#but ugh too tired flat aggravated

[grison-in-space]

dear friendly office admin: I am aware that yes, when I saw you three hours ago on my way to pee and assemble chambers downstairs, I lied and said Matilda was not with me rather than explain that she is expected to lie quietly in my office until I come back.

I am also aware that coming to show me YOUR small dog as I was packing up and getting ready to leave was probably intended to be a friendly gesture. it is just that after three hours contorting myself in a hot stuffy basement room to run wires and cut zip ties at improbable angles, I was not especially interested in anyone else's animals. I was going to retrieve my damn dog and gear, slink home, and vegetate quietly in a corner for a while.

and of course Matilda decided to cosplay a rabid badger because this is how she handles soliciting play. because she is a small monster. (no, really. it is bizarre. it confuses the hell out of me. but it does seem to be a desire to initiate play.) and now I feel like the weird disruptive one. I don't even know what that lady does.

[yesimwriting]

The Needs of Pain (part 2)

A/n since y’all liked part one!!

... i think i could make a part 3?? we’ll see lol 

This is the LONGEST thing i’ve written on here wow,, and the smuttiest 

Warnings: teasing, oral, unprotected sex (pls this is my first time writing full smut be gentle lol)

-- 

Exhaustion is an odd result of pain. I didn’t think I was that tired after the burn. I certainly didn’t feel sleepy while Kirigan cleaned my shoulder and brushed his soft lips and sharp teeth along my neck to distract me from the pain. Why am I even thinking of that? Of the way his breath felt against my skin, the way his tongue soothed any bites he left against my skin. I breathe out flatly. 

Stop thinking of him. Stop thinking of him in that context--that’s why he did it. He enjoys getting under people’s skin, that’s why he’s always insulting the way I see the world. My hand reaches to my neck, touching my skin where I can still feel his lips on my skin, tracing the faint marks I had seen in the bathroom mirror.

I should have asked the healer to get rid of them before they fully formed, but the thought of showing them to anyone was too embarrassing to bear. I force my hand away, dropping it onto my pillow. 

He had acted so strange today, he had been so blunt. It was a tactic. He wants to be in my head and I’m giving him what he wants. I sigh, rolling over and pulling my duvet further up my body. It’s too hot for this. Ugh. I kick the duvet off of my legs, letting my nightgown wrinkle up my body. Strong hands could pull the fabric up in a similar, yet much more euphoric way. 

No. Who’s thoughts are these? The fact that I picture the same hands that dabbed at my burn earlier today has me questioning my sanity. I can’t sleep like this. Kirigan wanted to be in my head and now he is. Damn him. I can’t stand him which means I can never have him.

Desire has nothing to do with tolerance. The thought leaves my face warm and stomach twisted. 

I sit up sharply, sliding out of bed tiredly. I’ll get some air and everything will be fine. The moon will clear my mind.

The Little Palace is strangely twisting at night, all long shadows and yellow lantern light. I slip out of my room quickly, but my thoughts are not immediately banished with the change of scenery. I must be ill. Infection must have set in regardless of my efforts and the healer sealed it beneath my skin and now it’s impacting me. Fever. I’m delusional with fever. 

“I didn’t take you the kind for a late night trist.” 

His voice leaves the hairs on the back of my neck standing like soldiers at attention. I manifested him the same way people manifest the devil. “Air.” My defense is childish. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get some air.” 

The sound of even footsteps leaves me frozen in place. “What keeps someone like you awake?” It’s like he can read through me. “Thoughts of me?” 

He can never know. “Obviously.” 

My sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed, he lets out an almost humored breath. “Or perhaps it’s pain.” 

The comment is so confusing I almost don’t realize he’s bringing up my shoulder injury. How had I let him see me so vulnerable? Why did he seem somewhat concerned in his own way? 

“My shoulder’s perfectly fine.” Good. A normal direction for this conversation to head. “It took the Healer all of two minutes.” 

The touch on my shoulder is so sudden I almost jump. Kirigan doesn’t shy away at that, fingers firmly brushing down the skin. “It feels the same.” 

I could scream. His strange observation means nothing to me, but the implication is enough to drive me mad. The implication that he knows my skin well enough to be able to judge whether the healed skin feels different is sickening. I’m tired of this. 

I turn on my heels, all of my tiredness and irritation twisting in me. “Even if it didn’t, it’s none of your concern.” 

“I didn’t realize you were extra irritable when you’re tired.”

Every conversation with him leaves me feeling petulant. “I’m not tired.” I cross my arms, keep my expression set. “I just--I wanted to get some air.” 

“Hm.” He takes a step forward, preparing to close the small distance I’d managed to create between us. “And why is that?” 

The question leaves me irritated in an odd way. A flat way. There’s a narcissistic entitlement in that question. An entitlement to my thoughts. I shrug. “I hoped it’d make me tired.” 

Kirigan draws his eyebrows together, curiosity and something resembling amusement playing at his expression. “If you’d like to be tired, I think I know a few ways to be of assistance.”

A faint, aggravating warmth comes to my face. Not only did my lie earn me a ridiculous innuendo, it’s also trapped me in a corner I cannot escape. Healing from the burn had left me pathetically drowsy. There’s no way he can’t see through me, a tired haze has to be visible on my face. My eyelids feel weighted and I’m too distracted by my deep longing for sleep to hold onto irritation. 

“I’m sure I’ll manage on my own.” The words are not meant to be a challenge, just a way to dismiss him. I don’t think he takes them that way. 

He draws his eyebrows together, eyes threatening to lose that curious quality. Kirigan steps forward, I step back blankly, desperate to keep enough distance to keep what’s left of my wits about me. He ignores my reaction, taking another step forward. I take another step back. My back touches the wall. I am a mouse and he’s an excited cat. 

“You don’t have to,” his voice is too low, too intimate, “I’m not sure that’s something you want to understand.” 

My chin raises just slightly, a silent protest. “Dependency is a fatal flaw.” 

“So is desire,” his reply is much too quick. “Desire is worse, because one can resist dependency based on pride...but desire, that is something that one sacrifices for.” 

Maybe if I was less tired I’d bother to interpret his words a little more. But all I can focus on is his tone--the quality of it. “You sound heavy.” My voice is as light as the night breeze I was craving moments ago. “But you always sound heavy.” It’s the wistful observation of someone slowly disappearing. “At least you’re pretty,” I muse, falling more and more distant by the second.

Something soft breaks across his features, his lips quirking. “Pretty?” 

I rest my back against the wall comfortably, eyes shutting without permission. “I’m sure I’ll regret that comment in a moment.” 

He stays silent, but his presence does not disappear. I can’t tell if I’m glad for it. The warm touch on my shoulder startles me out of my drowsy trance. Panic has me ready to jump off the wall, but Kirigan brushes his thumb up and down my shoulder. His touch sets any skin that comes in contact with him aflame. I shouldn’t find the gesture so comforting. My eyes flutter shut again, my body relaxing against the wall. When my protest dies out before it begins, Kirigan shifts closer. I’m confused, but too at peace to answer. Something velvety and warm brushes against my collar. Soft and warm and electric. He’s kissing my skin again. 

My lips part in hopes of arguing, but when his teeth graze the skin he already marked earlier I’m gone. My eyes shut again, but this time it’s different. Pleasure and drowsiness clear me of all inhibitions as his touch becomes more and more assured. I let him test me, his mouth moving against any and all exposed skin. I don’t even stop him when I feel his hands graze the hem of my nightgown, wrinkling it the way I imagined earlier. 

“Kirigan.” I need to find my strength, but what’s the point of strength when his touch leaves me so warm? The only acknowledgement of my protest he offers me is the lingering squeeze of my thigh before his long fingers begin to graze towards the inside of my thighs. I have no choice but to let his lips brush up my neck, his teeth grazing my skin the way they did earlier today. “Kirigan.” I try to sound firmer, but he destroys the rest of my sentence before I have the chance to get it out. His teeth nip the base of my neck, ruining my protest for a second time.

 Maybe if I was less tired I’d be able to fight him off a little better, but I’m so drowsy I had trouble thinking before he started touching me. My eyes shut in both bliss and exhaustion. His thumb presses into my hip. Something in me stalls as his fingers brush the hem of my underwear--testing me, challenging me. I open my eyes on instinct, but he remains unbothered, slipping his thumb beneath the only fabric that divides us in order to better grip my hip.

I stiffen because of how badly I want to melt. This is bad. This is insane. We’re in a hallway in the middle of the night and he’s General Kirigan. Whatever attraction I feel is another tactic to manipulate me. 

“We need to stop.” The command is weak, my voice as dry as my resolve. 

He angles his head in order to regard me a little better. His expression is one of mock confusion as he smirks. Actually smirks. “Stop what?” False innocence drips from his voice as he leans towards me, expression amused as his lips near my own. “I haven’t even started yet.” My eyes widen, something that amuses him. “Y/n?”

I’m left on edge. I’m left wanting. My lips part flatly, but words feel so distant. “Yes?” 

“What happened earlier?” His voice is the kind of sinful that’s meant to coax. Kirigan brushes his thumb across my shoulder, eyes watching mine cautiously. “How did you get burned?” 

I push against the sultry quality of his voice. “I told you--an accident.” 

“Hm.” His eyebrows draw together in a surprisingly soft way. I stare at him freely, but he ignores my gaze, eyes locked on my newly healed skin. Is he truly that concerned? “Whose accident?” 

I swallow once. “My own.” He still isn’t looking at me. “I’m not exactly the most coordinated person, you’ve witnessed my clumsiness yourself.” 

Kirigan is not convinced. Perhaps he will never fully buy my partial lie. His grip on me hardens. Restraint. I may not be able to win against his paranoia, but I might be able to distract him. Cautiously, I move one hand forward, touching the hand that’s on my shoulder. I hesitate. Touching him without prompting almost feels too intimate. I’m being ridiculous. I brush my fingers against the back of his palm, letting my touch trail up his forearm. 

“Y/n.” My name borders on a warning. 

I suppress a smile, playing into my sleepiness as I tilt my head to the side. “Yes?” 

He doesn’t reply, expression tightening as my hand snares around his wrist, pulling it off my shoulder with more care than I thought myself capable of. The intensity of his gaze is enough to burn me. I turn my full attention to his hand. I’d never admit this out loud, but this isn’t the first time I’ve thought about how objectively attractive his hands are. I kiss each of his knuckles slowly, brushing my lips against his skin tentatively. 

To my surprise, he allows my indulgence. I glance at him through my lashes. Kirigan’s eyes are shut, expression bordering on pained. “Kirigan?” 

He opens his eyes but his expression does not ease. His other hand leaves my thigh, grabbing the low collar of my nightgown with such a fierce speed it takes me a second to realize what’s happening. He pulls me away from the wall in a way that borders on violent. 

“I don’t know who you’re protecting, but I guarantee you they’re not worth it.” The words are acidic. He’s seething. “I grow tired of your resistance.” 

If he hadn’t transformed into something so untamed, I might have had enough gall to tell him I grow tired of being toyed with. I say nothing, instead I take in the abrasiveness of his anger, the tension of his grip on the thin fabric that clothes me. I am unflinching in my assessment in the most tired way possible, eyes struggling not to shut and body desperate to rest, but even more desperate for him. His eyes stare into mine, searching for something I am too far gone to offer. He must realize my sleepiness is genuine because he soon drops his gaze, taking his time in analyzing the even rise and fall of my chest as well as the hint of cleavage his grip on my nightgown is exposing. Pure heat finds itself in my face, chest, and worst of all---core. His staring lacks any shame. 

Kirigan parts his lips as if to speak but then instead takes a moment to lick them. The thought of his tongue in relation to lips only makes the burning in me worse. It’s practically an ache. A needy one. 

“I grow weary of your lack of understanding.” 

Understanding? “What is there to understand?” 

His head angles itself to one side but he doesn’t meet my gaze. The hold he has on me loosens just enough so that his hold on me is no longer taut. That should not disappoint me the way it does. I wait patiently, ignoring the bundle of unexplained nerves in my stomach as best as I can. Something strange colors his features when he finally looks at me again, something almost vulnerable. 

“I brought you here.” He sounds farther from me than ever. “I…” His exhale is gentle, but his expression is quick to harden. “Who are you so willing to protect?”

I must be really tired because his voice sounds like it borders on heart ache. If I didn’t fear Arthur’s safety I’d tell Kirigan everything if it meant his pain would dissipate. I never thought Kirigan’s potential pain would bother me, but now that I’ve seen him look stricken by something so weighted--now that I’ve seen the way he wears pain--I don’t want to be the one to give him that. I want to be the one to give him some kind of sanctuary. The thought leaves me with a desire to flea. 

“Will you just believe me when I say it’s no one?” In a way that’s the truth. Arthur is not particularly significant unless you’re a young Grisha female with a desire for heart ache. “No one worth mentioning at least.” 

He’s quick to retighten his hold on my nightgown, leaving the fabric taut and more of me exposed. “You being desperate to protect them makes them worth interest.” A different response than I expected. 

My lips thin. “Only because it was a small accident. They don’t deserve to be punished over the briefest loss of focus.” 

I take his silence as an indicator that he is considering my words. His free hand finds my shoulder as he pulls me even closer to him by the fabric he’s gripping. “And if I were to revoke the threat of punishment?” His voice is the definition of temptation, low and promising and coddling me with its sinfulness. I still as Kirigan leans forward so that his lips are practically on my ear. “Then would you tell me? If I released you from the binds of your nobility?” My lips part but I have no words prepared. Before I can think of what to say, his lips graze the side of my jaw before his teeth nip at the end of my ear. “Tell me just to humor me.” 

The command doesn’t make sense to me, but from his lips it feels important. “You won’t hurt them for what happened?” 

His voice seems rougher than before, “Would that make a difference?” 

“It would make all the difference.” I don’t like the honesty of my words. 

Kirigan allows one hand to trail down my waist--a gesture I consider obscenely intimate when paired with the soft brush of his lips on my collar. “I already know who.” His voice is a dark hum. “I was always going to know one way or another--but it’s good to know you would have told me.”

My stomach lurches, dread pouring into me like tar. Before fear can force me to take action, Kirigan begins to leave open mouth kisses from the top of my jaw to the bottom of my neck, taking his time to assault any spot of skin with his tongue that he wants. This reminds me too much of earlier--touches meant to distract from pain with the use of pleasure. 

“Are you--” His mouth is now on my collar, threatening to destroy my question. “Are you going to hurt him?”

At that Kirigan straightens. The sudden lack of contact leaves me cold. I shouldn't be thinking of him. Of his touch. “I’m curious,” he draws out each syllable, delighting in my nerves, “Would you bear his punishment?” 

I’m not sure. I hate that. I haven’t known Arthur for that long, and while he’s kind, he also seems to see all women as replaceable. That isn’t reason for him to endure Kirigan’s punishment but I don’t know him well enough to just blindly agree to that. I loathe myself for not being noble enough to take Arthur’s punishment instantly. 

“What kind of punishment?” 

Kirigan’s expression twists into a greedy smile. He pushes me back easily, pressing me into the wall with more confidence than ever. I’m silent in my confusion until he presses himself against me and I feel something hard and bulging press into where I’m neediest. I stifle a gasp of surprise and something similar to pleasure. “I’m sure I could think of something for you.” I’d care more about my confusion if hot need wasn’t flooding my thoughts and my body with undeniable desperation. “I haven’t even spoken to him.” I exhale, untrusting relief desperate to escape me. Kirigan is quick to lean forward, lips brushing my ear as he prepares to whisper. “I’m more likely to harm him because he has your favor than anything else.”

Warmth burns my face. “He doesn’t--he’s not exactly the one that holds my favor.”

The heat of his breath adds to my burning as he presses his bulge into my core again. “And who does?” 

I’m not sure what he considers favor, but if it has anything to do with wanting he wins. But he can never know that. “There are some contenders, but no one yet.” 

His hand moves off my hip and nears my throat. “Would it be too bold to assume I’m on the short list?”

He’s two steps away from taking me in an open hallway, I doubt he finds much bold. “Do you want to be?” 

Kirigan’s hand tightens on my throat. “I’ve made it clear from the beginning what I want.” His words are lethal and each syllable has him restricting my airflow a little more. Something in me must be broken because my neediness only worsens. “I brought you here because I see all that you could be. Forget being a Saint, we could be gods.” The sentiment is so raw it’s almost harder to bear than his tight grip on my neck. He leans close again, his scent only adding to my budding lightheadedness. “Say the word, and I could have you praising me like I’m already a god.” My stomach knots in both nerves and insatiable hunger. “Though I’m the one that would be doing the worshipping.” 

My resolve is shattered, leaving me broken and twisting. He releases his hold on my neck in order to move his hand beneath my chin. There is nothing gentle about the way he jerks my head forward, forcing me to look into his eyes. Something about the look he gives me has me melting. His eyes are searching for something in me.

He must find whatever he’s looking for because I feel his touch against my heat, fingers pressing against fabric. I bite my lip on instinct, suppressing the sound of my undoing. Kirigan’s eyes never leave mine as the hand on my chin moves to brush against my bottom lip. 

“I can only give you what you want if you tell me what that is.” 

He exhales slowly, pressing his thumb against my lip downwards. My mouth parts on instinct, something that he takes well. His thumb enters my mouth slowly, taking in my reaction as I taste his skin on my tongue. Kirigan pulls his thumb away from my tongue slowly, a thin string of saliva connecting him to my mouth. With one swift tug, his free hand pulls the only fabric separating him from where I want him most down my thighs. His expression reveals nothing as his thumb, still wet with my saliva, is pressed against my core. His touch teases my clit, just barely brushing where I need him most. The whine that escapes me is so desperate I’m ashamed I can’t help it. 

“So wet already,” his appraisal is gentle, the praise whispered against my throat as his lips brush against my neck. “So wet, so needy that you’d let me take you in this hallway and I’ve hardly touched you.” His finger presses further into me. I let out another pathetic breath. “A pity, someone like you--so painfully under cared for.” I’m reduced to nothing by his words and touch. “What I’d give to undue you here, against the wall--I’d have you crying so loudly everyone would know that I’ve claimed you, that I’ve made you mine.” Before I can reflect on his words, he steps back, pulling my underwear back up as quickly as he yanked it down. 

I let out an instinctual whine. My hand moves to his arm, grabbing him like he’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. “What--” 

Kirigan squeezes my hand, a predator’s smile on his lips. “I want to feel all of you,” his hand squeezes my hip, “I can’t exactly do that against a wall, dove of mine,” he leans forward, lips brushing against my jaw in a way that leaves me chilled and melting at the same time, “At least not the first time.” 

His whisper forces my breathing to hitch, a fact that he notices with an amused look as his thumb brushes against my collar. Kirigan pulls me away from the wall easily. Even the causal touch feels electric against my skin. 

The walk towards my room is tense, his hands never leaving me as if he’s aware of how necessary it is to keep me distracted to ward off my better sense. When we reach my door, Kirigan opens it like it’s his. Entitled. Typical. 

I step into the room, his touch lingering on my arm. A brief shyness pushes itself into my chest. I had let Kirigan touch me in a public space and lead me back to my room. The door closes. I don’t turn. 

Kirigan’s hand squeezes my shoulder. “Shy, now?” His question is teasing, rekindling the fire beneath my skin as he places an open mouth kiss on my neck. He plays with the thin strap of my nightgown, pushing it off my shoulder. He kisses down my neck, collarbone, and shoulder. My inhibitions are melted away again. “When your breathing stalls like that,” his whisper is enough to elicit a desperate shudder, “I am left desperate.” 

He leans forward, mouth trailing down my chest, coming dangerously close to my breasts. The electric current of his touch is all consuming and addicting. I press my back into his chest. His hands are the opposite of shy, touching me everywhere except where I’m most desperate. Kirigan’s hand places itself between my thighs, using his thumb to tease my entrance. I let out a needy sound. And then he retracts his hand, grabbing my shoulders and turning me in one swift motion. 

“Kirigan.” 

His eyes are dark, clouded by something I don’t understand but am too aware that I reciprocate. “Tell me that I have your favor.” His words are taut, bordering on snapping. Kirigan’s grip on me tightens hard enough to bruise, an assertive need taking over him. “That you want me.”

Desire, pride, and rationality twist in my stomach, leaving me too distracted to form words. My gaze drops to the ground on instinct, something Kirigan clearly finds unacceptable because he’s quick to grab my chin and force my eyes to meet his. 

I swallow once, courage withering beneath the look in his eyes. It’s as twisted as a spindling shadow, but the look is fierce admirational, appreciation so deep I could drown in it. It scares and consols me all at once. “I want you.” There’s something pained about such powerful emotion. I loathe and am empowered by it all at once. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.” The words leave my throat scorching with their sincerity. 

As soon as the words leave me, he’s closing the distance between us, the slightest exhale of tension leaving his lips before they meet mine, prepared to devour me. I reciprocate his actions on instinct alone. There is no hesitation, no space, and yet it is not enough. Not enough and yet I don’t know how to be closer. But Kirigan does. One of his hands cup my cheek, coaxing me towards him as if I could possibly have the will to leave him. He steps forward, guiding me to step back. I obey fluidly until I feel something hit the back of my legs. It’d startle me if I wasn’t so consumed by his touch.

