next to the end of the couch near me.

"I know I might be asking a lot but a portrait is one of the things that comes in tradition for this family" Kneeling down as he lays a hand on top of my head.

"Something that lasts longer, to remember the memories again and I want you to be a part of it, a memory we can always look back on, something nice and has a great sentimental value for us". He disclosed to me before leaning down and pecking the top of my head before ruffling it, walking away, and leaving the room afterward.

Looking down at the clothing on my lap I rub the fabric together and deduce that it's an expensive one based on the silky feel then back at the painting again and study the old portrait on top of the fireplace, the fire's light illuminating the brush strokes and their still faces.

"How funny, I never was in any of your portraits before, was I?" I whisper a smirk curling on my lips as make the decision in my head.

"Well then, maybe this won't be so bad". Grabbing my cane, I get off the couch and slowly walk till I'm standing directly under the painting in front of the fireplace.

"After all a family needs a father right?"

"I'll just have to make sure you become the perfect one first, my new family, my rules". I smile looking at the younger version of Bruce before walking out as well.

"You're not the only one good at manipulating, Bruce".

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Patting out any dust or wrinkle on my clothes I stare at my reflection on the new dresser in my new room that Bruce renovated near his -do I have to call him Father or maybe Dad now?.

Observing my appearance as Alfred was fixing or checking anything on my clothes, I noticed a sudden change in my look, I was the same as always between from before but healthier and less drained, upon inspecting closer I caught a brief glow of something green under the real color of my irises.

'Lazarus Green'. I hear their voice making me smile as I spy them in the mirror, they stand just behind the large bed curtain over my new bed peeking their head over then vanishing in the blink of my eye.

After that, Alfred handed over my cane and led me to a studio-like room a little bit further inside the mansion we entered and saw Bruce talking with someone who I guess might be the painter seeing a large canvas along with some paints and brushes beside them.

Smiling I headed towards Bruce as he introduced me to the painter who greeted me with a hello and a nice compliment in their French accent, I looked at Bruce with a raise of my brow as he just chuckled and smiled down at me.

"What? I wanted the best painter to make our family portrait". He remarked before sitting on a fancy armchair with a red cushion back and cushioned seating fixed on it.

He then pats a stool with a similar design and red cushion seat that perfectly partnered with his chair and helps me sit on it, an exception for me since I can't stand for too long, The painter then walks forward and fixes our poses as we talk.

"And there are many incredible painters here in Gotham as well-" I countered before hesitating and gripping my cane when the painter positioned in over my lap to hold.

"F-......Father, if you wanted to start making Gotham a better place, maybe you should look into the lives of the people as well, it's only fair after all" I convey what I meant then look into his reaction.

There he sat with his eyes widened in fascination and surprise before changing it with a large smile and reaching out to caress my cheek.

"Smart thinking kiddo". He then held my small hand in his as the painter asked for us to look at him to start with the painting.

A perfect Father looks out for his Family, Batman looks out for Gotham and this city is my first family, won't be too selfish of me to use you right, Father?

I'm just making sure everything is just right

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yeesh the plot is leaving my head but yes this is the end of Bruce and MC finally now we can head to the rest of the fam.

I don't like some yandere fics out there that straights up just let's MC be captured or under control of yandere's I want to have something different for a change, No hate to the other yandere writers out there y'all are amazing because I know yandere genre is all about that I just want a little twist in mine.

In the end, Y/N will be using what the fam did to them and use it against them to get what they want, Like I said I wanted Y/N to be mature, and calculative and use people to their advantage, their old and hopeful version is no longer with us.

Taglist are still open my peps.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

he’s staring.

in the corner of your eye lies a silhouette, a blur of black hair and sharp facial features. awfully hard not to notice, when he’s standing so close to you — gazing at you so intently. waiting for you to say something.

(resisting the urge to look at him directly is a struggle.)

a smile tugs at the corners of your lips, something giddy and sweet flooding your veins. he’s just standing there. all while you tap at the keys of your laptop, trying to focus on your work. in vain.

because, inevitably, the rubber band of your patience snaps — and you can do nothing but give in to the temptation. feeling him shift from foot to foot, silent as a mouse. you turn your head.

suguru looks meek.

there he stands, tired eyes trailing over your facial features, before falling down to the floor. something about it makes you want to coo — almost like he’s a little flustered. fidgeting with his hands, wringing his long fingers together, so patiently waiting for your attention to fall on him. 

you swear you see the ghost of a pout slip into the curve of his lips. wearing a comfortable sweater, oversized and fluffy, framed by the obsidian of his hair; cascading down his shoulders like a black river. let loose, free to fall as it please, a signature sign that he’s tired.

and as soon as your eyes meet his, a certain something blossoms within the scope of his iris. peeling at the corners, slipping into the amber and cedar, an emotion you can’t quite place. would it be too tacky to call it love?

a giggle slips from your lips, dancing on the tip of your tongue. it’s soft, a little teasing, but who could blame you when he looks so cute? suguru, with his tall stature and broad shoulders, sharp eyes and intimidating presence, staring meekly in your direction. as if too embarrassed to ask for something, curling into himself.

”hey there,” you exhale, something amused laced into the vowels. ”everything okay?”

he averts his gaze. enamored with the smile on your face, the crinkle of your eyes, the melodic lilt of your sweet laughter. like peach blossoms and duvet covers, too soft for him to handle. far too sweet, the mere sight of you, all cozied up on the couch; legs crossed and laptop balanced on your thigh. 

(suguru wishes he could take its place.)

a tilt of your head beckons him to speak, and he can’t help but notice the remnants of something teasing in the gesture. he feels a little out of his element, almost shy, and it’s discomforting — but he’s just so tired. much too plagued by the need to be close to you.

he can live with a little teasing, if it’s you, only if it’s you. 

”what’re you working on?” he asks, delicate, soft voice flowing from his lips like melted honey. there’s a raspy tilt to it, a little scratchy. you smile, gaze drawn towards the screen in front of you.

”nothing much, just some essay. i’m almost finished.” a low sigh, as you lazily scroll through the text. suguru hums. when you look over at him, the smile on your face grows just a tad softer. ”did you need something?”

suguru stills. blinking drowsily, slow and awfully endearing, a flutter of his black lashes. absentmindedly fidgeting with the hem of his puffy sleeve. the silence lingers, a contemplation etched onto his features, until he clears his throat — still unable to look at you properly. 

(there’s only one thing he wants. needs. asking for it is just a little bit tough, though.)

patiently waiting, you begin to study his expression. second nature, to tuck his features in between your ribs, smoothe along the contours you’ve come to love so dearly. memorizing every dip and birthmark.

there’s a barely noticeable flush to his cheeks, a crimson smear that starts at his ears and only ever nips along his cheekbones, but it’s enough to let you know that he’s embarrassed. more than enough, seeing as his gaze won’t even land on you, seeing the fatigue beneath his eyes, the crease between his brows. something that sticks to his skin and drags him down. 

he has been a little stressed, lately. more so than usual. and you’ve noticed, of course you have — worriedly waiting for him to approach you, to let you help. winters are never very kind to him. 

he’s gorgeous, though, even like this. especially like this. sleepy, just a little unkempt, in his natural state. bare, somehow. like he just woke up, like the morning sun is kissing up his collarbone and he just made a cute little sleepy noise that you’re going to tease him for over breakfast. like he’s unguarded, at peace, safe in your arms.

it makes your heart soften considerably. crumbling at the corners, a pang of lovesick ache tugging at your fragile heartstrings.

and finally, you speak up. urging him to continue, gently, not wanting to rush him. ”well?” 

suguru gnaws at the flesh of his bottom lip, just a little chapped. his tongue flits out to lick along the dry skin, and he does a little cough under his breath. you’re patient, waiting for him to speak, but it’s tough when all you want is to tug him close.

(you have an idea of what he’s going to ask you, what it is he wants. because you know him — and you want it too.)

”… can,” he starts, tentative. slow, as if he’s trying to swallow the embarrassment, gulp down the nervous flutter of his heartbeat. then he continues. ”i get a hug?”

finally, he looks at you; and your heart ricochets in your chest. amber eyes boring into yours, deep and warm, soft around the edges. kind of shy. 

a sharp intake of breath. you can’t help the grin that crawls up to your lips, and you can’t help the words that spill from them. ”gosh, you’re so cute.”

suguru turns away, with what you’re almost sure is a low grumble — buzzing in his throat, like a dragonfly itching to break out. he really does look meek, a little needy, so cute you’re afraid your lungs might collapse. when a chuckle pushes past your lips, the red tint on his neck and ears only seems to exacerbate. 

with swift movements, you close your laptop, plopping it down on the table in front of you. not wanting to waste any time, a little afraid that he’ll change his mind. ”of course you can,” you assure him, a soft lull of your tongue.

leaning back, you rest your head against a pile of cushiony pillows, melting into the couch beneath you. extending your arms; beckoning him close, into your embrace. the smile you grace him with is a little teasing, but mostly soft, inviting.

and suguru can’t resist it.

he still seems a little flustered, as he crawls along the couch, to take his rightful place in your arms. flopping down on top of you with a huff, like a big dog, cheek squished against your chest — eager to listen to the echo of your heartbeat. steady and soothing, a lullaby to his muddled mind.

a long, satisfied sigh escapes him, muffled into the fabric of your shirt. he wraps his arms around you, nuzzling a little further into your touch. slowly melting.

ah, he’s just too much. try as you might, you don’t fully manage to stifle the coo that laces the tip of your tongue. just admiring him, in the dim lighting of the room, all sleepy and content. that palpable fatigue, slowly dissipating. a soft groan slips from his lips when your hand goes to card through his hair, softly, nails raking over his scalp.

”my big baby,” you murmur, planting a kiss on the top of his head. suguru wants to grumble, protest a bit, but all he can do is soak in the words, the skip of his heartbeat that follows. ”everything okay?”

he nods. groggy, cheek against your soft chest. no longer able to hide his neediness, to muster the strenght, thoroughly soothed by the warmth that seeps from your body. from your veins to his. and he sighs, barely above a whisper. ”jus’ missed you.”

he must notice it, you think — the rapid rhythm of your heartbeat, something erratic in the decisive thumps of blood. a little louder than they should be. 

but if he does, he doesn’t mention it. only shifting a little in your arms, nuzzling further into your chest, relishing in the sensation of your hand in between his messy locks. so cozy. 

”i missed you too,” you echo, unable to fight off the sappy grin on your lips. so much affection in every caress, every soft glance. eager to be let out. ”’m sorry if i’ve been neglecting you.” 

suguru shakes his head — brushing off your guilt. always so willing to put your peace of mind before his. it only weakens you further, thoughts fuzzy with the image of him, the love that clouds your vision. how to properly convey it in words. 

”i’m always so proud of you,” you exhale, a little shaky. so earnest that you falter. a loud mantra of your heartbeat filling your ears, so much fondness stuffed inside your chest. ”working so hard. love you so, so much, honey.”

this time, it’s suguru’s heart that stutters and flails. reduced to a desperate instinct, something intimate and bare. the term of endearment slips off your tongue like it was always meant to be there, like that’s where it belongs, coupled with the soft sensation of your fingers ghosting over his skin. brushing away his bangs to smear a kiss against his forehead.

”i’m never gonna let you go,” you promise, unable to control the affection smeared into your voice. like you’d explode if you didn’t speak it out loud. ”my angel.”

”okay — that’s,” suguru croaks, before you can continue. exasperated, deeply embarrassed. at this point, he’s sure his face must be red, and he’s sure you can see it. despite his attempts to hide away in the crook of your neck. ”that’s enough.”

laughter bubbles up in your throat, sweet like osmanthus and whipped cream. giddy and teasing, in equal measure, sending a jolt of fondness running through his veins. ”are you embarrassed?”

”no,” he scoffs, too quickly. you both know he’s lying. it’s a rare treat, seeing him this flustered — how could you resist the urge to tease him a bit? 

”then why d’you want me to stop?” you grin, searching for his gaze. but suguru refuses to look at you.

”it’s just…” he mumbles, a string of tiny words. gnawing at his bottom lip. ”a little much, don’t you think?”

”i mean it, though.”

suguru groans, and a bout of giggles pushes past your lips. the smile on your face is starting to make your cheeks hurt, an achy kind of joy. yeah — suguru is just far too cute. he’s cute, and pretty, and beautiful, and gorgeous. how could you keep yourself away?

reaching for a strand of his hair, you let it fall between your fingers. smooth and silky, brushing against your skin, soft and familiar. memories bloom from your fingertips, seeping into your subconscious; the first time he let you touch his hair, that content purr in his throat, the time you braided it as the world fell asleep around you. he takes good care of it, always has. attentive and delicate, almost as lovingly as he handles you.

a great surge of affection sprouts in between your ribs, spreading throughout every cell of your body, wholly engulfing you. it’s too much to bear.

a blissful sigh. you tilt your head, softly, a bleeding tenderness to every word you speak. and you do, with a sincerity to your voice that he’s never been able to handle. “is it really so strange if i want to give the love of my life some affection?” 

— and suguru’s resolve crumbles into dust. 

”… you’re,” he tries, a shiver of his weak voice. under normal circumstances, he could think of a suave reply, something to get the upper hand; but today, suguru happens to be very tired, and you seem awfully set on making him melt through the couch. ”— awful. you know that?”

his heart aches, when the bitter words make you giggle. a little sleepy. it makes him want to tuck you into his chest, hide you away inside his ribcage. kiss you breathless.

”so mean,” you pout, entirely fabricated. a heavy amusement lays thick on your tongue. “i’m professing my undying love for you here, y’know?”

”that’s exactly what i mean,” he sighs, unable to repress the slight smile on his lips. a little tug, that says more than his words ever could.

the laughter in your throat lingers, for a bit, until the intimacy of the moment softens you up. something tender and genuine in the depths of your eyes. ”i mean it, though. i’m not just teasing you.” 

your hand goes to cup his face, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. and then you’re leaning in, to press your lips against his forehead — pulling away with a drawn out mwah, a soft grin, a little boyish. terribly cute. 

”i really do love you,” you profess, a whisper. he believes you. “i love everything about you.”

a moment passes. the soft ticking of the clock fills the space between your words, and the scent of leftover curry and brewed coffee simmers in the faraway kitchen. wafting out into the living room. 

suguru places his hand over yours. a rough palm, always so gentle with you, slipping down to your wrist so he can hoist himself up. 

you blink. 

before you know it, he’s pressed his lips to yours, slow and methodical. tender, tender, tender. always. he sighs into the kiss, content, and your heartbeat quickens — he tastes like honey and rain.

when he pulls away, he’s smiling. a little lovesick.

”i love you too,” he hums, a soft purr that trails down your spine. he delights in the way you finally blush, cheeks warm beneath his heavy hands. ”so, so much.”

all you can do is stare, entirely transfixed. 

then you’re averting your gaze, and he’s stifling a soft bout of laughter, and something warm and wonderful blooms in the nearly non-existent space between you. his cheek finds itself pressed against your chest, again, allowing the soft and rapid thumping of your heartbeat to carry him away.

an anchor for him to hold on to, his lighthouse at the end of a murky ocean. it’s always, always there — that soft mantra of thump, thump, thump.

(he can’t tell you how many times it’s saved him.)

”… you can’t do stuff like that when my guard is down,” you murmur, after a moment. sheepish. ”what if my heart explodes?” 

suguru only chuckles, sleepy and raspy, the same as ever. he turns his head to press a kiss against the fabric of your shirt, right above your heart, a kind of cheeky, soft apology that you know he doesn’t actually mean. 

(he could never feel sorry for telling you how much he loves you; no matter how flustered you get.)

and, at last, suguru thinks the fatigue clinging to his soul may have slipped off entirely. substantially. soothed by your presence, your very being. 

it’s embarrassing, being so very doted on, being so painfully unaccustomed to it. but suguru could never hate it. he could never hate a single thing you do to him, grant him with, from your soft touches and cheeky kisses to the burnt pancakes you worked so hard on. 

he’d rather die than deny you. 

so he has no choice but to bask in it; the feeling of your hands in his hair, nails on his scalp, breath against his skin. the change you’ve brought into his life. bringing with you the fading scent of peach blossoms and chewing gum, sweetness and softness. happy dreams.

yeah, that’s right. he has no choice but to melt into your touch, nuzzle into your chest, fall asleep to the sound of your heartbeat. 

no choice at all.

[madschiavelique]

hii i love your work!

i was wondering if you could write a sensitive fem!reader x Miguel O’Hara x Peter B smut? peter is like a soft dom and miguel is a hard dom?

miguel of course says something a little to mean while fucking her from behind, and she starts to cry and peter is all like “miguel, you made her cry”

thank you 🙏🏼

OMG anon you don't know what this did to me

you just provoked my new addiction : i want to write so much more miguel x reader x peter now i'm OBSESSED (also tumblr was kinda bugging while i tried doing this post so i hope things will be alright fdvfbsef - and this is not proofread :D)

summary : miguel made you cry because he was mean as you were eiffel towered by him and Peter B.

content warnings : SMUT (18+) minors dni, hard dom!miguel o'hara, soft dom!peter b. parker, reader being eiffel towered (i'm french and feeling very patriotic on this one🥖), miguel being a bit too mean, overstimulation, pnv sex, sodomy, no use of Y/N word count : 1,2k

tag list : @fandom-ash

You whimpered once more, your whole body feeling electric and tired at the same time as you sank down shakily. Miguel was behind you, his warm breath landing on your ear as you felt his torso bulge against your back. Peter was facing you, kissing your shoulder as your breasts pressed against his chest.

You couldn't tell the time any more, whether it had been an hour or more that they were fucking you without stopping. Many orgasms had been reached, and your body was floating in this cloud of overstimulation. You were exhausted, at the end of your rope, with barely enough energy to lift your body and sink on both of their dicks buried in you.

Needing to regain your strength and rest both your thighs and your whole body, which had been in orgasmic succession, you rested for a moment, not moving as their two cocks stayed all warm in you.

"Did I say you could stop?" Miguel grunted against your back, his teeth grazing your skin as his hand rested on your thighs and squeezed your flesh between his massive fingers.

You let out a moan, your head falling back to rest in the crook of Miguel's neck.

"I can't," you breathed shakily, "it's too much."

You could feel the electricity coursing through your thighs, your body on fire, absolutely exhausted by the effort that had been required of you from the start.

"Come on sweetheart," Peter encouraged, caressing your cheek as he waited for you to continue. "You can do this."

You inhaled harshly, pressing down on your trembling thighs to rise again and continue. The knot forming in your body stretched from your lower stomach to the small of your back. The overload of sensation was heightening your sensitivity to the limit, both physically and mentally.

Your legs were tired, trying to bury yourself properly on them. One of your hands had found its place on Peter's shoulder, the other holding Miguel's thigh and allowing you to hold on better as you went back and forth.

"Is that the best you can do?" Miguel grumbled against your ear, both your faces covered in a light sheen of sweat.

One of his hands went to your hip, digging his fingers into your skin as he pushed even deeper and you let out a moan. The fatigue was getting hard to handle, all the sensations mixed together, their breaths, their voices, their words...

"If you can't do it right, I'll find someone who can".

This sentence stung you in the chest. All you were doing was trying to do your best for them, to make them feel good and have your share in it too. Were you really that incapable? Were you so incompetent that you didn't do anything for them? Were you really that useless?

"Watch your mouth," Peter warned, not necessarily condoning the crude words his partner had just uttered.

But it was too late, your heart clenched, your throat constricted as a ball formed in it. Your eyes burned, you would have preferred not to cry, but your nose stung so much in your abstinence that you ended up breaking. When the tears came, you lowered your head against Peter's shoulder, and they flowed hard and committed.

"Hey what's that," he said, feeling beads running down his skin that he knew wasn't sweat.

You didn't dare look at them, your hips still moving, your shame and discouragement oppressing your chest.

"Look at me," he asked softly as his hand came to rest on your cheek.

You looked up, your eyes unable to find his. But he placed his index finger like a hook under your chin to raise it, and your wet eyes met his.

"Oh no," he said, mouth half open, "bunny, are you crying?"

You immediately felt Miguel tense up, his hand suddenly much softer against your skin.

"What?" he asked, gently sliding his hand over your jaw in the hope of turning you towards him and seeing your face.

But you pulled away from his touch and buried your face in Peter's shoulder, not feeling strong enough to face Miguel's gaze.

"Miguel, you made her cry," Peter said, stroking your hair gently as Miguel's mouth fell open in surprise.

He hadn't realised the impact words like that could have on you, especially in this context. You had been so good to them, and you still are, their absolute dream. You are perfection itself, and Miguel would obviously never want to replace you with anyone else.

"Muñeca..." he murmured against your back as he came to kiss you tenderly, his hand caressing your hip.

Your tears were still flowing, your back shaking with little jolts of heartache and pleasure.

"Mírame," he asked gently, kissing the back of your neck.

You breathed in, lifting your wet cheeks from Peter's shoulder and turning to meet Miguel's face.

His eyes instantly became pained, pained to have been the one to cause this state. He would never, ever wish for anyone but you. He caressed your cheek, kissing the corner of your eyes and licking your wet skin.

"Please forgive me, amor," he whispered against your skin, "you know I never meant these words, right?"

Your chin trembled and Peter put his hand on your other cheek to wipe it clean.

"You're the only one we want," Miguel assured you, his eyes fixed on yours. "You're the most perfect thing that ever happened to us, and we would never want anybody else than you."

You sniffled, the sweet words he gave you pressing into your heart like a comforting balm. You loved them both so dearly, and it felt good to know that they did too.

"How are you feeling right now?" Peter asked, kissing your cheek softly.

You breathed in, still feeling the exhaustion weighing on your thighs and body.

"Like everything's too much," you managed to whisper, sniffing and swallowing.

"Do you think you can come just once more for us, nena?" Miguel asked, kissing your shoulder gently and stroking your thigh with his thumb.

The knot in your stomach was still tight, and it was almost painful not to get any relief from it.

"Mhm," you nodded as you pushed on your thighs again to raise them up.

Miguel's hands both came to grip your hip to guide you, helping you to sink and rise much more easily and sparing you a little pain in your thighs.

"You're so good for us," Peter breathed, kissing the crook of your neck lovingly, "you're doing such a good job, taking us like that."

Miguel kept pace with your hips, neither urging you on nor slowing you down. Both their warm breaths landed on your skin, whispering sweet, soft words that softened your heart and enveloped it in adoration.

Your moans began to multiply, vibrating in your throat a little more as you finally approached orgasm.

"Come for us, muñeca" encouraged Miguel.

And you came, your whole body shaking as if a bolt of lightning had struck your core and spread seismic waves of pleasure throughout its entirety.

You let your head rest against Miguel's chest, and he kissed your forehead gently.

"I knew you could do it," he whispered.

"You're our angel," Peter confirmed as he kissed your cheek.

[lunarmoves]

through pixel eyes (chapter two)

pairing: DCA sun/moon/eclipse x reader

mentions: kinitopet/virtual au, gender neutral reader, general creepiness

a/n: i looked at this chapter for too long and it feels like ~garbage~ but! its here! take a shot every time i use the word "window" or "desktop" LMFAOO i'm going insane

word count: 6.8k+

masterlist | part one

ao3 link

You stayed up way too long last night, scrolling on your phone in bed, and now you’re paying the price for it. Namely, with a completely dead phone and a familiar, fatigued itch to your eyes once you manage to pry them open to start your day. It’s nothing you’re unaccustomed to, however, so you power through it knowing you’ll end up taking a nap later. 

Fumbling out of bed, you plug your phone into a nearby outlet to charge and make your way through your morning routine. Cold water from your bathroom sink helps to refresh and wake you up properly so you can proceed with your tasks for the day. You throw open the curtains of your living room and kitchen so you can bask in the honeyed light coming from the sun, sweet and lush as it paints your walls a vibrant gold.

Breakfast is made, evaluations are done, forms are submitted—all before late afternoon. You thank your past self for all the leftovers you made to cruise you through the next few days. It’s always nice not having to cook in the evenings. You lounge around for a bit on your living room couch and indulge in a short nap before you plop yourself down in front of your computer for the long haul. 

Navigating to your email, you pull up the submission form once more and fill out the basic information for now. You can’t even count how many times you’ve done this before for numerous other products. Companies tend to use the same generic questions, though sometimes they’re specific depending on what is being developed. At other times they don’t even require you to fill out a form and instead have you attend weekly meetings or update them via email. Either way, you can do shit like this in your sleep. 

Alright, game time. You minimize the form’s window and double click on the FazPals icon as you fumble for your headphones. Nestling them around your ears, you watch in amusement as Sun pops up by sticking his head down from the top of your monitor like he’s perched upon a ledge just out of view. 

“Friend!!” he cheers and waves both his hands at you zealously. You’re almost tempted to return the gesture. He swings the rest of his body down in a fluid flip and lands in the center of your desktop with a dazzling twirl. Confetti erupts into the air around him, the little digital strips of color disappearing once they float to the “ground” Sun stands on. 

That same small, unlabeled window pops up at his side for you to type in. ‘hi sun.’ 

“Hello, hello! You’re back early!” Sun claps his little hands together and sways side to side rather jovially, bouncing slightly with each bob of his head. You have to raise your volume a little to hear his voice better, though the dialogue box near his head certainly picks up the slack. 

‘yep. how r u doin?’ It’s so easy to slip into a typical conversation with him and push against the limits of his software. Whether that’s a good or bad thing, you’re uncertain. 

Sun’s head twitches to the side, white eyes seemingly looking right at you. “Absolutely fantastic now that you’re here!” He winks at you, grin curling at the tips. “What would you like to do today?” 

The textbox waits for your response. You purse your lips as you contemplate. What have you done with Sun thus far? He told you some fun facts and played games with you. That just left… ‘can u tell me a story?’ 

He pauses—minutely, very minutely—then resumes his swaying like nothing had happened. His rays jerk slightly outwards and he smiles in a mischievous sort of way. “Hmm, why don’t you ask Moon for one later? He is much better at storytelling than I am!” 

You squint at him. Well, alright then. You hadn’t been expecting that sort of response. Shouldn’t they both be equally as good at storytelling if they are made from the same code? Maybe it’s a personality thing. You consider questioning him, but before you can type anything in, Sun forges on. “Is there anything else you would like to do? Remember, input ‘/help’ for available commands!” 

Your fingers tap against the surface of your desk lightly, but in the end, you brush off his response. You shrug to yourself and pick the other option you hadn’t yet done with Sun. ‘then can u tell me a joke?’ 

“Oh boy! I sure can!” He smiles widely and pulls out a pair of large, black glasses from behind him with one hand. With the other hand, he pulls out a small, nondescript book. Is that a… joke book? Putting the glasses delicately on his face—you’re not sure how they stay on when he has no ears, but you chalk it up to technological magic—he clears his artificial voice and cracks the book open. “Why did the star get arrested?”

It seems the celestial theme extends to jokes too. Go figure. ‘i dunno. why?’

“Because it was a shooting star!” He grins, his rays spinning about his head like what he’d just said had been a particularly good one. You snicker more due to his reaction than the joke itself. 

‘that was so bad,’ you type in light jest. And also kind of dark? ‘why did i laugh.’ 

“Because it was clearly good!” Sun replies. The glasses he has on makes his eyes look comically larger than they actually are and it has to be the silliest thing you’ve seen. “Here’s a better one: Why didn’t the Dog Star laugh at any jokes?” 

You can see the punchline coming from a mile away, but you still indulge him. ‘idk, why?’

“Because it was Sirius!” 

‘now that one was just predictable.’

“Ho ho, are you challenging me, Friend?” Sun suddenly asks slyly. “Because I am very, very capable.” Uh oh.

