#but i explained to her that i think him being there would be much worse because he'd want to be in charge and he's quite chaotic with moves

[shrimpybbq]

a timeline of rafe cameron and obx actress!reader’s character’s relationship (+ their real life one) pt 2

season 2: the yearning

season 2 is where rafe's obsession with iris really grows

he's constantly wondering about her, and how she feels about him. he's so convinced that she hates him and will never speak to him again, but he has this feeling that she won't report him

after john b and sarah 'died', iris spends more of her free time with the pogues. she comforts jj, and often seems to end up bailing him out of trouble

but they don't know that rafe's managed to get her phone number, and he keeps sending her messages trying to explain what happened on the tarmac - she doesn't respond

he even tries to go to her work, but she's not working that day

as rafe spirals, he genuinely feels she's the only one who would be able to understand him

he messages her before he goes to the bahamas

r: "hey, i'm gonna be gone for a few days, but i still really need to talk to you, ok?"

r: "please, i need to explain"

r: "just give me a chance to explain"

r: "please"

iris has him under his first initial in her phone, just in case any of the pogues happen to see her notifications. finally, she decides to respond, if only to understand more (and to get him to stop texting her)

i: "ok"

rafe literally shouts with joy seeing her response, no matter how dry it is. she's finally acknowledged him

while he's away, iris goes to see barry. her mom has been getting worse, and in a way, barry understands what she's going through. he's surprisingly good to talk to and the pair end up smoking together more than once, venting about their lives

in his deluded state, rafe truly thinks he will be able to win iris over with the gold. he's dreaming about paying for her mom's medical bills, winning her favour and looking after iris, living their happy little lives together forever

iris and rafe finally talk at tannyhill, rafe pleading that he was just trying to protect his dad. surprisingly, she listens intently, and lets out some small 'hmms' and 'mhms'. they get back to neutral ground, though she's still torn between what to do, but inside, she knows rafe shouldn't go to prison for a mistake

side note: ward oversees the pair talking, noting his son's wildly erratic hand gestures and decides to keep an eye on whatever is going on between the two

they're good for a few days, and then the pogues return to kildare with a very much alive sarah and john b, and everything changes once again

iris was so busy working that she hadn't had much to do with the gang, until jj texts her that john b had been arrested, and that rafe had tried to shoot them all - safe to say she's disappointed

oh but she's so mad when she hears of him trying to drown sarah, and she fully ices him out again

rafe kidnapping iris was not his finest idea, but she won’t listen to him after she hears and he’s just so mad. he’s got her in his car on the side of the road, just trying to get her to listen but she keeps telling him she “knows what he did”

rafe doesn't register what he's done until the sound of her sobs cut through his internal monologue, shamefully apologising and dropping her home, not even trying to say anything more

he’s just mean mean mean in this season bc he's hurt, but also he wants iris so bad and when she won’t even look at him, he can't control his actions

iris hears from the pogues that there is a warrant for his arrest and can't help feel concerned for him, only to be both shocked and concerned at the sight of ward cameron blowing himself up, her being the one to console sarah on the pier

everything is awkward between the pogues now, but it only gets worse once they see the texts on iris's phone following rafe's release from jail, him asking to see her...

they completely shut her out, refusing to even speak to her, and it only serves to push her further into rafe's (extremely willing) arms

he wants her to stay with him for the next few days, unknowingly about to bring her into all the drama with the cross

iris and rafe end up kissing for the first time just before he manages to get the cross for himself, and from then on, it's on between them - they're all over each other. think making out against the wall, in bed, on the couch

they both understand each other, able to see through the tough facade they put on and be vulnerable around each other. at their core, they’re just two hurt kids clinging on to each other

rafe literally thinks he will combust if she ever tries to leave him after he got a taste

unfortunately for him, he tries to get her to come along with him to guadeloupe, but she refuses

"Rafe, I can't leave my mom…. she can't survive without me," Iris whispered.

"No, no, c'mon, we can go together and I'll make sure she's got a carer and everything, the best medical treatment, ok? I just - I just need you with me for this," Rafe pleaded, desperation seeping through his tone.

"I'm sorry Rafe, but I can't."

and just like that, the beginnings of their relationship crumble, leaving rafe feeling betrayed, hurt and angry, spiralling as he lost something he barely had, and leaving iris all alone on kildare once the pogues get lost at sea, vulnerable and hurting

season 2: behind the scenes

heheheheehhehe

season 2 is where rafe and iris get closer, and the flow on effects are felt between drew and obx actress!reader

the kisses they share on screen are so steamy it has fans freaking out, especially at the quick glimpses they get of their tongues melding together. even people from outside the fandom start resharing videos of the kiss with hashtags like #wantthis #hot #menext

like i'm talking hands in hair and 'rafe' gripping her waist like he's about to be torn away, pulling away panting, red lips, etc.

drew and obx actress!reader had both spent time looking forward to the kiss, each secretly reminiscing on the kiss at jd's party. neither objected when they had to redo the take multiple times

the lingering touches shared between their characters are also picked up on, with rafe often touching iris and keeping her close by the end of the season

drew and obx actress!reader spent more time together this season working to develop their relationship after the directors told them more of the series plans, growing their bond even more

the attention on season 2 is greater this time around, with more fans and more people interested in the actors personal lives

obx actress!reader posts a few behind the scenes pictures, but nothing that really gets tongues wagging

it's a picture posted by madison bailey that does, with drew and obx actress!reader lying next to each other on a yacht, the pair side by side as they appear deep in conversation. fans go crazy from all angles, from the tiny bikini she was wearing to drew only in his swim trunks

the pics of them getting clingy and touchy later on in the evening don't ever make it out however….

the cast just sigh, having flashbacks to the 'friendly kisses' the pair always seem to share after a few drinks

in interviews, fans learn of obx actress!reader spending christmas at drew's and they just go wild, convinced the pair are in a secret relationship

with rafe and iris becoming more important characters in season 2, interviewers are lining up to film with the two of them alone, and for the few that manage, the views on the clip are sky high

it's literally just drew and obx actress!reader flirting and giggling the whole time with each other

obx actress!reader 100% simps for drew, complimenting his new look to the interviewer and saying he looks so handsome. drew can only blush and look down at his hands, all shy and cute

ok but lets talk about the bloopers!

it's the scene where they're in the car, rafe begging iris to listen to him after trying to drown sarah, and drew is waving his hands around wildly and accidentally hits her in the head. drew is instantly all over her, tenderly brushing her hair away from her head, checking in on her and apologising so much. it's quiet, but the microphones pick up on drew whispering "are you ok, baby? 'm so sorry"

but yet, they're not in a relationship??? and then drew starts filming hellraiser and people become convinced he's dating odessa??? and everyone is just so confused (including drew and obx actress!reader)

but then? there's pictures posted by paparazzi of drew and obx actress!reader together in new york, seeming far too close to be platonic and cuddling up against each other? queue even more confused fans

hehehe

Q: if i were to give obx actress!reader a love interest to spice things up and build some more angst, who would you want to see???

[demonic0angel]

Jason joins Dani in being forced to have a check up by Frost Bite by Danny and Jazz. They commiserate on having ghost health problems.

(I went in a slightly different direction on this)

Jason sighed. Jazz patted his knee and kissed his forehead before saying, “It’ll be okay, dearest. Sit tight, I’ll go get Frostbite, alright?”

Jason huffed again but nodded. He ignored the scathing glare from the teen next to him. Jazz left and Jason sat in silence in the room next to the seething teen. He felt tired and prickly, like the cold air was getting sucked into his body. After a while of looking around the room and cataloguing everything, he asked, “So… what’re you in here for?”

“Why was Jazz kissing you?” The girl asked angrily. Jason glanced at her and observed her features, noting the heart shaped face, the sharp eyes, and delicate features with a hint of wildness.

He squinted. “Are you Jazz’s sister?”

The girl, Dani or Ellie he realized now, sneered. “Yes. Are you dating Jazz?”

“Yeah,” he said carefully. “We’re dating.”

Dani huffed, crossed her arms, and then answered, “I’m here for a checkup. I got into a fight recently and used too much power, so Danny made me come here so Frostbite could check me over too. What’re you here for?”

“Jazz said that the ectoplasmic rot in my soul was getting better,” he said, trying to recall what Jazz had explained to him before, “but I still need to be looked at because my case is a little uncommon.”

Dani nodded. “Yeah, mine too. My genetic makeup is unstable, so I can’t use my powers too much or for too long. I’m weak, but I have to try.”

Jason blinked. “Weak? You seem pretty strong to me. And that’s not a compliment because you’re my in-law. What do you mean by genetic makeup?”

Dani scowled, but she also looked pleased. She explained softly, “My creator, Danny’s enemy, made me to be an assassin and replacement. But… he messed up when he created me. I was supposed to be Danny’s clone. But I think Vlad didn’t have the heart to kill me using the portal like what happened to himself and Danny… so I’m unstable. He couldn’t stand to hurt me when he made me, but he had no problems trying to erase me later… and he’s the one who made me weak.”

Something dark flashed over her face, something like love and rage and regret and something that Jason related to like two people with holes in their hearts.

He chuckled humorlessly. “I kinda get it. I got killed. I was being stupid. I wanted to find my mom and she sold me out to the Joker.” He smiled, amused, as Dani hissed at the mention of the clown. “I was tortured and then when I tried to save my mom one last time… I was killed in a final explosion. I was forgotten. Almost nobody went to my funeral. I was buried and remembered only as a “good soldier,” and when I woke up in that coffin… I clawed myself out and was basically a zombie. Then I got tossed into a Lazarus Pit and I was trained to be an assassin too.”

He gave Dani a small smile, who just stared at him. “And you know what’s worse? When I came back to my senses, I found out that my dad didn’t even avenge me. The Joker is still alive, just killing other people. Taking other people away from their families. My dad didn’t even care about me. He slit my throat and saved the Joker when I gave him the chance, even though he used to tell me that he would never abandon me. So I kinda get it. Especially about a dad who made you, gave you everything, and when you finally did what you had to and completed your mission, he abandoned you for a better model. That’s what happened to you too, right?”

Dani nodded slowly. She looked at her hands and kicked her feet idly. “And now we’re fucked up because of them.”

Jason snorted. “Fuck dads. That’s what we have siblings for.”

A smile bloomed over her face. “Yeah. Fuck dads! That’s why we have big brothers and sisters!”

“We’ll be okay, squirt,” Jason grinned as he reached over and ruffled her hair. She immediately gave a cry of outrage, batting away his hands, but he continued, “We’ll make it through this. After all, we’re survivors, right?”

Dani gave him a critical look and then nodded. And after that, they sat together in amicable silence until Dani grew him into another conversation. When Frostbite finally entered, Jason didn’t feel so terrible anymore. After all, he had someone here who also related to him.

[jinxsmascara]

"Why do you like Silco from arcane SOOOOO much ?"

Well... number one: father figure of a character i KIN

Number two: his back story is the perfect exemple of ascending into...pure rage and unforgiveness like:

WARNING ARCANE S2 SPOILER !:

He was just a guy who worked with his brother in the mines and both were friends with Vi and Powder/Jinx mother (Felicia) ... yes he was a revolutionary , yes he was like "im too punk and edgy and cool for caring about the future ! Lets make Zaun !" Which was understandable i mean you live in a poor shitty undercity and you are looked down by the Pilities who never have to worry while you are in the slums worried if you will even have a tomorrow (lack of food n water / contaminated food n water , live in the streets for the most unlucky ones etc etc) and the Topside wont hear you , if course you go "FUCK IT LETS RIOT !" ... as we all know Silco fought on the bridge with Vander and Felicia (well maybe she didnt wanna fight because she had Vi and Powder/Jinx so maybe she was with them because she had to run from enforcers ?) ... and Felicia died (we dont know if Silco accidentally killed her wanting to punch an enforcer but in his "high" of "OH MY GOD IM PUNCHING EVERYONE !" or she was already dead (i think its the second option because we can see his face drop as he sees Felicia lifeless like "...no no no hey no this isnt supposed to happen !") ..) , Vander saw Silco at the wrong moment wrong time , and decided to just attack him...

Now just imagine that: you are fighting for your life and your people's lives , and you see your bestfriend dead , and you try to process that shit all while you have raging enforcers running at you wanting to arrest/kill you , and on top of that you have no time to explain or you simply cant explain to your brother why and how y'all best friend died ... and this brother of yours decides to attack you and kill you in the worse ways (drowning + gauging your left eye out) ... all you can think about is "i lost everyone... he hates me ! They all hate me! i hate them all ! Betrayers !" , you dont have time to think "its a misunderstanding ... its gonna be okay" ...

Of course i aint condoneing everything , im just stating the facts like...of course he would turn out this way after that crap ! The opposite woulda surprised me !

Also despite his "im a fucking menace" act... you can see when Vander attacks him again in S1 A3 , his first reaction is to FREEZE and have flashbacks of him being drowned again... THAT GUY STILL GETS MF PTSD LIKE DUDE GO TO THERAPY AND CALM YOUR TITS ! (He has to shake himself off like "WAKE UP HE IS GONNA KILL YOU !" to react)

(No i wont mention how...lame the excuse letter was , i mean , I know vander is shit at this (thats what he says in the letter too bwaha) but...he could have maybe asked for Benzo or someone else to help him write the letter for Silco ? Like instead of just "yeah uhm im sorry uhm...find me at the bar eh ?" (Which would have infuriated Silco even more imo , like imagine you get disfigurated and almost killed and the person who did that gives you a poor piece of paper ? He would have gone like "OH YEAH IM COMING TO THE MF LAST DROP AND IM GONNA KICK HIS DAMN ASS !" instead of "...mehhh fine okay") like an actual "lets have a talk...like two adults" one-)

Thankyou for assisting an episode of: Jinx takes a globally insignificant thing too much at heart !

- Jinx out

[petalkitshadow]

Talking About: Appledusk

So, Appledusk is a character who my interpretation of probably gets questioned the most by readers. Which is understandable! He's not really an antagonist in MV; or, at least, the reader is supposed to understand in MV that while Mapleshade views him antagonistically, the narration is biased into her favor due to the story being from her POV. But the role he takes on in PkS is quite actually antagonistic to Petalpaw and her struggles.... so I thought it would be interesting to dive into it and explain my thoughts behind why I wrote him the way I did!

So - I want to start out by saying that Appledusk is a fictional character. It doesn't bother me if you like Appledusk, or view him differently than I do. I just happen to dislike him, which I think is pretty clear from how he fits into Petalkit's Shadow, lol. But even if I dislike him, I still wanted him to play an interesting role and serve his purpose, which involves making him as frustrating as possible!