His mouth begins to move away from my skin. I chase after him, desperate to keep him touching me. He stops me by placing a hand on my shoulder, a warning about my neediness. I pout, but as he studies me I pant. Maybe the excuse for air was a good idea. I don’t fight the uneasiness of my breathing as I hold Kirigan’s gaze. He regards me with a patience I consider unbearable, taking in the determined look in his eyes, my swollen lips, disheveled hair, and the top of my night gown that’s half falling off. 

It’s in this moment I realize how much more vulnerable than him I am. 

If Kirigan notices any shift in me, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he adjusts his hand on my cheek, his thumb brushing the hot skin gently. “You are everything.” His voice is cracking glass. “Everything that’s good, at least.” 

Maybe he did notice my initial reaction because I am no longer certain that I am the one that’s most vulnerable. “You’re better than you think.” I only say this because it would only weigh on me more to stay silent. “I see it and you don’t want me to.” 

His hand continues to stroke my cheek. “I want you to see all of me.” The heavy beating of my heart seems to stall in my chest. Kirigan drops his hand before grasping the hem of my nightgown. He pulls the fabric upwards easily, bundling the fabric above my hip. “I want you to…” He exhales flatly, pulling the fabric upwards even more. Nerves flood my stomach as he leans towards me, kissing down my jaw. “To know me,” he whispers against my throat.

I am nothing but uneven breaths as he mouth moves down my chest, stalling only once he’s reached my breasts. He pushes me forward easily, guiding me so that I’m laying on my bed. He’s quick to move over me, kissing up my neck as he adjusts so that I’m against the headboard.

When he pulls away again, I’m left pouting. He grins, fueled by my disappointment. “Don’t worry,” he breathes, fingers hooking around the waistband of my underwear before tugging it down my legs easily, “I’m nowhere near done with you yet.” 

Being so exposed has my doubts flooding back, but Kirigan is quick to fight against my instincts in a way only he seems capable of. He squeezes the inside of my upper thigh before leaning down, pressing his mouth onto the skin his fingers just touched. His kisses here are meant to leave me even more desperate, each nip and fleeting pass of his tongue is lazy yet intentional. I am incapable of doing else besides letting out pathetic whines. 

He ignores where I need him most, kissing up my thigh, across my lower stomach, and then down my other thigh. Kirigan continues the pattern across my skin, ignoring any pleas I swallow my pride to give. He is not rushed by my words or cries or the occasional desperate adjustment of my hips. 

Kirigan lifts his head slightly, releasing my inner thigh with an obscene ‘pop’. “Patience.” His fingers trail up my thigh and over my core, teasing my entrance with his lithe fingers. “Unless you’re ready to beg?” 

It’s a challenge, like everything else. The urge to give him my pride to satisfy the electric desire I’m not sure I’m capable of bearing. But then I note his tense hold on my thigh. A sign of restraint, of want. 

“And if I want you to beg for me?” I don’t know where the words come from, but they charge the room with potential. 

Something strange crosses his fingers before his lips tilt upwards in a dark way. “Would you like the strength of that? To have someone like me powerless before you?” My face warms. Kirigan leaves a lingering kiss on my thigh before he moves off the bed. I sigh at the loss of contact, but my tired neediness stalls at the sound of his belt coming undone. “I want to see you on your knees.” I sit up carelessly, desperate to obey him. I’m kneeling in front of him in an instant, taking in his length. The size of it has me gaping. “Open your mouth.” 

I take the order more eagerly than I should, but I make no move to take him. This is just another challenge. I keep my eyes on his as I stick my tongue out before licking the bottom of his member all the way up to his tip. The sound he lets out is pure sin. I lick his tip slowly, each motion of my tongue is strategic as I finally place him in my mouth. I hollow my cheeks, moving up and down slowly. 

The pace is not enough for him, he grips my hair from my scalp as he thrusts into my mouth. The motion is more powerful than I expected and I am left unable to breathe. My slight gag does the opposite of discourage him, he repeats the motion again and again, pushing himself into me until I can feel him in my throat. 

The sounds he lets out are a chorus to me, but it’s not enough. I need more control, I need a way to make him beg. I raise a hand, wrapping it around the base that I cannot fit into my mouth. I stroke him once slowly, making a point as I try to push myself back in order to make him want me more. 

He groans again. I make a point of pushing myself off of him. Precum protrudes his tip. I lick it off of him slowly. I lick up and down his member in the smallest way possible. 

“Y/n,” the restraint in his voice fuels my teasing, “Tease me and you’ll still be overwhelmed by want when the sun rises.” 

A pout tugs at my lips before I open my mouth again, taking Kirigan to my limit. He lets me set the pace of my bobs at first, but then he becomes desperate, holding me in place by the roots of my hair as he moans and thrusts into me without restraint. He ignores my choking as he continues until he throws his head back, letting out a quick praise of my name.

He finishes in my mouth and I swallow all he offers me greedly. I back off my knees slowly, throat burning as his member leaves my mouth. “On the bed.” He’s turned into something insatiable. “Now.” 

I move back to my bed, laying in the same position as before. He takes his time approaching me. When he finally gets to me, he kisses my thighs easily. I let out a small breath before something that’s pure pleasure meets my core. His tongue laps upwards lazily, grazing my clit but not quite touching it.  My hips thrust towards his face, but with hand he holds me down. A coil in my stomach continues to build as he angles himself more purposefully, tongue finally taking care of my clit. My gasps become less and less reasonable as he continues to lap at all that my body has to offer. The coil tightens, I see stars--and then, like cruelty personified, he pulls away. His absence leaves me ready to cry out. 

My desperation only fuels Kirigan as he lines himself with my entrance. Concern twists my stomach as I consider how full my mouth felt when he was in me. I expect some level of warning, but he thrusts into me with no warning. I let out a pathetic cry, but that means nothing to him as he pulls out just to thrust into me with full force again.

“Only I can hurt you,” he demands, thrusting into me as I call out his name. My eyes water at the sensation of such fullness, pleasure and pain combining themselves in a way that leaves me incapable of thought. “Your tears,” he muses, one hand moving to wipe at a tear rolling down my cheek, “Are mine.” 

His thrusts become more and more brutal, less and less even. Each movement of his body in mine leaves me begging for more and less at the same time. He continues until the coil in my stomach tenses to the point of breaking. 

“Kirigan,” I manage, voice far away, “I’m going t--”

“I know,” he offers, “finish with me, dove.” His hand finds my throat, adding the slightest bit of restrained pressure. “And do not hold in your cries.” 

Two more sharp thrusts have us both finishing, calling out for each other as we try to draw out the high of our orgasms together. 

We stay intertwined like that for longer than we should, but then Kirigan stands. I envy his ability to do so. I don’t call for him even though I still don’t want to be alone here. A moment later, I hear him approach. I’m too drowsy to ask what he’s doing as a damp towel is wiped against my forehead and inner thighs. 

When he’s finished cleaning me, some raw emotion settles in my chest. “Are you leaving?” 

Kirigan hesitates. “Not if you don’t want me to.” 

I roll over, the motion leaves my body aching. Kirigan accepts my invitation, crawling beneath my sheets and adjusting our bodies so that he can rest his hand on my back. 

--

Tags: @luminous-99 @voyevoda-thejoy @voidmalfoy 

@i-padfootblack-things

 @all-art-is-quite-useless @buckverse @mandowh0re @benbarnes-supremacy

@we-love-our-bandz @fire-in-her-veinz @weirdowithnobeardo @bvudzsoo @kaque @ponyboys-sunsets @coldlilheart @granillx @dreamohlittledreamofme @sanna2020 @zaynzierulez 

@ive-died-everday-waiting-for-you @xxaerynxx @ralesera @tea-effect 

@tranquillitymoon

[toosicktoocare]

No one asked for this... I just still have BatFam on the mind.

Jason’s perched on the ledge of a roof, weight shifting between the balls of his feet, eager to bring some sense of warmth back to his limbs. He scans the dark alleyway below him, finding it understandably empty considering the single-digit temperature with the aggressive wind chill that’s practically seeping through his thick suit.

“Remind me again,” he starts, dragging his eyes across dark shadows until they fall on Dick, who’s corner covered and peeping around a grimy brick wall, “what we’re looking for? In the middle of January? When it’s cold as fuck?”

“I don’t know,” Dick’s voice crackles in his ear, hoarse, thick, a few notes lower than normal. “Suspicious activity?” Dick’s words end with a few coughs, and Jason sighs, watching as Dick muffles the coughs into the crook of his arm.

“Suspicious activity from a sketchy tip,” Jason reminds him. “A tip that’s probably not even valid. My guess is some boomer bumped into a few drunks on her way out of a convenience store.” He stands when his calf muscles begin to burn, and he shakes out his legs a few times, mindful of his balance, before dropping back down into a crouch and casting the barrel of his gun down the alleyway behind Dick.

“The message said area g-gang violence.” Dick coughs again, harder this time, and Jason swallows back a wince.

“Anything in Gotham can be perceived as area gang violence,” Jason mutters flatly when Dick sucks in a shuddering breath. “You good, golden boy?”

“Aw, Jay, are you worried about me?”

Jason groans deep in his throat. “Not a chance, Dickie Bird. I’m just trying to figure out who took your one remaining brain cell. Surely you’ve realized that you’re too sick to be out playing superhero right now.” 

“B would kill me if he found out I had information on a potential gang and didn’t follow through with an investigation.” Dick’s voice comes out in small, shuddering gasps, and he groans lowly into the comm before falling into a sneezing fit that leaves Jason sighing pointedly.

“And you don’t think he’d kill you harder if he finds out you’re risking your precious health?” He cocks his head to the side when Dick briefly whips his gaze up to him, and he can imagine Dick’s eye roll based on the huff that echoes in his ear.

“How would he kill me harder if I’m already dead?”

There’s a flick of movement in Jason’s peripherals, and he whips his gaze and gun to the left just in time to see a shadow passing under a street light. He starts toward it, careful, gun steady in his hands.

“You could try the whole coming back from the dead thing. I could give you some pointers.” His tone is flat, and Dick sighs into the comm.

“Jay...”

“Save it, Wing,” Jason mutters, barrel of the gun following a line of four men stumbling into the alleyway. “I think I found your area gang.” He’s got a clear shot on the leader, one rubber bullet to the knee and he’d be down for weeks, if not longer.

“Don’t,” Dick growls into his ear, and Jason’s shoulders tighten as he whips a frown toward Dick, who’s already moving toward the four men.

“Rubber bullets can still kill from that height.”

“Careful, Wing,” Jason starts, still following each movement easily with the tip of his gun. “You’re starting to sound like him.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Jason laughs, a sly smile playing at his lips. “There’s my little rebel bird.”

“Okay, A) I’m older than you,” Dick starts around a few wet coughs, “and B) just no.”

Jason laughs louder, promptly distracting the four men, who all jump and turn to squint up at the rooftops.

“Is that the Red Hood?”

Jason offers a wave, fingers waggling. “You got this, Wing?”

“Yeah,” Dick says, coughing harshly, and Jason frowns deeper.

“Are you sure? You kinda sound like you’re dying.”

“Shut up, Hood.”

Jason’s not sure if it’s just because Dick is clearly sick, way too sick to be out playing superhero, but he finds he’s drawn to this level of aggravated sass. Or maybe, he considers, that he’s just finally rubbing off on Dick.

He watches as Dick approaches the crew, arms outstretched, a visible sign of peace, but Jason knows this type well, and Dick only gets about two sentences out before one of the very clear drunks swings at him.

Dick dodges it with practiced ease, and Jason keeps his hand steady on his gun in the minutes that follow, only easing up when Dick’s standing before four unconscious men and phoning Gotham PD.

“I hate to say it, but nicely done, Wing.” Jason stands from his crouch, hissing sharply at the wind that whips against him. Dick’s following silence has Jason frowning, and he looks down to see Dick swaying slightly.

“Wing? You good?”

When Dick still doesn’t reply, Jason’s unnerved enough to leap off the roof, landing just in time to catch Dick when his knees buckle and give out.

“Shit! Dick?” Even through the suit, Jason can feel a worrying heat pouring off Dick in loud waves. On instinct, he begins smoothing his palms down Dick’s back and sides. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Dick grumbles into Jason’s neck, coughing weakly. “Just feel like shit.”

“Clearly,” Jason mutters, shoving Dick back until he’s leaning against the cold brick wall.

Dick instantly hugs himself tightly at the sudden absence of brief warmth, and Jason takes the time that Dick’s able to mostly stand on his own to bite his glove off and slap a palm to Dick’s forehead, finding it unsurprisingly hot and damp to the touch.

“You’re burning up,” he mutters, and Dick shivers hard before him with a groan that falls into a few coughs.

“Weird because I’m freezing.”

“You are such an idiot,” Jason drags out, pulling Dick from the wall and snaking an arm around his waist to keep him upright. “How’d you get here?”

“Grapple hook?” Dick drops his too-hot forehead to Jason’s neck.

“Christ,” Jason mutters, patting his pocket with his free hand for his bike keys. His apartment is a lot closer than the manor, especially if he’s going to have to figure out how to get Dick on his bike without toppling off.

Dick coughs against him, hard, repeated, until he’s gasping for breath and shaking hard at his side.

“Do you need a hospital?”

“Ugh, please no.”

“Great,” Jason says. “We’re going back to mine then. Try to stay awake.”

***

By the time Jason gets Dick into his apartment, Dick’s shivering consistently, and he hasn’t stopped coughing since he got onto the bike minutes before. Jason moves fast, uneasiness threatening to succumb him. He helps Dick change, gets him pumped full of medicine, and when he finally gets Dick into bed, he’s promptly exhausted and falls face first onto the empty side, still in his suit but mask thrown across the floor.

“Jay? You okay?”

Jason laughs lowly into the pillow before he twists his neck until he’s facing Dick. “You would be the one to ask me that when you’re dying.”

“I’m not dying,” Dick stresses, coughing harshly into his fist. “But I kinda feel like it. I thought it was just a cold.”

Jason sits up, smooths one palm across Dick’s forehead as if his temperature would have gone down by now. “Probably was until you decided to run around in the deadass middle of winter.”

Dick groans, dragging an arm over his eyes. “Sorry for wasting your time tonight. And contaminating your bed.”

Jason slips off the bed, patting Dick’s covered leg. “It’s fine. I hate these sheets anyway. Now shut up and sleep.”

Dick nods off mere moments later, a small smile on his lips, and Jason grabs some clean clothes and moves to the bathroom, typing out a text on his way.

To Timmers: D’s sick. Took him back to mine. Can you send a car or someone to get him when you’re done with the charity event?

He’s out of suit and slipping into a fleece hoodie when his phone chimes.

From Timmers: Sure. Is he okay?

To Timmers: Yeah, just Gotham’s second biggest idiot.

From Timmers: Do I even need to ask who the first is?

To Timmers: ;)

***

Jason’s nodding off on the couch when he hears a knock on the door. It startles him enough to leave him cursing under his breath as he shuffles to the door, on edge but still too tired to grab a weapon, a habit he can’t quite break.

He undos the locks and pulls the door open, and any trace of lingering sleep is shoved away in an instant.

“Jason...”

“Bruce,” Jason bites out.

Bruce is standing before him, dressed in a sleek black suit and matching thick coat. He looks worried, and Jason kind of wants to slam the door in his face and just deal with Dick himself.

“I texted Tim.”

“And he informed me that you did. How’s Dick?”

“Alive,” Jason spits out, and Bruce winces visibly before his eyes go soft, somber.

“May I come in?”

Jason wordlessly moves to the side, and Bruce steps in, mindful, quiet, only walking further when Jason points to the bedroom. He follows Bruce to the bedroom, slipping in but staying close to the wall when Bruce drops to the edge of the bed and smooths a careful palm over Dick’s forehead.

Dick stirs under his touch, blinking slowly, damp brow furrowed.

“B?” He croaks out, swallowing back a few coughs.

“Chum,” Bruce says, concern laced heavily in his tone. “You weren’t nearly this bad when we left. What happened?”

“Got a message about a gang,” Dick mutters, wincing at the sharp look Bruce shoots him. “Got it handled. Jay came to cover me.”

Bruce only sighs, smoothing a few damp strands of hair from Dick’s too-warm face. “Well, I’m glad you were diligent in your work, but I do wish you would have waited until you were feeling better. Are you ready to go?”

Dick nods and struggles to sit up, coughing harshly when he swings his legs over the bed. He staggers, and both Bruce and Jason reach out to him, but Jason drops his arms and moves back when Dick steadies himself with a hand to the wall.

“I’m fine.” He manages out in between coughs, yet he’s already shivering and he’s gone far too pale.

Bruce slips out of his coat and drapes it over Dick’s shoulders before snaking an arm around him, pulling him in close.

They start out the room, with Jason following quietly behind, unsure of what to do and not trusting what will come out of his mouth. He stops when Dick suddenly spins around, smiling at him.

“Thanks for the everything, Jay. I’ll get you some new sheets.”

Jason laughs quietly. “Yeah, okay, Dickie Bird. Just get better first.”

“Aw, Jay you are worried about me.”

“No,” Jason spits out flatly, ushering both to the door. “Fuck off.” He slams it to the sound of Dick’s painful mixture of laughing and coughing.

[jovialjuggernaut-draws]

Yo, anon from before. How about instead of the two fics, then maybe a short oneshot where Sokka and Zuko take a night walk and confess their feelings. If you don't want to do that then that's okay. Also, the art is really cool!

Hey so I took this and ran with it and ended up with over 2k words so! Enjoy your oneshot!

Zuko rubbed the sleep out of his eye, refocusing on the rolled parchment before him. He still couldn't tell if the character he was looking at had a stroke missing, or if it was simply a word he actually didn't know.

"Or," Sokka's voice drifted over his shoulder, startling him into dropping the scroll, "You're too tired to read. Come on, let's do something fun." 

Zuko yawned, retrieving the scroll and rolling it up properly. "You're not going to try to make me go to bed?" 

"Nope. Never works, anyway, you just end up staring at the ceiling and thinking about how much work you could be getting done, which kind of defeats the purpose."

Zuko couldn't help but huff out a short laugh. Sokka cracked that crooked grin he always got. "You know me so well. Well, what are we doing, then?"

Sokka presented him with a papier-mâché mask, pulling his own down over his face. The mask he wore was red and twisted, the mask of an evil spirit. He'd handed Zuko a blue one, reminiscent of his old Blue Spirit mask, but slightly different in its design. He imagined it was modeled for the same character. 

"There's a festival going on in town. It's winding down by now, but we should still make it in time for the fireworks." 

Zuko smiled, slipping the mask on and pulling a relatively casual robe from his armoire to pull on. 

"Ooh, fancy. Getting dressed up for me?" Sokka teased. He was dressed down in Water Tribe blues, the soft cotton out of place compared with Zuko's silks. 

"It's all I have." Zuko admitted, embarrassed. 

Sokka shrugged. "It'll do. Just try not to get mugged." 

"I'm more worried about getting caught by the guards. We're going to look like suspicious characters, sneaking out of the palace at night in masks." 

"Then we have to be extra careful not to get caught, don't we?" 

Zuko couldn't see his face, but he was perfectly familiar with the mischievous grin Sokka was undoubtedly wearing beneath the grimacing mask. Zuko's lips tugged into an answering conspiratorial smile. 

"Lead the way."

Sokka obeyed, tugging the Fire Lord through the servant's corridors and to a suspiciously uneven spot in the wall. He slid a brick out of place, revealing a mechanism beneath, and directed Zuko to send a pulse of fire into it, revealing one of the palace's many secret passageways. 

"How did you know this was here?" Zuko probed, padding quickly behind his guide. 

"Oh, Ty Lee showed Suki, and Suki showed me. Pretty nifty, right?" 

Of course, Ty Lee was perfectly familiar with the ins and outs of the palace. Azula never could sit still for long, not when there was trouble to get into, and never did so without someone to take the potential fall for her. 

"Useful, yeah." Zuko agreed. 

The air before them became suddenly cool, a breeze flowing in from the loose-fitting bricks in the flat wall. Sokka bent down, sliding his fingers between two of the bricks, and tugged on a hidden mechanism, sliding the other end of the passage open. 

The wall opened up onto a rooftop in the upper part of the city, affording them a view of the streets below. Citizens in their finest clothes, donning masks of all colors and designs, bustled about the busy paths. Booths lined both sides of the main thoroughfare, merchants hawking their wares, gamesmasters recruiting players, the scent of foods wafting out from here and there. 

Zuko had never attended a festival like this, personally. It would seem too common, and awfully unrefined, for a prince to be prancing about. They watched on from afar, once or twice, putting in official appearances, but even then… 

Zuko couldn't remember festivals in the capital city having ever been so exuberant.  People seemed joyous, unburdened, laughing openly and easily with one another, bumping into strangers without sparing a thought. 

It was odd, yes, but also comforting, in a way the Fire Lord couldn't quite articulate. 