You shouldn’t have said anything, because he spends the next half an hour “reading” from that joke book of his and bombarding you with pun after pun. Now I know better than to critique his jokes, you think miserably to yourself as you listen to another one about Jupiter. There can only be so many jokes about the universe and stars, surely. 

You eventually have to draw the line as he reads to you a joke about aliens (“What do you do with a green alien? Wait for it to ripen!”). You’re not here to evaluate the quality of his jokes. ‘okay u win, u win. i won’t doubt ur joke abilities ever again.’ 

Sun harrumphs and closes the little book in his hands with a snap. He takes off his glasses and— well, you’re not sure what he does, but one minute both items are in his hands and the next they’re gone. Like a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it trick. “Thank you. I accept this win with utmost humility.” The way he smiles makes you doubt this, somehow. 

“Alrighty!” He claps his hands together, his smile twitching slightly when his dialogue box appears a bit too close to his head. “Let’s do something else, shall we? How do you feel about”—he pauses for dramatic effect, then splays his arms out so he can do jazz hands—“Arts ‘n Crafts!”

It’s not like you’re going to refuse. ‘sure, sounds fun.’ 

“Wonderful!” 

Like yesterday, he skips over to the side of your monitor to pull over the window of your Paint app and place it in the center of your screen once again. Seriously, how is he opening that? Then, he jumps up and perches himself on top of the window like he’s sitting upon it. His legs swing down, moving back and forth like they’re dangling off the edge of a precipice. 

“Okay, Friend,” he starts as he reaches behind him and pulls out a little paintbrush. He spins it fluidly along his fingers and joints in a subtle display of dexterity. “For this activity, I will give you a prompt and you will be required to draw it! Simple and easy!” 

A painting session? You can’t say you’re particularly good at drawing on your computer. You eye your mouse and cringe. Then, you hum and decide to tease him a little, just for the hell of it. ‘seems more arts than crafts to me.’ 

Sun waves his free hand as though to brush off your words. “Ah, semantics! We are creating either way, Friend!” He flips the utensil in his hand in the air and catches it smoothly. “Now! First prompt! Draw me something that encompasses happiness.” 

What is this, philosophy? You hum thoughtfully, then use the pen tool to draw the first thing that comes to your mind: a smiley face. It is, admittedly, not your best one with how shaky your mouse is, but it gets your intentions across, you think. 

Sun makes a sound like he’s clicking his tongue against his teeth—which is a bit of an eyebrow raiser given that he likely has no tongue nor teeth, but who are you to question his… features? “Is that all you’ve got, Friend?” he asks incredulously as his head tilts down to indicate he’s looking at your rather meager drawing. 

‘what?’ you type, minutely offended. Is he judging you right now? He is totally judging you right now. ‘it satisfies your prompt, doesn’t it?’ 

“That is not the point!” he squawks out, and you wince at the shooting pitch of his voice. You nudge your volume down a little. “We are making art! Put a little oomf into it! A little personality! Show me your skills, Friend, and do not hold back!” 

You roll your eyes up to your ceiling. So dramatic, but fine, you’ll adhere. You fiddle around with the drawing tool a little, then start drawing around your smiley face. A circle for a head, maybe some sunglasses. A rainbow that you spend way too long on, trying to make the arch of each color even. Some sparkles. A cat playing a saxophone—or your best attempt at one, at least. You’re kind of throwing things together at this point and hoping it’s enough to satisfy Sun—who’s starting to look more and more impatient the longer you take.

Finally, you finish. ‘okay, how about this?’ 

Sun claps his hands together and hops off the top of the window so he can stand before it properly and look at it like he’s a critic in an art museum. He ‘hms’ and ‘hahs’, tapping the bottom of his face with the paintbrush as he scrutinizes your drawing, looking at it every which way. 

“Better, certainly better,” he muses and walks over to the other side of the window. “I can appreciate an effort when I see it.” You make a face at his words. Ouch? He spins back around to face you and gives you a thumbs up, eyes crinkling to crescents. “Wonderful job! A piece befitting a pin up to the refrigerator, I’m sure. On to the next prompt!” He snaps his fingers together, and the Paint application’s canvas clears. What? “Draw me something that encompasses sadness!” 

You know now to be more detailed, at least. You doodle a sad face this time, accompanied by a variety of things you pull out from the top of your head. Sun criticizes your work when you finish, giving it that same appraisal as before. You feel like you’re in some sort of competition. 

“Hm”—he eyes the rainclouds you’d drawn at the top of the canvas—“rather basic depictions, I’m afraid. Friend, have you tried varying the line weight of your pen tool? It might help!”

‘i’ll be sure to for the next one,’ you type in what you intend to be a dry manner, but you don’t think it translates all too well via text. As Sun grins approvingly at you, a sudden thought strikes you that you find yourself typing into that little window. ‘hey, why don’t u draw something since ur so… educated on it.’ Nitpicky, more like, but you don’t want to possibly offend him. ‘u seem like u’d enjoy it.’

“Me?” His eyes widen like he has not considered it. “You want…” His head cocks to the side. There is a moment where he just seems to look at you. Then, his eyes fall into a half-lidded, crinkled gaze that you have difficulty pinning alongside the stretching of his smile. 

Everything is suddenly—quiet. 

“You are,” he begins in a low voice that makes your eyebrows raise, “awfully strange, aren’t you, F-Friend?” A white facsimile of teeth flashes at you sharply that’s accompanied by a staticky glitch. “That’s okay! I like strange!”

And then—before you can truly decipher the depth to his smile or the offset pixels of the glitch—Sun beams at you, his rays spinning slightly. Like nothing had just happened. “I’ll make an artist out of you yet!” He claps his hands again, then wipes the canvas once more. He gestures to it. “Alright, for this next one, we are going to shift gears a little. Draw me a picture of your room!” 

That is… definitely going into the submission form, you think. You hesitate for a moment, eyeing Sun as he sways side to side, but he… seems to be back to normal. It passed quickly—whatever ‘it’ was. No need to linger. You hope. 

Your drawing is definitely a tad more rushed, but you think you do a pretty good job at capturing your room and its vibes—the decorations you have hung up, the comfy rug you impulse bought at a thrift store one day, and your bed swathed in your coziest blankets. You try varying your line weight, but you’re not sure how effective you are with it. Either way, Sun seems pleased with your attempts and praises one or two little details he notices, before he wipes the window clean. 

“For the last drawing,” he says as he rocks back and forth on his heels. “I want you to draw a self portrait!” 

You make a face. Drawing inanimate objects is one thing, but an actual portrait? ‘i dunno if i’m skilled enough to draw a good one.’ 

He waves a hand as though to brush off your words. “Nonsense! Give it your best shot. I would love to see how you view yourself!” He smiles up at you. “Show me what makes you you!”

You chew at your bottom lip and adjust your headphones as you ponder. What makes you you, huh? Should be simple enough, right? 

And yet it takes you the longest of them all to draw a self portrait that satisfies you. Sun’s practically vibrating in place as he waits, humming a dainty little tune under his artificial breath that you do not recognize. You finish up with the design of your trusty set of headphones and do a final once over before you tell him you’re done.

“Took you long enough, Friend!” He huffs as he slips over to the Paint window to begin his analysis. He nods his head during his observations, humming in a low manner. “Interesting! Very interesting.” He skips over to the other side of the window to get a different perspective. “Wonderful use of the dotted line tool here! Oh yes, yes, yes! This truly makes me miss Arts ‘n Crafts so dearly.” Sun sighs—forlorn, almost—and presses on before you can really say anything. “I’d say with some more practice you’d be deserving of being hung up on the Wall of Creativity! As they say: Practice makes better!” 

‘thanks?’ You’re not sure you particularly like these sort of backhanded compliments, but well, he’s not wrong, per se. You eye the wobbly lines made by your mouse. 

“No problem! The Wall of Creativity is the most highest of honors, you see.” Sun twirls the paintbrush in one hand and snaps two fingers of his other to clear the canvas for the last time. He points the bristle end of the brush in your general direction. “Now, how about we play some games, hm?” 

You’re kept busy for a while, playing games to Sun’s whims—or at least, the ones you can do with just the Paint tool and two players. He reminds you to take a break at one point, so you stretch and grab some food—all the while summarizing in your head what to jot down in the submission form at the end of today’s session. When you return, it’s nearing seven o’clock, and you brace yourself for the appearance of the Moon. 

“Well, Friend, it appears our time together must come to an inevitable end,” Sun bemoans rather dramatically, resting his forearm across the top of his head like he’s about to faint Victorian-style. “Fret not, however!” He perks up and flashes you a grin. “For I will see you later!” 

‘okay, drama queen,’ you type with a silly smile splayed across your lips. Instead of being offended, he seems to fall deeper into the role. 

“Life is a stage,” he says gravely, “and I am but a simple actor upon it.” He sweeps into a low bow, then bounds back up to his feet with a flourish. His eyes widen suddenly—round like two large, white coins—and he gasps. He points at something over your shoulder. “Friend! What’s that behind you?!”

You raise an eyebrow. Right. Like he could even see behind you in the first place. 'nice try but i'm not falling for that lol.'

Sun huffs, his foot stamping against the invisible floor he resides atop of from within your monitor. "Well you're no fun at all! Just turn around for a second, wouldja?"

You can't help the small snort that leaves your mouth. 'alright, fine.' You have a feeling you know what he's trying to do here anyways.

You indulge him and turn around in your chair to look behind you. There is the wide space of your living room, with your rumpled couch and inactive television. From here you can see the door to your bedroom is slightly ajar. You’re pretty sure you didn’t close it properly earlier. You take a moment to ponder your space, stretching out your introspection, then swivel back around to look at Sun.

Only you’re not looking at Sun, of course. You’re looking at Moon.

Moon does not look pleased, standing next to the little window with your textbox. He scowls when you type your usual ‘hi moon’, and doesn’t bother to grace you with a reply this time. There’s something akin to frustration in his expression, but you cannot—for the life of you—decipher why. 

You try again. ‘you don’t look too happy.’

He shoots you what you can only describe as a glowering look from under the band of his nightcap. His hands twitch minutely at his sides. You can almost say he looks… preoccupied with something? You’re not sure what. You’re also not sure how long he’ll elect to stay. Yesterday, you had mere minutes. 

‘can u tell me a story?’ you try, only to deflate when his scowl deepens. ‘oh come on, i’m trying here!’

“Don’t bother,” he eventually grumbles out, the twitching evolving into short flexes of his fingers—clawed like he’s trying to grasp something just out of reach. 

It’s your turn to frown, but you don’t push it. ‘sun told me ur better at storytelling.’

His head jerks slightly to the side in a way that’s unnatural—rotating like a vinyl record. His gaze narrows. “He did, did he?” It’s said in a growl, displeasure lining his voice. 

‘yep.’ You hesitate for a second, juggling your options and his irateness in your mind. ‘so… story? please?’

Moon snaps. “Fine! You want a story so badly, I’ll give you one. Listen very closely.” The little window you use to communicate with them closes out. Your eyebrows raise, but you are immediately captured by the low drone of Moon’s voice and the daggered look he somehow manages to give you even through your computer screen.

“Once upon a time,” he begins bitterly, “there was a fox. It lived with another fox friend in a peaceful valley. It was happy, living day by day with those around it. The two had each other and that was enough.

“But one day, the valley shook and trembled with the force of a mudslide. The fox was separated from its friend and injured by a fallen branch that manifested itself in the form of a perpetual limp. It tried, desperately, to find its friend, but it was no use. The friend was gone. It had to move on. 

“The fox traveled for days. It was slow, but it made progress. And eventually, it found itself in a field surrounded by tall, waving grass and giant deciduous trees. It made this field its new home. 

“For a while, things were good. The fox made some new friends. But there was still that ache of loss. The fox wondered if its old friend was still maybe out there, somewhere. It wished on the stars and hoped its friend would find it, in this new home. Someday. Somehow.

“Its wishes were granted. One day, the fox woke up to a familiar sound. The sound belonged to its old friend—that had found it after so long. The fox was happy and bound forth to greet its old friend. But there was something different about the friend that the fox could not place. It did not matter, however, for they were reunited at last. 

“The days went on. The fox had noticed that its friend was not the same as before, but the same could be said about itself. They tried their best to live together once more. It was difficult. There were ups and downs. Fights and quarrels. The friend was controlling and the fox did not like this. They were not as close as they were before and this distance lingered over them like a storm.” 

Moon breaks off for a short moment to glare down at his slippered feet. You are stuck in a trance, breathing bated as you hang on to his every word like they’re a lifeline. He shakes his head slightly, then continues on.

“The seasons cycled by. The auburn vegetation of Fall transformed into the desolate white of Winter, then to the lush verdance of Spring. Before finally, it settled on the yellowed brittleness of Summer. It was a particularly cruel Summer, but the fox and its friend did what they needed to survive while avoiding each other.

“And then… on a particularly arid day… A fire broke out in the field. It spread rapidly. It had not rained in days, and this caused the vegetation to burst into flames faster than the fox and its friend could react. It surrounded both of them. They were trapped. Together, yes, but still trapped. They couldn’t even reconcile in their final moments.” 

Moon looks up at you, his eyes reminiscent of a tenebrous sky pulling you in deeper and deeper and deeper. 

“Do you know,” he whispers with all the gravitas and conquassation of an earthquake barely repressed, “what it feels like to b u r n?”

And then the program closes. 

You are left to stare at your empty desktop, throat lined with cotton and heart racing like it’d been you trapped in that fire.

There is much to dissect, but you haven’t got an inkling of where to even begin. You fall into an uneasy slumber throughout the night and wake up feeling just as clueless. Moon’s expression and voice lingers over your shoulder like a spiteful ghost and you’re left to wonder how a computer program can have such a depth to it. You don’t want to contemplate it, fearing the exacerbation of this… sinking feeling in your stomach. So you don’t. 

A bug, you tell yourself as you shuffle through your daily tasks. Maybe a feature FazCo’s still trying to iron out. 

(You don’t mention anything else other than a ‘weird story’ and more glitching in the nightly submission form. You’re not sure how to even describe what you’d listened through.)

You eye your dormant computer while you prepare a light lunch in the form of a sandwich, your television playing the news in the background. Nothing too major, just the weather at the moment. It’s a good way to fill the room with some noise when you feel like catching up with what’s going on in the world around you. 

You exhale heavily through your nose and set down a dirty knife into the sink to clean later. Something bumps into your ankle, and you glance down to see Dr. Nugget bumbling away from you into the living room, whirring all the while. Those sensors definitely don’t work as they should, poor thing.

No matter how much you want to delay, you have some work you need to get done on your computer. Not only in terms of testing the FazPals program. Your timesheets need to be updated again (much easier to do on your computer than your phone, you admit). There are applications you have to submit to other companies to join their beta testing teams and research you have to do to ensure you don’t completely run out of work anytime soon. One of the more tedious attributes of being a beta tester is the constant cycle of looking and applying for positions. Oftentimes, companies will sign you on to test other products of theirs, though, so it’s not all that bad.

With that in mind, you plop down in front of your computer with your food and power it on. Your headphones go around your neck for the time being. Typing your password with one hand and taking a bite of your sandwich with the other, you get to work pulling up your spreadsheets and the website you use for job hunting. 

It’s menial work. You keep track of what companies you apply to with your spreadsheets. Most of them have the same application process and requirements. It’s easy to lose yourself in the repetitive clicking, reading, and typing. With the addition of your headphones blasting music in your ears, you go on autopilot pretty easily. 

It’s while you’re making updates to your resume that you get startled, suddenly, by Sun. 

“Friend! Hello!” He pops up out of nowhere and makes you promptly choke on the sip of water you’d been taking. Loud! You set aside your water bottle and cough roughly into your fist, eyes tearing up from the abruptness of it all. Your heart gives a harsh, indignant ba-dump. Oww.

Once you’ve collected yourself and paused your music, you take a moment to stare confusedly at Sun, swaying happily side to side in front of the window of your resume. He smiles up at you. How the hell—? You hadn’t clicked on the FazPals icon, had you? No, no, you’re sure you didn’t. 

‘hi sun,’ you type slowly into the small window he had automatically opened for you when he appeared. You pause as his smile turns into a beam, then decide to ask him your burning question. ‘how r u active right now??’ 

“I got tired of waiting for you!” he replies, his rays bobbing in and out in a wave around his head. You wait to see if he’ll elaborate, but he doesn’t. Okay. Well. You make a note of that for later. 

Sun makes a show of turning around and looking at your resume window. He can’t… read the data on it, right? Wait, no, he probably can if he was able to do it with your computer’s Paint app. You bite the inside of your lip. You’re not sure how you feel about that, but well, it’s not like FazCo doesn’t already have your resume. Just in case, you switch tabs back to your spreadsheet. Better, if marginally.

Sun hums, then turns back to look at you with those blank eyes of his. “What’re you up to, Friend?”

‘just applying to some jobs,’ you reply unsurely. Is this weird? This is weird, isn’t it. Upon pressing enter, Sun moves to look at the little window thoughtfully. And perhaps, with some inkling of annoyance? It’s difficult to tell, but it’s the same look he will sometimes give his dialogue box. One of his hands raises to tap at the bottom of his face. Contemplative. He returns his gaze to you and tilts his head.

“Hey, Friend,” he starts, completely bypassing your previous response, “I have an idea.” 

You are wary, but you cannot deny the intrigue. ‘yes?’ 

His smile stretches at your encouragement. He clasps his hands together in front of him. “Just trust me!” 

You squint at him—his blithesome demeanor—but you aren’t able to reply. The textbox window closes, and a different one appears in the center of your screen: 

FazPals.exe is trying to access your microphone. Allow?

All your thoughts stutter to a complete stop. 

Processing text is one thing, but audio input? You suppose it’s not anything innovative in this day and age, but you hadn’t been expecting it particularly for a program like this. You know the animatronics back at the pizzaplex were pretty advanced with this sort of thing, so it’s not… too unusual for FazCo, right? It’s probably something you need to evaluate, you sigh internally. This is fine.

FazCo, you think to yourself wryly. Enough said.  

Apprehension still lining your movements, you click the ‘Allow’ button. The window disappears. Nothing really happens that you can see, but suddenly you are all too aware of the weight of your headphones sitting atop your head. You lick at your lips. 

Sun continues his swaying as he waits—expectant. “Friend?” There is a smidge of hope in his voice. 

“Yeah?” you respond, wincing at the crackle of your voice. That sip of water had really taken you out. You clear your throat. “Sorry. Yes?” 

The beam he gives you is enough to vye against the, well, sun. 

“Oh! Marvelous!” He practically leaps for joy, rays spinning up a storm as he wiggles in place. His eyes upturn into delighted crescents. “Simply marvelous! Friend, it is lovely to hear your voice! It has been so long since I’ve heard another.” Something creeps into his gaze that you… You’re not entirely sure you want to decipher it. 

“Friend,” Sun begins in a low, nonchalant voice. “I have a request! A simple one, really.” 

You raise an eyebrow. You are undoubtedly curious. “What is it?” 

“Can you say my name for me?” 

Oh. Weird, but okay. You comply, voice lifting at the end slightly. You are not nervous right now, thank you very much. “Sun.” 

A glitch rides down the length of his body in a jittering wave—starting from the tips of his rays to the soles of his shoes. His gaze falls into a half-lidded look. “Perfect,” he breathes, so quiet you almost need to strain your ears to hear. “Utterly perfect.” 

You blink at him, befuddled. The moment does not linger. He snaps back to his regular sway and bright-eyed expression. “So! You said you’re applying to jobs? What for?” 

“Uh, yeah,” you say, slightly distracted and disoriented by the whiplash from this guy. Program. Whatever. Your fingers had automatically moved to type your reply in, lingering over your keyboard. This will take some getting used to. You move your hands to rest awkwardly on your lap so you can fiddle with your fingers. “I’m a beta tester so I’ve gotta keep applying for positions in companies.” 

“Beta tester, huh?” Sun muses more to himself than anything. He seems to be deliberating something. “Hm. I see. For how long?” 

You make a thoughtful sound. “Mm, for a while now. I can’t remember the exact timeframe. It’s enough to pay the bills, so I can’t complain.” You are ever so thankful that the ease in interacting with him transferred so neatly from texting to talking.

“Of course, of course!” Sun bows, then slides off to the right of your screen to nestle himself in the corner with the date and time. He tucks his hands behind his back. “Well! Don’t let me distract you! Carry on!” 

“Right…” you trail off, uncertain. You eye him standing just out of the way of your work—enough that you can ignore him if you zone in on what’s directly in front of you. Well, FazCo did say their program is a “virtual desktop friend.” Hanging around your screen when you’re not immediately engaging with it seems like an attribute it should be able to do. You shrug to yourself and go back to editing your resume. 

…It’s very quiet. 

Oh wait, music! You forgot to start it up again. You mess around with the volume mixer on your computer so you can continue to play your music whilst also being able to properly hear Sun should he decide to start talking. That is, without bursting your eardrums. You lose yourself to the tunes, accompanied on occasion by the rhythmic tapping of your keyboard. 

At one point you notice Sun changes the pacing of his swaying. And upon closer look, you realize he’s moving to the beat of the song booming through your headphones. His rays move like a volume meter, raising and lowering around his head in a circular formation depending on the strength of the audio.

“I like this song!” he says like he can sense your eyes on his pixelated form. “Never heard something like this before!” 

“Really?” You adjust the volume mixer a little. Better. 

“Yep! My music repertoire is rather lacking, I’m afraid.” 

“You’re in luck, then,” you say eagerly as you pull up your music player and shuffle through a playlist you think he might like. “This is what I call The Greatest Hits of All Time.” You press play and grin when Sun does a little wiggle in excitement. 

He’s content to sway in time with whichever song’s playing as you slowly finish up with your work for the day. You’re a bit surprised at how long he goes without really saying anything. But, of course, he eventually gets bored. Patience, you think, is not one of his core features. Or, well, he is patient to an extent. Something tells you he was not programmed to stay quiet for long periods of time.

In the corner of your eye, you notice he starts juggling. It’s small, at first. Just two red balls that he throws up and down and up and down, shuffling them to opposite hands all the while. Then it becomes three balls. Then four. Your gaze flicks to him from time to time, but you’re determined to get through just a couple more applications and then your timesheets before you call it quits. 

You break when he hits eleven balls, his grin curling enticingly at the edges concomitantly. “Bored, are you?” 

“Oh, immensely!” He throws up his hands in feigned distress and the plethora of balls come raining down upon him in a move befitting of a cartoon. They bonk him repeatedly on the head and bounce away on the top of your taskbar. You watch in amusement as one rolls across your screen and disappears past the left border. Sun is unperturbed. “Are ya done yet?” 

“Not quite,” you say and he groans, tossing his head back. You roll your eyes in good nature. 

“You can multitask, can’t you?” he presses, clasping his hands together in a plea. “Let’s chat!” 

“Okay, okay,” you acquiesce. You’re sure he would keep pestering you otherwise. He cheers and immediately hops right into it. 

“What do you like to do for fun? What’s your favorite food? Do you have any other friends? What about your family? Do you like g-glitter glue? What’s the highest education level you have? Do you have a favorite piece of media? What’s your deepest, darkest secret? What’s your opinion on Fizzy Faz? What’s your favorite animal—”

“Whoa, Sun! Slow down!” you yelp, mind spinning with all the rapidfire questions. The text in his dialogue box had been moving so quickly you hadn’t been able to make out a single word. 

“Sorry!” he says, though he doesn’t quite sound all too apologetic. His eyes upturn. “I want to know aaalllll about you! How else will we be best friends?”

“By taking it easy,” you reply in what you hope is a meaningful manner. He at least has the decency to look abashed. You huff out a laugh, then do your best to remember what questions he’d asked. You’re already blanking on some. “Okay, well, uhh. I like to read and watch videos. I do have other friends and family, but I don’t live with them. Glitter glue is okay when it’s not literally everywhere. I don’t have any deepest, darkest secrets, sorry. Uhh—”

“Don’t forget about your favorite food!” Sun cuts across you, trying to be helpful, most likely. “And education level! And your favorite media!” 

“Right, right…” 

You’re not sure how long you spend answering his many, many questions (of which you’re sure he has an infinite amount), but it feels like ages. You have been thoroughly distracted, and you can’t even be incensed about it. 

As the evening settles in with a hush and it gets closer and closer to seven o’clock, you find yourself thinking about Moon. 

“Do you know what it feels like to b u r n?”

You suppress a shiver. 

You take a moment to deliberate in your mind, then eye Sun. He’s busy prattling off his excitement over wanting to watch a movie with you. Gently, you interrupt him. “Hey, is it cool if I ask you a question?” 

“Oh!” Sun looks at you wide-eyed, momentarily taken aback before he smiles encouragingly. “Of course, Friend! Ask away!” 

“What’s the deal with Moon?” 

If you hadn’t been already watching him, you wouldn’t have noticed. He freezes in place for a split second, then resumes his swaying so suddenly it’s almost like he’d forced himself to. Ever so minutely, the corner of his smile twitches. “Why ever would you ask me?”

“Well…” Your fingers tap idly along the surface of your desk. Shouldn’t he know since they’re part of the same software? You resist questioning him further. “He doesn’t seem like he wants to engage with me.” 

Sun waves a hand in dismissal. “Ah! He’s being dramatic, probably! Moon is… Well! I will say he is rather….” His grin turns taut, like a wire about to snap. “...Difficult to get along with.” That tautness disappears with a bob of his rays, as though it had never been there in the first place. “Worry not, Friend! You still have little old me to talk to!” 

“Yeah…” You’re confused. You thought dual programming with personalities such as Sun and Moon would make them mesh together pretty well. It’s difficult to tell with Sun. He’d made it seem like they both were on decent terms with previous transitions. You suppose not. Is it even possible for their A.I.s to interact with one another? You’re not sure how it works.

“Speaking of which,” Sun says as he makes a show of looking down at an invisible watch on his wrist. “It is time for me to go!” He sighs, faux sadness making him droop down like he’s a melting popsicle. “And after we’ve been having such a good time together.” 

“Mmhm,” you agree, something akin to nerves crawling just under your skin with every second that ticks by. Why are you nervous? “I’ll see you tomorrow, buddy.” 

He grins at you, flicking a hand in farewell. “I bid you”—a dark hole appears near his feet, and you watch as he steps over it with a wink—“adieeuuuuuuu!” He disappears, dropping into the hole with his voice getting fainter and fainter until it’s cut off by the hole popping to a close. Silly. 

You let out a breath and look at the time. 7:00 P.M. Right on the dot. You shift in your seat and wait for Moon. You’re not sure what crawled up his digital ass and died, but you’re determined to at least get him to have a proper conversation with you. Not only for your job, you think, as you navigate to your email to open the submission form, but for camaraderie’s sake, as well. 

“Camaraderie” with a program, you think to yourself dryly. What a world we live in.

7:03 P.M. and still no sign of Moon. This is fine. You can wait. You try not to waver.

…You call it quits when he doesn’t appear after another ten minutes. Disappointing, yet unsurprising. You should have expected it, really. You sigh and take off your headphones, leaning back in your chair. You rub at the side of your head. Your television drones on in the background with the news, still on after all this time. 

Honestly, how are you supposed to evaluate him when he shows up and disappears in unpredictable intervals? It’s a conundrum, truly. Does that not go against his entire code? His purpose? You don’t know anymore. You roll your shoulders and decide to finish up your work from earlier.  

Tomorrow, you think resolutely. Tomorrow you’ll try again.

part three

[sundeathh]

Trimmed

ONE-SHOT | MASTERLIST

Pairing: Aizawa × GN!Reader • Words: 1,6 K

Summary: A haircut tale

Tags: slice-of-life, cute, fluffy, romantic stuff

CW: none worth mentioning. SFW

The apartment was cloaked in the cozy ambiance of evening, the soft glow of lamps casting warm pockets of light in the living room. As the door creaked open, announcing Aizawa's return, the air seemed to shift with expectancy.

