#any insect oneshots are under this tag

[zippers-flowers-and-wine]

"Go visit family in Oregon, they said. It'll be a blast, they said!" You hiss, hustling a little faster through the light rain with your arms ineffectively attempting to shield your thick hair.

What a crock of shit.

What they didn't tell you about this fucking place was that it rained every.

Fucking.

D a y.

...

Okay, you may be exaggerating juust a tad, you'll admit to that.

But still! The high humidity sucked for your already frizzed hair, and the rain usually rolled in out of nowhere!

As if to prove your point - or maybe even mock you, Oregon was a little bitch like that - the sky rumbles threateningly, darkening to a near black. The few drops that had been landing against your neck, speed up and you wail a dramatic curse.

Throwing your comfy coat over your head, you start hustling your step a little more.

Moving here hadn't been that much of a mistake, despite what you may complain. It was really pretty, with so many mountains that had good hiking spots, and rivers that provided you with relaxing swimming pools. Plus the always chilly water was a definite bonus, a complete step up from the metallic tang that always permeated the water in some of the hotter spots you've lived in.

The only problem you really had with Oregon was...

A low, clicking rumble from above. Your hair stands on end, and you take the steps up to your apartment three at a time, barely pausing to pull out your keys. You hear him click behind you, closer than you were comfortable with. It makes you miss the keyhole a few times, but the sound of him landing roughly on the metal railing behind you gives you small bit of extra coordination and you swiftly shove your door open.

Slamming it shut, a nervous eye peeks out of the peephole, flinching when it clashes with an overly wide, slightly compound, black eye.

God-damn-it.

Fucking... The bug beasts that liked to hang around were another factoid about Oregon that... Well, they didn't piss you off. It was just a huge leap from your last home.

Those guys weren't as prevalent in the other places you lived, most non-mountainous places only really having the arachnid-type beasts. In fact, when you lived in Texas with your cousins, the only insect based one you had ever seen was this one fluffy, brown and black... Caterpillar? He'll, he may be a fully grown butterfly at this point.

But he was a kid who had a nasty attitude, dyed his hair blue - according to rumours - and was always yelling at the humans he usually stuck around.

This place though? Practically crawling with them, no pun intended.

Beastfolk weren't new, but they were very few and very far inbetween. In fact, a lot of people had been questioning if they could really be considered "sentient"...

Well, they were swiftly shut down by a feisty tarantula, that looked kinda like an Arizona Blonde, that had become a lawyer and completely shut down a court case.

Another soft clicking makes you jump, shooting a look at the door. "Chill your thorax, fuzzbutt."

An offended click, and you smirk.

The only thing that kept a lot of people from considering most beasts as sentient and free thinking people was... Well...

You hear him jump over the railing. The heavy, almost lethargic sound of his wings flapping makes you hop to attention, darting through the house to swiftly shut your window with smug whoop.

He's gotten you like that too many times.

You see, beasts haven't fully gotten over their base instincts, and the month leading into spring was were all anti-beastfolk arguments got their evidence. Said that beasts clearly can't be sentient, they succumb to those based urges so easily!

Not because the folk felt any urge to fuck like rabbits, as was the common misconception.

He chitters at you through the window, feet thudding against either side of the - now shut - window for mere seconds before he kicks back off. His clicks fades as you grin giddily, dancing in place. You might actually win this one!

The only reason most speciests would give for being so against beastfolks was the fact that they were "too base instinct" and it made them "feel unsafe".

And in a way, they were right.

Your grin fades when you realize you can't hear him anymore.

It's dangerous to get between any spider-types and their chosen.

The hairs on your body raise, your mind scrambling to figure this out.

It's foolish to keep a centipede-type away from their loved ones.

A soft shuffle has you whipping around, hands up in a comical karate motion.

It's down right ridiculous to separate ant-types from their mates.

Suddenly, you remember: you didn't lock the bathroom up.

"You're asking for a death sentence if you get between a moth and his love." The voice slides between you shoulder blades, accompanied by four large arms wrapping around you.

Screaming in delight, you curse, "Oh you sneaky fuck!"

Bruno laughs, allowing you to whip around and hit his shoulder. His hand comes up, wringing out some of his neck fluff while he flashes you a smarmy grin. "What? It's not my fault you didn't check the bathroom first. I didn't even land at your window!"

You gasp, pushing him away with a look of mock horror. "Yo-you..."

He leans in, large black eyes shining teasingly. "Come on, you can say it."

"I can't!" You cry in the most over the top, Trans-Atlantic accent possible, draping yourself across the bed.

Bruno huffs a laugh, antenna flicking as he quickly shucks his slightly damp over shirt. With a quick hop, courtesy of his powerful legs, he lands on top of you, grinning at you scream. "What, is it a bad word?"

"Yes! You foul man, begone He-Who- Says-Bad-Words! Begone!" His eyes light up, a near maniacal grin stretching across his usually serious features.

(You'd never say it out loud for fear of emotionally wounding him: but you kinda liked how he acted pre-spring. He was so goofy... Although serious, intense Bruno is just as pleasant.)

His wings flare up, engulfing the room in a shadow of white, black speckled wings. His upper set of arm catch your hands and you're, quite rudely, made aware of your mistake of allowing him to straddle you.

"Bruno..." You warn, wiggling to pull away from his grasp.

His grin stretches wider, fangs hooking just slightly over his bottom lip as Bruno teases back, "(Y/N)..?"

Whatever threat you were gonna say is lost as his second pair of hands - the wicked claws clipped precisely for this reason - dive in, wiggling furiously against your ribs.

Screaming, you thrash, kicking out and laughing. His hands hold you steady, with just enough give that you're continuously given hope that you can escape, but you know better.

"Saaaay iiit~" He croons, slowing so you can speak.

Wheezing a few wet coughs, you smirk at him. "N-Nuh uh. I-I don't cuss like you do."

His antenna flick up, shivering as his grin gets wider. "Me? Cuss? Now that's just slanderous talk my dear."

"N' slander, cuz' it's true."

"Hmm, I think you can speak far too well my dear." A part of you immediately regrets talking back, especially when he shifts both of your hands into one of his, the other migrating down to hold your chest down.

Flashing you a smirk, he wiggles his fingers near your kneecap.

"Now, what am I?"

You keep stubbornly quiet. Humming, the large moth brushes his fingers down the back of your calf, chattering at the full body jerk you give.

"Once again, what am I?"

"A liar, because you lied!" You squawk mid-laugh, playfully gasping in mock horror. Bruno chirps in laughter, releasing you to flip over.

"Haha, now you're a filthy cusser like me!"

You groan, rolling over to nudge his wings so you can snuggle beneath. He lifts it without fuss, purring when you nuzzle your face into his chest fluff.

"Mmmn, love you B."

His chest vibrates with a fierce purr, and you grin. Grumbling past the motor in his chest, Bruno mumbles, "You only love me for my purring."

"Well, the fuzz is a nice addition."

"I will throw you off this bed, don't try me."

"Bet."

You found yourself face down n the floor less than two seconds later and not at all pissed.

[hughjidiot]

Amphibia Fanfiction Spotlight

The premiere of Amphibia season 3 is coming up fast, folks. To help out those who might still be looking for their frog fix in the final few weeks leading to S3, I thought I'd highlight some of my favorite fanfictions the community has produced over the last few years.

Now there are a lot of great stories in the Amphibia fandom by a lot of very talented writers. I'm just going to list a few of my absolute favorites here because if I listed every story I like, this post would be novel-length. So if you have any favorites of your own you'd like to share that I didn't already list, reblog and let us know!

Sasha and the Frogs by Scrabbleauthor. "What would happen if the girls swapped places" has become a common AU in the fandom, and SatF was the first to explore that premise. It's a retelling of season one with Sasha taking Anne's place, up to Family Fishing Trip as of this writing. Sasha is a very different character than Anne: sometimes she makes the same decisions but for different reasons, while other times she'll make a choice that completely changes the episode. Either way the author has a great grasp of Sasha's character, especially with her learning how to be humble and truly care for others. Then there's the drama happening with Anne at Toad Tower under Grime's tutelage... You can find the story here.

A Theory of Butterflies and Other Insects by CalamityUnlocked. This one is similar to SatF, but goes farther by placing Anne in Newtopia and Marcy in Toad Tower. What makes Theory unique is that rather than just be a retelling of season one, it follows all three girls in their new roles at the same time. It's great fun seeing how the different environments are shaping how the girls think and act. You can find the story here.

Confessions and Cell Dates by TheCrusaderKing. This pair of stories is a season 2 AU where the Toad Invasion takes place a lot sooner than in canon, when Anne and the Plantars first travel to Newtopia... and fails miserably. Confessions sees Anne and Marcy reuniting with the captured Sasha and confessing their feelings to both her and each other, while Cell Dates follows the girls as they navigate the stormy waters of both their newfound relationship and the political fallout from the rebellion. The author does a great job with portraying the complexities of the Calamity trio's characters and relationships, and there's a good mix of fluff, drama, angst and romance. You can find both stories here.

not delivered (sic) by camomile_t. Here we have a post-True-Colors Marcanne fic: Anne is adjusting to being home while working on trying to rescue her friends and also come to terms with her feelings for Marcy. What makes not delivered unique is that the whole story is told through text messages between the various characters, and what little prose to be found is told in the style of phone/video calls, photographs, voice recordings, ect. The result is a fantastic piece of minimalism, where so much plot and emotion is expressed with so little words. You can find the story here.