"Come on! They're doing the fireworks by the harbor, we want to get a good view!" Sokka cut through his thoughts, as he was so talented at doing, and tugged him forward. 

They hopped between rooftops for a bit, avoiding the bustling crowds, until they came to an alleyway with boxes stacked high, an easy way to descend. Zuko hopped down in two long jumps, easily reaching the street level before his companion, who was delicately sliding down each box. 

"No fair! I have to be nice to my leg still!" Sokka whined. Zuko smirked back at him, hidden behind the blue mask. 

"I'll keep that in mind. I forget how delicate you are, Princess." 

"Hey!" Sokka punched him lightly in the shoulder. "You can't make that joke! You're an actual Prince!"

"I don't know if you've heard, but I've been promoted. I have a new title now." 

"Yeah, yeah, get a big head about it." Sokka grumbled in mock aggravation.

"Don't worry, I could never get a bigger head than yours." Zuko held a hand to his face to cover his smile at Sokka's dramatically offended reaction, forgetting it was already hidden by the mask. 

"Fine! I won't let you share my fire flakes, then!" Sokka stomped off, huffing. 

"Oh, don't worry. I can afford my own." Zuko responded loftily. 

"I changed my mind, actually! You're buying the snacks!" 

Zuko stifled his laughter, following Sokka's lead as the other boy led the way between stalls, picking up various spicy snacks and a couple of drinks Zuko wasn't sure he trusted him with. 

"Do you know how strong those are?" He interrogated. Sokka shrugged. 

"We'll find out, won't we? Come on, let's go get a good seat. They're starting soon." 

Sokka led the way through several alleys, away from the busy main street, until the crowd thinned. 

The building he climbed up was in minor need of repair, and the windows were darkened, leaving them reasonably certain it was empty. Zuko gave him a leg up, minding the mostly-healed injury, and passed the snacks up after. He ignored the hand Sokka dangled down to assist him, smoothly vaulting up the wall onto the roof next to him. 

"Show off." Sokka lifted his mask to rest on top of his head, revealing the dramatic roll of his eyes. Zuko followed suit, sliding his mask to the side, letting Sokka see his smirk. "Ugh, sit down already. And pass me the fire flakes." 

Zuko complied, resting next to the other close enough for their knees to brush as they dangled their legs over the side of the roof. Sokka munched the spicy snack, using his drink to cool his mouth down. Again, Zuko worried about its strength, sipping at his own. It didn't taste very alcoholic, but it was also deliciously tangy, which could be pretty deceptive. 

The whistle of the first firework pulled him from his musing.

The blast shot high in the sky, a sparkling array of colors scattering and shimmering against the dark sky beyond. The next blasts came in clusters, the explosions lighting up the sky in carefully coordinated patterns. Below, several master firebenders synchronised a dance with the fireworks, bending dragons of flame to follow the blasts. 

"Wow…" Sokka breathed next to him. 

Zuko understood the wonder. He'd seen fireworks before, sure, but they were never focussed near the palace. The noise alone was reason enough, and the soot left behind to clean up after solidified their location as far away from the nobility as possible. 

"You know…" Sokka murmured, leaning into Zuko, their shoulders bumping together. "I always thought of firebending as a scary thing."

Zuko hummed. "It can be. You had good reason."

"Yeah, but…" Sokka huffed, choosing his words. "When we first went to a festival like this, we saw the fire dancers performing just like that, fire dragon and all. I'd never even considered that bending could be used for something like that. Something beautiful." 

Sokka's eyes were trained on the display in front of them. Zuko searched them, looking for the further meaning in his words. 

"All bending is like that, I think." Zuko finally said. Sokka tore his eyes away from the fireworks to catch his gaze. The colors reflected so clearly in his icy blue eyes. "Both beauty and danger. I mean, just look at what your sister can do with hers."

Sokka winced for a moment, leaning away. He forced a laugh. "Yeah, she's pretty scary. Everyone thinks of waterbending as soft and healing but, hoo boy, can she do some damage."

Zuko felt like he'd missed something, ruined a moment he hadn't even known was happening. He simply nodded. "Exactly." 

They went back to sharing their snacks and watching the performance, a strange silence settling between them. 

Zuko cleared his throat, desperate to destroy the awkwardness he'd unwittingly dropped on them. "So… what's the festival for? Do you know?"

Sokka laughed, genuinely this time. "Shouldn't you know? You're the Fire Lord, right?" 

Zuko shrugged. Sokka smiled, looking out over the crowd a few streets away. "They're celebrating just to celebrate. Because they can."

"Oh."

Sokka nudged him, bumping their shoulders again. "We did this, you know. Even here, the people were scared. The war wasn't good for anyone. We made this possible."

Zuko shrunk into himself, familiar guilt settling into his stomach. Sokka set down the cup, nearly empty, and turned to face him fully, folding his legs under him. 

"You made this possible." He emphasized. "This is why you've been working so hard. Your people can celebrate like this, have fun openly in the streets, watch some fireworks! Did you see how many people from other nations were there, too?" Sokka reached out, tilting Zuko's chin to force him to look back at him. Zuko swallowed, overwhelmed by the emotion in Sokka's crystal blue eyes. "We fought so hard for this, and it's finally possible. This is… well, this is what I wanted to show you." He dropped his hand, looking away, embarrassed. Zuko felt his lips part in surprise, eyes wide. He looked out over the crowd, that strangely comforting feeling from before returning, and then looked back at Sokka. 

Compelled by an urge he'd felt many times before but never acted on, he leaned forward, reaching for Sokka's face. Cradling his cheeks in both hands, he drew him in, their lips finally meeting. Sokka's lips twitched into a smile against his, tilting his head properly and meeting the kiss firmly. Zuko felt like his brain had melted, unable to process the thought that Sokka was kissing him back, had so long ago convinced himself it was hopeless. Tentatively, he darted his tongue out, licking at Sokka's lower lip in a question. Again, Sokka responded positively, allowing him to deepen the kiss. 

Zuko leaned forward further, bending Sokka back towards the tiles of the roof, crowding over him possessively. Sokka laughed against him, winding his arms around Zuko's neck. 

"A little pushy, are we?" He smirked. 

Zuko swallowed, pulling back as far as Sokka's arms would allow. "I, uh… I think, maybe, those drinks were, um, stronger than we thought?" He rambled defensively. 

"Oh, no. You don't get to blame this on the alcohol." Sokka tugged him down, drawing him into another kiss. "Besides, I got virgin drinks anyway. Completely alcohol-free. Like a good boy."

Zuko stared in shock, agape. "You didn't!" 

"I did!"

"You let me believe they were alcoholic!" 

Sokka shrugged. "You decided that, yourself. I just didn't contradict you." 

Zuko groaned, burying his face in Sokka's collarbone. "Ugh, it's the same thing!" He felt Sokka's laugh, shoulders moving against him. "I hate you."

"Well, I love you." Sokka grinned, nudging Zuko's temple with his nose, urging the other to meet his gaze again. "Hey. I mean it. I really do." 

Zuko swore his heart stopped. The air disappeared from his lungs. The churning of the chi in his gut stilled. He stared.

"I love you." Sokka repeated. 

Zuko swallowed. He buried his face in Sokka's shoulder again, rubbing his forehead against his collarbone. He couldn't meet his eyes when he said it. "I love you. Also." 

A hearty laugh bumped him off of Sokka's shoulder, and the tribesman held his face in both hands. "Get back to kissing me, you big dork." He ordered. 

Zuko had never been so glad to follow an order in his life.

[babbushka]

Swingtime

Flip Zimmerman x Reader ; 1.8k ; NSFW 

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

“Well,” You say with a bit of a laugh in your voice, as Flip closes the front door and locks it firmly shut behind you, “That was something else.”

“Yeah.” Flip agrees, although his tone is less playful.

Far less playful.

He puts the keys in the dish by the door with a little too much force, angry. He’s angry.

You had just come back from what was supposed to be a nice dinner party with one of Flip’s work friends, a beat cop named Gregory who had a nice wife named Marsha. You had even baked a pie, not wanting to show up empty handed.

When Marsha had answered the door topless, and you and Flip were confronted with an actual orgy taking place right in the middle of the sitting room, you had nearly dropped the apple crumble in shock, and Flip had yanked you back to the car before you could even apologize for it.

But now you were home, and while he had been quiet the whole drive back, now he’s angry.

“Honey?” You ask, placing a gentle hand on his chest, as his fists clench and unclench, as he chews his lip in that way he does whenever he’s about to explode.

You try to catch his gaze, chasing it, when finally his arms slide around your middle and pull your hips flush to his.

“Who the fuck do they think they are, thinking I’d share you?” He whispers as he caresses your lower back, too angry, afraid of shouting.

Ah, you think with a hint of a smile, as you wind your arms up around his neck, rub your nose against his in an attempt to calm them down.

“Hmm, I think they wanted you more than me.” You point out, because really, if anyone was going to be invited to an orgy, it would be Flip. Your husband is built like a fridge in all the best ways, a tall wide slab of muscle.

But he’s shaking his head, walking you backwards through the house, walking you to the stairs before tightening his grip on you and carrying you up them, carrying you all the way to the bedroom.

“No, no way.” He grumbles, only getting more and more mad with each step. You can practically feel the steam shooting out of his ears and he puts you down on the bed. “Did you see the way Greg was looking at you? I should kick his fucking teeth in, looking at my wife like that.”

“Kiss me?” You ask, because you know he needs to let this all out, needs to get out his frustration in the only way that will work.

Flip practically tackles you on the bed, yanks off your shoes and his, pushes and shoves you up the mattress, climbs his way on top of you. You bury your hands in his hair, open your mouth for him, and he meets your lips with such force that your teeth clack together at first.

He’s growling against you, breathing heavy, so heavy, and you can feel the hard line of his dick in his jeans as it presses against your thigh, as he cups your face in his hands tightly, kissing you with a bruising force.  

“You’re my fucking wife.” He growls against your lips, possessive and obsessed, and you moan into his mouth because yes, you are.

You tell him as much as you yank his buttons open, wanting to expose his muscular chest, wanting to expose all of him.

“That’s right honey, I’m all yours, only yours.” You nod, and he bites hard at your jaw, your neck, big hands popping the buttons off your blouse, sending them scattering as he shoves his thigh between your legs hard, rubs at your cunt with his knee, making you whine for him.

“I don’t want anyone else, I don’t want to look at anyone else.” He’s shaking, hands are trembling when he unclasps your bra, when he tosses it across the room, working on getting your skirt off next, “I don’t want anyone else looking at you.”

“They won’t, they – Flip!” You yelp out when he slides too many fingers into you at once, doesn’t even bother to take off your panties, just pulls them to the side and stuffs you full.

“Spread ‘em, ketsl.” He commands and you whimper as you do so.

He shuffles down the bed so he’s eye level with your hips, makes a home for himself between your soft thighs and sucks at your clit through your underwear, making you moan real loud. You’re so wet that it’s soaked through, you can tell, can tell by the slick sounds of his fast fingers, as they curl into you.

“I fucking love this pussy, pretty kitty just for me, right?” He asks fully entranced, resting his cheek on your thigh so he can watch his fingers slide in and out of you.

“R-right!” You nod, and all at once that glorious feeling of being filled is gone, as he’s withdrawing himself from your with a grunt.

“You’re not some cheap whore other men can dump their come into what the fuck were they thinking?” He seethes, that angry underbite he gets when he’s really pissed off showing through those plush lips of his. Lips that he’s licking, wetting, as he asks, “Let me have a taste of you.”

You nod, and he tugs your underwear off too roughly, spreads your legs, loops his arms under your thighs and buries his mouth and nose right in your cunt.

Your knees squeeze his head while he eats you out, his facial hair scraping against your folds, your thighs. It makes you wriggle away a bit but he isn’t having any of it, won’t let you out of his fucking grip. He licks into you, thrusts his tongue up into your pussy, rubs his nose against your clit until you’re panting, gasping hard for him. He’s bruising you up bad, so bad that it’s good, and when his tongue drags against your walls too good, you’re already ready to beg.

“Yes! Right there – oh!” You cry, your hand knotting itself in his hair, holding him down between your legs.

Despite that, he pulls back enough to just lick at you, the flat of his tongue running through your folds, his hot breath on your skin.

“You’re so sweet,” He says, all your slick making his chin shine, he wipes it onto your thigh where he then swallows it down with a soft moan of his own, “My sweet girl, all mine.”

“Please?” You ask, not really knowing what you’re asking for.

But he knows, and he’s already de-tangling himself from you so he can get himself naked too, get his cock in his hand. It’s already hard and leaking, and you get off of your back, sitting up and drawn to the head of his dick like a magnet, as you tongue his slit, encourage more pre-come to drool onto your lips.

“I gotta – ugh fuck I need – ” He tries to explain but you only jerk him off a little, your hand on his cock as you lay back down, guiding him down with you.

“Come here, take it, take what you want.” You say, voice thick and eyes hooded, “It’s all yours, take it.”

He doesn’t waste any more time, slides his throbbing cock into you.

For all his mouthing off, he’s reduced down to only grunts and groans of pleasure when he fucks you. It’s not sweet, it’s not gentle, it’s hard and rough and mean and angry and you love every second of it. His hips plow into you and he crushes your throat in one of his big hands, makes tears slip down your cheeks, licks them up with his raw tongue.

He abandons your neck for your tits, squeezes them together and shoves his face into the cleavage there, pinching and biting hard at your nipples in a way that makes you cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain, the feeling going straight to your pussy, all your nerves on fire.

He fills you so well, so much that it’s entirely overwhelming, and you’re trembling all over with pleasure, your eyes shut tight and your jaw dropped open, hands and nails digging into Flip’s shoulders, his back. Your toes are curled up tight and your hips raise up up up, meeting every thrust your husband has to give you.

He fucks his angry out, makes you come once, twice, three times, on his cock, his hands, mouth latched onto your chest to suck nasty marks that will take ages to fade. You don’t care, don’t give a shit, you give as good as you get, until he’s smacking his hand against your thigh just to let out some of the feeling of it all.  

He grabs your jaw in his hand, and you make out with the palm of it, and he watches you as he shoves his cock so far into you that it makes you wince, as he blows his load, coming hot and thick into you. He fucks you through it, grunting low in your ear, your moans and whines music to him, until you’re oversensitive and overwhelmed and tears are pooling against his fingers where he’s got your face held.

He slows down as he savors his orgasm, sweat dripping off the tip of his nose and the ends of his hair that hangs down into his face as he pulls out nearly all the way, until he’s only got the tip left in you, coming coming coming.

He pulls out for just long enough that he can see it begging to spill out of you, before nudging the head of his cock right back in, pushing it in, plugging you up.

“Shit.” He sighs, drunk off the feeling of you, as he lets himself collapse onto your chest.  

“You okay?” You ask, chest heaving, throat dry, as you card your fingers through his hair gently, scrape your nails lightly against his scalp.

He’s exhausted now, having been so worked up, pent up, frustrated aggravated angry angry angry, that now that he’s spent, all of his muscles are limp.

He rubs his face against your sternum, snuffles a little into your cleavage before pillowing his head on your breast with a content sigh.

“Yeah. Going into the station tomorrow’s going to be weird.” He says, “I still don’t know if I want to punch him or not.”

“Don’t.” You chuckle, but Flip’s already closing his eyes, pressing tired soft kisses to your opposite skin, swirling circles with his thumb against your ribcage. “I think they’re going to be embarrassed enough that they misjudged the situation. Besides, you need these hands in good working order, so you can fuck me with them.” You point out, and he hums.

“I do love fucking you.” He nods, and you smile, especially when he says, “And I fucking love you.”

You simply roll your eyes and kiss him when he tilts his face up towards you, both amused and in love all at the same time. There would be no swing time for either of you, because you both have what you want, what you need, right here in each other. 

[fanfic-inator795]

Oneshot: Movies and Mermaids

((Have some Mikey and Draxum bonding *throws confetti*))

It wasn’t as if Draxum had any genuine interest in human culture, certainly not! He could care less! ...Though, his obvious lack of caring didn’t prevent certain annoyances.

Like how he would be sometimes be completely lost in certain conversations. A member of the faculty at the high school would ask if he had seen the latest film in theaters and if he liked it better than the remake, or how his fellow lunch servers would reference certain shows and encourage him to watch them as well - Gladys especially seemed entranced with a show regarding doctors all dating each other in-between doing their actual jobs, for whatever reason.

The rest of the city seemed to only aggravate him more. From displays and the videos that would play on the large screens on towers, to the advertisements he saw on the television box or in magazines. It just seemed like everything he saw in human culture was a reference to something or someone - a laundry list of names and shows and movies and jokes and even what were supposedly ‘simple’ concepts like technology and brands and lingo and-!

After over two months of living on the surface, Draxum had reached his limit. He was tired of constantly being confused. He was tired of constantly missing or misunderstanding the references.

He was tired of being reminded that this was not his world, that he was still a yokai in human clothing.

So naturally, as a man of science, Draxum thought it only made sense to start with some research. Granted there was an entire pantheon that he would have to go through, and without the power of the ‘internet’ and a television box that only had five channels, it would be a incredibly slow process... At the very least, O’Neil had said that she would help him get a human library card when they both had a free afternoon. 

In the meantime, Michelangelo had plenty of ‘reference material’, and even with the insistence that this was all for education and NOT entertainment, Draxum figured it was as good of a starting point as any, considering how much the humans seemed to admire their on-screen stories and their film stars. (No wonder Lou Jitsu was just as popular as an actor as he was as a warrior...)

It was late Friday night when Mikey showed up to Draxum’s apartment with a backpack full of movies of all different genres and formats and a VHS/DVD combo player tucked under his arm. “Good thing Donnie found this thing a few years ago, huh?” he said as he hooked it up.

Draxum didn’t bother replying. Instead, he was focusing on his choices for that evening - as well as for the rest of the week, since Mikey said he could borrow them as long as he needed to - pulling out each tape or DVD case and examining it carefully. Quite a few of them looked like they were for children, which he probably should have expected, though he didn’t dismiss them immediately.

“Don’t worry,” he heard Mikey said, “I remembered what you said. All of these are super popular ‘staples of human culture’ that practically everyone’s seen.”

“Good,” Draxum mumbled, putting aside a movie about a boat next to a movie about a boy gardener who wore a cloak and was apparently very harry. Picking up the next one, his expression flattened a bit at the cover. “This one you can take back, I don’t need to watch it.”

“Huh? Why- ohhh.” The box turtle chuckled as he took the tape, smiling at the younger version of his dad on the box. “Sorry, guess that one accidentally got slipped in there. Though to be fair, ‘Jitsu for Justice’ is a total classic.”

“Irrelevant,” Draxum huffed, “I have no desire to watch ANY of Lou Jitsu’s films, no matter how popular they may be. Once was more than enough...”

“Alright alright, I’ll- wait,” Mikey paused, “so you DID watch his movies?”

“Er, I- Not because I actually wanted to!” Draxum told him, “It was for research!” Mikey gave him a flat look. “He had stopped fighting in the Battle Nexus and I needed to study his moves! I-I didn’t enjoy doing it, if that’s what you’re implying! His movies were still ridiculous and completely unenjoyable! I would never actually-”

“Whatever you say, man,” Mikey shrugged, ignoring the Baron’s growls at being interrupted, “Though, how’d you watch ‘em anyway? I didn’t think that TV was that big of a thing down there?”

“I used my viewing orb to summon and display them, obviously,” Draxum told him, “Most yokai have them for when they need them, and they’re much more useful and clearer than any television box.”

“If you say so...” “Hmph.” With that settled, Draxum went back to digging through the bag of movies. It didn’t take long for another video to catch his eye, this one in a plastic case rather than a cardboard one, with a picture of a happy mermaid and an equally happy human plastered on it.

“Awwww!” Mikey said suddenly, “That was April’s favorite movie when she was little! Which meant it was one of the first movies she brought over to share with us! Heh, guess we borrowed it so often we forgot to give it back, whoops. But it’s a really good movie! See, there’s this mermaid who wants to live on land as a human, and she’s friends with a crab and-”

Draxum had begun to tune the turtle out as he continued to stare at the VHS case. Mermaids weren’t too common in the Hidden City itself, though that didn’t mean they weren’t there at all. The city was next to water, after all, and some would live on the shore or become part of an air-boat crew - and they certainly didn’t look like this.

He felt his thoughts start to swirl, becoming just as mixed as his emotions as a grimace began to form on his face. On one hand, Draxum supposed he should’ve been grateful that the humans were portraying a yokai positively - as cute and friendly instead of vicious creature that lived to drown humans. 

Centuries ago, before the Great Migration underground, Draxum had heard that and many other similar claims about his people... Baseless claims meant to justify hunts and attacking on sight...

On the other hand, did humans only see them as ‘harmless’ when used for entertainment purposes? Did they only approve of yokai existing when they only existed in fiction, where they could be used however humans saw fit? 

He was briefly reminded of the creatures - the ‘poke-o-mon’ - that he would occasionally see on shirts or on phones, creatures not directly based on yokai, but similar enough. He had to wonder how much other human entertainment was based on so-called fictional creatures and monsters that they never would have even smiled at before.

