#everyones struggling and the hunted is just sticking his head out of the window like a dog

[juoreze]

a followup from my previous post! Finally got around to doing the last four voices, also featuring the worst roadtrip ever

[undead-merman]

Man-eating monster Eden with GN-Reader NSFW

Beware

The hunters always warned their children of the forest. Not because of the wolves, strange plants, or other things, but because there was a dark and disturbed creature who lived deep within. 

It sometimes felt like they were exaggerating with how morbid they made their tales. Yet when they heard those noises in the tree line. An uncanny mix of human and animalistic. Everyone ran when they heard the calls of the man-eater. 

Yet grim tales couldn’t stop you. At least, they could have, but you simply didn’t have a choice. Collection day was coming and you were short. You weren’t going to suffer another punishment like that again. The memories still give you nightmares even to this day. Not again, never again. 

So you grab your basket and head inside. You’ve been in here often enough, you know some of the trails and know where the wolves have their hunting grounds. 

Confrontation

It was peaceful for a time. The trails were open and a pleasure to walk through. Lady luck even blessed you to see some of her more innocent creatures like many songbirds, a mother doe shielding her child from the rain, and even in the deeper parts plant folk were weaving flower crowns and gifting them to each other. 

Yet none of the normal plants were ready to be harvested. Picked clean before you could get your hands on them. 

So you dared to venture deeper. Slow and steady so as to not attract too much attention to yourself as the forest became wild, tangled, and even darker. Everything inside you was telling you to turn back but what Bailey might have had planned scared you more. 

You spotted some strange claw marks in the bark of some trees, bullet casings, and even deep stains around mushroom circles. Yet the yield from your gathering was satisfactory enough for you to turn back. 

And just as you turned you saw a beast. Back hunched while looking down at you while its arms hung far too low on his body, multiple near-black eyes focused right on you, and as it came closer a pair of mandibles split from his face, causing his humanoid face to have two sets of jaws and show nothing but his horrible teeth. 

And even with its monstrous features it still stood like a man, dressed like one, and even carried a gun, as if it needed it. 

Trying to run doesn't help as he slams his hand against you and knocks you to the floor. Slowly moving his body to tower over yours. You could only gasp for the breath that was knocked out of you as this mock humanoid, this wolf in sheep's clothing just looked at you. His hunter's coat swayed slightly as the wind changed. 

Struggling got you nowhere and biting didn't bother it at all, it's flesh thick like rubber. 

The monster didn't have to speak as it dropped its hunting rifle. You knew it was the end for you. 

Last Ditch Effort

But with reason out the window and your primal instincts telling you to do anything, anything to survive. 

So you spread your legs. 

The monster froze and stared down at your legs and nervously gave a wiggle trying to entice it, even while your whole body was trembling and on fire. 

His free hand shifted and took off his pants to reveal a human cock starting to chub. 

He moved and pressed his cock against your spread legs and started humping. It was slow and gentle, testing the waters perhaps. His cock grows harder and harder each time and warm precum starts to soak into your clothes. The cloth is warm and sticks to you unpleasantly. 

It wasn’t long before this man-eater pulled it off you like it was made of tissue paper. It exposed your genitals to the semi-cool air of the deep forest and fading sun. He took a minute to admire them. Even if you didn’t dress as gender norms would like to dictate, he took it in stride. 

Saliva dripped from his sharp teeth as he marveled over it and placed his split face between them, ignoring your fearful flinching as he clasped down and took you into his mouth running his tongue over the most sensitive parts of your body. His jaws refuse to let you squirm away from the twisted pleasure. 

The teeth pressing into your skin are gentle, not too forceful and you can only think it was because you presented yourself to him. You don’t even want to imagine what could have been while those teeth were still on you. His tongue then slithers into your hole and wriggles around driving every single nerve you had into overdrive, your head fuzzy with adrenaline. 

You shamefully cum, cum the hardest you have in your entire life as your hips uncontrollably lift into that mouth, the teeth piercing into your skin with sudden force, and he pulled away, so much saliva stringing from you and his mouth. 

But his cock pressed against your hole, your sloppy and twitch hole was opened just enough for him, and with a single brutal thrust he was inside. You could feel his heartbeat from his cock and its size was stretching you so much, yet it wasn’t painful somehow. You felt like bursting yet there was no burn or sting. He didn’t let you linger on that for too long. 

His fat balls slapped against your skin as he buried himself into your gut, almost chuffing with delight at your face and whiny moans and only getting rougher with each snap of his hips. 

You came again still not coming down from the first orgasm. But now he was focused on his own. Pounding into you hard enough you swear your stomach was bulging. You could feel just how hot his semen was as he spilled so much inside. That feeling of fullness was nothing compared to this. You could feel his cock bulge and twitch with how much shot inside and when he pulled out, it shot out of you. So much, so much. 

His mandibles folded back against his face and the skin smoothed so he looked almost perfectly human. Almost. And he began to tie you up tightly. A meal that turned into a spouse. 

[hyrules-warrior]

Imagine what Ellie and Joel’s first days, weeks even months would be like in Jackson. They would struggle so much to adjust if they even could fully after what they went through.

The only people Ellie has encountered since the last time she was in Jackson all tried to kill her and Joel. Between everything with David and his people and the fireflies that threw the flashbang at them, people are dangerous and Jackson has SO many people. She doesn’t go anywhere without Joel and panics if someone gets too close or touches her. She sticks close to Joel’s right side so she can keep an eye out since he can’t hear things approaching as well from that side. If there is something she thinks he hasn’t noticed she will lightly touch his side to direct his focus over there. If she wants to talk to him a light tug on his arm or hand has him tilting his head down so he doesn’t miss what she says. 

The only people Joel has encountered since the last time he was in Jackson have all tried to kill Ellie. Between the whole nightmare that was Silver Lake and then Marlene and her fireflies people pose a threat to her safety. Everyone is suspicious and he is even a bit ashamed at his caution around his own brother. He used to be a firefly after all and his wife Maria gives him dagger eyes every time she sees him. He is respectful but tight lipped with everyone, not open to chit chat and friendly conversation. The amount of times he has almost punched a person he thought was getting too close or too friendly would probably get him booted from Jackson if Maria knew.

They both panic if the other is out of their sight. Any time they have been separated from each other it has only lead to one of them getting hurt or almost killed. They can’t keep each other safe if they aren’t together. They go everywhere together, tucked close and their heads always on the swivel looking for danger. 

Ellie flat out refuses to go to school and Joel doesn’t make her. All she had to say was that David had been a teacher and he was 100% in agreement about her not having to go. Ellie finds the kids in Jackson to be annoying at best and totally foreign at worst anyway. She just can’t relate to them. They complain about what meal hall is serving (how could you ever complain about food when it can be so scarce?, when it can be days between meals?). They boast about the day they will get to kill infected and be on patrol, shoot a gun, hunt an animal.... all things she has done many times before and she has done even worse. She has a kill count of both infected and people and it’s not something to boast about.

They set up a defensible sleeping spot in the living room of their house. They push the furniture around to keep them hidden out of sight, drag the mattresses from their beds down there and all the blankets and pillows and make a safe nest to sleep. Every night when it’s time for bed Joel walks the outside perimeter of the house checking for anything suspicious and making sure it’s secure from the outside. Inside, Ellie double checks the window locks and back door lock, closes the curtains and pushes a kitchen chair under the back door handle. It takes both of them to push the heavy bookshelf across the front door when Joel returns from his check. It’s weeks before they stop trading watch shifts during the night. 

They have their backpacks packed and ready to go always. They often walk around Jackson wearing them, reluctant to be without gear should they need to escape. In the house they stay right by the door with their jackets. Shoes always stay on their feet even inside.

They have a hard time adjusting to, well, the concept of time. For them, days start at sunrise and end at sunset regardless of time of year. The main meal of the day is when they stop to camp for the night. Other then that it’s quick nibbles throughout the day on the trail. So needing to wake up at certain times and be at the meal hall at certain times is a struggle at first. 3 meals a day is great but it’s such a foreign concept to them at this point. 

They are also used to sharing food. After losing the camp stove and most of their camp supplies when they lost the truck, they pretty much just share food right from the can, passing it back and forth as they take bites. Or tearing off bites of meat from the same cooked rabbit, breaking pieces of jerky or other hardtack in half and sharing. It becomes second nature to eat this way, especially after Silver Lake. Ellie is suspicious of any food she hasn’t hunted herself or seen Joel eat first. So they take their shares of food from meal hall and dump it onto a single plate and eat from it, Ellie usually passing all the red meat to Joel’s side of the plate and he gives her the entire double serving of anything she starts eating (much to Ellie’s frustration sometimes, he really needs to stop always giving the bigger share of food to her). 

The only time they weirdly seem to relax in the slightest is when they go outside the walls together. It’s dangerous outside of course, but it is a danger they understand and all of their “habits” as Maria calls them (Joel calls it survival instincts) make sense out there. Ellie comes with Joel on patrols despite all the arguing about her being too young. She won’t be separated from him, especially if he is leaving the “safety” of Jackson (he won’t be safe out there if she isn’t with him!).

Separation anxiety, codependency.... these words get thrown around a lot in regards to them by people in Jackson (Maria especially likes to toss those out like it’s a bad thing Joel himself made happen). Joel knows it’s probably not the healthiest that they are like this but it works, it has kept them safe and alive so he isn’t keen to try and do different.

