#and yet all of this -gestures wildly- is succeeding in making me look a little more kindly on history

[theragamuffininitiative]

.

[n3onstarss]

PACIFIC RIM AU - CH 1 Part 1

I'm very autistic about both TMNT and pacific rim, so have this!! the plot for this takes place in an alternate universe where the rim wasn't fully closed. everything plot-hole wise will be explained away later, it's there for a reason!

each chapter will have 3 parts, I'm splitting them up so i can pace myself!

TW for mentioned blood, plenty of violence and cussing if you need one for that!

this is the Rise turtles, and all are aged up by 5 years. (Making Raph 22, April 21, Donnie and Leo 20, Reader 19 and Mikey 18!) the events of the Rise movie or most of rise in general, along with the Pacific rim movies, won't be used. this is an excuse for me to be weird about my interests ♡♡

°•°

Things weren't going well. The war against the kaiju out in the Pacific wasn't going great either. Many jeagers and their pilots had been lost. In fact, pilots were sparse, few and far between. That is, legal pilots. In the slums of NYC, there were 6 delinquent individuals. And not far away there was a junkyard full of old jeagers from both the US and Canada.

Those 6 had spent years, almost a decade by now, gathering parts and assembling their very own jeagers, hidden in warehouses along the docks. These young adults had even perfected drift compatibly down to a science, literally. Teams of two, that was the deal, and they were all partnered off.

Donatello was most compatible with his older sister figure April. Raphael with Michelangelo.

And Leo with [NAME].

An odd team, compared to the others. a short fused, easily upset human with a cocky turtle who laughed through all his problems. A team that shouldn't have worked. And yet it did. Flawlessly, even.

In fact, most would think they were only paired due to being the last options left, when infact they were the first to be found compatible. They fueled each others ego when needed, brought each other down to Earth more often than not, fueled the others rage and motivated them to keep going when things looked bleak.

Most would think they were just teens in love, and they wouldn't necessarily be wrong. [NAME] had harbored feelings for the blue clad turtle since they first piloted side by side, even before. His memories, his hopes, his fears. They'd seen them all and still fell for him all the same. But it was something they had to bury deep. A day would inevitably come when they would have to pilot in a fight, and their feelings cannot get in the way.

And today was the day, apparently. [NAME] was sat straddling the shoulder of their jeager, clinging tightly while they welded on some finishing touches to the large blue and white bot. And not a second too late were these upgrades finished.

Mikey burst through the warehouse doors into the large, dusty space, making [NAME] twist around at the waist and stare down at him, shocked by his sudden entrance.

"KAIJU! OFF THE COAST! LIKE, RIGHT NOW!!" His arms flailed wildly as he tried to talk with his hands and convey his distress. He definitely succeeded in that last part.

"DEADASS?? You're kidding, right?! Aren't they only in the Pacific?!" Their welding items and mask were dropped off into the basket and the rope untied, sending it plummeting down. [NAME] caught the end of the rope, gently lowering it the last of the way quickly as Mikey continued to holler.

"No, no I'm not kidding!! It's moving fast, Dee and Apes are already out there! We gotta go Now!" He was still gesturing wildly, bouncing on his heels like he was about to bolt to suit up. And he was, [NAME] could tell.

"Shit okay!! Go get Leo, tell him to get his blue ass in here!" [NAME] called as they scrambled down the arm with practiced ease.

As if on queue, Leo bolted in and almost knocked Mikey over, clambering up the jeager's leg at surprising speed. Mikey bolted out the instant Leo was in the room, likely because the warehouse holding his and Raph's jeager was down the way a little.

By the time both pilots were inside, in sync and moving, the kaiju was up in the shallows, coming off the coastal shelf. The bots burst from their warehouses, tearing them to splinters. The two bots sprinted through the decrepit storage yard, barreling towards the nearby sea and the other jeager.

Leo and [NAME] moved in tandem, running in place and pumping their arms in sync. The neural handshake was strong as always and practically ensured precision. They sped ahead of Mikey and Raph's jeager, taunting eachother over the comms.

"Damn, you guys are slow today! And that's saying something Mr. Orange-insisted-on-long-ass-legs-on-this-itty-bitty-torso!' Leo panted into the mic, teasing Mikey about his design choices.

"Oh shut up Leo!! Did you even bring medic supplies like you were supposed to?" Mikey was yelling and [NAME] almost had to crank down their comms to stop the oncoming headache, chuckling the entire time.

"No, he didn't Mike." [NAME] faux whispered into the comms, knowing it would be heard by Leo anyways.

"HEY-"

"Guys! We need to handle this as a team, which means no. Fighting!" Raph interjected, cutting Leo off and smashing the red jeager's fist into its palm mid run as if to punctuate his point.

"Hey, hi, hello! We could REALLY use some help right now! Our plasma cannon rounds are low and we don't have any more back at home, so I'd really fucking hate to run out right now!!" April jumped in, sounds of struggle from inside the jeager alongside the screaming of metal and the bellows of the beats could be faintly heard.

"Shit, sorry Apes, we are enroute! ETA is about a minute and a half out!" [NAME] reassured their friend, going faster and pushing themselves to the limit to get there quicker, which in turn made Leo speed up too.

"Yeah yeah, hurry UP!" Donnie interjected. He wasn't really one to talk on comms, so hearing him made everyone realize how bad the situation must be.

Finally close enough, Leo and [NAME] got good visuals on the fight. Running across a large stretch of gravelly sand they could see Donnie and April's jeager, Echo Seven, grappling hand to hand with a giant beast. This kaiju was likely only a category 2, but it was still formidable on the battlefield. The kaiju looked like a pangolin, shark and lionfish all at once, with spines along it's back and arms, scaley plates covering it's body and fin-like legs supporting the whole thing. The head resembled that of a shark with some odd growths and horns.

Even worse, the kaiju towered over the green jeager. This normally wouldn't have been a problem, their jeagers were small, but Echo Seven was that tallest of their little fleet.

Even with the disadvantage of size, the fleet had the advantage of speed and team work. The mace flew past Typhoon Eden, the blue jeager, landing right on the creatures back, crushing spines and causing the kaiju to scream out in pain. Just as the creature whipped around, flailing that long tail of its in an attempt to knock down Brawler Fury, the red jeager. Typhoon Eden, and subsequently the pilots, ducked and rolled underneath the flying tail before sliding across the dunes beneath it's belly. Time seemed to slow as they delivered an uppercut punch, rolling to a stop right beside Echo Seven and the creature was forced to rear back with the force of the blow.

"Thank God, what took y'all so long?!" April hollered over comms.

"Eh, downtown traffic, you know how it is." Leo joked back, earning a small chuckle from [NAME]. They began running the small bot up the bigger bot's back and onto the monster, working seamlessly like a well oiled machine. The kaiju had been mid-turn when Typhoon Eden ascended, the creature moving to attack Brawler Fury. The blue and white bot grabbed tight to the keratin horns and yanked, putting all the force of the bot and their combined fury to the test.

The kaiju's head was reared back again, and Brawler Fury was able to land a few hits to the chest and neck and tangle up it's front legs in the chain. Typhoon Eden's pilots shared a nod and attempted to snap the kaiju's neck and end this battle quickly. Just as the head began to be yanked at a full force by the jeager the monster threw its head forward in an attempt to buck off the mecha.

Typhoon Eden managed to hang on and ride the kaiju like a bucking bronco for a minute, but were ultimately sent tumbling info Brawler Fury, knocking both jeagers back into the sand. During the time it took for that one move to throw off the plan of attack, Donnie had concocted a new one.

"April, under it! If we go under it and plasma blast it we can rip it to shreds!!" Donnie spoke a little too quickly, undecipherable to anybody except those close to him.

Echo Seven tucked in on itself an rolled onto the jeager pile, landing on it's back with it's arms flung wide, as the baest shuddered and collapsed.

"Got it, got it!"

And with that the two of them ran in tandem, falling to their knees and leaning back in a mock power slide. Their plasma cannon ripped and burned through the creatures belly, tearing it from anus to mouth as sickly teal blood began to ooze from the rift and drop onto the sand below.

Shock and joy filled everyone's systems and within a minute all three bots were on their feet, holding each other's shoulders and jumping for joy as the comms lit up with boisterous laughter.

They did it! They'd defeated a kaiju! All on their own! They were as good as actual pilots with no training and half the jeager!

Just as the celebration was coming to an high and the adrenaline rush crashed, a booming voice rang through the atmosphere.

"Unauthorized jeager pilots, exit your jeagers and surrender."

The loud voice was demanding and left no room for contemplation. All four turtles, alongside their human companions, exited the command pods cautiously.

The giant, full sized jeager cast a shadow over the pilots and their bots. The Saber Athena glowered down at the six young adults, who simply stared in awe.

Eventually, and nervously, [NAME] and Raph both waved at the massive jeager, one five fingered hand next to a three fingered one. The pilots of Saber Athena must've been stunned, an educated guess substantiated by the lack of response or movement since the pilots of the rouge jeagers emerged.

The Saber Athena straightened, and one of her pilots cleared their throat before speaking.

"Re-enter your jeagers and retrieve your weapons. Await orders from there. And no funny business. understood?" A different, higher voice came through the comms, presumably the other pilot.

A lot of nodding and a few salutes were sent towards the Saber Athena and her pilots before the children dispersed, splitting off into pairs and disappearing quickly back down the hatches into their jeagers.

Teasing jabs and laughter could be hear over the comms, and the pilots of Saber Athena seemed to relax at the lightheartedness. These kids weren't here to cause trouble, that could've been guessed by the fact that they took down the kaiju instead of the city while they had the chance, but they had been uncertain up until this point.

It wasn't long before all three jeagers were up and running again, and again the voice they'd heard first came over the comms.

"What are your designations and names?" The voice seemed almost softer, but not by much. Enough to allow them room to respond, but still demanding.

The blue and white jeager raised it's hand first as an older teens voice came across the comms.

"Pilot number one here, you can call me Leo. This here is my lovely co-pilot [NAME] and our bot is the Typhoon Eden." The jeager did a theatrical bow followed by a curtsy, one for each pilot assumably.

The giant Saber Athena nodded sharply before directing it's gaze to the next, a green and black robot.

"Hi, hello, I'm April-" The left hand of the jeager waved a little, but rather enthusiastically.

"-And I'm Donnie." The right hand raised in the least enthusiastic wave possible.

"And we're piloting the Echo Seven." Both hands began doing jazz hands, except one was more exaggerated than the other.

Another nod from Saber Athena and a vague salute from the Echo Seven were exchanged before they moved on for the final time. Their gaze directed at the red and black bot seemed to make it stiffen as one of the pilots began to speak.

"Oh, yeah, okay so I'm Mikey, and," The speakers attention seemed to shift from the Saber Athena to someone else, supposedly it's co-pilot. "You wanna introduce yourself?"

The jeager shook its head, before the teen continued.

"Okay, and that's Raph and this is our beloved Brawler Fury!"

The Saber Athena looked from bot to bot before speaking.

"Well, it's easy to assume none of you have licenses. Or experience. Or training." As if to punctuate and add weight to each sentence the giant jeager looked pointedly at each bot, assessing them almost. "And based on how advanced your jeagers are, for hunks of scrap at least, parents who don't care." The higher voice pitched in.

The smaller jeagers all have different reactions. The Typhoon Eden looks ready to launch and attack the Saber Athena, Echo Seven stiffens up and stands at attention, falling completely radio silent as if they weren't already, and the Brawler Fury seems to curl in on itself.

A small crowd of civilians were now gathering nearby on a sight seeing parking area on the side of the road, simply observing. The Saber Athena held a hand out.

"Welcome aboard."

And with nothing else the jeager turned around and began to talk away, turning back after a few steps to see if the smaller jeagers were following. Not one had moved from it's previous spot, but all the stances had gone slack from surprise or relief, maybe both. The Saber Athena nodded its head sharply towards the direction it was walking in and began to move again, except now the pilots could hear the scramble of the three smaller jeagers running to keep up.

[ganymedesclock]

If it's not too spoilery, could we get 9 for Nan?

9. Tell me your favorite moment with your OC. (Either that you wrote or drew.)

It's not so much a spoiler as to say I haven't reached Nan yet in the writing so technically no moment with her is real yet. That said, I do have a conceptual draft of her first meeting with Taylor, though it's wildly subject to change, so technically it's no spoilers at all:

--

“Now you trust me, young man,” said Wilhelm, warm and brightly, “I know those mines like the back of my hand. They’ll see you clean out the other side with days to spare, all for a fee of-”

Taylor was wondering with fascination what caused some people to decide they were a ‘young man’ and what made others see a ‘little lady’, but they had not made any of that clear. Instead, Wilhelm’s interruption came in the form of a loud, rusty-sounding bark that sounded across the room, and he was not the only one who went quiet in response.

The speaker was a bow-legged woman whose stomach lapped most of the way to her seated knees despite having to navigate over her double-thick studded belt. Canvas shirtsleeves wadded around the elbows, baring reddish skin covered first in scars, then in a great deal of blue-black ink, and lastly in twice that much wiry hair. She nursed something in a thrice-dented tin flagon she had obviously brought herself, which was larger and deeper-bellied than the steins that the dock workers were drinking from.

“Yes, hello,” Taylor remarked, “do you have something you’d like to say?”

The woman snorted, which was definitely a gesture of contempt, but also, the set of her nose looked as if someone had tried to force it all the way back into her skull and only partway succeeded. “No, don’t mind me,” she turned her words around lifting her cup to her mouth, “I’m enjoying the spectacle.”

Taylor’s estimate of Wilhelm was that he would have protested his wounded pride, but instead he was staring down into his own scarcely-touched drink, eyes wide.

Interesting, Taylor thought.

To the woman, they said, “A conversation is not a performance. If you’re interested in it, I think that’s a sign you should participate.”

The woman pushed back from her stool and stood. To Taylor’s surprise, she stood only about a head taller than them, although significantly wider. They counted three empty holsters and belt-loops at her hip, and two more that were better-hidden, but most certainly not empty.

“It’s horsepiss, is what it is,” she said. “Bickney’s Claim is only better than the rest of the range the way that if you crawled up something’s ass crack rather than over its cheek you’d be warmer and wetter. It’s also got a tendency to be infested with them that like to kiss asses, and- let’s be honest, a ten-pound brat like you isn’t daring the peaks because you’re a tax collector.”

Taylor remembered the side-street man. “I think I’m too well-dressed for that,” they said.

The woman laughed again. It was impressive not for any sort of loveliness but the force by which she pushed air to service. A small amount of spittle hit Taylor’s glamour. 

Wilhelm remained very, very quiet. In fact, the entire bar had settled all at once. Most people were watching them. The proprietress had shuffled to a corner of the bar and was watching out of the corner of her eyes while she made a busy show of cleaning the same stein over and over again. A few looked on with an eager meanness. Others, like Wilhelm, were making themselves inconspicuous.

Taylor looked the woman over again, which she seemed content to allow. Her smallish eyes were flinty and sharp- no, they were taking this time because this woman was sizing them up just as well. Her riot of frizzy hair was slung thoughtlessly over her shoulder. She was not that old, this woman, but not that young either. Her right eye was bright gold, a mage’s eye, but the left was dark as a stone. On the higher of her folded forearms, the tattoo was a complicated knot of three snakes, teeth bared. One’s head traveled as low as the base of her thumb. The other two wound around the meat of her arm to hiss defiantly in one another’s faces.

Good sign, Taylor thought, good sign. 

“If you’d propose to do better than Mr. Wilhelm here, what price would you ask?”

The room collectively drew breath. A few of the onlookers broke their silence to mutter. 

The woman’s thick dark eyebrows climbed. “Ten gold rosettes upfront, and half that much in silver.”

Dread’s head pushed gently against Taylor’s hand. To pay that much, they wouldn’t be able to buy passage on a ship on reaching the coast…

“A proposal,” they said. “Six gold rosettes, five silver, and,”

They turned an open hand toward the woman. 

“A favor.”

At this, the woman’s laughter brayed louder and sharper than before. It must have made her quite thirsty, for she finished it up with a long drink. 

Quite a few people in the room seemed to be doing very little breathing for the living.

The woman dropped the emptied flagon on the counter and seized Taylor’s hand in a grip that could’ve crushed their bones if it wanted to.

“You have a deal,” she said.

[yeojaa]

come over, pt. i

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  this is pwp.  smut in the forms of:  kissing, oral (m/f), fingering, deepthroating, hickeys, protected sex.  use of the pet name shy girl.  wc. 6.2k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif and @snackhobi aka the loves of my tiny life.  author note.  this is an adaption of an rp with my beloved @velvetwicebang​.  while the writing is all my own, i owe so much to loma for inspiring me and being such a wonderful partner. 💛 if you enjoy this, feedback goes a long way.  tysm for reading!  (and yes, there will be a second part.)

You’ve been friends for thirteen months, classmates for another three before that.  You’ve worked on countless projects together, watched him fall off a roof, and have had to bail him out of campus security’s grubby little hands. Your friendship is easy, based on mutual suffering in Professor Kim’s class and long study dates spent in the library.  He smuggled you chocolates in his pockets and you brought iced coffee to the 8 a.m. lecture you shared.

You’re not sure why you’re riddled with uncertainty now then, every nerve ending shot, lit up bright like the still-up mini Christmas tree sitting in the corner of your dorm room.  (You know you should take it down but it’s so cute, slouched ever with a tiny gold star-shaped bell hanging from the end.).  

Spending time with Jungkook was normal - a part of your weekly routine - but then again, you hadn’t somehow developed a weird little crush on him until recently.  

(If you think hard, you could probably pinpoint it to a night a few weeks ago when he looked particularly good, fluffy powder puff of hair stripped of shadow and gleaming gold beneath the warm lecture lights.  You’d never had a thing for blonds but he made it look good - surprising you when he’d dropped into his seat beside you and winked in response to your surprise.) 

(It’s something you can't tear your thoughts from now, that infuriatingly charming smile burnt into your retinas.  It sits at the forefront of your mind, stealing your attention from the movie that's playing on the television hung across from your bed.  One of those blockbuster flicks, because who didn’t love gratuitous action and lens flares?)

A hand reaches for the chip bowl propped between you - homemade chex mix, because you’ve been obsessed with the recipe since discovering it a few weeks ago - and you flinch away when it brushes the hand that's already in there.

"Sorry!"  You squeak before coughing, a quick-witted (but not altogether believable) attempt at hiding the sudden heat that flares across your cheeks.  The same hand disappears between your knees, fingers curling into the soft throw laid over your legs.  You tell yourself to relax at least three times before speaking, peeking at your companion from beneath a fringe of sleep-tousled strands.  “Stop stealing all my chips.” 

The boy beside you only grins, tosses that lazy smile in your direction before turning his attention back to the explosion on the screen, entire expression lit up by the fireworks that explode in flashes of colour.

You think you’ve gotten away with it - that he hasn’t noticed - and then he’s speaking again, pointedly staring forward, seemingly unbothered.  (You know better though.  Jungkook’s infuriating like that, picking up on all the little things despite the fact that he’s a dumb boy, too good at reading between the lines when he barely studies.)

“You’re blushing.”

The callout is, well, uncalled for. 

You choose to ignore him at first, opting to shove two chocolates past your lips.  They’re unbearably sweet, minty and cold - your favourite - and the richness spills across your tongue, eliciting a soft hum as your teeth buzz from the sugar.  (Note to self:  thank Jungkook for the chocolate later.)

“You’re blushing,”  you retort once you’ve swallowed, cheeks puffed out and a dent gathering between your brows.  “I’m just—“  Hand waves wildly - nearly hits him in the face with how wobbly it is - and you pretend-glare at him, faux affront laid in spades.  “—hot.”

It comes snappier than you mean it to, spoken in something close to a pout.  You aren’t actually.  The campus is notorious for having garbage heating, floorboards more akin to packed snow in the dead of winter.  It’s just annoying.  You refuse to be another one of those girls.

(Not that there’s anything wrong with said girls.  It’s more an issue with Jungkook, stupidly handsome and charming and far too popular for his own good.  People already told you all about Jungkook’s escapades - even though you often heard them from him firsthand and in gruelling detail.  One of the downsides to being friends with someone who, for all intents and purposes, carried the title of campus heartthrob.) 

“Pay attention to the movie.”  The same hand reaches for the mix again, careful to avoid brushing his this time.  You think you’ve succeeded, snatching up a piece of pretzel, morsel halfway to your mouth when it drops to your lap.

The same lap that suddenly has a hand on it, palm warm over your knee.  

If you’d thought your nerve endings were shot, now you knew they were.  Every inch of skin was on fire - heat shooting up your spine and over your neck the moment his hand comes in contact with bare skin.  Damn your need for comfort, damn your choice to wear shorts, damn his freaking hot tattooed hands—

You almost yell at him.  The sound’s on the tip of your tongue when you bite down, stare trained wholly on the movie and the blood that splatters across the screen..

Really, you shouldn't be surprised.  You’ve known Jungkook for nearly two years - okay, not quite.  You’ve heard all the rumours about him, the whispered words that sound something like playboy and flirt and be careful.  You know and yet you’ve found yourself in this situation, desperately trying to figure out what the hell is going through his mind as you stare straight ahead, refusing to move a muscle.  

His profile is picture perfect from your periphery;  he's focused too, acting like he's done nothing wrong.  Sly as a fox, as always.

“Still blushing,”  he repeats conversationally, as if he’s commenting on the colour of the sky or how cold it is in your room.  Not as if he’s got a hand where it shouldn’t be, ink spilling over his skin in pretty patterns, burning the shape of it where he touches.

"I didn't blush.”  It’s a retort made for only argument’s sake and even then, without weight.  Feather soft and feeble in an attempt to keep your voice level.  It's hard when you’re burning up, a livewire settled where you feel him.  "I'm not blushing."

It's a lie - you can feel the flush, embarrassment flooding from your cheeks all the way down over your chest.  It’s an inferno beneath your skin, lava coursing through your veins.  

It spreads further and further, blooms somewhere new when his hand drifts lower, tracking across the soft inner of your thigh.  Doesn’t cease even when his hand does, palm firm over your leg, the ghost of a touch passing so close to your core you can’t help but jolt.  It’s as if he’s rearranged your pieces, mixed them all up.  A brush of his finger over your clothed entrance feels like it hits you right in the chest, snaps your heart to attention.  It roars to life, thundering madly, pulse erratic when he repeats the gesture, with that much more pressure.

You’re dripping, you realise to your horror, cotton of your thong sticking to your skin, grey of your shorts made darker by the arousal that spills over the one not-so-innocent digit. 

A part of you wants to run from the room.  Nearly do, heart hammering in your chest when Jungkook's face is suddenly too close, the warmth of his breath stifling against your neck.  It feels good, anticipation and desire fizzing in your stomach like fountain pop.  (The movie theatre kind, that’s somehow flat and too bubbly all at once.)

"Kook."  You mean to say it reproachfully, with a hand pushing his wrist away.  Instead it comes out like a whisper, a soft sigh of his name that sounds almost needy, laced with worry and anticipation that makes you want to tear your own hair out.  Fingers remain locked around bone, other hand digging into the blanket and the linen beneath it, searching desperately for some form of composure beneath the material.  

For the first time, you hazard a glance - know it’ll be bad for your own well-being - dropping your stare to where his hand rests.  (You have to admit - you like the sight of those tattoos, a stark contrast to the unblemished softness.)

Like it almost as much as his kisses, the first of which lands exactly where you want it most.  Delicate, polite, right on the junction of your jaw.  A sigh escapes before you can help it.  "Shy girl,”  he coos, teasing in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. 

“I’m not shy,”  you huff - try to, anyway, around the kaleidoscope of butterflies that are threatening to choke you.  "We're watching a movie."  You’re trying to redirect his attention, even as you’re desperate for it, even as you think you’d give your whole heart for it. 

You’re this close to combusting, eyes widening the moment he extracts his hand and tucks it back into the bowl of chips.  A part of you wants to yell at him - for starting this in the first place but mainly for leaving you high and dry, turned on and soaking through your underwear. 

(It’s not fair, but then again, you’d never expected them to be.  You’ve seen the rules Jungkook plays by - namely those of his own creation.  Term paper due the next morning?  He’d somehow pull it out of his ass that night.  Break something at a house party?  He’d be let off with a smile and a wave, those doe eyes of his utterly lethal when paired with his pout.)

“Watch the movie then.”  He sounds almost bored, utterly unbothered as he seamlessly slips back into the proper role of friend, classmate, study partner.

"Let's."  Without tossing another glance in his direction, you stare straight ahead, own hand delving for snacks.  So what if you very purposely brush your fingers against the pieces he's just touched, popping the pieces into your mouth before slotting your thumb against your tongue, cheeks hollowing around to suck the last bits of salt and butter off.

Despite your nerves - you’re hoping he's watching - you readjust, bringing knees up, crossing legs until one is resting atop his own thick thigh.  The full of your bottom lip disappears between your teeth, worried to within an inch of its life as you shift beside him, seemingly manoeuvring your shorts into their rightful position.

(You’re not.  They’re hitched higher than they were, barely worthy of the title of shorts, more akin to a belt.  So revealing it’s almost uncomfortable, wet of your arousal sticking them to your skin.)

(Two could play this game.)

(Maybe him better than you, but still.)

You know what you’re doing and yet you’re somehow surprised when he’s suddenly disappeared from your side and situated himself in front of you, eating up too much of the space on your small double bed.  “What’re you—“  The question disappears in the same moment he does, unable to track his movements when Jungkook slips forward, pressing his mouth over yours.

You’ve kissed a lot of people.  (Okay, not a lot, but enough.)  You were a senior in college, where kissing was like talking and fucking happened more often than dating.

You’ve never kissed Jungkook before.  

Why hadn’t you?

His lips are terribly soft, pink and pouted, slanting across yours as if he’s trying to devour you.  There’s no semblance of delicacy, nothing gentle and sweet like those brushes against your neck.  They’re forceful, demanding payment in full when his tongue glides over the seam, seeking entrance despite the fact that you think he might’ve slipped in anyway.

There’s not a single wall he couldn’t break down, not a lock he couldn’t pick.  Not with how he moves, purposeful and reassured, tongue sliding over yours, sucking it into his mouth as if it’s something he does every day.  (Which it very well could be - just not with you.)

“Shy girl,”  he repeats with a mouth filled with affection, praise that pours over you honey sweet and sticky.  “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

The thing is, you’re not pretending.  You’re half-afraid this entire moment is going to explode into a thousand pieces, a dream shattered by reality.  You hope it doesn’t.  Couldn’t bear it when he feels so nice, hand spanning your waist, tucked beneath the safety of your shirt and the fleece blanket between you.  