When coming up with ideas for how characters will be in PkS, I often don't have much to go on. Mapleshade is really the only character from the cast who has a ton of focus in the canon books. Appledusk is one of those characters who falls a bit in a middle ground. He has enough going for him in MV that you can get a basic idea for how he is, but you still gotta do a lot of legwork on figuring out deeper aspects of his character. for PkS, I look at the characters' actions and go, "what kind of person would do this?" and then write the kind of person who I think would do that, basically.

Appledusk, he struck me as being very focused on self preservation. When he's with Mapleshade in private, he has no problem being loving to her and the kits. But the moment he might face repercussions - repercussions Mapleshade is already facing, he becomes detached and cold. What stuck out to me is how Mapleshade kept thinking that Appledusk never asked the kits' names. Now, Mapleshade as a narrator is biased. But she's right - Appledusk never asks what the names of his children are. He gives no outward signs of grief when faced with their death, and he makes no attempt to speak privately with Mapleshade after the kits drown. Of course, anger is a very valid form of grief, as we all know from Petalpaw. but Appledusk then going on to throw Mapleshade under the bus, and not show her a shred of sympathy even though he is currently suffering from the exact same prejudice that cost Mapleshade everything, speaks to me a lot about his values. When faced with his supposed loved one at her lowest, with nothing left to lose, his reaction is to distance himself from her as much as possible in the hopes that he will be punished less. It's cowardly, it's infuriating, and makes him seem so, so cruel to me.

And then, there's Reedshine. Reedshine in canon irks me a lot, in a meta sense. She's been hurt in similar ways as Mapleshade. Appledusk cheated on her too! But she immediately forgives him, and shows no conflict about Appledusk's actions. She's given no room to grieve or to hurt, she has to immediately come to Appledusk's defense. Reedshine and Mapleshade were both made to bear pain that Appledusk had no interesting in helping them shoulder.

To me, it really felt like Appledusk took the women in his life for granted. Why else would he have an affair, and not confess to it until literal, physical, damning evidence was put on display for everyone to see? Did he consider his own feelings, his own wants and desires, to be more important than that of Mapleshade, or Reedshine's? Mapleshade, with her penchant for cold-blooded murder, is definitely a worse person than Appledusk. But Appledusk's cruelty, I think it gets more under my skin because it feels real. How many serial killers do you know? probably none. But how many indifferent men who think women are just too emotional do you know? how many half-rate, self-absorbed fathers do you know? probably a small selection, at least.

So, when coming up with the basics for PkS, I imagined in the wake of this fiasco, Appledusk would be most focused on his own image, like he seems to be in canon. He wants to go back to being an esteemed, respected warrior. What's the best way to do that? Is it to step up, and be there for his traumatized daughter, offer her guidance and try to to fill the void left by losing her other parent?

No, of course not. Because to Appledusk, his daughter is a constant reminder of the mistakes he's made. He doesn't want to reckon with those mistakes, and he doesn't want to consider that he did something wrong.

In a way... he is a lot like his daughter. (Petalpaw would kill me if she could read me typing this, lol). They both are set in their ways, and very, very stubborn.

So, tl;dr... Appledusk in PkS is an extrapolation based on what I interpret from his character. But he's a character with so little to go on I think there are many ways to interpret him. This is just my thought process about him!

[violetflowers55]

Hot & Cold - Chapter 1

(Dr. Phosphorus x fem!reader)

Synopsis: Since there’s not enough alien criminals, you got stuck in the monster section of Belle Reve. And of course Waller put you on Task Force M. To make matters even worse, the guy who landed you in prison in the first place is right there, never leaving you alone. But maybe, he can compensate you in more way than one…

No content warnings needed for this chapter (that I can think of). No Y/N usage

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

Being imprisoned sucked. Being imprisoned in Belle Reve sucked more. Being imprisoned in the monster section sucked the most.

You’d had a good five years to figure out how to, well, not thrive, but do a bit more than just survive. Fight when someone else instigates - not enough to get you thrown into isolation, but enough to scare off everyone else for awhile. Don’t piss of the guards, but also don’t be a suck up, they hate that even more. Don’t make friends because they’ll either die, get transferred, or turn on you. There was only one thing you hadn’t figured out yet. Well, two if you count figuring out how to escape. When Waller pulled you for a super secret special mission, your first thought was that maybe you could figure out at least one of your two remaining problems.

The sun bore down on the six of you as Waller and Flag carted you into a military ship. The feeling of its warmth was one you hadn’t felt in a long time, and it was gone too soon. As you got wedged between two other freaks, you finally looked to see who else was pulled for the super special top secret mission. On you left was Weasel, some freaky rodent you didn’t really know. On the other side was The Bride; you’d never met her before but you figured she was The Bride since she looked like she would be Frankenstein’s bride. Across from her was a robot and across from Weasel was some fish girl. The only person you knew was sitting right across from you. As much as you tried not to, his green glowing skeleton was hard not to look at, and the two of you locked eyes. Or, at least, it felt like you did.

“Wow. After all these years, and we’re finally reunited on a mission to save a princess. Who would’ve thought?” Dr. Phosphorus said, in a tone that you knew meant he was grinning. You scoffed. “I would’ve thought we’d be reunited by you breaking me out of that hellhole.”

“You two… know each other?” the fish girl asked.

“No.” you said firmly, hoping to put an end to the conversation.

Truthfully, you had met before, back in Gotham. You ran into each other while trying to rob the same bank. He threatened to burn your “pretty little face” off, you threatened to break all his bones and leave him an immovable fire. Not exactly love at first sight.

“She just doesn’t want to admit she’s totally in love with me,” he whispered to the girl.

“Don’t think my threat to break your bony ass doesn’t still stand.” Despite your threat, you could still feel him grinning at you. You couldn’t tell if it was his gaze or his literal flames that were heating you up.

When you finally arrived at the castle, breaking free from being squished up against your fellow monsters felt almost as good as being let out of isolation. The castle looming in front of you was shockingly beautiful. You silently cursed yourself for not trying to take it over while you were free.

As the seven of you were escorted inside, Phosphorus slowly drifted over to walk next to you. It took every fiber of your being not to look at him. But being so close to him, you had to admit his warmth felt nice.

Then at dinner, he of course was quick to make sure he sat next to you. When you and the Bride rolled your eyes and his obviousness, he tried to casually explain it away by saying “Us Gotham guys gotta stick together, right?”, but his nervous chuckle gave him away. Soon enough, dinner was served, distracting everyone. It’d been far too long since you’d had real, good food, and just like the others, you scarfed it down. When you finally paused and looked up, you noticed the princess staring at you.

“Forgive me, I do not mean to stare. I was just… I mean no offense, but I thought America had forbidden human criminals from missions such as this one?” Princess Illana asked.

The table went silent, except for Weasel’s aggressive eating noises.

You tried to smile. “I know I look like one, but I’m not human.” It was hard to hold her gaze; you just didn’t have it in you to explain further. She muttered a simple “Oh”, and the previous chatter and eating resumed shortly. Except for you, your appetite was gone.

“You ok?” Phosphorus whispered, noticing you pushing your food around with your fork.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You still couldn’t look at him, but this time it wasn’t because you didn’t want to.

“I know you’re fine,” he teased.

“Shut it,” you snapped before he could ask if you were ok again.

For most of your life, no one knew you weren’t human. You were great at hiding your powers. The only reason the whole world knew you were an alien was because your stupid defense attorney thought that being an alien somehow made you exempt from the law and used it at trial. As you sat there, all you could hear was the gasps of the courtroom when he revealed your secret, and all you could feel was rage spreading throughout your body. Then you remembered how pitifully he cried when you killed him, and that calmed you down enough.

After dinner, everyone poured out into the courtyard, and you reveled in the bright warm sun. The feeling of its heat on your skin was practically euphoric. You laid down on the soft grass, shamelessly sunbathing.

“Trying to get a tan on?”

Opening one eye, you saw Phosphorus standing over you.

Ugh, why can’t he just leave me alone?

“You’re blocking my sunlight.”

Carefully, he laid down next to you, his fingertips dangerously close to yours.

“I get it, you wanna have something to show off to the loser inmates who didn’t get picked when we get back.”

You groaned. “You know nothing.”

“Mmm, maybe. But I want to know everything,” the teasing tone in his voice was gone, replaced with a low, almost seductive tone.

You thanked God you could blame your blushing cheeks on the sun.

“Oh, can it, skelly.”

He chuckled, but let it drop. The two of you laid there together in silence until the sun started to go down. At least your bedroom was sure to be warmer than your prison cell.

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Swords in the Court: Peace at Last

Secret Garden

Yandere Don John x Reader

Word count: 5k+

Part 2

Warning: Violence, blood, masturbation, misogyny and a hint of religious rigidity (the fic is set in the medieval era, what else do you expect?)

Note: This story is set in a fictionalised historical setting. Though there are clear inspirations drawn from the real world and history, this tale in no way tries to explain, change or state any historical, political, communal, geographical or religious 'facts'. Kindly treat this short-series as it is, a fiction

Unedited and poor attempt at medieval-world description

He is swinging.

Muffled sounds, yelling, groaning, hooves, metal....

He is laid somewhere.

Cool cloth on his face, and a faint fragrance he fails to grasp, despite being almost within his reach.

Cool, warm–it burns!

John gasps awake, feeling a particular area of his torso burning.

There are muffled voices around him. He blinks, trying to clear his vision, but it dims again.

The next time John wakes up, he is startled by a jerk. Through his limited vision, he can make out two people struggling on the floor. Grunting, he sits up, despite his arms shaking and his vision unclear, but his eyes manage to focus every now and then. 

—--

You know you should not be visiting Lord John’s chamber at this unholy hour. But the royal healer had given you a vial of essential medicine that you forgot to administer. That is the excuse you have managed to come up with as you near his chamber with a water-filled vial. 

Why would you do that?

You should be leaving for the capital by now.

But the Earl and Duke requested that you stay for the feast, which has most of the residents distracted at the moment. Your steps slow down when you do not see a single guard outside his chamber. 

Something does not feel right.

You rush inside his chamber just in time to find a maid holding a dagger. Before you know it, you pounce on her. She gasps, caught off guard and the weapon drops while the world around you tilts as you crash on the floor with her. 

“Who sent you?” You ask, breathlessly trying to pin her, but she elbows you on your side, making you wheeze.

Perhaps fate truly is yours this night. By pure chance, you manage to hold her ankle as she tries to flee, it earns you a haphazard kick on your chin that could have been a lot worse had you not been holding her ankle. But it makes your teeth sink into your lower lip. You do not even register the metallic tang on your tongue as you pull her down with all the strength you can gather. 

“You are going to be found out and beheaded anyway but—bitch!”

Your attempt to negotiate is met with another hard shove. It makes you cry out and lose your hold on her before she scrambles towards the dagger and raises back on her feet. You follow after her, but she already has the dagger in her hold. She is now attacking a sat-up John, who groans, trying to keep the blade away.

It happens so fast. You are not thinking of the consequences, but you get hold of the first heavy item that you find and swing across her face. It turns out to be an elaborate candle stand—heavy, intricate, now marred with the girl’s blood who has fallen, bleeding on the floor. 

“Are you alright?” You rush to a groaning John whose blood tricks through his palm. The struggle has opened his wound.

“Guards! GUARDS!!”

—-----

There is stillness in the chamber, except for the hushed whispers. The ‘maid’ is dead, and while you recover from the shock of having killed somebody, your mind is flooded with questions.

“This is a grave misstep in our honoured man’s safety and it shall be investigated.” the Earl tries to assure.

“Until then…”

“Until then me and Borachio shall be in this chamber with John,” Conrade speaks up.

“He’s right, we cannot give the snakes another opportunity,” Borachio adds.

“Lord Juan must rest. He has already done so much, gone through—”

“I am well, my Lord. Sleeping had almost cost me my life.” 

Whether it is the herbs mixed with pain or an ambush of emotions, it feels as if his voice has gained a layer of gruffness as he cuts off the Duke

“I would like some peace for now.”

“S-sure, My Lord, the knights shall be guarding your chamber every hour of the day and the night from now on.”

With that, the Earl begins to urge everyone to exit the chamber, leaving behind only his two most trusted friends. You follow them out as well.

“My Lady…”

Your steps cease and for the first time in the night after what has transpired, you look into Don John’s eyes. You are yet to come to terms with the fact that you have indeed killed someone. But his eyes seem to have the most alluring shade of brown, especially under the candlelight. The rest of the people have left, leaving only four of you in the chamber.

“I cannot thank you enough…You have risked your life to save mine. I have no clue how to return this priceless favour.”

You did not save his life for a favour. You were expecting nothing at all, you still are not.

“I expect nothing in return, My Lord. I acted on reflexes and by God’s grace, you are unharmed.

“Seems like I have cheated death too many times now.” His lips curve up in a cynical but faint smile before he nods “You have been exceptionally kind and generous to me. I shall never forget it.”

You try searching for anything other than the pure gratitude and admiration you see in his eyes. You can find nothing else.

“You are our honoured guest, I was doing my duty.” 

He saved me once, I am simply returning the favour

You manage to give an appropriate response despite your mind’s state and with a nod, you greet him good night and exit the chamber. Once outside, you feel like you can finally breathe.

—---

The rest of the two days pass in peace—two days. That is how long Lord John can wait before he insists on riding his horse again, against the royal physician's advice. By now, a letter from the capital has arrived, revealing that the Emperor of Spain has officially extended his support to the Kingdom. George has been captured and taken to the capital, and you deem the King of France no fool.

Peace reigns for now.

The journey back is slower, but at least there is no hovering threat of war. Back in the palace, the wedding preparations have taken full swing. 

“You had me on the edge for whole four days, five days, if we count all.” Maddie is by your side as soon as you enter the palace, while a grand welcome is prepared for the commander, and Lord Juan who volunteered and risked his life in the battle.

“I am well, as you can see. Lord John though…By now you must have heard what has transpired.” 

Maddie nods and squeezes your shoulder “Everybody here speaks of your bravery.”

“I didn’t want—” Your throat closes in as you vacantly stare at the crowd cheering for the men entering the palace gates or horses “ I didn’t want to…”

“Hush, I know, I know. Everybody knows you have the Queen’s support.”

You understand that nothing is permanent here.

“But, I don’t understand, what were you doing there in his chamber at that time? There was a feast, right?”

 Your friend’s question makes your thoughts still for a moment and by pure coincidence, Lord John rides through the gates, the cheerful uproar heightens but his eyes rise to meet yours as you stand along with your friend, waiting from above.

“He’s looking at us,” Maddie whispers.

You dare to think that there’s something akin to a smile in his eyes.