[kurthorton-moving]

kurt always knew he would end up in hell, one way or another. he hadn’t thought much about it, tried to avoid the topic as much as he could, but even before the crash he’d had enough near death experiences to have the thought cross his mind. he’s not exactly religious, has never really had anything higher to pray to. that’s not to say he hadn’t prayed, he can think of plenty of times he’d called out to whatever was out there, begging for luck in a competition or for the chance to survive whatever horror he was facing. he survived, he won, his prayers were answered. but it never felt like divine intervention. it always felt like stitching up his own wounds, pushing his body to it’s limits and calculating every move, working out exactly how much more he could handle before his body gave out. he gave up on the idea of answered prayers and a heavenly utopia years ago, had settled on the reality that his entire life would be clawing his way through hell, fighting to get through each and every moment.

some part of him thinks maybe the plane crash really did kill him, that this was somehow his own personal brand of hell. he doesn’t belong out here, feels more clueless and useless than even jackie had been at times. and look where that got her. frozen in the meat shed, a looming presence that sits on everyones shoulders. a few times kurt had wished his parents had met that fate instead, but of course they didn’t. if this was hell, if he was being punished for his sins on earth, then it would make sense for them to be an immortal presence, always lingering, always pushing him. it feels mostly the same as back home, just in a much more brutal and punishing wilderness. these people are not his friends, they don’t know him, they don’t care to protect him. if they didn’t care enough to protect jackie, he was a goner. an outsider in every way, there only because his parents had talked mr matthews into sharing the jet. doomed to this life because his parents were so obsessed with every competition, every medal, every possible award he could get.

the nights are freezing, the days barely better. and yet he braces the cold each morning, doing pull-ups on tree branches and flips in the snow while his parents watch from the warmth of the windows. hands have been battered and blistered for months, though he at least has the benefit of having some of his training gear, everything he’d packed at least helping to make it a little easier to work. the problem, he’s found, is no longer just a lack of real gear. these days he’s scrawnier than ever, struggles to hold up his body weight the way he used to, almost passes out far too often. this isn’t how it was supposed to be. he was supposed to just compete and win and move on, go to the olympics or whatever else his parents wanted. but now he’s starving, falling apart, body and mind weaker than ever. the woods are unforgiving, as are his parents, and that combination is starting to be a little too much weight on his shoulders.

he knows it’s not his parents when the door opens, has long memorised their footsteps, but more importantly knows they’d never give up sleep to make sure he’s okay. he knows it’s not coach scott, too. far too smooth, no clunky noises of sticks against wood as he gets the hang of his crutches. that means it’s not an authority figure, it’s not someone to be afraid of. at least, it’s not an adult. he sees a few of the girls as authority figures, they’re all far more capable of pretty much anything than he is. lottie’s fallen into a role that could be compared to a higher power, the closest thing he’s felt to a connection to god since laura lee died. natalie has saved them all with her hunting ability. taissa and shauna have led the pack with this feeling of ease. misty helped ben recover from a severed fucking leg. he just wishes he could be like them, could be capable and strong. wishes he could be a survivor.

head barely turns when ethan talks. he is cold, freezing even, but it feels easier out here. less suffocating. some nights he’ll sit outside and stare into the darkness of the woods, contemplates running as far and as fast as he can. he knows where that’d lead, knows that getting lost in the woods is a death wish. but, he thinks, so is staying here. there’s this passive voice in his head that urges him to go, to try it on his own, to bury himself in snow and feel whatever peace comes with being rid of this place. it takes him just a little too long to really acknowledge ethan, a little too long to respond. ❝ d’you think jackie knew? y’think she felt the snow and just… decided to stay out here? ❞ his eyes leave the spot he’d been zoned out on, finally turning to look over ethan. ❝ is it.. ❞ he pauses, tries to work out if he’s allowed to say what he’s thinking, if he could speak his mind and have it be okay. he knows his words won’t be received well, isn’t looking for the pity or sadness, is a little too disconnected from his own emotions as he speaks. ❝ is it selfish to wish it was me? ❞

@camptw1nk

the nights have been getting longer & colder. honestly, you kind of miss spring. thankfully, though, the cabin provides decent enough shelter from the elements, although you would have made the cabin a little larger to accommodate kurt's parents as well. you thought they'd have died, & you tried to kill them because you fucking hate those two, but apparently your creators had other ideas. like, why not torture our son's friend with the survival of his parents in one of the most stressful circumstances a human being could ever go through? like, what the fuck. they overwrote your predestined ending for the conrad adults, & it kind of pisses you off.

thanks, first & second. fucking assholes.

you're curled up on the floor next to robby, like every other night, feeling very safe & loved with his arms wrapped protectively around your smaller frame. the blankets are pulled up tightly around you two on the mattress, which is near the fireplace. you can hear everyone's steady breathing, but you refuse to peek into their heads. you've been... adjusting pretty okay to life without your sunglasses & earplugs. it was a little jarring & uncomfortable at first, but now, three months into living in the middle of nowhere, you're semi-used to it.

slowly, you raise your head to look into the fire, & it crackles loudly in response as you activate your pyrokinesis, further drenching the room in an amber glow. the sparks suddenly crack a little too violently as you think of robby's death at the hands of the alternate, now-slaughtered group in the alternate, now-destroyed universe. whoops. it seems your rage for the death of your fiancé hasn't faded, & you doubt it ever will. ( IT WAS THEIR FUCKING FAULTS HE DIED, & robby keene didn't deserve that. so you rewound the clock, you tore apart the story when it was just beginning. you made him survive.

you just... you can't live in a world without him, you REFUSE to. he means everything & more to you. )

you untangle your body from robby's, tenderly brushing his hair away from his forehead. you lean down to kiss his forehead gently. then, you slip out of bed, tuck the blankets around his body carefully to keep him warm, & zip up your jacket as you weave around the sleeping bodies of the other survivors. they're not your friends, not really. except for laura lee. ben & kurt are okay, too, as far as you're concerned. they didn't have anything to do with robby's death, so they don't deserve your wrath. robby is obviously a given. you'd never hurt him, ever. you can't say you'd give the same luxury to the others. ( given what you know about conrad & melissa from other universes, those two deserve zero respect. )

you perk up slightly when you sense a single, isolated presence outside, turning around to do a quick headcount of the others. everyone is accounted for, save for one. kurt. you're kind of curious as to why he's not asleep, & a little concerned, honestly. you slide your hat on, then your gloves & shoes without disturbing the others, & step out of the cabin. the blast of artic air hits you full force, & you're quick to shed the human need to regulate your body temperature. there. now you don't feel the plummeting temperatures, the wind, or the snow, which feels a lot colder because of the time of night. you quickly shut the door to prevent any of the wind & snow from entering the cabin, sighing softly, watching your breath come out in puffs. you remain quiet as you lean against the wall of the cabin, arms crossed, staring up at the snow as it lazily falls around the area. frowning slightly, you quietly approach the familiar blond standing a fair amount away from the cabin. from warmth. you already miss the warmth of robby, the sound of his steady heartbeat in your ears.

❝ kurt ? ❞ you call his name quietly, exhaling sharply as if you're freezing, when you're actually not. ❝ why are you out here alone ? aren't y-you cold ? ❞

[summercourtship]

Hi, could you write a nsfw oneshot or something for the Cenobite with a shy and modest fem survivor reader? Possibly include some fingering and using his hands. Thanks if you do!

I'm sorry this took so long, I obviously got a bit carried away. I have such a bad habit of needing SO MUCH exposition even for tiny one shots (or at least what are supposed to be tiny) but I’m not going to stop. I’m also not sure how well I fulfilled the idea of a “shy, modest” reader, but I think I managed to have elements of it without it becoming a stereotypical mess of stuttering and blushing.

summons [nsfw, 18+]

Pinhead (The Cenobite) x Reader | warnings: NSFW, reader could be interpreted as being a virgin but it’s not explicitly stated, I somehow made the Lament Configuration solving erotic (it’s what Clive Barker would want) | 3121 words

It was always unnerving to realize that a killer remembered you. To notice that shift in their expression as they placed your face to a memory, to an action that had made you stick out in their mind. Some killers seemed to remember everyone while others only recognized a select few. Some didn’t seem cognizant of doing either.

Luckily, you had always managed to fly under their radar. Even the killers that had memorized every survivor regarded you with an air of disinterest, preferring to go after the overtly obnoxious survivors (which was probably part of those survivors’ plans- Nea really hated fixing gens). Some could say that it was because you were boring, at least in the way of prey. You didn’t necessarily agree, but if killers thinking you were boring kept you alive you wouldn’t argue about it.

However.

There was one killer who seemed… overly interested in you because of this. Somehow your reserved nature was more intriguing to him than that of the unafraid or blatantly uncaring survivors. You didn’t understand it, but you also didn’t want to.

You didn’t want anything to do with it.

The Cenobite was an oddity among oddities- barely even touching the survivors and treating your suffering with a cold grace. In the few moments you’d been able to observe him, he seemed unaffected by anything, continuing his hunt seemingly without a care in the world.

When you were one of his designated playthings for a trial, you avoided the Box, even if it meant your continued survival. You couldn’t handle the thought of possibly summoning him, bringing the being you knew was somehow fascinated with you directly to your location.

You just did your damnedest to finish repairing gens and move on to the next trial with the usual indifferent killers, taking extra care to stealth when you knew he was coming. Because if he caught sight of you, he wouldn’t stop pursuing you throughout the trial, preferring to torment you than spread the pressure amongst your teammates.

But, despite your efforts, not every trial with him could work out this way, as was the case for the trial you found yourself in now. You had been just barely surviving through your stealth tactics when it seemed that the survivors were rapidly downed, one quickly falling after the other.

You rushed to pull them off hooks or patch them up enough to stand, only briefly hesitating when you felt your own safety was in danger. You pushed it aside, putting your team’s survival over your own sense of sanity. They would eventually pay you back in kind, and the cycle would continue.

But it seemed that luck was not on your side.

One, two, three survivors were all hooked for the last time, their cut off screams piercing the night air.

And suddenly, you were the only one left.

Somewhere, both too close and impossibly far away, a bell tolls.

You’re frozen in place, too on edge to even contemplate searching for the Hatch. You’d been in similar situations before, but this time felt different- it was as if the air was electrified from your nervous anticipation.

And never before had you been left alone with him.

Before long, the consequence of your hesitation becomes clear- the chains that he summons from nothing have started seeking you out, the few that reach you embedding their hooks in your skin. You hiss, jerking back into life and unhooking yourself, trying to be as careful as possible to not rip your skin off.

It would not be the worst pain you have felt in this place.

You set off, struggling through the terrain of the Macmillan Estate until you reach one of the smattering of brick walls that litter the Entity’s realms. Here, at least you would have some protection from the chains, giving you time to figure out what you were going to do next.

Find Hatch or wait by the Exit Gate, hoping he closes the Hatch with enough time for you to slip out? You’re debating the two options in your head, knowing full well it’s not the best use of your time but feeling unable to make a decision and get your feet moving.