“I’m not.”  

“Oh?”  There’s something in his eyes, something that coils heat in the pit of your stomach.  You swear you can see the devil sitting on his shoulder, gleeful little smile rearranging his features.  “Do I make you nervous, ____?”

Did he?  Of course he did.  Had, even before you’d known him.

(You’d grown comfortable, though.  Found a way to separate the popular heartthrob from your friend.)

But you’ve lost your marbles, gone certifiably insane when you make a noise that sounds nothing like you.  Because you’re once again far too interested in the way Jungkook’s touching you, manhandling you as if you’re some sort of puppet.  It really shouldn’t turn you on so much, slick coating your bare thighs when he guides you onto your back, pushes you back against your too many pillows.

He’s your friend and he’s told you all about the way he fucks girls until they can’t walk.  

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want the same treatment, though. 

The moment Jungkook’s mouth finds your skin - sensitive and soft and so close to your soaked core - you keen, hands immediately flying into his silky head of hair.  It threads between your fingers like fine silk, filaments of gold overlaid in colour by the movie that still plays.  

“Oh my god,”  you gasp, entire body arching off the back of the bed in an effort to bring some form of  relief.  You can’t help the heat that burns your cheeks or how you sound, begging and pleading as you tug gently at his blond roots.  “Don’t tease me.”

You’re not asking very nicely but you figure Jungkook will give in.  It’s his fault, after all.  

His fault - which you don’t mind when he hooks fabric aside and drags his tongue across your slit, the flat of his tongue arching your back from the bed.  Can’t mind when he does it again, rounded nose bumping against your clit.  You’re trying to stay just a little bit decent, moans soft and caught between your teeth.  You’re practically biting a hole through your lip in an effort to stay quiet, hands curled into fists.  Gold spills between them and you imagine it hurts but he doesn’t stop, only works harder to drive you crazy.

Of course he’s good at this.  Too good, if you’re being honest.

You’re dripping, legs trembling in his firm, unyielding grip.  There's molten heat building in your stomach, creeping up your spine, and with each pass of his tongue over your sensitive core, it only expands.  You want more - need it - and almost beg when he catches your clit between his teeth.  A breathy baby spills out on accident when your eyes meet, gaze half-lidded.

It’s bad for your health, how good he looks right now, chin slick, lips rubied and pretty like jewels.  “Shy girl sounds so pretty.”

There's something about his praise that completely ruins you, the words dragging a delighted, sexpot moan off your tongue.  You want him to tell you how pretty you are now and later, over and over.  

You want to be his pretty girl. 

"I want you.  I need more,"  you whine, hips rutting desperately, slick messy across your thighs and shining across Jungkook's mouth.  He smiles then - brighter than the sun, utterly radiant, so devastatingly handsome you swear your brain short circuits - and then he’s doing exactly as you’ve asked. 

He eats you out like it’s an art form, flicking his tongue over your clit with practiced precision, sucking the pearl between his lips.  When he grazes his teeth over it - just the lightest pressure - you jolt, the feeling of a finger sliding into you stealing the breath from your lungs.

He’s always had nice hands, big broad palms and long fingers.  They reach places you could never hope to, stretching you deliciously when he sinks another in alongside the first, exploring you with ease.  The sting is slight, the fullness overriding any pain, further dulled by the suction of his mouth on your clit.  

He even hums when he finds the spot he’s been looking for, hooking his fingers against it and pressing.  (You swear you see stars;  you know you feel him smile, lips spread like butter over your skin when you sob.)

You can’t help yourself, writhing and moaning, trying to ride his face with a desperation that has your chest heaving.  It feels so good to have him between your legs.  You almost miss the appearance of his other hand - in view for but a moment before it disappears past the waistband of his sweats.  Dark as they are, pitch black like most of his clothing, it’s impossible to miss the way he touches himself.  It has you even needier, pussy clenching at the thought of him fisting his own hard cock.

“Do you want a hand?”  You ask as if you’re doing him a favour and not salivating at the prospect, eyes wide, blinking down at him from behind thick lashes.  

“Fuck.”  He’s sin incarnate, undeniable when he sheds his sweats, kicks them off with just one hand, other still slotted snug against your pussy.  He never ceases his movements, fucking you on his fingers even as he sits upright, leaned back on his calves.  “You want a taste?  Shy girl wants a big fat cock in her mouth?”  

There's something about hearing him so turned on, the expletive shooting a dizzying bolt of desire straight between yours legs.  You’ve seen Jungkook worked up - he was awfully competitive, after all, dominating most intramural sports, breaking PR records in the gym - but it's something else completely when he's making you drip cum all over his hand.

"Wow.”

Jungkook's cock is pretty, flushed and glossy from the pre-cum he spreads with his thumb, massaging over the tip like it owes him something.  

You want to taste it.

A contented hum rolls off your tongue at his question, though you don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer.  His ego's big enough without it and you’re much more interested in stroking something else.  Still, you lean into his palm, nuzzling your cheek against the warmth of it when he threads his hand through your hair, gathering it in his fist.

Then without looking away, your mouth falls open, tongue peeking past your lips to lick a fat stripe up the length of his cock, from base to tip.  It's hot and heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of his pre-cum better than candy.  You hum again, swirling your tongue around the head, and keep your gaze locked with Jungkook's, almost smirking when you drag your tongue over his fingers, gently grazing the edge of your teeth against the pad of his thumb. 

“Please.”  You’re usually far more reserved, not the kind to ask for more until you’re three months into dating and certain of where you stand.  You simply can’t help yourself now, the feeling of your own wetness painting your skin, making you clench around nothing.  "I need it."

The groan that comes sounds more like Christmas, a gift given by Santa Claus himself.  It filters into your ears and has you grinning up at him, not even bothering to hide the pride that flutters your lashes and has you pursing your lips around the head of his cock.  

When he speaks again, it’s dangerously quiet, low in his throat, laced with whatever same emotion that seems to shackle your limbs.  “Open up, ____,”  he instructs, though he offers little time to adjust, guiding his cock forward, stuffing your mouth full.  “Show me how bad.”

You don’t mind.  If you were to speak, it’d practically be a prayer, tongue tracing the veins that run the length.  A chorus of yes please more when he takes just as much as he gives.  You love the power that comes with Jungkook speaking so filthily, drunk on it when he continues, spewing filth in time with each rock of his hips.

Lips seal around the swollen head each time he withdraws, cheeks hollowing around the tip.  Tongue passes over his fingers again before your hand rises, fingers curling around his wrist to pull his own away.  (You probably shouldn't - it's too romantic - but thread your fingers through his in the same instant you sink down upon his cock, taking him halfway before pulling off with a pop!)

"Do you think you'll last long enough to fuck me?"  You’re pushing his buttons on purpose, just like he had yours during the movie. 

Something close to a snarl comes, a growl that reverberates out of that big cavernous chest of his, and he grips your hair tighter, tries to hold you still as he grins down at you.  The expression is so at odds with the warmth in his eyes, the boyish tilt of his head.

You repeat the motion again and again, taking him a little bit deeper until the head brushes the back of your throat, reflexively swallowing around the intrusion.  He's still so long and thick you haven’t even taken him all, drooling around his length, breathing through your nose and pushing past the desire to gag.  Then you relax your jaw just a little more, humming when your nose brushes the neatly groomed patch of hair at his base.

Your free hand slinks across his thigh, nails digging into the meat, delighted by the flex of muscle and sinew beneath your hand.  He's so hard, both on your tongue and beneath your touch.  It prompts you to shift forward just a bit more - you can feel the slick on your thighs, dripping down onto the sheets with each movement - and trace across his thigh to gently palm his balls.

If you could speak, you’d probably ask for more.  For Jungkook to use and abuse your throat as much as he wants.  As it stands, you can only moan around him, spit and his pre-cum smeared over your lips.

“Look at you.”  He’s talking to himself, lost in his own world as he fucks into your mouth, soothes the pad of his thumb over your cheek.  You adore the way he sounds now, dazed and a little messed up.  “Look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, ____.”

You can’t do much more than look up at him, batting your lashes when he compliments you, dragging your tongue everywhere you can reach as the head of his cock batters the back of your throat.  It's not an easy feat, drool all the way down your chin, trailing down your neck and staining the silk of your camisole.

At some point, you’ll need to pull off - get a proper breath of air - but not now.  Instead, you swallow around him, savouring the feeling of him filling your mouth, and squeeze gently at his balls.  When you wink up at him, it's half-hearted and with moisture in your eyes, lining lashes in the form of little gemstones.

You do it again and again, moaning lewdly around his cock before it gets too much, pulling off of him with a gasping breath and tears down your cheeks.  “Is it my turn yet?”  You’re only half-joking, made needier by the soreness in your throat, the same you want to feel so desperately between your legs.  Pressing a sweet, chaste peck to his head, tongue dipping into his slit to gather the pre-cum that leaks out, you offer the sweetest smile you can, saccharine sweet and soft.  

“Your turn?”  The way Jungkook snorts is derisive, playful.  It pulls straight off his tongue - which finds yours, swapping spit as he guides you back to the bed.  Teeth collide, lips grown swollen by the intensity of your kiss, and you startle when he nips hard at the bottom petal.  “I thought you were shy.”

“I am,”  you retort, returning the gesture, biting into the curve of his jaw with surprising repose.  Colour blooms beneath the edge of enamel, a smattering of colour that makes you smile, eager to leave more.

Which you would do, if Jungkook weren’t stripping before you, peeling his shirt from his front, tugging it over his head in that weirdly hot way that somehow all boys did.  It reveals skin in a single fluid pull, clothing discarded to the side before he levels you with a smile of his own, one that stirs to life the dimple in his cheek, eyes squinting with the intensity of his delight.  He looks deceptively sweet this way, nothing like the demon who’d just stuffed his cock down your throat.

You’re not sure which version of him you like best.

Seeing him now, dressed in nothing but that absurd, devilishly handsome grin of his, you’re not prepared.  You’re unsure where to look, gaze bouncing between the tattoos that crawl up his arms and span over his left pec, down the neatly defined ridges of his abs, and all the way back to his swollen, shiny cock.

“You’re drooling.”  Of course it’s something he’d say - because he always knows what to say, plucking perfect words from thin air.  The casual banter calms the rattle in your chest and refocuses it on his face that’s too close, looming over yours as his hands make quick work of your clothes, shedding the fabric from your form with deft, measured movements.

You’re ready to say something teasing - anything to distract from the fact that you’re still ogling him - when he catches you in another kiss, softer this time, infinitely sweeter.  Suddenly, you’re shy - which really makes no sense, given what’s transpired.

"Don't make fun of me,"  you mumble, as bashful as you were during the movie, embarrassment burning across your cheeks.  Arms rise to cover what little of your chest you can, folding around his broad palms that encompass them whole, tweaking at the straining buds.

“I’m not,”  Jungkook reassures against your lips, face dropping into the crook of your neck.  He nuzzles against you, sucking affection into the column of your throat, shamelessly laying a wreath of lust into the delicate skin.  You wonder whether he can hear the stutter of your pulse, the reaction his next words elicit.  “You’re pretty when you do it.”

You can’t quite pull your eyes away from his face, shrouded in lemon tart, so good-looking it’s unfair; his broad back and the muscle that threads it, undulating with each movement;  or the way his thighs flex between your spread knees.  You’re dragged through heaven and hell by the brush of his lips, each glide overstimulating your senses to the point of no return.  You’re still burning up, all the foreplay leaving your legs like jelly, cunt dripping with need.  "I bet you say that to all the girls."

Probably not the best thing to say with the position you’re in but the reality of the situation is hitting you and you’re feeling a little vulnerable.  Want an answer that’ll soften the sharp edges of his teeth, the intoxicating glint in his stare.

“No, just you.”  Whether it’s true or not, you can’t say for certain.  You hope it is - wish upon a star for it, laying all your hopes and dreams into the constellations in his eyes.  They’re lovely, winking down at you from the darkest depths, guiding you home.  

You don’t mean to scoff - really, you don’t.  It comes of its own accord, spilling forth like a glass too full.

“You don’t believe me?”  He sounds almost offended, the picture of innocence when he reaches down, hand scrambling about for pooled black fabric.  Comes back up with a packet between his index and middle finger, held aloft like a prize.  

How can you when he’s ready to devour you whole, primed to feast as he rolls the condom over his length, stroking himself once, twice, gaze never wavering from where it rests between your legs.

“Always prepared.”  It’s scathing but somehow tender, too mesmerised by the way he fucks into his loose fist.  You’d say more - maybe make a flippant comment about his reputation - but can’t find the words when he’s teasing you, swollen head tapping teasingly over your core.  It feels like too much, leaves you breathless when he hikes your legs up and nearly folds you in half. 

When he presses into you, the sound you make is sinful, a moan you can’t help.  Jungkook’s so fucking big you’re sure you’re about to split in half, pussy clenching tight around the sudden intrusion.  “Oh my god,”  you whine, hands coiling into his hair, trying desperately to relax, the sting of the stretch battling the pressure that builds as he sinks further in.  “You’re so big.  I c-can’t—”  You’re starting to babble nonsense and he hasn’t even begun moving yet, lips hot over the sweat-slick column of his throat when he bows, burning his presence into the grace of your neck.  A hickey of your own creation blooms right where your mouth is, right over his shoulder.  The salt of his skin distracts you, makes it easier to accommodate the fullness.  “You feel so good, Kook.”  You rock experimentally beneath him, clenching tight as if to draw him deeper.  “Please, move,”  you beg, aiming to form another bruise beneath his skin.

The first thrust chases all the breath from your lungs, a gasp ricocheting off your tongue and into the minimal space between you.  He's absurdly big, stretching you out so well that every stroke feels like heaven.  When he pushes back in, snaps his hips in that easy, effortless motion of his, you’re making the most obscene noises, words lost to his hair as he lavishes your tits with attention.

B-big! is all you manage to squeak out.  It sounds like that, anyway.  With how he's filling you, it's hard to speak coherently;  you can practically feel him in your throat.  (Or maybe that's just from choking on him earlier.  You’re not really sure.)

Hands find their way around his neck, over his shoulders, periwinkle-painted nails leaving light etchings in their wake.  They bloom colour over his back - not too hard, careful still, motor skills barely functioning - before you tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him recklessly close as the pressure builds and builds, flooding your abdomen in heat. 

There’s slick all across your thighs.  You can hear the wet sounds each time Jungkook slips almost all the way out and then rocks back in.  It's terribly messy and so hot but you’re greedy, drunk off the feeling of having this Adonis break you in half.  "Harder, p-please."  Eyes wide, you tug gently at the soft strands at the nape of his neck, meeting his with a flutter of your lashes.  "Please?"

He acquiesces without hesitation, fucks you harder, deeper, like an animal in a rut.  Grinds against you with each thrust, pushing you to your limits.  Even has the audacity to push further, until the strain in your hips conflicts with the pleasure skipping up your spine, melting you into a boneless mass.

You’ve never felt like this, stretched out and used.  You’re used to gentle lovers, sweet - if not boring - lovemaking.  The way Jungkook's pounding into you is unheard of and you’re loving it, his name whimpered on a feedback loop.  A steady Kook, Kook, Kook that twinkles in your ears, inarticulate and pleading as you rock shamelessly against him.

“You like that, ____?”  It’s a question for his own ego, something he knows but asks anyway.  (It’d be impossible not to know the answer when your cunt’s sucking him in, coating his cock in a pretty sheen.)

You’re nodding dumbly, breathless, eager to meet him each time he snaps forward.  (It’s not easy like this, practically prone beneath him, twisted into a pretzel.)  "Like it so m-much.  Feels so good.”  You can’t stop smoothing open mouthed kisses over his fluffy hair, basking in the sunshine that radiates off him. 

There's an ache starting between your legs, pussy swollen around his thick length.  You’re grateful for your natural flexibility, the hot yoga sessions you’d entertained on-and-off for years.  You’re sure you’d feel it in your legs too, knees pushed all the way up by your ears, if not for that.  

But still, you’re defenceless, made to experience each and every thing he has to offer:  every vein and ridge, the head of his cock reaching so deep it's almost too much.  With each stroke, Jungkook’s brushing against the sensitive spot that has pleasure skyrocketing, blossoming like a rose garden in spring.  "R-right there,"  you manage, rolling your hips purposefully, nearly crying each time he brushes against your g-spot.

“Right there?”  He parrots it back, infuriating and adorable, the teasing tenor dripping over you like raindrops.  They settle beneath your skin, sinking into your bones as he rears back just enough, enough to steal a kiss that’s far more tongue than it needs to be.  

It’s almost as if he’s trying to drown you, sink you beneath high tide.  

Spit descends down your chin, trails over your neck and it’s a little gross but you don’t care.  The attention he’s giving is shameless, passed over your cheeks, your throat, your breasts.  He gives and gives, both with his lips and the praise that comes unfettered.  “Perfect,”  he hums, sucking your nipple into his mouth, worrying the bud until it’s straining and puffy, too sensitive when he kisses you again and your own thigh brushes against it.  You whimper at the feeling, pulling softly at his hair, unsure whether you want less or need more.  “So sensitive.  Such a shy girl.  Such a pretty girl.”

Every word of praise has you beaming, nearly purring with delight despite the pain that comes when he puts you through the same once more, laving over the other bud with abandon.  He's sweat-slick, beads of it running down his neck, over the mosaic of bruises you’ve left behind.  It's almost embarrassing how dark his throat is coloured, a dozen reminders left all over his skin.

(You wonder how long they’ll last, how many days will pass as the colour shifts, changing like autumn leaves.  Whether they’ll still be there at your next lecture, if he’ll wear them with pride or cover up beneath one of his big baggy sweaters.)

(You hope it’s the latter.)

(Maybe he’ll let you give him more.)

(Maybe he—)

There’s a change of pace and you’re crying out, hiccupping with each thrust, the head of his cock finding your g-spot with unbearable, unrelenting precision.  Clawing at his arms, long nails digging into the firm muscle of his biceps, something between a sob and a plea rolls off your tongue, over and over.  "So big.  It's too m-much.”  And yet you don’t want him to stop, punch drunk from the way he reaches deep and pulls you tighter against him, hips risen off the bed. 

You’re begging again, eyes rolled so far back in your head you can hardly focus, the coil in your stomach pulled so tight you know it's about to snap.  When Jungkook laughs - a sweet giggle that proves his duality - you clench almost painfully, tears finally spilling over. 

One last brush against your most sensitive spot, one last thrust of that monster cock, and you’re peaking, coming so intensely you feel as if you’re soaring. Everything's suddenly so much more wet, release soaking into the linens beneath you, coating your thighs and his legs and dripping between you.

You’ve never come like this before, without some sort of direct stimulation on your clit.  It’s pleasurable in a different way, severing all your sensibilities, explosive in its magnitude.  It tingles beneath your skin, flooding all your senses. 

"Kook—please—come for me.”  You’re rocking up, forward - trying to, at least, folded as you are - singing his name, pleading for him to fuck his cum into you (momentarily ignorant to the fact that you’ve been responsible, a thin wall of latex separating you from your fucked out fantasy).  

Despite the sensitivity, you’re clenching around him, eager to bring him to his own high.  You want to feel him come apart above you, eroded into a mess like you are.

He’s just as pretty reaching his peak as he is at any other time, handsome face screwed up as if he’s reached nirvana, bliss slacking his features the longer he rides it out, bucking into you as he fills the condom and still doesn’t stop.  It’s almost unbearable, oversensitivity spilling into pleasure until he leisurely grinds to a halt, stops the inconsistent pressure against your bundle of nerves, the assault on your fluttering walls.

When he collapses against you, whole face squished between the valley of your breasts, you can’t help but laugh, the sound breathless and endeared.  “Are you okay?”  You don’t mind where he is, weight comforting, skin sticky on yours.  He’s unbelievably warm - a blanket fresh from the wash and yet so much better, lulling you into a sense of security.

“Better than okay,”  he murmurs against your chest, smothering open-mouthed kisses over skin, snickering when you jolt at the feel of his teeth over your nipple one last time.  “You’re welcome.”  It’s an indulgent, facetious expression of gratitude, one that you haven’t asked for.  You laugh all the same, ducking your head into the crown of spun gold atop his head.  

“You too.”

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @codeinebelle​

[pinkoptics]

AU-gust 2021 Prompts

4. Dancing

(Soooo it’s almost October… but that’s okay, right?)

Who wants some Dadneto feels? Who wants pining Erik?

If you do you’ve come to the right place!

Charles is nanny to Wanda and Peter, who’ve lost their mother, Magda. Erik is living a half life as an overworked single father, feeling the loss of his wife. Charles brings them back to life. This is the moment Erik realizes he’s desperately in love with Charles.

This exists in the Nanny Fic verse, but stands alone as a sort of prequel. You don’t have to have read Nanny Fic for this to work.

~2300 words

*

Erik knew the exact moment his heart had gone into free fall. One second in time when everything had crystallized, when notions and feelings that had been vague or easily ignored all shifted into place and could no longer be so easily denied.

Everything had been hard for so long, work especially, or completely, as work was virtually all he did. His entire existence boiled down to a desk, in an open space office, downtown. He got to work early, always early, trying to eek out the extra time needed to get caught up, even though he never quite succeeded in doing so. The day was spent in a haze of stress and tension, trying to meet unmeetable deadlines, and failing. He, and the rest of the team, would get scolded like school-children, belittled, until all the metal in the office vibrated imperceptibly. Imperceptibly because he needed this job— the stable pay, the incredible benefits, the mutant friendly culture. In the end, they all stayed late, too often, too late, to make up for the aforementioned deadlines. Overtime? Never. It was their fault, their incompetence, after all.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

It was no way for anyone to live, because it wasn’t a life. It was an existence, maybe, barely, but not a life.

Wander and Peter deserved so much more.

Every day he missed his kids. It was an ache like a stone in his shoe, but lodged instead in his heart, and he could see no way to remove it. Quitting, finding something else, it wasn’t an option, not in this economy. So the ache was always there. Always always always. When he finally did get home, he was tired. So fucking tired. He tried. He really did. He rallied as best he could for them but, at best, they got half of him because he was living a half life. Worn down, worn out, nothing left.

They had already lost one parent.

Magda.

Forever.

They barely had half of the other.

At least they had Charles.

Thank god for Charles.

His gratitude for the man and everything he did for him, for the twins, was staggering.

He shouldn’t have been able to afford a full day nanny/tutor after the education system had shut their doors on two young, volatile, mutants who couldn’t control their powers. Charles had swept in and hadn’t balked, like every applicant before him, at what Erik could pay. It was such a non-issue, Erik hadn’t looked a gift horse in the mouth, and had hired Charles on the spot.

Every day since, he had left them in Charles’ capable hands and, every day since, he had come home to bright smiles and happiness, to little people bursting with the need to tell him what adventures they’d gone on that day. There was joy, laughter and stability in the Lehnsherr household again. How could he be anything other than staggeringly grateful?

That’s all it was, gratitude, or so he told himself, until he couldn’t any longer.

When he ran his powers over his watch that lightning-strike evening, he was getting home around what should have been the tail end of dinner time. Charles stayed when needed, Charles cooked, even though contractually he was obligated to do neither. Erik paid him overtime, of course, but each day the clock ticked past 5:00 he half-panicked that when he finally made it through the door, Charles would throw his hands up and say ‘enough is enough,’ balking at yet another 12 hour day and justifiably disappearing from their lives forever.

Erik thought they would be seated at the table, finishing up— once again finding himself missing dinner, missing that precious time where he could talk to them, share a meal, share their day. If it had been a bit earlier, if he’d been on time, he usually found them finishing up their studies. Though he’d seen both many times already, he never failed to boggle at his kids sitting politely to dinner, or engrossed in whatever lesson Charles was offering that day. His kids — Peter especially — sitting. Engrossed. Learning. Sitting. They’d come farther, faster, under Charles’ care, than they had in an entire year at school. He was a miracle worker.

Today, however, he saw neither. They weren’t eating dinner, as expected, or even watching TV, as they did if he was particularly late. They were…

Dancing.

Well, Wanda and Charles were dancing, Peter was moving around the room erratically, random bursts of his incredible speed, that sort of resembled dancing, if you squinted. The control was itself incredible and something he never could have dreamed of before Charles. It was also incongruous because the music was— a waltz? Or, something like it. Erik wasn’t particularly versed in ballroom music.

Wanda and Charles, unlike Peter, were dancing in time to the music, in the proper way. Wanda was perched atop Charles’ feet in the manner small children sometimes did. She was smiling up at Charles with bright eyes, and Charles was smiling back with just as much warmth. The reddish glow that signified the use of her powers was escaping from her hands, though she didn’t seem to be using those powers in any way he could discern. She just seemed… happy.

“1, 2, 3, 4. Yes, just like that Wanda, you’re doing splendidly!”

Her smile got wider.

They turned about the cleared out living space and he came into Wanda’s line of sight. “Papa!” She leapt out of Charles’ grasp and surged toward him, tackling his long legs hard enough to knock him back a step. “I’m learning how to be a Princess, a real princess! Like they have where Charles is from!”

Peter stopped just short in front of him, after another burst of extreme speed, startling him back another step. Erik wasn’t sure he would ever get used to it. “I’m the court jester!” he announced, proudly.

Erik laughed, “Of course you are.” The warmth of their happiness began to chase away the weariness, the cold ache ever present in his chest, and replaced it with something else.

“We had a tea party!” Wanda went on and gestured to the kitchen table, where the remains of little tea sandwiches, cakes and biscuits were strewn about, along with a teapot Erik didn’t recall owning. “It was so fancy!”

Peter speeded to the table, knocking into it, and nearly upended the contents. He picked up a tea cup. “We held it like this! It was so silly.” He held out his pinky finger in that cliched way.

“Watch me dance!” Wanda all but plowed back into Charles, who winced as she stepped back onto his feet with just a bit too much force. He bore it in stride and picked back up where they had left off. “Do you see, Papa? Do you see? I’m dancing just like a princess.”

Erik reached out and stroked her hair as they passed. “Du bist eine Prinzessin, Bärchen.”

Peter began “dancing” erratically again. “I didn’t want to be a prince.” He crinkled his nose in distaste between bursts of speed. “Jesters are way cooler than stinky princes.”

Wanda did not respond but held her head higher, more haughtily.

Erik felt suddenly, wildly, close to tears.