“I know.” 

You reply before dropping your gaze and greeting him with a curtsy, subtle enough not to garner attention, but obvious in your movements for him.

—---

Ever since the battle, every waking moment, the image flashes behind John’s eyes—the man, wearing the Kingdom’s armour attacking him. His blade was crimson, and the helmet protected his identity. He was so close, and yet, due to the brutality of warfare and general chaos, John could not quite catch any sign of identification.

But, does he need to?

“I do not understand, you have been quiet since the attack, don’t you want to find out?” Borachio whispers into his ears as they sit to bear witness to the beheadings—a punishment for treason.

The name of the next rebel baron is announced as soon as the fourth head rolls down to the ground.

“Do not appear distracted, Borachio. This is a very important event.” John’s tone gives away nothing, surprising his friend.

“John—”

“We shall not speak of it now.” His jaw clenches with his words and Borachio is wise enough not to poke further.

Throughout his life, John has been playing a delicate dance with death. First, as a boy, when fortune has been on his side and perhaps death, slightly merciful—why else would he survive then?

But as he grew into a man, he learnt that death always followed him, especially as long as he was in the palace—a glaring threat to the Crown Prince’s claim to the throne. He never released how much the weight of the title of ‘bastard’ held until his first brush with death, the first time his steps faltered and he almost fell into the waiting abyss. 

There have been times when he was ready to embrace death—for so long, John the Bastard deliberately danced on the risky side of death, waiting, just waiting to fall finally and be free. But once he understood the potential he had and the power his sword and mind wielded—the freedom that came with being a bastard—his steps slowed and turned more graceful. He wished to live. Ever since, he has not been dancing with death with open arms, he has been cheating death, bidding his time. 

But Don Juan, the recognised bastard knows that death shall take him when it decides it must. He will live. He will live to rise.

He has always been ambitious, but never truly eyed the throne. It was too much. He hated the court, after all. And yet he is a threat. Every breath he takes is poison to his own so-called family. They fear him and paint him as a villain. John knows he is no noble-hearted hero. But he is not a villain either, not yet at least.

He has been a fool, though. He thought that once the Crown was secured, they would let him be. His mentor has never been wrong, the old man told him. But he should have known better. He had enough.

John’s steely gaze remains fixed on the ongoing beheadings. 

Oh how fragile the human life is, one forceful swing and everything turns into a ‘has been’. No sky cries, no leaf flutters and the world moves as it always has. Great deaths make no difference. Great lives do. 

John’s eyes turn to the Crown Prince, sitting with his brothers.

They feared that a child would bring chaos to their empire, and marked him as an enemy ever since his first breath into this world, while all John has ever done is to avoid conflict. As a boy, he stood no chance against them anyway, and he respected his mother and her choices. But the world he is a part of is not run by kindness. She did not believe in revenge, she did not like brutality. But she is gone now. 

He thought choosing tact, winning the Emperor’s favour could earn him what he deserved, a noble title—he could then retire far away from the court, maybe take a wife—he never wanted the throne, he wanted a regal title, he wished to have many dreamed of, rising from nothing, they could keep the crown. And yet they stabbed him from the back— even when he fought for the Empire’s favour. 

But this will be the last time he allows it. He has had enough.

They always feared that the Empire’s bastard son, the true firstborn would be the cause of their downfall. 

So be it.

John turns his eyes back on the executioner as he swings the weapon, cutting off another head—clean and precise, with crimson all over.

He shall turn all their fears into reality.

John vows to himself, watching the head roll down.

Picking up the previously untouched cup, he gestures to a servant to fill it with wine. 

He shall give them a reason to fear him. They have watered the poison tree for too long, now it bears the fruits, and they must consume it. Must face the consequences of their deeds. 

—------

You do not understand its necessity. Why does your presence matter here? You stand behind the Queen and the King, tense and barely keeping your tears from showing. Every death reminds you of the night.

There was blood on the candlestand. It was heavy, carved with gold, maybe—you don’t remember.  But you remember how you hit the girl with all your strength, bringing it down to the side of her head. There was so much blood—-on the floor, on the side of her disfigured face, from the gash on her head. Her hair was matted with blood, her eyes were cold and open and—

A hand on your elbow makes you flinch. 

“The Queen,” Maddie whispers, nudging you.

You look at the Queen waiting with her cup of wine.

“Forgive me, Your Grace.” With quick, precise movements, you refill her cup. She looks away but gestures for you to bend and come close. You oblige immediately.

“It is important to stay, George has not been beheaded yet. So chin up and watch. Get used to it if you wish to stay in the court and rise.” 

You stiffen and gulp but nod anyway

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The world is no kind place, you know this much and you have witnessed enough to know how brutal the court can be.

Straightening up, you square your shoulders and steel your heart as you watch George being brought for execution. He is given no privilege of any speech before his death. He has not even confessed to his sin, he does not need to. With his baleful eyes, he glares at the Queen and the King. His lips move as he keeps his eyes lacking any fear or remorse until the executioner swings the axe and his head rolls down, joining the rest on the ground.

You let out a slow quivering breath. This is the first time you have witnessed so many executions together. The Queen ordered that you must be present, so here you are, watching headless bodies fall. 

But you know deep down, that if you cannot stand to witness brutality, you will never be able to rise, have a place in the court. Is it not what you want? What have you always wanted?

Your gaze flickers towards Lord John, sitting at a distance, drinking wine while he watches with the nonchalance that you know only comes with a certain proximity to death and bloodshed. Perhaps he has witnessed many.

 Perhaps that is why he is where he is, at the edge of Dukedom. You conclude, looking away. You want power, so you must play safe now. Lord John seems like a dangerous temptation in flesh and bones.

—------

You feel ashamed, but not half as much as you should. Is it not a sin? Touching yourself at the thought of another man? Regardless of the fact that you have no husband or lover, yet. You lay in your bed, finally able to relax. There is nothing to worry about other than the upcoming feast in celebration of victory, a masque shall be hosted as well. As the Lady-in-Waiting, you have the privilege to choose from some of the finest materials to be sewn together. But none shall be finer than the royal family, of course.

Should you not be wondering about the dress? You need to oversee the food arrangements along with the Earl of Casterwood and, of course, make sure that there is plenty of wine incoming.

You do worry about it, you have been, but you as if seamlessly, your thoughts have shifted to the enigmatic Bastard Prince— Lord John. You admit that throughout your years in the court, you have shielded yourself with the Queen’s shadow, being close to her, resisting temptation. Any fool would think you are religious, but you are not, none of them are. But you know that it is impossible without marriage if you have to climb the ranks. You are a woman, after all.

You admit that apart from a brief, fiery affair with a squire around your age, that sizzled down as quickly as it had burst in flames, no man has made your head turn. He was too eager to bury himself between your legs and you could not have done that to yourself. You never intended to marry him anyway. You never allowed him to go beyond your breasts, and he was sloppy even then. A boy. Yes, you were no more than fourteen, but even then you knew you did not want him, you wanted more.

But Lord John has managed to turn your head and keep your gaze. You are afraid to admit that he is, indeed an attractive man and not just objectively—there are so many of them in the court already. But you find him handsome in every way you know attraction works for you. He is the only man you are afraid can disarm and seduce you before you know it and it has kept you on edge, you want to keep your distance. 

In the darkness of the night though, you cannot help but remember him as you saw him at Katherine's. The body tanned to a beautiful bronze—almost golden, and the way his sheen of sweat made him glow under filtering sun rays. His raven hair is always brushed to perfection, but that day, it was tousled so perfectly, strands falling on his forehead, as if fueling the fire that simmers just below the surface of his deep, dark eyes—the perfect brown, under the sun, it was dipped in gold. His nose almost matches his eyes in sharpness, the straight defined line that shapes his handsome face to allure even the most indifferent eyes. But despite the sharpness and subdued fire in his eyes, there is the subtlety of something—maybe the worldly experience, but it almost seems…soft.

Yet, he possesses a body that seems crafted by some divine force. But you know, it is crafted by skill, war and scars. You saw him that day, half-naked, the pants so loose it almost exposed him to your eyes. Something about the deep, straight scar on his stomach makes him twice more attractive. 

You remember the glimpse of his back against the supple, thighs, the way he bent as his hips rocked in rhythm, it was just a glimpse but that was enough to know. Your hand finds comfort between your legs and you grasp your inner thigh, imagining it to be his hand. They are big, you have noticed that too, but even with the fleeting, formal touches, they have been gentle with you. Tonight, you allow yourself the delusion of a fairytale, imagining him to be a loyal, gentle lover, even though you know that it is far from the truth, none of the men from any royal court can be loyal. You can bet from the stories and whispers you have heard, rarely a man is gentle or cares about anything beyond his own pleasure. You envision the loosely hung pants around his lower waist, the strings in his hold as you rub yourself, slow and firm at first, imagining his thumb on your pearl.

 That day, you heard his laughter—honeyed, deep and echoing in that chamber, and his moans that rang with Kathrine’s. There was an elegant sweetness to the raw masculine sounds. You gasp, feeling the pleasure building, remembering the way his body glowed, the way he sauntered towards you, the mirth in his eyes along with the dying heat of pleasure. You imagine his lips on your breasts, his hips along with yours, moving in rhythm as you gasp, biting your lips to suppress the sounds of pleasure as you come undone, your slick covering your fingertips. 

Warmth flushes in your cheeks and the rest of your body when you open your eyes, floating down from the pleasure with laboured breaths, you sigh and stare vacantly at the ceiling, feeling cold and ashamed of touching yourself to the thought of a man whose intentions are still veiled.

For now, Lord John is an enigma you are strangely drawn to, but you have enough confidence in yourself to not make any life-altering mistakes. Folks like you do not get second chances.

—-----

A few days before the great feast when the engagement and the Spanish alliance are to be declared, the King decides to host a grand game to amuse himself and his guests. The Empire’s fleet shall touch the Kingdom’s coasts in a few more nights—until then, the festivities keep on their swing.

“Does it taste better than the last?”

Maddie and you have chosen a table that offers an unrestricted view of the ground only a few feet below.

“I like the tarts more.” You disagree, taking another tart onto your plate.

“Look at that, how the energy has shifted now. People are cheering for the Princess, the king, the Queen. These days have been so tensed, I couldn’t sleep, worrying about you.”

You smile and hold Madeline’s hand across the table. “It’s done now. The Pretender is dead, France would not dare to take a head-on conflict with Spain by our side, and all we need to worry is about our role in a wedding that shall go down in history.”

“By God’s grace, may this be true.” She squeezes your hand and you return the gesture keenly.

She glances at the ongoing sports when something catches her eye. “Look at that stallion. Isn’t it magnificent?”

You follow her gaze to find Lord John riding his infamous stallion, Igor. You have heard whispers about Igor’s speed, power, and rebellious nature. His hooves will kick anyone but Lord John. Under the autumn sun, Lord John rides his beloved jet-black stallion, its mane dancing with the wind. The simple, white and beige attire suits him. He appears regal with a rugged edge, the kind of man they would write and sing ballads about.

You return your gaze to your plate as soon as you realise that you have been staring longer than you should. You have a world before you. A simple mistake can dismantle everything—all you have earned and built. Besides, the Queen is cautious about him, and so are you.

“What? Don’t you find him handsome? The dashing half-brother of the Crown Prince who led a battle against a looming threat and won?”

You let out a chuckle and meet your friend’s gaze “Write a ballad about him.”

Madeline shrugs “I might, you know me. But there has to be a lady love for that. He wins every battle just to return to her. Someone he burns for.”

“How romantic.” You roll your eyes and drink from your cup “Shall we find him a bride then?”

Maddie tilts her head and scoffs “I think he already has a name in mind.”

You scoff and shake your head when she continues to stare at you, “Oh come on, why on earth would you think that?”

“Mhm.” She smirks and takes a sip from her cup as well “It is subtle but keen eyes can never miss,”

“You’re thinking too far Maddie. He is pleasant for the sight and certainly knows how to treat a lady but…there’s nothing more.” 

You clarify, smoothening the non-existent lines on your dress while you try not to focus on your heating cheeks and think about his piercing gaze. You watch as his sword cuts through hanging targets. You never bothered to investigate what they are, but they seem heavy and are constantly moving due to being hanged from the high branches and clean cuts are impressive. Most men there struggle while he makes it seem as easy as cutting butter. 

You scoff and look away. Men and their silly games. The court is the real game. You pretend not to hear how the young girls and women swoon over him, but they try not to be obvious. After all, he is the Bastard Prince, his fortunes are uncertain.

“How much do you think he knows of the court?” You put the question out of whim.

“Looking at where he is, he must be good,” Madeline replies.

“Hm, a man who knows the battlefield and the court…” you trail off, leaning closer before continuing “You think he desires the throne, Maddie?”

Madeline sighs and leans away, resting her back “Who doesn’t?”

There, your answer. The one reason you were looking for is to ground yourself. Don John is not the man you should harbour any feelings for. This response is the water you need to kill the simmering fire.

—----

You find yourself in the chapel on your knees. You have been visiting regularly these days, paying attention, searching for a word, some explanation, assurance.

You did not want to kill that girl, it was a desperate move in the heat of the moment. You know it, God knows this is true but she haunts you, that night haunts you in your dreams. The silence in the chapel is soothing to you, a little place you can hide away from side-eyes, whispers and scoffs.

Your fingers intertwine in a praying position as you wait for an answer—a thought, an explanation, an epiphany? Anything. You are faltering, you know you are. Are your ambitions impossible? Is it a sign that you stop? You have not even begun.

“Show me a sign, Father. Lead me out of this darkness.”

“May the light shine upon us all.” 

You flinch and turn around, only to find Lord John sitting on one of the benches, head slightly bowed, eyes closed and fingers crossed in prayer. But they open in no time and the hypnotic gaze meets yours.

“My Lord?” You raise and greet him.

“Please.” He smiles, and it makes your heart flutter in all the ways you would not want it to. “John will be fine, I don’t mind.” He shifts, making space for you to sit. “Do me the honour, my Lady.”

You want to say that in the traditional sense, you are no lady either. You are safe as long as the Queen has power, or you have her favour. Instead, you smile, slightly confused but walk towards him anyway to sit beside him.

“Forgive me,” He begins after a moment of pause.

“Forgive you? You rode all the way to the battlefield, fought a battle that was not even yours, risked everything—-”

“But you saved my life. And I feel I have not thanked you enough.” He finishes.

The setting sun casts perfect rays over the glass windows, which are painted with intricacies, and some of the light falls on the side of his face. He almost seems…harmless and sweet. But you would not fall for that. You are not one of those sheltered, privileged court maidens, trying to find fairytales in real life like beautiful fools. 