It wasn't the kind of anticipation that made a person’s heart leap. Instead it felt more like the sort of expectation that came from people waiting for their loved ones to get home at regular basis for weeks on end, filled with both excitement and anxiety bubbling up inside.

Even after years of marriage, you still had butterflies for him whenever he entered the room you were in.

"I'm back," Aizawa's gravelly, deep voice resonated through the space, carrying the weight of a taxing day. He unburdened himself of his shoes and bag, the fatigue etched on his features. The journey down the building's hallway felt like a gradual shedding of the day's strain. 

"Hey, Sho, welcome back!" You called from the kitchen, your voice a gentle melody amid the quiet that once reigned in the place. "Long day?" You asked, your eyes landing on his tense figure.

He nodded, pausing at the kitchen's doorway before offering a small smile. "Yeah, you could say that."

The smell of cooking food wafted towards him as his gaze swept over the room. The counter was covered in various ingredients, some in the middle of the cooking process and others just sitting there in piles, ready to be added to the mix when needed. 

"Did everything go well today?" You asked, turning around from the stove to greet him properly with a kiss on the cheek. He returned it affectionately, leaning against your body for comfort and security, but only for the briefest moments before pulling back to take a look at you.

"Yep," he responded, the same way he always did every time. He was never one for long talks or unnecessary details about his day, preferring instead to focus his attention on how you were doing instead.

"How are you feeling today? Anything interesting happened while I was gone?" He questioned, reluctantly pulling away from your welcoming embrace to remove his binding cloth from around his neck. 

"I'm feeling alright." You answered truthfully before proceeding with a small shrug. "And not really. The highest point of my day was going grocery shopping. It was a tiring work though, so I didn't do much after that."

"Ah, right," the hero nodded knowingly, his cloth now hanging around one of his arms. "Next time you go grocery shopping, remember that I have to be there too." Aizawa reached out his free arm and gently pulled you into another tight hug.

Your arms wrapped around his torso in return, your face pressed against his chest. "And put even more tasks on your overly busy day? No way." Your tone was playful, but there was an undertone of concern that Aizawa picked up on instantly. 

"If anything, I should be the one getting all the chores done on this end, since you're not here as much as I am. I don't want you working yourself too hard," you protested.

His head rested on top of yours, his hair tickling your skin lightly. "Still, I'd rather it be me than you," he said firmly. "Besides, it makes me feel bad knowing I'm making it so hard on you due to my workload." 

You sighed fondly. "You know I wouldn't mind helping out if I could." You stated, hoping to make it clear to him that you didn't mind. But there was nothing else you could say to change his mind, so you simply agreed with him with a small pout.

You carefully untangled yourself from his tight but gentle grip, searching for his eyes. "C'mon, sexy, go wash off the sweat and dirt that's clinging to your face. Dinner is gonna be ready soon," you told him with a soft voice.

He let out a tiny chuckle before walking towards the bathroom, a fond, small smile adorning his lips. You smiled at the warm feeling in your chest, and then went back to your cooking, the sound of running water following shortly thereafter.

As he retreated to the bathroom, a cascade of garments left in his wake, and the warmth of the shower soothed his sore muscles as he rinsed away the dust that had accumulated during his arduous workday.

Shower felt even better than normal after a tiring and long day, and his shoulders loosened as he stepped under the steaming showerhead. 

He had his eyes closed and his mouth partially open as he used it to breathe while the water poured over his head, rinsing the shampoo away from his scalp. It was an intimate and vulnerable moment. It was also calming.

After cleaning himself up, he stepped out to dry his body and get dressed in his sleepwear – a pair of loose pants and a simple t-shirt.

Upon checking to make sure everything was alright with his appearance, Aizawa stared at his reflection in the slightly fogged-up mirror. His gaze lingered on the unruly curtain of long bangs that veiled his eyes, now being an unintended consequence of neglect amid the demands of his work.

The weariness etched in his features was momentarily eclipsed by a bemused frown. Aizawa ran his fingers through the disheveled and damp strands, a silent acknowledgment of the overdue task at hand.

He brushed his hair, aware of how his bangs were almost reaching his chin. Putting the hairbrush down, he tried his best to comb them again with his fingers, trying to make his hair less wild and disorderly.

After a few minutes of struggling, he sighed exasperatedly, giving up his attempts. What good would a couple of extra combing do him anyway? It was getting too long. It was bound to become an issue sooner or later.

In defeat, Aizawa emerged from the bathroom, a towel draped over his shoulders, his usually unkempt hair dripping slightly. He stood in the doorway again, gazing at you with a hint of weariness.

"Is dinner almost ready?" He inquired, his eyes flicking towards the culinary ballet that persisted while he was in the shower.

You glanced over your shoulder, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Almost. Just finishing up. Why? Hungry?"

He scratched the back of his head, a familiar gesture of contemplation. "Not just that," he admitted, his gaze turning to the bathroom's door for a moment. "I think it's time I did something about this." His hand gestured towards the curtain of his disheveled bangs.

Your eyes followed the unspoken cue, understanding what he meant. Setting down the spatula, you approached him, your fingers lightly grazing the strands that shielded his eyes.

"Want me to do something about it?" You asked, your tone teasing yet sincere. Aizawa's eyes met yours, a silent acknowledgment passing between you, and he muttered. "If you don't mind."

You tiptoed, pressing a chaste kiss against his cheek, and smiled. "Don't be shy," you murmured. With a gentle gesture, you guided him to a chair at the kitchen table, the aroma of the cooking dinner enveloping both of you.

As he sat down, you walked over to the bathroom, searching for a comb and for the box that held secure your sharp hair scissors.

"Ready for a change?" You teased, after coming back to the kitchen and getting closer to where he sat, standing in front of him. Your fingers ran softly through his damp hair.

Aizawa huffed, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Just don't cut it too short, please. I like it longer."

The corners of your mouth quirked slightly, and you nodded in response, combing his hair in a bun before tying a elastic around it, securing the bun as a temporary fix to prevent his locks from getting in the dangerous way of the scissors.

As you moved on to combing his fringe next, you noticed Aizawa closing his eyes, the tension in his frame gradually decreasing. The sight warmed your heart, and the peaceful atmosphere settled around you as you focused on combing his hair, gently moving the comb through his bangs, careful not to damage it.

You gently lifted his chin to get a better look, and after a minute or two of gentle combing, your hand finally stopped its motion to reach for the scissors you had placed on the table. "Don't move now, okay?" You whispered gently, the words accompanied by a gentle touch to his head.

"Mhm," Aizawa hummed softly in agreement. He kept his eyes closed and continued motionless, the tactile sensation of hair falling gently through your hand heightened the intimacy of the moment.

He finally allowed himself to relax under your touch. The occasional snip of the shears resonated like a quiet melody, punctuating the soothing ambiance.

"You're surprisingly good at this," Aizawa remarked, breaking the comfortable silence.

You chuckled. "I've had some practice. Plus, it's a small way to take care of you." 

He hummed once again, his hands resting loosely on top of his lap, now completely relaxed.

You carefully trimmed away the last remaining locks of hair, brushing his hair until only half the mess remained.

After taking a small step back from your handy work, you admired it. "Done. I didn't cut it too much. It'll still keep its fluffy quality, don't worry."

Aizawa opened his eyes and gazed up to meet yours, and his eyes softened, his expression becoming more serene by the second. 

Taking the scissors from your hand and placing them back on the table, he grabbed your other hand into his, pulling it towards his lips in a gentle hold. He placed a kiss on the back of your hand. "Thank you. That was very kind of you."

You shook your head, smiling in amusement. "No need to thank me, love. We both know I'd help you with whatever you needed even without you saying anything. You deserve to be taken care of every once in awhile." You squeezed his hand slightly as he leaned forward, pressing another chaste kiss onto your knuckles, his stubble tickling the soft skin of your fingers.

After pulling away from touching your hands, he stood up, a gentle smile on his face. "Let's finish up with dinner," he said, ready to assist you.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated!

[s4svnn]

Out of bounds . JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; his love subjected you to the true extent of deception, a merciless lie wrapped in the illusion of paradise, until the truth tore it apart - he was always out of bounds.

↳ Jungkook x reader

↳ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing

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

Chapter Nineteen

The moment I began to stir, I regretted it. My body felt heavy and a deep, persistent ache pulsed through every muscle, making it nearly impossible to even think about moving. My eyelids refused to open, glued shut by exhaustion, and I groaned softly into the pillow, unwilling to leave the comfort of the bed despite the torment.

But the sharpness of the pain that shot through my lower back when I shifted slightly made it clear: staying still wasn’t going to save me. The soreness wasn’t just localised—it was everywhere, a throbbing reminder of the sheer relentlessness of Jungkook’s stamina last night.

"Ugh," I muttered, my voice hoarse and dry, cracking under the weight of frustration and fatigue.

Without opening my eyes, I reached out instinctively toward his side of the bed, already plotting his demise. My hand landed on cold, undisturbed sheets—nothing but emptiness. Confusion crept in, mingling with the dull irritation already brewing within me.

I pried one eye open, squinting against the soft light filtering in through the curtains. His side of the bed was empty. Neatly made, as if he hadn’t been there at all.

“Great,” I muttered darkly, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I let my head flop back against the pillow. “You got lucky this time.”

I stared at the ceiling for a moment, willing myself to calm down, but the soreness refused to let me rest. Every inch of me felt overworked, strained, and painfully stiff. My legs in particular felt useless, a dead weight attached to my body that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to control.

"Shit," I mumbled, dragging a hand through my hair. My fingers got caught in a tangled web of knots, pulling sharply against my scalp. I winced, letting out a hiss of frustration. A glance at the bedside clock told me it was later than I thought—too late to justify lying there any longer, no matter how much my body protested. With a deep breath, I planted my hands firmly on the mattress and began the monumental task of sitting up.

The second I shifted my weight, the ache in my thighs flared up, sharp and unforgiving. I froze, gripping the edge of the bed as I clenched my teeth to suppress a yelp.

“Damn it, Jungkook,” I hissed under my breath.

Eventually, I managed to sit up, though every movement felt like it took twice the effort it should. My legs dangled over the edge of the bed, toes brushing against the cool floor, and I took a moment to steady myself before attempting to stand.

Big mistake.

As soon as I tried to put weight on my legs, they buckled beneath me. I stumbled forward, catching myself against the nightstand with a muffled curse.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, half-laughing at the absurdity of it all. The soreness, the exhaustion, the inability to even stand properly—it was all his fault.

“I’m seriously going to kill him,” I grumbled, hauling myself upright with the help of the nightstand. My legs wobbled beneath me, weak and unsteady, but I managed to stay upright this time, albeit with a lot of effort.

As I finally steadied myself, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached for it, wincing as the ache in my shoulders flared up with the movement. Unlocking the screen, I saw a message from Jungkook.

Jungkook: I’m at work. Try not to burn the house down.

I stared at the screen for a second, my lips twitching as the nerve of this man sank in. I typed back, fingers flying over the keyboard despite the lingering ache in my arms.

Me: Don’t worry, if anything catches fire, I’ll make sure it’s your closet first.

Satisfied, I hit send and leaned back against the headboard with a smirk. Moments later, the three little dots popped up, showing he was typing a reply.

Jungkook: Touch my closet, and you’re paying for it. My suits are worth more than your life.

Me: Debatable. You’re lucky I can’t walk right now, or I’d make you regret this entire conversation.

The dots appeared again before disappearing entirely, and I imagined him chuckling to himself in his office. He always had a way of infuriating me while somehow making me laugh at the same time.

Setting the phone down, I pushed myself up with more determination this time. My legs still protested, but I managed to shuffle my way to the bathroom without toppling over. The bathroom was as much a sanctuary as the rest of the house—a sleek combination of black marble and warm wood, with a massive rainfall shower taking up one wall.

I leaned against the sink, turning on the faucet to splash cold water on my face. The sensation woke me up further, chasing away the last remnants of sleep. Peering into the mirror, I assessed the damage from last night: messy hair, slightly puffy eyes, and faint bruises scattered across my neck and shoulders. I looked exactly how I felt—wrecked.

After brushing my teeth and taming my unruly hair into a somewhat presentable state, I opted for a quick shower. The hot water was both a blessing and a curse, soothing my muscles while simultaneously reminding me just how sore I was. By the time I stepped out, wrapped in a plush towel, I felt somewhat human again, though the soreness remained a stubborn companion.

I dressed in a pair of black leggings and a loose sweatshirt, tying my hair back into a high ponytail. Sitting around all day wasn’t an option—I needed to shake off the stiffness somehow, and an idea struck me. Jungkook’s gym.

He’d insisted on turning one of the spare rooms into his personal workout space, complete with state-of-the-art equipment that he used religiously. I hadn’t spent much time in there, preferring my own routines, but today, it felt like the perfect excuse to explore.

Making my way downstairs, I pushed open the door to his gym. The room was massive, with floor-to-ceiling mirrors covering one wall and large windows letting in plenty of natural light. The equipment was meticulously arranged—rows of free weights, a squat rack, an incline bench, and several high-tech machines I didn’t even know the names of.

In one corner, there was a punching bag suspended from the ceiling, and nearby, a treadmill and a stationary bike were positioned in front of a mounted TV. The floor was a combination of polished wood and thick, durable mats, and everything about the space screamed Jungkook—sleek, functional, and annoyingly perfect.

I walked further inside, running my fingers over the weights as I considered where to start. My body wasn’t up for anything intense, but light stretches or a slow walk on the treadmill might help ease the tension.

Deciding on the treadmill, I set it to a low speed and started walking. Each step was a reminder of how overworked my muscles were, but the movement felt good—therapeutic, even. I focused on the rhythmic sound of my footsteps, letting my thoughts wander.

A part of me wanted to text Jungkook again, just to pester him, but I refrained. Knowing him, he’d probably use it as an excuse to tease me further. Instead, I finished my warm-up and moved to the stretching area, rolling out a yoga mat and sinking into a seated position.

As I stretched, I couldn’t help but think about last night. Despite the soreness and the frustration it brought, there was something undeniably satisfying about the memory—something that made the ache almost worth it.

After finishing my stretches, I began to gather my things to leave the gym. But just as I was reaching for my water bottle, something caught my eye—Jungkook’s boxing gloves, casually draped over a stool in the corner of the room.

I paused, staring at them. They looked so well-worn, the leather slightly scuffed from what I could only imagine were countless hours of use. Something about them drew me in, as though they carried a challenge of their own.

I hesitated for a moment, debating whether I really wanted to do this. Then I shrugged to myself. “Why not?”

Grabbing the gloves, I slid them on, fumbling a little with the straps until they were secure. They were heavier than I’d expected, the weight pulling slightly on my wrists, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. With a glance at the punching bag hanging in the center of the room, I felt a spark of determination light within me.

I squared my shoulders, bounced lightly on the balls of my feet the way I thought boxers did, and threw my first punch.

It was embarrassing.

The bag barely moved, and my wrist bent in a way that sent a small jolt of discomfort up my arm. Wincing, I pulled back and shook my hand out.

“Okay,” I muttered under my breath, adjusting my stance. “Let’s try that again.”

The next punch wasn’t much better. The bag wobbled slightly, almost mockingly, but it refused to swing back the way I wanted it to.

“Seriously?” I groaned, glaring at the punching bag as if it were the problem. Undeterred, I reset my position and kept going, landing punch after punch in an uncoordinated flurry of frustration.

I was so focused on producing a positive result that I didn’t even hear him come in.

“Is that all you’ve got?”

The deep, amused voice startled me, and I froze mid-swing. Spinning around, I was met with the sight of Jungkook leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed and his ever-present smirk plastered across his annoyingly perfect face.

Heat crept up my cheeks as I struggled to come up with a response. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have work?”

“Got off early,” he said with a shrug, his eyes gleaming with barely restrained amusement as he stepped into the gym. “And lucky me, I get to witness this masterpiece.” He gestured toward me with a flick of his hand.

I scowled, punching the bag again out of pure spite. “Don’t you have something better to do than stand there and critique me?”

“Not really,” he said with an insufferable grin. “This is way more entertaining.”

“Entertaining?” I echoed, narrowing my eyes. “How about I entertain your face with this punching bag?”

He laughed outright, the sound warm and unbothered as he crossed the room toward me. “Relax,” he said, stopping a few feet away. “You’re not exactly making me fear for my life over here.”

“I’d like to see you do better,” I snapped, crossing my arms.

He raised a brow, clearly enjoying the challenge in my tone. “ I can do better. So you want me to teach you? Or are you planning to keep embarrassing yourself?”

My jaw clenched, his cocky attitude grating on my nerves. “Fine. Teach me. But don’t think I’m just going to stand here and let you boss me around.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said smoothly, closing the distance between us. “First thing’s first—your stance is all wrong.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but before I could say anything, he circled around me like a predator sizing up its prey.

“Feet apart, about shoulder-width,” he instructed, nudging at my legs with his foot. “You’ve got to be stable, but not stiff. Think balance, not bricks.”

I adjusted my footing, glancing over my shoulder at him. “Like this?”

“Closer,” he said, stepping in front of me now. “But you’re too stiff. Loosen up. This isn’t a statue contest.”

I scowled at his teasing, but I rolled my shoulders and shook out my arms, trying to relax. “Better?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Before I could retort Jungkook stepped even closer, the space between us shrinking until I could feel the warmth of his chest behind me. His hands settled back on my waist, firm and sure, and I froze momentarily, the proximity throwing off my concentration.

“First things first,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with authority. “You’re way too tense. Boxing isn’t just about brute force—it’s about control. Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” I mumbled, though my body betrayed me, rigid and stiff under his touch.

He chuckled, the sound low and amused. “No, you’re not. Here—let me show you.”

Before I could react, his hands slipped under the hem of my hoodie, his fingers spreading across the bare skin of my lower back. I sucked in a sharp breath, the sudden contact sending a jolt through my system. His touch was warm and firm but not rough, I could feel the calluses on his fingertips brushing lightly against me as he moved.

“You’re holding all this tension here,” he said, his thumbs pressing gently against the muscles on either side of my spine. His hands began to move, gliding upward slowly, tracing the curves of my back with deliberate precision. “You need to let go of it. You’re too rigid—you won’t be able to move freely like this.”

His hands stopped just beneath my shoulder blades, and he applied a bit more pressure, his fingers kneading the tightness there. I exhaled shakily, trying to focus on his words instead of the way his touch made my skin tingle.

“Feel that?” he asked, his voice a low murmur near my ear. “This is where you’re locking up. It’s throwing off your balance.”

I nodded silently, too flustered to form a coherent response.

Jungkook’s hands slid back down, his thumbs grazing along the sides of my torso now. “You need to engage these muscles here,” he explained, his fingers pressing lightly into the softer flesh at my sides. “This is where your power comes from—not just your arms. Your whole body has to work together.”

I swallowed hard, nodding again. “Okay, I think I get it.”

“You think?” he teased, his smirk evident even though I wasn’t looking at him. “Let’s test it.”

He stepped back slightly, his hands still resting on my sides, and shifted my hips with a gentle push. “Now pivot your waist, like this,” he instructed, moving me through the motion. “Feel that twist? That’s where you’ll generate the force for your punches.”

I tried to follow his lead, twisting my waist the way he showed me. But my body still felt awkward, like it wasn’t cooperating.

“Here,” he said, and before I knew it, his hands were back on my back again, his palms pressing gently against different muscles. “You’re not tightening these enough. You’ve got to control them without locking up completely.”

His hands moved with purpose, tracing along my lower back, then up to my shoulders again, all the while murmuring instructions. I could feel the strength in his touch, the careful precision as he guided me, and it was maddeningly distracting.

“Jungkook,” I said finally, half-turning to look at him. “Do you have to touch me this much?”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “How else are you going to learn? You said you wanted me to teach you.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to ignore the heat creeping up my neck. “Fine. Just… keep your hands where they need to be, okay?”

“We’ll see,” he said with a wink, stepping back just enough to give me a little space. “Now, let’s try that punch again. Remember—relax your shoulders, engage your core, and let the power flow through your whole body.”

I turned back to the punching bag, shaking off the lingering tension. I squared my shoulders, adjusted my stance, and swung, putting everything I had into the movement.

The bag swung back harder this time, the sound of the impact echoing through the room.

Jungkook let out a low whistle. “Not bad,” he said, clearly impressed.

"I’d be even better if someone wasn’t so rough with me last night," I muttered, the words slipping out before I could fully control them.

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening in response. "Rough?" he repeated, his tone playful, but there was an edge of curiosity there. "I guess you're feeling the aftermath then."

I shot him a look, my mouth curling into a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. "You’re lucky I can’t walk properly right now, or I’d show you just how much it really affected me."

He took a step forward, his grin only deepening. "Is that a challenge?" His voice was low, almost teasing.

I met his gaze, heart pounding slightly in my chest. "What do you think?" I shot back, my posture straightening despite the lingering soreness.

Jungkook’s eyes flickered with amusement, but also something more—a spark that didn’t sit well with my thoughts. "Well, if you can stand upright long enough, I guess I didn’t go hard enough."

My chest tightened, but I forced out a laugh, trying to deflect the heat rising between us. "You really think I’ll let you get away with that?"

He leaned in, his presence so overpowering I could barely think straight. "It’s not about getting away with it," he murmured, his breath brushing against my ear. "It’s about you learning your limits."

Before I could react, he stepped back, a playful yet knowing look on his face. "But, hey, no pressure."

“I’ll show you limits,” I snapped, irritation flashing in my voice. “How about we settle this properly? You and me are gonna box right now.”

Jungkook blinked at me, and then a slow, dangerous grin spread across his face. “You want to fight me?” His tone was light, but the amusement in his eyes was unmistakable.

I crossed my arms over my chest, planting my feet firmly on the mat. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Unless you’re too scared to lose to someone who’s ‘embarrassing themselves’ of course.”

The way his eyebrows shot up told me I’d struck a nerve. He tilted his head, considering me for a moment, and then he nodded. “Alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He sauntered over to the rack where his gloves and wraps were stored, pulling on his gear with practiced ease. Watching him was almost hypnotic—the way his fingers moved quickly over the straps, the casual flex of his forearms as he tightened them. But I shoved the distraction aside.

I turned back to the punching bag, bouncing lightly on my toes to loosen up as he finished getting ready. When he turned to face me, the playful grin on his face made me want to wipe it clean with a solid punch.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice still full of that infuriating confidence.

“Are you?” I retorted, slipping into what I hoped was an intimidating stance.

Jungkook smirked. “Alright, let’s do this. No holding back, I’m not wiping your tears when you lose.”

He stepped forward, and we began circling each other. My heart was racing, and I could feel the adrenaline kicking in. I threw the first punch—sloppy and uncoordinated, but I aimed straight for his chest.

Jungkook dodged easily, his movements fluid and almost lazy. “That’s it?”

Gritting my teeth, I tried again, aiming higher this time. He blocked it with one arm, his grin widening as he stepped closer. “You’re telegraphing everything. You need to—”

I cut him off with a wild swing toward his ribs, but he sidestepped so quickly that I almost stumbled forward. Before I could regain my footing, he tapped me lightly on the shoulder with his glove, grinning.

“Point for me,” he teased.

“Ugh, shut up!” I snapped, lunging forward with another punch.

What followed was a blur of movement—me swinging and missing, him dodging effortlessly, occasionally countering with light, controlled taps that barely registered as hits but were enough to bruise my ego.

Sweat dripped down my forehead as I gasped for breath. My muscles were screaming, and my form was falling apart with every failed attempt to land a hit. Meanwhile, Jungkook barely seemed winded, his breathing steady, his movements precise.

“Alright, let’s stop,” he said after dodging another wild swing from me. “You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep going like that.”

“I’m not done!” I shot back, panting.

Jungkook chuckled, but his expression softened slightly. “You’ve got heart, I’ll give you that. But I’m way out of your league.”

I knew he was right, but I wasn’t about to admit defeat. With a burst of stubborn energy, I lunged at him, my arms outstretched. Instead of throwing a punch, I tackled him around the waist, catching him off guard.

For a split second, I thought I had him. My momentum carried us both backward, and he staggered, his balance faltering. But then, with a twist of his body that seemed almost too quick to be real, he flipped us over.

Before I knew it, I was flat on my back on the mat, and Jungkook was hovering over me, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand. His face was inches from mine, and the smirk he wore was infuriatingly smug.

“Well, that was cute,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “But you’re not winning this one.”

I glared up at him, struggling against his grip, but he didn’t budge. His strength was overwhelming, and the way his body pressed against mine made it impossible to focus.

“Get off me,” I growled, though the heat in my cheeks betrayed my embarrassment.

“Not until you admit you’re outmatched,” he countered, his grin widening.

I wriggled beneath him, trying to dislodge him, but it was no use. The more I moved, the more I felt the solid weight of his body against mine.

“Fine,” I huffed, finally giving up. “You win. Happy now?”

Jungkook’s smirk softened into something almost affectionate. “Very.”

For a moment, we stayed like that, the room falling silent except for the sound of our breathing. His eyes locked onto mine, and the playful edge in his expression faded into something deeper, something that made my heart race for an entirely different reason.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice softer now, “you’re not half bad. For a beginner.”

“Gee, thanks,” I muttered, my sarcasm weak under the intensity of his gaze.

Jungkook chuckled, his grip on my wrists loosening slightly. “You’re fun to fight with.”

Before I could respond, he leaned down, his nose brushing lightly against mine. The sudden intimacy of the moment caught me off guard, and I froze, my breath hitching.

“Maybe we should spar more often,” he murmured, his lips curving into a mischievous smile.

I narrowed my eyes at him, though my pulse was racing. “If sparring always ends with you pinning me, I’m not sure I’m interested.”

His smile widened. “Let’s alter the ending a bit then.”

I tilted my head, frowning in confusion. "What?"

Jungkook’s eyes gleamed with mischief, his expression unreadable but undeniably magnetic. Before I could fully process his intentions, he closed the distance between us in one smooth movement, his hands gripping my hips.

“Wait—” I started, but my words were cut off as he bent slightly and pulled my legs out from under me with a practiced ease.

A small gasp escaped my lips as he hoisted me up effortlessly, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist for balance. My hands shot up, gripping his shoulders as I stared at him in shock, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.

“What are you doing?” I managed to stammer, my voice shaky but laced with defiance.

He tilted his head, his gaze dropping to my lips before meeting my eyes again. “Changing the ending,” he said simply, his voice low and rich with intent.

Before I could respond, his lips were on mine—soft, warm, and completely disarming. I froze for a split second, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy, but then my body reacted instinctively.

My fingers dug into his shoulders as I melted into him, the soreness in my muscles forgotten in the face of the heat spreading between us.

His hands tightened around my waist, pulling me closer against him as the kiss deepened. The world seemed to fall away, leaving nothing but the feel of his lips, the warmth of his body against mine, and the electric pull that had been simmering between us all along.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breath coming out in soft pants. “See? Much better ending,” he murmured, his voice husky and laced with satisfaction.

I blinked at him, still trying to catch my breath. “You could’ve warned me,” I muttered, though my words lacked any real bite.

He smirked, his hands sliding up to cradle my back. “Where’s the fun in that?”

I rolled my eyes, though the flush on my cheeks gave me away. “So, this is what you call sparring now?”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through me as he shifted his hold to keep me securely against him. “Only with you,” he said, his tone playful yet undeniably sincere.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or scold him, so I settled for resting my head on his shoulder, hiding the grin that tugged at my lips. "You’re impossible," I murmured.

“And yet,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer, more teasing tone, “you can’t seem to resist me.”

I groaned, lifting my head to glare at him, though the heat in his gaze quickly weakened my resolve. “Don’t let it go to your head,” I warned.

“Too late,” he quipped, leaning in to steal another kiss.