You’d just mentally circled back around to the option of booking it for Hatch that you realize you were being observed. And he wasn’t even hiding like some of the others would, no crouching behind the brick or staying by the tree line. He’s simply standing there, as if waiting for you to realize he was there.

You look up at him, wondering how you hadn’t noticed his presence before. He blocks the only other exit from your shelter that isn’t a window, something you note with a growing sense of dread. No prey likes feeling cornered.

But he hasn’t moved to attack, just standing and staring at you. You take a moment to observe him back, noting the impassive expression on his face. He doesn’t move, even once you’d been made aware of him. You narrow your eyes and glare at him, ignoring the thwacking of the chains hitting the ground and walls behind you, already tired of whatever game he is playing, not in the mood to be toyed with.

“What do you want?” You ask, willing your voice to stop wavering. For once, you wanted to seem like the brave, outgoing survivor, willing to stand up to the killer for nothing more than the satisfaction of having done so.

A beat of silence, and you almost think he won’t answer. But he does, and his response is more confusing than clarifying.

“You.”

“I- I don’t understand.”

More silence.

Then, a crackling draws your attention downwards, to the small, unassuming box that lay on the ground in the space between you. The very box you had done your best to avoid touching, even looking at. You wonder, briefly, if it had been there the entire time.

“Solve it.” His voice is commanding yet gentle, coaxing yet sinister. There’s power behind it, a power that isn’t being utilized at the moment.

“No.” It’s an easy answer for you. There are few things you are sure of in the Fog, but not touching anything that belongs to a killer is one of them.

“Aren’t you curious?”

That was not what you had been expecting him to say. Suddenly, you were no longer sure about the subject of your conversation. The Box still lay between you, ready for your willing hands to run along its smooth surface, finding the small grooves that would lead you to further unlocking its mystery. But while you had been focusing on the Box, his eyes had never left you.

Because he knew that ultimately, yes. You were curious, and always had been. About everything, but you’d always been too shy, too afraid of other’s thoughts about you to try anything even mildly risky. Better to stay on the safe side and hear about other’s exploits instead of experiencing your own.

“Yes.” It comes out as a whisper.

“Then…” With a long fingered hand, he gestures to the Box.

Your hands shook as you reached down to pick it up, finding its smooth surface both warm and cool at the same time, its weight heavier than you had anticipated.

You looked back up at the Cenobite, ignoring the faint tinkling of a music box’s tune that you could now hear coming from the Box.

“What do I do?”

You were sure it couldn’t be but so difficult- less intelligent survivors had completed its puzzle under significantly more stressing circumstances than you. But you couldn’t bring your mind to command your hands to begin, some invisible wire holding your muscles back from taking action.

Maybe it was because he was standing in front of you, watching you intently.

He moved closer and you barely resisted the urge to move backwards, your grip on the Box tightening as if afraid he would take it from you. He stopped just before you and reached out, not to take the Box but to guide your hands. But instead of placing his hands over yours as you had anticipated, they hovered barely a centimeter above your skin.

“There is a force in this realm that makes solving the Lament Configuration child’s play.”

You look up at him, wondering if he had just delivered a thinly veiled insult. If he, in saying that solving it should be easy, was implying that you were too unintelligent to figure it out. You open your mouth to begin defending yourself.

“I-“

“You’ve refused it,” He continues as if you’d never started speaking, “even when it is to your detriment. But the Configuration is meant for those who seek to heighten their senses, for sensations that the earthly world cannot provide. Opening it is not supposed to be easy.”

You look down at your hands, at his.

“For those who summon us must be sure that it is what they want, for once we are summoned we cannot leave without a charge. It cannot be helped.”

He places his hands over yours now, guiding them along the edges of the Box (the Configuration, you correct yourself). Your hands are seemingly electrified from where his skin meets yours, though a sizable portion of his hand is covered in leather.

“Here it seems that, although alone, I work under different rules. The Box was made simpler and perverted into a means to assist in feeding this Entity.”

With his guidance, you are able to find the minuscule lines in the surface of the box, pushing and shifting the pieces until they form a completely new shape. But before you are able to push the final piece into place, thus completing the puzzle, he releases his hands and steps back.

“There is no need to finish it.”

You blink, feeling like you’d just woken from a hazy waking dream.

“But why did I do it in the first place?”

“I won’t have to hunt you down the next time we find ourselves facing each other. It is very tiresome when you hide from me constantly.”

He turns around like he’s about to go, either to finally kill you or let you scamper off to find the Hatch, but you aren’t ready for him to leave yet.

“Is that it?” You blurt out and almost take it back when he turns his head, indicating that you have his attention once more. But you swallow your fear and continue on, holding your chin higher. “You just wanted me to solve this box? To what? Prove to myself that I can, so that you don’t have to do as much work the next time you’re going to kill me?”

He whirls around, but there is barely any change in his expression from before. He was near impossible to read, you were quickly learning.

“I don’t get it- if you’re summoned for those who want pleasure or pain or whatever, why are you so interested in me? I don’t want any of that.”

“You don’t want pleasure?”

Your face heats up, any bravery you had felt in delivering your speech gone. You look down at your hands, still holding the almost solved Lament Configuration.

“The rules of this place may be different, but I am still obliged to answer the summons.” His words, at first, make no sense.

And then you realize what he is implying, and your face must be on fire for how hot it feels. If he was summoned for those who want whatever version of pleasure or pain he provided, then you solving the Configuration meant that he could…

Ohhhkay.

You turn from him, fully intending to put the box down and sprint for the Hatch and think about this encounter later at the campfire, but the quiet, nagging voice in the back of your head stops you.

Aren’t you curious?

Before you can rationalize and deny the urge, you act on impulse for once and press the final piece into place on the Box, the tinkling music stopping abruptly.

While you’ve had your back turned, he must’ve crept up closer on you, because you suddenly feel his hand on your shoulder.

You gasp, both from surprise and the sensation of his touch once again on you. He slowly ran his hand down your body, from your shoulder down your arm, before making its way to your front. Your breathing was picking up, hitching in the back of your throat when his other hand snuck around and plucked the box from your grasp. It’s gone when you turn your head to look at it, and you’re too focused on his touch to really ponder what happened to it.

You reach out and press your own hand against the brick wall in front of you, using the rough texture to ground yourself in reality, as much as you could in the hellish purgatory that you were trapped in. But the reality of this moment was that he was touching you in such a simple way, barely vulgar at all, but you felt as if you were being lit on fire with the way his touch seared your skin, even over the layers of your clothes.

His fingers dance over the hem of your pants, toying with the button. You’d always liked that the Entity put you in pants most of the time, their practicality better for your environment than the potential fashion statements you could’ve been making in something else. But now you wish that the Entity had decided to put you in one of the nonsensical outfits the others occasionally donned, if just for the easy access a skirt provides.

Nonetheless, he deftly undid the button and continued his journey down your body, not bothering to even pull your pants down. He completely ignored your underwear, apparently not in the mood to tease you over the fabric. You weren’t complaining, wanting whatever he was going to give you as quickly as possible.

It was now that you fully realized how cold his hands were, which only made you more aware of every centimeter of your skin that he ran his fingers along. Down over your stomach, a feather light touch that was approaching where you needed it the most.

The Cenobite found his way in between your legs with little fanfare, finally exploring the part of your body that, unbeknownst to you, he had thought of whenever he saw you in a trial. He toyed briefly with just running his touch up and down your slit, causing you to shudder and drop your head. But before long, he ended up at that sensitive bundle of nerves, flicking it just to hear you moan. His finger circled around your clit, applying just enough pressure for it to register in your mind but not enough to really scratch the itch that had been building since he’d placed his hands over yours to solve the box.

He was silent behind you, but you didn’t think he wasn’t actively enjoying what he was doing to you, if the way his teasing touches would briefly speed up when you let the little sounds building up behind your lips escape was any indication. Or the way his breathing, though quiet and low, would hitch when you would whimper, groan, hiss.

He finally moved lower, teasing at your entrance. You whimper again, closing your eyes. But he didn’t do anything aside from dipping his fingers in, for barely a second, giving you just a taste of the pleasure you needed. He teased more than you would have expected, but you also wouldn’t have expected him to want to fuck you.

“Please,” your whisper is broken, your mind hazy and unable to compose a more elegant plea. You curse under your breath when he does it again, moving back up to your clit to circle it a couple more times.

“You can do better than that,” He says, and you, in your fuzzy mind, think you detect a hint of humor in his voice.

“Fuck- please.” You roll your hips, as if to entice him to finally get to it. But he holds fast, your (pathetic) attempt to seduce him into giving in to your whims failing. He pauses in his movements.

“Fine! Please, please, please, please fuck me, put your fingers in me, I don’t care just please make me cum!”

You wonder, briefly, in the back of your mind, if the Entity is watching.

Two of his fingers finally slip into you, and you barely hold back a curse, forgetting whatever inane thought you had before. All you could focus on was the fact that he was finally giving you what you wanted, that he was finally done teasing.

He thrusts his fingers in and out of your pussy, dragging them along your walls and hitting every sensitive spot that you didn’t even realize existed within you.

“For such a shy woman, you make delightful sounds,” He mutters, almost too quiet for you to hear over the heartbeat pounding in your ears. Whether it’s yours or his, you cannot tell.

Quickly, much too quickly, you feel your climax approaching, and any sense of the amount of time you’ve spent at his mercy is lost to you. All you know is that he is touching you in a way that makes you feel like no one has ever made you feel and that you want to reach your peak now.

As it builds, you release a litany of pleas, begging with broken words and fragmented sentences.

You finally finish with a sharp, drawn out and shuddering gasp, his fingers curling into the spot that makes your toes curl, sharply punctuating every ripple of pleasure that your body rides.

And then, just as quickly as it started, it is over.

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you turn to face the Cenobite, who looks as unaffected as he had before. He examines his glistening fingers not even looking at you when he tells you to find the Hatch. If you’re stung by his sudden disinterest in you, you don’t show it, opting to add it to the growing mental list of things to think about later.

On shaky legs, you comply with his demand, stealing one last glance back at him as you leave him. You had no idea if this would be a one off occurrence, or if he would regularly find his own way to answer your summons, if he would make good on his statement that he is summoned for those who wish for pleasure and pain.

The only way to find out would be to summon him.