Maybe it’s not their fault. Deep down, you know you do resent them. You are not the most enchanting rosy-cheeked maiden, nor do you have an aristocratic surname to make up for it. You have nothing but your wit and knowledge, and you hold on to them like the lifelines they are. 

“I was doing my duty, My Lord.” 

His smile conveys more than simple politeness, but he turns to look ahead before you can read him.

“Good, because I thought you were repaying the favour. I saved your face that day at Katherine’s and so you saved my life.”

Remembering that day, you had slightly shrugged off the garbs of courtly mannerisms. You had been as direct as you could to him, and perhaps, he had been honest to you.

“You said you want ‘everything’ that day.”

He smiles but keeps his eyes on the alter ahead “I still do.”

“And what does ‘everything’ mean? Don’t you have everything you could possibly ask for?”

“Are you afraid?”

“Of you?” You scoff, though deep down, there might be a seedling of truth to it “No, My Lord.”

“Good, fear hinders growth in this world. So does guilt, and plain kindness. You have come so far, I understand how it must feel, to receive disapproving stares, thinly veiled threats and reminders that you do not belong here. I would know.”

You have been staring at the altar as well, the candles’ steady glow has something hypnotic about it. But his words make you turn to him. You can only imagine the amount of pain he had been put through being a bastard, living right under the same roof as his half-brothers and their mother, a reminder of the Emperor’s infidelity.

“I can only imagine the conflict and pain you might have faced growing up.” You mean it, you cannot possibly fathom his pain.

“There, and the snakes will have you…” He clicks his fingers and turns to you. “...just like that.”

You frown, confused.

“You wish to rise, don’t you? People like us know that we are meant for greater things but we don’t have an easy path.”

You cannot deny that, but choose to respond with silence.

“Whatever happened that night, you did to save my life. I know you feel guilty. But allow me to give you this piece of advice. This will not be the last time your hands have someone else’s blood on them if you make up your mind to rise in court. How do you think Empires are made?”

“I do not wish to rule.”

John raises an eyebrow “Everybody wants to rule the world. It’s only a matter of chance and time.” He turns to meet your gaze

“So your ‘everything’ encompasses a lot.”

His smile is cryptic this time “I have everything I could possibly ask for, you said it yourself, My lady.” There’s a sharpness in his gaze, the simmering fire you had first seen, just below the surface.

“Then I am happy for you.”

“And you, My Lady. Do you have everything you could possibly want? Would you dare to eyes a higher seat? Something more than the court here could offer you?”

You frown, unable to read him this time “I…I don’t think I understand what you suggest my Lord.”

He turns to the alter again “I think you would do excellent in the Spanish court.” 

“As the Princess’ Lady-in-Waiting?”

He is silent for a moment before he makes his intention clear “As my partner. We can empathise with each other and are familiar with the conflicts we face. Besides, you could evade the sorry fate of marrying a fat old man and have all your potential wasted being a nurse.”

“Are you…Are you offering me to be your mistress?”

What else can it be? John is an ambitious man and he would choose a worthy ally through marriage. Despite your best efforts, it stings you as you gulp a lump down your throat. 

“I find you fitting and your company quite pleasing. You have ambition and potential for court politics, while the heart to never judge someone by their birth.”

“You ask me to be your mistress, right at the chapel and try to make it sound like you are taking vows.” You can barely keep your voice from cracking as you raise, struggling to keep your tears from showing. 

Why must it hurt you far deeper than it has to? More than it is supposed to?

“If your sharp and knowing eyes could read even an ounce of me, My Lord, “ you grit out “Then you you would know, I am no whore.”

With that, you give him a courteous bow and march out of the place, no longer trusting your voice or your eyes.

—-----

You manage to hold back till you are back in your room, but as soon as you shut the door, the tears flow. You are not sobbing—-that can be counted as slightly dramatic for your standards. You simply are hurt. 

What were you even thinking?

John is an ambitious man, standing on the edge of everything he has built from the ground, at the very doorstep of the life he probably had envisioned. Dukedom is a surety after his heroic victory at the battle. Of course, he will seek a strong alliance with a powerful family through marriage. 

Why would he choose you? A nobody. Someone with nothing to offer.

He has, royal blood running in his veins after all. Perhaps he considers that he is doing you the honour by offering the position of his mistress.

The thought fills you with anger. Surely, he has never led you on. Whatever silly attraction you have developed for the half-prince is purely your doing, your fault.

But no more of it. You wanted answers, God gave you one. You have something to keep yourself grounded. You must not falter now.

****

[generic-sonic-fan]

I know this might be niche/20, but... Do you feel writing Metaze (Metal Sonic/Blaze) as a romantic pair ? Thinking about it I was fascinated by their similarities and differences (also in main canon they've never met so it's open to freedom !)

Ah, I'm so sorry for not answering this in a timely fashion!

Regrettably, I'm actually writing an Omega/Blaze fic write now, which is sapping just about all of my very low tolerance for romance writing. However, I'd still love to imagine some headcanons for you!

He/him pronouns for Metal, but I'm happy to modify if you'd prefer different ones!

Blaze x Metal Sonic (Metaze) Headcanons!

I like to imagine they met after Metal ended up in her dimension due to shenanigans from one of Eggman's experiments with the Chaos Emeralds.

Blaze shows up after feeling the disturbance in dimensions and finds him busted up in a crater. She does remember Sonic mentioning something about a robotic copy. . .

But when Metal Sonic gets up, he doesn't attack.

He's doing two things- attempting to reconnect to the Eggnet, and frantically searching his databanks to recognize this purple cat in front of him. He fails both.

Blaze, hesitantly, holds out her hand.

He takes it.

She leads him back to her palace. On the way, she explains where he is, who she is, and where she's taking him.

(She leaves out the part about being Sonic's friend. Something tells her he doesn't need to know.)

Once in the palace, she finds a notepad and pen so that he can finally respond.

She asks him if he's alright.

He replies, "status: operational."

"Yes, but are you alright?"

She spends the next ten minutes explaining, logically yet warmly, exactly what it means to be "alright" vs "not alright", answering any questions and rebutting any constructive criticism he might have of her definition.

She then waits patiently as Metal stares at his paper and pen.

He writes, "I am alright now. How did you explain so well?"

"It wasn't an intuitive concept for me either, at first," she replies. "I had to figure it out for myself."

And that's when Metal falls head over heels right there.

I imagine the following days are very little-mermaid coded. Blaze takes Metal on a tour of the palace. Seeing that Metal is instead listening intently instead of merely putting up with her for formality's sake (as so many in the royal court often do!), she begins talking more about things that interest her, like her favorite books.

Metal is enraptured by the way she talks. More accurately, the way she treats him as a person. She even waits for him to respond with his pen and paper instead of talking over him!

And she asks him questions as well! She seems genuinely interested in getting to know him! Not Sonic, but the real him!

. . . for better or for worse.

He has to struggle with the game of "how much can I share without giving away that I'm hard-coded to serve a megalomaniac villainous overlord."

But thankfully, Blaze doesn't pry. She understands- she wasn't so eager to share much about herself before she made her first friends either. She doesn't push it.

Moving onto more general headcanons I see for them:

They, as a couple, exist in a comfortable introverted silence.

Yet in between those comfortable silences, they share very sophisticated conversations.

I've always imagined Metal being a bit high-brow about art/literature if he was ever given the chance to be.

And I think Blaze would love discussing the literary techniques of her favorite books.

I think she'd like to read to him. He finds her voice so soothing.

She feels awkward about showing affection in traditional ways, so it's actually Metal that is the super doting, romantic partner of the two.

He loves getting her flowers and holding her hand. Classic, I know.

In return, she enjoys leaning against him. While standing, while sitting, pretty much just whenever.

The first time he felt her purr just about caused him to short-circuit.

As Blaze gets more comfortable with him, she starts to wrap her tail around his waist, and on rare occasions while alone, to nuzzle against his muzzle plating.

Anyways, I also headcanon that they LOVE dancing together.

Please, for your entertainment, imagine Metal in his Neo outfit dancing in a traditional ballroom style with Blaze in her own formal attire.

He's normally a very deferential partner but while dancing I think he'd love to take the lead. Spin her around. Dip her gently towards the floor.

All and all, a very soft and low-key couple, provided that Eggman doesn't interfere and reality comes crashing down.

[pinacoladamatata]

something something down by the river

yeah i could draw something other than two characters gazing at each other with utter heartsick longing but I know what i'm about son

[girlivealwaysbean]

dni.

[senzasord]

I got like four hours sleep, Cody is apparently sick again and can't see the vet until 4:45, my mum asked my uncle to help me move without asking me first which has kicked up a whole bunch of awful memories, and I have a stomach ache because I'm so stressed.

But I am finally getting some assignment work done.

[sticky-sugar]

try it. (matsukawa issei x reader)

tags/cw: roommates to lovers, somnophilia, fingering, mattsun sends porn as a coping mechanism, size kink if you really squint

word count: 3.1k

“i’ve always wanted to try that.” 

issei chokes on his beer when you speak. you point at the tv in explanation, as though he needs one. the scene playing has just started out with a couple in bed, spooning while they fuck. everything’s covered, but it’s easy to tell through the blanket that the woman’s leg is lifted, her back arching against the man’s chest while she cries out lewdly. 

“never been fucked in the morning?” he jokes, keeping his eyes trained on the screen so he doesn’t have to look at you. his laugh sounds awkward even to him. 

“mm-mm.” you shake your head, draining your wine glass, and he can’t tell if that’s a confirmation or a rejection of his guess. but he can tell that that wine bottle on the coffee table is empty, because you would never say these things to him sober. 

“not that part,” you explain. frowning when you realize there’s no wine left, you rise from the couch, disappearing from the room and padding down the hall. issei sighs in relief at the moment alone, running his fingers through his hair and tugging hard.

“she’s drunk,” he whispers to himself, a reminder. “she’s drunk, and she’s your friend. and you can’t afford rent anywhere else, you stupid fuck.” that’ll do it. he’s broke as shit, and you’re a good friend. he can steel his nerves with those facts. 

“she was asleep when he started,” you call from the kitchen. 

fuck. 

issei drops his head back, hitting it on the wall a few times with purpose. fuck, fuck, fuck. 

you come back in, and he straightens, yanking the throw blanket over his lap. you’re too drunk to notice. 

you’re too drunk to notice much of anything, really — including your own running mouth. 

“she was asleep,” you say again. “and he fucked her anyway—“ you rush to explain yourself, holding a hand out when his eyes find yours, wide and uncertain. “consensually, obviously.” 

that doesn’t help. he’d been assuming that, but you confirming it makes it worse.

somnophilia, his mind whispers, the word latching itself to you. 

“i dunno,” you shrug, your refilled wine glass brought to your lips. “i think it’s hot, i guess. i’d try it.” 

he really can’t afford rent anywhere else. 

—

you’re scouring roommate ads in a hungover daze the next morning. 

what is your problem?, you think, rolling over to groan into your pillow. you open your bank app, staring at the number in your checking account and wondering uselessly if it’s enough to afford a place on your own. one where you’ll never have to look mattsun in the face again. 

why did you tell him that?

your brain flashes through two bottles of wine and drunk admissions, and you switch over to uber eats, deciding that cooking is simply not an option today. standing in that kitchen for more then four seconds and risking running into him is not an option. 

you know why you told him that. you know exactly why you told him.

you told him because, despite every coping mechanism you’ve tried over the years of living with him, matsukawa issei persists in being the most attractive man you’ve ever met. 

you told him because you wanted to test the waters. why you would ever test the waters with somnophilia, of all things, and not something standard and vanilla like ‘making out with a friend just happens sometimes’ or ‘drunk hookups aren’t so bad’, you will never know. 

but you’d told him because you think about it. you think about him, doing things like that. things that aren’t standard or vanilla or easily explained or plausibly deniable. 

you think about matsukawa issei fucking you while you sleep. and maybe it’s happened one too many times. maybe now it’s all you think about, enough that it comes up in your stupid, drunk admissions. 

maybe — just maybe — you hope he might take you up on it, now that it’s out there in the open like that. 

but that’s just a maybe. so you’re looking for another apartment, on the very real chance that he’s going to call you a freak and never speak to you again. 

your phone buzzes in your hand. 

it’s a text from him.

[10:17 AM]

mattsun: [link attached]

your face crumples into a frown. “what?” you murmur, jabbing a thumb on the link and hoping it’s not a virus. 

your phone starts moaning at max volume.

you scream, slamming down on the side button to lower the volume as the video intro plays through. your eyes fly to the title.

milf fucked by son’s friend while she’s sleeping

there’s no fucking way he just did that. 

[10:19 AM]

mattsun: smth like that? 

“matsukawa!” you scream, rolling out of bed and storming out into the hall. he’s laughing loudly from his room, and you all but kick his door down. “what the fuck is your problem?!” 

he’s in bed, cackling gleefully and covering his face with his blanket — but his eyes are anything but shy when he looks at you. 

“just trying to ease the tension-“

“by sending me porn?!”

he shrugs and gestures to his phone. “im just saying, you’re not alone! at least—“ he glances down at the screen “—3.8 million other people are into it, too-“ 

you scream in frustration, turning and stomping back to your room. his laughter follows, echoing through your door even when you slam it. 

he does it for two weeks straight. every few days, you wake up to a new link, each video titled something more obnoxious than the last. 

guy takes step-sister while she takes a nap

mom wakes step-son up with a special surprise on his birthday

repairman finds sleeping beauty home alone

each one draws an irritated screech of his name and the echoing giggles of satisfaction from his room. 

you could stop it. in fact, he’s asked you more than once if you want him to. 

‘if you really want me to stop, i’ll stop, he’d said in your kitchen last week.

‘just say the word,’ he’d reminded you on his way out one morning.

‘i think you and i both know how important consent is,’ he’d murmured just two nights ago, leaning on your doorframe, his eyes hot on yours. 

you’d shivered under his gaze and pretended to be engrossed in something on your phone. you’d hoped he couldn’t see the way you’d pressed your thighs together, but when you looked up, he was already staring down at them. 

he’d met your eyes again and just hummed, flicking his dark eyebrows up at you before turning away. your phone had buzzed with a new link only seconds after his bedroom door had clicked shut.

you’re certain he knows why you haven’t told him to stop. that the truth is that you don’t want him to stop. you’re certain he’s testing the waters now, too.

because each video he sends you gets closer and closer to being about roommates. 

your phone buzzes in your hands. you wonder if he knows that you watch each one, waiting for him to pull the trigger on the one that sits unspoken in the space between you. 

he does, a week later.