As they made another pass, Wanda gasped and released Charles, lunging at Erik again. “Papa! You and Charles can be the King and Qu—” Her face screwed up in momentary confusion. “—King. We can have two Kings, right?”

“Of course. Whatever you want.”

With that settled, she went on. “Then, the kings should dance too!”

Erik’s eyes immediately flew up to Charles’, who looked just as taken aback by the sudden suggestion as he.

“Oh Bärchen, I don’t think—”

“Papa, the kings have to dance too!” It was a statement of inarguable fact. The sky is blue, the sun shines every day, the kings must dance. Peter stopped to nod his agreement.

Erik sidestepped. “The king could dance with his princess.”

That earned him 5-year-old exasperation. “Why don’t you want to dance with Charles? That’s silly. He can teach you. C’mon Papa!” She physically nudged him in Charles’ direction. Catching Charles’ gaze, he shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “It appears Princess Wanda has spoken.”

Charles’ face was alight with amusement. “Yes, it does appear that way.” He straightened his shoulders and extended his hand. “May I have this dance, sire?”

That hand was warm, when Erik placed his own on it, and soft. When those same hands settled on Erik’s upper back and waist, the heat seeped through the thinness of his dress shirt. He hadn’t been this close to anyone, hadn’t been touched, not since… All at once he wanted both more and less, to fall forward and pull back.

Charles was no less beautiful this close up— blue eyes still sparkling with amusement, a quirk to his very red mouth projecting the same emotion, a loch of his unwieldy hair falling playfully across his forehead, a sprinkle of barely there freckles across his nose. There should have been flaws. With their nearness, Erik should have been able to pick them out, but he couldn’t find a single one.

“Papa!” Wanda jolted him back to the room. “You’re not dancing!”

So they weren’t. Feeling very caught out, warmth rose to his cheeks. Blushing? Was he blushing? Erik didn’t blush.

“Have you waltzed before?”

“No.”

“Like this.”

Charles was gentle. He lead with authority, but

somehow managed to be gentle at the same time. It seemed to sum up everything he had learned about the man, watching him nurture his children back to life. After a few awkward steps and bumping knees, Charles’ lead was easy to follow and Erik found himself gliding across the floor in no time at all.

“You have a natural grace,” Charles murmured, as they turned about the room.

“Hardly. You’re an excellent teacher.”

“No.” The word was said with surprising firmness. “You’re very fluid, you feel the music. Musicality like that cannot be taught. Not easily. Certainly not this quickly.”

Something burned in Erik’s chest at the words, at the sincerity behind them. The feeling took a moment to recognize, but it was pride. When was the last time he’d felt proud about anything he’d done? The warmth spread, trickling outward from his chest, from where Charles’ hands were still pressing against him. Could he feel it too, through the small, open space between their bodies? He felt like he could.

Around them the kids danced too— Peter in his manic way, Wanda with an invisible partner.

He wanted to drop his forehead to Charles’, wanted to disappear in his warmth, his kindness, his care. Experiencing this small taste of it, he suddenly, desperately, wanted more— wanted to be the object of the same support, encouragement and comfort his children received. A nanny no longer, but a father to his children, a partner to him. All at once, he could see it so clearly, what it would be like if Charles didn’t leave at the end of each day. If he stayed, if they were…

Oh god.

To not be alone in this.

He couldn’t think the word.

To be whole.

He shouldn’t think the word.

To be a… family.

In that moment, he wanted it so badly he could scarcely breathe. He was gripping Charles too tightly now. He knew he was. But, he couldn’t stop. It said everything he couldn’t and absolutely shouldn’t— please don’t go, please stay, please be here with us.

We love you.

I love you.

The clarity of it was striking. You’re Charles. I’m Erik. I love you. Please stay. Now. Always.

Striking, real, clear, but terrifying.

He let go. Too fast.

“Are you all right?” The concern on Charles’ face deepened the ache that had taken hold with such fierceness in his chest.

He wasn’t. He hadn’t been. Not for a long time. But, for an awful moment, he thought that he could be. With Charles, he could be. “Fine,” he ground out, unused to losing his composure so completely. “I’m fine just… tired. It’s late, isn’t it? I’m sure you want to be getting home.”

Was that…? No. He was projecting. Surely, he had not seen a fleeting burst of disappointment in Charles’ features. The man was nodding. The children were protesting.

“You know I’ll be back tomorrow.” Charles chided as he bundled them into a group hug which Erik had to restrain himself from joining.

“Can we play princesses—”

“And jesters!”

“—again tomorrow?”

“Of course, your highness.” Charles stood and gave them both a bow. Wanda giggled and curtsied in return. Peter bounced. “Until tomorrow then.” His gaze flicked from the children to Erik. “Have a good night, King Erik.”

Erik swallowed. It was painful. “And you, King Charles.”

When he was gone, Erik was half nibbling, half tidying the remains of the tea party, trying to ignore the prickling behind his eyes, trying to dispel every last feeling Charles had provoked, trying to banish every last thought and box up every last ridiculous hope. Wanda sat at the table watching him. She did so with eerie quietness for awhile. So lost in his own thoughts, he startled when she finally broke the silence.

“I like Charles, Papa. Do you like Charles?”

The way she looked at him, boring into his soul and past his defences in a way entirely too reminiscent of her mother, he knew the answer was in someway important, someway meaningful.

“I— yes, Bärchen, I like Charles.”

She nodded and having apparently received the desired response, she hopped off her chair and went to pester her twin.

Somehow he knew the word they had both meant wasn’t like, but love. A word neither of them dared say aloud. The people you loved, especially when you loved them most… they didn’t always stay. They could be taken and it hurt in a way you could never fully heal from. Maybe if you held back, maybe if you didn’t give it all, maybe they wouldn’t go.

Erik gave up on his tidying and slumped into one of the kitchen chairs.

He couldn’t be with Charles.

Could he?

*

If this has perked your interest in the original fic here is the link to Nanny Fic:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12898845/chapters/29467485

8 chapters. Unfinished. Not abandoned.

[combat-wombatus]

YEAHHH YOU KNOW IM HERE!!! BC I LOVE YOU COCO!!

okayy so for my request 👉🏽👈🏽

can i get bakugo x f!reader and prompts: 14. “You’re so cute when you’re mad.” + 24. “Would you mind if I kissed you?”

okay i love you!! 🥺🥺 thank you for doing this!

14: “You’re so cute when you’re mad.” 24: “Would you mind if I kissed you?” Character: Bakugou

ok so like...i may or may not have gone slightly overboard and turned this into a whole fic-

it’s like 2.2k words lakdjfhasjkdh enjoy-

thank u for requesting aves 🥺

“What? A party? I’m not fucking going.” Bakugou snarled. “Staying up past midnight is overrated. I need my sleep.”

“But Bakubro,” Kaminari whined. “We’re hosting! Mina planned it all, and she spent a lot of time doing it! You should at least go. You don’t have to stay up that late.”

“Tch. As if I care.” Bakugou shoved his hands in his pockets and slumped forward even more. “Pinky can waste all the time she fucking wants to. I’m not going.”

“It’s our last year at UA! Come on,” Kirishima joined in. “You can leave early if you want to! It’ll be mostly in the dorms anyways. Mina did plan a scavenger hunt though, in Gym Gamma. She says that she planted “mementos” of our school experience. Isn’t that fun?”

“Fun my ass. It’s stupid, is what it is.” He glared at Kirishima. “Should’ve visited my parents. Even the old hag isn’t as loud as all of you extras in the dorms.”

“You say that like you didn’t blast a hole in the wall just last week,” Kaminari pointed out.

Kirishima winced. “Denki-”

“WELL WHOSE FUCKING IDEA WAS IT TO PRETEND THAT THEY WERE FUCKING KIDNAPPED?!?” Bakugou waved a fist wildly in Kaminari’s face.

“Fair point, fair point. You should’ve seen the look on your face though! (Y/N) thought you’d murder her!” Kaminari cackled.

“I’D NEVER FUCKING MURDER HER! ARE YOU INSANE??” Bakugou’s palms started crackling.

“Hey, chill bro, we know that.” Kirishima tried to calm him down.

Kaminari was not so lucky. “Why? You joke about murdering us all the time. What’s so different about her?”

Bakugou turned, a quick retort on the tip of his tongue, before he realized that Kaminari was, actually, right for once.

“She’s…she’s…” He stuttered.

Kaminari let out a hoot of laughter. “I knew it!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Bakugou’s face turned beet red. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Suit yourself. We know the truth.” Kaminari patted Bakugou’s shoulder.

“Oh yeah, Bakubro! (Y/L/N)-chan is going to be at the party too! Why don’t you confess to her there? That would be fun! And then Mina will forgive you for leaving early too!”

Bakugou’s left eye twitched. “There’s nothing to confess, Shitty Hair. And I don’t give a rat’s ass what Mina thinks.”

Kirishima and Kaminari looked at each other, then turned back to Bakugou.

“Sure,” Kirishima smirked. “Nothing at all.”

“Hey! (Y/N)!” Mina ran up to you. “You’re coming to the party, right?”

You turned to face her. “Sure am! Who isn’t? It’s in the dorms anyways so there’s not much of a point in not coming, right?”

Mina sighed. “Kiri and Kami are having a hard time convincing Bakugou to come. Something about his sleep schedule?”

You were a little disappointed, but it was to be expected. Bakugou didn’t participate much in team-building activities anyways. “Can’t relate. My sleep schedule has been fucked to high heaven.”

“Right? What a crappy excuse.” Mina rolled her eyes. “Anyways, Sero’s waiting for me in the gym to help set the scavenger hunt up. See ya later, yeah?”

“Sure! Do you want more help? I can help you guys set things up if you’d like,” you asked.

Mina leaned forward, smiling mischievously. “Nope! It’s all good! And besides, I want you to participate in the game, so you can’t help!”

You smiled. “Ah, okay. Well, I’ll see you later then!”

“See ya!” Mina winked and gave you a little wave.

“So, the rules of the game are simple: whichever team finds and touches our very own 3-A New Year’s Ball, together, wins!” Mina exclaimed from her place on the couch.

“What kind of shitty game is this?” Bakugou growled, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Mina pouted. “Hey! Sero and I spent a lot of time making this happen!”

“Yeah! They were amazing!” Ochaco jumped up too. “Stop being ungrateful!”

“Fine, whatever.” Bakugou crossed his arms. “Get on with it already. We don’t have all night.”

“Actually, we do! Not everyone here has the sleeping schedule of an old man,” Kaminari piped in.

“Shut up, Dunce Face. Nobody asked.” Bakugou scowled.

“Hey! Back to the regular program. You get to choose your own partners! Isn’t that exciting?” Mina waved her piece of paper around wildly. “Now get to it! You have three minutes!”

You looked around the room. You would’ve asked Mina, but she and Sero weren’t participating since they were the ones who hid it. They had also apparently hidden clues all over Gym Gamma as to where the location of the ball was.

“Ocha-” Oops. She’d already teamed up with Iida.

“Oi, Shitty Hair, come over here!” Bakugou yelled across the room. You sighed. Of course.

“Sorry Bakubro, I already have a partner…” Kirishima said rather sheepishly.

“…you WHAT?”

“Yeah…Momo here didn’t have a partner yet and…well…Mineta was hot on her trail,” Kirishima tried to explain as Momo breathed a sigh of relief.

“Shuckers!” Mineta faceplanted onto the couch. “I never get what I want”

“Hmph. Karma’s a bitch.” Jiro smirked from her position next to Kaminari.

“Dunce Face, you got a partner too?” Bakugou sighed, exasperated.

“Right next to me!” Kaminari pointed to Jiro with his thumb. You smiled in satisfaction. They were honestly adorable.

You turned to the rest of the room. Hagakure had already snagged Ojiro, Midoriya had, unsurprisingly, paired with Todoroki. Shoji and…Tsu? Koda had paired up with Sato, and…you snickered a little at the last pairing. Tokoyami had been bombarded with Aoyama’s relentless chatter. Which left…you and Bakugou.

Huh. That was weird. You swore that not everyone had a partner just a minute ago. And it was awfully strange that Tokoyami would choose to pair with Aoyama instead of you or even Bakugou, but…you supposed that he didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

“So. (Y/N).” Bakugou cleared his throat. “Partners?”

“Uh…yeah,” you replied, fidgeting slightly with your hands.

“Ok! Everyone is paired up and ready to go?” Mina was practically bouncing.

“Yeah!” Most everyone chimed in unison.

“Let’s do it then! Sero, come on! Lead the way!” She jumped down from her place on the kitchen counter.

“What the fuck? Pinky and Tape Arms hung that thing all the way up there?” Bakugou swore.

“You can use your quirk to get up there though, right?” You looked at him, brows furrowed.

“Duh. But what about you?” He looked you up and down. “Last time I checked, you couldn’t fly.”

“Easy! I’ll just ride on your back!” You chirped. “Unless you can’t carry me?”

“Tch. As if. Get on.” He squatted down, letting you scamper onto his back. “Ready?” You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist.

You leaned into the crook of his neck, breath lightly fanning his face. “Ready,” you confirmed.

Cackling gleefully, Bakugou shot up into the sky, palms ablaze.

And as quickly as he flew, he was dropping to the ground even quicker.

“DAMMIT!” He glared daggers at the ice wall that had appeared over your heads. “Fucking Deku! And that IcyHot bastard!”

Spiraling, he tried his best to save the two of you from a hard impact on the ground, but he was only successful in twirling around in the air like a ballerina.

“Shit!” He tried to flip upside down in order to land on his feet, but the momentum was against him.

With an “oof”, the two of you landed in a pile on the (luckily) snow-covered ground.

“You alright there, idiot?” Bakugou said gruffly.

You groaned. You weren’t sure how, but you definitely sprained something with the way you landed. Ankle? Wrist? Perhaps both?

“Hey. Hey!” Bakugou climbed over the snowdrift to reach you. “Get up! The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Calm down, Bakugou!” You pushed his hand away. “It’s just a sprain,” you pointed to your ankle.

“Nothing else?” He seemed intent on picking you up, so you let him.

“Nope, everything’s fine,” you assured him.

“Sorry about that!” Midoriya called out from atop his perch on Todoroki’s newly-formed glacier. “We got a little carried away!”

Bakugou stilled. You winced. Midoriya was in for a rough time.

“Deku…” He ground out. “What the FUCK do you think you and IcyHot are doing?”

“I-I’m sorry! We didn’t mean to knock you down from the air!” Midoriya started gesturing nervously. “I-I swear it was an a-accident!”

Todoroki sighed. “It was an accident. Let it go, Bakugou. And (Y/N), we are very sorry for having injured you. Would you like for us to accompany you to Recovery Girl? The game is over now.”

“The fuck did you say, IcyHot? No fucking way. I’m taking her.” He stomped towards Recovery Girl’s office, you firmly nestled in his arms.

“Think we succeeded?” Todoroki turned to Midoriya. “They seem to be getting along fine.”

“I…I’m not sure. It’s not great that (Y/L/N)-chan had to get injured for this to work, but…Recovery Girl will fix her up fine and Kacchan might finally realize that he has feelings for her…”

“Hey guys! Great job!” Sero dangled Mina from a tree branch overhead. “Look at them go!”

“It’s all according to plan…” Mina clapped her hands together. “Now, we just have to wait for the clock to chime twelve…”

“Fucking assholes.” Bakugou hadn’t stopped muttering underneath his breath since you’d left.

You giggled. He was so angry over such a small thing. It wasn’t like the fall was intentional; you’d both just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Bakugou stopped walking and stared at you. “What?” He frowned at you. “Why are you laughing? Did you knock your fucking head on the way down too?”

You started full-on laughing this time. “No, Bakugou. It’s just…you’re so cute when you’re mad,” you tried to explain. “Your eyebrows scrunch up and you purse your lips and…”

By this point, Bakugou was a blushing mess. No one had ever called him “cute” when he was angry before.

After a while, he broke the silence. “So…I don’t scare you?”

You laid your head on his chest. “Not at all.”

“Tch. You should be scared of me, dumbass.” He turned your body so that you were facing him, shielding his tomato-hued face from your gaze.

“And why should I be?”

“Because…because…I’m Bakugou Katsuki, dammit!” He clenched his fists, bunching up your parka.

Snickering, you decided to tease him. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. I thought you were Midoriya Izuku for a second.”

“You WHAT?!?”

The two of you bantered playfully all the way to Recovery Girl’s office. She took one look at you and frowned.

“Tsk. I thought there wasn’t training today?” She rifled around for an ice pack.

“There wasn’t. We played a game and I just sprained my ankle.” You explained sheepishly. “And possibly my wrist.”

Recovery Girl tapped her cane on your knee and sighed heavily. “You guys don’t know how to take care of yourselves! Playing a game and getting injured?” She rubbed her temples. “The hospitals are going to have a field day with the lot of you once you become pros.”

“Sorry. I promise I’ll be more careful next time.” You held in a wince as she prodded your ankle.

“Minor sprains. I’m going to wrap those and give you some gummies. Take this ice pack with you when you go. Ice for 10, leave for 20, and repeat for 3 hours. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am!” You held out your wrist for her to bind.

“And don’t you go do anything else dangerous now, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear!” You hopped nimbly off the table, landing on one leg, and was promptly scooped up again by Bakugou.

“Hey! Let me down! I can walk!” You protested against his arms.

Bakugou turned to Recovery Girl. “Look at her. You really want her to walk?”

“As a matter of fact, I do not. Stay still, young lady, and let him carry you,” she admonished.

You slumped in defeat, and Bakugou carried you out of the room.

“Ahh…young love,” Recovery Girl stared wistfully at your fading silhouettes. “I remember…”

“3!”

“2!”

“1!!”

“HAPPY NEW YEAR’S!!”

The class was situated in the common room, spread out over the numerous couches and munching on fresh cookies (courtesy of Momo and Sato).

And as the clock chimed 12, you looked to Bakugou, sitting right next to you.

“Can…can I…” You started nervously, fingers fidgeting with your ice pack.

“What? Spit it out,” Bakugou stared at you.

“Canikissyou?” You blurted out as fast as your tongue would let you.

He smirked. “What was that? I couldn’t understand you.”

You sighed. “Would…would you mind if I kissed you?”

Bakugou’s lips pulled into a wolfish grin. “All you had to do was ask, dumbass.”

Epilogue

“Do you think they caught on?” Mina whispered excitedly to Sero. “I wasn’t sure if they saw me leading Todoroki and Midoriya to the ball.”

“Nah, I think we’re fine. Besides, it’s not like he can complain. He got a girlfriend thanks to us, right?” Sero chuckled.

“Ok…if you say so…”

Suddenly, they heard a growl coming from the doorway to their left.

“Shit.”

“Run!!”

“I won’t let you bastards get away with this!!”

Coco’s New Year Celebration 20-21

Masterlist

[mythicamagic]

Eve’s Inferno - Rukiyui oneshot

Dante's Inferno AU. Eve has searched almost every circle of Hell, leaving just one left. In order to find Adam, she must face the one responsible for their banishment from Eden. But the Devil is used to whispering sweet nothings, and Ruki has succeeded in getting under her skin once before. Rukiyui oneshot.

AN: Made for the Diabolik Lovers Zine @diabolikloverszine​ and published with permission since the sales have closed. I had this idea a long time ago, due to Ruki often being associated with Lucifer in the games. Hope you enjoy!

Rated T

3,000 words (also posted on Ao3)

Eve's Inferno

Disembarking from the small boat, a young woman kept her hand in the ferryman's as he assisted her down. He smiled gently with ashen lips and doleful eyes, nodding to a set of double doors awaiting her.

Thanking him, she offered coins for the ride but was met with a quiet decline. He soon pushed off the dead earth, slinking back up the dark, murky waters of the cavern's river.

The grey doors had vast, intricate carvings of desperate people rising out of it, frozen mid-air, arms outstretched and clawing as though trying to escape. She wondered if they were real human souls, trapped as such a mundane part of the underworld. Taking a breath, she set her shoulders and reached out. The doors opened easily under her hesitant touch.

The woman didn't know what to expect behind them. Perhaps fire and brimstone, the dead or dying, tortured continuously and screams ringing out. But the vast, open space looked empty. There were no cries of pain, blissfully silent. A large cave awaited her, walls dark and jagged with obsidian rock. At her feet lay a cool, frozen lake, solid enough for her to stand on as it took up the entirety of the floor, spreading wide. Curling, misty air didn't chill her bones or make breath visible, instead feeling a little heady.

She steeled herself, walking forwards. In all the domain only a single thing truly held her gaze, that of a lone white tree standing on a small island. The shock of white and green was impossible to ignore.

With careful steps, she crossed the lonely, silent space. Walking onto the island, fresh grass crunched beneath her feet- soon coming to a stop. Breath catching, wide eyes took in the sight of a man with familiar dark hair reclined against the tree. He held a book, pale fingers gripping its spine.

She could not place how she felt, standing there, watching him calmly read. Soft, blue-grey eyes looked as disarming as she remembered when they flicked up to her. But they could sharpen. That tempting mouth could praise and charm one moment and then damn her the next.

"Good to see you, Yui."

"Hello Ruki," she murmured, folding her hands before her skirts. Swallowing, she babbled; "I didn't pay the ferryman, I hope that's alright."

"Azusa can be overly generous, it hardly matters," he dismissed, shifting long legs. "What can I do for you?"

Yui's fingers twisted into her sleeve. The casualness of his question belied Ruki's penchant for manipulation. If she weren't careful, she'd make a mistake, just like their last meeting all those years ago in Eden.

So, raising her head, she set thin shoulders. "I'm here for Adam," her tone was firm and final.

No surprise flickered in his expression, attention returning to his book as though bored.

"I-if you can't give him to me, then I'd like to know where he is. I've been looking for him in the other eight circles for-"

"Centuries, I know."

Annoyance flared, "if you knew, why didn't you meet with me? The other princes weren't very..." she trailed off, curbing her tongue for the sake of diplomacy, "helpful."

A deceptively pleasant chuckle rang out. "Do you expect the ruler of a domain to heed every whim from their subjects? Especially subjects of hell?" Cruel lips curved as he shifted, setting the book down before standing. "Besides, most people when searching for someone will give a description."

Yui held her ground when he approached, heart thundering- drumming wildly in her ears. "You know what he looks like."

"But you don't."

The dark-haired young man, despite his handsome features, did not possess a presence that stood out or screamed malice. When compared with the other princes, his appearance wasn't as eye-catching, attitude not as loud or attention-grabbing. In a crowd, your gaze would likely pass over him. Despite this, when he stepped closer, Yui felt a pressure in the air. A type of sticky humidity that heralded storms. Those eyes, so calm and cold, implored her to confess her sins and sink to her knees. He'd treat her like a pet. A well-fed, maybe even cared for pet, but a pet nonetheless.

"P-please don't toy with me," she murmured. "You probably removed my memories of his face and voice, but I remember Eden. You won't keep us apart."

Ruki reached for her, brushing a shock of cold knuckles against her cheek. Yui congratulated herself for not flinching despite the rush of feeling that attacked her. Compared to the second circle of Lust, with prince Laito's thoughtless, grabby hands, this was nothing. And yet... such a small touch demanded her attention, skin pricking.

"Of course you'd assume I did that. Doesn't it occur to you that he put you here and dictated your punishment?" Hot breath fanned over her mouth, and something tightened in Yui's lower stomach. Lulled by the stroke of his fingers gliding from chin to ear, Yui rocked back on her heels to try to clear her head.

That touch changed- locking into blonde hair and grasping tight to prevent escape. Yui stilled with a gasp, gritting her teeth.

"You're afraid," he purred.

"N-no," she thought for a moment and admitted; "not of what you can do to me. Just of my memories fading."

She'd seen what that did to souls. Lost, wandering figures mourning their own condition. They couldn't even remember their own names.

That touch turned gentle and soothing again, but she didn't trust it not to turn into violence at a second's notice. "Why do you care so much about finding him?"

"B-because I love him?" Wasn't that a question with an obvious answer? She'd literally been created from a rib to be Adam's other half.

"You can't love someone you don't remember. Someone you don't know. You'd trust a stranger like that?" Devastatingly beautiful eyes shifted over her pale expression, his pupils slightly slit. Ruki leaned closer, lips ghosting over the delicate shell of her ear. This time she was unable to suppress a shiver. "You should give yourself over to your Master's hands instead... I wouldn't treat my Livestock poorly."

Something hot churned in her stomach. "You're not my Master and I'm not cattle."

A low chuckle resounded in her ear, firm fingers gliding down her spine. "I seem to remember us having a conversation similar to this a long time ago. Do you recall?"

Yui squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push back the memory. It flooded through the gaps between her fingers like water. She could suddenly smell thick, choking scents of roses, feel lush grass and flowers brushing at bare legs. Lashes reluctantly opened, and her breath hitched.

The lake and lone tree were nowhere in sight. Ruki had vanished. Instead, she found herself wandering through the achingly familiar gardens of Eden. Birds sang to each other in twisting trees, lions and other predators lazed around, heedless of her or other prey. Yui felt her skin prick from a faint chill in the air, glancing down to find herself naked.

It was all exactly as she remembered. She'd become Eve again, lost in those painful memories that had haunted her for centuries. Only... she still couldn't remember Adam.

---

Rounding a large flower bed, Eve lay eyes on a single tree, separated from all other greenery. It bore fruit, red apples catching the sun in such a way that salvia filled her mouth at the mere thought of tasting them.

"You can have one if you like."

Eve's gaze slid down the apple tree's truck to find a man leaning against it. No, not a man.

An angel.

She frowned, making no move to cover herself as she approached.

"But I was told not to."

The dark-haired angel smiled, and she felt no reason to be afraid. "Why do you obey blindly?"

"I don't know."

Some frustration marred his handsome face. He gestured to a small pond not too far away, "go look into the water."

The woman did so because she'd been told to, and it didn't cross her mind to resist. Kneeling at the water's edge, blonde hair slid forward and Eve's breath hitched at the sight of her own reflection. Her eyes struggled to take in the image, a stunned hand raising to touch her reddening cheek.

'That's me...'

Complicated thoughts blazed to life in her mind where none had been before. Wonder, perception, a briefly vain absorption in her own existence having palpable proof before her eyes. What a gentle and pretty face. She loved it simply because it was her own, something that only she owned. Eve was at once changed. No longer an extension of Adam, she felt like a person.

The angel knelt not too far away. "I'll ask again; why do you obey blindly?"

"Well because..." she trailed off, swallowing. "I suppose I was created after Adam so I should behave in order to show my gratitude?"