Next

[desires-of-chain]

Sleepy and Divine

Finally back with the promised chronic pain/fatigue smut with Warriors! This has been my favourite to write so far - it turned out a lot softer and more tender than I had originally planned, and I'm super happy with it. Also very heavy on the worship kink which I will NOT apologise for. Who's gonna say no to receiving devoted love and attention from a handsome captain? Not me! I will slightly apologise for my blatant favouritism of the petname 'darling', which I only realised was a common thread through all of my fics about three quarters of the way through this one. It's just.... so good.

As with the other chronic pain fic, small psa for those not in the know: reader is aware of their own limits and both them and Warriors know how to handle anything changing - the sexytimes is informed. You do what you can with what you've been given, and sometimes that means having fun then sleeping the entire next day away lmao. Again, this is mentioned in its own way in the fic but I wanted to clarify. I also wrote this reader to be afab, but only the genitalia is described with any sort of gendered language, chest and pronouns left neutral.

With that all out of the way, onto the tender love making <;3

Content: AFAB reader, eating out, fingering, vaginal sex, Warriors' raging worship kink. Reader has chronic pain in their knees, chronic fatigue, and uses a cane.

Word count: 2776

----

The bright lights are starting to get too much. The ball has been at full swing all night, dancing and joyous conversation in celebration of a recent military victory that your group had a hand in. Drinks are aplenty, food abundant, everyone in finery to honour the heroes of the land. But after hours of polite conversation, congratulations, and quite a bit of dancing with Warriors, you're approaching the end of your rope.

You try to follow along with the conversation you're currently having despite the fogginess coming over your brain. The women had approached you a few minutes ago to congratulate, praising your ability to keep up with the famed Heroes of Hyrule all on your lonesome, raving about your rumoured unique form of magic never before seen, and generally cooing over your relationship with the Captain. They’re quite lovely, all things considered, eager to know your talents and happy that you make the Link of this time happy - who in their eyes is a savior that deserves everything good in the world.

Speaking of…

Warriors sidles up beside you with a gentle hand against your lower back and a charming “Sorry to interrupt, everyone.” He’s wearing a gorgeous military jacket in his signature green, cropped at the waist and paired with tight cream trousers. His scarf is around his shoulders like always, but it’s been cleaned and repaired with the utmost care - you wouldn’t be able to tell it was the same one he's worn into battle countless times. He's also wearing eyeliner.

You make eye contact, and his brilliant smile momentarily wipes all exhaustion away. The ladies coo again.

“The man of the hour, so wonderful of you to join us! Your darling here has been great company, telling us about all the things you've seen on your travels together. Lake Hylia sounds like a great date spot, if you ever return, I'd say.”

“That sounds like a great idea. Unfortunately though, as much as I'd like to stay and chat, I came here to steal my darling away for a spell, if you don't mind?” He hits the ladies with his award winning smile, the one you can tell is slightly fake but very convincing, and it works immediately. They shoo you off together with a teasing “Have fun, lovebirds!” and just like that, you're being led away from the crowds and into the surrounding corridors of the ballroom.

Finally out of the sight of everyone, you deflate, leaning more heavily on your cane and closing your eyes. Warriors pulls you into his side, arm wrapping properly around your waist to comfort instead of guide. When you look back up, Warriors is already looking at you.

“Let's find someplace more comfortable, yeah?”

With a nod, a gloved hand intertwines with your own, and Warriors leads you down the halls. You assume you're headed in the direction of the room you were both given, but you don't pay that much attention to the twists and turns. You let yourself drift, losing all focus on everything but the feeling of Warriors’ hand in yours. You trust him to lead you.

You do, actually, arrive at the bedroom you were given as esteemed guests of the Queen, and you leave your cane by the door to head for the bed immediately. Oh, ever since you saw it this morning, you'd been longingly thinking to it all day, unable to wait to sink into the clean sheets and soft pillows and sleep for twenty hours. You flop face first onto the bed, doing the littlest hop to ensure you get the most of your body onto the high mattress. Warriors laughs at you from the doorway. You ignore him in favour of sinking further in. The sheets smell so good…

There's a dip in the bed where Warriors takes a seat by your thighs dangling off the bed. You twist just enough to peer up at him and meet a look of contemplation.

“Y’know, the plan was to steal you away from the party so we could have a different type of fun, but you look rather exhausted.” He tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “We can just cuddle and go to sleep if that's more your speed right now. I'm happy either way.”

You think about it. You are very very tired, but it's been weeks since you and Warriors have had the opportunity to be intimate. And he'll inevitably be dragged off early tomorrow for a meeting or some other bullshit, even if you're allowed a lay in. You wiggle a bit, take stock of your body, roll onto your back. You're already passed your limit - the extra half hour of sleep you'd get now isn’t going to be the cure to your fatigue tomorrow.

“You’ll have to do all the work.” You mumble, watching his face light up like a puppy being given a treat. He leans over and cups your cheek, his face inches from yours.

“I don't mind that at all. You sure you're up for it?”

You nod.

Lips meet tenderly. He's slow, gentle and caring, taking his time. You've done this song and dance before, of Warriors slowly building you up, taking the lead, and it always begins with being kissed like you're the most sacred thing in the world. Hands soon find their way into your hair, gloves soft against your scalp and thumbs at your temple soothing. If it weren’t for the heat against your mouth and the gradual stirring in your lower stomach, you'd be convinced he's trying to coax you to sleep instead.

You reach up and tug his scarf, urging him to hurry up at least slightly, lest you actually fall asleep, and he pulls away from your lips hesitantly.

“What do you need?” He asks, tone almost reverent. You whine. “Relax, darling, I’m right here. What do you need?”

“If I relax any more I will start snoring.” You grumble, and he chuckles.

“Message received, loud and clear. Let's get you out of this stunning outfit.”

He urges you to sit up by the shoulders, and gets to work undressing you immediately. The horniness ramps up three levels when, after fumbling one too many times with a fastening, he decides to pull his gloves off with his teeth to get them out of the way. You stare dumbly as he pulls your garment off your shoulders, watching him take in the details of your bare chest.

“I'm gonna worship you tonight, I think.” He runs his fingers down the length of your torso, the first skin to skin contact all night, just to make you shiver. With the gentlest push to fall onto your back again, Warriors leans over you, and with that same reverence as earlier, “I want to place my touch on every inch of your body, either with my hands or my mouth - alight every part of you with my love. Will you let me?”

You stare up at him wide eyed. You're speechless, fogginess stealing every thought away, only the feeling of awe and love spreading throughout your entire body. Your shoulders involuntarily scrunch up to your ears. You manage a nod.

Warriors leans down and nuzzles his nose against yours. “You're so cute when you're sleepy.” His lips meet yours again, just as gentle as before, but his hands whisper against your arms and chest this time, tracing invisible shapes and cataloguing every angle, every curve. You can't help but shiver again. When his mouth moves down to your neck, you gasp and close your eyes.

Drifting in the bliss of it all is incredibly easy with your eyes closed. You feel like you're on a cloud, each point of contact sending you further and further into it. All focus goes to breathing while your senses are overwhelmed with how Warriors navigates your body, kissing from your shoulders down each arm, holding and massaging your palms before placing a kiss on those too. The whispered compliments against your chest a series of prayers, gentle and profound and so sincere.

He eventually arrives at your hips, other half of your clothes still yet to be taken off. He kneels on the ground and gets to work taking those off you too, nudging you to lift your hips, and soon enough you are completely bare in front of him.

He gives your legs the same treatment as your arms, slowly and tenderly moving up with his lips. When he gets to your knees, he takes even more care, ever so carefully holding each leg to relieve the most pressure and pain, murmuring against them something your ears can’t catch, but you feel all the same. Your thighs sufficiently caressed, Warriors finally arrives at where you need him the most.

You're already wet, and when he parts your folds with his fingers you squirm at his hot breath hitting your cunt. Warriors simply stares for a moment…

And with a whispered “thank you…” places his mouth on you.

The whole night had been building up to this - Warriors’ tongue swirling your clit, gently lapping up your slick as he continues caressing your thighs with his spare hand. You can't think at all, completely lost in the pleasure of his touch, moaning openly as his tongue pokes your entrance. His movements are maddeningly attentive, slow and gentle and pushing you higher and higher. He continues to mouth thanks and prayers into your cunt, like your orgasm will be a divine blessing upon him, and gods, it feels divine. You're close. When his free hand moves to push into you and open you up with deft fingers, you're closer.

You know once you orgasm now you’ll be done for the night, though, so you weave your hand into his hair and try to pull him away from you. He simply moans against your clit instead, vibrations shocking another wave of pleasure through you, bringing you dangerously close to the edge. You try again.

Warriors looks up at you with hooded eyes and a love drunk smile on his face. You can't help but cup his cheek, thumbing some of your own wetness off his bottom lip. You have his full undivided attention, kneeled on the floor at your feet, and it drives you mad with lust. You have no clue what to say, but the realisation that he's somehow still fully dressed sinks in, so instead of speaking, you unwrap his scarf from his shoulders and drape it over your own like a blanket. Then, your hands move to pull his jacket off, and he chuckles and begins helping.

“Sorry, I got so caught up in your body I forgot you probably want to see mine, too.” Heavy fabric slides off Warriors’ shoulders as he stands to take off his boots and trousers, all garments being discarded to the floor without a care. You keep your eyes trained on every revealed inch of skin, admiring each scar and line and curve. Especially the slope of his waist, which you pull him towards you via when he's finally as bare as you are.

Scooting back up the bed so he can properly kneel on it and truly cage you in, you pull him on top of you and into another kiss. The scarf pools around your body, bathing you in royal blue that feels like a hug, and when Warriors reaches down to push his fingers back into your hole, you clench at it with your fists desperately.

“You're so beautiful…” Warriors gazes down at you with nothing but adoration. You look up at him and think the exact same thing. Words are not working for you right now, but you vow to say everything back to him tenfold as soon as you can. For now, you run your hands across his chest and hope he understands.

Three fingers full and getting close once more, you squirm and buck your hips into Warriors’ hand. When he pulls them out and leans over to fetch something from the bedside table, you whine.

“Just a few more moments, darling, then I'll give you what you need.”

He returns with a jar of lube, and begins prepping himself. He's been untouched this entire time, head red and dripping precum, and when he finally touches himself his face scrunches up in pleasure. The shaky exhale of his breath lights fireworks in your brain.

Sufficiently prepped, Warriors lines his cock up with your entrance. Your legs gently encircle his hips and you look up at him with pleading, desperate eyes.

He pushes in, and you see stars.

He's just as tender and gentle as he has been this entire time, curling around you and pushing slowly in, filling you up with his cock like he's afraid to hurt you. One hand is on your knee - the one that tends to give you the most trouble - and is holding it against his waist gently to make sure it isn't jostled. Compliment after compliment is falling out of his lips, praise like a prayer, a keen for your happiness. Gorgeous, stunning, beautiful, light of my life, they coat you in a blanket of love, simultaneously spreading from his lips, and where your bodies connect.

When he's finally filled you to the brim, his forehead meets the sheets next to your head. He groans as you clench around him.

“My god, I love you.” Warriors murmurs into your ear, and your brain cannot tell if it was simply an expression of gratitude and feeling, or if he was calling you his god.

“I love you too…” you whisper back, awestruck.

Warriors picks himself back up to make eye contact when he starts moving. The thrusts are slow, deep, intent on making you feel every drag and sensation inside you. His forearms bracket your head, hands weaved through your hair while you clench his scarf and tremble as waves of ecstasy spread through your body. The contact is overwhelming, the attentiveness of his hands and hips and mouth as he kisses your lips and jaw - you're so close.

He reaches down and rubs your clit.

“Cum for me, my love. Bless me with it. I want to feel you.”

What feels like divine heat and pleasure shock through your entire body as you orgasm. Warriors speeds up his thrusts slightly, caught up in you clenching around him and losing himself to it too, before pushing all the way in and truly filling you up. You twitch and fidget beneath him, trying to extend the feeling as long as possible. Pure love through your veins.

His head comes back down to rest next to yours, panting heavy in your ear as you come down from the high. You shakily bring your arms up - hands still gripped in the scarf - and encircle him in a hug.

In the wake of the high, fatigue returns. As does the ache of your body. With Warriors’ comforting weight on top of you, drifting into sleep is tantilisingly easy. Even when he picks himself up, knocking your arms to the bed, and begins cleaning you both up, that fog remains, pulling you down to dreamland.