Sasharcy sfw/nsfw one shots by Melah94. Pretty much what it says in the title lol. This oneshot anthology has everything from romance to humor to angst, and the author has a great grasp on Sasha and Marcy’s characterizations. Just keep in mind as the title says that some of the stories ARE nsfw and such chapters are tagged appropriately. You can find the story here. 

[sslow-dancer]

heyy may I request a family fluff modren au oneshots with jonathan joestar? ty!

A/N: Since you said family... I thought I’d add the rest of Jonathan’s (and Dio’s bleh) kids with George II AND Danny! :)

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

“Thank You For This.” (Jonathan Joestar x Reader)

Warnings: none!

Description: On the Saturday after the last day of school for your eldest boys, you invite the entire family to a picnic at the local park. Though you face some challenges before getting to that first…

NOTE: P/P/T stands for “preferred parent title.” This one-shot is gender-neutral, I want all to be comfortable! 💙

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

“Boyyys! Shoes. We’re leaving soon. We need to get a good spot to eat at the park so get ‘em on.” you call out from the kitchen.

It’s a Saturday afternoon, the sun is extra bright out in your beloved city of New York and summer is the season many students have waited for. Your sons just as excited.

George has just finished up his 8th year in middle school, Giorno’s 3rd in elementary and Donatello’s 2nd in elementary. Rikiel and Ungalo are yet to start. They’ll be going once the breezy fall/autumn season is back.

It takes a lot to take care of 5 boys in one household. Though luckily your job becomes a bit easier when your archaeologist husband, Jonathan Joestar, gets a few days off. And thus, you plan out family hang outs here and there. This time, spending a day at the park to celebrate your boys’ achievements.

You use a rolling pin to knead at the cookie dough on the counter. You had already baked up some double chocolate chip cookies but decided to make some sugar cookies as well as George, Girono and Donatello prefer them. The two youngest of the 5 having a sweeter tooth. And your husband of course not caring, the large man will eat everything his sons leave over.

You sigh as you don’t hear any noise from the top floor. You stop your kneading and go to wash your hands under the faucet. You dry them off on your apron and walk up the steps. Your ears are filled with loud noise and your eyes widen. You just walked into a chaotic scene.

There in the room in full view from the stairs lays a sleeping Donatello under a large pile of blankets. Giorno is in the bathroom brushing his teeth while Jonathan attempts to fix his messy hair. George’s door is closed and loud with the sound of video games inside. And the sight that has confused you the most- a naked Ungalo getting chased around by a Rikiel in pull ups with a towel. Danny barks behind the toddlers, Ungalo giggles as Danny reaches his side.

“Hey, what-“

You’re cut off when George exits his room and brushes past you with his face glued to his phone. You question your oldest as he approaches the stairs, texting god knows who.

“George, what the hell happened-“

“Don’t ask me. Dad only told me to get ready and I did that.” George replies in a blunt tone. He puts his phone in his pocket and pats the side of his leg, he mouthes a “come on” to Danny. The dog runs over and heaves happily as George pats his head. They both rush down to the first floor.

You place your hands on your hips and huff in disbelief. The youngest run past you, your face scrunching up as you grumble lowly. You manage to catch Ungalo by grabbing him by the shoulders and picking him up by the waist. You grab the towel from a dazed Rikiel and wrap it around your naked son. Ungalo wraps his little legs and arms around you as you direct Rikiel to go to his room and wait for you. The 3 year old pouts as he pads his way down. You sigh shaking your head as you approach Donatello’s room and knock on his opened door multiple times.

“Come on! Wake up, wake up. I told you to get enough sleep last night. And get those blankets off of you, you’ll overheat.” you exclaim aggressively. Your middle child groans, his arm reaches out as if there’s an alarm clock next to him. Ungalo giggles as he pulls at your apron and points over at a now ready Giorno walking down to join his older brother. ‘At least 2 of the 5 are ready’ you think ‘and the dog…” you add on humorously.

Half of your husband’s stature appears from outside the bathroom. He dries his hands with a small towel and walks out. He closes the door and looks at you. You lift an eyebrow.

“Jonathan…” you mutter frustratedly. A clueless Jonathan looks up.

“Yes, my love?”

You point at the naked boy in your arms, the boy sleeping under piles of blankets and the half-naked boy sitting on the bed carelessly swinging his feet. You place a hand on your hip.

“What is the meaning behind all this? Our youngest are practically naked-“ you lock eyes with Ungalo, you sigh “well…one is naked. And one is still asleep. Only 2 are ready! What’s going on? I thought you were good at controlling them while I’m busy…”

Jonathan laughs soundlessly, taking Ungalo from your arms and placing a kiss on your forehead. You groan.

“It’s no time to be lovey dovey here… I’m yet to prepare the sandwiches for everyone.”

“And I’m not trying to be, it’s just who I am. I want you to be calm. Let me explain.” he says with a sweet voice. You frown as you cross your arms and look down at your feet.

He walks over to Ungalo’s and Rikiel’s shared bedroom. He places Ungalo on the bed as he goes into their closet and picks out outfits for them. You stand at the doorway and watch him get your sons dressed.

“I was going to dress these boys first but Giorno told me he wanted to try a new hairstyle as he’s grown it out and plans to dye it blonde. So I helped him out with that. Donatello had already gotten up-“ he laughs a little, your mind wondering how he’s able to keep so positive as you’re worried that you won’t get the best spot at the park. “But he somehow fell asleep again after he played with Ungalo and Rikiel. He actually helped me shower them too so he must’ve fallen asleep before he dressed them fully.”

Ungalo happily runs out with his shoes in hand, telling his father that he can tie them himself. Jonathan nods in response and finishes tying Rikiel’s shoes. Rikiel giggles following after Ungalo. He smiles lovingly, you blink, a blank expression on your face. Your gaze going from Donatello finally standing up to get ready and back to him innocently smiling. You exhale through your nose.

“Okay, I believe you. Your story sounds- fine. But I’m still confused as to why you didn’t do anything about the boys and Danny chasing each other.” you ask with genuine uncertainty. Jonathan shakes his head.

“Well, that one’s on me. Which I apologize for. Even though I asked Donatello to dress them, I don’t blame him. All I did was tell them to go to their room while I helped Giorno. In truth, I feel Girono could’ve done everything himself but I wanted to bond with each of our sons before I go to work again. George and I even spoke before you were awake. I come home late often and don’t get to see all unless one or more of them are awake.” he places a hand over his heart “I swear an event like this will never happen again. Please do not stress, you know I don’t like seeing you that way.”

You hum, uncrossing your arms as you think. Well he only is one person, what do you expect? Your boys just got done with school too, they must be tired and desiring to sleep in most days.

Jonathan nears you and wraps his arms around your waist, he pecks the side of your mouth. You hum again, embarrassed at how angry you got. He knows you well, so he goes on to say,

“Don’t be embarrassed. You deal with them more than me. So it’s understandable that you got upset. Go downstairs and finish up. I’ll deal with Donatello, okay?” he caresses your cheek, his touch always soothes you. You hesitantly remove his hand and nod. You go down and become content when all your boys offer to help.

~Time Skip~

An hour later, you all arrive at the park. Lucky for you, a grassy area near a playground is open.

Jonathan lays out a large blanket for you all to sit on. You set down the two baskets of food and goodies and let your family get comfortable in their own seats.

“I call the PBJ!” Giorno calls out. Ungalo pouts and crosses his arm, he nudges at your sleeve.

“But I want that…” he says sadly. You laugh, searching through one of the baskets.

“Oh honey, don’t worry. I’m sure we have one more…”

You give him one and smile when he hugs your side. All the others ask of you and Jonathan for things and activities as the day goes on.

“Dad, can I go for a quick walk around the park?” George asks.

“P/P/T, may I have a cookie?” Rikiel asks shyly.

“Can I go play fetch with Danny? I’ll stay near, I promise.” Donatello asks.

“I want to look at the garden- can we go after they’re done playing?” Giorno asks as he points at Ungalo and Rikiel playing tag with the other kids at the playground.

You and Jonathan never said no to their questions. You love and trust them with all your being- them going against you is low in chances.

You collect your belongings and go to the garden Giorno asked to go to. You hold a basket in front of you as you watch Giorno educate his brothers about the different plants and insects. Your heart melts as George picks up Rikiel and Donatello pick ups Ungalo to help them inspect the taller plants.

Jonathan removes the basket from your hands and places them in front of you both. You look at him confused. He smiles as he takes your hand and kisses the back of it.

“Thank you for this.” he whispers. You rolls your eyes playfully as you mindlessly ask,

“For what?”

“For giving me a family… I wouldn’t ask for anything in this world aside from pure happiness for you and our boys. You all keep me going and I appreciate you the most for that.”

You’re a blushing mess as he leans in and kisses you. You kiss back, true love can be seen by outsiders. You locks arms with him and place your head on his shoulder.

You and your husband resume to watching your sons bond and blossom.

[fanficsforheartandsoul]

Haunted | [Darth Maul x Fem!Reader x Savage Opress]

Notes: 

Lol I said only 1k per request but well… I got too invested xD

Haha, it happened again xD I hope this is somehow what you expected, Anon. Thank you for your request!