— 

you’ve caught him, issei realizes belatedly. 

maybe he should have noticed after you started sitting closer to him on the couch. or maybe after you’d refused to tell him to stop sending you porn. or maybe even after he’d sent you something titled ‘roommate can’t help himself while she sleeps’ at 4 in the morning and you hadn’t called the cops on him. 

maybe he should have realized you’d caught him after any one of those. but he doesn’t. he doesn’t realize it, not until this very moment, as you’re standing from the couch and bending over to clean the table of empty beer bottles before bed. 

he doesn’t realize it until he realizes you’re not wearing any underwear. 

he glances at you shamefully when you bend at the waist, hoping you don’t look back and catch him. and then he coughs violently, choking on his own spit and drawing your attention. 

he waves you off, blushing furiously and not even bothering to stop his eyes from flying to your ass when you just shrug and bend over again. your pajama shorts have ridden up, but there’s no lacy edge on pink panties where there should be. 

yes, he’d noticed years ago that these shorts tend to ride up and not mentioned it. yes, he knows what kind of panties you wear. yes, he has a favorite pair. 

what are you gonna do if you find out, call him a pervert? he’d sent you roommate somnophilia porn and you’d made him coffee in the morning.

“‘kay, goodnight,” you mumble, and issei wonders if you’re shy about it or if he’s just hoping you are.

“g’night,” he breathes, eyes finding yours. you keep eye contact all the way out of the living room. your eyes drop to his lap at the last second, and he watches a grin stretch across your face just before you disappear from the room. 

he looks down at his lap, and then he swears under his breath. he’s visibly hard in his sweatpants. 

—

he feels like a pervert. he really feels like a pervert. 

he stands in the hall outside your bedroom, one hand on the knob, feeling like a pervert. it’s 2 in the morning, and he feels like a pervert.

he sighs to himself and turns the knob slowly — ever so slowly, because he knows how it creaks, and he doesn’t want to wake you. he pushes the door open carefully, and then he finds you in the dark, moonlight spilling over your body. 

you’re completely naked. 

you’re on your stomach, blankets draped over your lower half and one knee bent out toward the wall. issei can see the expanse of your bare skin and the swell of your breast, but you’ve got your back slightly to him, so he can’t see everything. 

but it’s enough. 

he breathes hard, stepping into the room and shutting the door silently behind him. he runs his fingers through his hair, tugging hard and giving a soft sigh as he pads over to you. 

when he lowers his knees to your mattress, it’s with his heart in his throat and his cock straining against his pants. you look so innocent, so sweet like this, even while he’s sliding the blankets off of your skin and exposing you in the moonlight. 

is he really allowed to want this as badly as he does? 

your breath is steady, only changing slightly when he braces himself behind you, propped up on one elbow. he scoots toward you, breath caught in his throat, and then slides his hand under the back of your knee. you shiver, probably because his fingers are ice cold, and he keeps his eyes locked on the side of your face. 

when you don’t give any other sign of waking, he lifts your leg and hooks it backward over his knee, opening your body up for him. 

he swears under his breath, staring down at you in the moonlight. 

you shift, adjusting to the new angle of your body with a sigh. your back presses to his chest, and issei has to press his lips together so he doesn’t moan at the sight of you. 

he keeps his eyes on your face when he slides his fingers along your inner thigh, watching you intensely as his icy fingertips dance close to the spot between your thighs that’s radiating heat. 

when he cups your bare cunt, your skin breaks out in goosebumps, but you don’t move otherwise. issei moans now, because your body knows what he’s doing, but you don’t. 

he’d had a feeling before — in the weeks between that moment on the couch and this moment right here — that he’d unlocked a new, previously untouched fantasy. that his reaction to your drunken admission might have been about more than just being attracted to you. 

he sees it now. now, as he’s sliding two fingers between your folds and watching as you remain completely unaware, he realizes that you’ve done something to him. that you’ve made him want to do this to you, tonight and every night after. 

it takes every ounce of his self-control not to shudder and moan in your ear when your pussy twitches under his fingers, reacting to him even when you don’t. 

he drops his head to your chest, eyes locked on your face as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth. your lips part, and he freezes, but the sigh that falls out is nowhere near conscious, so he keeps going, sucking and licking and grazing his teeth over the bud while he massages your cunt with his now-warm fingers. 

the first sign that you’re reacting is the growing ease with which he’s able to push his fingers against you. your entrance becomes slick, and he can’t help that he pushes his hips against your ass in response, seeking relief. he drops his touch lower and swipes the pads of his fingers through the mess there, spreading it all over your cunt. 

when he circles your clit, slippery and warm now, your breathing changes, harder and rougher. the rise and fall of your chest pushes at his mouth, and he latches on with fresh fervor, watching your brows furrow and your lips twitch at the onslaught of sensations. 

it shouldn’t be as easy as it is for him to push his middle finger past your entrance. 

“fuck”, he whispers despite himself, mouth slipping off of you with a gentle pop and eyes rolling back in his head. your walls pulse around his finger, warm and velvety and wet beyond belief. his cock twitches hard in his pants as he slides his finger in and out of you, searching for that spongy spot that’ll wake you up. 

he knows you might have wanted him to fuck you like this, but he can’t help himself anymore. he doesn’t have it in him to be careful anymore. 

when his ring finger joins his middle, it’s with intent. the push is rough, bullying your cunt open with the size of his fingers, no doubt longer and fuller than you can get on your own. 

you shift under him, a quiet noise of question leaving you, and he lifts his head, attaching his lips to the crook of your neck. 

“y/n,” he whispers, more a moan than anything else. “need you.” 

he sucks on the column of your throat while you come to, his fingers curling and spreading inside of you — his sloppy attempt to prepare you for him. 

“h-huh-“ your head lifts slightly, and then you’re slamming it back against the pillow, your back arching. “oh, my god, mattsun-“ 

he almost comes in his pants when you say his name like that. 

“couldn’t help myself,“ he starts, shaking his head and pushing his body against yours almost desperately. “you were so pretty.“ your cunt tightens around his fingers in response, and he files that away for later. keeps it in mind, the things that make you react like this. “need you so bad, y/n-“ 

“yes, god yes,” you breathe, a whine trapped in your throat. you turn your head, back still pressed against his chest, and drop your still-sleepy eyes to his lips.

the coil under issei’s navel tugs hard when he realizes how well he can read you. 

he pushes his mouth against yours eagerly, moan unrestrained when your tongue slides against his. he wonders if you know how often he’s thought of this moment, years of wanting you and craving the feeling of you coming undone under his fingers. 

“please,” you whisper against his lips, back arching when he pushes the pads of his fingers against that spongy spot that makes you whine. “more, mattsun.” 

he groans, shivering when you pull his bottom lip between your teeth. “not yet — it’ll hurt,” he murmurs, leaning on every molecule of self-control.

“i can take it,” you just say, pushing your ass back against his aching cock. “promise.” 

he never had that much self-control to begin with.

his moan comes out in a shuddered breath, overpowered by the sound of you whining when he slips his fingers out of you. he shoves his sweats down to his knees, meeting your eyes and seeing the urgency he feels reflected in your eyes. 

when he slides his cock between your folds, it’s with a choked groan and a heaving pant in your ear. 

“can i- are you sure-“ he stutters, already lining himself up at your entrance.

“please, please, please,” you babble, arching your back to make the angle easier on him. 

you come around his cock before he’s even halfway in. 

there are stars in his eyes by the time you’re done. 

you cry out for him, shaking and clenching down hard, and he can’t do anything except bury his face in your hair and keep your leg lifted high with a trembling hand. 

“fuck,” he breathes, voice tight. “fuck, y/n-“ 

“more, mattsun,” you sob. he thinks you might be the girl of his dreams. 

pushing the rest of the way in, he shoves down his own orgasm, fighting and kicking and forcing it away so he can last more than thirty seconds inside of you. 

he only manages a minute before he’s spilling into you with a stuttered moan of your name, face buried in your neck and head full of static.

you’re just slumped against him by the time he comes to his senses, breathing hard and synced with his.

“sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, ears burning with embarrassment. “i swear i usually last longer than that-“

you laugh, tired and still weak but bright all the same. “yeah — so do i.” 

he snorts, pulling out slowly and letting your leg drop closed, trying his best not to moan at the feeling. 

“are you sure that was okay?” he asks, a tiny inkling of doubt still seeded in his veins. you just giggle, whispering his name in fond exasperation.

“sorry, which part of me sleeping naked was a warning sign?” 

“shut up,” he mutters, curling himself around you and feeling the beginnings of exhaustion start to drain his energy. “i’m staying here tonight. i don’t do one-night stands.” 

you just turn in his arms and wrap your arms around his neck. “was i that good, mattsun? i was asleep for half of it.” 

you’re gonna be the thing that kills him, he just knows it. 

[ladystoneboobs]

so, one aspect of catelyn which i think is underrated (certainly the biggest adaptation loss which nobody talks about) is her, let's say superstitiousness, or better yet, let's call it genre-savviness, being one of the few adult characters open to magic and the supernatural in this fantasy world. we first meet her in the godswood, home of gods which are not truly hers, yet she is still very aware of their power. when she and ned talk of the deserter he killed, he hopes he won't have to go with the nw to deal with mance rayder, but she has even more fear of that idea bc there are worse things beyond the wall than just wildlings. ned scoffs and says she's been listening to old nan too much, but she's right. we already know from the prologue that she's right! and here she is, understanding the genre of their world better than her husband, who was actually born and spent his earliest years in this northern land of deep magic, listening to old nan's stories. same with the direwolves, where she was uncomfortable with them at first, but later believed in them as guardians from the old gods even after robb had lost his own faith. and once again, we know she's right even if she doesn't know the evidence to back up her instincts, bc summer and shaggydog did not fail bran and rickon and robb was almost certainly a warg like his brothers. (perhaps making it more fitting that she's the one brought back as a fantasy vengeance monster, not ned and robb, the most unbelieving dead starks.) and in her 2nd agot chapter, everyone focuses on her ambition in wanting ned to agree to the hand job (pun intended) and sansa's betrothal, and while she does recognize the value of their daughter being a future queen more than ned does, that's only her stated argument bc she thinks it's rational enough for ned to listen to. (if ambitious matchmaking were as important to her as to her father she never would have made those frey betrothals fandom loves to blame her for.) in her own head there's a deeper urge driving her. she keeps thinking of the dead direwolf with antlers in its throat, an omen which filled her with dread from the first she heard of it, before robert's arrival, and thinking of it again is what makes her desperate to convince ned not to refuse robert. she had to make him see. and really, she's not wrong, as jon snow would say. the dead direwolf was an omen of ned and robert getting each other killed. it's just one of those misread portents, with no way of knowing the danger to ned was in his loyalty to robert, not conflict with him. BUT the next time she's dealing with baratheons, she knows exactly what she's talking about. it's catelyn, not brienne, who sees the shadow slaying renly, and explains that it was stannis who did that through some dark magic. with no way of knowing how it was achieved and no prior expectation that such a thing were ever possible, she realizes with no hestitation that stannis was guilty and that his red witch was capable of pulling this off somehow. really, the only instinct of the supernatural she's wholly wrong about is her insistence that varys gathered his knowledge through some dark enchantment. however, though that might offend varys, given his own personal experience with a sorcerer, i'd say it's a reasonable assumption without knowing the dude had children moving through walls everywhere like oversized rodents. and imo it just shows she had a healthy respect and awe for varys's power which most other characters lack.

oh, oh, and let's not forget that she also believed in the curse of harrenhal, from her own childhood and the stories old nan told her kids. "and every house that held Harrenhal since had come to misfortune. Strong it might be, but it was a dark place, and cursed. 'I would not have Robb fight a battle in the shadow of that keep,' Catelyn admitted." sure, that wasn't enough to save robb, but he did not die from the curse of harrenhal. that doom was meant for his enemies from tywin lannister to roose bolton.

[trumanbluee]

you're the one that i want - deadpool / wade wilson

minors dni !! this is 17+ nsfw material !!!

please reblog if you like it! ᡣ𐭩

based on this request! <3

content: three words, baby! the honda odyssey!

word count: 2.5k

warnings: established relationship, no mention of condom (wrap it b4 u tap it!), petnames galore, deadpool is a warning in of himself lol.

a/n: the deadpool brainrot has been so strong recently so thank u guys so much for all ur requests! my return to my deadpool era couldn't have come at a worse time with my exams happening rn but i will try and write as much as i can! love you!

You'd been sitting in the backseat of the "fuck-ass Honda Odyssey", as Wade had described it, arm resting on the centre console, your head propped up on your palm lamely as you turn it left to right, half-listening to Wade and Logan argue like you're at a tennis match.

You'd almost flown forward into the front of the car when it came to an abrupt stop, tyres screeching as you let out a soft yelp in surprise. Wade hears you, and wordlessly pushes you back softly. You'd heard something spat out from Logan, along the lines of "You'll never save the fucking world!", followed by Wade's voice saying, "I'm gonna fight you now." and then the sound of a sickening crunch as he punches Logan in the nose.

It's milliseconds before you see your boyfriend's arm reach back and open your door, gently ushering you out with a soft, "Why don't you go for a walk, pretty girl?"

You know better than to argue, especially with Logan seething in the front seat, so you hop out of the car, shutting the door behind you as you trudge off into the trees, half grateful for being kicked out of the car so you didn't have to listen to Logan's grumbles when you inevitably had to ask him to pull over so you could pee.

You could hear the yelling and grunting in the distance, shaking your head as you hear the faint shatter of glass, followed by a - less than masculine - squeal from your boyfriend. You laughed to yourself, not worried in the slightest as you hear the fighting between the two, Logan's growls echoing through the trees as he squelches his claws into your boyfriend's stomach.

You'd told Wade to give Logan a break, and that eventually he would find out about his 'educated wish', but he hadn't listened, instead continuing to push and push and push Logan until, expectedly, he reached his breaking point.

You wandered around amongst the trees for a while, before slumping against a tree not too far from the car, your eyes growing heavy as you listened to the soft rustle of the leaves above you.

You wake up groggily, looking around the room as you rub sleep from your eyes. You startle when a red suit appears in front of you, but it's not the Deadpool suit that you're all too familiar with.

"I'm Elektra, that's Gambit," the woman points to a man in a helmet, who's stood in the corner, playing with cards, "and that's Blade," she points over her shoulder with her thumb to the man in a long, leather trench-coat.

"I.. uhm.. Hi?" you say, taken aback by this sudden bombardment of strangers.

"We're helping you and your friends get out of the void." Elektra explains, offering her hand to help you stand up. You take it gratefully.

"...Oh, cool..." you say, still groggy from being asleep for so long. "..are.. are they around?"