___

ao3 link

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Sunshine Boy

i've never written a story featuring a peter parker that wasn't tom holland's version, so i hope i did them justice...also fun fact the word "Peter" is in this 273 times haha

After losing May to the Green Goblin and everyone else due to Dr. Strange's memory-erasing spell, Peter Parker is on his own and struggling to adapt. Fortunately, a pair of unexpected interdimensional visitors stop by to help him adjust, and remind him how to feel joy despite his tragic circumstances.

word count: 8,357

_______________________

Puffy white snow flurries dropped from the sky and flitted past black eye-lenses. By morning, the city would be blanketed in a dense pelt of snow. Spider-Man disconnected the web-line from his wrist and stuck to the outside wall of his apartment building, shivering against the frigid breeze. This winter’s cold had a certain bite to it that felt icier than any he’d experienced before.

He made his way to his floor, careful to avoid the prying eyes of his neighbors, and slipped inside his room through the window. His AC unit was absolute shit, so the apartment offered little relief from the cold. But at least he was out of the wind.

Spider-Man shut the window and peeled the mask off his head, puffing out his cheeks. His hands were numb; his toes felt like miniature popsicle sticks. He cupped his palms around his mouth and breathed hot air between his fingers, trying to bring some feeling back. Now that he was using his own homemade Spider-Man suit instead of Mr. Stark’s (whose A.I. no longer remembered him, just like the rest of the world, and had therefore locked him out of the network and all of the costume’s functions, rendering it useless to him), Peter seriously needed to start saving for some thermals. He’d never realized how good he’d had it—wearing a suit with a built-in heater. That is, until now, when he was freezing his ass off every time he went out on patrol.

He checked the time on his phone. 1:58 AM. Could be worse. After everything that had happened, everything he’d lost, he’d unconsciously began spending way more time as Spider-Man, and as little time as possible as Peter Parker. Even after breaking and unbreaking the multiverse, Spider-Man still had a lot going for him as NYC’s friendly neighborhood (and now, once again, anonymous) superhero. He had power, presence, and a name people recognized, albeit some more fondly than others. And there was always someone somewhere who could use the web-head’s help.

But Peter Parker, on the other hand? He had…nothing. No one. All that was left from the life he once led was an old coffee cup, some Star Wars Legos, and a lonely headstone he stopped by once a week to leave fresh flowers beside.

He didn’t like to think about it. It was all too painful to dwell on. So when he wasn’t job hunting, errand running, or studying for the GED, he was out in the city, fighting crime as Spider-Man. It was a welcome and effective distraction from the weight of his grief, which clung to the inside of his throat and throbbed with every beat of his heart and threatened to drag him someplace dark and deep that he might never escape. He had to stay busy and keep himself occupied in order to combat that despair, to keep moving forward, to pay the bills, save the citizens, keep May’s legacy alive, keep everyone safe.

Peter stripped out of his suit and bundled into his old Midtown High pullover, some sweats, and a pair of fuzzy socks. He had laundry to do, a budgeting plan he still needed to finish, and another chapter left in his study guide to get through, but all that would have to wait. Right now, the only thing Peter had the energy left to do was crawl into his creaky twin bed, bury himself beneath mildew-smelling covers, and pray for a dreamless sleep.

He was in the middle of counting his one hundred and twenty-eighth sheep when a bright orange light suddenly flooded the room. His eyes flew open, and he was on his feet in seconds, fists raised, heart hammering in his chest.

“Ah! H-hey! The hell is—?”

Peter gasped. A glowing, circular opening yawned before him. It hovered in the center of his tiny bedroom, bathing the space in orange light, spitting sparks in every direction. It looked similar to the magical portals Dr. Strange opened, but less sorcerer-y, more fiery. Flaming tongues stretched from the opening and lapped at the walls and floors of his apartment. Arches of fire that reminded him of solar flares pulsed off the circle’s circumference. The harsh heat washed over his face and made him squint.

“It worked! It worked!” he heard an excited voice call. “You’re a genius, Doc!”

“No way!” a second voice exclaimed. Both sounded oddly familiar. “Does that mean we can go inside?”

“Machine’s stable now. Dimensional rift is holding steady and secure. Just beep me on the transponder when you’re ready to return, and I’ll pull you right back out.”

Peter shielded his eyes with his hands, inching closer to the portal. “Um…hello?” he called skittishly. “Who’s there? W-what’s happening?”

And then, two figures suddenly jumped through the opening and landed in front of him, startling Peter so much he stumbled backwards and fell onto his bed.

“Wha! Holy—!” His eyes darted rapidly between the pair of faces, which he immediately recognized. The realization dawned on him like a slap across the mouth. His muscles relaxed and his eyes went wide. “You…what? Oh…oh my god.”

“Peter!” Peter 2 greeted him. He wore casual clothes, though he could see the hem of his red suit poking out from under his collar. The man smiled wide and held out his arms. “I can’t believe it. It’s really you! We’re really here! Again!”

“Sorry for scaring you!” Peter 3 chimed in, gesturing between the two of them. “It’s us! The other Peter Parkers slash Spider-Men! You remember?”

Peter slid off the bed and dropped to his feet, huffing out an incredulous laugh. An overwhelming flood of emotions immediately rushed through him. He swallowed, pressing a hand to his chest.

“You—you remember me?” he barely managed to choke out. “I wasn’t sure—after Strange’s spell—of course I remember you guys, b-but—you actually remember me?”

“Yeah, we remember you,” Peter 2 chuckled, clearly confused. “You seriously expected us to forget about you that quickly? I know I’m older than the two of you, but I’m not that old. Give me a little credit.”

“It’s so good to see you again!” Peter 3 said enthusiastically. “We really missed ya, bud! How’ve you been?”

Peter’s jaw hung open while his brain grappled to process all of this. The knot of feelings in his throat branched through his chest down into his gut, overpowering all attempts to shut it out. His eyes stung as a smile touched his lips.

“I…” he began, voice tight. Then he shook his head and raced forward, crashing into their arms, which embraced him eagerly. “You’re here! And you remember me! This is—insane! I thought I’d never see you again!”

The other Peters laughed as they hugged him, squeezing him tight and patting his back. Peter didn’t even try to stop the tears from flowing; he hadn’t been hugged by anyone since the day he lost everything.

“Aw, buddy,” Peter 3 said, rubbing circles into his shoulders. “Come on, now. If you start crying, then I’m gonna start crying, then all of us are gonna turn into one big blubbery mess.”

“You okay?” Peter 2 asked earnestly. Peter pulled away and ran his hands under his eyes, struggling to compose himself.

“Yeah, yeah,” he insisted, sniffling. “Sorry, I just—I really missed you guys.”

“We missed you too,” Peter 2 said with a smile. The portal behind them fizzled out of existence, leaving the three Spider-Men standing in the dark. Peter dried his tears on his sweatshirt and ran to flip the lights on, which took a few seconds to flicker lethargically to life.

“How are you even here? How is this even possible?”

“Doctor Octavius and I have been working together to reconfigure his old fusion reactor design into a ‘dimension-hopping’ machine,” Peter 2 explained, putting air quotes around dimension-hopping. “Knowing that other universes existed and were able to be transversed gave us a solid jumping off point. Once we got the math and the power necessities calculated, we just had to find the connective string that linked our universes to yours.”

“Which was us!” Peter 3 stated proudly. “Us as in, Spider-Men. Peter Parkers. Universes where Peter Parker exists and is also Spider-Man. Ya get it?”

Peter blinked, mouth hanging agape. “You mean you and Doc actually managed to build a universe-jumping device?”

Peter 2 shrugged nonchalantly. “Sometimes magic is just science we haven’t figured out yet. I couldn’t have done it without Doc's help, which I wouldn’t have had if you hadn’t fixed his inhibitor chip. So you’re really the one to thank for all this being possible.” He nodded towards Peter 3. “After the machine worked for his universe, we figured we outta pop by and visit you in yours.”

“And now here we are!” Peter 3 cheered. “Is this not the coolest thing to happen, like, ever?”

Peter nodded, beaming. “It’s all—just—wow. Incredible.” A chuckle escaped him. “And hey, thanks for thinking of me amidst all these groundbreaking, multiverse-perusing technological discoveries. Warms my heart.”

Peter 2 swept his gaze across Peter’s apartment and hunched his shoulders. “So, uh, how have you been holding up? I see you’ve found a new place to crash.”

“Oh yeah,” Peter 3 said, eyeing the cracked ceiling and the eclectic culture of mold growing around the air vent. “It’s, um…it’s nice. You know, cozy, homey, not too pretentious—”

“It’s a shithole,” Peter giggled with a shrug. “But it’s my shithole. I’m just happy to have a roof over my head—even if there’s a fifty percent chance of it caving in from water damage at any given moment. Apparently it’s very hard to find a place that’ll accept your application if you don’t already have a job. Or, you know, ‘aren’t legally an adult’ just yet.”

Both older Peters smiled hesitantly. “Right.”

“I also didn’t realize just how expensive the things you have to pay for on top of an already very expensive rent are. Like, you know—water. And electricity. And a fee for an exterminator who is definitely not doing their job. And renter’s insurance! What the hell even is that? Has that always been a thing?” He sighed, scratching at his hair. “It’s all just—you know—very new. Eye-opening.”

Peter 3 pointed at the pots and pans crusted with a variety of burnt cuisines piled in the sink. “Have you been, uh, trying out some new recipes?”

Blush dusted across Peter’s cheeks. “Oh, er, yeah,” he stammered sheepishly, jogging past him to scrub at the blackened spaghetti sauce caked to the bottom of the pan. “Heh, another fun thing I’ve discovered over this past month: my complete lack of cooking skills. I can’t afford to eat out every day, so I’ve been trying to teach myself how to make a few of the dishes May always cooked for me. So far the only things I’ve managed not to burn to the point of being inedible have been grilled cheese and mac and cheese. So…thank god I’m not lactose intolerant.” He stared wordlessly at the dirty cookware for a few moments, his eyes going wide as the epiphany struck him. “Dish soap!” he cried, throwing the sponge down in frustration. “That’s what I forgot to get at the store today! Ugh—I knew I was forgetting something. I’ll have to swing by again tomorrow.”