Fandoms: Star Wars, The Clone Wars

Warnings: Angst, Death, Alcohol Use, Mention of Rape, Slight OOC, Fluff

Summary: Some men follow Y/N after she got drunk at a bar. She’s not capable of protecting herself but thankfully she has two knights with red lightsabers who take care of her pursuers..

Word Count: 2′262

Taglist: @princessayveke​

If you want to be tagged in my stories send me a pm with the fandom/character name! Or comment on the fic :)

Masterlist

This is loosely based off my  Cold Skins and Warm Hearts  oneshot!

They hadn't seen each other for a long time. 

Well, it was understandable, the brothers were at one end of the galaxy, causing havoc for the Republic, while she was laying low somewhere on Corellia. 

But although all three of them were busy, they thought of each other from time to time. The brothers more often than her though. 

They could not forget their last encounter, the feelings still too prominent. They needed an answer. 

What feelings did the woman have for them? Were they indeed just platonic? 

So it was no wonder that they actively searched for her. 

And albeit she was trying to lay low, they found her rather easily because of her force presence. Both of the Zabrak could not forget its radiating pull after all. 

But when the brothers found her, they also encountered annoying pests. 

Obviously, they would get rid of them immediately. 

-

Y/N did not have the energy for any trouble today. 

She had been feeling unsafe for a week now, but she wrote it off as her being paranoid after all the things she had gone through. 

It wasn't a mystery she knew she had some trauma after having fought for the Jedi for so long. Her nightmares were proof of that. 

Usually, she wouldn't have tried to find comfort at the bottom of a bottle, but after feeling so stressed out, the fiery heat of Corellian Whiskey felt satisfying in her throat. 

She did drink more than she should have, though. 

But there was no one to tell her to stop, she was her own master now, and she enjoyed it. 

But when she stumbled home, her hand on her lightsaber, while her head spun, she did not expect to be followed. 

She didn't notice at first, her attention muddled from all the alcohol. But after somebody walked by, and rudely bumped into her, Y/N felt a little less smashed, and therefore she noticed the eyes on her that followed her body's every move. An uncomfortable feeling rose in her stomach, and she turned her head slightly to look if somebody was pursuing her, but she was too intoxicated to see clearly. 

The streets in her district were all dimly lit, and only the cantinas and occasional dancer bars had flickering neon lights, which made it hardly possible to see the faces of the few people who were still awake at this hour. 

But she could feel that someone was tailing her. 

Her hand automatically reached for her lightsaber, but there was nothing at her hip. 

Fuck, I didn't take it with me! 

She cursed inwardly and quickened her pace. 

The knowledge of being watched sobered her up enough to remember that she didn't have that many options anymore when it came to a fight. The force wasn't with her any longer. 

Y/N hadn't been able to use it for a few weeks now, that's why she had decided to move away from the Outer Rims where the chance of getting into a fight was much higher. 

But maybe she had made the wrong choice with Corellia. 

The woman knew that she couldn't possibly hold her guard against several attackers while she was drunk. Hence, she could only flee. 

As soon as she turned around a corner, she began to run. 

Genuine fear trickled through her veins, and the former Jedi felt nauseous. 

If she got caught... 

She had a good idea of what could happen and desperately wished that it wouldn't come that far. 

Her breath quickened, she knew she was close to a panic attack, and she dreaded it. 

Y/N saw the familiar green glow of the bar one block away from her small run-down apartment, and she breathed out in relief, only to catch her foot in a pothole and crash face down onto the pavement. 

Her whole world spun, and she knew she was only a few seconds away from throwing up when she heard footsteps approach the alley she had just turned into. 

Fuck, here we go. 

She struggled to get on her knees when a gloved hand suddenly materialized before her, and a deep soothing voice said: 

"Do you need help?" 

She tilted her head upwards and could make out a tall figure with horns. 

"Sa-Savage?" 

Her voice was weak, and before she could even think about why the Zabrak was here, she wheezed and crumbled, her adrenaline rush and fear too overbearing that she fell unconscious.

-

Maul and Savage hadn't expected to see the woman, who had entranced them both, in such a miserable state. 

They had been following her to the bar, trying to come up with a plausible reason why they suddenly showed up, their pride too big to actually just tell the true reason. 

Savage just wanted to walk right in there and say hi, but his older brother wanted to follow the woman some more from the shadows. 

Something was different about her, and they would find out what it was. 

So they waited, waited for a very long time. 

"She seems to be quite a drinker", commented Savage, surprised about the revelation. 

Both of them wouldn't have expected that. 

Y/N L/N didn't seem like a big fan of alcohol. To tell the truth, if they remembered correctly, she had rejected the wine when they had met for the third time. 

So it seemed rather weird for the former Jedi to suddenly go and visit a bar to drink. 

But neither of them knew what had happened to the woman in the last few months, so they couldn't judge if something was wrong with her. 

They loitered around in a small alley from where they had a good view of the bar's entrance. Savage almost fell asleep when his brother gave him a shove, and he stood up out of reflex. 

Maul pressed a finger to his lips and pointed at a small figure leaving the bar. 

Both could immediately feel the connection they had somehow established that one night on Ilum. The emotions from their connection felt weirdly numb. 

Savage frowned, and the two used the force to jump on the small building to get a better view of Y/N. 

If they followed her directly she would probably notice them too soon, and they wanted to avoid that. Although it seemed unlikely that the former Jedi would spot them. 

The woman walked like a sailor, she staggered forward, clearly having drunk too much for her good. 

Worry sprouted in both the brothers' chests, and they followed her silently. Y/N followed the main road, but then she suddenly froze.

It was only for a second, but her head turned back as if she was searching for something. Maul immediately noticed what she was looking for. 

A group of men loafed in a dark corner and ogled the woman hungrily. They seemed to discuss something, and right when Y/N turned back around and started to move faster, they left their corner and began to pursue her. 

Maul concentrated on the force, and he could feel the malicious intentions of the group. 

"...Let's get her today, I know her usual route and..." 

His eyes darkened considerably, anger burned in his chest, and he said with a growling undertone: 

"You go get her, I'm going to crush some insects." 

Savage eyed him from the side, but when he followed the other Zabrak's nod and heard a snippet of the men's conversation, his expression turned sour too, and he snarled: 

"Leave some for me, brother." 

Maul rolled his shoulder, and right before Savage jumped to the next building, he uttered: 

"No promises, these bastards made a mistake I can't forgive." 

He jumped down the building and landed silently right behind a closed food stall.

The men noticed how Y/N turned around a corner, and they hastily followed her. He did too. 

He stalked them like prey, contemplating whether using his lightsaber to obliterate these bugs would cause him more satisfaction than his fists. 

They rounded another corner when they began to run, and Maul decided now was the time to strike. He used the force to close the distance between him and the five men. 

His yellow eyes glistened with rage, but the Zabrak tried to restrain himself. 

"Good evening, gentlemen", he greeted them with a silky voice. 

They turned around abruptly, definitely not liking his sudden appearance. 

"What do you want?", asked one of them annoyed. 

He was a dirty looking human with bleary eyes. He wasn't the only one who seemed to have drunk too much. 

The alcohol plume around the men stank terribly, and Maul snarled in disgust. 

"Oh, I only wanted to inform you that you shall not live to see the dawn in the next few hours." 

Before one of them could even react, he had clenched his raised hand to a fist, and the only Twi'lek of the group began to cough and grab his throat. He crushed the man's windpipe, while his friends shouted in disbelief and shock. 

Maul sneered at their cowardice, and he gleefully wiped out their lives and disgusting plans they had harbored for his love. 

"How dare you look at Y/N with such disgusting thoughts!", he lost his cool and punched one of the men repeatedly, not even showing mercy when the men's face was completely bashed in. 

The noise of breaking bones and their blood-curling screams resounded in the alley, but no one came looking. 

"How convenient", muttered Maul and shook his fist, but then he changed his mind. 

The ignorance of the Corellians might have killed Y/N if he and his brother hadn't shown up. 

The burning fury in his chest did not diminish, instead, it burned even brighter, and he couldn't stop himself from crushing one of the dead men's skull under his boot. 

The crunch calmed him down a little, and he wiped his shoe at one of the other dead bodies. 

Satisfied, Maul turned, and he strode into the alley where Y/N had disappeared, only to see the woman crumble and fall right into his brother's arms. 

"Y/N!" both he and Savage shouted at the same time, full of worry. 

-

When she woke up, she was wrapped in a warm embrace. Her head pounded, and she frowned in pain. 

Where am I? What happened? 

She turned her head only to look straight into Darth Maul's face, the Zabrak she had kissed only a few months ago. 

She blinked, then noticed the arm on her hip didn't belong to Maul. 

A sigh escaped her lips, and she could imagine what had happened. 

It didn't really surprise her to see the brothers, although it probably should have. But it wasn't the first time where they just showed up out of nowhere. 

Y/N breathed out slowly and right when she wanted to sit up, a deep voice muttered: 

"You're awake." 

She turned to her left, Savage's sunflower eyes boring straight into her. 

"Hi", he whispered breathlessly, and she couldn't stop herself from grinning weakly. 

"Kind of a weak greeting, if we think about the fact that we're laying in bed together, wouldn’t you say?" 