“-xum... Hey, Drax?” Mikey poked his bicep, making Draxum flinch. “You okay, bud-?”

“Fine,” Draxum snapped, though there was a little actual bite to it, “Just surprised that humans would portray a yokai so positively, even in fiction.”

“Most humans do think they’re just fiction,” Mikey told him. After a moment, his tone became a bit gentler, thinking back to certain points brought up by his father and April. “Though, I can still sorta see why that would feel weird or kinda insulting, seeing a fake version of yourself or your people and not knowin’ how they’d react to the real you, wondering if they would only like the fake you. That probably doesn’t feel the greatest... and I’m really sorry about that.”

Draxum blinked. He stared at the turtle for a few seconds before finally replying with, “You’re a lot more introspective than I would have thought.”

“I get that a lot,” Mikey grinned, “But hey, they don’t call me Dr. Feelings for nothing. So, did you wanna keep this one then, or- I mean, I can understand if-”

Draxum stopped him, looking at the tape again. “...I am admittedly curious,” he said, “You did say this was a movie humans watch as children.” Studying a species’ influences during adolescence could prove to be pretty useful in understanding the adults. “And besides, if the portrayal is truly offensive, I can always send a complaint to this ‘Walt Disney’ and demand certain edits.”

“Riiiiight, though I don’t think you’ll be too mad at this one,” Mikey told him, “Ariel is a great character, and all the other mermaids in the movie aren’t portrayed as jerks or anything. ...Well, one guy kinda is but, uh-”

“Let’s just watch it already,” Draxum told him, shoving the tape into his hand, “The sooner we start it, the sooner I can gauge whether or not it’s actually worth watching.”

Mikey smirked a little. “Heh, alright.” Opening the case, he pushed the tape in while Draxum went over to the couch they had gotten him at the thrift store, briefly checking it for bugs or lumps before sitting down. “Good thing it’s already rewound.”

The only annoying thing about that was that they had to sit through previews, though Mikey used that time to cook up some popcorn kernels that he had snagged on the way out of the Lair, easily cooking it using a pan and the stove top. (No one trusted Draxum with a microwave after That One Time.)

By the time he finished, the movie’s title had just faded onto the screen. Mikey smiled widely, the nostalgia from the music and the memories he had with the movie sending slight shivers up his shell. 

Draxum, meanwhile, was watching the film intently, taking in every detail. The mermaids in the film were still completely different than actual mermaids, but at least they weren’t an insulting caricature (even if they were a bit too human-like for his liking).

As it turned out, the main mermaid character was not only a bit of a collector and explorer, but also a human fanatic. “Ugh,” Draxum grumbled as he grabbed a couple more pieces of the puffed-up corn-snack. Mikey gave him a bit of a look, but he ignored it. Just because he had been able to find a bit of common ground and comradery with his fellow lunch servers didn’t mean he was willing to give ALL humans a pass.

At least the mermaid’s father seemed to have some common sense. In fact, Draxum found himself nodding in agreement with nearly every scene the mer-king was in. ...Up until a certain point, at least.

Mikey winced a bit as the scene began. He resisted the urge to go into his shell like he always had when he was little, but he did sink a little in his seat as Triton stepped out of the shadows. When he noticed Draxum glancing over at him, Mikey simply mumbled, “I always hate this scene...”

A couple minutes and a destroyed grotto later, and Draxum could sort of see what Mikey meant, understanding how Triton’s act might have been “harsh”, as the orange-wearing turtle would’ve put it.

As the movie moved onto the next seen, Mikey relaxed a little, though a frown remained on his face... However, his expression of sadness soon became one of confusion as he felt a hand pat the top of his head.

“Uh... there, there,” Draxum mumbled, giving Mikey one more head-pat before retracting his hand. It was awkward as all heck, they both knew it, but seeing the sheepman somewhat care about his feelings still made Mikey smile.

It didn’t take much longer for Ursula to make her appearance, and as soon as the Sea Witch began talking of deals and trades, Draxum gave a small smirk of his own.

“What?” Mikey asked, tilting his head a bit.

“I didn’t realize Big Mama was in this movie.”

Mikey snorted at that. “So what, you tell jokes now?”

The sheep-man shrugged as he grabbed another handful of popcorn. “Just making an observation,” he said simply. As the scene went on though, his mind made another small connection - Ursula’s two eels reminding him of his own pair of pets, even if Flotsam and Jetsam were much more confident than his former goyles.

Even so, the reminder made his chest ache a little... Not in sadness, mind you, or because he actually missed them. No, clearly his chest ached for a completely different reason that he was sure he’d think of later.

Once the little mermaid made the contract and silenced herself, the film very much became a literal ‘fish out of water’ story, complete with plenty of amusing moments featuring misunderstandings and an over-abundance of cuteness, as well as another musical number. Thankfully, before things became too saccharine, Ursula launched the second half of her plan to rule the seas.

After that, the movie moved pretty quickly through its third act. Draxum was a bit annoyed at the human prince being the one to ultimately save the day in the end, but overall he could agree that the ending was a pretty happy one.

As the credits rolled, Mikey looked at him with eyes wide. “Sooooo, what do you think?”

Draxum cupped his chin in thought, staying silent for a few moments before finally speaking. “...If the king’s trident had the power of transformation, why didn’t he just turn the prince into a merman?”

Mikey’s face fell. “...That’s what you got out of it?”

“It’s a valid question!” Draxum argued, “Why should she have to be the one to transform?”

“Because she wasn’t just after the guy!” Mikey told him, resisting the urge to facepalm, “You saw her collection and heard her song, she wanted to be human! She was tired of bein’ stuck in the same ocean and wanted something new - something she thought was cool!”

“Hmph, I suppose that’s true... Plus, she still has the option to turn back into a mermaid later on thanks to her father’s power, so at least there’s that.”

The box turtle slumped back on the couch, disappointed though maybe not too surprised. “I guess that means you didn’t really like it, huh?”

There was a long moment of silence. “I didn’t completely agree with the ending but... the film overall wasn’t too bad,” Draxum conceded, “Not as bad as I thought it’d be, at least?”

“...You really mean that?” Mikey asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t waste my time lying about something as trivial as animated human-entertainment,” Draxum replied, “And... there were high production values. Characters were mostly understandable, and it was... cute. Not too annoying or insufferable. Even if it was still slightly inaccurate to actual mermaids and mermen.”

“...You know what, I’ll take it. And I’m glad you enjoyed the movie, and not just for my sake.” With a bit of a ‘whup’, Mikey sat up and tucked his legs under his body in a sort of lotus position. “Though, now I’m kinda curious. What’d the movie get wrong, and what else can you tell me about merpeople? I only ever saw one, on Hueso’s brother’s ship, but that was only for like a second.”

This time, it was Draxum’s turn to give him a look. “Really... The child who’s always pushing me to ‘embrace humans’ and hide my ‘mystic stuff’ is asking me to teach him about a member of Yokaikind?”

“Hey, I only to tell you to hide your mystic stuff so you don’t get yourself evicted, fired or arrested,” Mikey retorted, “I’m not the one goin’ around mutatin’ kids and/or lunches and making giant stone heads angry.”

“...Fair enough,” Draxum said, only slightly reluctant.

“But as far as I can figure, there’s no harm in just talking about mystic stuff. And as for my actual interest... Yeah, I really do wanna know.” Unable to help himself, Mikey directed his gaze towards the floor - down towards the Hidden City that he knew was there. That he only now knew was there. 

He wouldn’t have traded his life with his dad in the sewers of NYC for anything, but he would’ve been lying if he said there wasn’t a small part of him that wondered what it would’ve been like to grow up around people that looked like him in a city full of magic.

“We protect humans, but we don’t like only humans, you know,” Mikey continued, “We’ve got other mutant friends, and yokai friends too.” His smile softened. “Senor Hueso and Sunita and the chefs I’ve met at Run of the Mill, they’re all so amazing. And I’ve only seen, like, a fraction of the Hidden City but I know that’s amazing too, and I just... This city - the surface - is always gonna be my home, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about the other city or wonder about it.” 

He finally looked back at Draxum, his eyes firm. “So yeah... I wanna know.”

There was another moment of silence between them, though within it, the slightest bit of connection was formed. Small and fragile, but no less noticeable.

“...Fine,” Draxum finally agreed, “But pay attention, I don’t want to repeat myself later. First off, no merperson has the same skin tone as a human. They range between greens, blues and grays to help blend in with oceans. Their eyes are also much wider than a human’s to help them hunt.”

“Makes sense to me!” Mikey smiled, leaning back on his hands a little, though looking no less attentive. Even when the TV turned to quiet static, he kept his focus right on Draxum - a gesture the former warrior-scientist certainly appreciated, even if he didn’t say so outright.

“Merpeople are also able to survive outside of water. While mobility becomes an issue depending on how often they’re moving or traveling, they have no issues living on land - hence why some take to living on air-boats as a sort of compromise, plus it helps them travel across bodies of water in a shorter amount of time. They also don’t eat humans, despite the lies told about them, though they can be territorial when they are in the water - although you can’t blame them, especially if fish start to become scarce. Furthermore-”

It was sort of nice... Sure, Mikey had plenty he wanted to show and teach Draxum about humankind - and if all went well, then maybe there was a chance of Draxum having a change of heart. Maybe their technical creator wasn’t totally evil, and maybe one day, he really would be a better person and would understand what he and his family already knew. Mikey certainly hoped that would end up being the case...

But, in the meantime, maybe Mikey would end up learning a little from Draxum too. And honestly, as long as it wasn’t lecture series about ‘effectively destroying humans’ or anything like that, the orange turtle didn’t see anything wrong with that at all.

THE END

[goldenavenger02]

"The Last Thing is Both of Us Getting Sick."

So I've been having a really hard time lately with personal issues (PM me if you want details) and I have no one else to thank for this one shot other then Clover-Rose on Wattpad. 

She really helped me out of a bind by giving me this unfinished one shot, and I'm so thankful. So go follow her and send her some well wishes (she has strep throat at the moment) and now, on with the story!

•••••••••••••

"Come on, guys, head outside! I want six laps around the track!"

'Ugh, no,' Peter groaned as he held his head in his hands, while his stomach continued cramping uncomfortably. Of all the days he had to have PE, why did it have to be today? And it wasn't like he didn't like it either, since he actually did and became progressively better at it after the spider bite. No, it was just that his stomach was churning, his vision was spinning, and his head felt heavy and hazy.

So, yeah, you could say; he felt great...not

"Hey, dude, you okay?" The 'Guy in the Chair' had then questioned from where he sat beside his best friend and snapped the secretive superhero out of his trance.

It didn't do much though, as the superhero had just shaken his head and blinked before Ned took the chance to speak again. "Because, you... don't look so good," He spoke, slowly.

Before Peter even had a chance to speak though, Flash did. "Oh, please," He scoffed, crossing his arms, while walking past the boys on the bleachers. "Parker couldn't look good, even if he wanted to."

"Neither could you," Michelle retorted as she began to head out the gymnastic doors for the run. But, once there, she stopped walking with the bratty boy and, instead, turned back to face the two smarter ones. "Hey, losers!" She called. "You guys coming or what?"

"Give us a minute," Ned had then said, but it seemed that simple statement was enough to satisfy the decathlon captain. And, luckily, it was as she walked out without a second of suspicion after that, making the fanboy turn back to the spider-related boy.

"Hey," the best friend had then asked as he glanced back at his own best friend. "Dude, you okay?" He questioned, shaking the superhero's shoulder, slightly but softly.

Sadly, though, the superhero didn't really respond... and, even if he did, well, it wasn't by much. Because, instead of answering verbally, he had just shrugged, closed his eyes and muttered something along the lines of "I feel sick..." while his vision continued to spin and his mind continued to spiral.

"Do you wanna sit this one out, dude?" Ned questioned, concerned. "We could skip the class if you wanted to," He offered. "I can fake an illness or, try and fake an injury—"

"Ned." Peter had then deadpanned, with his head still in his hands. "You're a terrible liar, man. Remember the library and the homecoming dance?"

"Yeah, but you actually look terrible. I'm being serious here, do you wanna sit this one out? We can skip class, head down to the robotics lab..."

"There's a class down there right now," Peter pointed out, a look of pain placing itself on his face, while he continued squeezing his eyes shut. And was it just him or did that sickening feeling in his stomach seem to get worse and worse with each minute that mocked him?

"So? Mr. Carson's a cool teacher. He likes us, he'll let us down there—"

"But I don't like lying..." Peter protested, as he let a small whimper escape his lips.

"And I don't like you looking like you're either, A, gonna be sick, or, B, gonna pass out. Plus, not only that, but it's not gonna help anyone if you faint flat out on the ground."

Peter frowned, as he lifted his head from his hands, but then wrapped them around his abdomen, his nails digging into his skin. "I'm not gonna faint—"

"Really?" Ned asked, rhetorically. "Because you look like you might."

Peter, instead of rolling his eyes, just ran a hand through his hair, hoping it wouldn't aggravate his headache, while also hoping it would make it kinda better. "I'm not," He said as soon as he stood up, but quickly decided against it when his body started swaying and the room started spinning. "I–I'm fine—" He let out a deep breath as he stepped off the bench. "Let's just—Let's just head outside..."

In reply, Ned sighed. He knew there was no chance of getting Peter to give up the class. If the superhero thought he could suffer through the pain and agony, then he would; it was plain and simple. "Alright," He agreed, as the two began to head out of the gymnasium and into the rain that came pouring down on to the ground. "But, I'm staying by your side the entire time."

It's around ten minutes later when he starts huffing and puffing after the third lap. And, usually, it'd be around the first, but, since the spider-bite, his senses have practically been dialled to eleven—and that includes his agility.

"Dude, you okay?" Ned asked again as the two began to slow down. They're walking now, and, somehow, it puts the teen at ease, taking a break from the run, if just slightly. "We can take a break if you want, go get some water—"

"Hmm? No, no, I'm fine..." Peter quickly replied. The last thing he needed, with the sick feeling climbing up his throat, was water to push it back down.

Ned only shook his head. "Really?" He asked, rhetorically. "Became I don't think you are—"

"Please," Flash had then scoffed as he walked past the two boys. "Parker's never been fine. Between skipping classes and decathlon practice, I'm actually surprised he hasn't been expelled yet."

"And I'm actually surprised you're still on said team," Michelle remarked, as she came to a stop and crossed her arms. "I was thinking about kicking you off."

At this, Flash smirked. "Really?" He asked, rhetorically. "You're gonna kick off the most valuable member of the team?"

Michelle immediately shot a confused look at the boy, though her tone came out as if it was sewn with sarcasm. "What? No, why would I kick off myself?"

"What? No, I—"

Smirking, Michelle started running again and made her way over to the coach. "Coach Wilson!" She called out, sarcasm and snark seeping through her voice. "Flash is being mean to me!"

"What?!" Flash then yelled as he, too, broke into a jog to catch up with the brunette. "What the hell, Michelle?!"

But, as the two contrasting classmates faded away across the field, so did Peter's ability to walk and, before he knew it, he collapsed right there on the spot. Luckily, he caught himself on his hands and knees, but also scraped them, as he fell against the rainy, wet cement.

"Peter!" Immediately, Ned came and kneeled beside him, but so did the nauseous feeling as it crawled up his stomach and hiked through his throat. "Dude, you okay? Answer me, man!"

But, he didn't. In fact, all the superhero really did to reply was sigh and close his eyes. "F-Fine..." He managed to mumble after a minute or two, as his cheeks puffed up in an effort to inhale and exhale. "Just got... tired..."

Ned just shook his head. "I don't think you are," He disagreed. "Dude, I think you're sick..." Glancing up, the 'Guy in the Chair' immediately spotted some of their classmates staring or surrounding them and yelled, "Can somebody get Coach Wilson?"

Now it was Peter's turn to shake his head, but he quickly stopped once that made his vision spin more and made his nausea come back full force. "N-N-No..." He choked out, an acidy feeling scrambling up his sore throat. "I-I—I'm alright, I-I'm fine. I-I can last the—the class," The superhero said as he curled his fingers into fists, before he stopped to cough.

"I don't think you can, man..." Ned trailed off, as he kept an arm around the superhero's shoulders, trying to keep him awake, while also trying to keep an eye on the teacher coming towards the two. "But just hold on, 'kay? Help's coming, so don't fall asleep on me—figuratively, or literally."

"Mhmm..." Nodding slightly, though, as Peter rested his head on the crook of Ned's neck, he couldn't help but squeeze his eyes shut more and more.

And then, he was cast in the dark.

•••••••••••••••

The first thing that returned was sound; voices, to be more specific.

Then his ability to touch, and then his ability to see... Ned, hovering over him, concernedly.

Which was... weird, to say the least.

"Ugh... Ned?" The superhero questioned as he slowly began to sit up, only to have his best friend push him back down again.

His stomach was still twisting and turning, as well as his blurry vision spinning, but now his head seemed to hurt even more than it did before—'though,' the superhero thought. 'That was probably from slamming it on the cement.' "W-What happened?" The teen asked, as the cool cloth that was on his forehead fell to the edge of the bed, only for Ned to set it back on him again.

"You collapsed in PE, man... Right in the middle of the track." the 'Guy in the Chair' had then added. Then, as he gestured around the room, the superhero also took a look at it—at the baby blue walls, and dull, white tiles—and scanned his surroundings. A clock also tick-tocked in the corner and despite how much the teen wanted to ignore it, he couldn't; it rang continuously in his ears, dragging him back to the darkness, until he finally caught on to something Ned said.

"Wait, what?" The teen repeated. "Repeat that, please."

Ned looked at the boy, concerned and a bit quizzical, but did so anyway. "I said that you're in the nurse's office. I had to carry you here, though, but Mr. Stark's coming to pick you up in a few minutes, since May wasn't answering her phone—"

In response, Peter nodded, slowly beginning to close his eyes. "Yeah," He muttered, feeling a familiar sensation of sleep overtake his senses. "Her—Her boss is strict on—on cell phone policies..."

Ned only shrugged. "Yeah, I figured," He agreed. "But Mr. Stark's supposed to pick you up, Peter, and you get to go to the Avengers compound! You have to invite me sometime!"

And that's when Peter caught on.

Because Mr. Stark was coming to pick him up? From school, while he was sick and literally just passed out in class? No, no, no—he absentmindedly shook his head, but just assumed Ned would guess he was trying to clear his vision or get rid of his headache—that could not happen. What if he got his suit taken away again? What if Mr. Stark saw him as weak and thought he wasn't ready to become an Avenger? Sure, he turned down the invitation, but that didn't necessarily mean that the offer wasn't still open...

"You need anything, man?" Ned then asked, snapping the superhero out of his trance. "Otherwise I'm just gonna grab your things out of the gym and then after Mr. Stark comes, I'll head back to class."

"N-N-No..." The teen stopped and paused, as he slowly turned on his side and pulled the soft cotton over his shoulders. "I-I think I'm g-g-good f-for now..." He whispered, his teeth chattering and shoulders shivering as he did so, even with the baggy school sweatshirt and blanket that currently covered his skinny figure.

"'Kay, cool." Nodding, Ned had then stood up and began to make his way to the doorframe. "Just gimmie a sec, but try and rest till then." Chuckling, he had then added, "We don't need you fainting again," before he left.

"Mhmm." Nodding in response, the superhero had then faked a sleepy sigh, though it came out much more real than he actually expected, and watched as his sidekick left the room.

And, it was lucky he did, because, if Ned left, then that meant there was no watching him... which, also, meant the superhero was totally free to leave. So, scrambling out of the sheets, the boy had taken his chance and ventured off, right into the rainy, city streets of New York, Queens.

•••••••••••••••••

Peter groaned as he declined another call from Ned, trying not to puke once again.

He knew Ned was just scared, but it was either go back to the apartment and scare the shit out of May, or let Tony Stark see how weak he was, so he decided to just try and feel better in the middle of Queens, praying no one he knew saw him.

He ended up gripping onto a fire hydrant, trying not to barf or pass out when he heard a female voice ask if he was okay.

"Y-yeah, I'm okay." He stuttered, letting a shiver go through his body before he glanced at the blonde teenage girl, who proceeded to introduce herself.

"Oh, I'm Gwen Stacy. I go to Winston's academy. Anyway, are you okay? Should I call-oh my god!" She screeched, before starting to shout. "Someone! Help me, please!"

Because Peter had thrown up on her before hitting his head on the fire hydrant on his way down.

••••••••••••••••••

Peter winced as he felt his head throbbing when he came back to consciousness.

He was on something soft, some sort of bed, and there was something freezing on his forehead, but it felt amazing.

He finally managed to crack his eyes open to see Mr. Stark with a quiet but angry look on his face as he spoke into the phone.

"Again, I am very sorry, Greg. If I had known, he never would have been at school, let alone in the streets with a 105 fever. Okay. Bye."

Peter swallowed as a shiver wracked his body as Tony stood awkwardly beside the bed Peter was laying in.