Peter 2 and 3 exchanged an uneasy glance before turning back to Peter 1. “Still adjusting to the new living arrangements, huh?”

Peter huffed wearily before pasting on a tired grin. “Yeah. Haven’t figured out my routine just yet.” He yawned and rubbed his eyes. “But I’ll get there. You know, eventually.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had to struggle with all these things by yourself,” Peter 2 said, crossing the room to lay a hand on his back. “I know how hard it can be.”

“Have you asked MJ or your friend Ned for any cooking advice?” Peter 3 offered. “I’m sure between the three of you and that sweet Nana of his, you guys could whip up some cheap, meal-preppy type stuff to get you through the week. I suggest simple, healthy recipes with loads of carbs and protein. You know, to give you enough energy for late night web-swinging.”

Peter gazed into his stack of failed cooking attempts with a blurry haze over his eyes. After a few seconds of silence had passed, the hand on his back gave his arm a small squeeze.

“Peter? What’s wrong?”

Peter 3 cupped his palms over his mouth in horror. “Oh my god. Don’t tell me—did you guys break up? I swear, if you broke up, love is officially dead.”

Peter tried to laugh, but it came out more like a sob. “No, we didn’t—didn’t break up,” he said, swallowing thickly. His chin dropped towards the floor. “They, um…they just don’t remember me.”

Peter 2 searched the boy’s hollow expression, trying to understand. “What do you mean?”

“In order to stop the spell I botched from breaking the universe, Dr. Strange had to cast a new spell that made everyone in the world forget who I am,” Peter explained stiffly. “Including them. Ned and…and MJ.” He stared at his feet. “He did it after you guys were sent home.”

Peter 2 released Peter 1’s shoulder, his heart sinking in his chest. “Oh, bud,” he said mournfully.

“Wait, so…this whole time since we’ve been gone, you haven’t had anyone? You’ve been alone this entire time? Through the holidays and New Years and…all of it?”

“Have you talked to them? I mean, did you try to—I don’t really understand how magic spells in this universe work, but—maybe there’s a way you could get them to remember. Snap them out of it, jog their memory, you know?”

The longer they spoke, the more desolate the kid’s expression became. He shook his head, voice breaking.

“I tried. But, um…they don’t—don’t remember. They can’t.” He shrugged, sniffling. “But…maybe it’s for the best, you know? Without me, they’re so much safer and more successful. They actually have futures now. They’re both going to MIT next fall. And they’re, like, really excited about it. I don’t want to mess that up for them again.” He blinked the tears from his eyes and sucked in a shaky breath. “So…yes. I’ve been alone. But I’m—I’m okay with that.”

“Are you?” Peter 3 countered. Peter 1 turned to meet his gaze. The look on the poor kid’s face was absolutely heartbreaking. “I know I wouldn’t be,” he continued. “And I for one am not okay watching you try to do what we do without any kind of support system backing you. Trust me: it’s not sustainable.”

“Spider-Man was never meant to be a solo act,” Peter 2 agreed. “I wouldn’t be the hero I am today without the support and guidance I’ve had from my loved ones. We need to surround ourselves with people who care about us, who understand what we’re fighting for, and who can pull our heads out of our asses whenever we’ve lost our way.”

Peter wiped his cheeks and shook his head, voice laced with grief. “I can’t put them in danger again,” he whimpered. “Not Ned or MJ or anyone else. And even if I wanted to, there’s no one left who even knows I exist. I don’t have anybody.”

“You have us,” Peter 3 corrected him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and giving him an affectionate shake. “We’ll be your support system until you find some locals from your own universe to help you out—whoever they may be.”

“Which we will be constantly hounding you about until you do,” Peter 2 added, ruffling his hair. “We can’t allow one of our own to hole himself up in his shitty little Midtown apartment like some sad spider-hermit. It’s not healthy, and gives a bad name to Spider-Men everywhere.”

Peter laughed in spite of himself, tears spilling from his eyes faster than he could mop them away. He nodded defeatedly. “Fair enough,” he said, gripping his arms at the elbows as he looked between the two Spider-Men. “Thank you. Honestly. You have no idea how nice it is to see you both again.”

Peter 3 lifted his hand off of his shoulder and frowned at his palm. “Um. You do know you’re bleeding, right?”

The youngest of the three Peters looked down at his arm in surprise. “Shit,” he hissed. “Forgot about that. I meant to patch it up as soon as I got home.” He poked at the fresh stain on his sleeve with a groan. “And now I’ve got this to deal with.”

“Four tablespoons of baking soda mixed with a fourth cup of water—gets any bloodstain out in no time,” Peter 2 recited. “Trust me: it’s a lifesaver for people who get injured as often as we do. Really wish I’d known that trick back when I was just starting out.”

“No one warns you about the perils of endless laundering that await you once you enter the superheroing world,” Peter 3 said woefully. He tugged at the bottom of Peter’s sweatshirt. “Come on—let’s get you cleaned up.”

Peter hesitated, then carefully slipped out of his pullover. Once they got a look at what lied underneath, the other Peters realized why. The kid’s arms, back, and chest were covered in wounds—most well on their way to healing, but others still alarmingly fresh. But the worst part of all of it were the gashes on his elbow and beneath his collarbone, which were being held together by messy, jagged stitchwork the boy had clearly sewn himself.

“I’ve been out Spider-Manning a lot more since May died,” he tried to explain, shrinking beneath their wide-eyed stares. “It helps keep my mind off things, but…sometimes I wind up over exerting myself. Taking on too many bad guys at once too many nights in a row.”

Peter 3 clicked his tongue. “Right. Okay. No biggie. It’s tough. We get it.”

Peter 2 leaned in close, his fingers hovering over the stitches in the kid’s arm. “Is this…fishing line?” he spluttered.

Peter hunched his shoulders timidly. “It’s cheaper than the stuff in those fancy suture kits…” he murmured. “Plus, one spool lasts way longer and works better than everything else I’ve tried.”

“I’m horrified to think of what else you’ve tried that’s somehow worse than fishing line,” Peter 3 said with a shudder.

Peter 2 kneaded at his temple. “Geez. Was I ever this insane and reckless? I once threw myself off a building after my powers started to fail and nearly broke my back, but I very quickly learned my lesson.” He snatched the spool of fishing line and the bloodied sewing needle from his side table and held them up pointedly, making Peter 1 wince. “You, on the other hand, obviously haven’t. You have to take care of your body, bud. No cutting corners, no cheap alternatives. Out of all of your priorities, your health always has to come first.”

Peter prodded at his sore stitches and scowled. “I can’t afford to go to the doctor all the time. And I can’t risk exposing my identity again.”

“I get that. Which is why we’re going to teach you how to treat your own injuries. Properly.” He tilted his chin toward the cut on his chest. “Where did you learn how to suture your own wounds?”

Peter licked his lips and averted his gaze. “Um…YouTube?”

A beat passed before Peter 2 inhaled deeply, then sighed. “I’m seriously considering barging into whatever superhero sanctum your teammates live in and giving them a piece of my mind. They haven’t exactly had your back through all of this. What did you call them again? The Apprehenders?”

Peter snorted. “The Avengers,” he corrected him. “And please don’t. We only get together for world-ending-type disasters, not for mending little scratches.” He sat on the edge of his bed, hands fidgeting in his lap. “Besides. None of them remember who I am, either.”

Peter 3 plopped down next to him, producing some medical sutures and gauze from a pocket in his costume. “How about I help stitch you up, and Peter 2 cleans your shirt and suit for ya?”

The young hero scoffed shyly. “You guys—you really don’t have to—”

“But we’re going to,” Peter 2 interrupted him, plucking his costume off the floor. “Gotta look out for our own, right?”

Peter stared between the two Spider-Men with an exhausted but grateful shine in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, voice small. He'd gone so long without receiving any outside help, it felt weird accepting it now.

“Is this a new suit?” Peter 2 asked, holding it up to get a better look. “Did you make this yourself?”

Peter chuckled. “That bad, huh?”

“No. It’s just—different. I like it. The colors really pop.” He smiled warmly. “I think it suits you better. Makes Spider-Man look…I don’t know. More fun and friendly.”

Peter smiled back, then immediately grimaced as Peter 3 began stitching up the gash in his shoulder. Even with the proper supplies, the process still hurt like a bitch.

“The key to successful suturing is precise movements and keeping everything sterile. The last thing you want is for your wounds to get infected.”

“Ouch,” he groused, trying to stay still. Fortunately, Peter 3 worked quickly.

“Us Spider-People are lucky enough to heal faster than most folks, but that doesn’t mean we’re invincible. Big cuts like this one need to be sutured and treated in order to mend properly.” A minute later, he finished off the last knot, then threw his arms in the air. “Ta-da! See? Not too bad, right? Sorry I don’t have any lollipops for ya.”

Peter looked down at the tidily dressed wound. Compared to his patchy handiwork—well, there was no comparison. “How long do I need to leave them in?” he asked.

“Minimum of three days. And be sure to take it easy—otherwise, you’ll wind up ripping them open and having to start all over again.”

“Suit and shirt are all cleaned up and hanging out to dry,” Peter 2 announced, returning from the kitchen and jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “I patched the tear in the sleeve as well. Looks good as new.”

Peter huffed out a laugh as he wriggled into a Mets T-shirt. “Whenever I imagined what it’d be like if I ever saw you guys again, this is not at all what I pictured. I thought we’d be thwipping around the city together, having web-swinging races or teaming up for another battle. Not, you know, standing around my shitty apartment, doing laundry and getting lectured on self care. May would be so proud.”

The other Peters chuckled. Peter 2 joined them on the bed and patted the teen’s back. “Peter Parkers are multifaceted beings with multifaceted needs. We can do some fun stuff together soon, once you’re all healed up and have worked out a more stable living routine.”

“My vote is for the web-swinging race,” Peter said eagerly. “That needs to happen, like, ASAP. I have to know which would win: our artificial webbing, or that stuff you make in your body.”

Peter feigned a small smile, but it didn’t last. He chewed his lip and swung his feet, trying to find the right words to articulate his thoughts.

“Can I ask you guys something?”

Peter 2 and 3 shared a quick look before nodding. “Yeah. Of course.”