The Zabrak's cheeks tinted, and her grin widened. 

The younger brother had a shy side to himself, and she loved it. Mainly because it was such a huge contrast to his tall and intimidating looks. But then he grabbed her hip tighter, and she couldn't stop herself from shrieking. 

His face was suddenly way too close, and he eyed her lips with a somewhat hungry look. 

"Are you suggesting something?", he whispered, and his deep voice resonated in her ears. 

A pleasant shiver ran down her spine but then a voice interrupted them: 

"Savage." 

It was only a single word from his brother, but both the yellow Zabrak and Y/N could hear the threatening undertone and the warning in it. 

She turned again, and Maul squinted his eyes at her. 

"Good to see you too", she mocked, and he lifted an eyebrow. 

"Is it?" 

The mattress dipped behind her when Savage shifted and supported his head on his arm. 

"Would you mind explaining why you drowned yourself in alcohol only to almost get raped?" 

Y/N stiffened, she remembered the last week of feeling unsafe, and she couldn't stop herself from sinking deeper into the bed, her shoulders quivering slightly. 

"I-I was...", she tried to find some words to explain, but the fact that Maul's angry words held so much truth hit her right in the gut. 

She could have been raped. Or kidnapped and killed. 

She remembered her sad attempts of using the force but not succeeding, and she blinked, tears forming in her eyes. She stared at the ceiling of the brother's spaceship, not noticing how Maul's anger turned into worry, and both brothers watched her with burning gazes. 

"Don't worry", said Savage finally, "you're safe now." 

Maul brushed a strand of hair out of her face and Savage wiped her left eye just in case. 

Y/N breathed out slowly, her voice shaky when she muttered: 

"Thanks, guys. I'm really happy to see you again." 

Both Zabrak flashed a grin and then the younger asked: 

"What to sleep some more? You seem to need it." 

She nodded and yawned as if to confirm his words. 

Y/N smiled and warmth spread in her chest, when they wrapped their arms around her again. 

Both brothers simultaneously tilted their heads to give her a kiss on her forehead, but what she didn't notice was the jealous glares they sent each other when they moved back. 

"Sleep some more, Y/N. We got you."

[pogokitten]

Nobody tagged me, but I wanted to throw some of my WIPs out there since STARWS is almost complete and everyone else is going off. Seeing as I don’t have so much free time anymore, I figured I’d gauge opinion in the Irondad fandom on what sort of fics they’d like to see me work on. So here’s a little list with some of stuff I have in progress. 

Rules: Share a list of the stories you’re currently working on, regardless of whether or not you have introduced them on writeblr.

As of yet unnamed villain Irondad and Spiderson AU (multi-chapter VERY SALTY) 

When Captain America and his team dumped HYDRA and SHIELD’s files onto the internet, Peter Parker’s life takes a tragic turn. HYDRA wanted revenge against his parents and they nearly succeeded, leaving Peter as the last Parker alive. And that’s only thanks to his hero, Tony Stark. 

Tony did his best to save what innocent people he could when SHIELD burned, but he and the government were scrambling in the wake of the disaster. He couldn’t save them all but he can do his best to look after the boy he saved. So he hides Peter in plain sight as his biological son well out of their grasp under Iron Man’s direct protection. 

Through the years they grow as father and son. Through ups and downs, injuries and DNA mutating spider bites. And for a while it’s good. Great even. Tony and Peter fit together like a puzzle. Rhodey calls them codependent, but always says it fondly at least even if he’s not wrong. 

Then the Civil War happens and the Avengers ruin everything. 

And well…Tony has always thought of himself as more the villainous type anyway. 

Thankfully Peter didn’t seem to mind. 

Five times having spider DNA sucked, and one of the times it would always be worth it (multi-chapter 5+1)

Exactly what it says on the tin. Peter’s mutated DNA gave him superpowers, but it comes with drawbacks too. Featuring chapters on fast metabolism issues, lack of thermoregulation, and aversion to common insect repellents among other things. All ending in a BAMF Peter chapter. Featuring basically the whole Ironfam and some FOS throughout the fic. 

All in the Name of Science (multi-chapter, like around 3 or 4?)

Peter Parker needs help. 

He’d never thought he’d be a whistleblower, and definitely not when he was only thirteen, but someone has to do something. But this is big, and dangerous. Not to mention, who knows how far it goes? He can’t just take this to the police or the FBI. No, he can think of only one person who can help him, his childhood hero, Tony Stark. Peter’s gotta get this information into the hands of the Avengers before Oscorp and his dad find out he knows too much. 

Or: Richard Parker is one of Oscorp’s best researchers and he’s just as obsessed with genetic manipulation as the CEO. And Peter’s the sort of person who can’t let the horrors he’s seen in his father’s files go on any longer, but he’s in more danger than he may realize. 

JARVIS, Why is the Baby on the Ceiling? (One-shot series)

Peter Edwin Stark is Tony’s pride and joy. The whole parenting thing was a big adjustment, but after three years of raising his son Tony thinks he’s got it figured out. At least until one afternoon he finds his son sitting on the ceiling, content as could be. After the initial heart attack, Tony calls an old school acquaintance for advice. And hopefully a placement at his school.   

Or: a biodad AU oneshot series where Peter is born a mutant. Featuring various members of the X-Men at non-cannon ages and Peter making his dad’s life chaotic with his spider powers. 

Spidey’s a Menace! (One-shot)

This is literally just a “Rhodey meets Peter sometime after Homecoming fic”, but there’s pokemon in the MCU because I have an obsession creating useless themed competitive teams for pokemon. 

Well, I haven’t managed to make any friends in this fandom yet (but I’d like to!) So any one who sees this is welcome to do their own WIPs! Lemme know if any of them caught your eye! 

[hughiecampbelle]

Looking For God (Finn Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Finn

Word Count: 1,356

Inspired By: Starsick by Maude LaTour

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomimagines @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16

A/N: My loves, I've missed writing so much!!! I have to admit, this wasn't really supposed to be anything? I've had fic ideas I've been struggling to properly put into words for weeks, agonizing over them, but this was just mindless writing to a song until I connected a few dots and made a plot :) I'm also *so close* to 200 fics and it’s just really exciting!!! Anyways, I hope you like this my loves! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

You tried to find God in him. Bits and pieces shining through that rare smile of his. Dusted in the freckles kissed across his skin. Flashed across his eyes when he was trying to figure the world out all by himself. You caught yourself staring at him a little too long, a little too often. Maybe God sat in the blush of his cheeks, the raise of his eyebrow, in the questions he spoke, wondering why you were watching with such intent. Maybe not God, not exactly, but something greater than yourselves, something bigger, someone to look over you with a plan. There had to be something, someone. You hoped so, at least. Otherwise there was no course for what this big thing everyone called "life". All of you rats in a maze with no one to direct you, no one to change your course, to set it for you. The thought of infinite ideas, plans, choices, outcomes, the thought of an infinite in itself suffocating, but freeing. Part of you wished you'd caught a glimpse, a hint of something under the surface. The other part feared whatever it was you might see, wanting things to stay exactly as they are now, in this breath, this very second of time.

To rewrite it all, that's all you ever wanted. A small request. Your futures already set in stone whether or not you agreed. Set by your blood, your roots, the people who raised you, with a God complex of their own. The older you grew, the greater that cloud darkened. You made the mistake of growing up at all. A young adult. Expected to nod, smile, shoo the same way a child would, the same way you used to. Expected to carry yourself as an adult, to be proper, well behaved. All the things you ever loved, you ever wanted from the world with the time you had left on it, washed away in the rain, left in the garden to rot, become part of the soft Earth. A ring. A vow. A martial bed and a partner til you were thrown into your inevitable grave, where you shared a plot. Arranged as a child. Every birthday, every new year, every passing day, hour, minute, second inching, crawling closer to the unstoppable. Inescapable. Certain as the day you were born and the day you would die, written in a history willing to leave your mind behind with billions of others.

It didn't matter to him though, because he couldn't read.

A revolution. Four letters, powerful enough to cause wars. L. O. V. E. Was this what that is? The running around, the fumbling, stumbling, sick feeling every time you thought about him. Is this what it looked like? Felt like? Was this what too many spent their lives pining after? To them, it was light, fluffy, warm, a hug that would never let go, a pair of arms that caught you every time you fell. They knew. Yours was full of guilt, excitement, rebellion, it was hands pressed against your back, pushing you out of the nest before you learned to fly. It left questions unanswered, stirred you from a restful night sleep on his chest in a fit of worry, of regret. A burden. It made his touch burn, setting your skin on fire, your head so full of doubt you forgot how to breathe. He was always there to calm you, hold you when you felt yourself slipping away, hush you when your screams were too loud. Uncontrollable. Surely this couldn't be that kind of love. It wasn't simple, it wasn't magical, it didn't fix all the broken parts of yourselves, slowing down the things you tried so desperately to run away from. It was the opposite. Complicated, messy, bringing all your worries, your regrets, to the forefront of your mind.

Whatever it was though, you never wanted it to stop.