"You act like a Livestock that's been reared and bred in a shelter. That doesn't sound like honest loyalty to me."

"No, I- maybe it isn't, " her arms moved to hug herself, wondering why she felt a little cold. Maybe it was the strange, isolated feeling his question awakened in her. "What is... honest loyalty?"

His eyes sharpened, tone becoming firm. "It's when you can be certain the one you've put faith in can care for you. In turn, you support them, like they're a worthy Master."

Eve picked at soft green grass, mulling this over. "Sounds as though you have experience with it."

"Mn, though lately, I've been feeling dissatisfied."

She got the sense that he wouldn't be saying anything more. "I feel... different. Like I'm not the same Eve as a moment ago."

Her companion shifted to stand, some white feathers from exquisite wings falling to land on the water's surface. She watched them float and twirl slowly with fascination.

"If you're someone else, you could always give yourself a new name," he casually suggested.

"Give... myself?" Eve chewed on her bottom lip, thinking. A name came out of nowhere. No one suggested it, so at once, she felt slightly giddy and pleased with her hushed murmur of: "...Yui."

Blue-grey eyes shifted. A pale hand rested on his chest as he bowed slightly. "Yui. Well met."

"Well met," she blushed, glancing at the funny material wrapped around his body curiously. "What's your name?"

"I was given the name Lucifer."

Yui tilted her head, sending lush falls of blonde over one shoulder. "Oh, did you change yours too?"

"Yes. I chose the name Ruki instead."

Her hands curled in her hair, testing out the new name on her tongue. "Ru...ki."

Ruki stiffened slightly, attention weighed upon her like a heavy, palpable thing with substance and form. She felt her cheeks flush, remembering the reflection of herself in the water. For the first time, she wondered what he might be thinking. What an angel's own perception of her was like.

"Mn... there's no need to get caught up with trivial things," he cleared his throat, walking towards the tree again.

"I wanted to ask about those things draping over your body," Yui chirped, following.

"My clothes? More trivial talk," he sighed, not particularly annoyed, however. Ruki stopped by the truck and rested a hand upon it, "you can have clothes too if you desire."

"I can?" So many new things were being offered to her today! She felt as though discovery was perhaps the single most wonderful thing to experience. She hungered for more- like the reflection and her new name. "Yes. I'd like that!"

He made a gesture, twisting his wrist in the air- and at once those strange, wondrous threads were wrapped around her, covering her shoulders but clinging around her chest and then falling down to her feet like a waterfall. Yui touched the material, finding it soft. She giggled, looking at him. "Thank you," she said breathlessly.

Ruki nodded, face unreadable. He then gestured to the fruit hanging above them. "You can still take one of these if you wanted."

At this, she hesitated, stopping by his side. "I... I'm not sure..."

"Did we not establish that you don't have to give your loyalty to someone who hasn't earned it?" His pleasant voice remained patient. A cool hand, chilled to the touch, met the base of her spine. The woman stilled, feeling that palm drag up her back, before curling in her hair. He seemed at once too close and yet not near enough.

"Maybe if I... take a bite, I can explain that I was just discovering new things? I'll know what it's like and won't be tempted anymore," she murmured.

Strong fingers tightened, stroking the back of her neck. "What an interesting word to use. Yes, I suppose you won't be tempted. You'll have had experience, and no one should punish you for that."

She agreed and reached up of her own volition, grasping a red fruit and yanking to break it free. She then sank blunt teeth into the apple, making a noise as juices overflowed in her mouth. Ruki's slit gaze dilated.

"It tastes wonderful!" She smiled, offering him some. The angel refused, taking a few steps back.

"I'm happy for you, but I should really be going now."

"Oh," Yui wilted, not even noticing the darkening, angry clouds above. "A-alright, I'll see you later! I should go share this with Adam."

"Yes..."

---

Blinking, Yui shook herself. Like an after-image, Ruki and the gardens changed. They melted away, revealing the lonesome lake once more. Ruki stood without his wings, having lost them in the fall. She could remember hearing about his uprising, his sins. They were far worse and more numerous than her own, and yet there they stood, together in the last layer of Hell. Two traitors.

"You didn't need to show me that," Yui murmured. "I do still remember. Please, please just tell me where Adam is."

Ruki looked almost deceptively kind for a moment, features softening. "They forgave Adam. He has been accepted into Heaven and left you behind, Eve."

Her knees threatened to buckle, lungs constricting. No, no, she needed to calm down. Of course he'd lie. "The truth, please," she gritted out.

Strong hands caught her slim waist as she moved back, starting violently at his touch and proximity. "I am not lying, Livestock."

"How can you expect me to believe you?" tears pricked her eyes.

"I understand-" he hissed, gathering Yui's thin, shivering body closer and curling around her. "I'm the snake that tempted Eve. You don't trust me and see me as nothing but an unworthy Master- but there's a place for you, here Eve." The smoke of a smile lingered on his lips, unseen by her, but she could hear it, feel it in his voice. "Here, by my side. We're a lot alike, cast out for our sins. All we did was utilise our free will. I'm not like him..." Ruki quietly purrs. "I won't shut you out no matter how much you sin."

Tears leaked down her cheeks as Yui raised her head, finding his lips much closer than anticipated. "Just give me your loyalty."

Trembling, the sensation of his mouth pressing against hers stole her breath. Shame rose to mingle with the glow he elicited within her chest, feeling herself considering, wondering if perhaps- just maybe... he genuinely cared for her.

'What is...honest loyalty?'

Yui's fingers curled in his clothes.

'It's when you can be certain the one you've put faith in can care for you. In turn, you support them, like they're...a worthy Master.'

Two hands shot out, shoving against his chest. 

Ruki grunted, eyes flashing. "Yui-"

"No! I-if it is true, then I-I'm happy for him!" Yui yelled. "Adam deserves to be free, but I won't ever give you my loyalty. I won't be your Livestock," she turned, hurrying away.

"Yui!" Ruki snarled, something hard leaking into his voice.

She stepped off the island, landing upon the lake a second before his hand met a barrier. Yui blinked, noting that he couldn't seem to set foot off the island, unable to leave the tree where he'd helped her commit the first sin of man. It seemed someone up in Heaven had a sense of humour.

Her blonde hair bounced as she jogged away, having no idea where to go. Anywhere was better than with him.

"You can't leave," came his quiet voice. "We'll keep going over this. We'll keep doing it, as many times as it takes for you to say yes."

Yui ignored him, reaching out to touch the large grey doors- only to hear a quiet snap of fingers behind her.

---

Sitting up, she stifled a yawn.

"We're here, miss."

Disembarking from the small boat, the woman kept her hand in the ferryman's as he assisted her down. She tried to give him coins, but he declined, continuing on his way. Approaching some large, imposing grey doors, she noted they had vast, intricate carvings of people rising out of them. Taking a breath, she pushed them open, stepping into the quiet space.

Awaiting her, marooned on a single island within the lake, the Devil watched as Eve approached.

[sergeanttpoliteness]

➹types of kisses➹(peter parker x reader)

A colorful collection of your many types of kisses, because a kiss can have more than just one meaning.

a/n: i know i’m three days late, but this is my christmas present :) (sorry for the shitty title) it’s kinda different to what i usually write because there’s really no... plot? it’s just one big but short compilation of fluff and tropes that will give you real bad diabetes. i was gonna include a break-up kiss but bc i’m nice, i decided against it lmaoooo. also !! i wrote this for ps4 peter, but i honestly can imagine it with mcu peter as well-- just choose whatever you prefer ! anyway, i hope whoever is reading this has a wonderful new year, ily.

warnings: making out, a lil bit of grinding but nothing more than that, cursing.

——-

FIRST KISS - KISS ME IN THE PARK, WE’LL MEET UP AFTER DARK

It wasn’t exactly how you wanted it to be.

Not that you thought about kissing Peter Parker too much, anyway. He was one of your best friends, and who thinks about kissing friends? Definitely not you.

Alright, that was a lie— you used to think about it. A lot. And unbeknownst to you, he did as well. However, contrary to your lack of knowledge about his urges, you did know that, for a while now, his feelings towards you changed. And, similarly, he was aware that your own feelings for him, too, transformed into something more. Further than friendly embraces or innocent sleepovers when you were little kids. Bigger than platonic emotion. More than a simple friendship.

It lingered in your minds and was evident in everyone’s eyes, yet neither of you had the courage to move past friendship.

One night at eleven-thirteen, as the two of you— two grown-ups— were in a playground, doing the spider on a swing together and laughing enough that your stomachs ached, that craving to meet his lips resurfaced with such vigor, it spilled out of your mouth.

“Can I say something?!” You laughed as you swayed higher into the air, a yelp involuntarily fleeting past your lips and your legs tightening around Peter’s waist since you feared you were close to falling off the swing and on your back. “Thank you for picking up— shit!— the phone! I really missed you, you know— ow, okay, this really hurts!”

“Okay, I think you’ve had enough,” Peter’s feet immediately skidded against the ground to put your swinging to a halt, sand flying everywhere. Once you were still, you both remained giggling and with youthful smiles that reached your eyes. “Of course I was gonna pick up the phone. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?” He said, and you had to hold yourself back from making a face at the word ‘friend’. You couldn’t complain— that’s that you were, after all. Except that this didn’t feel like merely hanging out, rather it appeared like a date.

“It’s pretty late, though.”

Peter shrugged. “Even if it were three AM, I’d still answer any of your calls.”

Your face softened and you bit the inside of your cheek, staring down at your lap. “That’s cute. But if you called me at three AM, I’d tell you to fuck off and then go back to sleep.” Peter opened his mouth in disbelief at your honesty, shaking his head.

“Wow, thanks. I’m glad our love is mutual.”

“It is mutual,” And it was indeed. “I just express it differently. For example, I tell you to stop working yourself to the bone so you can hang out with me and do adult stuff.” You placed one hand on his shoulder and gestured with the other to the empty playground you were in.

Peter chuckled, quirking a brow whilst he unconsciously began to move the two of you back and forth a little. “Adult stuff, huh?” You nodded solemnly.

“This is very mature.” You raised your nose in a not-so-mature way. Peter copied your previous gesture, humming.

“You’re right. Playgrounds were made for twenty-three-year-olds, after all.”

You giggled, but then changed your expression into a more stern one. “For real, you gotta give yourself a break.” You warned him, shaking your finger at him to add more of an emphasis, however, instead you amused him more than anything in the process.

He raised his hands. “Hey, it’s the city that never sleeps.” He defended, but you narrowed your eyes, giving him a look that was enough to communicate you were not accepting any humor. He dropped his hands and hung his head dramatically, sighing. “All right, I’ll try. But I can’t promise anything.”

You smiled sadly. “I know you can’t.” You quickly exchanged your frown for a smirk. “But if you don’t listen to me, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to make it up to me.” You joked, and Peter cocked his head to one side, wearing a crooked smile.

“How, exactly?”

All playfulness vanished and the warmth within your stomach took the spotlight yet again. Kiss me, a thought popped into your head, threatening to control your tongue. But you couldn’t. Even if your eyes accidentally flickered down to his mouth, and he undoubtedly noticed, for he gripped the swing’s chains tightly. You really wanted to say it.

So you chose to do it.

“Maybe you could…” You trailed off as soon as you caught onto some movement in the background, your sight shifting from Peter’s face to it. Suddenly, your eyes grew wide. “Oh, fuck.”

“W-What?” Peter turned to look behind his back, but before he could observe anything, he felt your legs unwrap from his body followed by a heavy object hitting the ground. His head whipped back to stare at you, and now his eyes were the ones about to pop out of his sockets when he saw you on the ground. “Y/N! Jeez, are you okay—”

You jumped to your feet, not bothering to dust off the sand off your clothes before you yanked Peter away from the swing, shushing unnecessarily louder and completely opposing your intention. “Shut up! We have to hide!” You hissed at him, peeking behind his body.

Peter tried following your gaze a second time, but you pulled at his arm harshly. “Why?!”

“Just— just follow me!” Was your explanation as you dragged him to hide behind a tree. You put your hand against the wood, slowly leaning to your side until the tree trunk uncovered your eye. Pointing at a woman standing up from a bench and a guy walking up to her, you glanced back at Peter. “You see her?”

Peter furrowed his brows, momentarily looking down at you. “...Y-Yeah? Isn’t that the teacher you told me about? The one who teaches at your cousin’s school?”

“Yes! And look at her!”

Peter’s attention returned to the woman who hugged her jacket close to her body and now spoke to the man, not discerning anything suspicious at the moment. “She’s talking to someone.” He pointed out the obvious, unimpressed. You groaned, rubbing your eyes.

“That someone is one of her students.”

Peter blinked and eyed the man who turned out to be a teenager. “Oh, he looks much older—”

“Because he’s a fucking drug addict! And I bet she’s his dealer!” You scream-whispered at him, flailing your arm towards the pair.

“I thought you were just joking when you first said that.”

You rolled your eyes, and continued watching them. Whatever the conversation was, it had all of a sudden turned into an argument as the woman poked the kid’s chest with her finger. “Why are they just talking, though?” You asked quietly, as if Peter somehow would have the answer. The volume of their voices increased, but you couldn’t make out any of the words. Scoffing, you shuffled away from Peter. “I gotta hear what they’re saying—”

Before you could tip-toe away from the tree, Peter gripped your arm and pulled you into him. “No. She has a gun.” He motioned to an object peeking out of her pants’ back pocket, and upon further squinting your eyes, you realized it was, in fact, a weapon. Peter gently pushed you towards the tree and he took a step back. “I’ll go make sure nothing bad happens while you stay here, okay?”

You stuttered, your brows snapping together. “No, this is my fucking case, you dickhead.” You began to speed walk past him, but you couldn’t get too far— he grabbed your arm and tugged you back once again. “Peter!”

“Y/N, you’re not a goddamn private investigator—”

“Well, tonight I am!” You broke free from his grasp; however, he quickly had you back in his hold.

“No, what are you doing?!” He embraced you tighter when you squirmed wildly.

“Peter, the kid could be in danger!”

“You don’t even know how to fight!”

“Oh, and you do?” You retorted without thinking. When he processed the absurdity you’d just uttered, he let go of you and stared at you dumbfounded, struggling to speak. Finally, he pointed at himself, his forehead creased.

“I’m Spider-Man!”

You scrunched up your nose, nodding. “Yeah, I don’t know why I said that.”

You totally did. As he remained puzzled, you took the chance and started a race to a tree standing near the woman and the kid. Completely forgetting about Peter’s super-speed, you thought you had succeeded until halfway there, he quickly caught up to you. Without a warning, he tackled you to the ground, falling on top of you whilst you cried out in pain.

“Ow! What the fuck, dude?!” You groaned loudly, but then you slapped your mouth when you recognized how noisy you’d been. Their conversation stopped abruptly, crickets singing whole-heartedly as you and Peter stared at each other wide-eyed.

“Did you hear that? Did you bring someone with you?” You both heard the woman ask. To your horror, footsteps approaching you were the next sound to reach your ears. “Hey, who’s there?!”

“Great, look at what you did—”

“You fucking tackled me to the ground!”

Peter surveyed the area promptly, and his gaze fixated on the tree you initially sprinted towards. He didn’t hesitate before he lifted his hand and aimed his wrist to shoot a web to get both of you out of there. But you had other plans.

You gripped the collar of his shirt, distracting him. “I’m so sorry for what I’m about to do, but just— just trust me and follow me, okay?” You breathed out, eyeing him. Peter opened his mouth, about to ask for you to elaborate.

“Wh—” You pulled him down and crashed your lips into his, muffling his exclamation of surprise. Stunned, his eyes stayed open, and when he didn’t react, yours fluttered open to signal at him to play the part. As soon as the hairs of his arms stuck up, he shut his eyelids closed and kissed you back, cupping your face and fully getting into it.

The woman jumped from behind the tree, confident she’d found the culprits of the noise, and— well— yes, she had. However, she didn’t expect to walk upon two people on the grass, in the middle of a make-out session. She grimaced the moment she saw your legs around Peter’s waist and your hands running all over his back as you fucking moaned to a point that it was forthright pornographic.

“Oh!” She exclaimed, her cheeks reddening perhaps more than your face and Peter’s, and she instantly turned around, leaving you two alone.

You two continued, waiting until the woman made an excuse and abandoned the teen. Ten seconds passed and you finally broke the kiss, panting heavily as Peter unknowingly searched for your lips again. “That worked like a charm, huh?” You laughed, dazed and the speed of your heartbeat only incrementing when you saw Peter’s swollen lips.

“Yeah, yeah… a better warning would’ve been nice.”

“Shut up.”

“And was the moaning really… necessary?”

“I saw it on a show. It makes people more uncomfortable.” You explained, out of breath, and he nodded. You both stared at each other, not bothering to move yet. “For the record, you’re a good kisser.” You blurted out and grinned sheepishly. Peter returned the expression, chuckling and unbelieving of your existence.

“S-So are you. But my plan was better.” He smiled bashfully, holding himself up with his hands next to your head. You doubted his statement, narrowing your eyes.

“Did it involve kissing?”

“No.”

“Then it wasn’t.”

You might have forgotten about your drug deal case and continued making out.

HELLO AND GOODBYE KISSES - TOOTHPASTE KISSES

Two months into dating, neither of you thought much about them anymore. Once they became part of your routine, it’s an absent-minded action, not much different from brushing your teeth, or Peter entering your apartment through your window instead of the door like everyone else. But then again, Peter wasn’t merely everyone else. And your unconscious routine kisses weren’t exactly just another bullet point in your ‘to-do’ list, either. If one of you forgot, or simply did not have enough time to spare, you’d both find yourselves missing it.

Which was why you tried your best to follow through with them, despite what situations either of you found yourselves in.

The alarm did not go off that morning (or perhaps you both passed out before you could set it in the first place— you couldn’t remember precisely), reason why you nearly choked on the lather of toothpaste while you brushed your teeth as if your life depended on it. In a way, however, it did, especially your job: you were now running outrageously late, and you could already imagine your boss’ blank expression as he told you he needed to ‘have a talk’ with you since this was the third time it occurred. You whined. You were doomed.

Peter joined you in the bathroom, jumping on one foot as he slid his other leg into his Spider-Man suit. He made a noise and caught your attention— finally, you noticed he had an entire piece of toast in his mouth. He tried to say something with the bread in between his teeth, but it was incomprehensible. You raised your brows, attempting to communicate with him without taking out your toothbrush. You both went on like that for thirty seconds: doing hand gestures and mumbling without getting any idea across until Peter finally put on his suit and bit off a chunk of his breakfast.

“Have you seen my phone?” He asked, his mouth full. You spat out the toothpaste and he couldn’t help the smitten smile that his heart painted onto his face when he saw the froth around your mouth.

“I put it right next to my keys.” You said as you washed your brush. Peter hummed and swallowed before he walked up to you.

“Alright, thanks. I really gotta run now, though.” He planted a kiss on your temple and you groaned in disgust when you felt the crumbles of his toast on your skin.

“Gross,” You wiped your forehead and Peter rolled his eyes, shoving you playfully and about to leave until you grabbed his arm. “Wait!” You encircled his neck with your arms and pecked his cheek for longer than usual, purposefully smearing his face with toothpaste.

“Ugh, gross!” He mimicked you and leaned away from you, laughing. You puckered your white lips, still trying to reach him but his arms pushed you back. “Nuh-uh, I gotta run.”

“No toothpaste kiss from your love?”

“No.”

“Toast kiss?”

“You’re gonna get fired.”

You let him go.

Later that night, Peter entered your living room, his search for you coming to an end once he saw you asleep on the couch. He laughed quietly, in the back of his head wishing he was sleeping, too, with you, and he kneeled down in front of you. He kissed the tip of your nose— the way he liked to greet you in spite of what state you were in. When he stood up, you blinked your eyes open and you lazily grinned up at him. “Peter-Man is back.”

His gaze moved down to you, guilt appearing after he saw you let out a long yawn. “Ah, man, I didn’t want to wake you.”

You had to return his hello kiss, and so you clutched his hand and pressed your mouth against his gloved knuckles. “C’mere. Join me in my slumber.” You said with an overdone accent.

He didn’t even consider telling you to move to your bed. He plopped down on the small space left and snuggled into you, his own yawn overpowering him. You hugged him tightly from behind, and within minutes, you were both deep into your sleep.

The next morning, you woke up late yet again.

HEATED KISSES - WE’VE GOT ONE THING IN COMMON, IT’S THIS TONGUE OF MINE

It’d been your first date in four months, and you swore your sex drive had never been higher. 

Peter noticed, of course, and took the decision to ditch the dinner you had originally planned once you finished the movie you were watching— or tried to watch, since you couldn’t take your hands nor lips off him during its entirety. As the credits rolled, you straddled his hips, sucking on the flesh of his jaw. You itched to see his face when he groaned— and my God, that sound did not help your case at all.

You began to trail your mouth down his neck, decorating it with a whole masterpiece of bruises, and Peter wondered how he was going to cover those up; but at the moment, it did not matter a single bit. The two of you were too into it to pull away—

“Ugh, wait—” Or not. Peter stopped you and you blinked at him as he sat straight, taking out the TV’s control remote from under him. “That was really bothering me.” He immediately pulled you back into a kiss, tugging your hair and provoking a small moan out of you.

He broke away from you, his smirk transforming into the fuel feeding your lust. “You really like that, huh?”

“Shut up.” You mumbled and your lips continued to mold into each other with desperation, the sexual desire which had build-up since your last encounter brimming as your tongues met. Peter slowly began to lift the hem of your shirt, and your excitement erupted in the pit of your stomach at the fact that you finally wouldn’t have to wait anymore—

Your phone began to ring. You tried to ignore it, but your ringtone made it impossible. “Hold on,” You sighed, disappointed, and turned your phone off, your jaw set in annoyance. Yet again, you resumed where you left off, more urgent than before. Your hand moved his own back up to your hair whilst the other ran up his thigh. He failed in holding back the jerk of his hips as he pulled at your hair yet again, your moans synchronized. You couldn’t have been more elated you both wore your pajama bottoms as you began to grind down onto his crotch. 

Peter dug his fingers into your hips and he threw his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down when he gulped to keep his noises down lest your neighbors heard you. “No, no, I wanna hear you—” You breathed out, speeding up your pace, whining yourself. He collided his mouth against yours, grunting into your kiss.

You didn’t know what had gotten into you, but you really, really, really did not wish to stop. And you weren’t going to this time, no matter what—

“Tonight’s our last party as high school people!” A voice and music blasted from the TV and you both jolted away from each other, startled. The credits had gone on long enough that the streaming service began to play a trailer for another movie, the volume at its fullest from where you’d left it earlier. You let out the most exasperated groan in your lifetime and furiously moved off of Peter to go and unplug the TV; however, he slipped his hands under your butt and picked you up.

“The bedroom—” He panted and stopped neglecting your lips as he carried you and ran towards your room, the two of you giggling maniacally when he stumbled through the door and then slammed it shut.

The trailer played all night long.

EMOTIONAL KISSES - STOP YOUR CRYING, IT’S ALRIGHT— SHUT UP, KISS ME, HOLD ME TIGHT

Peter had lost the fight.

Although you were useless, you tried getting there in time, hoping you could cause any distraction that would give him an advantage. But you heard the explosion, the walls and the ground rattling, and you dreaded you were too late.

You fell through the double doors, nearly losing your full balance and dropping to the floor. However, you maintained your composure, and tried to scan the room. The smoke hit your eyes and they stung, tears forming in your eyes which grew redder as the seconds passed.

Fire blazed throughout most of the room. You went down on all fours and shrugged your jacket off before you rapidly fastened it around your lower face. Your trembling hand grasped the pipe you’d kept with you in case you came upon someone, and you began to crawl into a cloud of smoke, praying Peter was still alive and breathing.

You fought hard to hold in the sobs that clawed at your throat. You couldn’t break down. Not right now, when Peter needed you.

“Peter!” You called out, coughing as a trace of fumes managed to sneak into your system. You went on with your search, nevertheless, even after your hand accidentally touched a scorching piece of metal and left your flesh screaming. Keep going, you told yourself when you cried out in pain, shaking yourself out of it. “Peter, it’s me! I-I’m here!”

A minute went by at most, but it seemed like an eternity. A minute and ten seconds, until you caught a glimpse of Peter’s body surrounded by flourishing flames. “Pete!” You stood up and ran to him, uncaring of your knees as you collapsed next to him. “O-Oh God…” You saw his burnt suit and whimpered, not knowing anymore if the tears pouring down your face were due to the smoke or the appalling despair poisoning your veins. You didn’t waste a single moment dwelling on the sight in front of you, though— right away, you grabbed him under his armpits and took in a restricted breath before you dragged him with you. You only moved him a few inches before you fell to your knees, heaving.

“Why are you so fucking heavy,” You sobbed, the terrifying realization that you might not make it out of there hitting you at full force. “N-No, you’re coming with me. We’re getting out of here, okay, baby?”

You didn’t know why you were speaking to his unconscious body. Perhaps it was the faint desire that he wasn’t gone yet, and he could somehow hear you. You could sense a coughing fit coming, but you stood back up and started hauling Peter across the floor again, this time mustering every last shred of strength your body possessed.

You had no answer to how you made it. But soon, you had gotten Peter as far away from the room as you could, and your arms gave out. You ripped his mask off, cupping his face with your dirty hands. He barely breathed. “Don’t leave me. Don’t you fucking dare. I’m gonna be so mad if you do.” You wiped your nose with your forearm and shook your hands, coughing. “Okay, okay, CPR.”

You placed the heel of your hand on his chest and put the other on top to push down hard. Push, push, push. You carried on begging him to stay with you as you did the compressions, your arms already too weak from having to carry him, but you continued pushing. Push, push, push. When you realized he still wasn’t breathing, you cursed loudly and began to blow into his mouth. You went back to doing compressions.

At the third rescue breath, he began to cough.

“Peter!” You bit back another sob as you watched consciousness slowly return to him, and when he blinked his red eyes up at you, you grabbed his face and pecked his mouth countless times, your shoulders shuddering.

Not too long after, he finally understood what was happening, and he held your shoulders, viewing you up and down. “Oh, thank God you’re okay—”

“No, thank God you’re okay—”

“I was so worried about you.”

“I was worried about you!”

“I tried getting to you as soon as I could—” He pecked you back, his voice raspy. “—but more guys just kept coming at me—”

“A bomb fucking exploded, Peter. I thought you were gone.” You were now weeping. Peter kissed you one last time before he embraced you close, against his wounds’ wishes. As you both tried to calm down, he glanced down at your hands and saw your open knuckles.