The boy hugged his arms to his chest and wrinkled his brow. “Did you ever…I mean. After you lost the people you cared so much about, were you ever able to, like…feel like yourself again?”

Both Peters sensed he wasn’t done yet, so they waited for him to continue.

“I don’t think I know who I am without them. I don’t feel like me anymore now that they’re gone. Being happy used to come so naturally to me. I used to be able to find a reason to smile no matter how bleak the circumstances.” He choked out a laugh. “May used to call me her ‘sunshine boy’ because all my life, I’ve been the one who smiles in the face of adversity and goes around cheering everyone else up. But now, it all feels so fake and forced. I don't even have anyone to cheer up anymore. I’m just going through the motions of the happy, carefree person I used to be. Hoping that one day I’ll wake up, and it will somehow feel normal again. Not something I’m forcing myself to do just to cope, you know?”

Peter 2 considered his response carefully. “I think part of what you’re experiencing is a very normal progression of the grieving process that myself and Peter 3 understand well. It’s been almost twenty years since I lost Uncle Ben, and I still don’t feel like the same person I was when he was alive. And…I’m not sure I ever will. He was a part of me, and you’re never going to feel completely whole when part of you is permanently taken away. You have to learn to just…live with it. To carry that grief, that emptiness, and be okay with it.”

Peter 2 heaved a lofty sigh. “Another part of it might just be that you’re growing up and realizing the world isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Life is tough and painful, especially for people who do what we do, and it’s okay to not be happy all the time. After everything you’ve been through, you’re allowed to be sad and angry. You’ll feel authentic happiness again soon—I promise. But don’t try to force it. Let yourself process those negative feelings you need to feel right now. ‘Cause if you don’t, they could come back to haunt you as something a lot scarier in the future.”

Peter blinked up at him, sucking his lips to his teeth. “Wow. You’re, like, really good at this. You should host a podcast about the physical and psychological tribulations that come with being a superhero and how you’ve overcome them. I bet it’d be really popular with other up-and-coming heroes like me.”

Peter 2 chuckled bashfully. “Well, thank you. Happy to be of service. I’ll…keep that in mind.”

“Let me just say that I am totally on board with everything old Peter is saying,” Peter 3 interjected, moving his hands emphatically as he spoke.

Peter 2 frowned. “I don’t think I like that title.”

“Sorry. But anyway, yes, feeling your feelings is super important. The main reason I got so bitter and vengeful after Gwen’s death was because instead of dealing internally with my grief, I took it out on others. You have to give yourself space to feel all that pain before you can start to truly heal from it.”

“Did this just turn into Spider-Man group therapy?” Peter joked, even though that was absolutely what it felt like.

“Hold on, not done yet,” Peter 3 said, holding up his index finger. “What I’m saying is, yes, to feel more like yourself again, you’ve gotta follow old Peter—I mean, sorry—Peter 2’s advice.” A grin spread across Peter 3’s face. “However, there are little things you can do to make mundane life more enjoyable and make yourself happier in the present moment, even if they’re more of a short-term fix.”

Peter narrowed his eyes curiously. “Like what?” he asked.

“Try changing your perspective on things.” He sprung off the bed, an excited sparkle in his eye. “Like—like cooking, for example.” He gestured to the sink brimming with dirty dishes. “When you think about cooking, you probably see it as a chore, something you’re not particularly good at or looking forward to doing.”

Peter scratched the back of his neck. “Can’t argue with you on that one…”

“But instead of thinking of cooking as cooking, why not think of cooking as science?” Peter 3 shot a line of webbing from his wrist and whipped a cookbook off the countertop into his hands. “After all, at its core, that’s all cooking really is. Following a procedure, mixing solutions together, observing chemical reactions. It’s like you're cross-testing an experiment to try to get the same results other scientists have achieved—which just so happens to be a delicious meal!”

Peter tilted his head to the side. “Huh. I never thought about it that way.”

“We know science is a major passion of yours. Because—well, we’re you. So why not reframe some of these annoying adult-life things you have to do as fun, scientific escapades? Cooking, laundry, even cleaning—when you get down to it, they’re all just mini science experiments you’re trying to make work in your favor.”

Peter’s gaze shifted between the mound of dirty dishes, the overflowing hamper of smelly clothes, and the muddy footprints on the walls and floor adjacent to his window. “It’s not a bad idea,” he conceded.

“Just because you have to do more boring adult things now doesn’t mean you have to do them in a boring adult way. You’re still a kid, ya know? You’re allowed to act your age and put a fun spin on otherwise tedious chores to make them easier to get through. I know I do.”

“I might just steal that idea for myself,” Peter 2 thought aloud. “Even at my age, I still dread doing some of those things. Reframing them through a scientific lens is smart.”

Peter 3 pointed at him enthusiastically. “That’s the spirit! See? Everything is more enjoyable when you rewire your brain to recognize the science-y side of it.”

“That’s the problem, though,” Peter said, criss-crossing his legs on top of the bed. “Even science doesn’t inspire me the way it used to. No matter what I’m doing, I just feel...numb. Lifeless.” He deflated miserably. “It’s like…like I’ve forgotten how to be happy.”

Peter 2 laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. The kid obviously needed more time to process everything. His loss was still so fresh and new and painful.

“Maybe there’s a way we can remind you how to be happy,” Peter 3 suggested. “Ya know, with science. I mean, happiness as we know it is just chemicals in our brains and synapses firing off in the correct order, right?”

“That’s debatable,” Peter 2 remarked.

Peter 3 shrugged. “Still. Could be worth a shot.”

“What did you have in mind?” Peter ventured to ask, hunching his shoulders. “Shrooms? The devil’s lettuce?”

“No!” Peter 3 exclaimed, appalled. “You’re a baby! Babies don’t get to take drugs!” He wagged his finger in his face. “And even if you could, that is not a healthy way to deal with our emotions!”

“I was joking,” the teen insisted, the corners of his mouth lifting into a halfhearted smile.

“Well, stop joking. No more deflecting from our problems with humor. We’re the ones who should be trying to make you laugh, not the other way around.” A look of delight suddenly flashed across his face. Peter 3 snapped his fingers in the air and quirked one eyebrow. “Speaking of, that actually gives me an idea.”

“Maybe it’s best if we head out for the night, let Peter get some rest,” Peter 2 offered, checking his watch. “It’s…whoa. A lot later here than it is in my universe. Sorry we’ve kept you up this long.”

Peter shrugged passively. It wasn’t like he slept much these days, anyway. Peter 3 held up his hand.

“Just lemme try this one last thing,” he pried. “Trust me: it’s a safe, easy, science-backed hack for cheering people up who feel like they can’t be cheered up.” He smiled softly at the littlest of the Peters. “It’s, uh…it’s actually a trick my Aunt May used to use on me when I got low. Still does, sometimes.”

Surprise and curiosity overcame Peter’s expression. He glanced at Peter 2, then slowly slid off the bed to stand in front of Peter 3. “Show me,” he said.

Peter 3 grinned, crossing his arms against his chest. “All right. Okay. Cool.” He scratched his chin in thought and squinted up at the ceiling. “Let me remember—how did she do it? Um…okay. First, close your eyes.”

Peter searched the older Spider-Man’s face for a couple more seconds before doing as he was told. He inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Okay. Now what?”

“Now, uh…lay on the floor.”

The kid frowned. “With my eyes closed?”

“Sure. If you can. I mean, you can open them to lay down. So you don’t, ya know, trip or anything. But close them again once you’re on the ground.”

The kid looked skeptical, but went ahead and sank down to the floor, sprawling flat on his back. “Like this?”

“Yep. Perfect.”

“You said this was a science-based hack?”

“One hundred percent.”

Peter pursed his lips, then rested his head against the ground. “All righty.”

Peter 2 scowled at Peter 3 and mouthed ‘What are you doing?’ Peter 3 held a finger to his lips and mouthed back ‘You’ll see,’ a mischievous glint in his eye.

“So, what’s next? Do I just lay here with my eyes closed? Is this some type of meditation or hypnosis thing?”

“Not quite,” Peter 3 replied. He sat down on the floor next to him and pushed his elbow upwards. “Lift your arms above your head and interlace your fingers together.”

Peter raised his hands and gripped them together obediently. “This floor smells like cat piss,” he observed, wrinkling his nose.

“Hush,” Peter 3 snapped. “This is a very delicate process that must be executed with the utmost precision to work. Are your eyes closed?”

“They’ve been closed this entire time!”

Peter 3 grinned. “Spectacular,” he said, then placed his palm on top of Peter’s interlaced hands, pinning his arms above his head. “Time to science your way to happiness.”

The tiniest of Peter tingles itched at the back of his neck, making the young hero open one eye. “Wait—what’re you—?”

Five fingers suddenly clamped around his side and began squeezing his midsection, drawing a surprised shriek from Peter’s lips. Bright, bubbly laughter immediately followed, paired with a wild frenzy of squirming.

“AHAhehey! Whahat’re—whahat is—s-stahap!” He tried to pull his arms down to guard himself, but was stunned to discover that he couldn’t; the third Spider-Man was just as strong as him, if not stronger, and had also purposely positioned him so that gravity was on his side, leaving Peter defenseless against the unexpected tickle attack.

“See? Told ya it would work,” Peter 3 said smugly, scurrying his fingers across the teen’s belly. “Anything is possible through the power of science!”

“Thihis isn’t scihihience!” Peter giggled shrilly, his face flushing red. He bucked his hips and kicked his legs, but couldn’t find a way to dislodge himself from Peter 3’s hold.

“Sure it is!” Peter 3 protested. “Science is just making a hypothesis on something then observing the outcome, right? Watch this: I hypothesize that in the next three seconds, you’re going to scream like a little girl.”

“Thahat’s not—AAAHAhaha!” Peter 3’s wiggly fingers shot up to his rib cage, making Peter squeal and thrash. “StAHAp it!”

“But look how happy you are! If this doesn’t remind you how to laugh and feel joy, I don’t know what will.” He giggled in unison with the squirmy teen, endeared by his childlike laughter and the adorable radiance of his smile. In the short time they’d known each other, Peter 3 had watched the youngest Peter go through an exhausting rollercoaster of emotions: guilt, regret, heartbreak, grief, loneliness, rage, vengeance. The only times he remembered seeing him truly, authentically happy before now (which had only lasted a few seconds) were the times the three of them had hugged each other. He understood his struggles all too well, and recognized the kid still had a lot of healing to do.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t cheer him up with a much-needed older brother tickle attack whenever he really needed it. Peter 1 had been forced to grow up and act like an adult way too much lately; it was about time they brought out the kid in him again.