You weren't dating. You couldn't, you were already engaged, but it was close. If there was ever a word for it, that's what you were. He was different from the rest. There was something about him, in him, something that made his eyes see the world as you did. It was a rare find, and you weren't willing to let go so easy. Spirited, stubborn, a cynical, sarcastic boy you couldn't help but find yourself drawn to. Lazy smiles, sideways grins, to understand him was effortless, painless, simple. He was uncomplicated. Despite his family, his name, all the expectations that followed behind him like a shadow, like a neglected dog following its first source of security, all someone had to do was listen to find out there was someone beneath the gunpowder and cap. You warned him, from the beginning, from the start, before he could get a second look at you, that the rest of your life had been decided. That was a fate he was aware of. Still, he pushed it away, pretending you could be kids for a little while longer. When you brought it up, laying together under the stars, stumbling home after a night of drinking, even quietly in the early morning, under the sheets, waiting for the house to grow quiet before he could sneak out, he didn't want to hear it.

You weren't his. He knew that, but he didn't have to he reminded.

Everything fell apart, though. A spring wedding, as your families planned, the date growing closer. He'd been more distant, looking for any distraction, his mind lost in bottles, in snow, in mindless bloodshed. He couldn't show you how hurt he really was, not when he'd been warned, not when he knew it was his fault for letting himself get burned playing with fire. He couldn't help it, though. You weren't sure you'd see him before the wedding, understanding when he avoided you. Pretending to be kids, pretending life wasn't so tangled, it was all in your imagination. There was no stopping the ticking of the clock. Time was never on your side, it wasn't on anyone's, turning generations to dust for the fun of it. Staggering, his eyes playing games, the cobblestone closer than he remembered. By the time he made his way to your house, his palms were raw, red, scraped up from his drunken falls. Throwing rocks against your window the night before you walked down the aisle. It was stupid, impulsive, reckless, he was being thoughtless and inconsiderate, but if he didn't say it now, if he couldn't spit it up, he'd never fucking forgive himself.

Pen in hand, he was going to rewrite the future. Revise it.

You looked for God in his hands, palms bandaged, wrapped around the steering wheel. Searched in the bags beneath his eyes. Watched for a sign in the smile lines beginning to set in his face, ones that deepened with every light laugh and chuckle he offered on the drive. Sober now, but just as foolish. Your mother would knock on the door, address you with their last name, her dreams of your big day coming true. When the bed was empty, nothing left but a note and a ring, she'd cry for your father. Search your room. As much as you could pack stuffed inside a suitcase, it slept in the back seat beneath his own. A stolen car, a letter of his own, the two of you leaving behind all the projections put on your shoulders. You weren't sure where you were going. First stop, London, after that, the story went unwritten. You could go anywhere, do anything, be anybody, and you could do it with him. Windows down, the air warm, insects buzzing, trees swaying. It was all too inviting, reminding you it was a time of new, of healing.

You weren't sure if this was love.

You weren't sure everything would work out.

You weren't sure what life would look like now.

But you knew, whatever was out there, whatever source or power was watching over you, it knew you were happy with Finn. This was it's plan all along, he was part of your plan all along.

[moonwaif]

Work in Progress Wednesday: “Seven Year Itch”

Sharing my progress on a oneshot I’ve in drafts for a long, long time.

Summary: Seven years after Noct’s disappearance, the kids are not all right.

Pairings: Gladnis, Promptis

Tags:

Bitter exes who are still in love with each other

Angst

Prompto is injured and the bros give him some much needed TLC

Gladio gets vulnerable (eventually)

Trigger warnings: suicide mention, depression, suicidal ideology

----------

Prompto's first perception of the afterlife is a splitting headache. This isn't a total surprise, since he's spent his last three days of existence on a bender. What’s more surprising is that he can't move, or see, and that he seems to be at the scene of what sounds like a lover's quarrel. 

Or more accurately, an ex-lover's quarrel. 

"Oh, okay. So this is my fault then, is it?" The voice is gravelly, familiar. "Well if any of you actually bothered to tell me anything, I might have had time to get there first." 

"Well if you ever bothered to answer your phone, Gladiolus, it might be easier to actually tell you!"

"Right, because reception is so reliable these days. I can't control the satellites, Ignis." 

If Prompto could move, he would rol. his eyes. Is this really his fate—to float suspended in nothingness while Gladio and Ignis hashed out their petty differences right over his deathbed? How disappointing. He'd been expecting more from death—some peace and quiet, at the very least. But ten again, why should his death be any less disappointing than his life? 

'That's always been your problem,' he thinks dismally. 'Unrealistic expectations.' 

A harsh sigh. "There's no use in arguing about it now. What's done is done. All's left to do is wait and see if his condition improves." 

"Hmph. Good thing Cindy had an elixir left, or he'd be a goner for sure. Where'd she manage to get that thing, anyway?" 

"An original she'd been saving, from before." 

"Huh. Explains why it worked so fast. They really don't make 'em like they used to." 

"Yes," Ignis replies softly. "Indeed." 

Prompto's heart sinks. So he isn't dead after all. On top of that, they’ve wasted an entire elixir on him—an elixir that could have been used on someone else who actually deserved it. This really is the worst possible timeline.

"What the hell was he thinking?" The sound of a fist slamming. "I mean, I know this time of year is always kind of rough on 'im, but this was a suicide mission." 

Ignis exhales sharply. "That's exactly what it may have been, I'm afraid." 

"What? No. You're not saying . . ." 

Prompto doesn't like this. He doesn't want to listen to them speculate and dissect his private thoughts like so many insects under a microscope—like a lab specimen. It reminds him of the way they all used to sit around and whisper about Noct when they thought he was asleep, or when he lingered in the bathroom. Time to talk about Noct's feelings, how he was handling things, his lack of appetite, the pained murmurs in his sleep, and didn't it seem like the headaches were getting worse lately--? 

No wonder Noct had hated it. 

"You shouldn't talk like that, Iggy," Gladio says at last. He sounds a little scared. Uncertain. 

"You heard what Cindy said, Gladio. About the refugees." 

A heavy silence. "Yeah." 

"I should have been more attentive." Iggy's voice is tight and harsh, like it hurts to speak. It makes Prompto feel nauseous. "If I had only returned from Lestallum as soon as I'd heard, then maybe--" 

"Hey. Don't do that. This isn't your fault. That outpost needed you." 

"So did Prompto." A brief pause, then, "How did you know about the outpost?" 

A chair creaking. Prompto imagines Gladio shifting, embarrassed. "Word gets around." 

"Does it? Strange—we move in the same circles, yet so rarely encounter one another in the field. I wonder how long it's been since the three of us have all been together like this." 

"Little over two years," Gladio rumbles softly—a reluctant confession. "That camp right outside Ravatogh." 

"Ah. Yes." 

Prompto hears shame in their silence. He knows they're remembering everything, just like he is. He can still taste the blood in his mouth, feel Gladio's hand on his lower back as he spit up thick ropes of saliva onto the cracked pavement. The anger—the disappointment—the grief washes over Prompto now as he lays, immobilized. Like it all happened two weeks ago, instead of two years. 

"Listen, Iggy." Gladio's voice is infuriatingly subdued, like he actually has the right to wallow in his own emotions right now, or something. "I've been thinking . . ." 

"Oh dear. That's not good." 

"I'm being serious," he grumbles. "Look. I know that I . . . messed up. I let you guys down, big time." 

"The past is the past," Ignis murmurs. Prompto suddenly feels a surge of anger for him, too. When Gladio left, Iggy was a complete mess. He couldn't sleep, he threw himself into work with a desperate abandon. Prompto used to have to remind him to eat. So why is he trying to act all cool and poised about it now? 

"It's not the past," Gladio answers quickly. "Not for me."  

Ignis says nothing. A rapid tapping ensues. Gladio must be jiggling his foot.   

"I don't expect you to forgive me," he continues. “I’m not asking for that. But I wanted to tell you, not a day goes by I don't regret what I did. I know I'm not really around, but I never stop thinking about you guys. I never stop thinking about you, Iggy. I . . . well shit, I never even stopped l--" 

"Are you okay, Ignis?" 

A third voice, but one that Prompto recognizes—one that he knows Ignis recognizes, too. 

"Yes, thank you, Aeleus. Was there something you needed?" 

"It's late. I just . . . wanted to check up on you." 

"Ah. Yes, well, I appreciate the concern, but please don't stay up any later on my account. You have an early hunt tomorrow. You should rest." 

"All right. I'll see you back at the house." 

There's scoffing, followed by heavy footfalls coming from Gladio's direction. It doesn't take a wild imagination to know that the glares being tossed around the room are sharper than the Star of the Rogue. Ignis remains neutral. 

"Good night, Aeleus." 

A pause, then the door shuts. Gladio at least has the decency to wait until the footsteps have retreated before he lays in. 

"That supposed to be my replacement? What a downgrade." 

"His name is Aeleus," Ignis says coldly, "and he's a friend with whom I occasionally spar and share a good book." 

"Sparring and reading? Yeah right. I know how that goes." 

"I must ask you to refrain from being so crude." 

"Why? I've heard way dirtier things come out of that pretty little mouth of yours." 

"Because you don't have a right!" 

There it is, Prompto thinks with some relief—the anger. It laces Ignis's words like venom. 

"You don't have the right," he says again. "To waltz back in, to dredge up the past. To pry into my personal affairs. As if I should feel ashamed over having someone who likes to read to me, who eats my cooking, to train with, and yes, who fucks me when I bloody well feel like it!" 

Prompto can hear the sound of distant voices. The night shift, he thinks vaguely; they must be getting ready to patrol. 