"What the hell was that, Peter? Going to school while sick, going into the city while it is raining, and scaring your aunt so much she filed a police report. If you hadn't passed out after throwing up on Greg's daughter, you would've died. Do you understand that?"

"Y-yeah, I do." He shivered again, before asking. "Where's May?"

"No, we're not done yet. I still don't know why you went into Queens while it was raining and you felt like shit. That's not okay, Pete."

Peter held in a cry, as he whispered to himself. "Cause Avengers can't be weak..."

"Peter, you have to understand something." Tony told him, sitting by his feet and setting his hand on his knee.

"Being strong isn't just determined by your muscles. It's doing something even if you aren't sure it will go well. If you are willing to save everyone before yourself." He smiled , before clarifying. "I'm not saying become like Rogers and don't practice self-care, but if you can put others before yourself sometimes, then you are so much stronger then Thor, or Hulk, or anyone else. Do you understand?"

Peter nodded, still clutching the sheets, and looked up to see Tony smiling, before he stood up and clapped his leg. "I'll get your aunt. That is, after I wash my hands. Because trust me, the last thing we need is both of us getting sick."

[perlocutionary]

Notorious, Epilogue - Stuart Twombly

Description: Who knows what’s happened if we hadn’t be so similar. Relationship: Fuckboy!Stuart Twombly x Reader

Word count: 3088

A/N: Thank you so much for sticking by me while I’ve written this little thing about our boy Stuart. This is the end, and tbh, I’m ready for more and new exciting things to come along. But this probably won’t be the last of him :-)

Part 14 - Epilogue

Sweat drips down my forehead as I haul another box up from my car, perching it up on my hip as I gauge its weight. I growl when I realize it’s once again going to be a one-box-trip upstairs, and I wipe my arm along my sweat-beaded forehead before I hobble toward the entrance of my new home.

I feel the muscles in my arms and back strain when I crane my neck to see where the small steps are located, taking my time to step over them and make a right turn into the living room. My gaze trails over the spacious room for the third time since I’ve started hauling my things in, sighing at the sobriety of it all.

As soon as I got the chance, I had to personalize it. I bend down to flip open the sturdy cardboard box, groaning loudly when I see it holds my toiletries and other bathroom necessities. “I’m not taking that upstairs right now… Fuck no.” I chuckle when I realize I’m talking to myself, pushing the box over to the stairs with my foot as I turn back out the front door.

The sun was blistering overhead, reminding me once more of the permanent decision I decided to make – but for my life to move forward the way I wanted to, it was sort of obligatory.

My shirt sticks to my skin in all unpleasant ways as I stumble my way back to the opened trunk of my car, but I take some time to look around the neighborhood. It was pleasant, lots of greenery surrounding us, and the houses were in pristine shape.

My gaze falls onto a tan, buff male standing in the front yard beside my new home, and I lift my hand over my sunglasses-covered eyes to stare at him briefly. He seems to spot me and waves joyfully, taking a few steps up to the fence.

“Hi! Are you the new neighbor?”

I grin, pushing my hair out of my eyes as I meet his vibrant smile.

“In the flesh.”

He holds his hand out for me to take, and I let my hand slip in his as the male speaks up again. “I’m Tyler. I’ve met your roommate already. Nice guy, bit weird though.” He shrugs his shoulders and I have to suppress the snort that wants to slip me, shaking my head lightly.

I cannot suppress the smirk that breaks through though as soon as our hands drop. I nervously run my fingers along my neck, tapping against the heated skin as I mumble my response.

“He’s all good, I promise.”

His smile is contagious, and it reminds me of Sarina, and how I should definitely let her know about the handsome, tan young man that lives next door. As soon as I’m certain Tyler doesn’t have a girlfriend. I should call her soon, let her know that I’ve arrived safely and to ask how she’s doing. She wasn’t too keen on me moving over here and leaving her.

“Alright. Nice to meet you, …?”

I’m pulled from my trance and I smile apologetically as I grip the pristine white fence between my fingertips. “Y/N.”

I push myself off the fence and back toward my car, snapping the hair tie around my wrist to wrap my hair up as much as I could, one strand out of my face was even enough. It was going to take some time getting used to the warmth of the sun shining on my face.

Tyler demands my attention again as he speaks up, his head jotting to the car still piling with boxes to be unpacked.

“Y/N. Do you need some help?”

My gaze flicks from Tyler to my car and back, and for a moment I contemplate letting him help me out. But, even though I was groaning and moaning the whole damn time, I enjoyed moving into my first home after college, and I wanted to live the experience myself. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

My friendly neighbor hums and nods his head, waving as he starts to make his way back inside his own home. “I’ll see you around.”

I started to wonder when it wasn’t just solely me on the property anymore. It had reached well past five and my stomach already started to rumble with the heavy exercise throughout the afternoon. My mouth salivated as my mind went on a free run, imagining all the dinners that I could have tonight. Although I’m pretty sure it would resort to me eating a half-stale sandwich.

There was a part of me that wondered if it was a good thing to come out here. I didn’t have a job – yet – and my prospects just weren’t all that high at the moment. At this point in my life, I couldn’t sustain myself one bit. I couldn’t shake the feeling. Because sometimes, when you feel like you’re doing the right thing, you’re inevitably not.

My body turns rigid when I feel a set of cold hands run along my side, and I shoot up into an upright position as I feel the fingers squeeze my hips. It’s when I smell his cologne that my body immediately relaxes, my shoulders falling against his chest as he presses his lips to my shoulder.

“I’m so glad you’re moving in with me.”

He hums against my skin and I turn in his embrace, catching our lips together in a welcome-home-kiss that I didn’t know could hold as many sparks as the first time I’ve experienced the pressure of his soft, pink lips.

The kiss breaks and a shit-eating grin is permanently etched onto my lips.

“You didn’t leave me much choice otherwise, babe.”

I pat his chest affectionately, stepping around the boxes piling up in the living room and making my way back outside. I feel his heavy footsteps thump behind me rhythmically, his voice scraped loudly as he seems nervous to speak his next words. And as soon as he does, I know why.

“My colleagues want to meet you. They don’t believe I have an actual girlfriend.”

The groan that slips me is anything but involuntary. I was so damn tired already and I craved an evening on the sofa with my boyfriend – whom I hadn’t seen in over a month now.

“Stu…” His fingers start kneading the tense flesh of my shoulders, his lips peppering kisses to anywhere within his reach. He was trying to bribe me, but his touching only made me realize how much I was craving him – and then other people in the vicinity is the last thing I need.

“You won’t have to do anything all evening, just sit back and enjoy. I’ll take care of everything, I promise.” The emphasis is on his promise and I feel myself cave just the littlest bit to make him happy – although that thought quickly wanders away when I feel his hands ghost along my abdomen.

“But the whole house is covered in boxes. I’m not doing all of this today, y’know?”

My hand raises to point at the pile of boxes still in the trunk of my car, followed by an aggravated sigh. Stuart chuckles against my skin, pulling my frame flush against his as he rocks our bodies back and forth.

“Who cares?”

A low grumble shows my reluctancy to the whole ordeal.

“They’re very well aware that you’re moving in today, Y/N.”

He tries again, and I feel my determination flutter with every thumping heartbeat I feel against my back. It felt nice to be in his arms again.

Stuart’s voice drops into a low whisper as his bottom lip brushes against the shell of my ear.  

“Please? I’ll give you a full body massage once we’re alone.”

The promise of Stuart’s hands on me after a month apart is enough to make my wall crumble.

“Ugh. Fine.”

A harsh kiss is pressed to my cheek as my boyfriend easily grasps two large boxes, trudging inside swiftly and leaving me with one of the remaining boxes. “You’re the best.”

*****

Meeting the entire group Stuart had spent an entire summer with, was eventful to say the least. Little did I know that this particular group brought out Stuart’s sarcastic side even more than I could’ve ever anticipated, and I loved watching him blossom and snark with his friends.

I had heard about crazy, and about crazy horny, but seeing a face to those nicknames was special to say the least. It was an odd group together, but somehow, they worked. I already found a great friend in Neha after half of the evening, and I didn’t know Billy and Nick where such good salesmen to begin with.

I lost count how many times they did check if I was Stuart’s girlfriend though. Apparently, in the beginning of their internship, Stuart had been an introvert who spoke to no one. The fact that he had blossomed so much after the internship and the stories I had to tell them about Stuart’s doings in college, I had a chance to blow their mind.

“I hope I’m not crossing any boundaries here…” I mumble, fidgeting with my fingers in my lap as I gaze from them toward Billy. He hums, swallowing the remainder of his beer.

“Shoot.”

“I – In what – how did you even think of applying for this internship?”

When I see the tiniest hint of a frown appear I feel my cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He seems to reminisce about prior times, before his job, and he grins when something sparks in his memory.

“I wanted to have a life that I was excited about, and that’s great.”

I hum, smiling at my boyfriend as I get another cocktail handed to me, the sweetness wafting into my nostrils and making my body buzz.

“I’m sure you’ve accomplished that.”

*****

The second everyone mentioned they should get going, my body exploded in fireworks and I had to try my absolute best to remain my stoic composure instead of showing just how elated I was. Don’t get me wrong, each and every single one of Stuart’s co-workers were such friendly, interesting people – and they did get Stuart to look up from his phone once in a while – but I felt the life drain out of me with every moment that has passed ever since my arrival.

I had opened up a bit toward Billy throughout the evening, expressing my concerns of living here and sharing my life with Stuart while I still had no job to look forward to. How I had once dreamed for myself to fly across the world to do what I love, and instead, falling flat on my face and doing interview after interview – without one being fruitful.

“Hey, Y/N.” Billy catches my attention and I whip around from Stuart’s embrace, smiling when I see Nick and he approach us. His arms are thrown around my shoulders briefly as he squeezes so tightly I’m momentarily restricted from any breathing. He holds me at arms’ length as dad-mode comes out.

“Don’t worry about it too much. There’s a great big world out there, my friend.”

I smile at his kind words and I feel Stuart’s hand rest on my lower back again when I open my mouth to reply, but Nick beats me to it.

“Just three inches up, right?”

I’m taken aback by such a random comment.

“What?”

Stuart is quick to step away from me, elbowing Nick in the ribs as his frown is ever-so-prominent. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see the blaze behind Stuart’s eyes.

“That’s a story for a different time, right Nick?”

As he rubs the sore spot Stuart had just created, his eyes flick from Billy to my boyfriend before landing on me. He tries to pull off the most innocent smile, but I can’t help but smirk as realization strikes him that he’s gotten caught. “Uh – yeah. Yeah.”

We wave them out, all others already left, and I let the loudest groan slip from my lips as soon as our front door lips closed. “God.” My fingers are ferociously wiping at my eyes, my feet without a second thought carrying me toward the bed room. I didn’t have time yet to unpack my clothes, and I wasn’t keen on trying to find a pajama now – I was a mess.

I feel Stuart’s presence behind me as I discard my jeans, dropping the heavy material to the floor in a hollow thud. I’m caught in the removal of my Stuart when I hear Stuart’s voice pipe up again from the other side of the room.

“Thank you.”

I hum, tossing my shirt onto the floor next to my jeans. This bed looked amazing.

“For what?”

I drop onto the bed, watching Stuart rid himself off all his clothing as he strolls toward the bed in his mere boxers. Stuart always had been and was a sight for sore eyes. “For compromising. I know you’re tired.”

I shift onto the bed, rolling over onto my stomach as I push my hands underneath my pillow. My eyes already droop closed, my voice mumbled as I feel my lips constricted by pressing up against the cotton pillow case.

“Just be damn glad I love you.”

I feel the bed shift underneath Stuart’s weight and I sigh contently when I realize he is true to his words. He shifts onto my ass, his pointer finger dragging along my spine before it stops at the clasp of my bra.

“Mhm.”

The material snaps loose from my body and I groan, shifting alongside Stuart to help him rid me of the material.

Stuart’s hands are cold against my tensed back, his fingertips firstly ghosting along the inflamed skin. A groan slips me once more when his fingers start kneading my shoulders, his thumbs digging into the flesh in a circular motion.

“Mhm.” I praise him one-worded, my body sinking into the mattress as I feel myself relax completely.

“Good?” Stuart questions as his hands run along the sides of my back, fingernails scratching in his wake. Another mumble slips me as I squeeze my eyes closed when I feel his knuckles run along my spine.

“Mhm.”

When Stuart reaches a particular tense spot, my ass rolls up, pressing against Stuart, and all of a sudden, I don’t feel so tired anymore. Stuart chuckles at my movements, his hands leaving my naked upper body to grasp my butt cheeks firmly. He starts kneading the soft flesh, causing a loud, deliberate moan to slip me.

“How I’ve missed the sound of that.”

I can’t help but chuckle at his words as I cock my head up, grinning at my boyfriend as he stills his movements. He sits back, his fingers tapping against my ass as he grins bashfully.

“Can I taste you?”

My eyes roll into the back of my head at the promise of Stuart between my legs and I drop my body, turning around underneath his hips pinning me down.

“Mhm.”

Stuart’s fingers hook into the waistband of my underwear, his whole body scooting back on the mattress as he starts dragging the remainder of clothing from my shivering frame.

“It’s been too damn long, Y/N.”

I squirm in anticipation, lifting my hips up from the mattress and I roll against Stuart’s hand cupping my core.

“I missed the way you writhe beneath me when I touch you exactly right.”

He dismisses his whole hand for a lone finger, lowly putting pressure on my clit – erupting a loud moan from my parted lips.

“How responsive your body is to the things I do to you. How you bite your lip whenever you look down.” Just as I look down, Stuart’s words leave his lips and I’m caught in my act. A blush overtakes my features as I drop my head back down, gaze firmly fixated on the eggshell ceiling.

He leans down, his lips dangerously close to where I want and need him most, his finger circling my entrance. He stops all movements all together as he lifts his head, our gazes meeting. The small smile that I’m granted with causes my heart to swell.

“Come to think, if I never wavered and took you home, I wouldn’t be able to feel your body shake beneath my fingertips. I wouldn’t have ever felt your warm mouth enveloping my cock.”

“That would’ve been such a shame.”

Stuart grins devilishly as he bends back down and licks a long, bold stripe along my folds. I feel my whole body shudder at the one movement but I don’t get any breathing time as Stuart’s lips suck around my clit as he pushes a finger in.

“Oh – Stu – “

He groans against my clit, the vibrations leading me to squirm underneath him. One of his hands keeps me tied to the mattress underneath his firm hold, his other hand rapidly pumping in and out of my throbbing core.

I’m writhing, moaning, and begging Stuart to touch me as he keeps his relentless pace, alternating between mumbling against my clit and spelling out his entire name. It’s when his teeth lightly nibble on my already swollen clit, I’m a goner. My vision turns black as stars appear before my tightly squeezed-closed eyes, my hands fisting the sheets as I ride out my high against Stuart’s face.

He pulls away completely to give me time to get down from my sensitive high, sitting back on his knees. He starts stroking my thighs and knees in circular motions as I regain my breathing.

When I move him onto his back, my lips waste no time to peppers kisses along his collarbones and starting to make my way down. I feel the bulge in his underwear strain against my ribs, my fingernails scratching along his waist in anticipation.

Before I can reach the one place I had masturbated about oh-so-many times, Stuart’s hands stop me.

“There’s plenty of time for that still. You can thank me in the morning.”

He pulls me up against his body, drawing the duvet over the both of us in a swift motion as I settle into a more comfortable position.

“If you say so.” A yawn slips me, my body shivering as I involuntarily steer closer toward Stuart’s unclothed upper body.

My mom always told me that opposites attract. But, in hindsight, if Stuart and I weren’t even remotely similar, I would’ve never considered the rest of my life.

Forever tag: @flirtstiles @mischiefandi @ssweet-empowerment @fuckwhateverfuck @behind-my-hazeleyes27 @itsbilescallmebiles @7e6205 @daddyxraeken @lovelynerdytraveler @redstringlovers @suggsmate @dylxnob @bojabee  @beingafangirlistheonlylifestyle @voidkitsune24

Stuart tag: @sataninsatin @cece-lives-here @dancingalone21 @europha @letmebeyoursforever @voidwriter @anneistrash @thesecretlifeofmeinmyhead @acambridge

[writeradamanteve]

Campbughead  @writeradamanteve: Day Twenty : Science Fiction

COWBOY JONES

Words: 4,837

Chapters: 1/2

Rating: Eventual Smut

Pairing: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones

Summary: To get away from her overbearing mother, Betty jumped at the chance to work as a mechanic for the Whyte Wyrm. The ship’s captain, FP Jones flies across the galaxy hunting bounties for a living with his son and daughter and their lives are as exciting as they are mundane. Betty’s ready to adventure with this ragtag family of space cowboys (and when she wasn’t working, daydream about the handsome Cowboy, Jughead Jones).

ONE

Betty tapped her spoon on the edge of the bowl and it made flat, metallic clinks.  The bowl was huge, intended for mixing large portions of food, like Garden-tossed Salad or a macaroni dish that served three, but all of the smaller bowls were still in the sink, unwashed from the previous night’s homemade macaroni and cheese.  It had been Jughead’s turn to wash the dishes and it wasn’t a surprise he had shirked it.  He shirked as much housework as he could, but Betty refused to clean up after him.  She may have feelings for the 3rd Quandrant’s most effective cowboy, but she wasn’t going to let him push her around.

At the bottom of the bowl was a pile of cereal and some chunks of a banana.  The banana was still okay, but in about a day or two it would be overripe.

Combined with the stale bread we could actually make decent pudding.  

She shook her head after the thought. She was getting tired of being the only one in this goddamn spaceship who cared to think about recipes for leftovers. Before she came around, the Joneses tended to let their leftovers rot in the fridge.

I swear, they’d all expire if I weren’t around.  

It was a little past eight and she expected that the other occupants of the Whyte Wyrm would be waking up soon. FP was usually up around the same time she was, but he must’ve been exhausted from that last bounty they had to catch.

They had been successful, thank goodness. They needed the funds, as evidenced by the low food supply, but Jughead had said payment wasn’t due to arrive for another two days. Alliance money came slower when it needed to be transferred from the 1st to 3rd quadrants of space.

This, quite understandably, put Jughead in a foul mood. He was swearing all the way back from the planet Ursula K in his speedcraft, which he dubbed Hitchcock. His profanity had clogged Betty’s radio frequency for minutes on end.

She normally didn’t mind when he cursed up a storm, but this time, she tuned him out, his swearing was so bad.  

He was also, still asleep, though he might be waking up soon.

JB’s sleep schedule didn’t count as a schedule.  Her hours were as erratic and random as she was; she slept when she wanted, wherever she wanted, whether it was on the couch, on the stairs or on the kitchen table.

Betty moved the cereal and banana around.  They were fresh out of milk, but there had been some chocolate syrup in one of the cupboards.  

Desperate for some semblance of breakfast, she had poured some of the syrup on top of her mixture. Everything, after all, was good with chocolate.

Her mother, Alice Cooper, would be furious if she knew her daughter was having chocolate first thing in the morning. Then again, her mother wasn’t here. She was at least two wormholes away, which was how Betty preferred it. She wouldn’t have had taken FP’s job posting for a space mechanic if she didn’t.

The chocolate was predictably delicious and probably unhealthy, but she figured she needed the fat anyway. Her shorts were loosening and she thought perhaps her boobs were shrinking.

The thing about living in the Whyte Wyrm and depending on bounty rewards for their prosperity was that food was either in abundance or went starvation levels low. Feast or famine.  It was therefore smart to load up on calories when there was something, anything in the pantry.

To the side of the bowl was her coffee and she took a sip of it.

She breathed in its fresh aroma and sighed happily.  Decrepit as their lives could get on the ship, they at least believed in good coffee.  FP always insisted on buying the best brand.  Betty had no complaints, even when it was her turn to buy the groceries.

Betty felt the caffeine invade her system, and it was good.

She began to munch on her makeshift breakfast as little by little, she felt less aggravated by their lack of food supply.

There was a sound behind her, and judging by the light but slow stride, it was Jughead.  Betty didn’t even bother to look.  Newly out of bed, Jughead was even less sociable than usual.

In the morning, Jughead was what her mother would classify a disgrace to the public.  His ink-black, scraggy locks tended to look a bit bent out of shape and the scowl on his face was enough to deter everyone who saw him from making smart-ass comments about it.  

He shambled out of his bunk in wrinkled combat pants and his white, wife-beater shirts, sometimes torn, sometimes yellowing from overuse. Sometimes he didn’t wear a shirt at all, which often caused Betty to wonder if he wore anything under those pants of his.

Not that she was complaining. Jughead Jones wasn’t a tank, by any means. His limbs were long and his body was lean, but those lines of muscles were certainly there. Like his body was pulled tight, and she liked it. She liked it a lot.

He took one look at her and she met his gaze with an arch of her eyebrow. She was ready for him, but he hadn’t even had his coffee yet.

Jughead made no comment, heading straight for the coffee machine.  He poured himself a mug and he padded to the stool beside her, hunched over his cup.  She paid him no attention as she munched on her breakfast and drank her own coffee.