And damn, did he sure laugh like one.

“I think I get the ‘sunshine boy’ nickname now,” Peter 3 said, mirroring the teen’s wide grin. “You’ve got the brightest smile and the cutest laugh in the whole world!”

“Shuhut uhup!” he giggled, burning from head to toe, fiercely regretting telling them about that. “Lehet me GOHOhaha!” He fought to break Peter 3’s hold on his hands with all his might, flailing and tugging between bouts of belly laughs.

“Not until the science experiment is complete!” Peter 3 retorted, wrestling with his arms. Keeping the kid pinned was growing more and more challenging. “Holy shit, you’re strong. Hey—Peter 2. Mind lending me a hand?”

The oldest of the Peters pondered the situation carefully, then chuckled. A playful smirk spread across his face. “What else are brothers for?” he asked, standing from the bed and joining the other Spider-Men on the floor. He grabbed Peter 1’s wrists and pinned them firmly above his head, making the boy gasp.

“Hehey! W-wahait!”

“Much better!” Peter 3 let go of Peter 1’s hands and wiggled all ten fingers at him menacingly. “Now we can really get you laughing.”

Peter shook his head, bursting with anxious giggles, his brain buzzing to warn him of the incoming attack. “Noho! Dohon’t! Gehet awahayHAYHAHA!” Two hands began scribbling against his sides, and the kid’s laughter immediately shot up in octave and volume. He writhed and yelped, trying to comprehend how the hell he’d gotten himself into this mess and grappling for a way out. Of all the ways to help him feel happiness again, why did they have to pick this? How could they have possibly known about that weakness?

Oh. Right. They were him.

Was this what having older brothers was like? Being blessed with people who looked out for you at your lowest points, had your back when you needed them most, who knew and understood you from the inside out, who then turned around and used that knowledge to embarrass the shit out of you and make you feel eight years old again?

Perhaps being an only child wasn’t so bad after all.

“T-TRAIHAItors!” he cackled, throwing his head back with his eyes squeezed shut, smiling the biggest smile in the universe. “Thihis is—SOHO unfAIRHAIRHAHAheehee!”

With his arms pinned to the floor, Peter 3’s hands were free to torment his entire torso. He squeezed his hips, kneaded his belly, and tweaked his rib cage, driving the ticklish teenager up the wall. He was no match against the combined strength of the two older, more experienced Spider-Men. He’d been poked and tasered by his loved ones in the past—those who knew him well enough to be privy to his ticklishness and how quickly it disarmed him and brought a smile to his face. But never to this degree: rendered completely helpless by his fellow superheroes who knew exactly what buttons to push to make him lose it. This whole situation was beyond humiliating.

“Unfair but necessary,” Peter 3 said wryly, pinching his sides. “Cheering you up when you’re down is our job as your older spider brothers!”

“And to remind you you’re still just a kid,” Peter 2 added. “A smart, tough, resilient kid—but a kid nonetheless. Who also happens to laugh like a hyena when you tickle his ribs.”

Hiccups began punching out of his chest between bouts of sunny laughter, making the blush in his cheeks bleed into his ears. How come no matter what group of heroes he was working with, he always wound up being the youngest? Even out of the multidimensional Spider-Man trio, he was still the littlest brother. It was a pattern he was growing sick and tired of very rapidly.

“Ohokay!” he squeaked, twisting and flinching as Peter 3 poked at his belly. “Ihit—it worhorked! You dihid it! Ihi’m h-happy nahow! Youhou can stahahap!”

Peter 3’s fingers scurried up his sides before digging into his underarms, making Peter 1 arch his spine and screech like a pterodactyl. The older Peters laughed at him, causing his entire body to flush pink.

“Not so fast!” Peter 3 countered, squeezing and scribbling the kid’s ticklish armpits. “We’ve gotta make sure we get every last bit of those happy chemicals flowing through your brain before you’re off the hook.”

Peter kicked his legs and squirmed helplessly against Peter 2’s grip, howling with laughter. “AHAHAhack! Sh-SHIHITHAHAha!”

“That spot seems to release a pretty good deal of them,” Peter 2 observed with a chuckle.

With no other means to fight against his tormentors, Peter swung his knee into Peter 3’s back. Peter 3 recoiled with a scoff.

“Ow! Okay, that’s it.” He aimed his wrist at the kid’s ankles and fired a glob of webbing over them, trapping his feet against the floor. “Bad kicky spider legs get put in time out.”

Peter wriggled and writhed, but his feet were stuck in place. Now he was even more restrained, leaving his entire body open for Peter 3’s sinister fingers to tickle. This absurd predicament was getting worse by the second. “Noho! Noho mohore!” he implored, his face aching from smiling so long.

“Relax, buddy! We’re almost done.” He spidered his fingers above his tummy threateningly. “Just a couple more hypotheses I wanna test.”

To Peter’s horror, Peter 3 slipped his hands under his T-shirt and started scuttling his nails against his bare sides. Peter jolted, giggling hysterically, goosebumps prickling across his skin.

“EEEheeHEEK! Oho my GAHAHAD!”

“It boggles my mind that so many people could still hate you even after seeing your face,” Peter 3 said, grinning down at the cackling teenager. “Just look at that smile! What kind of heartless, evil person sees that and doesn’t immediately fall in love?”

Peter felt like he was going to erupt—once from laughing so ridiculously hard, and again because of the relentless teasing. Why did they have to be so goddamn patronizing? He was so getting them back for this.

Peter 3’s hands moved higher, tickling his defenseless midriff and ribs, furthering Peter’s desire to implode. His brain couldn’t focus on anything besides the ten merciless fingers needling his torso. His laughter was becoming frantic. He couldn’t stand it another second. He had to make them stop.

“M-MERHERCY!” he hiccuped, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes. “Thihis—ihis—TORHORTURE!”

“This is a bit mean,” Peter 2 conceded, watching the poor kid flush redder and redder as the tickle attack continued. By now, he was laughing so hard, the only actual sounds he was capable of producing were quick snorts and violent hiccups.

Peter 3 tickled his underarms a few seconds longer before lifting his hands off the winded teen. “All right, all right,” he said, allowing the boy to catch his breath. “Don’t go blacking out on us. The good news is, I think the science experiment worked: we’ve activated almost all of your body’s happy chemicals.”

Peter sagged against the ground, panting and giggling weakly. It was nice to see him look so smiley and carefree for a change—even if in reality, he was understandably pissed at them. His goofy, childish laughter really drove home how young this universe’s Spider-Man still was—a fact that was as endearing as it was heartbreaking.

“Almost all of them?” Peter 2 asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure we got ‘em all.”

Peter 3 shrugged. “Oh, sure, yeah, probably.” He lifted the kid’s shirt with an evil grin. “But, ya know, just to be safe—”

Peter stiffened. “Hehey—w-what’re you—EHAHAHAAAGH!”

Peter 3 leaned down and blew a big, fat raspberry right into his tummy. Peter screamed and flailed, the sensation sending shocks across his entire body. Peter 3 snickered at his frenzied reaction and did it again and again, sending the kid into a silent, hiccuping spiral in seconds.

Fortunately, Peter 2 was kind enough to release his arms while this was happening, granting the youngest Peter a fighting chance. As soon as he realized he was free, Peter pushed frantically at Peter 3’s head, which was caught underneath his shirt, desperate to make the raspberries end without accidentally hurting him.

“Pleehease STAHAP!” he cried, his belly fluttering with panicky laughter. “I prahamise I’m cured!”

Peter 3 laughed, wrestling to escape his shirt. “Sorry—got stuck for a minute!” He popped out a second later with a playful grin. “There we go. How ya feeling now? Happier, I hope?”

Peter 1 responded by shoving him to the floor, making Peter 3 giggle. “Nohot cool!” he exclaimed, residual laughter still thrumming through his system. He hugged himself around the middle, panting and dizzy and flustered to his core. “Oho my god. Th-that was…so uncalled for.”

“But it helped, didn’t it? No way you can laugh that hard and not feel at least slightly cheered up.”

“My sihides feel like they’re about to split,” Peter wheezed, his cheeks burning bright red. He rubbed his eyes, struggling to wipe the goofy grin off his face. “Oh man. I’m gohonna p-pass out…”

“I think it’s about time we all passed out for the night,” Peter 2 said, tearing the webbing off the kid's legs and offering him a hand. A few seconds went by before Peter 1 reluctantly accepted, rising unsteadily to his feet. “Sorry for teaming up on you like that, but it seemed like you needed a hard reset.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Peter chuckled shyly, kneading at his sore ribs. “I get the sentiment, but ugh—dohon’t ever do that again.”

“Quit acting like it didn’t work,” Peter 3 said smugly, giving his side a few quick pinches. “Look at yourself; you can’t stop smiling.”

Peter 1 leapt away from his touch with a squeal. “Hehey! Ehenough already!”

The two older Peters laughed brightly, making the youngest Peter bristle with embarrassment. Despite his protests, they wrapped him into a big, squishy hug, sandwiching their little brother between them.

“Why does it feel like you pioneered dimension-hopping technology just for the purpose of coming here to bully me?” Peter 1 grumbled through a half-smushed smile.

“Because that’s exactly what we did,” Peter 2 chuckled. He released Peter 1 from his hold and gripped his shoulders. “And to tell you you’re doing really great, that you’re a really strong person, we’re really proud of you, and we’re here for you.”

Peter smiled sheepishly, his face still rosy and warm. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Everything you guys have said and done for me. Minus the last five minutes.”

“Don’t mention it,” Peter 3 insisted, hooking an arm around his neck and giving him a playful noogie. Peter 1 scrunched up his nose and squirmed out of his grip.

“Lay off,” he giggled. “You’re making me miss the times I only knew one Spider-Man—me.”

“I don’t miss those times at all,” Peter 3 said, his face falling a little. “It was lonely, thinking I was the only one going through what I was going through.”