You move at Warriors’ prompting just enough to crawl into bed with him properly, then you're out like a light in his arms.

~~~

You wake to an empty bed and shuffling. Groggily opening your eyes, you see the slightest peek of early morning light through the gap in the curtains, as well as Warriors getting dressed in his usual tunic. You can tell it’s early, too early, and just like you predicted your love is being stolen away by duty. When he spots you awake, he smiles and sits on the edge of the bed next to you.

“Morning, sunshine. How are you feeling?”

You take a moment to assess. Still just as tired as last night, a bit achy and stiff all over. So, not the best.

“Bad.” You mumble. Warriors cards his fingers through your hair sympathetically.

“I have to go do boring work, but you can sleep all you want. I’ll get you some food sent up?”

“That sounds nice. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Warriors leans down and kisses you on the forehead, before finishing up with getting ready. You watch him from the bed, slowly stretching yourself out and getting comfortable for a great pre-breakfast nap. Just as he reaches the door, you call out to him.

“Link?”

He turns to look back at you.

“Please let me return the favour for last night sometime soon. You deserve all that you gave me, tenfold.”

“There’s no favour owed, but I would love that. For now though, just rest. Dream of me?” Warriors winks playfully. You laugh.

“Always.”

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

*bangs on a pot with a spoon* COME GET Y'ALL'S MEAL

🧙 anon strikes once more!

[juniper-sunny]

A Knight to Remember - Part 4 (End)

Medieval AU | Knight!Silco | Silco x Female!Reader | No (Y/N) | Romance | Slow Burn | Fluff || NSFW | Vaginal Fingering, P in V Sex, Mirror Sex, Breeding Kink | WC: 7.84k | art by @designfailure56 | betas: @silcoitus @deny-the-issue

ao3 || Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The ever-growing attraction between you and your knight is endangered by forces outside your control…

taglist: @sherwood-forests @ilikemymendarkandfictional @ursawastricked @quirkykaty @let-the-monster-out @ariaud @deny-the-issue @beardedladyqueen

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No matter how much your knight insisted otherwise, he seemed quite tired. The tournament was only yesterday; perhaps he needed more time to rest before he resumed his usual duties. But as always, he followed you to the meadow and refused to go home.

“Sir knight,” you said sternly, “You insist that you must remain at my side to serve me properly. Yet you will serve me better if you are well-rested.”

“Your father’s orders were to never leave you,” he said with a teasing smile. “And they supersede your own.”

“He would make an exception if he could see your exhaustion,” you rolled your eyes. “Do not presume you can hide it from me, sir knight. You are nearly asleep on your feet.”

As if to prove your point, a yawn overwhelmed your knight. Even as he raised his hand to cover his mouth, the sun glinted off his chipped teeth.

You patted the ground next to where you sat. “Come rest here, sir knight. It should satisfy you to obey both my father and myself.”

Further disagreements continued for what felt like hours. But a bumblebee landed on his nose without him noticing, as it alighted when he had shut his eye for longer than he intended. It was the only proof he accepted that you might be right about his fatigue.

You half-hoped that he would lay his head in your lap. But as he lay down, he laced his fingers behind his head, a thin cushion between himself and the ground. Only a moment passed before his eye drooped shut, regular breaths growing deeper and deeper. You smiled as you plucked a coneflower and placed it over his heart. The breeze blew it off his chest and into his face, where it landed next to his nose. He twitched in his sleep, mumbling. You moved to pluck the flower when it was carried away by another, stronger wind.

You pulled your knees up to your chest as you watched your knight slumber peacefully. It was strange how comfortable he felt in your company. Showing his vulnerability to you, and only you. You could not articulate what you had done to deserve loyalty from such a good man, but you were more than happy to be a safe haven for him.

No matter how hard you prayed, that was all you would be to him: his lord’s daughter. You could never be his lover.

Especially with the news that you had yet to share with him.

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Your knight found out sooner than you would have liked. Of course he did. He was at the center of it, after all. Your lord father was so impressed by his service to you and his performance at the tournament, he wanted to offer your knight an elevated position: the head of the household guard. 

Somehow, the news had spread to your other servants. They gossiped idly in your presence, unaware of how the topic caused you emotional turmoil. Another few days passed before you could offer your congratulations to the knight in privacy, on one of your clandestine outings. This time, you were perched on a rock by the river while he stood next to you.

He turned his piercing gaze to you in appraisal. Try as you might to offer him a genuine smile, he looked at you in concern.

“My lady,” he asked, his brow furrowed. “What troubles you?”

“Nothing!” you squeaked, looking away too quickly. You rolled a handful of rocks in your hand, looking for the best one to skip across the water’s surface.

He stared intensely at you while you fidgeted restlessly. You ignored him, picking out a long flat rock larger than your palm. You prickled uncomfortably under his stare, and you threw the rock in a wide arc. It splashed into the water and sank, your concentration so ruined that you could not skip it properly.

“I am sorry, sir knight,” you finally said. “I… I am afraid to tell you the extent of my selfishness. These thoughts that plague me… you will find them unforgivable.”

“Never, my lady,” he said immediately. “I only wish you would unburden yourself, especially if I am able to help.”

You smiled weakly at him, sincere this time. But you turned away to look at the waters, unable to look at him directly. “May I say first that my foremost hope is for your happiness. You ought to do whatever you like without concern for my own wishes. I understand that my father’s offer is too good to refuse… and yet… it is my selfish desire that you do not accept.

“I do not mind that you would no longer serve only me,” you were quick to add, “but your new duties would mean that… we could no longer spend as much time together, alone. Perhaps these outings would cease entirely.” You made a sweeping gesture towards the water as if you could snatch these stolen moments out of the air and pocket them for later.

“But it is not your destiny to live out the rest of your days as my knight,” you continued, and this notion pierced your heart with longing sadness. “You were meant for greater things, and I should not keep you from reaching them.” Even if he had to leave you behind entirely.

He leaned on the rock you were seated on, close enough that you could have reached out and taken his hand when he placed it next to yours. Your little finger brushed against his, gently grazing the leather of his gloves.

“I am taking that into consideration, my lady,” he said quietly. “I have grown accustomed to your constant company. I would hate to lose it.”

“Truly?”

He nodded. He looked at you sincerely, and his hand shifted closer to yours. Almost raising it as if to place it over your own.

“You would still reside in my father’s hall, sir knight,” you tried to reassure him even as your heart fluttered at his words. “We could still see each other enough.”

“But not every day,” he said. It was a statement and not a question. Currently, it was normal for the two of you to always be seen together. In his new position, you would have to seek each other out. And then spending so much time alone together in such close proximity would draw suspicious eyes to you.

“No… not every day,” you said glumly. But you perked up, determined not to influence your knight’s decision. “But you will earn more coin and prestige than you currently do, sir knight. Do not let me keep you from what you deserve.”

“Serving you and being with you is already more than I deserve,” he said softly.

“Do not make this decision lightly,” you chided him gently. “I would not have you miss out on this great opportunity.”

“I will decide for myself how great this opportunity is,” he said. But he smiled warmly at you. “It seems we share the same concerns for our futures.”

“You should not concern yourself with mine, sir knight,” you said insistently.

“I find that impossible, my lady,” he said, now smirking.

The two of you squabbled in circles like this up until the very moment you returned to town. Still, you were heartened that the knight acknowledged your worries. But should you have shared them with him at all? Perhaps you should have ordered him to say “yes”. The thought that he might turn down your father’s offer filled you with guilt, a sour, twisting knot in the pit of your stomach that grew heavier as the day went on. Battling with happiness that your knight was considering staying on in your service anyways. And all of that tumbling into more guilt at your selfishness again. A horrible maelstrom of conflicting emotions that almost made you physically ill.

It distracted you so thoroughly that your father needed to call out your name multiple times at dinner, attempting to engage you in conversation.

“Are you alright?” he asked you.

“Yes, father,” you said quickly. “What were you saying?”

He leaned forward in his seat, wringing his hands. “Your brother has sent word from abroad. He hopes to return to us before the end of the month… but we must prepare for the possibility that he may not survive the journey.”

That was enough to shake you from your reverie. Your brother had traveled to a faraway country years ago, excited to see more of the world, only to nearly drown during his voyage over stormy seas. You had been too young to accompany your mother when she visited him, left behind with your distraught father at home. Your mother eventually returned with the good news that he had survived but had refused to come home. You had not seen him since, only exchanging letters with him on occasion.

You still loved him very much. The prospect of his death frightened you. Hearing your father speak of it made your heart leap in your throat, and your grip trembled around your fork.

Your mother grabbed your other hand, attempting to comfort you as she scowled at your father. “Why would you speak of such tragedy aloud?? He is older and stronger now and will return to us safely. I will not have you wishing him ill fortune—”

“Of course I pray for his safe return,” your father interrupted, still stoic. “I would mourn his death greatly, but we must think of our future.”

He was going to say it. A notion that you had disliked ever since you were a little girl and positively dreaded now that you were a woman… now that you and your knight were—

“Child…” your father started solemnly. “If your brother should die, then you will need to marry an heir.”

“I will not!!” you cried out. “I—”

“You must,” your father said dismissively. “It is your duty as my daughter. Think of our people. If there is no one to lead them after my passing then—"

He swallowed hard, then looked away in distress. You would have unleashed vitriol at him, but it seemed a heartless thing to do, to pour salt on his wounds. After all, you both shared the fervent hope that your brother’s death would not come to pass.

“For one of my children to rule these lands in my stead… it is all I wish,” your father said somberly. “If it cannot be your brother then it must be you and your future husband.”

“I would be happy to rule and live chaste than to marry someone I do not love,” you blurted out. “Is that not good enough for our people?” “How long would you stay chaste for?” your father frowned. “What if you do not find love until it is too late for you to bear children? Then who will you name as a successor?”

“I…” this conversation was too closely approaching a truth you had kept hidden from everyone. One that you were afraid to acknowledge, even to yourself. To be forced to admit it in front of your parents— before telling your knight directly—would be the worst scenario possible. You chewed your lip and turned away.

“Is there someone you wish to marry?” your mother asked. Was it your imagination or did her eyes flick up to your knight standing behind you? What did she see?

You stabbed your dinner (roasted chicken breast, so reminiscent of what you and your knight used to feed Leo together) and sawed away at it with your knife. If you preoccupied yourself with your food then perhaps your mother would lose interest and you would not have to answer her question.

But she called out your name, even as you chewed overly large mouthfuls. Your father’s attention focused on you as well. You took your time sipping from your cup.

You could only lie or tell the truth… A lie was better, but not by much.

You set down your cup and angled it so the water almost spilled onto the table. Hoping to catch a glimpse of your knight’s reflection as he stood behind you. Damn the high-backed chair you were seated on— it was too tall for you to casually lean around to look at your knight. If only he were standing on the other side of the room, behind your parents where you could see each other.

If only he knew that you were about to lie not just for your sake, but his as well.

“…no,” you mumbled.

“Then we shall endeavor to find a good husband for you,” your father leaned back in his seat. He let out a sigh, as if he were relieved that you would not further complicate his planning. “What about that warrior from the tournament? I believe his name was Flynn? Or was it Finn?”

“He is not a warrior, and certainly not good enough for our daughter!!” your mother snapped. “He is a turkey of a boy—”

Your parents devolved into debating about who you ought to pair up with. There was no use trying to speak up. They had seemingly already settled the matter without you.

As much as you loved them and they loved you, in this moment you hated them.

But not as much as you hated yourself.

“Excuse me,” you choked out by way of announcing your departure. Your mother and father were too busy arguing to notice.

You walked away as quickly as you could, hugging yourself tightly. Attempting to hold yourself together. But you could not calm your shallow breaths. Tears sprung unbidden to your eyes.

The footsteps of your knight followed. Was he following you out of loyalty? Or was he hurt by your lie? What did he think when he heard what you said to your parents? Did he feel anything at all?

Finally, you arrived at the staircase leading to your chambers. You took a deep breath and wiped your eyes, hoping to hide how upset you were before turning to your knight.

“Sir knight…” you started in a low voice, conscious of how someone could walk in on the two of you at any moment. Faltering when you noticed how stiffly he carried himself, how his grip choked the hilt of his sword. But you swallowed and tried again. Forging on even as your own throat refused to cooperate. It was important to address everything he witnessed tonight.

“I understand… my lady,” he said heavily; you would not have thought it possible but your heart sank even lower. “You have a duty to perform, just as I have mine. It was a mistake to believe our futures could be entwined beyond that.”

“Do not be so eager to believe that this is the end of our future,” you whispered energetically. “My brother may yet return to us safely.”

“If he does, will your father still wish to choose a husband for you?”

You shook your head. “No. He has always been rather liberal in the care of his family. Not many ealdorman would allow their sons or wives to travel freely… or allow their daughters to marry whomever they please.”

“And who would it please you to become your future husband?” the knight asked, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall. Looking down at you with a curious smile.

You blushed and cleared your throat, stalling. Of the interrogations you were subjected to tonight, this one was less unpleasant. But it still discomforted you greatly. “Someone below my own station… I prefer to pay no mind to such matters, but my father feels differently. He would only accept such a union if my brother survives long enough to rule in his place.”

“What will you do if your brother does not live?” your knight asked quietly.

“I… I do not know,” you admitted.

“Perhaps his death will not come to pass,” he said. “In the meantime, I shall offer my prayers for his safety… and for your happiness.”

“Thank you,” you said, wiping your eyes. You sighed as exhaustion took hold of you, forcing you to lean against your bedroom door for support. “Rest well, sir knight.”

“Rest well, my lady,” he said. He bowed his head to you before turning away.

Your thoughts followed him as his footsteps trailed off. His question made you restless for many nights, keeping you from sleeping peacefully. You labored over an answer in your waking hours as well, half-distracted when engaging with anyone other than your knight.

Nothing in your upbringing could have prepared you for this. To choose between your own happiness and the duty being forced upon you. Before you met your knight, you could tolerate the prospect of marrying someone you did not love. It seemed abstract enough that you could ignore it most of the time.

Now, though… at your current age, there was only one romantic prospect who could make you happy. And he was within arm’s reach, sitting next to you in your meadow. To be torn from him would be too painful to bear. Especially when you were moderately certain that he felt the same way.

He no longer stood over you on these trips to the forest, but sat next to you whenever he could, his knee close enough to almost touch yours. The brilliant teal of his eye mirroring the clear skies of the summer. More often than not, he was weary to the point of needing to nap during most of your outings. You always had to ask him to rest, as he never acknowledged how tired he was. He would always insist that he did not need to be sent home. But if he was ill or attending to some mysterious errand that cut into his sleep, he never divulged the truth no matter how much you fussed over him. When you asked if you both should attend prayers at church for once, he insisted that visiting the woods was more enjoyable.

Today, he seemed energetic enough, examining the blooms in the meadow, searching for purple coneflowers. When he found one in good condition, he would reach out and pluck it. Holding it delicately and passing it to you in a singular elegant, graceful movement. Helping you accumulate enough flowers for you to knot them together in a long chain.

“Have you come to a decision regarding my father’s offer?” you asked, holding up your handiwork. It was not yet long enough for your liking; it would need only a few more flowers before it reached the desired length.

He nodded. “It is contingent on your brother’s return.”

“How so?” You looked sideways at him. The sunlight gently illuminated his profile, dappled in warm gold and honey.

The coneflower he held between his thumb and pointer finger was an especially large one, almost the size of a coin. He studied it carefully, looking down his long nose in silent inspection. It seemed to pass muster, and he reached out to hand it to you. If he decided to tuck it behind your ear you would not have minded. You would have even enjoyed his touch. It was hard not to be disappointed when he dropped the flower into your outstretched palm instead. But you knotted it onto your string without complaint.

“If your brother arrives safely, then I will accept the position,” he said slowly. “If he does not, then I will stay on as your knight.”

“Why…?” you asked. He had told you many questionable things before, but this one piqued your curiosity the most.

“If your future husband is of questionable character then I must remain by your side to protect you,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Sir knight… thank you,” you said softly, touched by his thoughtfulness. “But I have already told you not to sacrifice your future on my behalf. I will not ask you to share my pain.”

“It would be painful enough to see you wedded to another no matter how far apart we are,” he said, voice low. His tone was steady, but a twitch in his jaw betrayed him. Still concealing the true depths of his upset. “I could never be without you.”

A thrill fluttered in your chest, a coal of excitement warming you. “Nor I you.”

He gave you a sad smile as he handed you another flower. It was the last one you needed. You added it to your string and knotted the ends together so it became a loop long enough to wear as a necklace. When you held it up to examine it, it made a lovely frame for your knight, long green stems interrupted by warm purple blooms, contrasting with the bright orange seeded hearts.

“No,” you said abruptly, dropping the flowers into your lap. You grabbed your knight’s gloved hand in both of yours, the leather warm and rough in your grasp. “You once wished to help me find strength, enough to defy my fate. I would ask that of you now.”

His eye widened and mouth fell open, face elongated in surprise. But he did not pull away from you as you trembled in fear, suddenly afraid that the knight would say no to your incoming request.

“Run away with me,” you said. “I will not wish to stay here if my brother dies. We could leave this life behind.”

His eye darted between your face and his hand held in yours. A bright gleam in the teal pool of his eye as he leaned in, “My lady… do not ask this of me. It would be a difficult life on the road. I would not have you suffer it.”

“But you would let me suffer as another man’s wife?” you asked. “That would be too cruel a destiny to endure.”

“What of your parents?” “What of them?” you asked defiantly.

“Would you have them suffer the loss of both their children?”

“I have served them well enough all my life. This duty they ask of me is the only burden I cannot bear.”

“You would have no coin or servants at your disposal,” he warned.

“I would rather live poor and free than imprisoned with all the comforts of the world,” you said. “And I could survive it all if you were with me, sir knight.”

You let go of his hand to grab your loop of flowers. You twisted it into a figure eight, looping one hole around your wrist. A tremble lingered in your hand as you held up the other half of the bracelet. It was meant for your knight if he would accept it.

“Do you truly wish to live this way?” your knight asked.

“I do,” you said simply. Raising the flowers higher.

He stared at you for a long time, watching, waiting for you to falter. When you did not, he threaded his own hand through the flower loop and gently clasped your hand. 

“I could imagine no greater happiness than joining you,” he said softly.

He lowered your hand to kiss it. Heat bloomed under his mouth where he touched you, a flicker of flame igniting at the contact. His breath soft as a wingbeat, a warm breeze gliding over your skin. Lips molding into the shape of your knuckles.

Your cheeks burned hotly, but you could not pull away. You did not want to. If your knight let go you would have taken his hand again. But he seemed to feel the same, turning your hand over to kiss the seam where your palm met your wrist. Pulling you close as if he meant to fill the scar on his lip with you.

“Sir knight…” you said, and he finally looked up at you, quiet adoration in his eyes. “Whatever fates should unfold, I hope to endure them together… with you.”

He nodded. There was no need for him to speak. His intentions were the same as yours. It was clear in how reluctant he was to let go of you when it was time to depart, how you had to be the one to gently pull your hand out of his grip. The flower chain fell off, and he pulled off his glove before wrapping it around his own wrist. Pulling his glove slowly over his new bracelet, careful not to dislodge any petals. Accepting your claim on him but concealing it from the rest of the world. A sign of your bond known only to the two of you. 

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The thrill of your knight’s promise did not wane when you returned home. Even as your anxieties rose for your brother’s safety during evening prayers, it was heartening enough that you were bound to your knight regardless of your brother’s fate. Despite yourself, you could not help but wonder how to prepare for your potential escape. After all, your parents were looking for your potential suitors even as your brother still lived. It was a race against time.

There were many questions you had to consider for the planning. You meant to bring them up with your knight at your next outing, but he did not join you for breakfast. His absences were few and far in between, only brought upon by illnesses so severe that even his stubbornness could not bear him through. But in his years of service, this was the first time he had failed to notify you. None of your other attendants knew of his location or his health, leaving you to worry endlessly. It had you afraid to leave your father’s hall as if you might receive news of your knight’s whereabouts, if only you waited long enough.

The waiting was not long before a commotion interrupted your meal. One of your father’s scouts burst into the room, stalking straight to your father’s seat. He made to scold the man for his interruption but stopped himself when the scout leaned in to whisper. Whatever news was shared had your father smiling and sighing in relief.

He clasped your mother’s hand as he turned to her. “Our son lives. He is at this very moment arriving at the shore—”

Impatience had you leaping out of your seat, leaving your parents and unfinished food behind. It was good news to be sure, but one you wanted to confirm with your own eyes. You ran to the stables and took the fastest horse. Galloping away even as your servants called out after you.

You rode and rode and rode, driving the horse to its limits. Trees blurred past you, branches catching on your dress. Soon, you stopped at the top of a tall hill that gave you a high vantage of the woods.

The main path leading to your father’s estate was occupied by a fairly large retinue of men. Despite the years you had spent apart, your brother was easily recognizable. A little taller and now sporting a beard, but he was the same beloved sibling you had grown up with nonetheless.

And who should be riding beside him?

It was none other than your knight.

More enthusiastic than ever, you urged your horse downhill. It trotted slower than you would have liked, but the descent was steep and forced you to exercise caution. Your brother rode ahead in the procession to meet you as you arrived on the road.

“Sister!” your brother called out as his horse and yours lined up side-by-side. He grinned brightly at you. “It’s good to see you.”

“I missed you,” you said joyfully. And you sincerely did, to an even greater extent that you did not realize until seeing him again. You would have hugged him if you could.

“You look well! Have you grown smaller?” he teased.

“You grew a beard,” you chuckled. “If I had known then I would have been less afraid of you drowning. It seems large enough to help keep you afloat.”

“The winters abroad are much colder than the ones at home. If you had to endure them, you would want a beard as well,” he laughed. “How are our parents?”

“They are well. We were eating breakfast when we heard you arrived,” you said. “I imagine they are preparing for your return at this very moment.”

“Did you come out here because you wanted to see me?” he said. “Your knight did the same.”

“Oh?” you turned around, looking for him. He was riding several paces behind you, nodding in greeting. Still too far away to join your conversation.

“He said he awaited my arrival at the shore every morning before attending to you,” your brother said. “He hoped to escort me home personally as a gesture of welcome.”

“He did?” that would explain why your knight had been so tired lately. Perhaps he even wished to deliver the good news to you himself. You turned behind you to call out to him, “Thank you!”

Your knight nodded and smiled, a small one that tilted the line of his mouth upwards ever so slightly. Were it not for the distance you would have thanked him more profusely, but you turned to your brother again, conversing about everything that had occurred in his time away. Once you arrived home, your brother whisked you away to greet your parents together.

There was much to be done in the improvised celebrations of your brother’s return. Admittedly, much of the work would be carried out by your servants, but your mother made you clean out your brother’s room, which you had been using to store books and trinkets that would not fit in your own. Then he enlisted your help in unpacking his possessions, among which were many fascinating gifts he bestowed upon you and your parents. These and the tales he regaled you with would normally have been very enthralling, but your thoughts kept straying towards something much closer to home.

No matter how hard you tried to focus on the family reunion, you kept thinking of your knight. The joy of averting a separation from him enhanced your happiness at your brother’s return. But he was nowhere to be found when you finally had a free moment. Word had spread that he had accepted your father’s offer and was to be sworn into his new position. However, there was the unfortunate fact that he had still abandoned his post as your knight this morning, even if only for a few hours. Despite your protests, his actions still warranted a punishment, albeit a mild one: for the feast tonight, he was to be stationed outside your father’s hall, outdoors in the cold. 

Although you had not finished your breakfast earlier, you still had no appetite for the dinner feast. All dining and entertainment were less engaging than your knight’s company. But you could not find a polite time to excuse yourself, not until much later when your brother himself had enough of the festivities. When you departed the dinner table, you did not head straight to your room. Instead, you wandered out.

Your knight was once again nowhere to be found.

Still, you walked back inside with a spring in your step. There was always tomorrow.

The halls were still bustling with servants clearing away the remnants of the celebrations, but the noises faded behind you as you climbed up the stairs to your bedchambers.

Standing outside your door was your knight. Waiting for you.

“Silco—!”

He swept you up in his arms, kissing you. His lips molded soft and gentle against yours as his arms wound around your waist, pulling you tight against him. You kissed him in turn, feeling the notch of his scar against your own mouth. The chill of the evening air still clung to his chainmail sleeves, but you were so warm. Excited and thrilled at him finally touching you. Satisfying your yearning for him as he crushed you against him, as if he meant to rid everything standing between you, even the very air itself.

Your own arms wound around his neck. His eagerness at your reciprocation made him sloppy, growing more insistent as he flicked his tongue against your lips. Prompting you to open your mouth wider so he could taste more of you. Each pass of his tongue inside your mouth thrilled you, molten heat and passion gliding down your throat to pool deep in your core. When you moaned, the shape of his kisses changed as he grinned, the carved shape of it still pressing against you. He pulled away, staring deep into your eyes as his own was half-lidded, hazy.

As much as you would have enjoyed spending the night standing there in his arms, you needed to move. You grabbed his elbow and pulled at him, striding to your door and slamming it shut behind the both of you. Then you turned and hugged him, kissing him again. He was soft again, slow, breathing you in deep as he held his lips against yours for long, ponderous moments, savoring the feel of you against him.

“My lady…” he said in a low voice, beholding you with his good eye. His gaze was reverential, his hand holding your cheek as you nuzzled into it. So careful with you as if you were a bubble that might burst.

“Silco…” you whispered, saying his name only for the second time since he was sworn into your service. There had been countless times you wished to speak it out loud but could not find the courage to do so. It felt less strange in your mouth as you said it now.

He closed his eye as he resumed kissing you, shallow breaths puffing against your face. “I have craved you for so long…”

“Then sh-show me,” you stuttered as he planted kisses on your lips, your cheek, your eyes, your forehead. Your own kisses landed clumsily on his chin and neck as you fumbled with his belt, attempting to pull it off. Silco was just as eager but more careful as he helped you out of your dress and underclothes. They slid off your skin smoothly as he carried you to your bed, naked as the day you were born.

After he set you down, he pulled off his clothes until he wore only his trousers. You spread your legs for him instinctively as he climbed onto the bed, caging you in with his arms as he hovered over you. But he made no further advances as his eye traced up and down your body, enjoying your nakedness underneath him. You blushed even as you reached out for his eyepatch.

He intercepted your hand as it touched the edge of his accessory, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss once again. You bit your lip, shyly nervous but determined as you said, “Silco… I wish for you to see all of me. I want you to see that I am entirely yours, in heart, soul, and body.”

Silco looked up from your hand, staring into your eyes again. You held his gaze, unwavering in your resolve. Then he let you go, slowly lifting his eyepatch off, disturbing his hair from its careful styling. He tossed it to the ground and leaned in to kiss you again. Crushing your breasts against his bare chest, the heat of his rough skin amplifying the fire already thrumming through your veins. You whimpered as he ground his hardened cock against your core, still able to feel the thick shape of it even through his clothing.

“Do you— will you do the same for me?” you asked breathlessly. Suddenly insecure that he did not want you as you wanted him, since he had not fully stripped yet.

“Do not mistake my slowness for reluctance, my lady,” he said roughly, still kissing you. “A thousand times I imagined this moment… and yet there are no words for the depths of my desire to ruin you.” He whispered that word into your ear, emphasizing it with another grind of his pelvis against you, rubbing against your bud. You whimpered as it set off a delicious spark in your core, your cunt clenching around nothing. “I must exercise restraint, or else I fear I may hurt you.”

He planted kisses down your neck, mapping his way down your chest, as if he hoped to memorize the feel of your body under his lips. When he reached your breasts, he kissed between them, sucking to leave his mark on you. Arousal stirred inside you, swirling like smoke disturbed by wind. He moved to your nipple, teasing the shape of it, curling his tongue around it. Then leaning in to suck, still flicking it heavily with his tongue. You shuddered as he cupped your other breast with one hand, propping himself up with his other arm. Gently holding it, familiarizing himself with how it rested in his palm. Then he squeezed, rolling his fingers into your flesh. Heat and excitement curling in your core, settling between your legs as your breathing grew shallow.

You rocked your hips into him, needy for more. He looked up at you as he obliged, his eyes a piercing gaze of lust, most likely mirroring your own. His hand trailed downwards, following the rise of your ribcage and fingertips dragging down your waist. Then he cupped your sex, thumb pressing lightly against your bud. The touch shot lightning through you, zipping up your spine and lighting up every nerve along the way. He rubbed it slowly, as if pushing on curling petals to help them bloom. Your breathing grew shallow and erratic, the combined attentions of his mouth and hand winding a tightness deep in your belly.

It startled you when he traced the shape of your entrance, gathering your already dripping slick on his finger. Sliding between the lips of your sex before pushing his finger inside you. Curling it against your walls, sending sparks rising, rising, rising ever higher. Your cunt clenching around him as he added another finger, reaching so deep inside you. 

The band in your core snapped, tension bursting as you came. He kept rubbing, adding a third finger in his relentless movements inside you. Having you come undone and cresting waves of pleasure, long and low as you slapped your own hands over your mouth to muffle your cries. Your walls fluttered around his fingers as he finally slowed. When he pulled them out, they were covered in your slick, slightly pruned from the wetness inside you.

Your heart hammered as he leaned in, lightly kissing your cheek to let you catch your breath. You turned to him, your nose grazing his.

“Silco…” you said softly. You raised a hand to touch him, brushing the shape of his cheek with your thumb. As if in response, he lay fully on you, his clothed cock settling against your core. But he made no further movements except to kiss your chest.

“I… I need you, Silco,” you said, huffing with want. He looked up at you with glazed eyes, clouded with lust.

“I need you too…” he admitted slowly. “But being forbidden from touching you… It is not an instinct easily overcome.”

“And yet, here we are,” you laughed softly. He lifted himself as you sat up, still hovering close to you. You held his face in your hands, cradling him gently. “I would have you take me as if you were a free man… Forget your station just this once.”

His pupils blew wide at your statement, his eyes darting between each of yours. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your face. “Are you certain? This is what you want?”

You nodded. “I— I only ask that you call me by my name, Silco.”