After a while, probably after the caffeine kicked in, he was awake enough to speak.  “What’s that?”  He was looking into her huge bowl.

“Cereal, banana, and chocolate syrup.”

“Where’s the milk?”

“We ran out.”

He was silent, probably cursing the emptiness of their refrigerator, and again the delayed reward, in his mind.  There was a spoon on the table; neither of them knowing from whence it came, but Jughead didn’t seem to care.  He took it, polished both sides of it with the edge of his shirt and began to point it towards Betty’s breakfast.

She scowled.  “Really, Jug? There are still a couple of bananas in the fridge. Go make your--”

Ignoring her, Jughead tugged at her bowl and began to eat.  She rolled her eyes and scratched at her scalp irritably.

“This is good,” he said through a mouth full of cereal and banana.

Sighing, Betty’s only response was to eat before he finished all of it.

Halfway through the meal, she caught him staring at her cleavage. She pretended not to notice, but she might have adjusted her shoulder slightly to give him a better view. She noticed that Jughead liked this particular shirt on her. She was yet to call him out on it.

He tore his eyes away from them seconds later, his face noticeably red.

She didn’t have that many clothes to wear. When she accepted FP’s job offer, she had rushed home, taken what she could into her small suitcase, and hurried out before her mother could stop her.  She left a video message for her mother to find and by the time Alice Cooper found it, she was halfway across the galaxy in the Wyrm.  

As a result, Betty’s clothing choices were limited.  She could shot for new things, of course, but she preferred to save as much as she could instead of blowing it off on shopping.  All she needed to do her job was a shirt and overalls. When she wasn’t working, she wore shirts and shorts. She had one sundress for special occasions. That hadn’t been busted out yet. There weren’t many social events to go to in their line of work. Bounty hunting wasn’t a very socially inclined industry.

Still, it didn’t mean she didn’t care what Jughead thought of her. If she ever bothered to wear clean clothes, nicely fitted shirts, and painted toenails, it was because she wanted Jughead to notice, and while he did seem to notice sometimes, he never said anything, which kind of drove her crazy.

And annoyed her. Constantly. Especially now, when he was eating her breakfast.  

It was time to call him out. If only for her own sanity.

“Were you just looking at my boobs?”

He choked on the dry cereal, causing his face to redden even more. “Jesus, Betty.”

“Well, were you?” she cried.

He looked like he was struggling. He probably was. With the cereal. With his words. “You know, you wear a shirt like that--”

“This old thing?”

He dealt her a look that was less than amused. “Shoot me, alright. I’m exhausted, I’m hungry, and they were--you were in my line of sight. It’s just--I’m just too tired to look away, okay?”

She wondered about Jughead sometimes. She’d never once seen him come home with a girl (or guy) or left with his whereabouts unknown. He always got back to the Wyrm alone and only left for assignments, or quick errands.

For a good looking, healthy twenty-something, who didn’t appear like he was awkward with those who were overtly attracted to him (she’d seen him grin cockily at a few admirers, men and women of varying species, even) he sure didn’t seem to have much of a sex life.

Not that she was doing any better.  She hadn’t gotten laid for far too long.

Jellybean swooped into the kitchen, her laptop open in her hands. She was typing something on it, her fingers flying.  “Morning, grouch!” she said to her brother without looking at him.

He grunted, but he turned away from Betty, probably relieved that a distraction bailed him out of his very awkward situation.

Hotdog, the Joneses’ sheep dog, followed her in, yipping excitedly, after which he began to lick Betty’s perfectly manicured toes.

“Ugh!  Hotdog!  Gross!”

Jughead laughed upon seeing the disgusted look on her face.

“Aw, he just likes you, that’s all,” Jellybean said, not looking up from her laptop.  

Betty liked Jellybean. She was a sweetheart, but she often had her head in the clouds. She never had any in-depth conversations with Betty, only fleeting, distracted ones. So she figured Jellybean wouldn’t care if she skipped making nice for stopping Hotdog from slobbering her foot.  She tried desperately to shake Hotdog off her.

Hotdog simply refused to leave Betty alone, so she lifted her foot, growling menacingly in the hopes of scaring Hotdog off, but she miscalculated her balance and she promptly began to topple back on her seat.  She screeched.

Jughead lunged, and was brutally punished for his good deeds with Betty’s foot as it swung up and hit him square on the chin.

“Dammit, Betty!”

Betty figured it was going to be a pretty bad fall and she braced herself for impact, so she was relieved when her head remained suspended above the floor, her butt still wedged on the stool.  She craned her neck and found that Jughead had grabbed her ankle as he glared at her.

“We don’t exactly have proper health insurance, you know,” he muttered.  He reached over with his other hand, grabbing her by her upper arm.  He yanked her up to sit her up, and she told herself she only imagined the extra rub her arm felt as he disengaged his hand.

“That damn foot’s like a sledgehammer,” he muttered.

Ruffled, but otherwise unharmed, Betty tried to regain as much of her dignity as she could.  “Sorry, the dog--”

“Bad Hotdog!”

The dog whimpered.

Betty was surprised he yelled at the dog. Jughead tended to snort off any inconvenience Hotdog had visited upon her, like when the dog chewed on her slippers, or when he peed on the side of her speedcraft. Maybe she was finally being let in?

And while she was trying to understand the moods of Jughead Jones, she realized that he saved her a bad knock to the head.  “Th-Thanks.”

Jughead arched an eyebrow.  “For yelling at the dog?”

“For catching me.”

“Yeah, well…” He began eating the rest of her cereal. She let him.

Jellybean started singing a pop song.  A grin spread on her face as she looked at the bottle of chocolate syrup.  There was a cartoon cow on it.  “You know what planet outside of earth has cows?”

Betty sighed.  She still couldn’t believe she understood that as Jellybean-speak for “I have something.”

“No JB,” she replied. “What planet outside of earth has cows?” Not that she was expecting a straight answer….

Jellybean’s fingers wiggled and danced over the keyboard.

Betty exchanged raised eyebrows with Jughead before they turned to watch Jellybean with growing interest.  Several faces came up on screen, set side by side on a grid; men and women with bounties written below them.

“Pick a face, Betty!”

Sometimes, Betty just found it easier to do what she was told. She pointed to a face of a man. Handsome and rugged. His bounty was also the biggest on the page. “Jason Blossom.”

Jellybean nodded.”Good choice! I knew you’d pick him for his dashing good looks and inspired bounty. Blew up a stadium, this one. Accidentally, I’ve found. But he inadvertently killed the Prime Minister’s daughter so...”

Jughead snorted. “Dead man walking. Did you find him, JB?”

She nodded, delighted by her own success. “He’s raising cows in Oberlin Major. For beef. He’s a space rancher.” She typed a few more things on her laptop before she pressed the final button with a flourish and turned it around so that both Betty and Jughead were looking at the screen.

It showed a crowded space port on one half of the screen, like a video feed. On the other half was Jason Blossom’s face with pin-pricks of pixels dancing over it.

“Face recognition software?” Betty asked.

Jellybean wiggled her fingers maniacally. “My special program. Better than any of the ones in the market.”

“Better, how?” Jughead asked.

“It crawls data by geo-location.”

Betty and Jughead exchanged looks. That was most certainly illegal, but then again, Jellybean’s primary function was to get them through the inconveniences of galactic red tape.

The frequency of the pixels followed the movements of the video, until finally, the pixel flashed on and off, corresponding to a face in the crowd that seemed to match the flashing pixels on Jason’s face.

Betty leaned over to look more closely at the feed. “Is that--Is that him in a wig?”

“That’s a girl,” said Jughead.

“How do you know it’s not him dressed as a girl?”

Jellybean started to giggle madly as she pulled up the information about Jason. “Jason Blossom of Thornhill Mansion has a twin, Cheryl!”

The young hacker pulled up another video of Cheryl in the terminal, stepping into a passenger ship. Jellybean paused the video and zoomed in on the digital sign perched on the ship’s dock. The sign said, “Oberlin Major, Boarding.”

Betty’s eyes widened and she pointed to the picture. “You figured out Jason Blossom was Oberlin through that? She could’ve been going there for something else entirely.”

Jellybean began to wiggle her arms.  “My ways are mysterious and brilliant.”

“That’s for sure,” said Jughead from the corner of his mouth.  

Jellybean pressed some commands on her laptop then peered at her monitor.  “A movie is filming at his ranch. That’s how I found him. And cows. Cows outside of Earth are delightful curiosities.”

Betty chuckled. This girl was crazy and delightful. She wished Jellybean would let her in more.

Jellybean cracked her fingers. “On the set of the unreleased film Rocketship Salsa, someone took a picture and posted it on Instantgram.” She turned her monitor around again, showing them a photo of a fan with one of the actors of the movie. In the background, there was a blurry outline of a cow and a redhead. Jellybean zoomed into the picture, cleared up the pixelation, and clicked “Match” on her facial recognition interface. The software blinked excitedly. Jason’s face matched with the figure in the picture.

Betty was, once again, thoroughly impressed.

Jughead made a sound and nodded.  “The real crime here is that a film named Rocketship Salsa is being made because they think it will make them money..”

Betty shot him a look, but she did follow it up with an amused grin. “So are you and FP going for it?”

“Hells, yes. It might even pay us sooner than that goddamn bounty yesterday.” He ruffled his hands through his hair and Betty longed to touch those silky strands.

Do I even have enough batteries left in my vibrator, I wonder?

Betty sighed. She needed an occupation.  “Can I come with? This ship is running perfectly and I’m really, really… ” horny “... bored.”

He seemed to be thinking about it. It wasn’t as if she’d never done a run with them before. She was handy enough with a firearm to help where she was needed, but it was never a given. She always had to ask, and while FP tended to just say, “Sure thing!”, Jughead always seemed to be resistant to the idea.  

She exaggerated batting her eyelashes and pouting her lips. “Please?” She might have angled a bit for some cleavage, too. She wasn’t above that right now. If he jumped her, she wasn’t going to complain.

He rolled his eyes. “Christ, fine. But do as I say. If something happens to you, this hunk of junk will give out at some point and then we’ll really miss you.”

The only reason what he said didn’t hurt was because he was half-grinning as he said it.

Betty clapped her hands. “Wonderful! JB, send me all that info, won’t you?”

“Okie, dokie.”

“Hey, does dad know about all this, JB?” Jughead asked, pressing the buttons on his wrist tagger. A screen projected above it and he moved some data around--probably the information Jellybean sent him.  

Jellybean shook her head.  “Dad was up early and left early.”

Betty was surprised about that. She made a grunting sound.

“One has to wonder,” muttered Jughead, probably meaning he didn’t really care.

“Dad took the Chopper and I didn’t ask, but I could track him.”

“Don’t bother,” said Betty and Jughead in unison. One thing Betty learned about living in the Whyte Wyrm was that FP always came back and it was always better not to know what FP was up to in his free time.  It was either too embarrassing or too illegal. Either way, both her and Jughead didn’t want to know.

They looked at one another for about two seconds before they realized that both of them would be needing the shower.  Betty had a one-second head start being nearer to the door as she shot down the hallway.  Jughead was close at her heels.

As the bathroom door came into view, she grinned triumphantly to herself.  But in the next second, she felt strong arms grabbing her from behind and shifting her around.  Mid-shift, she planted her feet against the wall and kicked, slamming Jughead against the opposite wall in the narrow hallway.

Jughead’s grip didn’t loosen in the least, but her leg muscles were strong enough to make him immobile, pressed between her and the wall.

Jughead cursed his predicament profusely.

Betty was too annoyed to gloat.  “Dammit, Jughead!  You can’t cheat me out of first-shower rights!”

Jughead grunted against the pressure.  “Since when did either of us make first-shower rights easy?”

She exerted more pressure and he growled.

“Stop that!  Are you hoping to suffocate me?”

Betty growled in frustration.   “This was funny the first 3 times but it’s getting old, Jones!”

In spite of himself, he laughed. “Speak for yourself!”

“Look, Jughead.  Just let me bathe first and I promise you, I won’t use up all the hot wate—“

“Like hell!”

“Even if I do, at least I don’t leave the floor and towels sopping wet; and I don’t make mush out of the soap, either!”

“Betty, get offa me!”

“I’m using that bathroom first, dammit!”

“Okay!  I’ll let you! Just get the fuck off!”

“Promise!”

“Okay, already!”

“Say it, fucker!”

“I promise! God-dammit, Betty!”

She slackened her legs and he let her go.

Barely keeping her balance, she turned and arched an threatening eyebrow. If he tried anything...  

He put his hands up and grinned, then his eyes flickered down to her her collar.

Once again checking her out.

You know, that shower’s big enough to fit two people smashed together.

She wanted to say it, but lost her nerve. When he didn’t do anything, she took a deep breath and headed for the shower.  

8888888888888888

By the time Betty was done getting dressed for the day, Jughead was already lounging on the couch, letting his hair dry.  Jellybean sat on the table, humming a made-up tune as she tapped away on her computer, and Hotdog was Hotdog, watching her warily in case she had an urge to kick him out of the way.

Jughead gave her one look and arched an eyebrow.  “You look… different.”

She rolled her eyes impatiently.  Of course she looked different; she had finally put on her sundress.  It was an airy green spaghetti strap with small flowers dotting it. It wasn’t fancy, but it was perfect for a romp out in the arid climate of Oberlin Major.

“Don’t wait up for me,” she said, slinging her strappy gold sandals over her shoulder.

Jughead watched her leave for their docking port.

She climbed into the Vixen, her personal speedcraft, and dumped her shoes into the cockpit.  She liked driving barefoot.  

“Hey, Betts.”

Mildly surprised, she looked up from her craft, watching Jughead approach from the doors.  “Yes?”

“Where are you going?” He seemed genuinely curious.

“Reconnaissance. You and FP may not be big on homework and preparation, but I am. I like to scope out the site. Plus, there will be actors there. I’m a little curious.”

“So you’re going by yourself?”

She frowned. “What? Do you think I can’t handle it?”

He tilted his gaze. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just… do you want some company?”

Betty thought this an interesting development. She let her eyes scan his figure, up and down. Not that he was an embarrassment to be around with. She found him incredibly handsome and distracting, but she wondered if this was just him getting cabin fever or this was him finally noticing her.

She was well-aware she could just come out and make the first move. There was nothing wrong with that, per se, but she was, first and foremost, polite. She had been invited to this ship and she didn’t want to be the one to initiate a disruption in the dynamics. Getting down with the captain’s son was sure to change things. Even if she wanted it to happen, she wanted that initiative to come from Jughead.

His house, his move.

“I don’t mind company,” she said with a casual tilt of her shoulder. “Just don’t get in my way.”

He chuckled and climbed into his own ship.  “You’re the boss.”

She scoffed, flipping her controls open. “Right. As if.”

“What?”

“Why are you really tagging along? Like, are you bored? Do you not want me to get a head start? Are you afraid I’d screw up?”

“Cooper, what did I even do to deserve that last bit?” He smirked, powering his own spacecraft.

“N-Nothing! I’m just curious. You’ve always let me go off on my own…”

“Yeah, when you want to window shop at the flea markets. But this is work. You don’t ever go out on the field without a partner. Dad and I go out together all the time. It’s for safety, Betts.”

Oh.

She pulled the strap on her seat and secured herself. “Fine.”

“Great. What’s the script?”

“Script?”

“Well, if we’re going to scope out the place, we can’t look suspicious. What’s our script? Our roles? Vacationing couple? Brother and sister? Pimp and whore?”

She shot him a glare. “Maybe vacationing couple.”

He laughed softly under his breath. “Vacationing couple, it is. Let’s go, sweetheart. We don’t want to be late to cast meetups.”

Sweetheart.

This was either the best idea or the worst idea.

888888888888888

Jughead looked at Betty through the Hitchcock’s windshield.  She still refused to look back and he laughed to himself.

He was never going to understand Betty’s moods.  One minute she was sweet and nurturing and another minute she was on his case, irritable and snarky.

Not that understanding her was really all that important.  In spite of Betty’s mommy issues (the girl seemed to have a fear that her mother would catch up on her), he liked her enough that he didn’t complain about having her on the ship.

They needed a mechanic, for one. And she seemed nice enough, unfailingly polite at first, but thankfully less guarded the longer she had been around them. He wasn’t exactly Mr. Personality himself, so he liked how she seemed to have eased in instead of coming like a hurricane.

Her personality did bring a change of pace to the ship, however, which he thought surprisingly welcome. She tended to clean, which was a bonus of sorts--the Joneses tended to be a little more lax on that regard. But mostly he liked the quiet way she asked after all of them, how she tried to make clever contraptions and fix broken things. He liked that she read. Constantly. He liked watching her write in her journals and then put it away when she caught him looking.

He liked her skimpy outfits.

He liked those a lot.  

He liked that she worked on the engine with those overalls that she only really used as pants. She liked that smudge of grease on her chin and the ginormous wrench she lugged around when she was in the engine rooms. He liked watching her work on his spacecraft when it needed an oil change, because he could happily stare at her legs when she was too busy to notice.

She did get cranky. She was human and they were in a cramped spaceship, where they had to turn sideways when they met in its walkways and ramps, where the path to the shower rooms were the perfect set-up for intensely flirtatious racing and close contact.

Even her anger was entertaining.  Until he met Betty, he never knew fighting and calling each other names could be so amusing.  Never mind that he sometimes got a little carried away and ended up irritating himself.

Maybe she wondered occasionally why she never had to deal with awkward encounters in the small hallways when it was FP or Jellybean. Maybe she didn’t wonder. Maybe she knew.

She was driving him crazy.

He would swear she deliberately flashed him her cleavage on a daily basis.

But did he really want to risk screwing the uncomplicated dynamics of their ship up? If he gave into his impulses and fucked Betty on the engine room floor, which he had fantasized about countless times, his father might very well eject him into space.  

For one, space mechanics as good as she was who were willing to get paid a pittance with shitty benefits was rare. And second, FP seemed to have made an agreement with Betty’s mother that FP was to watch out for her like a daughter.

The only person, it seemed, who was more afraid of Alice than Betty was FP.

Ah, well. He was just going to have to jack off in the shower. Again.

He flipped on the radio, grinning as he channeled in on Betty’s frequency.  “So vacationing couple, right?”

“Right.”

“Honeymoon or just a quick getaway?”

She flew her ship close to his so that they could be looking at one another through the clear glass of their cockpits.  “What difference does it make?”

He slanted a grin.  “Huge difference. Honeymooners are more lovey dovey. Quick getaways are more about touring and sightseeing.”

She shot him a scowl before veering her ship away from him.

He laughed, following her.  “I’m serious!”

“Nobody’s going to care!”

“We’re professionals. We have to do everything right. Hey, you’re the one who said you want to do your homework and shit.”

“Fine. Quick getaway. We’re there to observe. So… you know, look at things. We can hold hands, maybe.”

He chuckled. Hold hands, indeed. “Fine. Whatever you want.”

“Okay, then. Anything else you want to talk about before we do this?”

“I really think we should go grocery shopping before we head back to the ship.”

She gave an irritated sigh, but she didn’t disagree. “Tell me that you brought money and don’t expect me to pony up for that.”

Jughead grinned. Maybe he liked to tease her occasionally, too. “Oh, right. Money! Yeah, about that…”

There was an audible crackle in his receiver. A sure sign that she had cut the transmission off.  He laughed.

He was going to enjoy this impromptu mission.

tbc

[kinkingbird-blog]

“The Feel of You” Turnjones

NAME: “The Feel of You”

CHAPTER: 1/1

FANDOM: Ragehappy

PAIRINGS: Michael/Meg (turnjones), background mavinseg

SUMMARY: As Michael wakes with a sleeping Meg in his arms, he feels like he can’t keep his hands off of her - and then remembers how she told him he doesn’t have to.

RATING: E.

WARNINGS: Consensual somnophilia discussions, consensual barebacking

WORD COUNT: 2,136.

AO3 Cross Post: [x]

Commissions are open!!

Buy Me A Coffee, if you’d like~

It was rare, waking up without the smell of Lindsay’s shampoo against Michael’s nose. It lulled him to sleep. It pulled him to wakefulness. It was a steady constant that he’d come to appreciate after so many years together – just like the warmth of her curves under his hands when he spooned her to sleep. Meg was different. Only a few months had passed since their sexual tension had sizzled too much to be ignored anymore. As he opened his eyes blearily, the world blurry before him, his fingers told him the story of the woman in his bed – his hand splayed flat against her trim waistline. His wrist ached, and it made him smirk as he closed his eyes again. He was so accustomed to letting his arm rest naturally over the swell of Lindsay’s stomach; having Meg’s slim body next to him aggravated the beginnings of his carpal tunnel after so many years of controllers and computer mice. Or maybe it was from how last night they’d edged each other for hours – Meg’s mouth around him, his fingers rubbing her off, keeping each other right at the line of coming, their eyes daring the other person to give up first. It had been Michael, of course. His wrist had burned and his fingers had gone tired and he’d given up, trying to figure out what he was holding back for in the first place, and Meg had squealed and laughed as he spilled in her mouth, then cried out as Michael slid between her legs instead. She was too good to him, really. Even if she did win against him a hell of a lot more than she should.