"Let me guess." Gladio is unexpectedly calm, almost resigned. "You haven't told him about us." 

Ignis sniffs. "Do you ever tell any of your paramours about me?" 

"Does he make you happy?" 

"At least he's here." 

Prompto's eyelids flutter open. 

The light is glaring. 

[Draft ends here]

Thanks for reading~~

[dogbearinggifts]

Secret Alphabets

Umbrella Academy: Klaus/Dave

Author’s note: After reading this awesome post  calling attention to Dave’s obvious infatuation in the club scene, I thought about it for a while, especially about Klaus as the object of desire, the one being pined for rather than the one doing the pining (which, as @greenandhazy points out, is quite the departure from what we usually see when a main character meets their love interest. So, that’s what informed this oneshot here. 

Also tagging @lovinglydiego—if I tagged the wrong blog, let me know and I’ll change it.

“So there I was, chocolate pudding all over my cheeks, all up my ass crack, and all I could think was God, I am so fucking hungry right now.” 

Dave laughed. Not the insincere laugh of a pseudo-friend waiting to see how useful he’d wind up being, not the silence and rolled eyes of his siblings—a real one that tipped his head back toward the ceiling. Klaus had been smiling before, but he found himself laughing too. 

“So what’d you do?” 

“Waited for it to dry, peeled it off.” Klaus took a sip of his drink. Alcohol didn’t quite keep the ghosts at bay, not as well as drugs did, but it could quiet them enough to hear his own thoughts. “And let me tell you, that is not something I’d wish on…okay, maybe I’d wish it on a few people.” 

Dave laughed again. “No, I mean, did you?” 

“Did I….oh! Did I eat chocolate pudding off my own ass?” 

“Yeah. You said you were hungry.” 

“Nope. I learned an important lesson that day.” 

“Which is?” 

He took another sip. “That I do have standards after all.” 

“Really.” 

From Luther or Allison, that would have been an insult, a small verbal slap to remind him that what he’d said was a lie. But from Dave, it was the same sort of good-natured jab he might level at any other soldier in their platoon. “Sure I do! I mean, they’re low, but I’ve got ‘em.” 

“Well,” Dave said, leaning against the wall, “glad they’re not too high.” 

Klaus’ stomach fluttered, then twisted. Three different responses, ranging from flirtatious to borderline pornographic, popped into his head, but he didn’t dare voice any of them. Not for any uncertainty on his part—the looks Dave had given him, the ease with which he’d linked his arm through his, the way he stood close enough that Klaus could feel the warmth of his skin through his sleeve, left little doubt toward Dave’s preference. He could retort with any of the three quips he’d thought of—or the far filthier fourth one he’d just come up with—and had a feeling Dave would reply in kind. 

That was the problem. 

Klaus knew he’d let the silence go on too long, filled though it was by the music and mingled hum of dozens of conversations and dancing feet. Part of him would have been content to stand there beside Dave, feeling the closeness of him and drawing comfort from it, but he’d a hunch that any more silence would invite Dave to fill it with a more overt remark than his last. 

“Still no word from home?” 

Klaus gazed down at his drink, tried to resist a sip, and took one anyway. “If they did send me something, it’d probably just be a picture of them all flipping me the bird.” 

“Huh.” 

Letters from home weren’t common, but each man in Klaus’ platoon had received at least one since being shipped out—a few after that briefcase dropped him into their tent, most before that point. Klaus had made the mistake of mentioning that he’d never gotten a single letter since arriving in country, and while he’d had the good sense to be vague about how long that had been, he’d still made himself an object of curiosity for the others. 

No. Not curiosity. Pity. It was quiet, the sort that didn’t often surface in scattered remarks or louder exclamations, but he felt it all the same, pressing around him like the humid heat of the jungle whenever the topic of families surfaced. Each man in his platoon projected it to varying degrees, but it was always strongest coming from Dave. 

“What about your brother….Diego?” 

“Ah, c’mon. Guy’s got a busy schedule, pretending he doesn’t have a family.” 

Not that Klaus could blame him; he’d done much the same. Then again, if Diego vanished for weeks with no word, no one would assume he’d OD’d for the last time in some seedy backroom or alley or coded in an ambulance accompanied by exasperated paramedics unable to revive him. 

“Tell you what,” Dave said, and Klaus looked to him, saw him with his elbow propped against the wall. “I’ll tell my mom to meet us both once we get back to the States. Let her know I’m bringing a friend.” 

Klaus smiled. The notion of returning at the same time as someone you’d met out in the jungle—let alone knowing you’d return at all—was a dream. His first brush with enemy gunfire had been enough to tell him that, even without the mangled ghosts of former brothers in arms to scream the same warning. That first spray of bullets alone had made the notion of dashing for Hazel and Cha-Cha’s briefcase at the first sign of serious trouble look like the world’s worst joke. 

But unlike some dreams, this was one he liked. The thought of being shipped back with Dave, of sitting beside him on a train or whatever else he’d take back to the city from which they both hailed—it was one he could entertain for hours, one he’d hold onto long after the many rips and tears in the logic of it threatened to swallow the daydream whole. 

“No, I’m serious. I’ll let her know you’re coming, make sure she’s waiting. Tell her to bring more cookies.” 

“Fresh ones this time?” 

Dave laughed again. Klaus could listen to that laugh for hours. “If Mom saw the state of those cookies when they got here, she’d buy a ticket to the White House and give Johnson a piece of her mind.” 

Johnson. Right. Old Lyndon B. was president here in 1968. “Didn’t you say you wrote her already?” 

“Ah, yeah. Forgot about that.” Dave grinned. “Now that she’s good and mad about what the Army did to her cookies, the war should be over any day now.” 

The cookies had been little more than stale crumbs and broken pieces when Dave opened the package from home. Even so, the box had summoned every man in that tent like moths to a light bulb, set them hovering around awaiting their turn to snatch a handful of cookie pieces. Klaus hadn’t expected Dave to call him over, too—he was the new guy, after all—but after weeks of legendary Army food and tepid water flavored with iodine and grainy with the bodies of insects it had killed, those stale crumbs had tasted like heaven. 

He noticed Dave moving closer without raising his head, didn’t flinch as he ran a hand through his hair. The thought of what he should do occurred after that first touch, and by then Klaus could only close his eyes. 

Dave’s hand cupped the back of his head, pulled him closer. Not forcefully, not with any sort of coercion, but softly, in invitation. 

“Nobody’s gonna catch us.” 

Klaus opened his eyes. Dave’s voice was just audible over the somewhat muffled music, but it was the note of consolation that got his attention. His smile had turned gentle, comforting. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, and it wouldn’t take much to finish the job. 

“It’s okay.” Dave moved a few inches closer, not quite close enough to press his body against his but close enough for Klaus to imagine how it would feel. “Or we can head somewhere a little more private, if you want.” 

Klaus bit back an eager reply. “Dave, I….” 

Fingers brushed through his hair again, and Klaus resisted the urge to trace the line of Dave’s jaw. 

“What?” The question was gentle, like one of those breezes just strong enough to cool the air. “Klaus, what’s wrong?” 

“Why?” 

Dave’s smile had faded a bit, but it curled ever closer toward a frown and Klaus spoke quickly. 

“I mean—why me?” 

“What do you mean, why you?” 

Klaus blinked. For a moment, he nearly brought all the unspoken things out into the light, but he didn’t know where to begin or what Dave had guessed already, if he was still wrapped up in the Maybe he has a problem stage or if he was already on his way to Even a fucking war zone can’t keep this guy clean. Whatever the case, he’d know sooner rather than later. 

Back in the present, or the future, or whatever the hell it was, Klaus wouldn’t have cared. He hadn’t cared with Antonio, or Alessio—he couldn’t recall which name he’d been given at introduction; all he remembered was a pretty face and a place to sleep, delicious osso bucco and a decaying sense of optimism—a belief that there was some good in him, good that Antonio or Alessio or whoever he was could fan into greatness once Klaus stopped longing for the next high. 

Three weeks. Three weeks under his roof, in his bed, and Klaus couldn’t remember his name. 

“Why not you?” 

Klaus could have offered a list—alphabetized, or in order of importance—but the look in Dave’s eyes kept the list in his head, kept any further words there too. 

There was tenderness in that glance—a tenderness he’d seen before, but never so pure, unmitigated by any flicker of disappointment or longing. It wasn’t the kind of look that tried to stare past what he was, what he’d depended on since his teens and what he’d done to get it, to see a few sparks of beauty and kindness underneath. No, from the way Dave looked at him, all of that alleged goodness was all he saw. He looked at Klaus as if Klaus was fun and joy and love and everything else he deserved. 

Dave leaned in closer, and Klaus knew he ought to pull away. Duck out of his embrace, head back out into the club and leave Dave alone. A little disappointment now would save him from far more heartbreak down the road. 

Dave touched his lips to his. 

It was a gentle kiss, so soft and subdued that for an instant all Klaus felt was the pleasant warmth of Dave’s lips; but soon he was aware of nothing but Dave, the scent and taste and feel of him, of being pulled closer and closer but still not close enough. He didn’t want it to end, didn’t want the moment to pass, wanted to freeze time and stay forever if it would keep Dave there. 