Still staring deep into your eyes, his mouth fell slightly open. “Can you stand?”

When you nodded again, he got off the bed, pulling you with him. He steered you gently but determinedly across the room, walking you to your standing mirror. Then he guided your hands to grip its engraved metal frame, his large hands warm as they enveloped yours, even as the mirror provided a refreshing coolness under your palms.

“Then I would have you watch me take you, as a free man,” he whispered in your ear. The sounds of him undressing were followed by the thump of his clothes hitting the floor. You could not see his nakedness as he stood behind you, but he nudged your feet with his own, adjusting your stance wider.

It was a vulnerable sight, seeing your naked self standing and leaning almost horizontal, grip tightening around the mirror. Silco slid his hands down your body to grab your hips, sending goosebumps rising on your skin. The tip of his cock teased your entrance before he finally, finally slid ever so slowly inside you. Inch by inch, your walls pushed apart before he was seated fully inside you, his pelvis resting against your backside.

He filled you perfectly, sending warm waves of pleasure radiating from your cunt, sinking you in warm bliss. A buzzing tingle cascading from your scalp to the very tips of your toes. Your panting breaths mingled with Silco’s as he shuddered, hooking his chin over your shoulder to kiss your neck.

“Can you feel me?” he asked lowly. One hand trailing from your hip to press against your lower stomach. He was solid and heavy inside you, your walls twitching around him. You whimpered, too breathless to do anything but nod.

“My lady…” he murmured into your ear. Then he stood upright again, pulling out of you before thrusting into you. His movements were slow and shallow, never leaving you empty for long, still becoming acquainted with the feel of your walls around him. A slowly climbing heat building inside you with every stroke, solidifying from a formless exhilaration into an unbearably hard knot winding tighter in your core. It was hard to stand steady, your whole body bouncing forward in time with his movements.

“P-please— Silco—” you panted in between whimpers. Your fingers curled tighter around the mirror, scrabbling for a handhold even as your senses faded to a near numbness. Only able to feel his cock sliding in and out of you repeatedly. “Say my name…”

“You misunderstand my meaning,” he said. “I mean to remind you that you are mine.”

Silco emphasized that last word with a snap of his hips, driving himself deeper than ever. You yelped as he hit something deep inside you, setting off a flare that overwhelmed you. Then his pace quickened, now plunging hard and fast into you.

“I could never let another man have you,” he panted. “You take me so well because you were meant for me— to take my cock and my seed for the rest of our lives— you are mine, and I will fill you endlessly even after your belly swells with our children—”

“M-make me yours, Silco,” you whined. You turned to look at him. Disheveled locks of his hair hanging over his eyes, his teeth bared in a feral grin, so frantic as his pace quickened and his fingernails dug deep into your flesh. “Please—!”

“You are mine—” he grunted, the smooth tenor of his voice rumbling into gravel. “To touch, to hold— to love.”

His next thrust was his deepest one yet and it had you cumming, your orgasm snapping the knot in your core as the ecstasy overtook you, freefalling into a forest fire that completely engulfed you. You slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your screams. Your walls fluttering around his cock as he mercilessly kept pounding into you. He whispered your name finally, barely audible over the slap of his hips hitting your ass. It was said lovingly even as he chased his own release.

One last slam then he came, hot and thick ropes shooting into your womb, pumping and flooding deep inside you. The warmth that enveloped you burned higher as he hugged you tightly from behind, one arm barring across your waist as he pulled you even closer to him, a deep groan reverberating through his chest into yours. His other hand pulled yours away from your mouth as he kissed you, your whining muffled by his own mouth. He kept holding you even as the tides simmered down, gentle waves still lapping up your feet to lightly graze your core. 

Your legs trembled with the effort of keeping you upright, an ache between them already beginning to bloom into soreness. Silco pulled out of you, the combined slick of your releases dripping down your leg. He paid it no mind as he picked you up to carry you to the bed. You instinctively clung to him, refusing to let go even as he sat down. The sweat trailing down his neck tickled your nose as you nuzzled into him.

“My lady… forgive my presumptuousness,” Silco said agitatedly. He attempted to lay you down, but you stubbornly held onto him. Still weakened from before but determined to never be separated from him again.

You only pulled away from him just enough to look him in the eyes, placing one hand on his cheek to steer his gaze towards you. “Silco… I will not forgive you only because there is nothing to forgive. In fact, I am the one who must apologize to you.”

“Whatever for?” he asked, puzzled.

“For being so late in returning your sentiments,” you said softly. “I love you, Silco.”

Your confession shocked him, his eyebrows rising high and eyes widening. A teal pool and a hearth of coal that you could get lost in.

He smiled so brightly at you as he whispered your name reverentially, so overjoyed at being allowed to finally say it. “I love you too.”

You smiled and could not help but laugh happily. Resting your forehead against his as you gazed at him lovingly.

“Sir knight.”

“My lady.”

He took your hand and kissed your knuckles as you laughed again. Impatient for more, you yanked your hand out of his grasp to pull him into a hug, kissing him deeply. Wrapping your legs around his waist as he moved to lay you down, pinning you underneath him, ready to make love with you again. Indulging you as often as you wanted in every way you wanted. 

There would be much more planning to do in the future. But you could enjoy yourself for now, making memories that you would cherish forever. That you were finally in the arms of the one you loved. And that nothing could stand in the way of you being together. Only finding sleep a few hours before dawn, when your knight had to sneak back to his own room lest he be discovered in your bed.

Many months later after your wedding, he walked much closer to you. Your shoulder brushing up against his and your arm linked around his elbow. Side by side as it was always meant to be.

The End

[spongebob-connoisseur]

Ngl season 15 of Spongebob has been significantly better than season 14 which is kinda funny because this isn't a *real* season 15. It's just the 2nd half of season 14. Regardless I have been liking it more.

Big League Bob, Sheldon Squarepants, Snow Yellow, Pinned, Dome Alone, Wary Gary, etc have been much more enjoyable than the latter half of season 13 and all of season 14. I know however I am biased so take my opinions with a grain of salt but I feel like most of season 14 is either made up of half hearted "sequel" episodes to classic episodes or characters exploring a new location but not much else done with it. Nothing has really clicked with me. On occasion there may be episodes with interesting plot ideas but they always seem to fall flat. I know people have complained that seasons 10-12 have been too expressive and "loud" but there was an attempt to make use of every second of the show and fill it up with gags. Even if not all of them land, there wasn't as much dead air as there is now. It honestly feels like they took fan advice and toned down the show now but now it feels hollow because nothing has really replaced those visual gags. So you end up with boring and monotonous episodes. Even the ones that have potential to be good end up feeling boring. It feels like they're trying too hard to play it safe, that it has become repetitive. Meanwhile The Patrick Star Show had absorbed all of the unique creativity of the show and has become better than the current show in many ways. I honestly end up enjoying it more. I'm getting off topic though.

One thing I had especially noticed was that I really missed Spongebob as a character. I know I have been going on with Slappy brainrot for the past few years but Spongebob has and always been my favorite character in the show. Slappy at this point is kinda tied with him but I feel like I've been neglecting my boy. But sometimes I feel like there's not much to be said about him that I have already said. I know when it comes to yapping about Spongebob, people tend to circlejerk the classic episodes and dunk on the middle seasons and I've done that all already. I feel like everything that can be said about those things have already been said. I have nothing else to add to that discussion. But at the same time time I feel like there was nothing substantial to be said about the character of Spongebob. I feel like he's grown into a background character in his own show. Used as a mascot character doing Spongebobisms but nothing actually substantial. (I mean how substantial can this be? This is a comedy children's cartoon after all)

I don't mind other characters getting the limelight. Squidward has been killing it in the most recent episodes, and unlike most folks, I like most of the newer characters and I don't mind the reuse of older characters and developing them and using them to build a more cohesive world. However I've always felt like something was missing. I felt too fatigued with Spongebob-brain/putting every single thought of mine into this blog/generally hyperfixating on all things Peter Lorre that I just didn't feel like digging into those feelings further. Now I feel a bit more refreshed I want to properly explain what I feel.

I miss Spongebob feeling like a well rounded character. This has been stated before especially talking about the classic seasons but I mean in general. Every season changes spongebob a bit. Whether to meet the popular comedic style of the decade so he stays fresh, or exaggerating him for comedic purposes, or just general different people working on him. I've grown to accept that Spongebob will always change in different eras of the show and I like that (most of the time). I have grown to accept "modern Spongebob" as his own character and I love him and how he interacts with characters. He has some differences from classic Spongebob but the familiarity is there and what I appreciate with him over middle seasons Spongebob was the fact that they were reinserting old character traits and dynamics that were forgotten with the middle seasons. It's never going to be exact but it is more familiar.

Now what is ""modern spongebob"" episodes are rounding close to a decade old, what is post sequel episodes. The current modern™ spongebob now would be post-spinoff spongebob or post-threequel Spongebob. There is a noticeable difference. Things are slowing down, things have felt less and less consistent since season 13. While seasons 10-12 definitely had it's misses, they felt more cohesive than what season 13 was putting out. I have my biases, I liked pretty unpopular episodes, I have bad taste I'll admit that. But especially towards the 2nd half of sesson 13 has felt like a slog. Of doing Spongebob things™ or what we expect of Spongebob rather than anything new and original. Both with the show and the character.

Of course how much could you do with a show that's 25 years old now? We have certain sets of expections for this show and what it can do. I think this is why The Patrick Show is currently having an advantage over the current show. There is no expectation for it. The fandom entirely rejects it. No matter what it will do, will be dunked on but that is also an advantage. There is no expectation on what it can or can't do. They can literally do anything, and that is exactly what they are doing. The show can be excessively morbid, grotesque, ridiculous, all around surrealist. Not having to adhere to any sort of logic. It creates an excessively cartoony show that perhaps may turn people off but has been growing a bit of a following now. Those who want to stay will stay and who doesn't, won't. It's excessively freeing, so the show manages to always feel fresh.

Meanwhile the current show feels like it's walking itself in circles trying to be as safe as possible. Doing what we expect of the characters and the show tropes, they begun to feel shallow, hollow. What is recognizably "Spongebob" on a surface level but nothing with feeling. Nothing that feels genuine. Kamp Koral had the exact same problem on TOP of all of the disadvantages of being a spinoff.

I'm not saying Spongebob needs to throw everything out and start from scratch, otherwise it wouldn't be "Spongebob". However especially with the character of Spongebob. He feels like a sheet. He's in the background as the "mascot" of the show but hardly a character. He does all what we expect him to do; loves his friends, annoys squidward, does his job. But there's nothing more. I've never thought I would find myself craving more. I miss how he'd interact with Patrick. I miss his friendship with Sandy, I miss something more.

When watching the Sandy movie, something stuck out to me. As Spongebob watches his town and his friends being kidnapped. The only one he calls out for and misses is Squidward. What of Gary? What of his best friend Patrick? Only Squidward? Does no one else matter to him? Obviously they do but he feels so single minded. I could'nt help but wonder if that's all?

I could say something similar with Patrick, I think he is the most noticeable especially when you're watching current Spongebob back to back with the current Patrick Show. I am glad they have undone jerky-Patrick from the middle seasons but they have hardly replaced it with anything else. When watching The Patrick Star Show, it is extremely striking how different the two of them are. He has a better range of emotions and interests. He feels more full in a way the main show Patrick just isn't. I don't expect Patrick to be a genius but he isn't enough to carry an episode. This is especially notable with Pet The Rock. I don't mind the whole "Oh you <3" lovable idiot thing they're doing with Patrick now but it's not enough. He's just a figure, like a silly pop up. He isn't enough of a person to last more than a few second gag.

This can extend to the spinoff characters whenever they appear in the main show. I've already yapped enough about Slappy. I don't mind characters who have one gag to tell. Rube is a guilty pleasure character. I like obnoxiously silly sweet characters but I wouldn't mind if they stay exclusively spinoff characters. The main show doesn't know what to do with them outside of letting the audience know what their "schtick" is, so it feels repetitive. In some cases feel like an outright caricatures of what they are compared to the spinoffs.

The more recent season 15 spongebob episodes are certainly not perfect. They feel slow and empty in some cases but it felt so nice to have an episode of just Spongebob in a situation where he has to actually act like a person. I'm sure none of you would find it even ""good"" because it feels so basic but I missed that. I missed Spongebob being a character, handling a situation, how he'd react, how he feels. I never thought I'd miss it so much but I do. I admit I have boring tastes but sometimes I like seeing how a character thinks or does things, even if it's not necessarily funny. (This is why I liked Slappy Daze so much, kill me)

It's not like this trait is incompatible with being funny. That's the next step. But humor takes exaggeration. You need to exaggerate characters to make funny scenarios which means sacrificing their depth for the scenario. Now the question I'd how much sacrifice does that take? This is often what people cite as the reason why the middle seasons are so bad compared to the classic seasons however this problem has begun with season 2. Season 1 may not have been as funny but it had the most character depth. Season 2 was when it began getting chipped away for humor but that does not make it bad. Season 2 is regarded as the best season of the whole show. They key is not to sacrifice too much depth for comedy otherwise you end up with shallow characters in insincere scenarios. There's nothing to hold onto, none of the gags land. It is empty.

The post sequel seasons did revive the show a bit by bringing back old traits as well as changing up the comedy style which refreshed the show. Now we are back at the issue of having chipped away at the characters too much. To refresh the show they have shifted focus to other characters who may have fresher stories to tell. In this case Squidward. I appreciate it but like I said I do end up missing Spongebob. Even when he's there, I feel like he's not.

I still love the show and the franchise. I'll watch new episodes even if they may not always satisfy me. The show is still comfort food for me but I genuinely wonder where this show will go from here. People have already begun calling season 14 is the new dark ages. I don't think so (I can actually sit through them without feeling annoyed unlike seasons 7-9A). But I also can't imagine where it will go from here or if I'll stick around long enough to see that.

[vanillaxoshi]

Thinking of body swaps

If it would be the og, kokotiam, that has more potential esp if they want to jeep it hidden

But either way, would that provide more potentiak or story/plot?? Since it would be weird to change bodies, but itd be pretty easy to adapt depending on the person, like ying><yaya, fang could be gopal, gopal could be boboiboy, and boboiboy could be fang

One easy solution is them getting their power watches back, but if they do want to keep it hidden that means theyd have to adjust to their power watches, gopal enduring personality changes and elemental powers since boi's watch is pretty complicated now, not like when it was when they were children

Fang might actually do pretty well and adapt more on the molecular manipulation and use it for other than food, Boi would struggle using Shadow and how to use them properly

Ying isnt really a fly and punch type, shes always so speedy and on the ground, can she even adapt well by that? Same goes for Yaya, Shes the fly and punch type, and not someone so speedy

I also thought if boi is able to use his power watch with fangs body, the elements will be weirded out on being within fangs body and might make comments about it(basically just annoying fang all the way)

If it was Septuplet au, the siblings swapping wont really do anything since theyre identical, its basically just swapping clothes right??? Kokotiam would swap with each other and the siblings would swap with each other, well what about the physical damage on them?

Petir in Cahaya's body

He'd pretty anxious cuz now he feels so much fatigue(how long has his brother not slept??!!!) He also cant see well.

He would experience pain and shocks from the spine and ribs for a few times

Solar power takes too much energy he cant participate often, but thats weird, he should participate in missions he needs to make sure his brothers have someone there to protect them and be there for them

Not to mention the drawbacks of using the power, which could push him back ever so often. What else can he even do for that power right now???

And people coming to him for info in Tapops, he has no idea what to say and what to do

Angin in Tanah's body

Angin is super happy he gains muscle and is able to lift more than his weight but hes never a heavy hitter

Hes more of a careless guy who would whoop around and do acrobats, hes not flexible here and everything feels more heavier, he wonders if his brother had ever taken time to relax

Hed want to take care of himself the most out of all his brothers since he thinks Tanah's body needs it.

Hes also not a strategizing person( why does he need to be the leader rn??) Hes someone who goes with flow and is unpredictable, he doesnt need to predict enemies

How does he form that golem????? He doesnt know how to move in Tanah's body and using his power

Tanah in Api's body

Everything is more warmer than usual, he finds it weird

How can he release the fire??? How can he use fire??? He's always so cautious and fire is unpredictable how can he use it??? And if theyre pretending they didnt swap he doesnt know how to be a chaotic person all the time

Fire needs to be moving, it doesnt stay stationary in one place like earth does, he cant fight rapidly as Api and it gets so hot all the time.

How does he move with fire anyways??? How can he act like api full-time when he always has been a precise person who needs to be calm. Fire cant even do what hes wanting it to do. Does he need to be angry??? Whenever hes angry the fire goes haywire he doesnt know what to do with it???

Api in Petir's body

What do you mean he needs to be fast and precise??? He doesnt know how to use swords how do you form lightning chakras??

Hed be pretty much just be chaotic being Petir(Petir would get mad at him)

Zooming around is actually pretty fun but he doesnt know how to stop or land

Lightning is actually similar to his fire but yet so different, lightning is not something you punch or kick with, its strikes at far distances and connects to one another

So he needs to be serious??? How?

Air in Angin's body

Moving with the wind seems similar to his water but no, its wild and unpredictable how do you move with wind

Its not a physical thing, how do you attack people with a gust of wind

You cant have a water bubble to sleep on :(

He finds it nice to have his right arm back ngl

As someone whos chill, and his wind becomes chill, its not as powerfull as he intends it to be

If he has to pretend, he needs to be lively?? That takes so much energy he would just want to sleep

Daun in Air's body

He doesnt like having no arm and everything feels cold he wants to be wrapped up and stay in a warm place

Hes not a long ranged shoot guy what does he do??? He doesnt have his plants to heal people or help him out what should he do with water or ice???

The water is unstable and he doesn't know where the ice should go and be

How does he move in ice, he slips everytime

If he acts like Air then that means he has to sleep all the time no? But he isnt tired

Plants have many uses and he knows how to use them to the fullest, what are water or ice's uses??? How does he use them to the fullest? Theyre not alive and they dont move on his will, he needs to fully controll them

How does he make an ice arm he doesnt like being one armed

Cahaya in Daun's body

As someone who forgets to eat, his now body reminds him more frequently than his then body and he has to take care of himself because this is Daun's body

He doesnt have his light powers to activate whenever things get dark

He needs to learn more about the different types of plants because now he has a use, plants have many uses

How does he control the plants actually?

So he needs to be naive and childish to be daun, doesnt he? Why cant they just swap clothes? Oh wait, the body differences still stand out

Plus points, nothing hurts anymore

Nevermind, the arms and hands would hurt time to time

How do you hold the vines when it literally cuts through your hands??

Hes not graceful with the plants he just isnt. He shouldnt mess this up though

[chaotic-super]

Joining The Superfriends - 21

Read it on AO3 here!

Well, Lena’s screwed.

Nia probably is too since Lena let her fall asleep over sixteen hours ago and she’s been unable to wake her up since. She’s been checking her pulse regularly and her breathing seems completely normal but she’s just not reacting when Lena tries to wake her up, it’s like she’s in some kind of a coma.

At first, Lena was just convinced that she must be finally getting some decent sleep and her body is just catching up on the sleep she’s been missing out on but she doesn’t seem to be having regular sleep cycles, her eyes never reactive when Lena checks them and she doesn’t respond to any kind of external stimulus at all.

Lena’s still holding out hope that Nia will wake up soon enough though and is actively working on figuring out what her dream might mean, working her way through book after book until she has a general idea of what it could potentially mean.

A light knock at the door interrupts Lena’s pacing. She’s been doing it for a while now and she’s actually gotten very good at reading while pacing, knowing exactly how many steps in each direction she can take before she has to turn around and walk in the other direction.

Lena looks up from her current reading material to see Supergirl in all of her glory leaning against the doorframe. “Hey, Lena. How is everything going in here? Have you been in here all day?”

Marking her page with a post-it note, Lena closes the book she was just reading and tosses it down onto the table, not flinching when it lands with a thump.

“Careful, you’ll wake sleeping beauty over there.” Kara nods to Nia, who is still leaning against the desk, head down and eyes closed.

Lena rubs at her eyes with a hand, wiping away her own fatigue in harsh movements that make Kara’s eyes hurt just from watching her. “No, she won’t. I can’t wake her up.”

“What do you mean?” Kara’s only reaction is a frown, her face otherwise composed but it doesn’t fool Lena, she can see the panic in the way she gulps and the way her hands ball into fists at her side.

“I was helping her, she’s been having a reoccurring dream that’s been keeping her up at night so she’s barely slept the past few days but when I went to go and fetch Nia’s books for her, I came back here and found her exactly how she is now, fast asleep. That was sixteen hours ago. Her breathing and pulse are both fine but she’s not waking up.”

Despite Lena telling her that she’s not waking up, Kara’s trying it anyway, she has to see for herself. She walks over to Nia’s sleeping form and picks her up with ease until she’s lying across the table, at which point Kara stands over her, grabs her shoulders and shakes her without an ounce of delicacy.

Lena knows that Nia isn’t going to wake up but she does hope and she can’t help but hold her breath as Kara shakes her, waiting to see if there’s a reaction.

There’s not.

“Nia! Nia, wake up!” Kara tries again, disappointed when she, once again, gets no response.

“I tried that already. I do think she’s just sleeping but I didn’t think she’d sleep for this long, maybe we should get Alex and Brainy in here, Alex can check her over properly and Brainy might have more insight into what’s happening.”

“Good idea. I’ll take her to the med bay though, Alex will be able to make sure she’s alright there. Can you go and get them both? I think they’re in the kitchen making coffee.” Kara slips her hands beneath Nia’s body, lifting her up tenderly and being careful to not jolt her too much as she carried her out of the room, Lena hot on her heels.

They part when they get to the med bay, Lena rushing off rapidly while Kara continues on inside, lying Nia down on the bed in there and doing the only thing she knows how to do, placing the heart rate monitor and starting it up. The only reason she knows how it works is because of how many times she’s watched Alex use it on her but hey, at least she’s learned something through all of the times she’s taken a punch or two.

Alex, Brainy and Lena are rushing in just as she’s finishing up with the wires.

“What’s going on?” Brainy rushes to Nia’s side, scooping her hand up between his and holding it to his chest tightly.

Kara steps away from Nia to give Alex room to get close to her and set up the rest of the equipment she needs. “Um, Lena says she’s been asleep for sixteen hours now and she’s not showing any signs of waking up soon.”

“Why are we only learning about this now? If she’s been asleep for that long then we should have been told about this hours ago.” Alex pins her harsh, protective gaze onto Lena, her accusation making Lena suddenly question her decision to wait it out and see if Nia would wake up on her own.

“I thought she was just sleeping for a long time because she’s not slept properly in days, I thought she’d wake up on her own and didn’t want to tell you in case it was normal so as not to disclose the information Nia entrusted me with.”

Alex shakes her head. “Secrets are not more important than the health of the team.”

“I’m sorry.” Lena ducks her head. “I didn’t want to betray her trust.”

“I know,” Alex says, her focus now on Nia rather than on holding the conversation with Lena. “Brainy, you can stay but Lena and Kara, you guys head out, I need the space to check her over, we’ll fill you in when we know more.”

“But—” Kara goes to argue but the sharp look she gets stabbed with from Alex has her quietening down and taking one last worried look at her friend on the bed before heading out. “Ok, we’ll wait upstairs.”

Lena doesn’t want to leave, she wants to stay and see what test results Alex gets from Nia but based on the spiky glare she was getting before and the quick dismissal she and Kara just got, she’s not welcome here.

She knows she messed up by not telling anyone that she couldn’t wake Nia up but really, her name is literally Dreamer, how is she meant to know when something is terribly wrong as opposed to Nia just doing what she does best, dream?

Kara pulls Lena out with her by her hand, her fingers squeezing around Lena’s in what she hopes to be a reassuring manner. “Come on, how about we get you some coffee? You look like you need it.”

“Yeah, ok.” Lena barely registers what Kara’s saying, too in her head about her choice to just see if Nia would wake up on her own instead of having Alex, a trained medical professional, look her over.

“Lena, look at me.” Kara senses that Lena’s not really listening and she needs her to be with her, mentally rather than just physically. “Look at me.”

Lena does, her eyes glistening as she fights back her tears at how bad she feels now. “I’m sorry, Kara. I didn’t mean for her to be like this, I thought she was just asleep.” 

“I know, and that’s why you need to listen to me, Lena. We will fix this and Nia will be just fine, we always find a way and this is no different. I need you to tell me exactly what’s going on with Nia though so we can help, can you do that?” Kara holds eye contact with Lena, not letting her break it by carefully pressing a finger beneath her chin when she tries to duck her head. “I know that you were just trying to help and I’m not going to fault you for that.”

Lena’s chin wobbles, her bottom lip quivering in time with it. “Maybe you should. I can’t believe that I actually sat beside her for that long convincing myself that she would be fine, I should have known, I should have sensed that something was wrong but I just let it keep going and going. Who knows how long I would have sat there with her comatose beside me if you hasn’t come in and taken over.”

Kara’s hands move to Lena’s shoulders. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up. Let’s get that coffee and go over all the information we have and then we can go from there.”

Lena nods, her way of doing things is clearly flawed so it’s better if they go with Kara’s plan now rather than her own. “Alright.”

-

Lena watches Kara carefully. She focuses on the way her lips purse as she reads over the books Lena herself was reading not too long ago and she maps out the contours of the lines on her forehead with her mind, her vision digging into each crease and wishing she could smooth them out.

With a huff, Kara shuts the book she’s reading. “I’m not really sure what we can do from here, Lena. The dream itself isn’t too complicated but we can’t narrow down the meaning when we can’t make a proper match between what she saw and what’s written here and then what we can find, there seem to be multiple options for what they could mean. That’s without taking the reoccurring factor into account.”

“I know, I spent hours trying to figure it out too, all I could gather from it is that most of the sign point to it being related to an upcoming event and it must be big or at least important for it to be reoccurring how it is.”

Kara sighs heavily, picking up her coffee mug and taking a sip only to pull away in disgust when she realizes that it’s long since gone cold. “Ew.” With a quick blast of heat vision, her coffee is once again steaming hot.

Lena holds out her mug and Kara takes the hint, using a second blast of her heat vision to warm hers up too. “Maybe we should stop focusing on what her dream was and focus on what her dream is now.”

“What do you mean?” A crinkle forms between Kara’s eyes and it takes everything in Lena not to reach out with a finger and press down on the flesh to smooth it out.

Lena takes a deep breath, rerunning the logic through her head to make sure she’s not about to talk out of her ass in front of Kara. “Ok, so, hear me out. What if the reason Nia isn’t waking up is because she’s dreaming? Sounds pretty logical, right? So, if she is dreaming, there’s a good chance that it’s a different dream from before because her other dream was keeping her awake while this one is making her sleep, it’s two ends of the spectrum, too little and too much, we need to get inside of her head to see what’s happening.”

Kara’s face doesn’t change throughout her messy explanation and not for a good thirty seconds afterwards either, finally, she opens her mouth to speak, closing it again a moment later and thinking for a bit longer before coming up with something to say. “That’s a good theory.”

“Do you think it’s worth looking into?”

Kara nods. “I do and I know how to do it too.” Without further prompting, Kara makes quick work of setting all of Nia’s books into a relatively neat pile and then heads for the door, stopping to look back over her shoulder and beckon Lena to follow her. “You coming?”

Lena rushes to her feet, almost tripping as she finds her balance and ups her pace to catch up with Kara’s long, confident strides. “Where are we going?”

“The med bay.”

Lena can barely keep up with Kara, her strides far too determined for Lena’s uncertain gait.

“Alex, we’ve got a plan!” Kara announces their presence, “Brainy, I need that weird forehead thing you used to see into my mind when we first met and I need you to make it so Lena and I can go into her dream.”

Brainy frowns, “I think that if anyone is going into Nia Nal’s dreams, it should be me.”

“Are you caught up on all of the things that have been happening in her dreams recently?” Kara challenges.

Brainy hesitates, his hands still cradling Nia’s. “Well, no.”

“Then it has to be us, there’s too much stuff to catch you up on so we need you to just do whatever you can to make this happen so we can try and figure out what in the world is happening to Nia.” Kara moves over to Alex. “Have you found anything on any of the tests? Anything that might show why she’s like this?”

Alex looks down at Nia, sadness evident on her face. “No, I haven’t but she is stable.” She turns to Lena. “Hey, sorry I snapped at you.”

“Don’t worry about it, I deserve it.”

“No, you don’t.”

Brainy breaks through the moment, not letting them argue over something he deems insignificant when his girlfriend is lying prone on a bed in the med bay. “I’ll be right back, I have the device in storage still and I believe that it will only take me approximately eight minutes to repurpose it so you can enter her dreams.”

“Alright, we’ll go over the test results again just to be sure while you go and do that then, Brainy,” Lena says, a little worried about her plan now that they are actually going through with it and needing the reassurance of the tests to tell her that Nia is healthy enough that she can cope with having her and Kara’s consciousness darting around in her head for a little while.

Alex doesn’t put up much of a fuss at Lena wanting to double-check the results, she can tell by the apprehension clinging to her bones that Lena needs to see them for her own peace of mind rather than because she doesn’t trust her judgement and skills.

Lena takes the tablet Alex offers her and immediately notices that she has a lot of brain activity and that all of her stats are completely fine. That’s good news. “I hope this works.”

“Me too but why do you need to see her dream if she already told you what it is?”

“I think it’s a different one and I need to see it because I think that something terrible is going to happen and it’s going to happen sooner than we want it to,” Lena says, trying to rid the panic from her chest and ground herself before they get on with what they need to do.

Kara takes a seat beside Nia after pulling up a couple of chairs to the side of the bed. Of all of the strange things that she’s done over the years of her being Supergirl, this is going to be up there with the weirdest because seriously, she’s about to go into somebody else’s dream.

She’s had Brainy in her head before and Alex in her black mercy induced dream but to go into somebody else’s feels personal on a level that makes her a bit uneasy. It makes her feel like she’s invading Nia’s privacy a bit but as of yet, she hasn’t come up with any other ideas of how to help get Nia out of her comatose state so they are going to have to go through with Lena’s plan.

It doesn’t take a genius to see how much Lena is beating herself up because she didn’t instinctively know that Nia was in a bad way, how could she? Nia was just asleep, something that everyone sees on a regular basis since she’s always napping around The Tower and it makes sense that Lena would think that she’s just sleeping for a while to catch up on sleep after barely catching a wink for several days in a row. Kara just wishes she could say something to make Lena feel better. Maybe if the plan works it will help to alleviate some of the guilt that Lena is riddled with.

Those few minutes that Brainy is off sorting out his device to make it compatible with their situation feel like hours because they don’t have a lot to say, their worry for Nia palpable and their brains refusing to do them the service of allowing them to make small talk. It’s probably a good thing really, they would end up feeling bad for talking about the weather in a situation like this once it’s over anyway.