His eyes widened. “What happened to you?!” You looked down at your hands, the pain only just setting in once you became aware of your cuts.

“I had to get up here somehow,” You laughed weakly, and pointed at the abandoned pipe a few feet away from you. “I also had that. I’ve got a mean swing you’d be surprised. And a taser.” You took out the taser from your pocket wiggling it. Peter stared at you, his eyes moving back and forth between the taser and the pipe.

“That’s kinda hot.”

“Almost as much as that explosion?”

He had to give you a high five before you finally took him to the hospital.

‘YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL’ KISSES - YOU’RE JUST TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE, CAN’T TAKE MY EYES OFF YOU

A comedian’s podcast played in the background as you knelt beside Peter on your bed, using a brush to spread a skincare product evenly on his face. Peter watched you, adoring eyes inspecting you closely while you caught your lower lip in between your teeth and giggled after you heard a joke which you found too amusing. 

He drew patterns on your knee with his thumb and he squinted at you with curiosity, the corner of his mouth lifting upwards. “Since when are you a fan of this skincare stuff?” 

You squeezed a dab of product onto the brush before you grasped his chin gently, leaning closer to his face. “This coworker of mine, his skin is, like, so damn soft and flawless. I asked him what kind of black magic he used and he gifted me this,” You motioned to the bottle next to you, “and so I thought: ‘Well, might as well try it with my poor boyfriend who fucking sweats into a mask most of the time’. Seriously, I feel so bad for your pores—”

“Hey, my skin isn’t that bad, though. It’s beautiful.” He joked. You smiled at his comment, agreeing with your head.

“You’re right. But it doesn’t mean it can’t be better. You also deserve to sit back and relax after that job interview you had today.”

Peter frowned when he saw your excitement at the mention of the interview, self-doubt sabotaging his attempt at relaxing. “I probably didn’t get the job.” He muttered. 

Your brows knitted together and you pulled the brush away from his face to run your hand through his hair. “Shut up, you totally did. You’re the smartest guy I know.” You winked at him teasingly and he rolled his eyes, although his mouth twitched nonetheless. “Okay, you’re done! Now, look— let’s see my new glorious skin.” You gestured to your dried face, patting it to make sure it was ready.

“If our skin isn’t softer than a baby’s butt, I’m gonna sue.”

You snorted at him before you started scratching the product off your jaw. You hissed as it peeled off, pulling at your skin. You attempted to go on, but your pain tolerance was a joke at the moment. “Fuck, I think this now officially gonna be my face for the rest of my life.” You groaned. Peter gently pulled your hands away from your face.

“Lemme try.”

“No!” You playfully slapped his hands off you. “You’re probably gonna rip my face off.” And so he simply stared as you resumed your torture and voiced your complaints, until you gave up once you’d managed to free half of your face. 

Needless to say, you looked like an absolute clown.

In the midst of your battle against the face mask, Peter himself struggled to keep a serious face as he watched you and the product hardened, limiting the range of his expressions. You heard him laugh strangely, and you glanced up at him only to see him with his mouth half-open, his shoulders bouncing up and down with his chuckles, but he remained with a straight-face. 

You quirked a brow when his laughter increased, his eyes tearing up. “What is wrong with you?” 

“I-I can’t laugh.” He gasped, his face starting to twist. You began to laugh at him then, spreading the hilarity further like a virus. “N-No, don’t laugh! You’ll make laugh and I can’t laugh!” He shook his head frantically, his face mask starting to crack.

“You look like an idiot,” You wheezed, and all he could do was admire you as you cracked up and held your stomach, your beam making his chest swell. 

Your appearance was ridiculous at the moment, yet you mesmerized him nevertheless.

When you noticed he’d stopped laughing, you wiped your eyes, trying to calm yourself down, and saw his small smile. “What?” You questioned him, wondering if perhaps he gasped so much he was now dizzy. His grin grew. He didn’t care about the mask anymore. 

“You’re so beautiful.”

You pretended to gag, although your face heated up and your mouth curved into a smile. “Shut up, you’re so lame, God.”

“But you are!”

“Stop!”

“You’re so beautiful!” He yelled out dramatically to tease you. All of a sudden, he pulled you closer to him and grabbed your face, determined on peppering all the visible skin of your face with kisses. Your giggles were out of control as you tried squirming out of his grasp, but he continued pecking you over, and over, and over again. 

“I’m gonna throw up!” You laughed, and he smooched your cheek. “You’re a loser, I swear.”

He was your loser.

HOLIDAY KISSES - BABY, I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU, AND IF YOU SAY YOU LOVE ME TOO, IT WOULD BE CHRISTMAS EVERY DAY

It’d been eight months since you started dating, and neither of you had said ‘I love you’ yet.

It’s not that there existed no love. Just like you had said the night you first kissed, the love was mutual, but— again— you preferred to show it differently other than verbally. Or at least other than being straight-forward. It was expressed loud and clear whenever Peter squeezed in time in the morning to make you breakfast, every time you both teased each other or you told him to ‘shut up’, and, of course, in the most simple and obvious way: with every single kiss you shared. But you couldn’t have cried it out louder when you told Peter you’d take care of planning the Christmas Eve celebration at F.E.A.S.T.

You knew everything about Peter. You saved a special place in your brain with every detail about him: his fears, his wishes, his regrets, his shoe size— everything. It’s a perk from knowing him since middle school, and now that you were together, you’d only uncovered the remaining information buried deep within. Therefore, after he got a new job that made him as content as working with Otto Octavius did before everything went downhill, you were aware that if you hadn’t intervened, Peter would have overloaded with stress from trying to juggle every aspect of his life plus dealing with the Christmas Eve party.

However, that meant you transferred the restlessness from him to yourself.

Two months of relentless planning, and at last, it was Christmas Eve. At the back of the room, you watched your friend’s band play a Christmas song from afar, anxiously supervising that everyone enjoyed the night. Suddenly, you felt a pair of familiar arms wrap around your waist from behind and a chin atop your head. 

“Hey,” You heard Peter say and you smiled, leaning back into his embrace. “I haven’t been able to hang out with you at all during the night.” 

“I know, I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure everything was going well.” Your voice, distant and distraught, deepened Peter’s frown. He turned you around and held your face, brushing your cheek with his knuckles. 

“I’m proud of you. You did a great job.”

Although his words made your chest glow, you glanced back at the performance. “Thanks. I was able to add in a few things since I convinced Harry’s dad to donate some money. I guess being his favorite out of you, Mary Jane, and I helped after all, huh?” 

“Well, you can relax now,” He rubbed your shoulders, and you just then realized how tense they were. “The night’s almost over.” Peter reassured you and you sighed, closing your heavy eyes.

“Anything could happen, though.” You forced out a laugh, worry forming a crease in between your eyebrows. “What if something catches on fire? Actually, did you know that people can randomly combust? There’s this one case—”

“Y/N.” For once, he was the one stopping you from rambling. 

“There’s still five songs left of the set.” You pouted at him, trying to convince him to let you off the hook, but he simply stared at you, concerned.

“I talked to Miles, he’s going to take your place while you take a break.”

“I don’t need a break, I just have to watch—”

“Remember the night when we first kissed, and you told me that I needed to stop overworking myself?” He recalled, raising his brows. You pressed your lips together, recognizing how hypocritical you appeared at the moment.

 “This is different, though. I need this to be perfect.” You mumbled. Peter’s brows drew together in confusion. 

“Why?”

“Because of May!” You said, raising your voice a little. The floor now seemed more interesting than Peter or your surroundings. “She deserves it. She really cared about F.E.A.S.T., so I know how important this is for you, too.” You admitted, all of a sudden quiet. 

The corners of his mouth turned downwards. He grabbed your chin and kissed your forehead before his soft gaze interlocked with yours. “Y/N, I bet she’d be so proud right now that she wouldn’t shut up about it, like, ever.” You both laughed, but you smiled weakly, hugging him strongly. “And spending time with you is really important for me, too.” He whispered.

Peter took in a sharp breath and dug his hand into his pocket. “I know it’s Christmas Eve, but I wanted to give you one present today.” 

You tilted your head, your heart falling as remembrance dawned upon you. “But I left my gifts back home.” 

“It’s alright, I-I just…” He took out a tiny box and your eyes widened in panic. “Before you freak out, it’s not… it’s not what you think.” He chuckled nervously and opened it, revealing a silver band ring.

You covered your mouth with your fist while your other hand grasped the ring carefully, inspecting the diamond cut running through the middle. “Pete… it’s so pretty, oh my God. I can’t even imagine how much you spent on it.” You said, guilt etched onto your face.

Peter tried to shrug nonchalantly, but he had to admit the expense stung a bit. “Don’t think about the price tag,” He joked, and then pointed down at the ring. “Look inside it, though.”

You followed his orders and spotted something engraved inside. You lifted it closer to your face to read it properly, squinting your eyes, and once you did, you looked up at Peter’s nervous face with a grin growing on yours. “You… love me?”

It was about damn time.

“Y-You… you like it?” He asked rapidly, his own heart mirroring the speed of his words. 

In the blink of an eye, you met his lips with a deep kiss, unable to stop yourself from smiling into it. “You’re so fucking dramatic, you could’ve just told me but you had to buy a whole ass ring to tell me you loved me.” You nudged him playfully.

“I wanted to be cute!”

“You’re automatically cute, you don’t even have to try.” Peter proved your point as the color of cotton candy painted his cheeks. “But I love it. And I love you, God, I love you so much, Peter, you have no clue.” 

He did. And he loved you back just as much.

[youarejesting]

Limited Edition. So Far Away

[FULL MASTERLIST] [Limited Edition Master list]

Beta: N/A Rating: All audiences Genre: Fantasy, Comedy, Fluffy Fluff, Adventure. Pairing: Bts x Friend!Reader Words: 1.4K

Summary: It is your first time buying proper merchandise, there are new chibi figurines and the first person to order will recieve a limited edition set. But what happens when BTS have gone missing without a trace and a few days later you receive your package. The box says congratulations, you open to find your limited edition figures, they look so lifelike. OH WAIT! it’s cause they are.

Returning home was quiet, absolutely no stress about little men being seen. Even going through customs was a breeze. You felt like you had succeeded but in what you were not sure. The boys had shown you around Seoul for a week before you had to return home. 

You didn’t miss them, at least not yet. But when you opened the door to your home, it felt almost empty. You walked into the house and heard a shuffling. “Who is there?” you said thinking perhaps it was Jungkook or Seokjin raiding the cupboards again

“Hey best friend” A wave of disappointment washed over you. “where have you been?”

“Oh…” You shrugged “Around”

Walking dejectedly to your room, you went to unpack your suitcase and saw the dollhouse. “It hurt a lot to see it without them in it. You placed it on your desk. Before promptly face planting your bed and crying softly. 

The days passed, you went back to your university and you started working on assignments and keeping busy with lectures and tutorials. You spent your time filling the void of loneliness and you never had the heart to throw away the dollhouse.

Just when things started to look better, you remembered them when they were Tiny. Rocking out to Mic Drop and Yoongi’s little hand gestures as he rapped.

Or on days you caught a glimpse of the boys on run bts or alive you would remember how they were when they had transformed back.

“How does it feel being the small one?” Namjoon grinned looking over you trying to be intimidating. News flash he wasn’t after seeing him reduced to the size of your hand with dimples and two left feet. That man couldn’t scare you. So why did you cower slightly? It was probably because you were weirded out by the sudden height change.

“It is odd” You muttered “I am used to you all being so small and adorable and needing my help and just generally being cute. But now…”

“Now we are sexy and manly and big and strong” Jimin puffed his chest making Jungkook and Taehyung laugh. 

“You can admit it we are beautiful,” Seokjin said 

One night you hid it in your closet thinking that maybe it was best to forget it all like it was all a dream. But it wasn’t. They would pop up with another live stream smiling and dropping little hints as if hoping you were watching.

“We really enjoy the Tiny Tan animation videos going around and we are planning to contact the artist and work with them, to create something” Hoseok grinned

You hadn’t left your bed in days hoping that you would soon forget that one day you would wake with no memory of the boys. But the notifications on your videos brought you back to the present. 

Life had gone from bad too worse everything was going wrong; family, friends, job, and school work. 

Your friends alienated you because you didn’t have time for you anymore so they stopped inviting you to things. Your parents continued their usual. 

“you're wasting your life and you aren’t doing anything”  “What’s the point of us paying for your college?”  “When will you get a job?”

You were sick of their complaining and just everything screaming at you, you were unhappy truly. 

Walking through the front door you see your friends all getting ready to go out and they went quiet looking around awkwardly. 

Dropping your bag and taking off your shoes you received a call, “Good afternoon this is Y/n speaking” you looked in the fridge for something to eat. 

“Hello miss Y/n this is Sejin,” Sejin introduced himself “I am calling to offer you flights to Korea for a week, the boys are feeling quite down and they mentioned wanting to see you” “Is it okay if I think about it and get back to you?” “Of course” 

You just walked past your friends hearing a few whispered comments about yourself. Exhausted stepping into your room you flipped back on your bed staring holes at your cupboard. 

Unable to hold back any longer you, opened the door and took the dollhouse from the top shelf and placed it on your desk. You opened the front panel and inside you saw a full-sized letter. It was obvious they had snuck it in your bag before you left Korea. 

“Dear Y/n, we were not the best guests in your home. We are sorry for making you cry. We all hope to meet you once again. Namjoon”  they had each written a tiny little message underneath with similar messages. 

“If you ever miss my handsome face, come see us, also I need someone to make me those delicious snacks you make TT visit again soon, Jin”

“I would like you to know I will cherish the memories and photos we took together, Jimin”

“I hope you always feel welcome to visit, Taehyung”

“Whenever I feel down I will think back to the times we had together, your hope”

“I don’t like to play favorites but you are my favorite Army. You made me so happy and treated us like people, Jungkook”

You couldn’t help the tears that fell especially when you saw Yoongi’s comment. “What is keeping you there? You are miserable. Come join BigHit and take any position you wish. I am just being selfish and rude because you are leaving, Yoongi”

Taking out your suitcase you shoved everything inside, clothes shoes and looking around, was there anything else you needed or wanted to bring. 

You took your computer external justice, all your paperwork, and zipped up your suitcase. Calling Sejin back. 

“Actually Sejin does the offer still stand that I can get a job in Korea?” You said rolling out to the kitchen opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water and some fruit.  “Well that’s the other reason why we were calling you back, Mr. Bang really wants to offer you a job” “Listen I will take it, is it too much of a bother to ask for a place to stay?”

“Of course we can find you a small apartment,” Sejin said “you would work as an assistant manager so you would work with me if you want you can have any job you would like,” he said and the girls were looking at you.  “What’s the earliest flight you can get me there? I am packed and ready to go as we speak?”

“I can get you on the next available flight. How far are you away from the airport?” “An hour?” “I can get you a plane in two hours?” “Perfect I will be there” 

Hanging up you felt a sense of relief “I’m leaving my parents will grab my stuff, so please do not stress. Our lease is up in a month so I will pay it out” 

“Where are you going?” Your roommate asked hugging you

“Korea, I got a job a house and a few friends that I miss dearly” you hugged all your friends and sighed “I have been miserable after they left and I don’t think I can live without them”

“Good luck and have fun” 

“Listen I will call you, I will keep in touch and if you ever want to come see Korea hit me up” you grinned “I am sorry for ghosting you all because I was sad but I think this is what I need”

With your bag in tow, you took a taxi to the airport and boarded the next plane to Korea, the whole way you were watching over the videos you and the boys recorded together. 

Getting a notification for a new Live you watched it happily. The boys were talking about things being slow and they wish they could see their Army and perform. 

Namjoon received a text and read it silently before grinning wildly. “I got a message from manager-nim” he grinned, showing the others his cell phone and they all grinned. 

“Here to Korea?” Taehyung asked excitedly 

“Yes and permanently” Yoongi read the text. “As Sejin’s assistant manager”

The comments were going off, “Army we have a new assistant manager please be kind they are a wonderful person who took care of us and brought us back to Korea when we had gone missing”

Jimin read the comments with a laugh. “SAM, SAM, SAM? Why do they keep saying three? What does that mean? Three?”

“Saviour Assistant Manager” Hoseok read over his shoulder laughing.

Tags: @victory0461​​ @gqmf-bangtanmama​ @simplymemyself​

How can I save this to receive and read updates?

‘Follow’ and turn on ‘Notifications’ so you never miss an update

Add your name to a ‘Tag’ list [HERE]

‘Reblog’ this post with the hashtag #BTSLE (Limited edition)

Or you can ‘Like’ this post (but good luck trying to find it a week later, we both know how many things you like a day, perhaps we will meet again in the future.)

[phobiadeficient]

If you wouldn't mind, could you do a scout x fem sniper? I've seen stories of both females or femscout, but not very often does fem snipes get any love.

welcome to “this request got out of hand and i basically just wrote 5k words of scout tf2 being a goddamn simp”

(no warnings)

-

How the fuck was it that Scout kept ending up head over heels for women who both could and would kill him without any hesitation? Hell, maybe he had a type of something. Who knows?

And he’d kind of done a joke about it, when he heard there was a girl on the team, right? Been all ‘hey, hell yeah, at least boredom won’t be an issue!’, right? And then he’d gone to meet the team and for a minute he’d figured it was the Pyro since he didn’t exactly see a lady and the flamesuit didn’t give out much information. But then he’d seen the figure sitting off to one side facing away from him with the wide-brimmed hat pulled down low and the big shooter’s glasses and the crossed arms and the braid that just barely reached her back and he pieced together some stuff. So he walked over and introduced himself with a handshake and all because he was trying to be polite to everyone up front, good first impression and all, and apparently then he made a mistake, because he called her ‘Miss’.

And then suddenly that handshake turned into his wrist being bent in completely the wrong direction, and her standing up and holy shit she was tall and her voice was way deeper than he’d expected as she calmly informed him that if he called her ‘Miss’ again she would be packing him up in a burlap sack and sending him on a long roll down a short pier, and in fact that her name was Sniper and he could call her that and only that, clear?

So pretty much she was way more intimidating than he would ever be and he was a little annoyed with himself about how hot he found that.

Just his fuckin’ luck, that his nerves got the best of him so bad whenever he really had a thing for a girl, made him act like such an idiot. And he already kind of had his shit wrecked in front of the team once and he wasn’t looking to be turned into the official laughingstock of the group, so he tried his best to leave her alone and steer clear of her before he looked like a complete idiot.

It was just that holy shit she was tall, and every once and a while he would see her in the common area reading a book—like, an actual one—and her voice was kinda gravelly and she could pop a guy’s head from a hundred and fifty feet without even thinking about it and this one time when most of the team was waiting outside the infirmary for Medic to fix them up from battle she fell asleep in the chair across from him and her glasses were all crooked and her hat was lopsided and it was just really really cute—

Okay, so he had a thing for her. The main issue was that he didn’t know what the fuck to do about it.

Because, like—she was so fuckin’ cool. And he hadn’t talked to her much for not wanting to look like an idiot reasons, but he’d gathered that while she wasn’t, like, twelve PhDs or mad doctor kinds of intelligent, she was pretty damn smart. And she wasn’t exactly Doris Day or whatever, but he thought she was pretty in a different sort of way. In a could-kick-his-ass kind of way. And also she had a bunch of freckles, which he was just all about.

But he didn’t have the best track record when it came to cool, smart, attractive women wanting to associate with him. Namely, they just straight up didn’t. Mostly they called him annoying or laughed in his face when he hit on them.

Which you would think would start to hurt less after a while, but boy, would you be wrong.

Then again... hey, his luck had to turn around eventually, right?

That’s what led to him putting on the only shirt with buttons that he owned and a pair of nice-ish pants and strolling all the way out to the camper van she lived in instead of the room they had for her in the base.

He knocked, and for a good ten seconds he didn’t hear anything at all and thought maybe she wasn’t even in and he’d have to do a walk of shame all the way back, but then he heard the sound of movement within and a good ten seconds after that, she opened the door.

She was clearly trying to wind down after work, down to her tank top but still in her boots and shades for some reason, and most notably she was holding that big fuckoff knife she always carried into battle. She stared at him, expression flat.

“Uh,” Scout said, eyeing the knife, thrown entirely off of his game for a second.

She went to shut the door again.

“Aw, c’mon, wait a sec!” he whined in protest, stopping the door with his hand. “I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“You had a look on your face like you were planning to ask me to prom,” she deadpanned, and he flushed.

“Did not!” he protested.

She sighed hard, opening the door again. “Alright, then what’s all this, then?” she asked, gesturing loosely at his outfit with the knife.

“Uh,” he started, and fought hard to kick his brain back into motion, to try to piece back together the script he’d had in his head, but they were already wildly off track. “Uh, I was uh—I was just, y’know, I was wondering, if you’re—are you uh, busy?”

She stared at him. “...Am I busy,” she repeated, and he realized how dumb that sounded. Of course she wasn’t busy. None of them except maybe the eggheads were ever busy.

“I uh I meant did you have—y’know, plans or anything? Tonight?” he tried. She raised an eyebrow. “I mean y’know because I was just kinda wondering if maybe you’d wanna go and uh—and get a drink or somethin’. With me, later. Uh, tonight.”

“Mate, you wanna take another run at that without the stutter?” she asked, voice still flat, but her expression had shifted a little, the slightest quirk to her lip.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, shelving his pride for the moment. “Do you wanna go get drinks with me tonight?” he tried, and forced a hard stop at the end, biting his tongue before he could keep rambling and ruin it.

She looked at him. Moved to lean her shoulder against the door, to cross her arms. He glanced at the knife and back up to her face again. Her expression was hard to read.

“What, at a bar? In town?” she asked, tone a little lighter.

“I mean, yeah, sure, whatever’s cool,” he shrugged. “I’ve—I’ve got a motorcycle. Or, uh, I could borrow Demo’s car maybe, he uh, he’s really cool about lending it to me whenever as long as like, like if I’m heading to get food or something I bring back somethin’ for him, and I gotta pay for gas if it’s a long way or whatever but I figure that’s probably fair since I’m the one usin’ it most of the time anyways, I figure that’s a fair trade-off—“

“Scout,” she cut in, and he shut up. She paused. “Rather not go to a bar, if I’m being honest.”

His shoulders sank. “Oh. Uh, yeah, okay, that’s—that’s fair, I uh I totally get it—“

“But I‘ve got drinks here,” she cut him off again, voice raised a little to be heard over his mumbling, and when he looked up she had an eyebrow raised again. “Swing by ‘round nine or so, yeah?”

“Oh. Oh! Uh, no, yeah, totally!” he agreed quickly.

“In something besides the polo, if you don’t mind,” she deadpanned, head tilting to look at his shirt pointedly. “Aren’t exactly a fancy establishment.”

“Sure, okay,” he nodded, and shuffled on his feet for a second before taking the cue and starting to head off back towards base. “Uh, see you then!”

“Yeah, yeah,” she murmured. A pause. “And if you bring flowers I’m locking the door on you!”

“Hah, sure!” he laughed, and waved, and she went back inside.

Two hours later, a few minutes after nine, he’d changed into something more closely resembling his usual outfit, and noted that Sniper had also changed, just a little, putting on a different shirt he’d never seen her in. He realized belatedly that he’d never actually seen her out of the clothes that made up her uniform. It was a nice shirt. He tried extremely hard not to stare at her chest. He mostly succeeded.

And he was proud to say that if nothing else, he could at least hold his alcohol as well as she could. Most of the guys made fun of him and said he was probably a total lightweight, but he wasn’t actually that bad, mostly on account of eating full meals and getting a lot of exercise. She drank a brand of beer he didn’t know shit about, and it wasn’t the worst he’d ever had. And they talked a bunch, about work mostly, but he went on a bunch of tangents in the middle about other stuff, music and movies and home and stories about all his brothers.

Luckily for him, she was apparently pretty patient, and didn’t get annoyed with him and tell him to leave. Mostly she just sat and listened, nodded along occasionally, snickered at a joke every now and then (which was a grand slam victory every time). And by the time he looked at the clock and realized it was pretty late and he needed to head back, maybe it was just the buzz of the alcohol, but she seemed more relaxed, her usual deadpan replaced by the slightest little smile. She offhandedly mentioned that she wasn’t busy around the same time next week, and maybe they could hit an actual bar or something that time.

And he was through the fuckin’ moon over that already, then he was standing outside the door and trying to agree and make sure she was serious as best he could, stammering like a dumbass probably but she already knew he was a dumbass so it was fine, but then he wasn’t stammering because she tilted his face up and kissed him full on the mouth for one, two, three seconds before pulling back and saying she’d see him later and shutting the door behind her.

And he was about halfway back to base when his brain turned back on, and only barely managed to talk himself down from sprinting directly into the common room and announcing what had just happened to the entire team because holy shit he was pumped. But no, no way, he had to keep cool about this. He didn’t know the most about Sniper, but he knew enough to figure she probably wouldn’t be psyched about that.

So instead he just chilled out and wrote in the date and time on his calendar with minimal exclamation points and calmed down.

Mostly.

And, well, he knew he had kind of... a thing, about jumping into relationships a little too quickly, about zooming around the bases and then promptly striking out next time he tried to talk to a girl again, about seeming like he wasn’t really taking things seriously so the girls he dated also didn’t commit super hard and then lo and behold they think he’s a two-weekends-wonder and wander back off again and leave him by the wayside unless they get bored and circle back, then rinse and repeat.

He knew it was partly his fault, and if he wanted to get taken seriously he should really slow the hell down, and god damn it he was committed to not completely fucking this one up, if nothing else then because any kind of messy breakup was gonna make the next god knew how long out in the desert a real problem.

So he kept his hands to himself as best he could, relying more on bumping elbows or jostling shoulders so she didn’t get the wrong idea, kept the flirting exclusively verbal, and kind of joking even then. 

But also at the end of that actual bar date then she’d kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him, and she tasted sugary like whatever those technicolor drinks of hers had been called, and she only jokingly complained about how he tasted like tequila, and she smelled like leather and dust and somewhere under that, vanilla—wait, was she wearing perfume? Had she put on perfume for him? Holy shit.

And they were like, right outside the camper, mostly because she’d had just a little bit of trouble standing up and he wanted to make sure she didn’t fall and eat shit on the way back since he was doing just a little bit better, but he had to remind himself over and over, no, no, take it slow, c’mon idiot, don’t ruin this. And so he inched back, kept just a little more distance, and it didn’t take long before Sniper pulled back and glanced him over, from the hands placed at a nice, respectful point on her waist to how he was visibly trying to reorient himself.