Too soon, Dave pulled back. Klaus watched that same smile tug at his lips, breath trembling as Dave’s hand brushed his hair, his cheek. For an instant, just an instant, it looked as if Dave might say something; but soon it faded back into a smile so warm Klaus had the sudden urge to cry. 

Love. The word sprang to mind with an ease that surprised him. He hadn’t heard it often, hadn’t said it often, yet there it was, written all over Dave’s face, in his touch. He didn’t understand it. Couldn’t explain it, couldn’t guess at why it existed. He could only return it….or reject it. 

Without a word, with scarcely a thought, Klaus pulled Dave close and kissed him again. 

[dentelle-grise]

Your Latest Trick - Chapter 25

Long after everyone has stopped talking about Loki and his misdemeanors, his failed attempt to take over Midgard and his punishment, you meet him at a party.(Loki x Reader NSFW) -

First chapter here (can be read as a oneshot) All chapters to date at AO3 (64K, NC-17)

Tagging my rebloggers, commenters and other folk who asked. Please let me know if you want in (or out) of the list: @joanbushur, @frenchfrostpudding, @lovely-geek, @wolfsmom1, @sigridlaufeyson, @lokislonelylady, @monitoroutside, @daniissuchadani, @devilbat, @deadlydreamersecrets @helenisabel, @stardustandangelsfanfiction, @ely-seum, @wendyrobson1978, @the-ships-i-ship, @shemart101, @dreamourbrainout, @sadghostomg, @lokilover2000, @blobfishington, @lynneth1968-blog, @deaddecade, @nardo94, @tom-fucking-hiddleston-1981, @ashesandfire, @imagines-of-the-fandom​, @beingrandomisfun​, @tomsragnarok, @skulliebythesea 

Chapter 25

You don’t expect Loki to still be in your quarters when you finally come in from the balcony.

You wait until you’ve calmed down, till you’ve sucked back the tears from the brink. You’re battling a furious mix of frustration and self-directed anger. What if you’d told Papa back there. You half wish you had. He’d have believed you too, but then what would Loki have done? Evaporated to never be seen again?

You feel like he’s toying with you and you’ve been too blinded by desire to see it. He’s not serious and this masquerade will go on until the day you’re caught.

Could that be that he wants?

It's a long time before your blood has cooled and by then you're more sad than anything else.

You lied again, if only by omission, and feel more trapped than ever. Papa’s words you don’t recall exactly, but he was offering help. And you lied to him.

You creep back through the bathroom and push the door to the bedroom.

Loki is very much still there. You stop, short, shocked at the sight.

He’s completely naked, standing right in the middle of the room. Though he’s facing away from you, his hands stretched up above his head, you are sure he knows you’re there.

Your eyes follow his long legs, the elegant curve of his hips and up his back, pausing on the scar. He’s waiting for a reaction and then you realize what’s odd.

He’s tied his own hands from the ceiling, doubtless by magic, and it pulls him up so that he seems even taller than usual.

“Loki?”

What is this?

He just laughs. Nothing’s wrong. He intended this.

He turns enough that you see his face and that's when you also see he has a strip of black satin covering his eyes.

Not entirely naked then.

You take a gulp of air, your focus suddenly realigned.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

His hands are attached just high enough to force him onto his toes. He shifts constantly to maintain his balance. It looks uncomfortable, but then he put himself there and could surely break free in an instant if he chose to.

"Guess." he says hoarsely. “Use your imagination.” you watch him swallow. His own is definitely already at work.

“I trust you. Just. Do as you feel with me.”

This blows away every prior thought, or rather the frustration and anger might just have found an outlet.

You think you know what this is now. Loki doesn’t ever apologize outright. This much you’ve learnt. He half tortured you with pleasure earlier, not to mention the humiliation. And now he’s offering you some sort of revenge in kind.

If he weren’t blindfolded, he’d see how this throws you off balance, how it makes you fluster and blush to the roots of your hair.

He probably knows though, that’s why he grins so as he swings around in your direction. It makes you want to take him down a peg or two.

Then, you know exactly what you are going to do. Silently you step over and take the quill from your desk.

You creep up and, without touching him anywhere else, start to stroke the feather over one of his nipples, making him hiss and shudder. You concentrate on flicking the one nipple repeatedly until it’s pebbled and hard and its twin has done the same in sympathy. You know you’ve got him thinking of your first time, of what this did to you, commanding the feather by magic, and that such thoughts amplify his own reactions. He twists and shivers under your ministrations. With half his face hidden you can’t see his reaction but he certainly lets you hear it, making little ‘oh-oh-ohs’, sighs, whimpers, while you calmly paint his skin with the feather.

You don’t relent. Loki makes gasps of growing intensity until it’s too much and he starts to swing himself from his bonds, trying to trap you with his legs.

You just dodge, taking advantage of the fact he can’t see you. He has given you the advantage, but when you laugh he knows exactly where you are and he’s so quick that he nearly catches you. He blindly knocks over a chair and kicks the sofa in his efforts and you start to wonder if the ceiling will hold.

You back away, out of reach. Then, giving no warning, you lunge and catch him instead, burying your face in his belly and nipping. It works far better than you could have expected. He lets out a bitten off cry and comes almost instantly all over the both of you, dragging in air between spasms and letting out a broken stream of praise and curses till finally he utters a word you don’t recognize at all. His bonds break and he falls into your arms, all but knocking you over.

You sag under his weight and gently slip together to the floor, where you untie the blindfold. Underneath you see an expression still more naked than the rest of him. He looks totally unguarded and lost. When you notice the tracks of tears you want to put the slip of cloth right back for modesty’s sake, but fascination stays your hand.

“Loki, do really like being…?” You wave the blindfold a second, “…bound, helpless.” It seems incredible, given the way he’s capable of utterly owning you physically.

“Not in the slightest.” He says, regaining some composure. It sounds offhand but contradicts all immediate evidence. “I’m never helpless.” He the last word ends in a dirty chuckle that goes right through you. Then, more seriously, he says, “I only want to give myself to you.”

There follows a clean up session of decadent proportions, involving two successive baths - the first time you dried one another things became too heated and finished in full out lovemaking on the bathroom floor. You didn’t realize how wound up you were just from watching him, how easily he could tip the balance.

Afterwards, as you lie on the bed, his head pillowed on your stomach, his expression hidden from you, he promises you will see your parents and Odin together. Then he shifts up nuzzles into your neck, holding you, and whispering about how it will all be alright, he’ll see to it.

You’re infused with relief, even though he sounds apprehensive, or perhaps because of he does - who wouldn’t be?

This is a major victory, even though he has made no mention of when such a meeting might happen. It’s finally going to happen. You’re going to make this real. Loki will announce his return to the world and it will be the end of all the hiding and lying and weirdness. The future is vertiginous with possibilities.

You go about thanking him and celebrating it all at the same time, your movements slow but not hesitant. You don’t want to talk of it more. It’s scary. You want to show him through kisses and touches, how pleased you are that finally, finally you’re going to take this step together.

It’s supposed to be affectionate rather than passionate, but soon kissing isn’t enough. He reaches his hand lower and you willingly accept. Then fixing you in the eye he smirks.

“How many times, I wonder?” he asks in a voice feigning innocence.

“What?” though you think you’ve guessed;

“How many times could I make you come in one night?”

It sounds loving, cheeky. It’s a romantic idea.

In practice, it’s a crazy idea. If you thought he was trying to kill you out there on the battlements that was nothing.

He starts gently, fingers and lips all over you. He’s painstakingly careful not to do anything to hurt you and with his own lust sated he’s fully in control. Usually you’re satisfied with once, impressed with any more, but even alone you have never experimented to know where the limit lies.

Then, with his tongue pressed deep inside you, he caresses your breasts blindly but exquisitely above his head. You have a view of the top of his head but, when he looks up and gives you a flash of those eyes, your whole body jolts. His gaze pins you emotionally, if you weren’t already pinned physically.

Your body knows the way, when he re-engages, the expectation is there, the path beaten, this time you race down it into the wall of orgasm.

“You are just so lovely like this.” He murmurs as you lay there panting.

He is dedicated to his mission but you as you come down and his caresses resume, you also start to have a creepy feeling that this is a kind of experiment for him. The fascination in his face is more than sexual, its academic, which is not to say it isn’t carnal or that perhaps it’s even more erotic because his intellectual curiosity is piqued as well.

You are like some specimen he has collected and is now playing with. You try hard not to think of boys and the terrible tortures they subject insects to. Fortunately he choses that moment to bite you on the hip in passing and all such ideas disappear.

He moves you onto you side and works from behind you, hidden, reduced to the sensation he creates and his words. When you cry out raggedly, he hushes you like an animal that needs to be calmed. You don’t need to be calmed. Not at all, you want more of him, but most of all the part of him that’s scheming and reasoning and watching, a step back from what he’s actually doing.

You want to make him lose it and watch it happen, now that would be beautiful.

You close your eyes imagining that happening, him coming, that half troubled look he gets sometimes, just before… That’s what pushes you over the edge again, and this time its like you keep on falling.

You can hear him telling you how good you are how beautiful you are, how he loves to see you like this and all the time he persists, stimulating you any way he can until it happens again and you shudder, grasping the sheets the air, anything.