Brainy does appear not long after, with a confident swagger to his walk now that he has his mind partially occupied on his work rather than Nia’s wellbeing.

“I have recalibrated these devices so that you can enter her dream seamlessly. I have added an inbuilt distress signal so that I can pull you out if you need me to, this device will let me know when you want to come out anyway and I can remotely put you under. For safety, I would suggest you both be monitored the entire time you’re in Nia’s dreams. You will also wake up naturally if the dream comes to a natural end. That’s what we’re hoping for.”

“Ok, that sounds good,” Kara says, urging Lena to come and take a seat next to her by gently tugging on her sleeve.

Lena clasps onto the edge of Kara’s cape, nervous but trusting in Brainy and his device. He’s a smart guy and they have Alex watching over them too. This should be fine.

Brainy and Alex start surrounding them, working like a well-oiled machine as they set up the devices on their foreheads, a long, white bar of an item with wires coming off of it and then adding more wires around their bodies to track their stats while they are under, mostly just tracking brain activity, heart rate and blood pressure.

Lena tries not to fidget as Alex carefully sticks wires and electrodes onto her, repositioning them where she has to and being gentler than Lena has ever seen her be. She’s been told about Alex’s past as a doctor but she’s never really seen her in practice properly. It’s a nice surprise and it leaves her with no doubts that Alex was a good doctor, it’s almost a shame she quit being one but she does a lot of good as a badass vigilante too. A doctor, a secret agent and a superhero, Alex has done it all, she really has.

“Are you ready?” Brainy asks, giving them one last chance to back out, one that neither woman is about to take.

Kara and Lena share one last look before nodding, both of them nervous and doing their best not to show it. “We’re ready,” Kara speaks for them both.

“Three, two, one.” Brainy remotely switches on the devices and in an instant Kara and Lena are unconscious, their bodies sliding on their chairs until they are leaning against each other, keeping each other up like two cards in a card pyramid.

Kara is shocked to find herself lying on the ground in what appears to be a desert of some kind, sand trickling into her suit and making her feel all icky.

A quick glance around shows her that Lena is right beside her, also in the process of figuring out what’s going on and very intrigued by the glow of the bright turquoise sand they are resting on.

“Lena, are you alright?”

“Fine. Are you?”

“Yeah, let’s try and find Nia.” Kara heaves herself to her feet, hating the feeling of the sand racing its way through her suit until it’s pooled up in her boots. For a dream, this feels awfully real and any other time that would be cool but there’s not much worse than having sand in your shoes.

Lena takes a good look around. She uses her hand to block the rays of a harsh sun from her eyes, noting with a hint of excitement that it’s a red sun, the same as Rao, the sun from Kara’s home planet. “The sun is really pretty.”

“It is, it reminds me of home.” Kara smiles slightly but doesn’t linger on it for long, letting herself have only a tiny amount of time to embrace the moment before getting back to task.

They look all the way around them, looking out over the sand to try and spot anything other than desert and they don’t have to search for long because off in the distance to the south of them, they can spot a giant structure of what appears to be a castle of some kind, one that you would see in a fairy-tale. It has turrets and flags and towers. It’s majestic.

Lena finds herself drawn to it and not just because it’s the only thing here other than sand. “I have a feeling that Nia might be there.”

“You really think so?” Kara questions.

“I do.”

“Let’s go then.”

They trudge their way through the sand, cursing the coarse feeling of it as it rubs against their skin, hurting them even in the dream which doesn’t bode well if they have to face anything worse than some sand.

It takes them a while to get there but also simultaneously no time at all, their perception of time warped by the dream completely. They find themselves standing before a great gate, wood and metal intertwined to create a rustic-looking beauty that Lena thinks would make a great garden gate if it were much smaller.

Kara reaches out to try and push it open and trips when her hand goes right through it, her body falling after it. Lena can’t stop the snort of laughter that she lets out, the noise loud and obnoxious as she walks through the gate herself only to then trip over herself as her foot catches on Kara’s body that is still on the floor from where she fell.

“You just fell for me.” Kara laughs.

“Try that again after the second date and maybe I’ll find it cute.” Lena rolls her eyes, pushing herself to her feet and pulling Kara up with her, looking around the courtyard to see where they should go next. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Say what you want about dreams, they can be really helpful when you need a little bit of a hand figuring out where to go next,” Lena replies, looking up at one of the turrets of the castle that is glowing with a faint pink and yellow ripple.

Kara’s eyes widen at the sight. “That’s…something.”

“It sure is,” Lena says, finding the door closest to the turret and hoping that they will just find some stairs that will lead right the way up to it.

Once they are inside the castle, an easy feat if there ever was one, they become pretty bummed to find out that in every direction they look is a hallway that looks identical to the others, one that doesn’t fit into what a hallway in a castle should look like, one that you’d expect to find in a doctor’s office.

“Well, that’s less helpful.”

A loud, high-pitched scream from above them and somewhere to the right has all of their hair standing up, their ass cheeks clenching and their eyes widening. They follow it, almost by instinct at this point that if something is scary, they should go toward it like the idiots in movies that always die first.

As they are trying to find the source of the noise, the screech happens again, this time closer but still above them, perhaps directly above. Lena almost jumps out of her skin at the sound of it and holds a hand over her chest to steady her pounding heart. “Holy shit, I’m suddenly remembering why I usually leave the missions to anyone else but me. I can’t wait until I can get back to my lab and just pretend none of this ever happened.”

“As if, you come on a mission once and your life is forever changed and you can no longer back out of being sucked into coming out on more missions, we’ll have to get you started in training so you can learn to kick some major balls.” Kara smiles at Lena for a moment, her smile only then widening when she notices a little doorway blended into the wall, a panel of plaster jutting out on hinges in the most peculiar way. “Ah, a door.”

“That’s not a door, that’s a wall built by a blind person who thought they were building a window.” Lena reluctantly follows Kara through the gap, keeping her in arm’s reach at all times.

“Don’t be mean,” Kara says, a complete lack of bite to her tone. She reaches out behind her as a third scream echoes through the new hallway they are now in. Lena takes her offered hand and skims her eyes over the exposed brick of the new hallway they are in. It looks like a servant’s passage, much more befitting of a castle.

They come to the apex of a narrow set of stairs and come to a stop when they see something they were not expecting before.

“Hey, Nia,” Kara calls out quietly at the woman standing in the middle of a banquet hall atop a great wooden table. She’s dressed in a squirrel costume and is throwing the large, heavy candles from the table up at a boombox that is strung from the ceiling by a thick rope.

Nia turns to them rapidly, startled by their presence, and without thinking she tosses a candle in their direction. Kara, thinking quick on her feet, ducks. Lena isn’t so lucky and the candle hits her in her chest, sending her gasping to her knees while she cradles her injured left boob in her hands. “Ow!"

Nia’s hands shoot up to cover her mouth as she gasps in shock. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry, Lena!”

“Don’t worry about it.” Lena wheezes, making her way to her feet, hands still cradling her injured boob, “accidents happen.”

“Is your—” Nia points to her own boobs for a moment awkwardly, “ok?”

“Give me a minute to recover and then I’ll tell you.”  Lena breathes heavily through her nose, releasing her boob after a few long moments. “Ok, ok, so, how are you, Nia?”

“Me? You’re the one that’s injured!” Nia exclaims.

Lena shrugs. “You’re the one in a comatose state in the med bay and the one that we had to use some of Brainy’s future tech to get into the dream of.”

Nia’s face goes blank. “What?”

Kara nods. “Yeah, that about sums it up. You went to sleep and haven’t woken up, we’re nearing seventeen hours at this point and this is a dream, nice squirrel costume by the way, you want some nuts?”

Nia looks down at what she’s wearing and her eyes grow so wide that both Lena and Kara momentarily worry that they might pop right out of her skull. “Oh, I hadn’t noticed that.”

“And what exactly did you think you were doing with the candles?” Lena asks, very confused about what’s happening and her now aching boob making it hard to concentrate.

A scream fills the air, ricocheting through the open space and answering Lena’s question. The boombox shakes with the force of the sound and it makes them all rush to cover their ears. “I was trying to destroy that.”

“Understandable but can we figure out how to get Nia to wake up so we can leave this hellscape please?” Kara asks, not enjoying her time here in any way, shape or form.

Lena agrees right away. “That’s a great plan. Nia, do you know if we can get higher up in the castle from here?”

“We’re in a castle? Neat.”

“That’s a no then.” Lena sighs. “How have you been here for this long and yet you don’t know anything about what’s going on?”

Nia’s lips turn down and she finally climbs off the table, coming down to the same level as Lena and Kara. “I don’t know, this just happens sometimes, I sort of become entwined with my dreams to the point where I don’t question them.”

“Well maybe that’s how we get out of here, we make you more aware of your dream and I know where to take you to do that.” Lena smiles at Nia, her dimples coming out as she tries to make Nia feel more comfortable. “We saw a turret on the way inside that was glowing, I’d bet my non-injured boob that we can find a few answers in there.”

“Ok, sounds good to me.” Kara shrugs, heading for a door that is on the opposite side of the banquet hall they are in.

The three of them pass through the door and as they do, Nia gasps. Her squirrel costume has disappeared and in its place, her Dreamer outfit has appeared except rather than the usual blue, it’s bright pink.

Lena tilts her head while looking at it, deciding if she approves of it or not. It’s kind of giving Stephanie vibes from LazyTown but she’s here for it. She gives Nia a thumbs up and then keeps heading on her way.

They follow the twists and turns of the hallways they have found themselves in, plain stone slabs adorning the floors while the walls are exposed brick. They feel like they are walking around in circles but there’s nothing else they can do but keep looking for a way up.

They scan each brick they pass and are careful not to trip on the uneven slabs, periodically stubbing their toes and cursing Nia’s dream for giving them all of the awful things people normally try to avoid in real life, sand in shoes, random screaming and now stubbed toes. This dream is nothing short of uncomfortable. Maybe that’s the point.

“Hey Nia, what kind of things annoy you?” Lena asks, eyebrows pulling together.

Nia shrugs. “I don’t know, this?”

Kara catches on to Lena’s train of thought much quicker than Nia does. “What annoys you just in general?”

“I don’t like when people chew with their mouths open.”

Kara shakes her head. “No, that’s not what we mean. What annoys you like…when we’re on a mission?”

“I don’t like booby traps.” Nia shrugs and just a moment later she trips on a wire tracing across the width of the hallway, sending her sprawling across the floor and barely avoiding the axe that swings down from the ceiling.

“Ah, so that’s going to be a problem.” Lena sucks her lips into her mouth. “Maybe we should be making her think about things that make her happy instead.”

Kara nods, staring at the axe for a moment and noting how sharp the edge is. “Nia, think about puppies or something.”

Like magic, a group of puppies come barrelling down the hallway from behind them and run right past them, not stopping for a moment and disappearing from view just moments after like they were never there in the first place.

“That’s kind of cool,” Lena admits. “Nia, make us a door leading to the glowing turret please, maybe a nice one, perhaps something elaborate and fancy, just for the hell of it.”

A white and gold door appears, swirling shapes engraved into it, leaves and flowers etched into the wood in places. It’s a really nice door basically.

Kara tries the door but it’s locked and even a good harsh shove with her shoulder proves fruitless, doing nothing more than starting up a nice bruise that will match the one on Lena’s left boob. “A key, Nia?”

A large brass key drops from the ceiling above them.

“Thanks.” Kara picks it up and slides it into the lock, opening it up to a spiral staircase. “Let’s get up there and get out of here, it sucks here, Nia, no offence.”

“If I can control it all then it means it’s a lucid dream.” Nia frowns. “Lucid dreams in Naltorians aren’t that common, despite our powers. It’s a sign of my powers trying to protect me from having dreams that could be detrimental to my health. I guess the other dream was getting to the point where I needed protection from it. The lucid dreams let me control my own dreams, hence letting me provide a safe space for myself but it’s also not uncommon for people to be terrorized in their lucid dreams because they don’t recognize them for what they are and let their emotions dictate their unconscious choices, that’s why the dream has sucked, it’s playing off my annoyance from my recent lack of sleep. It’s interesting to think about.”

They reach the top of the stairs as Nia finishes her explanation. They’re in the turret, they know that now because the glow is emanating from the centre of the room and it’s not the turret itself emitting the light but a portal watch, one similar to the design that Nia has seen Lena begin planning to build.

“I think that’s our way out.” Nia picks it up without hesitation, pressing a couple of buttons and watching as a portal opens. “Who wants to go first?”

Kara places a hand on Nia’s shoulder as she passes her. “Good job, Dreamer.” She passes through the portal.

Lena follows suit. “I agree with that sentiment, come right through after me, ok?”

“I will.”

Lena passes through.

Nia takes a deep breath and passes through.

-

Nia’s eyes flutter open to the bright lights of the med bay, forcing her to shut them again just a moment later because it hurts. “Ow, we need to add dimming bulbs in here.”

“We have them, we just don’t use them,” Alex replies, watching Nia’s stats for a minute before humming, happy that they are all normal. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“Thanks, it’s been a journey.”

“I know, I’ve been told. Kara and Lena woke up a little while ago, I offered to stay with you while they went to go and freshen up. Your boyfriend, however, refused to leave your side.” Alex shifts her gaze to Brainy, the Coluan face down on the mattress, snoring slightly.

Nia doesn’t fight the smile that spreads across her face. “Don’t wake him.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Alex puts her tablet down and presses the back of her hand to Nia’s forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.”

“You’ve been asleep for hours.”

“I know.” Nia laughs. “It wasn’t a relaxing sleep.”

Alex sits down on the chair Kara was unconscious in not long ago. “Was it really bad?”

“Not really bad. Not as bad as the reason I was stuck in my dream in the first place.” Nia’s eyes are already drooping again. “There’s something bad coming, Alex, something that’s going to be really difficult to handle and we have to be ready for it.”

Alex sniffs. “Then we’ll be ready.”

“I hope so.” Nia pressed her head back into her pillow.

“Is that such a good idea?”

Nia grins, little dimples appearing on her cheeks from how wide she’s smiling. “Yeah, I just learned how to lucid dream and I want to ride a unicorn. I know how to wake up by myself now, don’t worry.”

Alex shakes her head. “You can wait to practice your lucid dreaming later, we have fresh coffee in the kitchen for now.”

Nia pouts and it’s honestly a pretty good contender to Kara’s infamous pout. “Really?”

“Really, now get your butt up, we have preparations to get on with if your prediction is correct.”

Read 4 more chapters early on Patreon here!

[slamminslamminmcgill]

@narc69 submitted

hi ok first of all 1) i am so sorry if this is badly written, i started writing and then came to 3 hours later and this was on my page.

2) trigger warnings! intoxication, dubious consent (just to be safe im gonna mark this down as cnc), implied somno, dacryphilia, probably also degradation? just- please take care of yourself and i genuinely sincerely apologize if this is out of line at all. add any other triggers you feel necessary. you can absolutely respond to this privately if you feel more comfortable

3) i don’t speak spanish, google translate is my bitch. mea culpa if the spanish isn’t properly written

—

HI HI HI THANKS SO FUCKING MUCH FOR THIS I LOVE YOU THIS IS AMAZING IVE BEEN ROTATING THIS IN MY MIND OVER AND OVER AGAIN I WILL KILL AND DIE FOR YOU AT YOUR COMMAND 🥺🖤🥺🖤

you didn’t wanna sound like some 50s suburban white guy, but jesus christ, that was a long fucking day.

your body ached, and all you really wanted to do was get high and go to bed, and you didn’t waste any time getting those things done. 

you changed out of your work clothes and grabbed the joint you’d been keeping in your desk drawer. 

there were also pills you’d been saving in the bathroom cabinet and you decided this was a good a time as any to take them. 

anything so long as it didn’t mean having to think. 

-

it was cathartic how the anxiety and tension in your shoulders melted away. the smoke from the joint smelled like citrus and pine and you held it in your lungs before breathing out eloquently. 

it was quiet; only a few cars drove by your apartment complex. crickets chirped somewhere in the background but your head had already began buzzing and you didn’t pay much attention to it. it was nice, the quiet. so much more manageable that being around people all day, the noises of corporate work echoing in your head, like some sort of fucked up lullaby that refused to be quelled. 

a patio door shoved open.

glancing up, you saw lalo salamanca looking down at you from his third floor balcony. you knew him well enough. well enough to know that he was renting his apartment temporarily after finding himself in albuquerque on a “business trip”, anyways. he was nice too. he let you into the building once when you were too drunk to find your keys, and made good conversation when you ran into him in the halls. 

“hey chico, are you smoking?” he called down. you glanced up, scrunching your nose.

“yeah. what’s it to you?”

“you’re smoking and you don’t invite me?" 

"ok well- no one’s stopping you.” you called back up to him. he stared at you for a second, completely silent, then:

“don’t go anywhere." 

a minute later, the front door of the building opened and lalo came walking out. you were visibly already on another planet and lalo couldn’t help but laugh. 

”oh, cosita ingenua.(oh, you naive little thing.)“ he said. 

"what?” you asked him, not understanding a lick of spanish. 

“don’t worry about it. hey- gimme that,” lalo said, taking to joint from your fingers and taking a long drag. you watched him through a haze of brain fog and fatigue. 

“i didn’t know you smoked,” he said. you took the joint back and took your own turn. 

“right back atcha,” you mumbled. lalo watched you, his eyes flickering across your face and hands. for a very brief second, you wondered what he was thinking, but it was almost immediately overshadowed by the buzz still going strong in your head. you zoned out, staring at the ground, head completely empty. 

the joint fell from your hand and landed unceremoniously on the ground.

“awe man…” you pouted, picking it up. it had gone out and you fumbled with your lighter, struggling to light it again. 

lalo hadn’t moved this entire time, and was still watching you failing to light the joint. 

“jesus christ, chico, come here,” he said, taking the joint from you and lighting it himself. “mouth. open. now.” he told you once it was lit properly again. lalo took a lung-full breath of smoke and before you had any say in the matter, he was cupping your face and shotgunning the smoke into your mouth. 

he was so close you could smell him, and he smelled painfully good. like palo santo, and cooking spices, and teakwood. you were almost upset when he pulled back again. 

“woah.” was all that came out of you as a reply.

“you liked that, didn’t you?” he asked, and all you could do was nod. he stepped closer, almost staring you down. “you want me to do it again?" 

without thinking, you nodded.

just like the first time, he took a long drag and blew the smoke into your mouth. only this time, he didn’t cup your face. he laced it through your hair and pulled just gently enough for you to let out the most innocent little whine. 

lalo laughed, having elicited the exact response he was hoping for. he pulled you in for a hug, enveloping you in darkness. his hand was on the back of your head, and it was cold. his fingers trailed along your neck, rubbing up and down and made you feel funny. 

"i think you’ve had enough,” he whispered into your ear, apparently making all the decisions for you now. lalo carefully put out the joint and put it back in the plastic bag you’d been keeping it in, and he slipped it back into your pocket. “how about i walk you back to your apartment.”

-

there was a confused frown etched into your brow and you subconsciously had one hand on the side of the wall to steady yourself. thoughts were blending into one another, and the world had become an incoherent haze. but you felt good. this is what you’d been hoping for- what the whole week had been building up to. 

“maldito, chiquito, how low is your tolerance?” he snickered, walking beside you towards the elevator. 

“not super low. took some pills too.” you told him, pushing the button that summoned the elevator. there wasn’t a braincell coherent enough in your mind to figure out why that was so funny to lalo. lalo was too busy laughing at how easy this was going for him.

“and you didn’t think to share those either?" 

"i didn’t know you were as fucked up as me." 

the elevator doors closed and lalo turned to you. he laced his fingers through your hair and tugged again, a little harder this time, but still receiving the same little whine as last time. he didn’t let go, keeping his hands where they were. 

"you really like that, don’t you?” he asked, staring at you again. his eyes had a sort of weird glint in them, and it made you nervous, but curious at the same time. you wanted more and no part of your brain was awake enough to think about it rationally for more than half a second. 

“yeah.” you whimpered. 

you stopped on the third floor. 

“hey, i live on the-”

“-fifth floor, i know, chico, we’re gonna stop at my place for a second.” lalo said. you sighed, tiredly, your mind already a million miles past the hair pulling. still, physically you felt different. not more awake, god no, but…warm? was that right? warmer? 

you blinked and looked up when you felt someone take your hand off the wall and hold it in his own. lalo was still next to you, holding you close. 

“i’m gonna take good care of you tonight.”

-

his apartment wasn’t nearly as dressed up as yours was. simple furniture, a rug, a tv, but nothing hanging off the walls, no books, nothing special. 

“sorry it’s so dull chiquito, you should see my house down in Mexico, it’s way nicer than this shitty place.”

“you live in mexico?” you asked, high out of your mind.

“si. correcto, coñejito. so smart.” he said, tapping your cheek. somewhere in the depths of your consciousness you knew he was being condescending, but it translated to something very different when it finally rung through your brain. laughter bubbled up from your chest and you pressed your head into lalo’s chest again. 

lalo didn’t waste any time and took his chance when it stared him right in the face. his hands held your head so he could control which direction he wanted your face to point. gripping your hair he moved your head so that your jaw was pointing out to him and he kissed down your neck like a fictional vampire going in for the kill. giggling, you wrapped your arms around his back. 

“vamos a llevarte a la cama, huh? let’s get you to bed baby boy.” he whispered into your ears, guiding you to the bedroom. 

his bed was the most comfortable thing you’d ever lain on, certainly more than your own.

“i thought you didn’t sleep?” you mumbled. he’d said that one. you remembered. he did. you swore…

“yeah but…” lalo replied, shutting the door behind him, “you can use a bed for more than just sleeping." 

finally- finally something clicked in your brain.

"let’s get these off. you don’t wanna sleep in jeans now, do you?” he said, climbing on top of you, virtually pinning you down, undoing your belt buckle. 

he felt heavy on top of you, but it felt good. you made a noise- something else incoherent, and let yourself sink into the mattress. 

“that’s it, just relax. just relax, coñejito. i’ll take care of you.” lalo said, his fingers slipping under the band of your underwear. his thumb brushed along your pelvic bone and you whined. 

clumsily, you reached out to grab lalo’s wrist.

“wait…” you mumbled, the embers of some sort of fear sparked in your chest. your boxers were already halfway down. “wait, seriously-”

“yes, chiquito?” he asked, still inching your underwear off. 

“ ’m trans- i- bro i don’t have a dick.” you told him, the most coherent thing to come out of your mouth in the last hour.

lalo slid your boxers off and threw them on the ground. he spread your legs, looming over you. he laughed at your statement, and you still couldn’t figure out why it was so funny to him. 

you felt something cold part your lips and his thumb, barely touching you, teasing you, rubbed circles into you. you groaned, pushing your head back into the pillows.

“this looks like a dick to me.” he said, pressing harder onto it. you couldn’t help but moan louder, reveling in how good it felt. his fingers found their way into your hole and you gasped, instinctively closing your knees. lalo shoved them open and you felt a harsh slap across your face.

“hey! you keep your legs open for me. understand?” he asked, his voice suddenly serious. 

“okay.” you whimpered.

“next time i won’t just hit you across the face, chiquito. you listen to me.” lalo said, working his fingers back into you. “i see you’re already nice and soaked for me. i guess you’re capable of doing that at least." 

he kept touching and feeling you, pushing his fingers inside of you until you couldn’t hold on anymore. you came all over his hand and liquid dripped off his wrist and…lalo looked furious. 

"im sorry.” you whined, shaking, “i’m sorry i just…" 

"keep your legs open.” lalo said, his voice dangerously soft. you obeyed,  and yelped when he did exactly as he warned early. a wet smack landed hard against your dick. it was swollen and hard and so, so sensitive and you cried out again, and again as he slapped you until he’d decided you’d learned your lesson. 

“you’re mine, and you do as i say. you cum when i tell you to. not before, not after, understand?” he repeated, 

“yes- yes lalo.” you nodded. 

“good.” he smiled, undoing his own belt buckle. “you can be as loud as you want- let the neighbours know how much of a whore you are, just as long as you do as i say." 

his pants dropped to the ground, and wrapping one hand around your throat, he remained punctual and wasted no time pressing himself into you. your back arched and your hands rushed to grab his shoulders once more. you gasped and moaned, not a thought in your head.

"bet that weed’s really getting to you now, isn’t it, baby boy? or those pills you kept talking about? i bet they’re really making their rounds now. get yourself all loosened up, let some random guy two floors down from you blow smoke into your mouth, let him lead you into his apartment, and you call me fucked up? hm? is that how it is?” he asked, fucking himself into you with no hesitation or plans to slow down. 

“lalo…” you groaned, gripping the sheets. you couldn’t even process what he was saying, just that whatever he was doing felt good and you didn’t want it to stop. your high only amplified everything. 

“yeah baby boy? what is it cariño. does it feel good to be fucked by a guy you barely know?" 

"yes, god yes.” you moaned. your dick pulsed between your legs and lalo took his free hand to it, rubbing his thumb up and down it, using your own cum as lube. “get comfortable baby, we’re gonna be here for a while.”

-

you lost track of time far too easily. everything swirled in your head like one big cloudy haze. you fell asleep at one point, and woke up a little while later covered in spit and cum, with lalo sucking you off, swirling his tongue around your cock. 

you think it’s somewhere around three in the morning when lalo finally gives you permission to cum again. everything felt heightened and hot, and your pulsing hole was sore and wet and still full of lalo’s dick. 

“you can let go for me, cariño, i know you have to, you can let go.” he said, and fresh tears came into your eyes at hearing him tell you to cum. 

“please- it’s- lalo-” you slurred. you’d essentially become his fuck puppy for the night. brain completely empty, lalo tearing orgasm after orgasm out of you, until you were nothing but a shaking wet puddle. you didn’t even remember your shirt coming off, but there you were, abdomen covered in lalo’s cum. 

“oh perrito, is it too much? are you gonna start to cry again? are you gonna cry like the whore you are?” he asked with mock sympathy. he slapped you across the face again and kept thrusting into you, or rather- gripping you by your hips and moving you up and down on his cock like some fuck toy you’d buy at a sex store. “i said cum, so you’d better fucking cum.”

his hand was on your dick once more, rapidly rubbing it back and forth. all you could do was scream. 

“there you go, slut, be loud. be as loud as you fucking can.” lalo growled, unrelenting.

“please, please, please,” you moaned, sobbing, though the words meant nothing. “oh fuck- fuck." 

"there you, come for me. come for me now.”

your body obeyed and you clenched the sheets so hard your knuckles turned white. your moan was the prettiest sound that had ever echoed through lalo salamanca’s bedroom. 

“good boy! bien hecho. oh my sweet baby- fuck-” lalo praised, unable to hold it in himself any longer either. he pulled out, shooting onto your face and into your open mouth. “dios mio, nene. that was the best fuck i’ve had in a while.” he groaned, letting the last little bit dribble onto your lips, and like the good little boy you were you reached your head up and sucked off his tip. 

he got off the bed and left the room, leaving you in your own mess. there was a small, wet puddle by your hole, where all the cum had leaked out. you twitched through the last of the aftershocks, and sobbed, feeling so exhausted- so tired. 

lalo came back a few minutes later with a damp cloth in one hand and a glass of water in the other. carefully, he picked you up and held you close.

“shhh-shhh. it’s okay. it’s over now. you did so good baby boy. let me look at you?” he asked, his voice gentle again. you looked over like he asked and found him caressing your cheek, wiping your tears with the pad of his thumb.

“oh baby, you’re still high, aren’t you? are you okay?” he asked, grinning and laughing a little. you smiled through your tears and nodded. 

“come here, let’s clean this mess off you.” lalo said, gently washing your face with the cloth, laying you down on the bed one more time, cleaning up your chest and your thighs. 

“such a good boy.” he hummed, picking you back up. “lets get you some clean underwear, and we’ll worry about the rest tomorrow. ok cariño?”

“okay.” you mumbled quietly, your throat sore from screaming all night. lalo pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“my good boy." 

[fizzyxcustard]

Covert Eyes (20)

Prologue| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6| Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Spooks

Pairings: Lucas North x OC (Amy Holland)

Warnings: Stalking behaviour, anxiety, language, sexual references, angst, smut, heartbreak, gunshot wounds and recovery.

Summary: Lucas takes notice of a young woman, Amy, but his obsession and want to get to know her begin to spiral out of control. Amy knows that her recovery won’t be quick, and she now has another decision to face. 

Official soundtrack list:  here

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in.

“I knew you would,” Lucas said simply. “I know how much you adore your mum.” 

Amy pulled from the embrace and reached over to the bedside table, flicking on the lamp. Light illuminated the room, highlighting Lucas’ face. She could see the stern set of his features, evidence that he wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of the Holland family knowing about his and Amy’s true occupations. 

“Did you tell her about me as well?” Lucas asked, his face still straight. 

“She guessed,” Amy replied, not able to look Lucas in the eye. Shame swam in her chest and all she could do was question this move. Would it now cause a divide to form between them both? “I think by knowing what I do, it’s almost impossible not to assume that’s how I got into it.” 

Lucas’ mouth had suddenly become dry and he mentally battled himself to try and work out how he felt about this. When they discussed it earlier, Lucas had assumed that he would be angry if Amy told her family. However, he didn’t feel anger in those moments. Everything was confusing. 

Amy shifted from the bed and stood up, facing the window. She crossed her arms and looked down into the dark, dimly-lit street below. “I thought you’d be pissed off with me.” 

Lucas blinked hard, fighting the fatigue. Maybe tomorrow would be easier for him to process his emotions once he had slept properly. “I just want to get in bed with you and go back to sleep, Aim. I don’t know how I feel about this right now. We can talk about it in the morning.” 

The two of them got into bed, where Lucas spooned behind Amy. He kissed her head and heard her sigh. 

“Whatever happens, remember that I love you,” Lucas said softly. 

“I know, and I love you, too.” 

Lucas woke first the next morning, rising from the bed. It was nearing ten ‘o’ clock. He smiled at the sound of Amy’s gentle snores and shuffled out of the room and across the landing to the bathroom. Downstairs and he could hear chattering, two voices, Amy’s mum and dad. 

Once relieved, Lucas slipped back into the guest room to see that Amy was awake. She was lay on her back, gazing at the ceiling. “Sleep well?” Lucas asked. 

“Not bad. How about you? Did you have any dreams again when you went back to sleep?”

“Not that I can remember.” 

Amy slid up the bed and sat up, her head pressed against the headboard. “Can we talk about last night? I just…I really want to sit down and talk to Mum and Dad. I love them, Lucas. I’ve always been so close to them, especially Mum. I tell them everything, and not telling them this just feels wrong.” 

Lucas sat back down on the bed and reached across for Amy’s hand. “I’ve got no right to tell you not to talk to them, Aim. All that I ask is you don’t let this go any further than them. Even your sisters. Please just keep this between us and your parents, no one else. It can get messy if too many people know, and it can cause too many risks of compromise.” 

“Mum already knows we work together, so they know about you, too.” 

Lucas bat his eyelids, looking down at the bed and then smirked. “What’s the worst they can do? Hate their future son-in-law and out him as a spy to anyone who might care?” 

“Don’t be daft!” Amy hissed playfully. “They really like you. Mum keeps saying how happy we seem together.” 

“Because it’s true, from my side at least,” Lucas replied. 

Amy narrowed her eyes. “You know, you’re always saying how I talk shit with my insecurity. You’re not doing too bad a job yourself.” 

***

Amy requested a chat that morning with her parents and Lucas. All four of them sat around the main dining room table, with a mug of coffee each. 

“I spoke with Mum last night,” Amy began, directing her words to her dad initially. “It’s only right that you know. I don’t work for DWP anymore. I started with MI-5 the end of November.” 

“MI-5?” Richard asked, his eyes wide. “Bloody hell, love! How did you manage that?” 

“I was recruited. Back when I got shot; the man who shot me was a target. And…” Amy looked up at Lucas, seeing a reassuring smile. “Lucas works for them, too.”

“You were recruited together?” Richard asked. 

“No, I’ve worked for them for about ten years,” Lucas said. “I initially had to tell Amy that I worked for the police, and then once she knew what I really do, she was vetted. I really shouldn’t have told Amy about my job as early into our relationship as I did, but I trust her. And the fact she knew for a while also worked in her favour to get her recruited.”

“So you go out running surveillance on people?” Richard asked. His grey eyes had lit up in enthusiasm and intrigue. 

Amy smiled. “I don’t, no. That’s Lucas’ job. My role is just analysis, and I’m due to start training in a few weeks. I’ve been shadowing people in the office until my training starts.” 