Elektra nods, pointing outside with her head, "Yellow's by the fire, Red's... around here somewhere."

You nod, thanking her and smiling awkwardly at Blade and Gambit as you walk outside, the smoke from the fire consuming your nostrils as you step out. You spot Logan by the fire, but see that he's sitting with someone.

'She looks an awful lot like that X-23 girl we saw at the TVA.' you think, not ruling out the possibility that it is her with the level of weirdness that had already occurred during your short time in the void. You tread on, looking around before you spot the Honda Odyssey. You shake your head, rolling your eyes as you walk to the drivers door of the car, opening it to reveal your boyfriend in the back-seat, pulling his katana's out of the passenger's seat next to you as you plop into the driver's seat.

He looks up when he hears the car door open, and the white eyes of his mask visible soften as he sees you.

"Hey baby," he coos, scooching forward in the back-seat to press a soft kiss to your cheek through his mask as you sit in the driver's seat, peeking over the headrest to look back at him, "was wonderin' when you were gonna wake up, sleepy head."

You smile softly, before taking a moment to look around at the damage done to the car. Your eyes go wide and your hand flies to your mouth, the other reaching back to swat at Wade's shoulder.

"Wade! What the fuck did you two get up to in here? Jesus Christ!"

You hear a whisper of 'Baby Knife!' followed by a soft grunt as Wade pockets another one of his knives.

"Just some good ol' fashioned fightin', baby! I'm kinda sad you missed it, that shit got good!"

You tut, leaning around the driver's seat to look at him as he's hunched over, digging for another one of his knives beneath the seat.

You hear him mumble something along the lines of 'Hate this fuckin' car' before he shoots up, and you can sense his smile through the mask. He leans back in the seats that are in the very back of the car, right leg thrown over one seat, with his other leg spread, suit-clad knee pressing into the fabric of the other. His eyes sharpen as he looks at you, before groaning softly, throwing his head back in a circle, and sighing.

"Fuck, princess, that fightin's gotten me all worked up," he groans, chin pressed to the top of his chest as he looks at you, eyes narrowed.

You feel your thighs rub together at the way he looks at you, the manspreading the cherry on top of a very, very, delicious looking dessert. He chuckles, gesturing to your thighs with his head.

"Saw that, baby." He laughs to himself before he lifts his hand, beckoning you to him with two fingers, his other hand resting on the headrest of the seat in front of him, twiddling Baby Knife between his fingers.

You squirm in your seat before not so agilely climbing over the centre console, crawling over the seat and onto Wade’s lap. He pockets Baby Knife, bringing a hand up to pull the bottom of his mask up, the other settling on your ass as you straddle his waist. 

“Hey doll-face,” he murmurs, smiling and giving your ass a playful squeeze, pulling his mask fully off before placing his hand on the nape of your neck, pulling you into a kiss. 

You moan against his lips as you kiss back, his gloved hand giving your ass a firmer squeeze. Wade uses this opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue past your lips as you gasp into his mouth. Your hips grind down subconsciously and he pulls away from the kiss, both of your chests rising quickly as you both try and regain your breath from the heated kiss. 

Wade smirks up at you, moving both of his hands to your hips, squeezing softly, pulling a giggle from your lips before he’s engulfing them in another breathless kiss. He moves your hips with his hands, grinding you down on his boner as it tents in his suit, causing him to buck up absentmindedly as he groans into your mouth. Your breathy whimpers vibrate against his lips, and he pulls away, leaning his head back against the headrest behind him. 

“…Fuck, doll-face,” he groans, looking up at you, “ look what you're fuckin’ do to me, baby.” 

He nods down to his dick, almost bursting out of his suit, and your mouth nearly drops open. Wade thinks to himself that if you were in an animé, you’d have heart emojis bulging from your eyes. 

He takes his hands off your hips, crossing his arms behind his head in faux-laziness as he watches you undo the buckle of his belt, slapping the sides of his legs softly, signalling for him to lift his hips. 

“Watch it, doll-face.” Wade warns, half-joking, “Ask me nicely, please.” 

You groan, giving him your ‘are-you-fucking-serious-right-now’ glare as you tug at his belt. He’d been on the receiving end of this look many times in the past, so he’s unfazed as he chuckles dryly, planting his hips down.

 “I can wait, Princess.” 

You roll your eyes, huffing. “Please, Wade,” you glare at him, “Will you please lift your hips up so I can get your dick out?” 

You add a pout and a flutter of your lashes at the end, and his resolve noticeably crumbles. He huffs, lifting his hips up off the car seat just enough for you to pull down his pants slightly. You dip your hand into his underwear, giving his dick a soft tug before freeing it from the tight pants of his Deadpool suit. 

You gather some spit in your mouth, looking at your boyfriend through your lashes before spitting onto the tip of his cock, using your hand to spread it along his length, squeezing softly around the base. Wade groans from below you, his hips bucking into your hand.

“Fuck, hotstuff, ya’ killin’ me here.” 

Wade hisses as you squeeze a bit harder around his dick, the pretty ring he’d proposed to you with cold against his skin. 

He almost whines, stopping himself by biting his lip, “Oh, c’mon baby, what’d I do to deserve this teasin’, huh? I fought so valiantly against ol’ Wolvie, didn’t I, princess? Don’t I deserve to be treated nicely?” 

Something about the whiny-ness of his tone sends a pang to your heart, and pussy, and you grind down against his thigh absentmindedly before putting both your hands on his shoulders. 

“Help me out, would ya’, Wadey?” you ask sweetly, shimmying your hips slightly to gain his attention. 

His hands fly to your tights, tugging them down your thighs, lifting your legs softly, one by one, and peeling your pants off, leaving you hovering above him in your prettiest pair of panties. You’d been wearing them as a birthday surprise for him, but you’d both been snagged by the TVA before you could put them to good use… until now. 

Wade’s breath hitches from beneath you as his eyes land on your panties, his lower lip bitten between his teeth as his chest heaves. 

“Fuck, doll-face, what’re you all dressed up for?” he says, tracing a gloved hand over the lacy hem of your white panties, pressing a soft kiss to the little blue bow in the middle, before blowing a puff of cool air onto the damp spot beneath it. 

Your legs wobble softly and a shiver runs up your spine, leaving you grateful for your hands planted on your boyfriend's broad shoulders. 

You muster the breath to say, “They’re for you, baby… Well, they were for your birthday…”

He groans softly, pressing a soft kiss to your mound before pushing the thin fabric to the side, swiping a gloved finger through your slick. 

“Shit, baby.. Y’so wet f’me,” he says, voice breathless. “Fuck those stupid fucking day players, keeping my beautiful fiance, and her beautiful fucking panties from me on my birthday. What assholes, hey baby?” He says, pressing his thumb to your clit harshly as he blows another puff of air onto your slick pussy, causing your hips to buck into the air. 

You whine softly, bringing a hand to pump Wade’s cock once again, nodding mindlessly at his question that he knows you didn’t even hear. 

Wade chuckles, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest and shooting straight to your cunt, your thighs squeezing around his hand as he thumbs your clit lazily. 

You shuffle yourself forward on his lap, holding onto Wade’s strong shoulder with your hand, the other slowly pumping his cock as you lift yourself up, breathing hitching as you push yourself down onto the tip of Wade’s dick. 

His breath hitches beneath you, rubbing soothing circles on your hips through his gloves as you sink down onto him. His hands grip your hips tighter as he bottoms out, your eyes squeezed shut as you clamp down on his length. 

“Shit, baby, I could blow my load right now.” Wade gasps, head thrown back as his grip tightens on your hips, moving you up and down on his cock. You follow suit with his movements, digging your nails into the fabric of his suit as you leverage yourself on his shoulders, pushing yourself up and slamming yourself down on his cock, a moan slipping from your lips at every drag of his dick along your walls. 

Your hips stutter slightly, and Wade takes this as his cue, moving his hands from your hips to gain a strong grip on your ass, lifting you up and slamming his hips to meet yours. You whine softly, eyebrows knitting together and biting your lip as the soft squelch of your wetness reverberates around the car, your chest heaving with exertion, skin dewy with a thin sheen of sweat. 

You throw your head back, moaning wantonly, one hand coming off of Wade’s shoulder and pressing against the roof of the car. 

“...Shit…Wade!” you stammer as he moves one hand to your lower stomach, his thumb pressing harshly on your clit through his glove.

You slam your hips down to meet Wade's quicker, chasing your high as Wade slams his hips up to meet yours, his head thrown back against the head-rest behind him, eyes closed, as he groans softly.

"C'mon, doll-face," Wade grunts from beneath you, rubbing cruel circles on your clit as he bucks into you, "...y'gonna cum? Can feel you squeezing around me, princess."

You moan softly, babbling something like a 'uh-huh' as your eyebrows knit together, eyes shutting tight as you feel the coil building in your lower belly, threatening to snap any moment.

Wade feels you clamping around him, looking up and watching as you throw your head back, your grip on his shoulder tightening.

"That's it, baby," he groans from under you, pinching at your clit meanly causing you to whimper softly, your head coming forward, forehead resting against his as you grind down onto his cock.

"C'mon, hotstuff, give it to me..." he grunts, feeling his own orgasm coming as you clench down on him like a vice, a string of curse words sputtering from your lips as he feels you gush around him.

"...Shit, baby... Good girl," he coos, fucking you through your orgasm as he cums, soft grunts sounding in your ear as he bucks into you before stilling, stopping the movements of his thumb on your clit, as he lifts you up gently and pulls out. He pulls his hand away from your clit, but not before collecting a part of the mixture of yours and his cum on his gloved fingers, pushing it slowly back in to your drooling pussy. You whine, overstimulated, and he tuts, pushing your panties back into place and pulling your pants back up your legs, leaning back in the seat as you slump against his chest.

He smiles, giving your bum a soft pat and pressing a kiss to your hairline, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “I lied, doll-face, the Honda Odyssey fucks, hard.”

©trumanbluee - reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! but i do not wish for my work to be republished, translated, or copied. thanks!

[luveline]

𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝? | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Your best friend Eddie tries to explain what a hickey feels like and finds he doesn't have the words. He could show you, though, if you want? [3k] 

fem!reader, shy!reader, implied inexpereinced!reader, friends-to-lovers, pining, mdni heavy petting, hickeys, lots of hickeys, marking up, neck kissing, shoulder kissing, heat of the moment confessions, eddie being flirty but also a good friend, requested here

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie strokes down the length of his guitar neck almost tenderly. You're focused on his hands rather than his mouth as he recounts last night's date to you, distracted by the deft movement of his fingers, which aren't exactly small. It's an oxymoron —paradoxical, even— that his thick fingers would move with such gentle precision. 

You shift around where you're sitting on his bedroom floor, criss-cross applesauce with an uncomfortable heat rising from the bottomless pit of your stomach to your tight collar. The white button up you'd worn under your sweater vest is a size too small. You're really starting to notice. 

You peel out of the vest and hope it'll help you calm down.

"She wasn't exactly sweet," Eddie says, plucking a string, listening to the sound, and tuning it this way or that depending on how he liked it. "I think she wanted to get it over with, which isn't really my thing. She was in my lap before I could make it clear I wasn't interested in anything quick." 

You lift your gaze from his hands. He must feel you watching his face. He looks up in tandem and smiles reassuringly. "It's fine. I kind of thought she was getting into it, she was like a vampire on me at one point, but I wasn't feeling it and it's clear she wasn't either. Drove her home. How was your night, d'you watch that tape?" 

You trace the coil of a black curl down to his shoulder, and can't force yourself to meet his eyes as you ask, "A vampire?" 

"What?" 

"She was like a vampire at one point, you said." Eddie's arm goes still. "What did you mean by that?" you ask.

He puts his guitar down on the floor. You worry you've said something truly dull for him to place his sweetheart in such a rush, but Eddie's like that. He can tell you're embarrassed no doubt, and he's giving you the answer to your question as swiftly as he can to soothe the wound. 

"Here, look," he says. He pushes his hair away from his neck on one side and tilts his head, bearing a wine-stained curve of skin to you unabashedly. "She kissed me. She gave me a hickey, used a lot of teeth. That's why it's bruised so much on the edges." 

Warmth you've never felt rushes in, like your blood has superheated, and it's written on your face. Eddie's room feels suddenly a thousand times smaller than before and more intimate, his poster wallpaper curving in, the space between you inching closer. 

"Sorry," he says, "I know it's kind of weird to show you." 

"No, I'm sorry," you say, mortified. "I shouldn't have asked you." 

"Yeah, you should. You didn't get it and now you do. I don't mind telling you." 

Eddie lets his hair fall back against his neck, a kinky curtain that looks ridiculously soft in the orangey light of his lamp. There's a butter smoothness to it, and the way he moves as he does is worse, his hand open and reaching for you. He doesn't hold your hand, doesn't even try, just lets his upturned palm hang off the edge of his knee as if to say, Ask me whatever it is you want to ask me. It's cool. 

"Why would she do that?" you ask, gesturing to your neck.

"It's not her fault, I was flirting with her a ton trying to make it work."

"Not like that." 

Eddie's hand turns toward his knee. "Like what?" 

Your hand drifts to your own neck absentmindedly. You get kissing, wanting to be kissed and wanting to give them. You understand why she kissed his neck; if you'd been in her position, alone in the car with Eddie laying his charm on thick, you might climb the console and push aside his hair too. 

"I know why she kissed you. I don't see why she…" You rub your lips together, your embarrassment turning sharp. You hate how humiliating this feels. "I know what a hickey is, Eds, but why would you want one?" 

His turn to fluster. The tiniest tinge of pink paints his cheeks. "Are you asking me why I enjoyed it?" 

"Did you?" 

You despise yourself, truly. Worse when Eddie laughs, his chest forward, hair falling in his face as he chuckles sincerely. 

"Yeah," he says, smiling at you "I liked it. Before she started trying to kill me I was having a good time." 

He doesn't put you through the agony of asking what you both know he wants to. 

You've never had one?

"It feels warm, and it's– you know how being kissed gives you butterflies, right? It's better than that. It's hot, and all her weight is on you and you have your hand on her back trying to pull her in, and she's as close as she can be without, you know." Something flickers across Eddie's face. Not longing, but a remembered pleasure. It makes you squirm. 

"I don't see how it doesn't just hurt." 

The hand that hadn't been reaching for you holds a pick. He flashes it between his fingers, a party trick, a nervous tic, his eyelashes tangling together as his eyelids inch closed. He scrunches his face up for a second. 

"Don't hate me if I ask you something weird," Eddie says, eyes shut tight. 

You don't think you could. You watch Eddie's face, knowing he can't see your analysis, and feel a shock of pins and needles in your hands when his eyes open and immediately lock on to yours. 