“Sorry, mate,” she said, a little quirk of her lip to indicate a smile. “Too much?”

“Uh,” he said, and was cut off as Sniper leaned in and gave him a parting peck on the mouth, followed by a short one to his cheek. “It’s, uh, fine, just, y’know. You’ve had a lot to drink and all and so have I and, y’know, I don’t wanna rush or nothin’—“

“Sweet of you,” Sniper cut in, and that smile was ticking up just a little further. “But it’s alright if you just don’t feel like more than a date, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, nodding and then processing what she said a second later. “Uh. I had fun! This was good. Great! Kicked ass!”

“Again soon?” Sniper asked. “Not next weekend, got other business to do, but soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, totally! Uh, I’ll see you around, uh,” he said, and he had to tip up onto his toes to give her a kiss on the cheek, and then he was bumbling his way through a goodbye.

And then he was in his room jerking off to high heaven, muffled into his hand, mind full of mixed drinks and leather and vanilla and quirked lips and desert heat.

He held himself together for two more outings, once more to a pub and once impromptu in the middle of a Sunday to get tacos from a place Scout liked. And he held himself together almost the whole way through another date in the camper—Sniper made it pretty clear that she liked the privacy of it—even though half of it was spent sitting together on her bed, idly drinking soda and beer and talking about nothing in particular.

But then she was leaning in against his side, a warm weight there, and he couldn’t just not kiss her with her that close, and then he felt her fingertips inching below the collar of his shirt, and it was so damn hot in the camper and he reached for his own shirt and glanced at her with “is this okay?” right on the tip of his tongue but she kissed it right out of him and urged his shirt up and off in a moment.

And before he knew it he was lying on his back and she was half-draped over him, practically pinning him down and kissing him until his head spun and his heart thumped and he hoped to god that she wouldn’t feel that he was getting pretty damn hard already.

“Uh, I-I-I uh I don’t wanna uh, assume nothin’ but uh—“ he stammered out when she leaned back briefly, only to shut directly up when he realized she was taking off her shirt and dropping it off to one side, moving back in to kiss at the place below his chin. “Uhhh but y’know uh I wanted to—to ask, uh, can I—?”

Sniper took hold of his hands where they were lying tangled against the sheets and placed them at her now-bare waist, settling back up to kiss him again, a hand carding into his hair.

“Uh yeah okay,” he mumbled against her lips, and tentatively at first his hands wandered, one sliding up her lower back and feeling out the ridges of her spine and the other hesitating around near her ribcage.

Hesitation, trying to just deal with how wildly unexpectedly good she was at kissing when it got down to it, before his hand trailed up farther, farther.

A pause just as his fingertips reached the edge of her bra. He managed to untangle enough to get a breath in, inhaling to ask a question. “Uh so is it okay if I—?” he started to stammer, then she caught hold of his chin, tilting it up to face her. She had an eyebrow raised at him, expression firm.

“Scout,” she deadpanned, and he shut up. “If you start doing something I don’t like, I’ll bloody well tell you. Unclench, mate. I can handle myself. Stop babying me.”

He gulped, nodded, and reached up to cup at one breast firmly.

“Bloody finally,” she sighed, and sank back in to start kissing a line up his neck.

He felt overheated again, cupping and squeezing and just feeling out her torso, namely what was hidden under firm fabric, fixated and aroused. It wasn’t until his fingers slipped on the cup and he pinched just over where he figured a nipple was that he managed to wring a noise out of her, a soft sound in the back of her throat, and it made his whole body thrum. God. Fuck. God. And she tolerated him playing around for quite a while—patience and all—before getting impatient and tugging his hand around to her back, and seemed pleased that he knew how to handle a bra hook without fumbling. And then he got that burst of confidence, and he was using the arm around her waist to haul her up a bit so he could throw his mouth into the mix.

He talked a pretty big game, he knew that. And he also knew that he did exaggerate a little bit about stuff sometimes. Or a lot. Or made things up.

But he really did actually know what he was doing in bed, honest, even if he usually ended up fucking things up outside of the bedroom often enough to ruin it for himself before he even got there.

All he knew was that Sniper seemed to be caught off guard by both the enthusiasm and his ability to figure out how exactly he could make her feel good, where to kiss and where to suck and overall what he needed to do to get more little noises out of her.

He had his free hand a solid distance down the front of her slacks, sliding with purpose against the front of her underwear and idly admiring the heat of her through the fabric before his brain caught up with him, and then he was pulling back a little. “I, uh, I don’t have—uh anything to uh—“

She hummed, lifting his chin and planting a kiss to the corner of his mouth before leaning over to try to fish through a drawer without needing to untangle from him. Impatience took hold of him fast, made his mouth wander across the expanse of her neck, made her fumble and swear and take just a few extra seconds to pull out a strip of foil squares, tearing one off and dropping it on his chest.

By the time he managed to fumble open the wrapper she’d stripped her slacks off and settled back into place straddling his hips, and he choked on air briefly when she settled back further, weight and heat against where his pants had gotten very tight very fast. She had that quirk to her mouth again. His head was spinning. He reached down to pop the button of his pants, pretty sure he was like, going to die otherwise.

And then condom-kitted fingers were teasing at her, and he watched the way his playing and exploration made her face draw up tight, the way breath puffed out of her unevenly, watched her thighs tremble when his thumb drew soft circles just against the nub hidden just a bit further up between soft folds and fuzz and—

She groaned a plead under her breath just before she teetered over the edge, and it made his hips buck involuntarily, which rocked her and sent her back down much harder than before, and she cried out, thighs going tense, and he felt like he’d touched a live wire watching her jolt through it and back down again, jittery and desperate to move but just barely holding himself back.

She panted hard on the way back down, and some of her hair was sticking to her face with sweat, and she blinked down at him after a second, and her eyebrows furrowed after a few moments.

“...Are you holding your breath?” she asked, eyes narrowing, visibly puzzled.

He exhaled and inhaled and the second he had air back in his system his mouth was running a mile a minute. “Yeah sorry I just y’know I was kinda worried I was gonna start just kinda yakkin’ away there and I didn’t wanna like fuck up my concentration or like throw you off or nothin’ because I kinda do that sometimes and it sucks so I really try my best not to fuck it up like that anymore y’know because uh—“

She rolled her eyes lightly at his shenanigans, moving to stretch briefly, taking a deep, satisfied breath.

“—because y’know heat of the moment stuff I kinda end up just goin’ on and on and on about shit and I don’t just mean in like a dirty talk kinda way even though it’s also that too I just mostly mean like in a sorta just rambling about like—

She reached back over to the strip of foil squares, snapping one off and shifting a short ways further down the bed—not that there was much room, but she managed.

“—like just kinda how gorgeous y—people—uh, girls, I meant girls—!”

She raised an eyebrow at him, but otherwise let him keep babbling, just pulling his pants and briefs a short way down his legs and ripping open the foil square with the help of her teeth.

“—uh y’know just how fuckin’ good-lookin’ girls will be because like holy shit y’know? And it’s just like y’know I’ve gotten like compLAINTS—“

His voice rose up into a yip for a moment as she rolled the condom on in a swift motion and squeezed on the upstroke, and he swallowed hard to get his voice back to slightly less shaky, needing to glance away, face flushing at the way the noise had made Sniper grin.

“—uh like about me talkin’ way too much so I figured just better safe than sorry and I’ll just shut up to begin with unless I’m like makin’ sure everything is totally kosher but also you told me to shut up about that too and I didn’t w-w-woah, hah—“

He trailed off with a wheeze followed closely by a very embarrasing squeak as she started to sink down, and he promptly clamped a hand up over his mouth to prevent further noises and found that an added benefit his own shutting the hell up meant he could hear the way she hummed, her shaky breath, the soft sound that rose up in the back of her throat when she’d finally settled.

She finally took a short breath, hummed again, and looked down at him. Her face was flushed down to her collarbones, and her freckles faded into that flush, and she had that quirk to her mouth again. She took hold of his wrists, pulling his hand away from his mouth and where it tangled in the sheets, and instead set it against her chest, the other to her waist. “None’a that,” she murmured, and he nodded quickly, and then she shifted her legs, settled her weight, and started to move.

It took all Scout had just to keep his hands from shaking as he stroked at her skin in rhythm with her movement, watching her move with appreciative, hungry, slightly-awed eyes. His thumb rubbed circles around one nipple, and it made his breath catch seeing the way she bit her lip to keep quiet, the way her eyelids fell that much further, feeling her internal muscles fluttering.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he breathed, honestly and enthusiastically, and she looked up at him, and the quirk of her lip seemed almost sheepish and so he continued. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, look at you. You’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Her lip quirked that much further. “No need for the flattery, there,” she breathed back, voice similarly low. “You’ve already in bed with me.”

“Ain’t flattery if it’s true,” he shot back, and squeezed at her breast and made her jolt into a harder motion for a moment. “I’m serious, look at you! I’d sit here and watch this all day if I was allowed, you’re like every painting and sculpture and drawing all rolled up into one, and even then you’re better because those can’t drink me under the goddamn table.”

She huffed a laugh, thrown off her rhythm and falling still for a moment as she grinned down at him as if not entirely sure what to do with him.

“I’m not jokin’!” he insisted, and he was smiling too, even as his breath returned to him. “If I could just sit around with a view like this all the time, it’d totally ruin me. I’d probably sit there until I starved to death and then the last thing I’d ever do was thank you for the fuckin’ privilege.”

“You’re a sap, Scout,” she said, clearly going for a tone of vague disapproval, but she couldn’t quite wipe the smile off of her face.

“Guilty,” he shrugged, and was only a little surprised when she suddenly leaned down to kiss him, and he smoothed hands up her back to hold her there for just a few seconds longer when he thought she was about to pull back away.

“Well,” she murmured, half against his lips, and then sat back up and steadied herself, rolled her shoulders. “Bit refreshing to hear sweet rather than just filth, but either works for me, yeah?”

And she didn’t exactly give him a chance to respond before she was back in motion, so he just nodded again, head falling back briefly.

“God, you feel good,” was all he managed at first, drawing the nail of each thumb down her sides like seams. When that went pretty well, he continued down the outside of her thighs, then back up the inside starting at her knees. “All hot and—and slick—fuck—“

He took hold of her hips and helped support her weight, started rolling his hips along with her rhythm in increasing force until her breath caught alongside every thrust.

“That good, huh?” Sniper asked, and she was grinning again.

“So fuckin’ good,” he agreed, voice dropped, trying hard to keep his head on straight but finding it increasingly difficult.

The room felt sweltering, and the heat alone was making everything spin. That, combined with the heat and weight of another body on top of him—

“Fuck,” he swore again from behind clenched teeth, rhythm faltering as suddenly he felt just a little too close for a moment, and she echoed the sentiment, reaching a hand down between her own thighs, eyebrows all screwed together and thighs trembling. “Wait—“

He brushed her hand aside and found her clit within a moment, rubbing firm circles against her and feeling like the king of the fuckin’ world at the way that made her cry out, rhythm ticking up in speed.

“C’mon,” he urged, and she panted, choked on a moan, and that was it for her, making a series of bitten off noises.

He clenched his teeth and tightened the muscle in his thighs and held on and held on, and only once she was back to limp and out of breath did he slide out and tug himself over the edge. He would’ve been embarrassed about how loud he was as he finished, but it was soothed pretty quickly by the way Sniper settled forward to lay against his side, pressing a brief kiss to his temple and another just below his ear.

“Holy shit,” he breathed in a very unsteady voice, and managed to get his arms to move to lie more comfortably, an arm over her waist. “You’re fuckin’ incredible.”

“Not bad yourself,” Sniper murmured, voice a hum, sounding much more relaxed and much less grumpy than usual.

“Again soon?” he managed, tilting his head towards her.

A hum of affirmation, a pause. “You’re sleeping here, by the way,” she informed him, squeezing with the arm around his chest.

“Hell yeah,” he murmured. “Uh. I wake up kinda early, just so you know.”

She hummed again. “You gonna do the whole nine yards, cook breakfast and all that nonsense?” she mumbled in a deadpan.

“Well usually it’s ‘cuz I go for a run in the morning,” he explained, “but sure, if you want. Got plenty of exercise already, huh?”

A light smack to his flank only made him giggle more, and he felt her shaking her head at him. “Hooligan,” she chided like a term of endearment, and that was when he became certain that he hadn’t fucked everything up.

Well, yet, but he figured if he made it this far, maybe he really did stand a chance.

[ohh-baekhyun]

Nothing Like Us | 04 - [M]

✨Summary: Baekhyun has the chance to spend three weeks under the same roof as you, and he makes it his sole mission to win your heart.

✨Warning: fluffss, smut, blowjob but i suck, no pun intended.

✨Gif credits: @/exo-stentialism

The next few days flew by in a blur of laughter, banter and sex. Lots and lots of sex. You and Baekhyun fall into an easy routine, like two love birds so wrapped up in each other, each day he can’t wait to get off work to be with you again. It is a pleasant feeling, knowing he has someone to go home to at the end of the day. The smile that you greeted him with made him feel so cherished, he wouldn’t trade that for anything else.

For someone who has been in a relationship and was hurt before, Baekhyun knows he shouldn’t be giving himself away this easily. But one thing about the heart is that, it doesn’t give a flying fuck what the brain thinks. Especially when the woman he is falling in love with makes it so damn easy.

He hadn’t said the three words to you yet, neither has you. But he knows he feels it, so fiercely that he had to mentally tape his mouth to keep the words from spilling. Somehow, he thinks it is better to wait, not because he is playing hard to get, but because he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, or worse, pressure you into saying it back out of obligation. If you are falling in love with him too, he wants you to realize that on your own. For now, he’ll take things day by day and pray that you’ll come to that realization soon.

The car pulls to a stop in the driveway of his residence and he kills the engine before glancing back. The entire backseat is filled with shopping bags, and inside are the things he bought just for you. There are clothes, shoes, bags, lingerie and...Christ, he sounds like a psychopath even to himself. He doesn’t even like shopping, but he was at the mall for a lunch meeting this afternoon, and he had this sudden urge to shop, not for himself but for you. If it wasn’t for the fact that he only has two hands, he’s certain he would empty out every shop available. There’s no telling how you will react when you see how crazy he is, he can only find out when he walks through that door.

Carrying the paper bags in both hands, Baekhyun heads to the front door. The housekeeper is exiting the house, and she stops in her tracks when she sees him. Her gaze lands on his fully occupied hands, then she glances up at him with narrowed, judging eyes. Ms Lee has been working here since Baekhyun was a toddler. She has witnessed all of his antiques, but this, she has never seen before.

“I know,” Baekhyun sighs. “It’s crazy.”

She scoffs. “Crazy is to put it mildly, sir...”

“You’re fired.” Baekhyun grunts as he moves past her.

The housekeeper simply smiles and walks away. Baekhyun has fired him once a month or so since he was a little boy. She knows not to take his words seriously.

As Baekhyun steps foot into the foyer, he is welcomed with a warm smell of pastries that flows from the kitchen. He makes his way there, where he finds you standing behind a marble top, brows furrowing in concentration as you carefully draw out a piece of muffin from the baking tray to set it down on an empty plate. He watches as your lips stretch into a pleased smile. Knowing you’ve succeeded this time, his chest swells with pride.

Baekhyun knows you’ve been attempting to bake muffins for him, to which you’ve failed twice. The batter was too watery on the first try, and you’d burned the muffins on the second try. He recalls the defeated look on your face as you struggled not to cry at your failure. He’d tried his best to comfort you as he wondered, why do you have to beat yourself up for such a small failure? Then he remembers how you’ve spent all your life trying to impress your parents just to earn their approval and affection, yet, you’re still abandoned in the end. There, he finally understands. You were probably afraid that he’d leave too.

Sometimes it hurts him to see you like this, but he doesn’t know how to make you believe otherwise. Because, how do you convince someone who has been abandoned by the people who are supposed to love them, not to fear it happening again? In that moment, he realized all he can do is love you, with a deepest hope that it would be enough to heal your wounds.

Baekhyun sets the shopping bags down on the floor and walks over to you. You are too immersed in your task in hand, you didn’t notice his arrival until he slides his arms around you from behind and plants a quick kiss on your temple. You gasp and whip your head around.

“Hi,” He greets, smiling down at you.

Your feature softens in an instant and you smile sweetly back at him. “Hi,” you tiptoe to press a kiss on his cheek before pulling back to stare at him. “You are right,” your smile grows. “I can do many things if I try hard enough.”

He glances down at the baking tray, then you. “I take it the muffins turn out well this time?”

You hum. “I think so.”

He clutches your body tightly against him and gives you a loving kiss on your cheek. “I knew you could do it, baby.”

You pick up a piece, swivel around and hold it up to his mouth. “Try it.”

Baekhyun takes a bite and groans a little too dramatically at the sweet flavor that melts in his tongue.

“That’s the sound you make when we have sex.” You remark. “Is it that good?”

“So fucking good.” He dips his head to take another giant bite and ended up getting chocolate all over his mouth.

You laugh at the overly enthusiastic way he chews the food. “Babe, you got something on your,” you gesture with your free hand for him to bend his head. As soon as he does, you lick his lips, bursting into giggles as he tries to kiss you and smear the chocolate on your lips.

He continues to kiss you, licking and nibbling on your lips as his hands slide under your dress to cup your ass. He gives them a hard squeeze, and his cock throbs at the sound of your moan.

“Let’s go up.” He withdraws his lips from yours. “I need to fuck you.”

You stare down at the bulge in his pants, your lips twitching. “How come you’re horny all the time?”

“Everything you do turns me on.” He says.

Your lips stretch into a coyish smile and he watches as the color suffuses your cheek. Damn if that doesn’t make him harder. He groans. Now, all he can think of is the feel of your tight pussy wrapping around his cock as he fucks you mindless.

“Come on,” He holds you by the wrist and leads you out of the kitchen.

Both of you are moving past the dining table when he stumbles over something and stops. Dropping your gaze, you find a boatload of shopping bags lying on the floor.

You scan through the logo printed on the paperbags, then you turn to him, eyes narrowing. “Do you have a fetish for women’s clothing that I don’t know about?”

“Very funny,” he poses a faux smile. “Those are all for you.”

Your lips fall agape. “Fo-for me?!” You squeak, eyes volleying between the bags and him. “But why? It’s not even my birthday or christmas, or valentine? Why are you buying me presents all of a sudden?”

“I’m your boyfriend.” he reminds. “I don’t need a reason to pamper you.”

“Baekhyun, I..” you stare at the shopping bags again, shaking your head in disbelief. “This is all too much…I can’t–“

He pinches your chin, tilting it up so you are eye to eye with him. “When you agree to be my girlfriend, what’s mine becomes yours too. You need to accept that, because eventually, I’ll want to give you more.”

You sigh and jut your lips. “I don’t have a say in this, do I?”

“When it comes to pampering you, no,” he states firmly. “you don’t.”

“Wow,” you roll your eyes. “How did I get so lucky?” you mutters, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He stares at your lips, so wildly aroused he can’t help but to smash his mouth against yours, kissing you hard. Drawing back, he says, “You can thank me with your pretty mouth wrapped around my cock.”

“Are you done?” Baekhyun calls out from the bedroom.

You are in his walk-in closet, trying out the fourth dress of the night after he made you come three times in the shower.

“Be patient,” You shout back as you tie the string of the lace-up dress.

This dress could pass as a lingerie for how skimpy it looks. You know you’ll never wear this in public. Baekhyun will never let you, too. Although you love the soft pink color and the shimmery material of the fabric, it is so ridiculously revealing that you might as well be naked. Plus, it is hugging your body so tightly you can barely breathe.

You pivot in front of the mirror to take a look at the reflection of your back. There’s barely anything covering your back other than the tied up laces. You wonder what your boyfriend reaction will be.

When you step out of the closet, Baekhyun is seated by the side of the bed. He has changed into his homewear; a white tee and black shorts; simple, yet looking so handsome nonetheless. He is rummaging through a box that you have no idea what the content is. You lean your hips on the door frame, taking your time to admire him before walking over.

Hearing your footsteps, he lifts his gaze. “What’s taking you so–oh fuck,” his lips parted in shock the second he sees you in the dress. His reaction made you snigger. He looks dumbstruck as he sweeps his gaze over your body.

You stand by the bed. “Do you like it?” you ask.

Baekhyun pulls at your wrist to sit you down on his lap. You shift your bum and drape your legs over his thighs to make yourself comfortable. His eyes scan the dress again, “I love it,” he admits as he hooks his forefinger on one of the straps. His eyes shift up to you again. “but you’re not wearing this outside this room.”

You know you’ll eventually comply to him, yet, you still raise your brows in a challenge. “Have you always been this bossy?”

“You like me bossy, or you wouldn’t be here, in my bed.”

You let out a scornful huff. “Now you sound like a cocky bast–ahh!” He pinches your nipple through the dress and hold on. You whimper, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Baekhyun, please...my boob!” you beg. He finally releases it with a snigger. “You’re so mean!” You pout, rubbing your breast.

He pecks you on the lips. “Keep being a brat, I might spank you someday.”

“Are you…” You eye him suspiciously. “into that kinky bdsm shit too?”

The corner of his lip curls. “Speaking of kinky,” He swivels around to grab the box he was holding earlier. Your eyes follow his movement. He settles the box on your lap. Finally getting a clearer look at the content, you realize they’re a bunch of sex toys.

You look back at him, half surprised, half wondering, “Where did you get these?”

“I inherited them,” he sounds and looks serious. “from my great grandparents.”

Speechless, your jaw drop and you blink at him. You nearly fall for it until you detect a twitch on his lips, and the mirth in his eyes. You smack him across his chest. “You’re crazy.”

He flicks your forehead to retaliate. “I’m surprised you just figured that out.”

You groan, snatching the box away from his grasp. You dig your hand into the box to rifle through the content. “Why did you buy me sex toys?”

“Have you played with these before?” he asks. You shake your head. He sets the box aside and looks at you with this lazy look in his eyes. A look that means very good things to you. You gulp, anticipating.

“Take off your dress,” He says. “I’ll show you how these things work.”

You slide off his lap, and turn around to give him your back. “Can you help me out?” you ask. You heart races when you feel his warm breath on your back as he unties the laces. The front part of the dress drops to your waist and you pull the skirt down carefully. It is so tight you fear it tearing. A sudden slap on your buttcheek causes you to yelp, and you turn around in an instant. You feel the heat rising on your cheek as he stares at you. “What was that for?” You ask.

“You’re slow as a turtle,” He says. “Come here.”

You are tempted to retort, but that’ll probably earn you another spanking. So you do as he says.

When you’re seated on his lap again, he picks out a cylinder looking object that you assume is a dildo. You examine the toy, then you look at him, gulping nervously. “Are you going to put that inside me?”

His eyes hold concern when he senses your nervousness. He leans in to kiss you sweetly on the lips. “It is not going to hurt, baby.” he assures. “But I need to get you wet first.”

“I’m already…uhm, you know,” you chew on your lower lip, blushing.

He slides his fingers over your slit to test your wetness. Finding you soaked, his eyes flashed with heat and amusement. “You’re wet.”

You shrug, giving him a small smile. “Everything you do turns me on too.”

Baekhyun clicks on the tip of the vibrator to turn it on. The light, buzzing noise occupies the silence. “Spread your legs, baby.” 

You parted your thigh, but as soon as the tip of the vibrator touches your clit, the sensation made you clamp your legs together. He snaps his eyes up, raising his brows in a silent order for you to open. You brace yourself as you slowly part your legs again. And your moaning starts as soon as he plunges the vibrating toy inside your pussy.

He keeps his dark eyes on you as he fucks you leisurely. “You like this, don’t you?” He asks, pumping the vibrator in and out of you. You manage a strangled hum. “Do you want me to go faster?”

“Please…” you beg, breathing heavily.

“Like this?” He starts to move his hand at a rapid speed.

“Y-yes...ah-ahh!” The volume of your moaning gets louder. And that sound seems to encourage Baekhyun to go faster and harder. Your cunt is so wet that the sloppy sound of your juice is filling the entire room. He doesn’t stop even when you are cumming all over the toy.

Three orgasms later, you’re spent and Baekhyun finally stops when he knows you’ve reached your limit. You had your arms around him as you lean your head on his chest, too weak to move. He strokes your hair tenderly and presses a kiss on your head. A smile makes its way to your lips. You close your eyes with a sigh, savouring the affection he is offering you. You love it when he takes care of you like this.

After cuddling you for a while, Baekhyun says, “I’m hard as a rock, baby, it hurts.”

You can hear the pain in his voice. You giggle softly, feeling his hard-on beneath your thigh. “Can I help?”

“Get on your knees, then.” He whispers in your ear.

You unclasp your hands around his shoulder and slides off his lap. Your legs feel wobbly and you can hardly keep yourself up, but the need to pleasure him is stronger. You lower yourself by the bed and kneel in between his spread legs. Glancing up, you wait for his next instruction.

“Take it out,” he says.

Excitement shivers through your body as you pull at the waistband of his shorts. He lifts his hips, ripping his shorts down in one movement. His erection juts up, long, thick and throbbing with veins. You lick your lips, mentally salivating at the sight of his precum.

He weaves his fingers through your hair and grabs the back of your head. “Take me in your mouth, baby.”

Your hand gravitates toward his cock, and your fingers curl around the base. You part your lips and bring the tip into your mouth, tongue swirling around the round flesh to lick off his arousal.

A grunt tears out of him as his palm clamps around your hair. “Stop teasing and suck it.” He orders gruffly.

Baekhyun is a control freak through and through, especially in bed. And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

You bring his cock deeper into your mouth and clamp your lips around it. He moans when you start bobbing your head, pushing his hard length in and out of your mouth. Closing your eyes, you revel in the sound he makes.

“Ahh fuuck, just like that...” He groans throatily. “Take it deeper, baby. You’re sucking me so good.”

You thrill at his praise and draw his cock as far as you can into your mouth. The tip touches your throat and you choke at the pressure. Water forms in your eyes but it doesn’t stop you. His pleasure is your pleasure too, you thought. So you tighten the suction of your mouth and bob your head faster. His panting grows heavier and you feel his cock swelling in your mouth. His orgasm is nearing. But he grips your hair in a fist and hold you back. You glance up through your lashes to look at him.

“That’s enough,” he tugs your hair back, letting his cock slips out of your mouth. “Get in bed.”