It was Lindsay’s fault – all of it was. After years of the four of them hanging out – Michael and Lindsay, Gavin and Meg – she’d sat him down and forced him to talk about why he kept himself from looking at Meg when they were playing games together, or why he always made sure their bodies never touched if he sat next to her, or why he got quiet when she and Gavin kissed. He’d never expected the invitation for him to open things up, if Meg and Gavin were into it. Of course he hadn’t – what man was that fucking lucky? But here he was. Naked in bed with the second woman to claim his heart while Gavin and Lindsay were no doubt cuddled up together at another house across town. He felt the familiar surge of warmth and affection that he couldn’t show on camera – too off brand. But it was there. Goddamn, it was there, rich and thick like caramel, and he wanted nothing more than to drown in it. He felt the fondness first. And then he felt the boner. Well, fuck. Michael opened his eyes, his thumb rubbing absently over Meg’s skin and listening to her even breathing. Meg slept hard as dicks. He’d gotten out of bed once the first night they’d fallen asleep together and went to the bathroom to take care of his morning wood, and when she’d woken an hour later and tried to pull him back into bed, his absent admittance that he wasn’t gonna be getting hard for her for another hour or so had made her laugh. ”Why didn’t you just wake me?” she’d teased. Why hadn’t he? Several reasons. If Michael woke Lindsay before she was ready to, there was a possibility she’d poke him in the side and whine until he went away. He didn’t want to assume Meg was…okay with him waking her up with sex. The last thing he ever wanted Meg to think was that Michael was only with her because she was a great fuck. Which, she was. She was incredible in bed, and they fit together in ways he’d never imagined possible. But she was also sweet and kind-hearted and passionate and brilliant, and he wanted her for all those reasons, not just her body. She’d made him a deal, after that: if she wasn’t wearing panties when she went to sleep, it meant she was comfortable with being woken up with sex. Panties on? No dice. She made Michael make the same commitment, and it felt weird as fuck, sleeping without bottoms, but it was worth it to have woken up once to her grinning lips around his cock as her eyes sparkled in amusement. He was pantsless. She was pantsless. An experimental rock of his hips dragged his cock over the small of her back, and he shivered, goosebumps exploding on his skin as he buried his face in the back of her neck. And she slept on, snoring very quietly. Like most decisions in Michael’s life, he made this one with a solitary thought: Fuck it. He mouthed at her skin as he reached down and teased at his cock, slowly tugging it to full hardness. She didn’t stir. There was something…exciting, somehow, about touching her like this, feeling how her skin grew warm beneath his lips. What was she dreaming about? Did she feel him? Was he on her mind right now? He curiously dragged the tip of her cock through her folds, and the shock of heat and wetness that greeted him dragged a shaky breath from his lips. She was on the pill, she’d told him. Michael was fluid bonded to Lindsay, Meg was fluid bonded to Gavin, and it only made sense that the two pairs would overlap now that they were all starting to mess around with each other. They had recent testing results, and all four of them had sat together and compared them. Still, he actually apologized the first time he came inside of Meg, even as she begged for it, and she laughed at him, pulling him down for kiss after kiss until he was dizzy in his afterglow. He still hesitated. Lingered close, his cock slick with her arousal, his teeth grazing over her spine. Felt how she let out a quiet sound, even as her breathing stayed smooth. Fuck. It. He pushed inside of her slowly with a stifled moan, eyelashes fluttering. They fit together so fucking well. It seemed impossible that someone could light him on fire like Lindsay did with even one look, but she did. It wasn’t the same; it was different – like touching burning logs rather than feeling the warmth of a bath. But he wouldn’t change either of them. He wanted to know more. Wanted to know when the lingering glances between Meg and Lindsay would bubble over. Wanted to know when Gavin would stop being the first one to break his stares with Michael when they had a little too much to drink. He wanted to know when everything was going to burst – but right here, right now, he could be content. It wasn’t worth chasing something it wasn’t time for if he could enjoy the present. His hips pressed against her ass, and he lingered, listening, feeling how Meg shifted slightly in the sheets. Michael’s hand grazed along her stomach, over her ribs, until he cupped one of her breasts and thumbed over her nipple. A soft gasp. The slow push toward wakefulness. His muscles were so tightly clenched, like he was about to burst off the front line of a marathon, and Michael let his thoughts brush over last night – how Meg had teased him and giggled when he’d turned red all over from holding himself back. She was always such a cute little shit, but it drove him crazy with how badly he wanted her every time she gave him a knowing look – the one that said she knew just how easy it was for her to win over him every time they played around. It sounded like it was time for him to get the edge over her for once, then. Michael pressed one more soft, loving kiss to the back of Meg’s neck as he slowly pulled out of her to the very tip – and then he snapped his hips. “Ah!” Meg woke fully with a gasp, rocking forward, but before she could even turn her head Michael crushed her body back against his, holding her steady as he fucked into her. “Michael!” “Morning,” he grunted through gritted teeth. He nipped her shoulder, and she whined, curling one leg around his as she reached for his arm. “Fuck, fuck!” Meg’s words, slurred with sleep, bubbled into a laugh. The nails digging into his tattooed forearm added a pleasant sharpness to the shock of sensation rolling through him – like the edge on an expensive whiskey – and Michael couldn’t help but chuckle too. “Y-you miss me that much?” “You’re the one practically – shit – dripping all over the goddamn bed before I even touched you.” His words came out thick and breathy – even like this, she still affected him too strongly, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be pissed about it. Michael on camera was a tough guy, always posturing and teasing his wife and needing to be on top. Michael at home was a big fucking sap, and he’d accepted it long ago. Life was too short to be an asshole all the time. He already didn’t deserve what he got. Meg squeaked at a particularly rough thrust, throwing her head back, her hair tickling his face. “Unh, Michael!” He slowed until he barely teased his hips against her. The way his voice dropped nearly to a purr surprised even himself. “You want me to stop?” “No, don’t you fucking stop, you asshole!” Meg bucked backward until his hipbones dug into her ass. “Fuck you! C’mon!” She slammed a fist into the mattress and he laughed again. “Michael, I’m gonna roll you over and ride you until you cry if you stop!” “Nah.” He pushed her, putting her on her stomach, and Meg squealed, muffled by the pillow, as he sat up and grabbed the thick swell of her ass until his fingers pillowed into it hard enough to leave bruises. He found his pace again, their skin slapping together as Meg’s shouted words blurred into mumbled sounds. “Can’t hear you, baby.” “Ugh!” She arched just enough to lift her head and chest both, and Michael was like a moth drawn to the flame, leaning down just enough until he could cup one of her breasts and give it a squeeze. “So fucking good, Michael, don’t fucking stop-” “You and your filthy mouth.” But even he could hear the tightness of his tone – how hard it was to pretend his whole body wasn’t awash in flame from how she clenched around him. Those fucking kegels. She was a monster. Even like this, she was still in control. “God, Meg, you feel so good...” “Do it. Fucking do it.” Meg whipped her head around, and the second their eyes made contact Michael dug his teeth into his bottom lip until it almost bled, rhythm staggering at the sight of her thick pupils and flushed cheeks. “If you don’t come inside me, I’m never blowing you again.” The threat almost made him laugh – as if Meg hadn’t whined once as she pulled his zipper down with her teeth while her arms were tied behind her back, so desperate to get his cock in her mouth that she would’ve kicked a holy nun’s ass for it – but he was too far gone. All he could do was drink her in from head to hip, feeling the rush of heat through him and the sparks of pleasure already kissing the base of his spine. “Fuck, I’m gonna come-” “Do it!” She squeezed around his cock one more time, letting out a sharp moan, and Michael slammed his hips against hers, letting go and filling her up, groaning, until he collapsed on top of her. As he came back to himself, the self-satisfied sounds of Meg drawing him back as she wiggled under him, Michael rolled onto his side again. “Don’t look so fucking pleased,” he drawled over her giggles. “I didn’t even make you come.” “Yet.” She peeked through her hair at him, batting her eyelashes. “You’re gonna eat me out once you’ve caught your breath.” Michael’s eyebrows went into his hairline. “That...is fucking disgusting.” Eating his own come out of her? Really? She wiggled her eyebrows in response. “Yeah, but you’ll do it for me, won’t you?” He opened his mouth, closed it again, then rolled onto his back as he lazily threw his arm over his head. He wasn’t going to answer that. “Michael~” Meg’s sing-song tone mocked him as she slid a hand over his abs, drawing dizzying patterns with her fingers. “Sweetie~” Okay. So he would do it for her. But he sure as hell wasn’t gonna fucking say it.

[prettyfunkyunorganized]

Daughter Series - McCree

Part three of the ‘Daughter Series’ I’ve created in response to the lovely @i-am-not-daredevil ‘s Overwatch headcanons that I requested - they can be found here.

IT’S THE COWBOY’S TURN! This one made my little heart hurt. McCree is a sweet little baby and now he has one of his own. Anywho, it’s long again. Has a break in the middle. Is over 5,000 words. But it’s McCree, so who can blame me?

More Daughter Series: Hanzo, Roadhog, Reaper, Soldier 76, Genji

McCree installments: pt 1, pt 2

masterlist

               The Overwatch recall could not have come at a better time for McCree. In the years since the organization’s downfall, the gunslinger hadn’t done anything too terribly bad, but there were a few times Jesse had started to wander down the wrong path. A few whiskey-fueled fights and unnecessary pistol draws had made him worry that he was regressing, falling back into patterns that caused more harm than good. Sure, he’d done his best to stick to warning shots, and he’d always stopped before beating anyone into the grave, but his grip had been slipping. Being a drifter meant there was no one around to smack sense into him or hold him back. The longer he was away from the grounding force of his former companions, the worse his mind and temper seemed to get. Seeing Winston’s call had brought a broad smile to his face. He’d gone to Gibraltar as fast as he could while still dodging the authorities. 

               During his meandering trip, McCree often daydreamed about his upcoming reunion: Reinhardt would greet him with a booming laugh and overly forceful slap on the back. Mercy would put a comforting hand on his arm and make a comment about his fraying hat. Winston would adjust his glasses while saying something warm and welcoming. Torbjorn would frown up at him, grumbling something about still smelling like cheap smokes. Of all the scenarios he had pictured, walking into an empty room on a silent base was not one of them. The gunslinger was instantly suspicious.

               He wandered through the halls, calling out names at random, flashing skeptical looks at the emergency lights. Nothing. “The hell,” McCree asked quietly, scratching the back of his head. Now he was flat worried. “I swear if I came all the way down ‘ere just for a setup . . .” he grumbled. There was a sudden bang that made him whip Peacemaker out of its holster. It came from above. With his gun still at the ready, McCree headed back outside and toward the direction of the communications tower. Sure enough, the outline of five figures were milling about on a small landing far above him. The cowboy beamed and began shuffling up the long ladder.

               McCree could hear everyone’s disgruntled voices before he was even halfway up the structure. “Of course they’re arguing,” he muttered with a smirk, “we always had a knack for that.” As he clambered up the last few rungs, no one looked back to him. Too busy snapping at each other.

               “How did this happen,” Winston groaned.

               “If anyone knows what happened here, it would be you,” Reinhardt huffed.

               “There’s nothing wrong in the diagnostics,” the scientist defended himself.

               “Well clearly there is yet another issue within your diagnostics then,” the thin blonde quipped.

               “I know, Angela,” Winston mumbled.

               “You should have stayed on top of the upkeep more,” Torbjorn hissed, elbow deep in an opened electrical panel.

               “I was the only person here! There’s a lot of base to cover!”

               “Yeah, cut the big guy some slack,” Tracer defended her friend.

               “I’ve never had this problem happen before . . .” Winston sighed.

               McCree chuckled and everyone twisted around to look at him, surprised. “And I’ve never had such a lousy ‘welcome back’ party before,” he drawled.

               Smiles crossed each of the faces in front of him as Jesse opened his arms and grinned smugly. Just as he expected, Reinhardt burst out laughing and gripped McCree’s shoulder, giving it a violent shake.

               “Jesse,” Dr. Ziegler cooed, “look at you, just as wild as ever – costume and all.”

               “Just because it ain’t a pair of slacks or a pencil skirt don’t mean it’s not proper clothing, doc.”

               “I, for one, am glad you haven’t changed,” Lena said wrapping her arms around the cowboy.

               “At least someone appreciates me.” He squeezed her back. His smile could no longer grow any wider.

               “Perfect,” Torbjorn growled, “someone else to stand here and be useless.”

               “Missed you too, old man,” McCree laughed at him. A crash pulled them all from their tender reconnections. It was quickly followed by another, louder this time. Or maybe closer. Then a third. And a whimper.

               “Juniper!” Winston darted over to the far side of the tower and craned down to peer in a small hole. “Juniper? Are you alright?”

               “Who,” McCree asked quietly.

               “New girl,” Rinehardt whispered back.

               “Only one small enough to fit in the service shaft,” Torbjorn explained while moving to Winston’s side.

               Another pained sound came from behind the metal paneling of the base. “Well, I don’t think anything’s broken,” came a small voice, “but that hurt like hell.” The scientist and engineer both moved back, letting a young woman army crawl out into the open. She immediately flopped onto the ground with a groan.

               Lena took a step closer to her, “What was all that noise?”

               “I may have sorta fallen a few times,” the girl mumbled into the ground.

               “A few times,” Torbjorn scoffed.

               “It ain’t exactly roomy in there,” she said sitting up. Angela knelt down next to her with a frown. “But I’m fine! Fell on all my metal limbs, mostly.”

               “That does not mean damage hasn’t been done,” the doctor said looking her over.

               “I know, I know,” the young woman said with a soft smile, “but I promise, I’d tell you if anything was hurting too much.”

               Mercy chuckled at her, gently taking the girl’s chin and examining her head, “If you say so, but please, do be careful.”

               “Doin’ my best.” She was a cute little thing, but looked rather young, McCree realized. Then again, he had been little more than a sprout when he joined up as well.

               “See, the girl’s fine,” Torbjorn said waving the medic off, “now, what did you find out?”

               Back to business. “I found the issue,” the young woman said, “Give me some reinforced replacement wiring, a mid-sized blowtorch, a can of molecular lock, and twenty minutes – this place’ll be purring!”

               “Was it the -” Winston started, one glare from the team’s newest member stopped him dead.

               “Winston, honeydew, I love ya, but if you say ‘hydraulic compensator’ one more time we’re gonna have a problem,” she scowled.

               McCree let out a loud laugh, “Oh, I like her!”

               The girl’s eyes met his and her face instantly fell. She looked scared. His stomach churned. He wasn’t sure why those dark eyes were making him feel so . . . unsteady, but Jesse’s blood suddenly felt cold.

               “Oh, uh right,” Winston said awkwardly, “McCree, there’s someone I would like you to meet.” The massive scientist offered a hand to the girl, and she gave him a hesitant look back. After receiving a reassuring nod, she pulled herself to her feet.

              Now that there weren’t so many bodies in the way of Jesse’s view of the girl, he could see a massive scar sprawling from the middle of her chest to the tip of her right shoulder and grazing the base of her neck. It was a pair of wings framing a simple skull hanging above a padlock. Deadlock’s symbol. He sighed regretfully. ‘Poor kid,’ he thought.

              McCree cleared his throat and took a few slow steps toward her. He flashed a crooked smile, trying to be as non-threatening as possible. “It’s Juniper right?”

              “Yes,” she said timidly.

              He held his hand out to her, “A pleasure, little miss.”

              It took her a moment longer than it should have, but she shook his hand while biting her lower lip, just barely smiling.

              “So how did you end up joinin’ us,” McCree asked.

              “I brought her,” Torbjorn butted in, “and now I’m taking her so we can get this base going again.” With a quick wave, the short man beckoned Juniper to the ladder. She gave McCree a quick shrug before slipping over the edge of the landing.

              “That was kinda weird,” Lena mumbled from behind Jesse.

              “Torbjorn is always focused on the task at hand,” Angela mused, “but Juniper is usually much more friendly.”

              Winston moved to McCree’s side. “She’ll be okay,” he reassured everyone. Jesse couldn’t help but notice the scientist’s strained smile. “But you, old friend, must be tired from your journey. Let me show you to your room.”

              McCree was skeptical, but also in desperate need of a place to kick up his feet. “I could go for a nap, but who are you callin’ old?”

               The lumbering scientist eased up a bit. “My mistake. Come on, let’s head in.”

               “McCree,” Reinhardt interjected, “how’s about I brew up some coffee and you join Lena and I for a round of cards, like old times?”

               Before the gunslinger could get a word out Winston answered for him. “I think some rest is more what McCree needs.” The new head of Overwatch was suddenly nudging a baffled McCree away from his compatriots. Winston continued to shush and drag the man all the way to the base’s kitchen.

               “Now, hold on,” snapped McCree digging his heels into the floor and ripping his arm from Winston’s grip. “What the hell is goin’ on here?!”

               Winston glanced behind them before turning back to a severely confused cowboy. “Ugh, I’m sorry about all that,” he said sheepishly. It was strange to see such a large figure trying to make himself small. “I wasn’t sure how to handle all this.”

               “All what,” McCree huffed, still aggravated.

               “There is something you need to know,” Winston said slowly, mulling over his words, “but I can’t quite tell you what it is.”

               Jesse sighed, “So you dragged me all the way over here to tell me nothin’?”

               “I – no! Well, maybe.” He groaned again. “Look, this is really complicated.”

               “Then tell me!”

               “I promised I wouldn’t tell you.”

               “Then why are we here?!”

               “Because I told Juniper I’d help her talk to you.”

               McCree sighed heavily, “So it is about the girl.” Winston nodded. “She did seem real frightened when she saw me,” the gunslinger said rubbing the bridge of his nose, leaning against a counter.

               “I don’t know if ‘frightened’ is the right word, but she is worried, despite my telling her not to be,” Winston replied.

               “Is this about that brand on her chest, the Deadlock symbol?”

               “That’s a part of it, but honestly, it’s something much more than that.” The gunslinger gave him a doubtful look, making his friend let out a small chuckle. “Why don’t you just head to my lab and wait for Juniper. She’ll clear things up.”

               A warry sigh rippled from McCree. “Big guy, you’re makin’ my gut knot up.”

               Winston gave the cowboy a pat on the arm, “I have no doubt, but do us all a favor and just try to go in there with an open mind. I know that you’re a good man, you’ll be fine.”

               “What the hell is that supposed to mean,” McCree reeled. The look in Winston’s eye made Jesse shiver.

               “Just go,” Winston prodded. “It’ll make sense after you talk to her.”

               McCree felt rooted in place, unable to move. He had come back to Overwatch to make sense of his life again, not to have it thrown into more chaos.

               “Go,” Winston insisted softly. “I don’t think this is going to be as bad as I’m making it out to be.”

               “Sure hope so,” McCree muttered, heading to the door.

               He had been standing in the lab for ages – or more like half an hour – but the power had finally been restored, so McCree figured it was only a matter of time. But another five minutes passed. “How much longer am I going to stand here and stew,” he moaned, shuffling his feet and listening to his spurs jungle.

               “Sorry,” came a small voice from behind him. He spun around, serape whipping wildly. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” Juniper stood in the doorway with Torbjorn behind her. The short engineer gave her a firm nod before heading down the hall, leaving them alone.  

               “That’s alright,” he said toying with his collar nervously as the girl approached him. “Sounded like a hell of a job.”

               She flushed, “It was. This place has some rather confusing sub-systems.”

               McCree let out a small snort, “I can’t even imagine – I used to have a hard enough time getting the AC to work last time I was here.” 

              Juniper laughed, making the gunslinger relax a bit. He always felt a better about a stressful situation after a shared smile, but the ensuing silence was still powerfully awkward. The girl finally sighed, “I’m still keeping you waiting, ain’t I? Why don’t we sit down.” She took a seat at one of the lab’s workbenches and placed a well-worn envelope next to her. McCree down next to it.

              “Winston said this had a little somethin’ to do with the Deadlocks,” he questioned gently.

               Her forehead pinched, “Did he?”

               “Yeah, but that’s ‘bout all he’d say.”

               “Don’t hold it against him, he was only trying to do what I asked. But this isn’t really about the Deadlock gang, it's more about your time in Overwatch,” Juniper explained.

               He frowned down at her – she was short, couldn’t be much over 5 five foot. “Overwatch?”

               “Well, Blackwatch.”

               “Oh,” he muttered thinning his lips.

               “Yeah . . . ” Her body wavered to the side as if trying to squirm away from the conversation.

               “What did I do,” McCree asked exasperatedly, leaning his head against the wall behind them, staring at the ceiling tiredly.

               “What?”

               “If this is about a frightened looking little girl, and me, and Blackwatch, I musta screwed something up. So, what did I do?”

               Juniper nodded slowly, “Well, do you remember a mission that took you to a little town in Wyoming?”

               McCree’s face scrunched. “Yeah, a radical group of anti-omnic folks were planning some real nasty stuff.”

               “Yep, that one. Do you remember the hotel you and the rest of Blackwatch stayed in, or the run-down little bar next to it?”