"Do you want me to give you one?" he asks. 

Your lips feel like they've been glued shut. You're aware of your breathing, how shallow each inhale has become, but you can't do anything about it. 

He has the decency to acknowledge what position his question puts you in, "I know it might be weird but I can't describe it to you if you don't know what it feels like." 

You surprise him. You surprise yourself. "Uh, yeah. Okay." 

"Yeah?" 

"It doesn't hurt?" 

"Not unless you want it to." A hint of a smirk plays on his lips, though it fades quickly. "It doesn't hurt. That's not the point. But it can feel… foreign." 

You nod jerkily, wishing you knew what to do. 

The atmosphere is thick enough to cut through. Neither of you like it. Eddie gives you another type of smile, a familiar one that says, I'm your best friend, I always will be, so please chill out. 

"You're gonna have to sit in my lap." 

You actually laugh. "Eddie," you chastise, thinking it's a bad joke. 

"Sorry, sweetheart, but it's that or the bed." His teasing tone is light, but he still adds, "I mean, we can do it sitting next to each other but it's difficult. Whatever you want, though." 

You climb up on your knees. You're shy, absolutely, you always will be and especially when Eddie's teasing, but he really is your best friend, and the bed isn't happening.

He doesn't scare you. 

He grins and ushers you toward him. "Alright, come here." He tugs one of your thighs over his lap and your breath catches. He grabs the other and any laughter between you abruptly dies. 

You settle over his lap with an expression not far from pained. Eddie's hands rest against your thigh and your hip. He has to look up at you now, and he does as he encourages your weight firmly downward. You're more than conscious of where you're positioned. 

"Do me a favour?" he asks. 

"Yeah." You put your hand on his chest tentatively. 

"Don't suffer through it if you hate it, okay? All you have to do is say something and I'll stop, but if you feel like you can't, a good right hook would work too." 

"I'm not gonna hurt you," you protest. 

"Me neither," he says. His hand lifts from your thigh to your neck, and he brushes his fingertips down the curve of it ineffectually. It would feel good if you weren't choking on air. "Relax, sweetheart. Please." 

"I'm really warm." 

"Your shirt's too tight anyway," he says, hand at your collar. He thumbs open your top button, a second, and exposes the flat of your chest. His fingers slide across your neck as he folds back your starched collar. They're cool compared to the raging heat he finds there. 

You take a deep breath. 

"You could put your hands in my hair," he says. Wishful thinking has hope colouring his tone. 

You put your hands on his shoulders. The very tips of your fingers partition his curls. 

He raises an arm above your mess of limbs to weave a hand behind your ear. It's then that you feel his callouses, so rough against the delicate skin of your scalp. Despite their texture, you find it feels good. He tucks his hand in tight, and slowly, slowly turns your head to the side. 

"Look up," he murmurs. 

You lift your head and stare at the ceiling with widened eyes. 

He can't know but he does, and he says, "Close your eyes." The heat of his breath kisses your neck.  

You shiver at the suggestion of his lips, and again when they press to your skin. Close-lipped, Eddie kisses the skin just under your ear where on the opposite side of your head his thumb strokes quarter circles. You're quickly overwhelmed by the duelling sensations. You don't notice his lips have parted until he's kissing a sloven path downward, his spit cooling in wake. 

This isn't a hickey, this is straight up kissing, and you don't know what to do with how you feel. You hide your hands in his hair. 

It tugs him forward. He reads your hands for enthusiasm, and if it is or isn't he pulls you closer still and opens his mouth against your skin. His teeth are impossible to ignore. 

Your hand works further into his hair, getting caught in a tangle as he sucks your skin between his lips. His lazy mouthing turns insistent but still gentle, his teeth scratching ever so slightly at your pulse as it capers beneath his ministrations. You gasp at the warmth blossoming under your ribs. You cup the back of his neck a touch too tight. 

He doesn't stop kissing you, only grabs your wrist to stop you from choking him out. You make a sound you've never made with him before, a mewl, all breathless and teary as the sensation worsens. Which is to say, betters. 

He breaks a particularly rough kiss to suck in breath, his nose sliding up the curve of your neck as he leans back. "You okay?" he murmurs, half-lidded eyes locking onto your flushed face. 

"Why does it feel like that?" you ask. 

He drops his head, his nose level with your chin. "I don't know," he says, punctuating with a kiss right there, the closest bit of skin he can find. "Want me to do it again?" 

You swallow and he must see it. He says nothing, wrapping his arms around your waist as he waits for you to respond. Your stomach pushes into his, your arms braced on his shoulder so you don't collapse into his front, limp with touch. 

"Sweetheart, can I do it again?" he asks.

"Yeah," you say, quiet but enthusiastic. "Please." 

He's slower this time. Eddie leans into your neck and doesn't kiss you at first, his lips so close to your skin that you can feel their phantom. You skin tingles from his previous scandalising, and it doesn't beg, skin can't beg, but you can, you curl your arm behind his neck and hook his head there, crushing his hair to the crook of your arm. He doesn't take much convincing beyond that. His lips smush against your neck and you feel every millimetre as they part, heat and warmth and wet spreading like budding flowers come to bloom. You melt into him soon after, and Eddie takes your weight in stride, hand at the small of your back and pulling you in so hard you can feel his ribs. 

When you think you're used to it —not used to it, but expecting what can be expected— Eddie nips you. Tiny dainty kisses broken up with a nibbling you'd couldn't describe as anything but playful. He laughs at your gasping and does it again, again, giddy hot laughter mixed with one of the strangest feelings you've ever been subjected to. You're molten. You're dizzy with it.

Eddie pulls back enough to ask, "I'm gonna undo another button, okay? Just one. Is that alright?" 

"What for?" 

"So I can kiss your shoulder. Just your shoulder." He sounds pleading, desperately excited in a way you've never heard him and you want to know what it'll feel like, so you let him. 

This next button unveils the top of your bra and the soft hills of your breasts. He doesn't look, barely glances at his hand as he tugs your shirts down your arm, diving into the juncture of your neck like he needs it to breathe. His kisses are proper compared to some of the stuff he's been doing, but then he opens his mouth and the flat of his tongue wets your skin as he kisses kisses kisses down your shoulder. His hand is somewhere under your shirt, fingers slipped under your bra strap and pulling teasingly at the elastic as he eases you down in his arms. You're shorter than him where you'd started taller, totally compressed in his arms and at his mercy.

When he pulls back, the slimmest ribbon of spit shines between your shoulder and his lips. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, his eyes glassy, and that hand cups your face. He pretty much grabs you, but there's not a lick of cruelty in his touch. Eddie's rough. Never cruel. 

"You're on fire," he says. It's objective rather than joking. "You're so hot. Do you want to stop?" 

"Not– not unless you want to," you say, trying to quieten your breathing. You sound like you've run a marathon. It feels like it. 

"I'm gonna give you a real one, cool?" 

"I didn't know they weren't real." 

"Oh, sweetheart," he says, and his eyes are damning, a loving pity in the black of his blown pupils, "I was just warming you up." 

Your mind blanks. 

"Make sure I can hide it," you say. 

You aren't thinking straight, concerned about hiding his hickeys but not what this means for the two of you. His unexpected hunger, and your willingness to let him eat you whole. 

"I don't think you can hide it anymore," he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb. 

You look down at his lips. They're rosy, swollen from the pressure.

He sees you looking. 

He yanks you in by the waist and sizes you up, almost, like he's calling your bluff, not spiteful but something mean about him as he stares at your mouth in return. 

Like he doesn't want you to make the mistake. Like he knows you won't. 

His hand tips your chin up high and he ducks his own down. An inch and you'd be kissing. That's all it would take.

"Is that really what you want?" he asks.

"I don't know," you say. Is it what he wants?

It has to be. 

"Have you wanted to, before?" He draws a line down your cheek with his marriage finger. Fast as a heavy tear. "You want me to kiss you?" 

"Yeah," you whisper, trying to make sense of this, your sudden confession, a secret want pushed into the light. 

Eddie turns his hand and strokes down your cheek with the back of it, pushing any dampened baby hairs away from your skin. His gaze softens. 

"Was that so hard?" he asks. 

"You knew?"

He kisses you. He's smiling, and he doesn't take just one. He must kiss you four or five times, your lips parted enough to know he could push it further if he wanted, but he doesn't. These kisses are unhurried, missing the ravenous passion of his hickeying but not the fondness. 

"You don't know how hard it is," he says after he's broken away, his forehead tipped against yours, "how hard it is to have someone look at you like you look at me everyday, like I'm something you can't have." 

"I didn't know–" you knew. You felt the same. His kissing is evidence alone. it's confessional.

"I know. Guess I thought nothing good would come of it, but– but I don't want good. I want you." 

He pulls back quickly, like you've said something confessional rather than him. He surprised himself. 

"I'm not good?" you ask. 

"You're good. You'll ruin me, that's all." 

You don't have time to ask him what he means by that. He kisses you again, kisses your cheek, draws a line of crescent moons down along your neck to the mess he's made of you. He kisses– he sucks your neck so hard, so sudden, that goosebumps erupt and you can't stop yourself from saying, "Ohh," as you cling to his shoulders. 

This is the vampire thing he'd talked about, the points of his teeth stark against your skin even now. There's another layer of vulnerability unveiled here, knowing that he could really hurt you and knowing he never would. He kisses you until you're overwhelmed by him. Heat everywhere. Sweat shining on your skin. You don't want anything else but this.

You squeak as the pressure turns from pleasurable to too much. Eddie hears the pain in it and pulls away, instantly sorry and willing to prove it, his hands cradling your face. 

You pant. He shushes you gently.

"Sorry, baby." He pets your cheeks. 

Your head falls back, too heavy on your sore neck. You feel wiped. 

Wiped, but good. Lax. 

"That was nice," you say breathlessly. 

Eddie sits up and drags you with him, hand behind your neck to prop you up. He's laughing again, his awful sweet laugh that you've heard a thousand times before. It never fails to make you smile. 

"You're like a dead fish." 

You cover an eye with your hand. "I take it the romance is over." 

"You thought that was romantic? Babe, I'm only getting started." 

Eddie gives you a quick peck. Where his hickey had felt like the heart of a star growing hotter with each passing second, his smaller kiss feels like the sun through blinds, a dappling of warmth. 

"Are you messing with me?" you ask.

He pushes his arms over your shoulders for a hug. 

"No. Not messing with you." His nose rubs against the shell of your ear. "It's about time we talked." 

You let your hand drift down the dip of his back.

"Okay," you mumble. Talking. You need to talk about whatever it is that just happened. 

"...Maybe I'll get you a glass of water first," he adds.

"That's a good idea." 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and if you did, please consider letting me know/reblogging, it means the world to me and makes a big difference!! ♡ NOTE: Eddie def pines back if that isn't fully clear, I tried to imply it with his date where he could've hooked up with someone but didn't go through with it, it was cos he's too in lurve

[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 6 masterlist

-

The interior door slides open when Gaz pulls down the lever on his side, fitting into the recesses in the wall until there’s nothing between you. He’s the same and yet entirely different with nothing separating the two of you; more corporeal, undeniably flesh and blood. You can feel it now—the heat of another body in close proximity.

His stare penetrates you to the root, eyes so dark that you can’t look away. It’d be easy to get lost in them, like falling into a black hole, body stretching out into infinity, even the smallest subatomic parts of you torn apart. Expressive eyes, the kind you might look at and think that there’s someone behind them worth knowing. But the sharp angularity of the intelligence there makes your skin crawl. 

Farah finds her voice before you do. “Who are you?”

Gaz breaks his stare to glance at her, his frozen smile suddenly warming. “We haven’t met; I’m Gaz.”

When he holds out his gloved hand, Farah only looks at it instead of taking it, disbelief warring with her common sense. You wish you could hear the thoughts running through her head. 

“You can see him too?” you whisper to her.

Her head snaps in your direction, dark brows already furrowed. “Of course I can. What are you talking about?”

It’s perhaps impossible to explain without making yourself sound insane. More insane, in any case. But with the proof in front of you now, you can’t deny any longer that Gaz is real; that after days spent worrying about the state of your crumbling mental health, the very cause of your concern now stands before you, witnessed by someone else. You’d laugh if you didn’t feel faint. 

Because he is real—all six feet and two inches of him. Close enough to reach out your hand and touch. His skin looks buttery soft; if you were a foot closer, you’d almost be tempted to take his hand if only to see if your fingers would pass through.

Without warning, the intercom suddenly crackles to life again and a familiar voice blares from the speaker. “Panel secure. Headed back now.”

The sound of Nikolai’s voice sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. Even Gaz glances over his shoulder at the door and the vastness of space behind it. There’s nothing there, but his thickly accented voice asks for confirmation and you know it must be him, not a trick of the comms system. You stumble back until you hit the wall behind you.

“Kolya?” you hear Graves respond sharply, his voice still carrying through the ship over the intercom. “Shit, is that you? Do you hear me?”

“Черт побери. Yes, I hear you, mother hen,” Nikolai laughs in response. His laughter is a crisp, hollow sound over the intercom, like crackling blue electricity. “On my way back now. No need to pluck all your feathers out.”

His nonchalance is, frankly, unreasonable for the amount of time elapsed since he last checked in with the crew. 

A whole body comes into view this time, an astronaut waving to you through the window of the exterior door. Even from the other side, you can tell it’s Nikolai, the sheer size of him apparent. 

“Alhamdulillah,” Farah breathes, pulling the lever down for a second time to initiate the return sequence. 

Like deja vu, you watch as the first set of doors open and Nikolai slowly makes his way into the airlock one slow step at a time, the man looking no worse for wear. Beside you, Farah whispers something that you miss. The doors slide shut noiselessly behind him, and again you watch as a man in a spacesuit undergoes repressurization, the tensing of his shoulders making his discomfort with the process apparent. 

He already has his helmet off before the second door even opens. “Like I said, easy peasy. Can someone get me a coffee now?”

It’s almost too much for you to digest in such a short period of time, your emotions slingshotting between losing Nikolai and finding a strange man floating in the middle of space and then hearing the Russian man’s voice again like nothing happened. Lost time, or gained time. 

He must pick up on the way you and Farah simply gape at him in stunned silence.

“Something the matter?” Nikolai asks, a thick caterpillar eyebrow arched. A second later, he registers the other man in the hallway and grins. “Ah, you met Gaz. Nice guy, huh?”

“You know him?” Farah asks, her incredulity apparent.

“We met outside. I sent him in to get warm.”

You’re properly dumbfounded now, staring at Nikolai with abject disbelief for giving someone permission to board the ship without the commander’s permission. 