Bit by bit he’s chasing away your thought and reason, until there is only the want and the living, writhing, growing thing that drags you toward another climax. Oversensitive and eager, it gets easier and easier for you to fall over that edge, the reality of the situation is slipping away, and as he comes into view he seems enthralled.

And all the time he denies himself. It waits there, like so much latent anger, ready to trap him. Your altered state gives you an odd kind of clarity, one focused on him alone. Under the surface is something driving him, something angry, something hurt. It’s like a need to lay waste. It would be frightening were it not for your utter trust, instead you feel a thrill.

When watching you has become too much he pins you to the wall with magic so that you are suspended just inches from the floor. You feel weightless. Like this, his hands free to fondle you as he takes you. He’s never been so demanding, nor so giving and the moment he enters you is pure bliss. Your world narrows to your own heat, everything stemming from that one place he’s now relentlessly plundering. It’s like all that went before was nothing but a prelude to this.

He’s being loud but you don’t understand his words, it’s just noise but the tone is one of adulation. On and on it goes, so that there are no long peaks and valleys but a never-ending plateau of pleasure.

But then gives a broken cry unlike any you’ve heard from him yet and you wonder through the fog in your mind if he’s alright and try pull him to you, though your limbs are too weak to obey and he just leans on you shaking. You can feel the carpet under you feet, though you don’t recall him breaking the spell. You croon to him and stroke and kiss him until he calms, his body damp with sweat against your and still sparking reactions wherever you touch.

You struggle back to the bed and lie silent a moment. Its not the warm lethargy you expected, more an insatiable over-awareness. It’s a floating dreamlike state where you feel cushioned from everything but where the slightest touch anywhere on your body is almost too much. Loki strokes your hand touching the fingers one by on and you twist yourself against him. It feels like like the most intimate thing he could be doing when he’s only caressing your little finger.

“You’re unstoppable.” he sighs, tucked under your arm and the vibrations of the words go through you like waves

“I lost count.” you say, surprised you can still form words. It feels like an apology, but question really makes no sense anymore. He seems to take it as a complement though and pulls you closer. You can feel a pleasurable vibration from him like he was humming to you. After a few moments you realize he is softly snoring.

You sleep late, unbothered by the sunlight creeping behind the curtains, and wake alone, of course. You’ve all but missed the morning and you’re ravenous.

You move slowly, full of delicious aches and pains. There’s no chance that you could catch Loki if you had to run after him today. But then you guess he isn’t moving too quickly this morning either and that idea makes you smile.

But still he was up and about before you and evaded all discussion of the meeting with Odin and your parents. The idea of it makes you nervous too, despite your readiness.

One thing at a time then. First you’ll see Papa, right away if you can. You’ll explain everything that’s happened and put yesterday right. That way, he’ll ease the way with Mother. Her reaction to your ‘beau’s’ identity you cannot predict. When it comes to seeing Odin he’ll help too. You’ll have an ally. However you decide you’ve no need to mention Loki’s presence yesterday.

When you emerge from your chambers it’s clear there’s something special going on. There’s flags out and music coming from the main esplanade. The palace gates are open and everyone in sight is busy going places, carrying things, food especially, decorations, what looks like parts of a movable stage/ You’ve been so distracted lately that if an event planned for today then you completely missed knowing what it is and you’ve been so occupied that you wouldn’t have heard it on the grapevine.

But from the atmosphere this doesn’t look prepared. There’s stress as well as bustle, a kind of hyperactive excitement. What’s all the fuss about? An unexpected visit perhaps. Has Odin finally invited the elven dignitaries? Your mind falls again to that face, ‘her’. You can’t let this complicate things.

Papa is not in the treasury as you hoped. No doubt he is taken with the preparations too.

The advantage of the hubbub is that no one pays attention to you and you simply observe. Odin must be busy with the visitors, and Loki is who knows where. You feel a bit peaked. There’s little chance you’ll be able to them both today. You wander about in rather in a haze for while, beset by flashes, of last night.

There are hastily erected marquees and the inevitable bunting in the marketplace and the central city seems invaded by stalls and hawkers of all kinds like on a public holiday.

You buy yourself a pasty, a large one, and devour it with relish there in the street while the vendor, chubby and raucous in a straining striped apron, watches. Because you were clearly enjoying it and hadn’t bothered moving away from the stall as you ate, he embarrassingly draws attention to you as he calls out to all and sundry about how tasty his wares are.

“What’s the big event?” you interrupt between mouthfuls, glad to see Asgard looking more like its old self. The semblance of normality and joyous atmosphere help you to set your mind on something else for a moment than your concerns and the ghosts of Loki’s touches.

“The prince has returned.” You stop munching and stare at him. Already? Loki has revealed his survival to the whole of Asgard while you were sleeping! You grin and nearly drop the food.

“He has prevailed over the forces of darkness and the King is throwing a party. But you come from the palace, didn’t you know?”

You laugh nervously. “I slept late and missed the news.”

You take another large bite, a good excuse to to answer any questions.

“They say he’s brought the mortal.” He says behind his hand. “So, there could be another reason to celebrate…” he goes on excitedly, so focused on imparting the news that he pays no attention to your evident confusion. “A royal engagement!”

“The mortal?” You say dumbly.

“The Lady Jane.”

You rally. He’s talking about Thor, of course he’s talking about Thor. But Loki had said Thor was busy defending Midgard.

“Already!?” It must have been an easy triumph. You don’t know if it’s relief for Thor or disappointment that this is not Loki’s celebration.

“Well they don’t live so long do they? He can’t afford to hang around.”

You half-heartedly look for Asta, checking your favorite haunts while the crowd swells around you. You want to have it out with her about yesterday. Although you can’t tell her the truth yet, at least you can find out what’s got into her, what she meant by that parting look.

You make your way back to the palace. It might even be better like this, like this not all the focus will be on Loki when he reappears. On second thoughts something tells you he might prefer not to share the attention with Thor. You only wonder why Loki and Odin hadn’t told Thor already about Loki’s survival. Perhaps that’s where Loki is now, seeing his brother, but who knows how things really stand between those two.

Back within the palace walls you make for Asta’s quarters but your path is blocked by a group of courtiers moving toward the throne room. Papa is not among them, but mother is! She spots you at the very same moment you see her.

The group is murmuring nervously, obviously about to see the King, you want to back off, but Mother gives an excited cry on seeing you and runs over.

To your embarrassment, everyone stares as she hugs you demonstratively and calls you her dear girl, which is almost unknown for her - how can this day get any stranger? - before thankfully pulling you away into a cloistered walkway.

“Well, you certainly know how to keep a secret. To think.”

So that’s it. Loki really didn’t wait for you. But a least you think, taking in her jubilance and shining eyes, she not unhappy with the idea. You think you can forgive him.

“We would never have guessed. But what wondrous news.” She pulls back and holds you at arms length just looking you over and smiling, glowing almost. “I am so proud. Who would have thought, my little girl, a queen.”

“What?! But…” You had thought perhaps that Thor’s prolonged absence on Midgard might mean he no longer wanted the throne but there was nothing official. That would have left no heir. But now there was Loki. And if you were with Loki…

“I admit I did fear it was a bit soon. But there’s no time like the present. Just what Asgard needs, some good news. You’ll make the family proud and the nation strong. When will you announce your engagement?”

“Engagement?!”.

Mother hushes you. “I knew it was serious when I saw you at the armory. You just didn’t have the words to tell me. Did you.” She’s being infuriatingly condescending. “But you know, you weren’t very discreet were you now!!”

“We were seen? People know?”

“Your little secret is out, or should I say your big secret - The king was seen outside your chambers.”

The King!!!

“No!!!”

Not Loki but Odin? You don’t speak out a second time, the shock and incomprehension on your face is enough to stop her.

“Oh ho.” This seems to make her even happier. “You thought you’d kept it quiet?”

“I’m not-”

“Oh I know you’re weren’t galavanting and Odin would not… treat a woman that way.”

“We played chess, what twice, and Papa was even there the second time.” you protest.

“Chess, that’s a sweet way to put it.” And she smiles even more patronizing, this time with a glint in her eye. She has always been an affirmed royalist, and despite Odin’s crazy experiments she still seems to support him wholeheartedly. “I’m glad you have finally shown sufficient brains to make a good marriage. Well, not just good.” She adds tapping you affectionately on the arm “The finest.”

“The king was not in my chambers, if he was seen near my rooms it’s because he sleepwalks.”

She looks like nothing you say will change her course and knowing this bit of information on Odin’s nocturnal habits has done nothing for your case.

“You think that-” You try again but you can’t say it because you don’t want to picture it. She thinks you’re sleeping with Odin. The sheer idea… You just want her to disappear, for something to come and save you, for Loki to appear and sweep you away, for Papa…

And then in your mind everything falls into place - his concern yesterday! and Asta and Dagny’s behavior. The rumor must have gone right around the palace.

At that moment the doors to the throne room open, but instead of the crowd going in, Thor strides out, resplendent in his best red ceremonial robes and full regalia and flanked by a dozen guards.

He looks around and his eyes fall on you.

“You.” he says without even saying your name, and your mother takes an audible intake of breath. There’s not an ounce of friendliness in Thors’s expression, not the slightest shadow of the old camaraderie.

“I would speak with you.” His gaze sears through you. All the more severe for coming from one you thought you knew well.

You take a step forward and mother does too, glued to your side.

“Alone.”

Chapter 26