You’re confused but you follow his order nonetheless. With shaky legs, you rise to your feet and climb into bed. You lay on your back, all naked with your long hair spreading over the mattress.

Baekhyun sets one knee on the side of the bed and stares down at you. “I’m going to cum all over you, baby…” He wraps his fingers around his throbbing cock. “and you’re going to watch me.”

Your heart lurches at his promise. You watch as he starts pumping his hard length with vigor. Beads of sweat form around his forehead. He looks so supremely hot with his jaw clenched, and his teeth biting down on his lip. You feel breathless just by watching him.

It isn’t long until you hear a long, guttural moan rips out of his throat. He jerks, shooting his load onto you. But he isn’t done yet. After muttering a few expletives, he bends forward to position his cock near your breast. His pumps is slowing down steadily. The tip of his cock brushes over your nipple as he spurts the remaining of his cum around your breast. His warm seed trickles down your pink bud, causing goosebumps to rise all over your skin. Your breath hitches.

Baekhyun straighten his back. He seems so mesmerized as he gazes down at you. “I’ve always imagined you like this…” he takes his time to scan every inch of your body. “you look so beautiful with my cum all over you.” He bends down and braces his hands on each side of your shoulder. Then, he leans in to kiss you, long and sweet. “Stay here,” he says as he draws away.

He is leaving you and the bed now.

“Where are you going?” you question, propping yourself up on your elbows.

He stops and bring his head around. “To get my phone,”

“Why do you need your phone?”

“To take pictures of you, pretty.”

Hearing that, you sit up and grab a pillow to cover your front. “I...I don’t think I’m comfortable with that,” You say weakly. His expression changes and your heart drops at the sight of that. Is he dissapointed? God. Through your worry and guilt, you can’t seem to tell what he’s thinking. “I’m sorry.”

His expression is still unreadable as he walks over to join you in bed. He extends his arms and slid them underneath your thigh, hoisting your body up with ease. He settles you on his lap and you’re still hugging the pillow to your body. You eye him apologetically. He frowns. “What are you sorry for?”

“I don’t know...I just feel bad for saying no to you…”

“Don’t be,” he assures. “I’d be an ass for forcing you into doing things you’re not comfortable with.”

You blow away a sigh. “But I ruined the moment...”

“Ruined?” He huffs incredulously. “I get to be with the prettiest woman I've ever seen. I’m lucky. There’s nothing more I could ask for.”

Relief eases the heaviness in your chest. For a while, you can only stare quietly at him, in awe. “You always know all the right things to say.” you smile gratefully. “Thank you.”

Baekhyun lifts a hand to brush his knuckle over your cheek. He seems to be considering something in his head as he reads your expression. Hesitantly, he asks, “Will you tell me what happened?”

Knowing where he’s getting at, you nod. You trust this man with all your heart you don’t even think twice but to tell the truth.

“The guy I dated in middle school. He had a video of me…” your words fade away but Baekhyun gets the idea, so you carry on, “We were together for a while until he started to get abusive. I wanted to end things, but he threatened to spread the video if I break up with him so…”

“Middle school?” he frowns deeply. “Aren’t you underage then?”

Regret fills your eyes with tears and you nod. “I know it’s wrong, but I had been so desperate for love and he is the only person who seemed to notice me,” 

“Fuck,” he presses his lips into a tight line. “How long?” his words came out rough and snappish. “How long were you dating that jerk?” 

“For two years until my dad sent me to Japan,” you chuckle dryly and joke, “Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise afterall.” 

He isn’t laughing, instead his face darkens, and you can feel the rage radiating off of him.

To see someone as easy-going as Baekhyun being this angry should be scary, but it feels liberating instead. Because you know his anger isn’t directed at you. This man cares enough to feel angry for you.

“Baekhyun,” you call out to him. He seems to be lost in his own thoughts. So you lean up to kiss him softly on his lips. That’s when he finally looks at you, blinking. You smile up at him, “What are you thinking about so seriously?”

He grunts. “I’m thinking about the million ways I’m going to hunt this fucker down and murder him for messing with you.”

You smooth your palm over his chest, feeling so much for him your heart nearly burst. His body seems to relax under your touch. “It’s all in the past, honey,” you assure him. “I’m okay now.”

“Did you tell anyone about this?” He asks.

You shake your head. “I can’t, it’s...embarassing.”

His brows pinched together in a frown. “Yet you told me about it...why?”

“Because I trust you,” you answer honestly. 

And deep inside, you know you didn’t just trust him. You are falling in love with him too.

[rhesus-skavative]

Pick  one  of  your  muses . Fill  in  the  questions/statements  as  if  you were  your  muse  in  a  new  post Tag  five  people  to  do  this  meme  TAGGED BY: stolen from @yellowcheeseroad​ >:3c TAGGING: @ask-a-horde-of-skaven​ @heliinx​ @tinkering-skaven​ @xmber-bull​ @minstrel-mouse​ @monagxrie​ (for Arebon!~) @determined-magi​

1. What  is  your  name ?  Rotrisk bloodbane

2. What  is  your  real  name ? ............ROTRISK BLOODBANE? Does asker need ears clear-cleaned?

3. Do  you  know  why  you  were  called  that ?  -Rot flings his blood at a man-thing passing by, he start screaming as it starts sizzling on his arm. And that same arm starts blister wildly while it tries to choke out it’s host. Rot gestures at the scene.-

4.  Are  you  single  or  taken ?  Rot has no-no mate

5.  Have  any  abilities  or  powers ? bloodmagic, dead-dead magic, and a master-moulder 

6. Stop  being  a  Mary Sue.   Then Suffer-parish!! I am what I am!

7. What’s  your  eye  color ?  ????????? Rot’s been told-squeaked at that he has red and pink eyes?

8. How  about  your  hair  color ? White

9. Have  you  any  family  members ? Eat-eats my broodmates

10. Oh ? What  about  pets ?  occasional feral-wild ratlings that enter-wander into my lab

11. That’s  cool  I  guess,  now  tell  me  about  something  you  don’t  like: Nose touch-pokings, the other-different white rat that mimic me-me... Unwanted customers-traders- 

12.  Do  you  have  any  hobbies / activities  you  like  doing ? scavenging, fixing-making guns better, working on soldier-skaven last longer- 

13. Ever  hurt  anyone  before ?   Can’t progress-continue science if no one gets hurt!

14. Ever …. killed  anyone  before ?  Can’t progress-continue science if no one DIES-DIES!

15. What  kind  of  animal  are  you ?   The best kind!

16. Name  your  worst  habits.  Wounds don’t heal-fix if rot keeps biting it, -self-care is practically non-exisitant with this rat, at most is take a soak and prolly a nap but that’s it.- 

17. Do  you  look  up  to  anyone  at  all ?  A few... Grayseers.

18. Gay,  straight,  or  bisexual ?  .....Pan???

19. Do  you  go  to  school?  Succeeded merchent school!

20. Do  you  ever  want  to  marry  and  have  kids  one  day ? Rot contributes to clan population-numbers already-  and maybe have-find a mate, maybe

21. Do  you  have  any  fanboys / fangirls ? -he shrugs, the skaven don’t seem to care about it too much.-

22. What  are  you  most  afraid  of ? -that indifferent look rot had is making them look someplace else, fear musks a little-

23.  What  do  you  usually  wear ? workshop-lab clothes

24. Do  you  love  someone ? Ew no-no! Not enough-many time for that!  

25. When  was  the  last  time  you  wet  yourself ? when rot nearly died-died,  clearly asker never-seen met a skaven.

26. Well,  it’s  not   over  yet!  By the nine-

27. What  class  are  you ? ??? Merchant?  We’re generally-mainly untouched for the income we get from other clans and non-skaven. Middle-rats if asker will.

28. How  many  friends  do  you  have ?  Plenty! Rot hate-likes them so! fun customers, yes-yes!!

29. What  are  your  thoughts  on  pie ? better than bread-cake, more filling and crispy crust! Best is warpstone pie!

30. Favorite drink? blood and chocolate milk!

31. What’s  your  favorite  place ?   coast mostly, den-hole leads out the warren just above cliffs, makes easy body-carcass dumping and napping spot~

32. Are  you  interested  in  someone ?  No! asker speak-ask this already! -he’s lying.-

33. Would  you  rather  swim  in  the  lake   or  the  ocean?  swim in all, water is water

34. What’s  your  type ? -he looks away. Both non-skaven and skaven is his type! but anything else he doesn’t know himself he’s still learning.-

35. Are  you  wanting  the  quiz  to  end ? YES-YES!

[x-reader-theater]

My Days Are Numbered, but so Are Yours {9}

Relationship: Geralt of Rivia X Male!Disabled!Reader

Summary: Godlings are fascinating, but also adorable. 

Warnings: Cursing, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Word Count: 1435 words

A/N: Hello! Welcome! This is my favourite chapter by far. I love godlings sooooo much. Netflix had better but them in the show or I swear to god... I want to thank my amazing editor, @mystic-writes​ for everything she’s been doing for me.  Please donate to my ko-fi if you can. It really helps me continue writing. Please like, comment, and reblog. My work gets nowhere without reblogs.  Now, without further ado,  My Days Are Numbered, but so Are Yours chapter 9.

Take a Chance for the Nights are Short (Book 1) [1]

Hold me Tight for the Days are Long (Book 2) [2]

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

Chapter 9: Of Godlings and Children 

You're sitting by the edge of the forest, your back against a tree, the shade of the leaves giving a moment's reprieve from the blistering hot sun, a moment’s rest from helping Triss and Ciri ready the glade. Your eyes are closed, but you still hear the small pattering of a child's footsteps coming up behind you. They're slow, like they're trying not to make any noise, and for the most part they're succeeding, but you were trained, in part, by Witchers, who have better hearing than anyone. 

You smile, eyes still closed, as you call out, "Jaime? I know that's you!"

You hear a groan and the slap of hands on thighs, frustration and sadness radiating off the creature. Opening your eyes, you come face to face with a godling. Jaime, who can't look older than six or seven, is older than you are, having lived in these woods since before you were born. They're wearing a dress you asked Triss to get. It's adorned with flowers and trees, and there's even a cloth buttercup flower on the hip. It was a Yule present, though Jaime doesn't celebrate Yule. They have a crown of twigs you helped them make when you first arrived in the glade. Their eyes are pitch black, with bright, blue, glowing irises, and their skin is a deep grey. Marble like. Jaime isn't wearing any shoes. They say shoes restrict their feet, and they can't climb as high in them. They love climbing. 

"Am I ever going to be able to sneak up on you?" Jaime asks, disappointed. 

You smile and hold out your arms. Jaime plops themself in your lap and you wrap your arms around them, like a father would do to their child. Jaime is like a child to you, though they prefer to live in the forest with all their friends, monster or otherwise. They also help out a lot, letting you know when something is straying too close to the glade for either of your liking, and let's any sentient creature know this glade is taken. Jaime is resourceful, and you know they can take care of themselves, but it doesn't hurt to give them a little honey here and there. Their favourite food is honey, and they're too nervous to get it from the wild bees in the forest. It's easy enough to ask Triss for a little honey any time she leaves. 

"When I'm old and grey, little one," you say with a smile. They laugh. "When my hearing goes away and I can no longer see. And if I've lost my other arm." You wave your left arm, the half of it left, up and down. "Only then will you be able to sneak up on me." 

Jaime laughs in your arms and stands up, placing their hands on their hips. "You'll see! One day, I'll be able to sneak up on you!" 

You laugh and Jaime laughs, plopping back down into your lap, ceremoniously, with a wave of their arms and a squat. They launch themselves into the air and land on your lap. 

"Ooh!" You exclaim, pain radiating from your groin. You never could tell them to stop doing that. 

They just giggle, and eventually when the spots stop dancing in your vision, you start laughing too. That is, until the dry leaves on the ground crunch beneath someone's feet. You really need rain. 

Jaime immediately gets to their feet and dashes behind you, gripping the back of your tunic. You get up from your spot underneath the tree, tensed and ready for a fight, but you relax when you see it's only Geralt. 

"Who is that?" Jaime whispers behind you. 

"That's Geralt," you say, gesturing toward the Witcher. "Geralt, this is Jaime. They're a godling." 

"Geralt…" Jaime says slowly. "I know you!" Geralt's head tilts as Jaime becomes a little braver, and pokes their head out from behind your legs. "[Y/N] talks about you a lot!" 

Geralt looks over at you when they say that, and you feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You look away from Geralt, gagging your emotions back up into yourself. Geralt doesn't feel anything. Not anymore. He thought you were dead. You need to move on. 

Geralt kneels down in front of Jaime and smiles. "What did he say about me?" 

"Oh lots of things!" Jaime exclaims. They let go of your tunic and walk out so Geralt can fully see them. Their arms are gesturing wildly as they talk. "He talks all the time about you! About the adventures the two of you went on!" 

Geralt laughs and sits down on the forest floor, his legs crossed. You mirror him, and Jaime goes to sit back in your lap, but they're fully facing Geralt now, talking about all the things you've said about Geralt over the years. 

The three of you talk for another couple of hours, until the sun starts to set. Well, Geralt and Jaime talk, swapping stories about their lives. You mainly watched with a smile. You watched Geralt a lot. He never once took his eyes off the little godling, enraptured in their stories from beginning to end. Geralt makes an excellent father. He has a soft spot for children. You can see why he loves Ciri so.

You're walking back to the cabin as the sun dips below the horizon. Jaime left to go to sleep, so now it's just you and Geralt. 

Geralt's the first to speak. "I've never met a godling who's latched onto a human quite like that before." 

You shrug. "It wasn't easy. All Jaime had known was humans trying to kill them, humans thinking they were dangerous. Jaime's not dangerous. And neither am I. At least not to them." You smile and clasp your hands behind your back as you walk. "It wasn't easy, I'll say that. It took a lot of time." 

Geralt looks over at you, and you meet his amber eyes. Both of you stop, Not because of anything said or done. You just naturally slow until you come to a full stop. Geralt looks at you, and you look at his eyes. They're old. Older than when you last saw him. They have a heavy look, like he's seen too much. He probably has. He also looks tired. Geralt needs to rest, to lay down, to die in his bed. He'd be the first Witcher to do that. You wouldn't mind. He could stay with you. You'd like that. 

"Did you ever have kids?" Geralt asks. 

You shake your head. "Never liked women. Couldn't imagine having a child with one." You shrug. "Jaime is the closest thing I'll ever get to having a child." You walk closer to Geralt and place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze over his armour. Ever since Geralt has gotten better, he's been putting his armour on every day. With everything happening pertaining to the wild hunt, it's a good idea. It could happen any day now. "You should be proud of Cirilla. She's a remarkable woman."

Geralt smiles wistfully as you say that, placing his hand over the one on his shoulder. "She is, isn't she?" Geralt squeezes your hand. "She reminds me a lot of you when we first met." Your eyes move away from his, and you look back to the house where you see said woman watching. You think she's trying to be stealthy, but if so, she's failing miserably at it. "Young and ready for adventure." 

"What about you? Had enough adventure yet?" You ask Geralt. 

He seems taken aback by this question, and his smile falters. "What?" You go to answer, but he shakes his head. "You know no witcher's ever died in his bed. We die on the battlefield. We live our life killing monsters and we die killing them too." 

You sigh and look back up at Geralt. "Well, like you said. Ciri reminds you of me when I was young, searching for adventure. But even I stopped searching after a while. Maybe you should too." And stay here with me. It's left unsaid, but it hangs in the air between the two of you. An offering. A second chance. 

And you pull your hand back, and walk away toward the cabin. Ciri comes running out and waves at you as she bounds up to her father, talking a mile a minute, but you can't quite make it out. 

All you catch is Geralt saying, "I couldn't," and you go get ready for bed.

[dragon-fics]

HA: Ch. 12 Discovery

Chapter summary: Heather (finally) begins her study of magic, practicing with Aaravos. All the while, she'd discovering more about herself.

Prologue, Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3 , Pt. 4, Pt. 5, Pt. 6 , Pt. 7, Pt. 8, Pt. 9, Pt. 10, Pt. 11

“Now say; crescere,” Aaravos instructed as his lime green rune made the tiny stem in his mini mountain of dirt grow in his hand, blooming into a fiery orange flower.

Heather glanced at her own pile of soil and sad little stem. “Crescere,” she echoed in a quieter voice than Aaravos. Her stem grew stronger and higher, its leaf rising towards the blue sky. A bubble of joy inflated inside of her as a bud formed and bloomed into a tiny blue flower, no bigger than the pad of her thumb. But then her bubble popped and the blue flower withered, fading to grey. Its leaves crumpled up, and they drifted to the grassy forest floor with the petals.

Heather sighed, her ears drooping. She brushed the dirt off of her hand and looked at her crossed legs.

Aaravos placed his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Heather. It was only a first try,” he reassured.

Though Heather didn’t find it very reassuring. She felt so bad about the death of a tiny flower; it almost made her feel silly. But inside she felt as if that plant had been part of her, like a child—that thought was repulsive; she hated children. Yet she felt so fond of it.

“Why didn’t it work?” she asked, looking at Aaravos. She had been practising her Draconic with Khonsu diligently, building up her vocabulary and grammar, not to mention how hard she’d been studying the books of the arcana Aaravos had given her, and all the meditation she’d been doing. Heather was so sure it would work, so confident that her work had paid off.

This was why she hated magic. Unlike fighting, it required so much knowledge about so many things she didn’t deem practical, and meditation, and understanding. And even after all that, it didn’t work.

Aaravos glanced at her hands. “If I could have a guess, it’s that you haven’t built up enough magic to hold the spell and project enough into the plant to keep it alive.”

Heather sighed. It was logical at least, but it just made her feel angry that magic was like fighting. She’d thought of them as completely different; one you were born with, the other you worked for. And the more she went into her training, the more incorrect her idea became.

What troubled her was why she disliked magic so much; it had never harmed her, not to mention Khonsu—a battlemage—was her best friend. Yet she always disliked it, thinking it was something mages inherited. Not trained on—simply thinking they were just ‘born lucky’ with an immense skill that just grew as they did, never having to work on it. But as her lessons went on, she realised it was very different. So much work went into studying the language and learning the runes and building up the endurance to use the magic in the way she needed to use it—just like fighting.

Fighting required knowledge of the many forms to fight with many weapons and building up the strength, agility, and endurance to use the forms in the way she needed to use them.

So why did she still dislike magic?

Heather had lay awake the past few nights thinking about it. The only plausible reason she could come up with was that she, for some reason, associated magic with elves—beings who had brought her nothing but misery throughout her life. And she had to get out of that way of thinking because there was dragon magic, often referred to a mimicking—using the elements in what way they needed—fire for light and warmth, water for healing, earth for building and movement, and air for enhanced flying; and all could be used for fighting.

She shook her thoughts away and glanced around at the tall trees and lush undergrowth in the clearing. How much energy had they needed to grow? She could feel their primal energy all around her; a calm current of life that circled her, Aaravos, and Khonsu in this clearing under the pale morning sun.

Heather held her head in her hands, frustrated. Why did this have to be so difficult? She didn’t even want this power, so why should she have to work so hard to make it work.

She flopped onto the ground and huffed. “Why me?” she whispered, looking up at the sun. Its rays beamed warm energy down onto her, as it always had, but now it seemed to be easier to gain—by strengthening her understanding, she had strengthened her connection with one of her original primal sources.

Out of the corner of her eye, Heather saw Khonsu shift guiltily. She pushed herself up, meeting his eyes.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Su,” she said, sidling closer to him. “I’m angry at myself, not you.”

Khonsu looked down, his bangs falling forward, blocking her from meeting his eyes. Seeing him like this made her heart ache. She had hurt her closest—and only—friend, and she felt awful.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” Aaravos said, gathering his book and cloak and disappearing into the trees.

Heather placed her hand on his back, assuring him as best as she could. He looked up at her, and she gave him a soft smile.

“I’m sorry all this happened,” he started. “I know you’ve never liked magic, and you probably hate me. And I get it. I’d hate me too.” He sighed. “But I really am sorry.”

She smiled, moving her hand to his shoulder. “I’ve never hated you, Khonsu,” she said. “You’re my best friend and I couldn’t ask for anyone better.” She smiled. “I just hate what’s happening and I wish I could control it or reverse it.”

She looked up. “But I guess now, I understand what it’s like to be a mage and that it really isn’t something you’re just born good at.” She took his hand in hers, wrapped her five fingers around his four. “Just please don’t tell anyone I’m bad at it,” she whispered, looking away sheepishly.

Khonsu smiled and chuckled quietly. “Sure, I’ll keep it to myself.”

*-*-*-*

Heather’s ears dropped, and a scowl formed on her face. “Why won’t anyone realise that she just got lucky?” she muttered angrily. Up ahead—far ahead—with all the soldiers, Dragonguard and not, was Rayla, chatting and joking away as if she had been among them all for years; which she hadn’t.

Réalta snorted angrily, shaking his head and folding back his glowing orange ears as Heather’s raging emotion flowed through him.

After all her training and fighting and proving herself worthy of being a Dragonguard, someone who happened to get lucky, with her top skill of hesitation, was sliding right into her spot—which Heather had earned!—and acting like she was worthy of wearing their sash. Heather had tried looking past her history with Rayla—she really had—and mostly, she succeeded. But Rayla hadn’t even taken the Dragonguard test, or trained as a soldier, or anything! Now she was angry at her for how easy it was for her to get on the most elite team in all of Zubeia’s army.

Heather grumbled and bundled her hand into a fist. She hated this! The ‘getting lucky’ part especially.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Aaravos glance at Khonsu in a way she didn’t like. “What is it, Sparkles?” she hissed, straightening up.

Aaravos rode forward beside her on his primal stead—who had re-joined with him shortly after he was free from Stella Carcerem. “I thought you said you were done with your rivalry with Rayla,” he said. She could see the faintest hint of a smirk on his face.

“You will not corrupt me, Sparkles,” she said, keeping a proud stance. Though she was thinking back to all she had shared with him, wondering if he had already planted his seeds of corruption. “Besides, it wasn’t a rivalry, it was a grudge,” she corrected, calming herself, though she really wanted to go over there and shove Rayla out of the group.

“Still, I thought you were done with it.”

“I’m done with the grudge—though I haven’t forgiven her, she has my respect—” she watched as Rayla laughed wildly at one of Haco’s jokes. She leaned forward and drooped her ears with a scowl “—for now.”

“Jealous, I see,” Aaravos observed.

Heather sat up again. She would not tell him he was right; she knew she was jealous, and she was alright with it. “So? She got lucky. She didn’t even kill the Dark Mage; I’ve killed six—”

“Eight, if Tiadrin and Lain hadn’t finished off the other two,” Khonsu interjected.

Heather nodded, surprised a little by his defence—but that was what he was like, loyal and caring and quiet.

Aaravos glanced aside. “Remind me not to get you angry or to make an enemy of you.”

“Good idea,” Khonsu commented.

Heather chuckled. “Do you think she’ll get caught out?” she asked, gesturing her head to Rayla.

“With her parents training her?” Khonsu mused. “I don’t think so; they were assassins turned Dragonguards, they’ll have a good idea how to train her.”

“If she can stop hesitating,” Aaravos mused.”

Heather nodded. “Nice to know you guys see it too.” She rummaged through Réalta’s saddlebag, pulling out her notebook and opening on the page that had My Traits scribbled at the top. She read over what she had already written; Likes to be in control; focused; frustrated easily; conservative. She pulled out her piece of lead sandwiched by two thin pieces of wood and wrote, proud, at the end of the list.

Heather glanced up at the group of soldiers ahead of them and added, respectful when proven honourable. She read over the list again and closed the book. She was one step closer to getting out of this never-ending maze of self-discovering.

[whattimeisitintokyo]

Somos Familia Ch 41: Meet the Parents

Skeletons!

SKELETONS!

Héctor would have kept screaming if he could have, but absolute terror had stolen his voice away and he was left gasping like a landed fish as he looked frantically all around him. Everywhere he turned there was a new skeleton standing beside him, glowing as golden and as translucent as he was. And he kept bumping into them! Some rattled, some yelped out ‘hey!’ in protest. Héctor was certain he had managed to knock one’s head off of its body. Soon he was too overwhelmed by skeletons that he had no place to move, only to drop down to the ground.

Scooting back quickly until his back was against a headstone, Héctor trembled with fright as suddenly all of the skeletons’ attention was turned to him. Their annoyance at being shoved and jostled quickly turned to confusion, then to astonishment as they finally saw that a man, a living one, was able to see them. They all crowded around him, looking at him like he was the abomination that shouldn’t exist instead of them, and started to whisper.

“Is that… Héctor Rivera?”

“He can see us?”

“Dios mio, it is him!”

“Héctor!”

“Héctor Rivera!”

Ave María Purísima, they knew who he was! Pressing himself further back into the gravestone, Héctor could only manage to squeak out a creaky moan of horror. The skeletons knew who he was. Skeletons that were dead. He was dead! He had died and now these creatures were here to drag him to hell. No no no, he couldn’t have died! He was healthy! He had made sure of it! Ever since his health scare all those years ago he had made it his goal to be as healthy as could be! No drinking, no bad food, plenty of exercise. He couldn’t have just died without warning!

“Héctor Rivera…”

Suddenly one of the skeletons drew in close to him. Héctor wanted to shut his eyes tight, block out these horrifying monsters from his sight, but he found that he couldn’t look away. With fearful trepidation he watch as the skeleton knelt down next to him, studying his face carefully. Was this the one who would be taking him to the underworld? He panted faster as the figure raised a grotesque bony hand up, reached deep into his jacket. Dios what was he doing?

Then, achingly slowly in Héctor’s terror-filled mind, the monster pulled out…

A pen.

“Señor Rivera, I am a huge fan!” the skeleton grinned widely. “May I have your autograph?!”

It took a few seconds for the question to force its way through the mind-numbing horror, but slowly Héctor’s panting stuttered to a halt and the words finally registered. For a brief moment he was able to see past the nightmarish ghouls in front of him and unbelievable predicament he was in to fully see how… that was the absolute last thing he was expecting a glowing skeleton with eyes and hair to say to him. And the stupidest.

“WHAT?!” He managed to finally scream out in pure exasperation. But it didn’t stop there as more skeletons began to crowd around him, each holding their own writing utensil and scratch pieces of paper.

“Me too! Me too! Ooh, Prima Lula is going to be so jealous!”

“Can you make it out to Fidelio, por favor?”