               The gunslinger looked back to Juniper who was staring at him expectantly – those big brown eyes were making his blood run cold again. “How do ya know about all that?”

               She shrugged, “People talk. Especially in a small town.”

He bobbed his head understandingly. “True enough. You from there?” She nodded. “Figures,” he sighed.

              “But, uh,” she continued, “most importantly, do you remember the bartender you met back then?”

              McCree blinked a few times, brow fully furrowed. “Yeah, I remember. There was a grumpy old man and a real cute red-head.”

              Juniper smiled, but still had an anxious look to her. “I meant the red-head.” She cleared her throat after a moment, “So, about that bartender – she was my mom.”

              An unfamiliar sense of dread swept up his back. “What now,” he sputtered dryly.

              The girl let out a low groan and ran her fingers through her unruly chocolate brown hair. ‘Ah shit,’ ran through his mind as he realized how much it looked like his own. Jesse’s heart stopped, and his chest seized. His one flesh palm was instantly clammy, and his stomach flopped a dozen times within the next second.

              “I didn’t mind to, uhm, bombard you, but I didn’t really know how else to tell you,” Juniper all but whispered after a few minutes of McCree staring at the opposite wall with his hand over his face – numb to everything but his own frantic thoughts. All of a sudden nothing made sense. There was too much to take in. Nothing stuck. Until her tiny voice rang in his ear again. It was kinda pretty – would be prettier if she didn’t sound so damn sad. “Sorry,” she shrugged softly at him when he turned back to her.

                “Ah, kiddo,” he crooned, “you ain’t got to apologize. Don’t think you could’a said that any softer.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “You, uh, you are saying you’re my kid, right?”

              A light laugh escaped from the girl, bringing a bashful smile with it. “Yes, yes I am. At least, I’m relatively sure that’s the case.” She twisted and grabbed the envelope she’d set by her side, pulling a photo from it. “Here,” Juniper said offering it to him.

              The edges of the picture were somewhat ragged, but the image was still clear and sweet. Painfully sweet. McCree recognized the young woman he’d taken a liking to all those years ago instantly – frizzy ponytail and a smattering of big freckles dotted around her face. She looked wildly happy, happier than he’d ever seen her, and who could blame the woman? That squishy bundle in her arms was beautiful. Stunning. All pudgy and scrunched and perfect. He chuckled and grinned. “That’s you?”

              “Yep.” Juniper’s teeth were firmly planted in her lower lip. She was staring at her mother over his shoulder.

              “You had a hell of a head of hair!”

              She went bright red and closed her eyes tightly. “Everyone says that.”

              “You were adorable,” he said softly as his heart swelled almost painfully.

              “Thanks.”

              “Where’s your mom now?”

              Her face fell. “She died, not long after that was taken.”

              “What,” he grimaced.

              “She got very, very sick not long before having me, but she still wanted to try. She was hopeful, but . . . well,” Juniper trailed off, tears welling in her eyes.

              “I’m so sorry,” McCree murmured through a pang of guilt.

              “It’s not something you have to say sorry for. It’s just something that happened. It isn’t anyone’s fault.” Her voice was firm, like she’d said this before – maybe to herself – a thousand times before. The way she said it made him feel twice as shitty.

              “Wait,” McCree began to stammer,” w-were you alone?”

              Juniper wiped her eyes briefly before shaking her head, “No. There’s was a woman who looked after me until I saw about three then she passed me off to the man who raised me – Harris.”

              He could tell from the fond look on her face there was a lot of love there. He was glad. “Good guy?”

              “Yes,” she replied, voice dripping with nostalgia, “Gruff and a bit demanding at times, but in a supportive way. Usually. He was the one who taught me to work on omnics and integrated prosthetics – trained me in my livelihood.” She looked proud. It was cute.

              “I’m glad you had somebody lookin’ out for ya.”

              “Me too. He was a good man.”

              “Was?”

              “He’s gone, too.”

              McCree’s head dropped. “Ah Christ,” he moaned dismally.

              “Mmhmm. Everything went to hell after that.”

              “Whatdaya mean?”

              She gave him a sad smile, “It’s a long story, you don’t have to listen to it if you don’t want. I’m just glad I got to –”

              “No, no, no,” he butt in shaking his head wildly, “I want to hear it. All of it.”

              One of her brows flew up, “Really?”

              “Of course,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

              “A lot of it in’t a pretty story.”

              He shrugged, “But it’s your story.”

              A wide smile blossomed on Juniper face that made McCree feel warm. “Alright,” she agreed, “but I warned you.” She shifted into a more comfortable position, toying with her hair as she spoke.

               “I was fifteen when the anti-omnic, ‘purity’ promoting extremists blew up our shop.”

               “Um, blew up?!”

               “Yep,” she continued staring into the distance, “they didn’t like that we helped omnics and people who had augmented their bodies with machinery. It had just been broken windows and threats until that night. Dunno what set them off or how they pulled it off, but there was a blast and next thing I knew it was all fire and pain and screaming and draggin’ myself to the exit. Thankfully I don’t remember much of it now, but I do remember waking up in the hospital with no legs and Harris nowhere to be found.”

               “No – no legs,” McCree basically whimpered. Juniper grabbed each of her pant legs and pulled them up a little to reveal the metal underneath. Both legs and her left arm. All prosthetics. “Oh, ho, ho, ho,” he said rubbing his chin. “Damn.”

               “Three out of four’s not bad, right,” she quipped jokingly.

               “I mean -” he said choking out a rough laugh. He’d never minded a dark sense of humor, but it was a little harder to swallow when it came from her.

               “Hey,” she said tenderly, “I’m alright.”

               “You got blown up and lost the man who raised you – that’s not ‘alright.’”

               “True,” she nodded, “but I’ve come a long way since then.” McCree smiled, assuming her story was about to get better. Foolish assumption. “Especially since as soon as I was able to walk again the Deadlocks found me,” she huffed.

               “Aw, for the love of -” McCree growled smacking his head into his hands.

               “Yeah,” she said slowly.

               “They came to you,” the gunslinger questioned with a scowl once he felt prepared enough to hear the next dreadful thing that had happened to Juniper.

               “They sure did. The Deadlocks had somehow heard there was a young, grieving teen with a knack for tweaking prosthetics in a ‘chop-shop’ sort of way. They wanted to coerce me into joining.”

               “Wait,” he said mulling over her words, “A bunch of Deadlock recruits came all the way to Wyoming just for you? No offense! I’m sure you’re real good at what you do,” McCree back-peddled.

               She laughed and waved him off, “You’re fine. And you’re right – it was a long way to go for one kid, but somehow the gang knew I was your kid. That convinced them. The, ah, the Deadlocks never really forgave what you did to them – the betrayal and all. They had some real nasty revenge plans in mind for you with me right in the center.” Juniper ran her fingers along the burns on her chest – the wings around the skull.

               “You joined ‘em though,” McCree asked worriedly.

               “Yes I did,” she sighed. But then she jumped in surprise, giving Jesse an apologetic look, “But I didn’t know about all the revenge stuff when I joined – I swear! I have never had any plan to come after you or anything, honest!”

               McCree let out a hearty laugh, “Gotta admit, I’m glad to hear it.”

               “Sorry,” she giggled, “I probably should’ve led with that. Vengeance isn’t why I went off and joined the gun-running game.”

               “Then why did you?”

               Her hands went back into her locks as she shrugged. “I was alone. And scared. Angry, too, if I’m honest. My whole life had been torn apart and these guys had just wandered up to me offering a chance to be a part of something. They called it ‘a family,’ ‘a way to make things better.’ I know now that it was a carefully crafted sales pitch, but I fell for it. Wholeheartedly.” She rolled her neck and stared at the floor. “I was stupid and weak. Walked out of the hospital with a smile on my face and vipers at my sides.”

               “It ain’t all your fault,” McCree said firmly, “the Deadlock’s are manipulative bastards. They know exactly what to say and exactly where to press to rope people in. An’ you were fifteen!” He huffed out a wary noise, “Believe me, I know what  . . . all of that is like.”

              “But you got out,” Juniper said leaning toward him just a hair, “and I did too, after a few months.”

              “Just a few months,” McCree repeated, “damn, you did a hell of a lot better than I did.”

              “It felt like a lot longer when I was there. Everything felt wrong – I was not cut out for life in a distrustful criminal enterprise. I ran as soon as they started pushing me to weaponize people limbs and mass produce explosive rounds.”

              “Good for you,” McCree said proudly.

              “Well, I had to try to run a few times, but yeah, I got it eventually.” Her hand ran along the scar again, pressing into it as if trying to relieve some lingering pain.

              “Is that when they gave you the brand?”

              She nodded slowly, “So I could never get away from them. Not really.”

              McCree hissed out an infuriated noise, unable to find the words to accurately describe how much he wanted to strangle every last Deadlock he could find.

              “But it healed,” Juniper insisted, “I managed to keep it cleaned up while I was on the road.”

              “Where did you go?”

              “As far away as I could for a while. I just booked it at first,” she laughed. “I wasn’t very good at being a drifter, but I made it work. Most of the towns I passed through had repair work I could do for food or shelter, so I got by.”

              “You’re a tough little thing,” McCree chuckled impressed, “aren’t ya?”

              She shrugged, “I try. And, to be honest, I’m good at putting on a brave face.” Her head bowed a bit. “It was rough a lot of the time.”

              A sudden, almost overwhelming urge to slide across the bench and hold the girl came over McCree, but he held back. Every time she glanced over at him, it was just a peek, a fraction of a second before she pulled away again. If she needed space, he could understand, but he couldn’t stop his arms from twitching toward her, just barely.

              “Have things been any better now that you’re here,” he pressed after a thick silence.

              “Yes,” she beamed. “Absolutely! Everyone has been wonderful to me and not having to look for a dry place to sleep has been so nice. Man did I take that for granted growing up!”

              “Good, good,” he smirked leaning back, “I gotta say, I’ve never seen Torbjorn take to anyone so well.”

              A warm, comforting laugh burst from Juniper’s chest. McCree instantly wanted to hear it again. “That’s what all the others said, too! I guess he sees something in me. When I met him, he had busted into an old omnic research facility that I was camping out in. I helped him with the corrupted bots in there and then he up and asked me if I wanted to join Overwatch.”

              “Just like that,” McCree asked with a raised brow.

              “Just like that!”

              Her smile was broad and beautiful, it lit up her eyes this time. She was such a beautiful little thing.

              “Although,” she began again, “Winston said it would better if we wait until after my birthday.” McCree frowned at her confusedly. “Until after I’m 18.”

              The cowboy rocked back, flabbergasted, desperately doing some mental arithmetic. “Oh shit,” he scoffed, “You’re only 17 now, aren’t you?”

              “Yep.”

              “Damn,” he hissed again. “All that, before ya even turned 18.”

              “’Fraid so.” Juniper didn’t look particularly distraught as she bobbed her shoulders nonchalantly, which mystified McCree.

              ‘Resilient lil’ sweetpea,’ he thought lightheartedly.

              “Anywho,” Juniper breathed slowly, “I know that was probably a lot to hear, a lot to take in, but there’s one more thing I wanted to tell you.”

              Her tone of voice made the gunslinger’s gut knot up. “Alright,” he said nervously.

              “I- I just want you to know that -” She faltered, gnawing her lip and looking more nervous than he’d seen her since they began speaking – as if now she had something truly troubling to say.

              ‘What more could there be,’ McCree thought desperately.

              Juniper steadied herself before speaking again, staring at the ground. “I want you to know that I understand that you are your own person with your own life, so if you don’t want to – I guess, be my -” She sounded choked up, but laughed through the sob McCree could tell was welling in her throat. “What I’m saying is, I know I would be a lot to take on, and I know you already got a lot going on, so if you don’t want . . . me, I get it.”

              McCree sat motionless, face twisted into a baffled look, slightly hunched over. “What now,” he asked breathlessly.

              “I said that I -” Juniper repeated slowly, her body curling in on itself.

              “I – I heard ya,” McCree said shaking his head and shifting into a more natural stance, “I was just surprised you said it is all.” She looked beyond worried, more frightened – like the next word out of his mouth could cut her in half. With a jolt, McCree realized all the endearing little things he had been thinking about Juniper hadn’t gone any further than his own mind. “Kiddo,” he chuckled tossing his caution to the wind and scooting closer to her, “what on Earth makes you think I’d want that?”

              She went bright red, a wild smile springing onto her cheeks. “I dunno,” she said with a timid shrug, “You heard everything I just said – I’m sort of a giant mess.”

              “Juniper,” he drawled, the name feeling perfect when he said it, “I know I’ve only known you all of ten minutes, but I don’t think you sound like a mess at all.” He slowly reached over and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her muscles tensed for a split second, but her smile grew. He’d never smiled so hard in his life. “Sounds to me like you’re strong, and thoughtful, and resourceful, and smart – real damn smart.”

              She giggled – a light, bright noise that made the cowboy’s heart swell. “I try my best,” Juniper murmured.

              “I can tell,” McCree smirked, “and – if you’ll give me the chance –  I’d like to do my best to do right by you.”

              “You don’t have to do that,” she assured him softly, “I don’t blame you or anything.”

              “But I want to,” he insisted with a grin. “Kid, you’re the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen! I can’t think of anything I want more than just to have you around. I only wish I could have met you a little sooner.”

              Juniper laughed again, the sound tumbling from her as tears welled in her big brown eyes. “Really?”

              “Yes, Juniper, of course,” he said shaking her gently, “but if I’m, uh, being too much -”

              “No,” she squeaked, grabbing McCree’s hand as he began to move it away from her. “You’re fine – better than fine! This is more than I had ever dared to hope for,” she said sniffling and smirking.

              “Aw, kiddo,” he smiled, definitely tearing up as well, “I think I know exactly how you feel.”

[musikleiter-blog]

Okay, first off, Roderich is a giant nerd, & I love it. You manage to catch the different sides of a character which would be so easy to write off as flat, & that's really a talent. Like you give us the easily aggravated, tired nation, & you give us the musical genius who can spend days at the keys, but you stop to unveil the man who fell in love one too many times, the Empire who could fence like a freaking boss, the mentor who didn't really know how to say how much he cared. Don't ever stop.

ALSDKJFALK YOU’RE TOO NICE TO ME I SWEAR-- gooooooooosh i don’t even have words just UGH STOP IT YOU

but really thank you it really means a lot to hear that I’m doing well cuz I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING HALF THE TIME SO yay ahhh ur the best you know that? 

[priincesspacificaarchive]

25) things you said in the back seat of a cab punnk/ballet au

To say she was pissed was an understatement.

First, she’d raced from her performance to his, running half the way barefoot as she didn’t even bother putting her flats on before she was out of the dance hall. It had been a busy night before that, and god bless the fact she’d mastered quick changes or she’d have been even later to his performance than she was. Halfway through a dead sprint for the bar he was playing at she got stuck at a crosswalk and took the short amount of time to slip into her flats. She could clean her feet (and her favorite pair of flats) later. She then sprinted the rest of the way, just to find them winding up their set.

She hates when their performance nights overlap.

Also, they’re kinda fighting, so she’s doing all of this and still isn’t sure if this is the end of the road or not.

Then she’d made her way behind the bar to look for their usual teardown. She’d spotted Thompson’s van and decided to wait there, even going as far as texting Dipper, Robbie, and even Lee that she was out back with the van.

The whole group came out ten minutes later, lugging gear, and she even helped direct things into the van and organized the smaller pieces.

Then, she finally got to say a proper hello to her boyfriend and his friends.

Everything was looking golden, they’d get a ride back in the van and, with her parents out of town, they’d go back to her place and finally, finally hash everything out.

Until she realized she forgot her fucking dance bag.

She’d groaned, and explained, and even though they were simmering below the surface he still offered to walk back with her and they could get a cab home.

Which brings them to here and now.

She didn’t like cabs anyways, they were dark and sticky and the driver usually made her extra suspicious.

But a dirty cab, plus the night she’d had? (Hello, Dipper she’d ran on sore feet for you!) She was just centimeters from boiling over.

“Kinda wish you hadn’t missed the show tonight,” is the first thing he says after the cab has taken off for home.

And there was the boiling point.

“Wish you hadn’t missed mine.” It’s cold and venomous and the fact that she’s glaring at him in the reflection of the window she’s looking out of adds a dash of passive-aggressive to it all.

“I was just saying.”

“You didn’t even ask me how it went! That was the first fucking thing I asked you, Dipper.”

A beat of silence and then, “So how’d it go then, babe?”

She lets out a sigh, worn and weary with all the anger she’d been carrying around all night. “Fine. A few of my turns were too loose. And then there’s the fact that I basically ran the whole way to your venue as soon as I was out of costume.” She’d barely given her body time to cool down, at least.

“Hey, it’s not like I knew that.” Already he was playing defensive. She’s too tired for this. There was an hour-long drive back to Gravity Falls and she just can’t do this right now.

She lets out another sigh. “Whatever. Look,” and she curls in on herself, into the gross, sticky pleather, hugging her dance bag like a body pillow and resting her updone hair on the softest part. “I’m gonna get some sleep. We can talk everything through back at the house.”

She feels more than sees his eyes looking over her, she shuts her eyes.

“Yeah. That’s. That’s a good idea.” And then she hears rustling. She peeks one eye open and looks at him. He’d pulled off his leather jacket and stuffed it into a ball to act as a pillow of his own.

She shuts her eyes and lets out a long breath, the words are crawling up her throat I’m sorry just begging to be said. But she swallows them back down and focuses on unfocusing, on letting her body rest.

His hand comes to rest on her thigh and she takes a sharp breath, practically bolting up straight. But she controls her body, and just raises her head and opens her eyes to him.

He’s giving her his stupid, pouty, I’m sorry eyes and-ugh!

She looks to the front of the cab and catches the driver’s eye in the rear-view mirror, then shudders and looks away. The only other place to look is Dipper and, almost begrudgingly, she does so.

“Paz-” he starts but she shakes her head, turning back to curl up in a ball.

“Not here, not now.”

“That’s always the fucking answer with you!” His voice is a bomb detonating and she feels shrapnel in her chest.

Pacifica swallows the anger boiling up in her, scalding her throat. She uncurls herself again and faces him, eyes narrowed and piercing and so fucking pissed she’s almost blind with the rage she feels. “You really wanna get into this in the back of the fucking cab, Dipper? Really?

Dipper thrusts his hands to either side of him, “It’s not like we get into it any other time!”

Pacifica takes a deep breath through her nose and lets it out through her mouth. “Because we’re both too damn busy!”

“Paz,” his voice softens and she just has to sigh again, defeated. “We,” he takes her hand, “We gotta talk about this.”

She leans her head towards his, rests their foreheads together. “I know. I know we do. But I’m so tired, Dipper. Of fighting with you, yes but like. Actually tired. I literally ran to the bar as soon as I was out of costume.”

“I know. You said so. But babe-“ He cuts himself off and runs his hands through his hair, aggravated. “I’m tired of putting this off and pretending everything is okay.”

She takes his hands in hers, turning to face him in the backseat, pulling a leg up on the seat to give them both some space. “Let’s-“ She takes a shuddering breath and looks to her lap. “Let’s talk. I’m sick of running from it too.”

He cups her cheek with a hand and tilts her face gently to look at him. “What are we gonna do?”

She swallows. “I don’t really know. You’re gonna be traveling nationwide.” She gulps more air, stalling for time. “And I’m going to ballet school in London.”

His hand drops from her face and he gapes at her, just like she knew he would. She’d been stalling for so long she’d almost forgotten. “Fucking London?”

She tilts her head down again, looking ashamed. “Now do you see why I didn’t want to tell you?”

“Pacifica-“

“Stop.” Her voice is barely there, tears are gathering in her eyes. “Okay? Can we just stop and pretend it’s going to be okay? Even if it won’t? I love you dammit and I just wanted one last summer of us being okay.”

“I wanted to say congratulations, babe. I know how hard you’ve been working for a good ballet school. What you guys do is pretty hardcore. I’m just. Really proud of you.” He frowns. “And kinda pissed that you planned on not telling me until the last second.”

She sighs. “I wanted one last summer, babe. Can’t you understand that?”

“The last time I heard something like that it almost caused the end of the world.”

“I know that. I was there. It’s not like I made a deal with Cipher here.” She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I can see how this would be just as upsetting, though. And for that, I’m sorry. I was…being selfish again.”

He shrugs, a more good-natured look in his eye. “I knew going in that you were selfish, Pacifica. I just didn’t think we kept stuff from each other.” He turns from her, folding his hands in front of his knees and bowing his head. “I can understand how you didn’t want to ruin the summer though.” He scratches his head and then cocks it to look at her. “I’m kinda surprised you think this is our last summer, though.”

She shrugs, turning forward in her own seat. “Pessimistic, too, in case you hadn’t caught on to that one yet.”

He unfolds his hands and puts it on her knee. “So where from here?”

“For tonight; my house. After that,” she shrugs. “We’ll take it from tomorrow morning.” She smiles at him, puts her hand over his. “Okay?”

He smiles back at her, nods. “Yeah. Okay.”