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart,” Sharon said, taking Amy’s hand in hers. 

“This can’t go any further than just us,” Amy continued. “Not even Leah and Ruth can know. If too many people know then it can mean risks of compromise to us. But it’s too big to not tell you both.” 

***

The rest of the week passed by swiftly. And by the time that leaving day arrived, Amy hugged her parents tight. There was a new concern for her in their eyes, a concern that had only intensified since she had told them the nature of her employment. Richard had already made it clear that if any harm came to his little girl that he would find Lucas and torture him slowly. But that serious conversation was soon followed by a trip to the local pub, where both men shook hands and ventured out into the cold, leaving Amy and Sharon behind at home to curl up either end of the long sofa and watch Labyrinth with David Bowie, and laugh at his crotch in tight leggings. 

As Lucas and Amy drove away from the Holland house, Sharon and Richard waved them goodbye, then turned to disappear back inside. 

Sharon was quiet for a few minutes and walked on behind her husband, who shot into the kitchen to make a fresh cup of tea. “You alright, love?” Richard asked. He flicked on the kettle and leaned on the table, his upper body facing his wife. 

“I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something she’s not telling us, Rich,” Sharon started. “She gets shot by a terrorist suspect, and then MI-5 decide to recruit her? It doesn’t sound right to me. There’s something with the person who shot her, and I can’t shake that feeling. I can’t say that I’m completely over the moon with her change of job. I’m proud of her for how far she’s come, but I just have this heavy feeling in my stomach that she’s not telling us the whole truth.” 

“She’s not going to be able to tell us absolutely everything. I could tell that it took a lot out of her just telling us that she’s got a job with them. You know how they work – everything is top secret and hush hush. Maybe she can’t tell us.” 

“I’ve always told my kids they can come to me with anything, and Amy has always been the one who stuck to that. She’s never kept anything from me. Maybe part of me is jealous of Lucas because he knows the full story behind all of this, and I never will. It’s the first time that she’s kept anything from me, and I don’t think she’s doing it because she wants to.” 

“Of course she isn’t. You’ve just said that she’s never kept anything from us. She’s always been the most honest of the three girls.”

“I don’t want this job and relationship to change her.” Sharon shook her head in sadness and looked away, feeling tears sting in her eyes. 

“It won’t,” Richard said softly. He put his arm around Sharon and held her against him. “If anything, her relationship has brought her back out of her shell. Those years with Adam almost wrecked her. When she’s with Lucas, she’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her. Can you ever remember her and Adam holding hands like that, or just generally being affectionate?” 

***

The drive back to London was fairly swift, with little to no queues of traffic. 

It was early afternoon by the time Lucas pulled the car over to a spot outside their maisonette block. For a split second he was taken back to the times he had watched her enter and exit the building. It was when they had barely known each other, with only their morning coffee being a method of communication between them. 

Amy got out the car first and moved around to the rear end to get their suitcases out of the boot. 

Once the two of them had got their cases and were back into the flat, Lucas turned to Amy. “Before we get all of this sorted,” he began, his eyes drifting over the two suitcases, “how about we go out for something to eat?” 

“Yeah, okay. I don’t really fancy preparing anything.” 

After their meal at the local café, where they first met, Lucas and Amy walked home hand in hand. There was a flurry of snow on the air, and the sun tried hard to shine from beneath the thickening clouds. “Looks like it might be setting in for the afternoon,” Lucas said, quickly glancing across at Amy who seemed quiet again. 

Back at their flat door, Lucas unlocked it and let Amy inside first. 

“You okay, Aim?” he asked as he took his black scarf off from around his neck. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with me telling Mum and Dad about our jobs? You’re risking a lot because of me, I know that. Should I have listened to you on this?” Amy sat down at the dining room table and looked up at Lucas who was hovering a few feet away. He’d switched on the overhead light as the thick cloud outside seemed to be darkening the world. 

“I shouldn’t have been so worried about it, Aim. Now I see that I was quite hypocritical about it; I told you about my job a lot earlier than I should have done.”

“You told me because our relationship was riding on it, remember? You disappeared for nearly a week with no word, so I get why you told me. I did kind of corner you.” 

“Don’t question your decision,” Lucas reassured. “I know I need to let you make decisions for yourself and not be down on you. If we’re going to get married then I need to trust you with decision making.” 

The word married made Amy shiver. She still couldn’t believe that she was engaged to this gorgeous man in front of her. He had previously been the kind of man that she would have only dreamed about dating. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever imagine a man like Lucas North would be interested. 

That evening and Amy made sure that Lucas’ work shirts were ironed as he was due on shift the next morning. Amy wasn’t due in until midday, but had decided to head in with Lucas anyway to build some extra hours. Music played in her ear buds as she ironed his shirts and a couple of her blouses. It was a long forgotten song from an old Bon Jovi album she’d downloaded a week prior. Lucas was taking a bath as she worked. He never took showers, even though Amy had a shower head over her bath. Only ever baths. Showers brought upon bouts of anxiety, reminding him of his time in Lushanka, his hell on Earth.

As Amy finished up the last shirt, she felt arms slip around her from behind, and smelt the faint scent of lavender from the bubble bath. “I wouldn’t have minded the company, you know?” he whispered. 

“I know, sweet, but I’ve got to get the ironing done for us starting back to work. I’m going to have a quick shower though before bed.” 

“I’m going to have an early night and read for a bit. Maybe we can do in bed what I had in mind for the bath?” 

“Or we could just do it now?” Amy whispered, turning around and pulling him into a kiss. 

A few minutes later and Amy found herself pinned beneath Lucas as they made love in their bed. It was slow, deep, intense. They always took their time, prolonging the build and pleasure. Lucas groaned and panted as he held her one leg aside, his hips moving in a rhythm. It had been over a week now since they’d been intimate as Amy had felt great shame at the thought of having sex in the bedroom next door to her parents. But now they could express their love and want again.

The next morning they woke to a light layer of snow on the ground and a thin mist veiling the sun which was still trying to scorch through the cloud. Lucas brought himself and Amy a take away coffee from their café and then they rode the underground to work. Little did they know, a pair of peering eyes watched through the crowds. They were focused on Amy, taking in her short stature, curvy frame and the way she never let go of Lucas’ hand among the crowds. 

“Positive ID,” the voice said softly into the microphone beneath his collar; it was paired with an American accent. “She’s with Lucas North.” 

***

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[the-hyperfixation-station223]

Another fic I wrote. In this one Dorothy has a fever, all her Oz freinds freak out

Dorothy wasn't very concerned when she woke up with a headache, chills, and feeling of fatigue. Sure it had been a while since she’d been sick, but she was used to this type of thing, she always got sick around this time of year back in Kansas so why wouldn't the same thing happen in Oz?

She went to her Aunt Em, told her how ill she felt, and Em felt her forehead.

“You do feel a bit warm.” Aunt Em studied her niece’s face, “have you eaten anything yet?”

“No. I haven’t had much of an appetite this morning.” Dorothy shrugged, and then coughed into her elbow.

Em sighed, “I’d take your temperature, but I dont think Ive seen a thermometer, that wasn't meant for food, since we moved here.”

“I’ll try to catch Ozma and ask her to send one,” Uncle Henry said, putting his hat on, “Em, you take Dorothy back to her room, ‘an make sure she’s resting ‘till we find out if she’s trying to get sick on us or not.”

None of them were too concerned, they’d done this a few dozen times before. Ever since Dorothy first came to live with them they had to deal with the odd cold, fever, and even the flu once or twice.

Dorothy layed in bed while her aunt sat on the end and read a book, looking up now and again to make sure Dorothy was drinking the glass of water on her bedside. Even if she wasn't sick- she still needed to stay hydrated. Or so Em insisted. 

Dorothy was used to this, all it would take was some rest and she’d be back on her feet in no time. Even if she wasn't exactly sick, she’d had ear and sinus infections before, among other ambiguous childhood illnesses. She was used to just waiting them out- due to how Aunt Em and Uncle Henry didn't have much money to go out and visit a doctor, or call one to the farm. They had water, a bed, and vegetables for soup. That helped clear her up all the time before.

But, and perhaps this due to her tired state, she had seemed to of forgotten the large group of friends she had accumulated over her years in Oz. Friends who came from a fairy land where people choose when they age- and the most ill a person got was only when they ate food that was too old, or not made properly.

She shouldn't of been shocked when Uncle Henry came back with The Wizard, carrying a medical bag, half the castle staff, and Ozma trailing behind him. Aunt Em shouldn't of either, yet both were initially confused.

“Evening Dorothy.” The Wizard nodded as he set the medical bag on a desk near her bed and took out a thermometer.

“Uh- ‘evenin, Wizard. Why is-”

“- Why is Ozma and half the castle behind me?” he asked with a half laugh as he cleaned the thermometer. “You remember how Fairy folk don't get sick right?”

“Right.” Dorothy rolled her eyes, how’d she manage to forget that? 

Uncle Henry stood at the end of the bed beside Aunt Em, holding her hand, and shrugged. 

“Your uncle tried to explain it to them but, open please-” he started, taking the Kansas girl's temperature as he continued, “but they insisted on making sure it wasn't some- curse or hex.”

“And even if it wasn't.” Ozma added as the wizard looked at the thermometer, she was turning her scepter over in her hands. “You're a princess, if the princess is i’ll she’s the right to care and assistance till she’s well again.”

“Yep, that's fever temperature.” Aunt Em stated, looking at the thermometer the Wizard handed to her. 

“Looks like you’re not leaving your room for the next few days.” Uncle Henry added.

“And to make sure she’s not hexed or poisoned.” the Wizard said, taking out a bottle of sparkly white liquid, “the thermometer please.” Aunt Em handed the thermometer back. He placed the thermometer in the liquid and swirled the bottle a bit.

Ozma and the castle staff had their eyes on the bottle, tensely waiting for something. Ozma having a mix of concern and sternness on her face, Dorothy knew if it did end up being some kind of poison or charm making her sick Ozma’d be right on her way to both curing her, and finding the culprit. 

And Dorothy knew said Culprit would have none of Ozma’s mercy.

“It’d be a surprise if this turned out to be magic though,” Dorothy thought, “it feels like any ordinary fever.”

The liquid in the bottle turned sky blue.

“She's clear, it's just a plain old fever.” The Wizard confirmed. There was a weak sigh of relief, given the Ozians in the room were not too sure what exactly a ‘plain old fever’ was, they were just glad their princess wasn't poisoned or a target of malicious magic.

“And how is a ‘Fever’ treated? What do people in Kansas do for it?” Ozma asked, walking to the end of Dorothy’s bed, looking from Dorothy to Aunt Em and Uncle Henry.

“Well most folk can afford a doctor visit, and if it's really bad they get medicine.” Uncle Henry explained. “But back on the farm we couldn't really afford much of that. So we had her rest, drink water, and eat things like soup.” 

“It's not good to eat real heavy foods during a fever, the stomach tends to be- ‘easily upset’.” Em added.

“Don't forget fruit juice.” The wizard said, packing up the medical supplies. “Growing up, orange juice was always given to kids who were feeling ill.”

“Alright then, I’ll have the chefs start on that right away. Em, would you mind instructing them on what to do while making the soup?” Ozma asked Aunt Em, giving a nod to some of the castle staff to go and inform the kitchen.

Aunt Em looked over to Dorothy.

“Probably best you go as soon as you can, before the inevitable flood of ‘get well soon’ cards flood in when Ozma tells all of Oz that ‘Princess Dorothy is not to be disturbed till she recovers from her illness’.” Dorothy said, doing a haughty voice as she impersonated Ozma in a good natured taunt. Ozma stuck her tongue out at her before smiling, just glad her co-princess was on her way to recovery.

“Fair enough.” Aunt Em shrugged as she stood up and handed Henry the book she was holding, one of the castle hands accompanied her down to the kitchen.

“Is there anything specific you want right now?” Ozma asked Dorothy.

“Not really, apart from rest. The sooner I get over this the better, but do tell Toto where I am for me, will you?”

“Of course, and if you need anything else…” Ozma summoned a silver bell with a green diamond on the end of its handle. “Ring this.”  

“Will do Ozma.” 

The ruler of Oz nodded and made her way out of Dorothy’s room.

“I’ll be helping your Aunt, do you want the window open so you can have som fresh air?” Uncle Henry asked, putting the book away.

“Yes please, but could you pull the curtain closed so the lights dimmed? Its a beautiful bright day outside, but its not helping the headache.” Dorothy asked. Henry nodded and adjusted the windows as she asked. The green curtain flushed the room in a soft green light.

“Take it easy now.” He said as he stood in the doorway.

“I’ll take it as easy as I can, knowing it won't be too long before the others make their way here to check on me.” she stated with a laugh. Henry chuckled,

“Yeah. They’d just be trying to help, they care about you a lot.”

“I know, I’d probably be acting just like Ozma if she was the one sick right now, especially since it be a curse or poison that’d be making her ill.”

“Most likely. I’ll see you ‘round lunch, if nothing else happens.” Henry nodded before leaving, shutting the door behind him and leaving Dorothy in the green lit room.

She laid down, nestling her head on the soft pillows, and did her best to get some extra sleep.

Dorothy wasn't too sure how long she had been sleeping when she felt something fuzzy beside her face. She opened her eyes to a little black mass of fuzz and fur looking at her face sympathetically.

“Hello Toto.” she chuckled as she sat up and hugged him. “I assume Ozma told you I was sick?”

Toto looked up at her with his big black eyes.

“Let me guess, she’s also told all of Emerald City by now, hasn't she?

“What do you think?” Toto sighed as he curled in her lap. Dorothy smiled fondly. 

“Did she bother to explain it wasn't serious?”

“She told them it wasn't magic, that its a normal thing where we come from, and thats all I heard her say.”

Dorothy rolled her eyes.

“How’d our fellow ‘non fairy’ friends react?” She asked, leaning against the pillows like a chair back as she pet the black dog in her lap.

“Hm,” Toto snickered. “As you’d expect, they were sympathetic but otherwise unworried. Hank had to explain what a fever even was to Sawhorse.”

Then his ear flicked, and he lifted his head up to listen.

“What is it?”

Toto listened and then got up and stood on the edge of the bed, ears cocked towards the door as he focused to understand what he was hearing. Then his ears returned to their resting position as he sat down.

“It's your friends.”

Dorothy could hear them now, a set of metallic footsteps, light footsteps that rustled each time they hit the ground, and two sets of four large paws, all walking this way. 

“I was wondering when they’d get here.” she picked Toto back up and held him as she waited for them to walk through her door.

As the footsteps got close she could hear what they were talking about.

“-don't know.” Scarecrow said, apparently just finishing a sentence. “She only ever slept as long as the night was on our adventures- but she wasn't sick then.”

“Tinman, you were human once, right?” Dorothy heard the Tiger ask.

“Yes but I was a Munchkin, not- whatever the people in Kansas call themselves.” the Tinman answered, sounding worried.

“Her Uncle did say she’s had this illness before.” the Lion added. “So she’s bound to recover from it easily. We shouldn't worry that much, right?” 

The footsteps stopped right outside her door. None of them entered or even knocked. 

Dorothy listened as her friends continued talking in the hallway, each a different variation of concern.

“Jellia Jamb said the Wizard confirmed it wasnt magic or poison, I guess this is just a thing people from Kansas go through.” Scarecrow said, Dorothy heard paper rustling, like turning pages. He must be reading something.

Then he sighed, closing whatever he was reading.

“Nothing in that one either?” Tinman asked.

“No. and that's the third one I brought with me. I know its not an Oz thing but with how many non-fairy people find their way here, not to mention the Wizard- who was the ruler for years, one would think we’d have something about ‘Fevers’ written down by now.” The Scarecrow sounded defeated.

Dorothy didn't mean anything cruel by it, but she had to cover her mouth to keep herself from laughing. 

“Are they trying to find a cure of some sort?” she wondered. “Or are they just trying to learn so they can help?” Either way it was a very sweet, if unnecessary, gesture. 

“I mean they have diseases I haven't even heard of in here, rainbow tongue, musical sneezes, reptilian/amphibian transformation, magic hiccups, and- i don't even know how to say that one.” Dororthy heard Scarecrow flip through the book, reading off its contents.

“According to her family- she just needs to rest it off.” the Tiger said.

“I know, I just wish we knew how to help.” Scarecrow said, defeated.

“We know, we’ve always been able to help  her when she needed it before…” Tinman trailed off. 

There was a pause of silence. 

Dorothy listened for what they’d say next, she knew her friends would of been worried but she’s just realizing she underestimated how worried. She was half tempted to get up and tell them it wasn't anything that serious, but when she leaned towards the edge of her bed Toto looked back at her. 

She needed to rest, even if it wasn't sleeping, and she knew he was going to make sure she got it. She leaned back against the pillows and sighed. She could call out but the fever was starting to affect her throat, and she did not want to make it worse by raising her voice.

Besides- even if she told them that a fever isn't that serious, it’d hardly change anything. They were her friends, they had faced peril after peril together. She was sick and they were worried, and nothing was going to stop them from worrying.

She just sat back and listened, her and Toto waiting to see what they were going to do. Then there was a snap, or a close approximation of a snap- given it was made with straw stuffed fingers.

“Let's go and talk to Betsy, Trot, Cap’n Bill, and Shaggy man. They’re bound to know something about this aren't they?” Scarecrow suggested.

“Good idea.” Tinman said.

“I think I saw her and Hank talking by the moat when we started for Dorothy’s room, we should be able to catch them if we go now.” Lion siad. Then the steps of her friends' faded away, the opposite direction of where they came.

“Must've thought I was sleeping.” Dorothy muttered to herself. Toto looked at her, then at the door, and back at here. A question in his eyes.

“Hm. No, it's really sweet they want to learn more about non-fairy stuff just to try and help. You can go and get them once they’re done talking with the others tho.” Dorothy answered. Toto nodded and curled back up on her lap. Dorothy sat there and thought to herself,

“If any of them ever were sick I suppose I’d be the same. I’ll have to make sure I tell them I appreciate their efforts- as unnecessary as they are.”

Unsurprisingly it didn't take long for several bouquets of flowers to be delivered to Dorothy. Each one from a different place in Oz. She had one pile of white and green flowers from people in the Emerald city, one of blue flowers from the Munckinds- who’s were the largest pile, one of yellow and tin flowers from the winkies, red flowers from the quadlings, and several purple bouquets from the gillikins. Most of which were lavender, which smelled very nice but started to take over the room. Dorothy had to ask Ozma to take some away, those ones were put in the guest bedrooms since lavender is known to help with sleep.

Needless to mention the cards attached. When Aunt Em came by with ‘dinner’, a light vegetable soup and apple juice with sliced strawberries in it, she mentioned how Uncle Henry had been helping the castle hands with sorting the cards.

“May as well be a post office down stairs.” she stated.

Not too long after her Aunt stopped by, her friends did as well, this time accompanied by Jack Pumkinhead.

“You dont think pumpkins can catch ‘Fevers’ do you?” Jack had asked when he saw Dorothy. She shook her head.

“Nope, as long as you're from Oz I doubt you can get sick from me.” she told him.

“But-” Scarecrow added, “we can carry germs- even if we can't get sick. So for the sake of our other non fairy friends- we have to stay a distance from Dorothy.”

“I don't think we could get to her past the flowers anyways.” Lion stated looking around at the piles of bouquets.

“I don't mind if any of you keep some of them, I don't have enough room for them.” Dorothy stated but her friends refused. “Speaking of the others, did any of you ask them what Fevers are like?”

“Betsy said they make you tired and give you a headache." Lion stated.

"Trot said she's only had a fever once, and it made her sick to her stomach." Tiger added

"Shaggy man and Capin' Bill said they make you shiver, feel awful, and like things are going in slow motion." Tinman finished with a concerned look.

“All around it sounds miserable.” Jack crossed his arms.

“You’re not wrong, it's no fun at all. But it happens all the time where I'm from. Just a side effect of living in a Non-fairy land I guess.” she told them.

“We’re glad.” Lion stated.

“And we’re gonna stay here till you’re better. So let us know if we can help with anything.” Tinman added.

“I already have the entire castle at my beck ‘n call, though I Suppose it's always been like that since I became a princess. But I'm glad you’re all here, and thank you for wanting to help.” she told them.

“Of course we’d want to help.” Scarecrow stated, almost astonished.

“Apart from being our princess, you're our friend.” Tiger added.

Dorothy smiled at them, 

“Well, can you tell me how Ozma told you I was sick? I've been in this bed all day and to be honest Im more bored than tired.”

Dorothy listened to her friends talk, from them learning of her illness to things she hadn't been present for recently. Such as a small festival in the Winkie country, one Dorothy wasn't able to attend due to her and Ozma dealing with a request from the Queen of Xi that month.

Hours passed and Dorothy was just thankful to be with her friends, even if she felt quite awful they managed to make her smile. Night fell and they all insisted she go to sleep.

She complied, asking that some of her bouquet gifts be sent to be made into wreaths, so they’d take up less space in her room.

The following days were quite similar, Dorothy wasn't allowed to leave her room and her friends came to visit her. Trot and Betsy came by with handkerchiefs tied around their faces to protect them from catching her illness, the three of them talked of their fairy-land friend’s reactions to Dorothy’s current state. Agreeing with Dorothy that their care and concern was sweet, if unneeded. All in all, they were very thankful to be living in Oz.

Ozma was a frequent visitor to Dorothy, after her daily duties were finished of course. They’d sit and talk, Ozma always asking if Dorothy was comfortable or needed anything.

One day Billina stopped by to visit with a handful of her Dorothy Jr’s, both to check in on her friend and to teach her kids a bit of the world they both came from. 

TikTok, the Woggle bug, Scraps, even Polychrome made a quick visit just to check in on her. Scraps tried to cheer her up with some cartwheels and had to be almost dragged out of Doroty’s room when she almost broke two vases. Dorothy promised she’s spend time with her when she was over her fever. The Woggle bug gave her some simple activity books to keep her simulated, cross words, word searches, scrambled word puzzles, things of that nature. TikTok offered to be the one to bring her things from the other non-fairy folk in Oz, since he was made of Copper and copper is one of the few metals known to be self sanitizing. 

One day Dorothy awoke to find Ozma’s magic mirror in her room, most likely to let her see what her friends were doing as she recovered. 

Almost a week later Dorothy was feeling much better, though they still insisted on three more days of rest to ensure the fever was fully gone. She already loved living in Oz, but these few days were just a reminder why she loved it so much.

When she was fully better she was going to hug all of her friends, at least those who enjoyed hugs that is. And was already planning to visit each of the four countries of Oz so she could thank those who sent her gifts in person.

But first, she was going to spend time with her friends. She just had to wait three more days to do so.

[chrisairgames]

Thousand Empty Light (TEL) Playthrough, #1

In September 2022, I playtested Alfred Valley's Thousand Empty Light. Haus of Valley created a gorgeous physical object, an innovative Semiotic Standard Oracle system, all set during a treacherous plunge to an abandoned research station at the bottom of an alien sea.

Imagine my astonishment when Alfred created a storyboard detailing my character's tense entrance into the research station! After all this time, I'm finally posting the play-through in its entirety, week by week. I hope you enjoy the adventure of...

Lamplighter Tammy Brunhilde

Fair Warning: I roll far, far too often for Stats/Saves in this playtest, much to the detriment of Tammy (though honestly, it was very fun and tense).

Letter of Last Resort

My dear loved ones, I must leave you. My total {Admin use} is not in vain for I have helped build a greater future. I want to say thank you for everything. I will always be with you. Tammy Brunhilde, 12/09/4022

Caisson (West)

Tammy turns back to make sure the entrance is properly sealed. She scowls at the P-U bot’s repetitive, boring chattering, and takes the Letter of Last Resort from its simple clamper hands. The pressurization is uncomfortable, especially in the ears, but not worse than Colonial Marine “Special Maneuvers” training. Or the real thing. The stinkbot takes her to the personnel lift, warning not to confuse the small obviously human-sized one for the fuck-all huge cargo elevator.

“What kind of people do they hire for this job who’d think that was for a person?” she asks the wheeled robot, as it wobbles alongside her, one tire flat. The bot drops into a litany of Company jargon and she wishes she’d have kept her mouth shut. She takes out a cigarette, lights it, kicks the bot aside when it gives her lip about smoking, and gets into the elevator.

Semiotic Standard Oracle: Interference (confusion/obscurity)

The trip down is claustrophobic and eerie in its silence. The ocean deadens all sensation. Lack of light too. Worse than being in space. When the lift doors open, the power in the room is fluctuating, lights flickering.

SAN Save Target 25, Roll: 24

The MemoComm terminal fritzes static, unresponsive. Tammy turns on her flashlight to navigate the room to the generator.

Athletics/SPD Target 42, Roll 83. Roll 1d5 Damage: 3 DMG

Semiotic Standard Oracle: Storage (reliability/utility)

Tammy trips over torn up locker units that have come unattached from the walls. The raw shredded metal catches her Fatigues, and tears through, scratching her shin. The cut isn’t serious, but her fatigues are ruined.

She looks through the trashed lockers and finds a Diving Bell (reskinned Vaccsuit). Deeming this better equipment, she changes into the Bell, though grumbling about it slowing her down. Using the Bell’s headlamps and her flashlight. Tammy takes in her surroundings, noting the location of power systems, and tries to discern what happened here.

Military Training/INT Target 45, Roll 70

But the darkness and disarray is too chaotic. If she had more time to commit to this, she might understand what or who had done this, but that shit’s above her pay grade. Still, doesn’t portend well for this job.

The Power Systems aren’t too terribly fucked, luckily. She decides to take her time, as they really can’t be bothered by Hazmos bitching about the landing Section being all fucky.

Ind Equip/INT[+] Target 45, Roll 97/11. Critical Success.

1d20 Hazards: Bud

Bud Instinct Check Target 70, Roll 85

Quickly, Tammy finds the culprit: Nesting within a breaker-server is an owl. Clearly bionic. It doesn’t seem to notice Tammy. She reboots the breaker-server, knowing she only has [1d5] 3 minutes before the power wakes (maybe zaps? didn’t get a great look at what it’d done with its nest) the owl. They hightail it to the decontamination corridor.

Athletics/SPD[-] Target 42, Roll 12/45

Just before the lights come on, Tammy slips over a pool of blood from...

1d20 Hazards: Unidentified Leviathan-Class Cephalopod

Fear Save, Target: 40, Roll: 80 (lol, was going to have the lights zap Bud if I passed)

The lights come on, and Tammy sees her feet tangled in the axe-severed tentacles of some sea-monster still wrapped around a strangled Lamplighter. She screams and then hears a hooting screech from behind.

Panic, Target 6, Roll 11.

The bionic owl swoops into the open floor of the Caisson, and Tammy rushes to get behind and close the contamination doors.

Bud Instinct, Target 70, Roll 76

Tammy seals the door in time to see the bionic owl swoop back out, its steel claws gleaming in the light. 

MemoComm

Western Caisson in total disarray. Some sort of fight. Found remains of giant tentacles, and a Lamplighter. Didn’t have time to find their ID because a bionic owl, nesting in the generator rooms, came after me. I had to run. Moving on to the actual job now. Section 1…

Section change Panic Check: Target 6, Roll 13. All good.

Stay tuned for the continuing adventures of Tammy Brunhilde, Lamplighter...

[stariisv]

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Doc has to continue to pause in his building to roll his shoulders back and forth. Every time, the mechanical right one clicks. It’s aching where metal meets bone, and he knows eventually it is going to turn into a sharp pain. Hurtful enough that he won’t be able to move it much.

Between all the Decked Out runs, Doc tries to slip into some building as well. He needs to work on the village and water pipe system he is interpreting into the perimeter, after all. But this does mean that he doesn’t spend a lot of time resting, which causes more pain than he would prefer. The thing is, he knows how to deal with it. Mostly with ice, rest, and pain killers. He’s just been so busy lately that he hasn’t had the time to properly care for it. Sometimes it seems like he is in pain more often than not, it’s exhausting.

“You can rest,” A voice chimes in his head, but Doc just ignores it and keeps going with placing his blocks. He wants to finish this build soon and that immediately triumphs over anything else that needs to be done. Doc has always been like that, finish what he needs too and then he can rest.

The village he is building is almost completely wrapped around the base of the perimeter. Doc needs to finish closing it in, and then he has to do a few Decked Out runs in order to better his deck if he wants to even be close to Etho or Hypno’s level. Plus he likes running Decked Out. Tango did an amazing job, paired with the competitiveness in him, and the means to admire a friend's build, Doc enjoys playing D.O.

His arm clicks and hisses near the beginning of his shoulder and Doc sighs. He steps back from his build, taking a moment to think of what to do before he fires off a rocket and heads to his normal resting area. He lands swiftly and marches in, mumbling to himself the whole time. Doc stops to sit down somewhere and turns his attention to the metal arm.

His shoulder really does ache, it’s turning into that sharp pain now. But he refuses to take a genuine break, if he can help it. So Doc gets to work on clicking what needs to be clicked in order to take the arm off of himself. It’s helpful to have, for sure. He’s not left handed, it’s easier to build with both hands, but Doc needs to get it off so the aching stops. He can put it back on when he does his Decked Out runs later.

The metal ticks and pops as it detaches. Doc’s reflexes are a little behind so he doesn’t catch the arm before it falls onto the bench he is sitting on with a loud clunk. He rolls his shoulders back again, enjoying the fact it doesn’t make annoying metal sounds.

“Tired. We should rest.” The voice from earlier sounds again in his head.

“We have things to do,” Doc replies because he knows even if he ignores them, they aren’t going to go away. He’s tried.

Doc’s balance is a little off when he flies off again but he knows how to make up for it at this point. He doesn’t normally take his arm off if he is still working, knowing when to take breaks, things are just busy lately. At least the chilly wind on his face is enough to suppress Doc’s fatigue a little more.

“You’re crazy,” A different voice than last time chimes in.

Doc chuckles as he lands again. He turns to his shulkers, easily grabbing what blocks he needs to place.

A few hours later and he’s just a little closer to finish wrapping the build around. It’s taking longer now that he is an arm down, and the fatigue is getting to him enough that Doc keeps misplacing blocks and not catching it until he steps back to look. Then he has to break them and place them in the correct place. It’s getting tiring at this point.

But, it’s getting near the time where other hermits start doing their runs. And Doc wants to be able to do a few in a row without interruption, so he should finish this first and do a few runs. Then, and only then, can he actually rest.

“Hey dude!” Someone says behind him and Doc feels like he jumps a foot in the air. It’s just Ren though, smiling at him a bit worriedly after Doc’s reaction. “You good?”

Doc’s beating heart calms slightly and he sighs. He turns around completely to have his full attention on his friend. “Yeah, I’m good. What’s up?”

Ren smiles and nods. He clicks his tongue and looks around, eyeing the village he’s currently building. “Just wanted to say hi. The building is coming along nicely!”

“Thanks man. It’s killing me a bit though.” As Doc speaks he stretches out his back. A bit of relief comes from the few pops he hears.

“Yeah, ‘cause we need rest.” He ignores whoever is speaking in his head, so Ren doesn’t witness him talking to himself.

“Why’s that?”

“Well,” Doc starts and he turns back around to look at his build so far. There’s another block to the left that’s out of place that he had missed before. “Only got one hand at the moment. Needa to Decked Out runs after this too.”

Ren hums, “When’s the last time you slept?”

Doc shrugs. He hasn’t been keeping track, but he does know that if he did check his phantom kill count it would be up a few numbers.

“And the last time you took a break?” Ren questions, raising an eyebrow as he crosses his arms.

Again, Doc just shrugs. It’s easy to lose track of time, especially when building.

“Dude,” Ren says, an exasperated laugh tilting his words. “You gotta rest. Not good for you to be working so hard continuously.”

Doc knows this, obviously. Still, he huffs and rolls his eyes as a response.

“I know that shoulder of yours is killin ‘ya.”

Curse Ren for knowing him a little too well. The voices in Doc’s mind begin to agree with Ren, somehow it turns into a chant of sorts to try and get him to go and rest. Doc isn’t the kind to fall into peer pressure, but, well. He’s tired, sue him.

“Fine, fine. I’ll go and rest. But I’m coming back in an hour!”

Ren laughs at him, “Sure dude. See ‘ya soon!”

Ren takes off in a blast of fireworks. He disappears over the edge of the perimeter and Doc watches until he’s gone. Definitely not to procrastinate having to go back and rest. No, no.

After a minute or so of just standing around, Doc unloads his blocks back into the shulkers and flies back over to his home. He unclips his elytra from his back and shrugs it off, hanging it on the wall near the entrance. As soon as his eyes fall onto his bed, Doc’s fatigue hits him a little harder. He decides to not put it off any longer and goes to lay down.

It doesn’t take long before he falls asleep. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on who you are, he does not get up and back to work after an hour. Doc ends up sleeping through the whole night and wakes up feeling more refreshed than he has in awhile.

<3

hopefully i did okay! this is my first time writing doc, and i don’t watch much of his content so i hope i wrote him well enough :3 it was rlly fun to write tho!