“Oye Héctor! It’s Manuel Fernandez, remember?! Your first customer! Your wife leaves a new pair of boots every year on my ofrenda. Tell her I said ‘Gracias’!”

“Ay, I don’t have any paper! Can you just write on my sternum? Sideways is fine!”

Their clamoring didn’t stop, as more and more excited skeletons grinned their toothy smiles and shoving pens in his face. Héctor backed further and further into the gravestone, sharp corners digging into him painfully, but he didn’t notice it much. His brain was overloaded with surging emotions: Fear, anxiety, annoyance, and more fear. He was just about to let out another scream when suddenly a bony hand clamped around his wrist. And he did scream at that, in an embarrassingly high-pitched shriek that could have come from a small girl instead of a fifty-year old man, when a voice briskly.

“Lo siento, Señor Rivera is not handing out autographs at the moment. Please check back a later time.”

Héctor found himself yanked back to his feet and pulled away from the groans and complaints of the skeletons, forced to run as the mysterious figure led him further into a more secluded corner of the cemetery. As they got closer and closer to the end of the gate Héctor finally decided he’d had enough and tried to skid them both to a stop. Jerking back his hand hard he tried to dislodge himself from the figure’s grip… And succeeded in popping the figure’s arm off straight from the socket. Still clutching him around his wrist.

“AAAH!” Héctor screamed and flailed his arm around, trying to fling the bones off. “GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!”

“Héctor, please! Calm down, mijo!”

A soft pair of hands gripped his shoulders and Héctor gasped, freezing in place. His whole frame still trembling in fright, the bony hand let go of his wrist and then the whole arm hopped away from him towards the figure. The arm bounced off the ground and slipped in cleanly through the sleeve of its shirt, and Héctor could see it was yet another skeleton. Rotating and working out the kinks of his newly reattached arm, the skeleton had the gall to glare at him.

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, cabrón.” The skeleton snorted in disgust.

“Shh. Mi amor, please!” The voice behind him shushed and then made it’s way around to face him. It was a female, and unlike the male standing before him she was smiling at him. A small, sweet smile, trying to keep things as calm as possible. But as Héctor continued to draw back away from them in terror she could tell it was in vain. “Héctor, we need you to calm down for a moment.”

“Stay back!” Héctor cried out, swiping his arm out and managing to make the two skeletons flinch back. “Stay away from me! Don’t come any closer!”

“We’re not going to hurt you, Héctor.”

“What do you want from me?!” Héctor squeaked out, past the point of reasonable thought as hysteria clouded his mind. “Am I dead? Is this how death works? Are you going to eat me? Are you going to eat my skin?!”

“Ugh, no!” the male skeleton shuddered at the thought. “I came here tonight to eat menudo.”

“Just stay away from me! Someone! I need help! I need- AAH!” Suddenly something hot a wet slid up his cheek all the way to his hairline in a split second, and a cheerful bark burst through his eardrums. Turning he saw Dante happily smiling at him with his tongue lolling on his shoulder, and Héctor gasped in surprise. “Dante?! You can see me?!”

Dante barked again and made to lick him again, but Héctor pushed him away and began to smile madly. Tittering in near hysteria, Héctor grabbed Dante by the jowls and turned him toward the skeletons. “Good boy! Dante! Dante look: Bones! Get them! Get the skeletons, get the bones! Sic ‘em! Sic ‘em, boy!”

Dante whined in confusion and looked between his master, gesturing wildly and screaming at him while looking like he was on the verge of collapse, and the two skeletons, sighing and palming their faces in their hands. They seemed more composed than Héctor at the moment. So, with a small chuff he hopped away from him and stood by the woman’s side, earning himself a soft rub on the head while Héctor let out a moan of dismay.

“Dante, you dumb dog!” Héctor yelled out, causing the poor to shrink back and whimper. “Don’t let it pet you!” Running his fingers through his hair and ranking hard, Héctor didn’t notice that he was rocking jerkily back and forth as he began to babble. “What’s going on?! What happened to me?! I-I-I don’t know what to do! What happening?!”

“What are you asking us for?” The skeleton grumbled while crossing his arms. “Dios, can’t we have a normal Dia de Muertos for once? First Miguel’s birth, then that concert fiasco with de la Cruz, and now this?! Honestly, what is the deal with you, yerno?”

It took a few moments for his words to run it’s way through Héctor’s addled brain, but once it did he slowly stopped rocking and his panting ceased. He hazarded another look up at the two glowing skeleton and the wheels began turning again. “Y-yerno?”

Yerno?

Son-in-law?

Héctor started to look closely as the two. Past all the candy-like swirls of purple and silver on the man’s skull, other facial features started to stand out. The slicked back hair, the thick mustache, and his eyes. Those same hard, judgmental eyes that always seemed to look down on him, even from beyond the grave, every time he looked at that foto on the ofren-

Oh…

“…P-… Papa… Gaspar?”

“Hmmph.” Gaspar grumbled. “You can just call me Gaspar. Otherwise you’ll make me feel old.”

“Amor, you are seventy-three years old.”

“Nooo, I died at twenty-five, and so I will stay at twenty-five. Forever!”

As the woman laughed, a sweet yet hearty laugh that reminded him so much of Imelda, Héctor finally started to relax a little. Her features were familiar too. The same long face as Oscar and Felipe, the prim little smile like Imelda. “Mama Mirasol?”

Mirasol smiled back at Héctor, leaning down a little to meet his eyeline. “Hola, Héctor. It is so nice to finally meet you.”

Héctor blinked back dumbly. “… N-nice to meet you too…”

Now that he knew their names, knew who he was talking to, it made him feel less panicked. Imelda had told him enough stories from her childhood to know basic information about her parents. Gaspar was a great farmer who was able to grow a pumpkin once that was so big he had it fashioned into an actual carriage for Imelda when she was a toddler and pulled her around in it like she was a princess.

Mirasol made the best dishes out of whatever fruits and vegetables Gaspar didn’t sell. She was always constantly drawing on scraps of papers and napkins, some of which Imelda still had in box with other precious items. Her favorite one was a handkerchief that Mirasol had sketched the actual likeness of all three of her children when they were newborns, each child on three corners and ‘Mis amores’ on the fourth.

He was stern yet clumsy, she was sweet yet soft-spoken.

And they had both let their young children take the limited medication that the town had that saved their lives during a malaria outbreak, while they themselves went without and had died young.

“You calmed down now, payaso?” Gaspar asked. At Héctor’s slow nod, he held out a hand to him. “Good. Up you get, then.”

Héctor took Gaspar’s hand, wincing a little as the loose bones shifted unnaturally in his grip, and allowed him to hoist him off the ground. Gathering himself and  trying to look as dignified as he could after his embarrassing meltdown in front of his in-laws, Héctor smoothed back his unkempt hair and mumbled, “Gracias… I-I can’t believe it. Imelda’s parents… I’ve always wondered what you both were like.”

Mirasol smiled. “Ay, Héctor. We’ve also always wondered what it would be like to finally meet you. This is a little unorthodox, you not being a skeleton, but still. There’s so many things we always wanted to thank you for: Being a loving husband to our daughter, a wonderful father to our grandchildren, a great provider-”

“Sí sí, that’s all very well and good.” Gaspar interrupted. “But first things first. There is something I’ve been wanting to do for the last thirty-three years, and I hope you’ll oblige me Héctor.”

Héctor gulped a little and managed to bring up a corner of his mouth nervously. “O-okay. What do you want-”_

*SMACK*

“AY!” Héctor reeled back and immediately grabbed his left cheek as it stung harshly for the second time in one night. Managing to force a watery eye open he saw a boney finger pointing directly at his face.

“That is for getting my teenage daughter pregnant out of wedlock, you perverted little-”

“Gaspar! Ay Dios mio…” Mirasol grabbed her husband by the shoulders and forced him to back off, giving Héctor a weak grin. “I’m so sorry, Héctor. He’s been clamoring about that for years.”

Héctor nodded, eyes wide as he brought his hand back down. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean- That was an accident! I would never- AY, CARAJO!” His abused cheek was struck for a third time, and this time the finger pointing at him was Mirasol’s.

“Don’t ever call our little Coco an accident, niño!” Mirasol barked out, her sweet timid voice all of a sudden sounding as loud and forceful as her own daughter’s. But the moment quickly passed and she pinched her nasion in shame. “Ugh, I’m so sorry Héctor. We are not making the best first impression to you.”

As Héctor rubbed his reddened cheek, wondering why everyone who had slapped him happened to be right-handed, Héctor managed a chuckle. “Heh, it’s all right. I always thought that if I ever did meet my in-laws they’d want to slap me. I remember when Coco first started dating Julio I was- WAIT A MINUTE!”

The two skeletons and Dante flinched as Héctor started to rave again. “What the hell am I doing?! Chatting with two people I have never met before, and who have been dead for nearly half a century! I’m seeing skeletons everywhere I turn, no one can see me, I’m glowing, and Miguel thinks I’m… Oh no, Miguel! He’s thinks-! He’s been taken away! I have to go get him!”

“Héctor he’ll be fine!”

“No!” Héctor brushed Mirasol off of him and tried to walk back to the exit. “He’s in trouble! I have to save my-erk!” With a jolt Héctor stopped in his tracks. Looking down he saw Dante had grabbed him by the hem of his jacket, teeth clamped tight around the fabric. He tried to yank it free, but the dog refused to let up.

“Miguel is fine.” Gaspar said, his hand on Héctor’s shoulder. “He’ll be with his family tonight. They’ll take care of him. The one you need to save is yourself, tonto. Because what’s happened to you is not normal, and we need to find out what it is exactly.”

His word sinking in, Héctor nodded a little and Dante released his jacket with a happy snort. Looking down at himself, he patted his chest and groaned at the eerie glow he was emitting. This was definitely not normal. “So, what happened to me? Am I dead?”

“No.” Mirasol shook her head emphatically. “No… I don’t… think.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“You aren’t dead, Héctor.” Gaspar affirmed. “Believe me, you’ll know you’re dead when you’re filling out enough paperwork to make you wish you’d die again. No no, this is something different. Now I’m no expert on the matter, but if I were to guess I’d say whatever has happened has to do with that guitar.”

“Wh- guitar?” Looking down Héctor was astonished to see that, during all the craziness and emotional scarring that he had been exposed to in the last ten minutes, he had been clutching Ernesto’s golden guitar the entire time. He had not even noticed that he had still kept a grip on the blasted thing. “Why am I still holding this?!”

“Well it is a beautiful guitar.”

“No no! I want nothing to do with-wait…” Héctor stared into space for a few seconds, the gears slowly turning. “I grabbed the guitar. Then the flowers went crazy, flying in the air. That’s when-” With a gasp, Héctor smiled widely and pointed at the guitar giddily. “That’s when it happened! I got all glowy and see-through-y! It’s because of this pinche guitar!”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” Gaspar grumbled. Next to him Dante whined in worry at Héctor’s train of thought. Why was he fighting this so hard? This was becoming more difficult than this simple dog could handle.

“So, it comes to reason that once I let go of the guitar… Then everything will turn back to normal! Ha HA!” Héctor held out the instrument at arm’s length and gave a slight bow. “Well then, so long Señor and Señora Rivera. This has been a de-lightful visit. But I must go back to a world of living, breathing human beings and sanity. Adios, and I hope you enjoy the offerings. And as for you, you useless instrument- Begone!”

Releasing his grip from the neck, the guitar dropped to the ground. Good, this nightmare was over. Now he could go home, forget this whole ever happened, and go on liv-

*zip*

There was no clanging of wood against the ground. It hadn’t even made contact. It had stopped less than a millimeter away from reaching it and then had magically flew back up into Héctor’s hand. Dante panted happily as once again the plan was back in motion. The other three, however, blinked for several seconds as they gawked at the guitar. Again, Héctor let the guitar drop, only for it to come back. Again. And again. Finally Héctor was practically chucking it to the ground, each attempt more frenzied than the last, and panting hard.

“Wow.” Mirasol couldn’t help but giggle as Héctor kept trying to force the guitar out of his hands. “It’s like a big, oddly shaped yo-yo.”

Héctor stopped what he was doing to glare at his in-laws, who were both snickering to themselves. “This is not funny! I’m trying to get back to my family, to my life, and you’re laughing at me?! This is bad! Really bad! What am I going to do?!”

“I don’t know, Héctor. But maybe someone else will be able to tell us.” Gaspar said before turning to Mirasol. “If he can see skeletons, then he might be able to cross the bridge. Then we can take him to Marigold station.”

“The Department of Family Reunions?”

“Exactamente.”

“Stop having conversations without me!” Héctor shouted. “Bridge? Department of Family Reunions? Where’s that?! Where are you taking me?!”

“The Land of the Dead, mijo.”

Héctor was taken aback from that. He looked at the two of them in shock. “The Land of the?-… No… No no no no…”

“Héctor-”

“No!” Héctor shouted, pointing at them both wildly. “No! You said I wasn’t dead! I’m not dead! I’m not going there, especially with people I have never even met before in my life! I’m not even convinced this is real. I’m dreaming or-or hallucinating or I have a huge tumor growing in my brain, all of those are more believable than this basura you’re spouting. I’m not going anywhere with you, so you and this dumb guitar can go straight back to hell together!”

With a mighty heave Héctor flung the guitar as hard as he could into the air. The sight of it spinning freely and high through the night sky was enough proof that he was finally rid of it, and with a mighty whoop of triumph he turned tail and started sprinting towards the exit of the cemetery. He heard Mirasol and Gaspar shouting after him, but he paid them no heed. He was not going to come back, not going to stop, not going to duck or whatever it was they screaming at him. He was going home! And nothing was going to stop-

*KA-BONG*

Several skeletons shouted in alarm as all of a sudden a large clanging sound shot through the air and a tall, gangly man went head over heels tumbling down their path. The body performed several impressive yet dangerous looking somersaults before crashing hard against one of the many protruding tombstones, resting into a mangled heap of long limbs, dust and mud. Héctor let out a small high-pitched whine as he collapsed onto his back and then was still. The only thing seemingly undamaged was the beautiful golden guitar as it magically shimmied itself back into the unconscious man’s hand like it was always meant to be there.

Gaspar and Mirasol caught up to Héctor, placating the nervous crowd with uneasy smiles. “Ah, lo siento everyone.” Gaspar chuckled. “This is a small family matter but we’re going to deal with it. J-just go about your business and enjoy the holiday, bueno? Bueno.”

The other skeletons were still skeptical but murmured in agreement and went back to their families and offerings, leaving the dead Riveras standing over Héctor. Dante came over and licked wet trails thick with slobber all over Héctor’s cheeks, his hair, even into his nose and mouth. Héctor didn’t even flinch, but he was still breathing normally.

Héctor was out cold.

Gaspar sighed. “So… This is who our daughter decided to marry.”

“I blame myself.” Mirasol replied wearily. “She gets it from me, I’m afraid. We both have strange tastes in men.”

“Sí, I guess you’re right… Hey!”

Ignoring her husband’s offense, Mirasol bent down to place her hand on Héctor’s forehead. “Gaspar, would you be a dear and go fetch Dr. Rosales? He’ll be either at his home or Imelda’s museum, but I’d check the museum first. I’ll stay with Héctor in case he comes to and ward off anyone else who gets to close.”

Gaspar winced a little at that and groaned. “Him? Are you sure?”

“Well, Héctor is obviously very traumatized by all of this, understandably. Trauma is his specialty, after all.”

“Ay, all right.” Gaspar started to head off, but paused and wavered a little. “Hey, um… should I tell… um…”

“I don’t know.” Mirasol said. “Maybe not. It might be to much for him, it might push him over the edge. Ask Dr. Rosales first about whether… she should come.”

With a quiet, sad nod Gaspar left his wife alone with Héctor and made his way out of the cemetery. As Mirasol quietly stroked Héctor’s hair and spoke softly to him, she didn’t notice Dante staring them both down.

Dante huffed in annoyance. He may not be the smartest dog in the world, as the little weird looking dog that guided his boy’s mate always told him, but he knew enough. They were not going along with the plan at all! Whatever the plan was. Did he even know the plan? Well whatever. Dante knew that his boy was scared and sad and angry. And if he was ever going to go to the world of the delicious bone people, he would not go with these bone people who scared him. No.

But he would go if he were to be reunited with his puppy. His daughter. His Leti.

So, like any good dog would, he would go and fetch his Leti for him if no one else was going to do it. With a yip he bounded out unnoticed by the bone woman and raced off to find the boney puppy.

Yes, Héctor would love to see his Leti! After all, Leti was the best girl-boy in the world!

 ---------------------------------

I am truly sorry for the lack of updates. These past few months have a kind of mental health break for me. For someone whose story kind of morphed itself into a study of mental health it was high tome I got some for myself! Hope it made you laugh, though.

[zippiestdraws]

Choking Curiosity CH 5

read on ao3

ftm reader x michael myers

The dense weave of the hoodie slows the blade, but only makes the kill more intimate as Michael adds more pressure. He watches it slowly cut through the fibers and dig into the flesh underneath until it gives, sinking sharply into the sternum of one of the vandals. The night is late and in broad view on a suburban sidewalk, help is so close but snatched from his victim’s reach with his large hand pinching her cries in her throat. Her shrouded companion lies crumpled and bleeding in the grass of someone’s front yard. His hands were warm with the blood thickly lubricating his blade, the tang of it growing in the air.

In the climax of the kill, his adrenaline drew on the memory of his knife tantalizing your body. Standing beholden of his work and wiping the blade on the arm of his coveralls, the action had given way to his decision. His patience broke and he’s done with watching now.

There wasn’t a plan, but Michael is satisfied with running on instinct.

*** You didn’t tell Quentin what you saw. It went against your better judgement, but it would make you sound crazy. “There’s someone in your house now. Dressed in a sheet.”

You couldn’t sleep with it on your mind, but neither could Quentin so the two of you traded sleepover talk until you passed out. At one point you were tired enough to share how you ended up here after being cut off from everything you once knew. You must have fallen asleep during his story, you only recall him telling you that he came out here to escape something.

Using his phonebook and house phone, you were able to schedule a locksmith to change your locks urgently. Before that appointment, however, you needed to meet Laurie at the coffee shop she chose as the ‘crowded public place’.

Quentin offers to drive you, but you insist that he’s done enough for you and that it isn’t too far if you head out early. You almost regret it, running on so little sleep, until you remember Quentin would be driving on even less.

Looking around awkwardly, trying not to obstruct the counter in front of the entrance, you see Laurie stand from one of the central tables and wave you over to one farther in the back by the restrooms.

She gets down to business quickly, asking for all the details quickly after greeting you. You mention the little things before adding up to what happened last night. The relief you feel when you see that she believes you is emboldening, so you tell her about the tape you set up and even the sheet ghost.

“He isn’t dead.”

“Wh-who?”, You fiddle nervously.

Her steely gaze steals your breath as she talks in a voice laced with anger.

“Michael Myers.” Laurie drops a pile of papers onto the table and starts to slide each of them individually in front of you. “Two years ago on Halloween, he murdered my friends and tried to kill me.” A tear runs down her cheek and she wipes it away with vitriol before composing herself and gesturing to the papers.

Newspaper clippings.

A headline over a black and white print of a mask. The papers are littered with annotations in red marker. You look closer and read the important pieces. Sightings, disappearances, homicides…

“All in the last two years. There’s no killing the boogeyman. And there’s no stopping him if he wants you dead.” Her eyes hold a determination that makes you squirm.

She’s succeeded in making you scared at least.

“Well what do I do?”, your voice escalates a little in panic.

She looks at you with pity.

“Get a gun.” she says solemnly.

You promise to keep in touch and leave feeling the weight of a target on your back.

*** Michael treated the occasion as any other day, except perhaps indulging in a more noticeable amount of food than normal, until he heard your keys in the door.

You came back from work much later tonight. Perfect.

Your footsteps trailed lazily up the stairs and Michael positioned himself where the door would swing into the wall. The knob turned and he waited.

It snapped back into place, ruining his anticipation. He listened carefully for your next move. Quiet steps to the bathroom. Pause. You were running.

He yanked open your bedroom door but you were already outside.

He was careful enough. How did you know?

Maybe you were smarter than he gave you credit for. Minimally impressed, Michael went downstairs to observe through the living room window. You were in the neighbor’s yard, but you had to return eventually. You had nowhere else to run.

He distantly remembers two halloweens ago, the opposite, the neighbors had shut the porch lights on Laurie.

You looked back to where he stood and Michael didn’t bother to hide.

Time passes sluggishly as he watches for your exit. Before it comes, the sound of sirens growing closer aches in his ears. He should have expected you to call the police, but a storm cloud rumbles inside him anyway. Michael stays in place until you pass out of his view crossing the yard, then leaves knowing there is nothing to find.

The pasty cop trespasses the threshold with his flashlight and gun in front of him. Michael can see you in full view under the streetlights, watching your insecurity like a voyeur.

You shuffle uncomfortably in your work clothes, listening carefully from the curb until the sweep of the house is done. Standing just off the porch, the officer writes on his notepad with an uninterested posture. The specifics of the conversation don’t reach until your voice raises at the tone of accusations toward you.

This new vibrancy of expression draws Michael forward before a second car pulls to the curb. He can see your anger fester as you sling an indignant remark at the back of the retreating pig, earning a quick exhale of amusement.

You pushed the cops away, but you also brought them here. The multitudes you contain confuse him. He wasn’t interested in killing you just yet, but you won’t get away with this that easily.

If you hadn’t had Michael’s attention before, you definitely had it now. You leave in the other car, to his surprise, but he can keep playing cat and mouse.

*** He was satisfied to toy with you last night. Michael smiles minisculely at the thoughts as he woke. Sleeping in a car gave him a crick in the neck, but he massages it away and climbs into the front seat.

He’s stolen a car before and it’s not hard.

Timing must be on his side, because you exit the house before his eyes, the sunlight streaming onto you and the autumn leaves like a picture. Michael peels off his mask, his hand landing on the stick shift ready to follow suit. His eyes leave you long enough to meet a pair of aviators sitting on the dash and he dons them before bringing the car to life.

*** The car engine dies as you enter the shop, the windows casting a glare, but not enough to shield the clueless people within. A wave of blonde catches his attention and he sees a familiar face wave you over. He feels nothing.

Then you will be prepared. So will he. *** When you get home, the branded car of the locksmith is already waiting out front. You apologize for keeping him waiting and you unlock the front door, silently feeling safer to not enter on your own.

The handyman gets to work quickly and you make yourself busy by scrounging together his payment. You’re more than happy to loiter nearby as the locks are changed.

You’re happy you can cross this repair off your list, but the feeling of being exposed when you’re alone again doesn’t leave. You ignore it to change out of your not quite “walk of shame” clothes.

Peeling off your shirt as you walk up the stairs, you’re temporarily blind and stumble on the last step. You toss it onto the floor of your room ahead of you and make for the rest of your clothes until a force from nowhere throws you back onto one of the walls, knocking the breath out of you.

You grunt at the shock and Michael pounces.

Your eyes shoot open wildly and you manage a small gasp before a large hand cuts you off around your throat. The intruder towers over you and gets close, casting a shadow upon his prey before you feel yourself rise and your toes no longer reach the floor.

The white mask from the photographs stares into you, eyes indiscernible in the darkness underneath. You kick out at him, desperate to break his grip. Your arms aren’t long enough to reach his face and beating at his arms and hand prove futile.

Michael watches as your face shifts from surprise to anger and then to fear as you realize how very mortal you are. Your warm pulse races ever faster underneath his fingers.

He could very easily kill you, and the urge itches pleasantly in his hands. But then the fun would end. He tries to squash the small desire that’s been slowly infecting him like a virus. You should be nothing to him, he wants you to be nothing, it’s normal for him to feel nothing.

His hands flex and you hiss underneath him. Your fighting hands slip off him and you dangle helplessly on the edge of consciousness. Your eyes don’t focus on him, but some point elsewhere, in a resolute way.

Your body hits the ground as Michael’s head screams at his hands for releasing you. He steps back from you, watching stiffly as you sputter back to life on the floor.

You don’t even register what’s happening, heaving and rubbing your throat when he leaves. When your clarity returns, you scramble on your knees to slam the bedroom door behind him and lock it.

He could be a snitch. Michael gives in to the feeling you won’t be calling the police after yesterday. Frustration consumes him and he grits his teeth at you wresting his control from him.

Tears are running down your face and you don’t feel them until you wipe them away. You’re alive. Why didn’t he kill you? Laurie said there was no stopping him if he wanted someone dead. Michael Myers killed without remorse.

Your head swims when you lift yourself off the floor. Right now you need to find a way out. You really wish you didn’t leave your bat by the back door. You have no phone, no weapons, and you’re on the second floor. Even if he didn’t catch you after jumping out a window you definitely can’t afford a trip to the hospital right now. The only way out is through.

Looking around your room, you find nothing that would make for good defense, but you’ll have to make do. You pull your shirt back on and unplug your cheap reading lamp from the wall to hold it by the base.

Every noise the door makes while unlocking and opening makes you flinch. Your bare feet pad across the floor silently to the stairs, stepping carefully to avoid the creaky parts of the boarding.

Every step is full of adrenaline as you hold your life and a lamp in your hands. You peer over the railing as far as you can into each room along the central hallway as you descend. You’re three steps from the bottom and crane your neck to peek around the corner of the archway next to the stairs.

You see blue coveralls and black boots and twist to run silently back up the stairs.

Michael takes two large steps to the stairs and grabs your leg with his left hand as you run, watching you fall hard on your ribs and the lamp goes clattering down around you.

You feel your ankle released and scramble up the stairs on all fours, turning around at the top to see your tormentor standing at the bottom looking up at you as if it were a game.

The two of you are at a standoff, you breathing heavily over the softer sounds of his breaths behind the mask.

You hear your own voice croak in an unfamiliar way. Your throat throbs painfully.

“Why didn’t you kill me?”, you don’t know why you ask.

His head tilts at you curiously, stealing your breath.

Michael doesn’t know the answer either, he does know this is the first time you’ve spoken to him and the words resonate in his skull.

“Have...have you been living here?”, you rasp quieter this time.

His arm flexes, and you see the shine of a knife changing position in his right hand. Your pulse races and you look back into the eye-holes of the mask. This time you can see further.

The sun is setting and painting an ethereal and gold waning light from behind his fit form. One eye deep blue and another pale against the sclera lock with yours.

You lose yourself looking harder, until you blink and he’s moved away, walking heavily down the hall into the house. You stay put, listening.

The back door squeaks open and shut, and you’re alone with your adrenaline.