The footsteps of your commander and his second echo as they race down the hallway from the cockpit, the metal clunking under their boots. Louder and louder until they reach you, coming to a halt just a few feet away.

“Didn’t think I was gone that long,” Nikolai murmurs, stripping out of his spacesuit at the same time. Without a word, Farah helps him tuck it back into the storage locker he originally took it from. 

The two men stalk forward the remaining distance and when you look over at Graves, you can see the worry and relief writ large across his face, his attempts at concealing his emotions only partially successful. 

“What the fuck happened?” Graves barks, his expression stern until his eyes land on Gaz standing peacefully in the middle of the corridor, and then something shifts. A brief uncertainty clouding the pale blue of his eyes. “Who’s this?” 

Gaz lifts a gloved hand in greeting. “Name’s Gaz.”

“Found him outside wandering around,” Nikolai booms, slinging an arm over Gaz’s shoulders in an obvious show of fondness. “Poor bastard couldn’t find his crew.”

“Just wandering around in the middle of nowhere?” Graves asks, cocking a brow, skepticism thick in his words. 

Gaz smiles sheepishly. “It’s my fault. I got a bit turned around.”

Graves hums, mulling over the information. “…Turned around, huh?”

“Yes, sir. Looked away for a second and then my group was gone.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant at all.”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

His deference is second to none. You could almost imagine yourself believing him, swept away by concern for his welfare. 

There’s a difference though. You’ve had the benefit of several days of acclimation. 

“Sir—commander,” you interject, swallowing when Graves turns his attention on you, the microexpression that flits across his face betraying his displeasure at being interrupted. “I’m sorry, but this makes no sense. I don’t see how…well, how he could have survived out on his own. I mean—” Your eyes flick towards Gaz. “I’m sorry, but none of this makes any sense to me.”

Graves’ lip curls up. "What doesn't make any sense?"

"Well, should we have brought him in? This just doesn't seem like protocol—"

“I don’t get your point, doctor. Should we have just left him out there to die? I thought you had that whole Hippocratic oath to uphold.”

None of this makes any sense to you. Apart from Farah, they’re being entirely too cavalier for happening upon a man in the middle of nowhere. There should be talk of heading back to Earth or quarantining him in the brig. 

“It’s not about that,” you croak. 

“I don’t understand you, doctor. You of all people should want to help.”

But he’s the man I’ve been seeing for days, you almost scream, but the blatant disapproval in Graves’ eyes makes you hold your tongue. You know your instincts aren’t wrong. Basic science isn’t wrong. Even if his spacesuit were able to provide basic environmental protection and life support, the longest a human might be able to survive after becoming untethered from their ship would be just under nine hours. 

You don’t know why this isn’t registering as strange to any of them. They act as though there’s nothing at all unusual about a man floating in space without any spacecraft within fifty million miles of him. As if this were just something that happened from time to time, and not an unprecedented anomaly. 

“Well, you could probably do with some shut eye after your trip, I reckon,” Graves says, clamping a hand down on Gaz’s shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “We have a spare bunk near mine—bit cramped, but I’m sure you’ll make do.”

Gaz tips his head in thanks. “I’d appreciate it.”

“And—sorry, forgot to ask, but are you good? Not feeling faint or sick or anything? I know our doctor’s a little prickly, but whatever you need, she can help with.”

The weight of Gaz’s gaze makes your body feel leaden. 

“All good for now,” he says, still smiling serenely. His stare never wavers, smile never dips. “But don’t worry, love. I’ll come find you when I need you.”

Nikolai’s arm drops from his shoulder and Graves leads him off down the corridor to recuperate in his new room. The scream is buried in your throat; if you try to cough it up, only blood and mucus will come out. 

You can only watch helplessly as they walk away, Farah gone by the time you remember to look for her. 

After that, hours pass by without any sight of the man who recently boarded your ship. You don’t see much of anyone in fact. Hadir eats lunch around the same time as you, but his conversation is oddly circulatory, muddled, like he can’t keep his thoughts straight. He mentions the same thing twice and doesn’t seem concerned when you politely remind him that he already told you. He also doesn’t seem to register your words when you tentatively broach the subject of Gaz’s sudden appearance. 

Hadir shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “Better for us anyway. Could be nice to have another warm body around here.”

“Don’t you…don’t you remember what I told you the other day?” you prod, pushing your potatoes around with your fork, your stomach in knots. “When I told you I saw someone outside?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s who I was talking about,” you whisper, as if concerned about being overheard. “I saw Gaz out there. He must have been out there…for days at least.”

“Ah,” he says, mildly contemplative. “Funny, that.”

The conversation feels like a dead end because it is, and you abandon it not long after when you realize that though Hadir is responding to your words, he doesn’t seem to be understanding them. It’s like you’re talking to an automaton, something designed to give you a response but not engage like a human would.

Even that thought seems wrong somehow. You shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of things about your coworkers. 

Back in the medical unit, you pick up the stool that fell to the ground on your way out earlier and take a seat, sipping periodically at the ice cold coffee still sitting on the table. Your mind goes blank for some time. Different than earlier though—not the blankness of concern and paranoia, but the blankness of complete stupefaction. 

It gives you some time to think, but no matter how many times you run through the events of the day in your mind, you keep coming back to the same questions. The same questions with no answers. 

Appetite a no show, you figure it’s better to just retire to your quarters for the evening. 

In bed, you read the same paragraph of your book three times before it sinks in. You can’t concentrate on anything. The same phrase on a loop, your real thoughts swarming like locusts and drowning out the narrator in your head. 

A knock at your door startles you, accidentally making you crinkle a page of your book with your thumb. You bite back a curse, smoothing the page out and calling out a frustrated one second when the person on the other side of your door knocks again. Impatient much. 

You open the door, expecting to find Graves or Nikolai on the other side, only for you to balk when you’re met with the sight of Gaz towering over you, his forearm braced against the doorframe. 

“Hi,” he says after a beat of silence. 

“…Are you lost?” you ask suspiciously. 

“No. Thought I’d stop by before I turn in for the night.”

Something occurs to you the longer you stand so close to him. It’s been lingering in the back of your mind since the interior doors to the airlock slid open and he boarded the ship, a thought hidden under its own afterbirth, placenta and membranous fluid soaking the ground beneath it. A thought that, to this point, has escaped your notice, hiding away like a prey animal. 

And it’s that: Gaz doesn’t have a smell. When you inhale, he doesn’t smell like anything you’ve ever smelt before. No lingering traces of body odour or sweat or soap. You breathe in and it’s like you’re standing in front of an empty doorway staring out into the empty hallway. 

But he does have a scent. 

It doesn’t register to your nose, not a scent that your olfactory senses can detect. Nothing like that. Instead it hits you like a memory, like a feeling blooming in your chest. Palo santo and orange blossom; the sound of a tennis ball hitting a racket; an aerial view of an Olympic pool and someone swimming laps, their body stark against the blue; white florals and a masculine voice laughing. 

His scent is a delicious rush of wonder and elation, a dopamine spike. You crane your neck to meet his eyes and honestly you’d forgotten how beautiful he is. An Adonis; over six foot and body corded with muscle. Lean waist and wide shoulders. The most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, sculpted from something divine, a substance not found on Earth but in a more heavenly realm. 

You rock forward on your heels, pulled like a magnet towards his lips. His lips gently part, anticipating yours before they’ve even met.

Your hand hits the wall and reality comes back to you. Solid metal under your feet and an aluminum composite under your hand. White, sterile walls. In the hallway, the lights dim as the night cycle commences. You have to physically shake your head to rid your mind of any thoughts of Earth. It’s still there though, on the periphery of your senses; a dream world that you might get lost in if you were to look for too long.  

Something is very wrong. 

You rest back on your heels and move your hand until it hovers over the button to close your door. 

“Unless you’re sick, I can’t help you.”

“I’m not sick, love.”

“Then what do you want?” you bite out, overtly hostile now. 

He smiles but he doesn’t blink. Then his eyes flick up, studying the room behind you, his gaze roving over the walls and furniture, scrutinizing your space. Examining the clothes strewn over your bed, the little knick knacks and oddities that make your room yours. 

“Just wanted to see what it looked like from the inside,” Gaz finally says, and your blood goes cold. 

With that, he pulls his forearm off the doorframe and straightens to full height. 

He makes it a few feet away from your door before turning around to look back at you. “Night, love. See you in the morning.”

[0scxmlqrd]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 lovestruck

; in which [name] [surname], a woman with existential crisis, finds the meaning and purpose of her life—for her, player 120.

pairing: player 120 | cho hyun ju x f! reader

warning: slight angst, out of character (?), etc.

author's note: so thirsty for a player 120 | cho hyun ju x reader fanfiction I overcame my writer's block that's been goin' on for years now, lol.

YOU have no purpose in life—you believed. Well, at least that's what you'd made yourself think ever since you could remember.

You frequently would ask yourself why were you even here and what's the use of existing in this world full of nothing else but suffering.

You've tried to search it on the internet once, asked people in different online forums. Other than a hotline or basically the searching app telling you to call a therapist, you received some decent answers, but still, you couldn't get yourself to believe any of the answer they provided.

All you know is that one thing they have in common is that they are—

Subjective.

It depends.

In all honesty, you don't even know why you keep on living. Yet you've never tried ending it. You hate the feeling of pain, you hope that if you're ever going to die, it must be a quick and painless one.

The time you've spent questioning your existence turns much more worse than you had expected as in the process of finding your purpose, you lost your sense of self.

You don't know who you are anymore.

No wonder you ended up as a failure. Too lazy to finish college, jobless sprinkled with no motivation in life, no money but debt that kept piling up as each days pass by—the debt collectors are likely going to collect and sell your organs to the black market as soon as they find you.

But that's not what you fear.

Luckily, you don't have anyone that would be disappointed in you since you're all alone. An orphan, you are.

That's probably why you ended up being slapped by a random stranger on the train station over losing to a game only children would play. And what do you get in exchange? Money, of course. You have dignity of course, but when it comes to money, well... gone.

There's nothing much more important in this world than money. People who loved to claim "love" is only spouting nonsense.

Love wouldn't fill your empty stomach.

You were getting pissed playing the game you kept on losing. Your cheeks were already numb from how cruel each slap the man had been sending you.

Was it worth it? Should you quit?

Maybe just one last game and you'll get that money. Then you'd get yourself something good tonight in compensation to the sore and swollen face you'd have to endure tomorrow.

"Congratulations, you won!"

The man's clap echoed in the station. You nodded, although happy that you won, you couldn't smile as a small cut that you wondered how could it be so painful.

He handed you the money—you didn't thank him, his slap absolutely hurts, no way you're thanking him.

The man then asked you whether you want to play a game. You almost cursed him out loud after he recited your personal information out loud correctly, creep.

But after that, he handed you a card.

And you took it.

You need money to survive for tomorrow.

That's how you ended up in here.

A large, open space with large walls acting as barriers from the outside world. In front of everyone was a gigantic doll, towering everyone even from afar.

You wondered what game it was.

A sound coming from a speaker in an unknown location echoed all over the place, explaining the mechanics of the games—how to win and how you will get eliminated.

You wondered how they were going to sort out everyone who loses when there's literally hundreds of people currently.

Your eyes wandered from around the place onto each of the players your eyes could find, trying to familiarize with everyone—who knows, they might turn out to be your enemy in the future games.

Boring.

You thought to yourself as you scanned their faces. That was until your eyes came to an abrupt stop from a certain player not close behind you. You've heard of people like her, but you've never seen one in person. They must've gone through a lot for having the courage to be what they are in this country.

She seemed to felt your gaze on her and you two made eye contact. She smiled slightly at you slightly nodding her head.

Awkward, you felt. Flustered at the attention you were receiving from him. Then, another thought came through you, 'She's quite the looker,' to which you immediately shrugged off, shifting your eyes away from her to your front once again.

'Focus,' you scolded yourself. Changing your complete attention on your current and only goal—to win this game and spend every single money to yourself until you get sick tired of it.

Your thoughts were then cut short when a crazy uncle suddenly started shouting. He was basically saying that this game kills the people who lose and how everyone must listen to the rules so they could live.

Green Light!

He shouted for everyone to go and you ran as fast as you can.

Red Light!

He shouted to stop and everyone, including you, stopped. This continued smoothly until you heard a woman's scream.

Then, a loud bang echoed.

Then, a thud.

And then everyone around that woman turned chaotic. Everyone was panicking, screaming and running around. But slowly, each scream—both men and women— slowly counted down while loud bang you believed to be coming from guns shot them down each.

Good thing you followed what the crazy uncle said although it was unbelievable at first.

You thought you'd be fine as long as you follow his order. Much to your dismay, there were some factors you forgot to think of.

Green Light.

Some of the people on your side were also panicking, they started running faster. Their adrenaline finally getting through them so much that some people behind you got ahead of you.

You bit your lower lip, getting ready to sprint, collecting every single ounce of your energy. But suddenly, a woman behind you crashed onto you, causing you to trip and fall down.

'B*tch, you better not make me see you or—'

People started trampling over you. Some tripping on the process. It's painful, incredibly. Your losing more time, you knew. You cursed yourself silently for losing on the first game. Hell, you knew your dead once the timer runs out.

Nothing else could be done but curl yourself, protecting your vulnerable sides. But still, it was still painful.

You thought the pain would never end, the gigantic robotic doll still hadn't said red light and you're losing hope on whether you'd survive these people, and even if you did, you're probably going to arrive late.

To your surprise, you stopped feeling pain—but no signs of people stopping on their run. You frowned, confused as to how this happened. Maybe one of them hit your head, making your sense of pain go off.

But no, you felt someone on your back, their body covering yours.

Who?

A shadow, larger than yours was right above yours. Curious to the identity of the person, you looked up.

Your eyes widen in surprise.

The person stood up, looking right ahead and back down onto you, "Are you alright?"

It was the same pretty woman you met eye contact before, "Can you walk? We need to hurry up before the timer runs out"

You ignored the soreness around your body, "I can walk just fine, but I'm probably slower than before. You can go ahead—"

"No, let's go together. Here," she offered her hand, "C'mon, we don't have much time left!"

Time seems to slow down, your eyes glued at the figure above you, "O-Okay!"

You grabbed her hand, stood up and ran as fast as you can.

Despite the chaotic surroundings, you paid no mind to them. Your eyes were completely glued to the short-haired woman in front of you. Huh? The pretty stranger claimed that the time was running out, it seems different for you right now.

But, the time was not flowing quickly? It's not just slowing down—it stopped.

What? Did you just say you found out your life's purpose, are you serious?!

© 0SCXMLQRD