Peter 2 smiled somberly. “Me neither. It’s nice to know there are others out there who get it. Even if they’re entire universes away.”

Peter 1 glanced between the other Peters, wondering what it must feel like to come from a world that not only had just one Spider-Man, but no Avengers. Maybe no other superheroes at all. How isolating that would be. He imagined it was similar to what he was going through now, but also entirely different. At least he had other heroes to look up to here, to befriend, to depend on when things took a turn towards the apocalyptic. But these guys were in this fight completely alone.

Peter punched them both in the arm and grinned. “I'm glad I'm not alone, too. Feel free to stop by my universe anytime. I'd love to visit your home worlds. Maybe I could introduce you to some of the other heroes I’ve worked with.”

Peter 2 chuckled. “Thanks, but this whole multidimensional Spider-Man situation might be hard to explain.”

“Oh. True.”

“Besides, you two are probably way more fun to hang out with anyway. How often does a guy get to be around a couple of alternate versions of himself?”

“Hopefully a lot more in the near future,” Peter 3 said exuberantly.

Peter 2 turned to Peter 1 with an earnest smile. “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to feel like yourself again. I know it may not seem like it right now, but I promise you. You’ll get there.”

Peter nodded, scratching behind his ear, trying his best to swallow his emotions again. “I know.”

“We’ll stop by again soon. I’ll bring some more medical supplies next time. And a pack of dryer sheets. And maybe a couple more things of baking soda.”

“Okay,” the young hero giggled. “Thanks.”

“Don’t forget to talk to other people, Peter,” Peter 3 reminded him, pointing sternly. “You need to form some in-universe friendships. We’ll always be here, but still. That goes for Spider-Man and Peter Parker. Got it?”

Peter offered him a sardonic salute. “Aye aye, Cap’n.”

The older Spider-Men smiled at him and took a few steps back. “See ya around,” Peter 2 said, clicking a button on the high-tech remote in his hand. “Ease up on the patrols until those wounds are healed.”

The circle of fire reappeared behind them, swirling like a volcanic whirlpool, growing as tall as the ceiling and as bright as the sun in a matter of seconds. Peter shaded his eyes with one hand while waving goodbye with the other.

“Remember to smile, sunshine boy!” Peter 3 hollered as he jumped through the portal, throwing up double peace signs. “And if you can’t, I’ll be sure to remind you again! I love you!”

Peter rolled his eyes bashfully. Peter 2 chuckled and followed after Peter 3, disappearing into the ring of flickering flames. The opening sizzled and shifted, then spiraled in the opposite direction, spewing sparks across the floor as it shrunk smaller and smaller. It vanished in a puff of smoke, and Peter suddenly found himself standing in his shitty apartment again, alone. Alone, but not feeling it as viscerally as he had before.

When he finally went to bed that night, sleep came easier to him than it had in a long time. Maybe, eventually, the same would go for everything else in his life that currently felt so impossible. Maybe that old Parker joy would find him once again. And perhaps a new kind, too.

[tootiredmotel]

a different lover is not a sin

or: 5 times Dean didn't go to Pride + 1 time he did

Happy @starrynightdeancas gift exchange posting day!!! This one's for the wonderful and talented @andzia267 !!! Sending you all the hugs and good vibes, and I hope you enjoy it! And thank you Sophie for hosting all this, you're a rock star! <3

Read on ao3 or below / 5.5k words

CW: homophobia, queer used as a slur, john winchester being an asshole

1 - 1994

Dean was fifteen years old when he found out that being gay was something people could be proud of. It was early in the morning, they'd left their motel about 20 minutes before, and Sammy had fallen asleep in the backseat. The sun was just starting to completely show over the horizon, and they were driving through– or rather, struggling to get out of– Phoenix on their way to a possible poltergeist in Tucson. Every street they tried to take was blocked for the big event, and dozens of people already lined the sidewalks with colorful outfits and signs.

"Fuckin' queers," John grumbled in the seat next to him. "Never should'a thrown that damn brick."

Big banners overhead displayed "Stonewall 25: A Global Celebration of Pride". Dean made a mental note to hit up a library once they got to Tucson to look that up, "Stonewall". In the meantime, he was mesmerized staring out the window. Guys held hands, women kissed, everyone was practically vibrating with excitement. A black man in heels and a wig caught his gaze through the window and waved. Dean started to wave back, but his hand was harshly swatted back down.

"Do not," John said. "Don’t talk to them, don’t even look at ‘em. These people are sick in the head."

Dean focused his gaze on his lap until they were out of the city, and his mind wandered back to the gas station they stopped at the day before. He thought of the guy at the cash register that called him "cutie" and winked at him as he bought a candy bar for Sammy and beers for Dad with his fake ID. By Dad’s logic– which Dean trusted, of course–, that cashier, that queer, must've been sick in the head.

Then Dean remembered how his heart sped up, how his ears got hot, and how for a second he let himself think the cashier was kinda cute too. He realized he must also be sick in the head, and the thought was making him feel actually, physically sick. He felt like throwing up. Dad could never know.

Dean was fifteen years old when he learned that being gay actually wasn't something to be proud of.

---

2 - 2000

Dean was 21 years old when he learned the word “bisexual”. Dad had caught word of a ghoul case in lower Manhattan and sent Dean to take care of it. It was starting to get too hot and the streets were too crowded, but Dean was mostly glad to get a break from the constant fighting between Dad and Sammy.

Except it was June, and every time he turned a corner, there they were. The Pride parade flyers.

The second he spotted a rainbow he averted his gaze. He turned another corner and spotted another one. He avoided reading them at all costs. He heard Dad’s voice. Sick. Sick in the head.

For years now Dean had pretended he wasn’t sick. He pretended to not stare at Patrick Swayze too much whenever Dirty Dancing played on TV. He pretended like he didn't imagine what it would be like to kiss a guy, what stubble would feel like against his lips if he ever did.

He liked women. He could stick to women. He could live his whole life like that. And that meant he wasn’t totally sick, right? He wasn’t gay -gay if he liked girls.

But then what the hell was he? Would he even belong at one of these Pride things if he wanted to? He was probably a freak of nature. Even sicker than the rest of the bunch.

Curiosity got the best of him. He spared a glance at one of the flyers as he waited to cross the street.

Gays, lesbians, bisexuals, transexuals, ALL WELCOME

“Are you gonna go?” A voice next to him asked. ”It’s next weekend.” He was blond, pale, and a bit shorter than Dean.

“What? No! I don't swing that way,” Dean said, a bit too quickly and with too much bite.

The guy looked him up and down with a frown. “Geez, alright. Just askin’.”

He started to walk away, and Dean spoke up before he could stop himself.

“Hey man, wait.”

The guy stopped walking.

“Sorry, can I ask you something? Assuming you... know about this stuff?”

He seemed exasperated, but he turned anyway, willing to hear Dean out. Dean licked his lips, rubbed at the back of his neck, swallowed nervously. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, asking a stranger on the street about something so personal. At least the chances of meeting this person ever again were close to none.

“What’s bisexual?”

The guy’s features softened a bit. He seemed to understand something about Dean that so far Dean refused to acknowledge.

“It means you’re into more than one gender. And yes, you can do that,” the guy said. He flashed Dean a tight smile and then disappeared into the crowd.

Dean felt his hands go numb and balled them into fists, shoving them in his pockets. He took a deep breath through his nose. The guy said you. You are. You can.

The guy didn’t know what he was talking about. He knew nothing about Dean. He was wrong.

Or maybe he was right.

But he couldn’t be.

Dean couldn’t be… that.

Dean was 21 years old when he decided he wasn’t bisexual. He wasn’t anything. He was also 21 when he solved a case in record time (two days), just so he could book it out of New York before the next weekend arrived.

---

3 - 2004

By the time he was 25 years old, Dean knew he was bi. He hated it, he never spoke about it, and he ignored it as much as he could, but he was aware of it. And he knew he was bi because, at 25 years old, he’d already gone through two serious breakups, and they both equally sucked.

The first was Lee. He hunted with Dean and John for about a year, the second half of which Dean and Lee spent sneaking around and hooking up behind John’s back. It was fun, and hot, and exciting, and some of the best hookups he’d had up until that point in his life were with Lee.

But the thing is that it wasn’t just hooking up. They were close, and Dean liked him. A lot. They kissed for the first time after a particularly scary werewolf hunt in which Dean almost died, but John was more preoccupied with the mostly-unharmed victim than his own son. Dean and Lee rode in the backseat, bruised, bloody, and quiet. When John went to walk the victim up to her apartment, Lee reached over and placed a hand on Dean’s back, asking him if he was okay. Dean fell into Lee’s arms, and they kissed as they pulled away from the embrace, soft and comforting. It was Dean’s first kiss with a guy.

Lee was a lot of firsts for Dean over the next few months. But then John almost caught them once, drunk and making out in the Impala.

And then that case in Arizona went wrong, and Lee just couldn’t take it anymore. He packed up, swore off hunting, hugged Dean goodbye, and left him in the dust.

Dean needed to clear his head after that. He could barely look his dad in the eye after that close call, couldn't let him see the sorrow he was feeling. With every interaction, he imagined how John would yell at him, probably try to beat it out of him, if he noticed all he was feeling over Lee. Or worse, John could ignore him, practically disown him like he did Sam.

So he also packed up and left. Went hunting on his own for a while.

It was on one of those hunts that he met Cassie, and she was yet another handful of firsts for Dean over the course of a few months. She was amazing, and he fell hard and fast, but of course that went up in flames too.

Then again, he should've known better than to be honest. Honesty only ever got him in trouble.

He’d just left her back in Ohio and was working at a bar in Indianapolis for a few weeks to make some cash. He’d eventually meet back up with Dad. He just couldn’t right now. Not with Sam gone to college. Not after getting his heart broken twice over within a year.

He was hyper-aware of the end of June approaching. He knew it was coming, Indy had a pretty big celebration, and he made sure to be working all day that day so he wouldn't have to face it.

That was pointless, though. Toward the end of the day, a big group of about ten or twelve people who were clearly coming from the parade stumbled into the bar. One of them was apparently the owner’s little sister and they went there every year after the celebrations. They were loud, and obnoxious, and looked incredibly happy. Their happiness was contagious, and Dean loved serving them. He chatted them up, got to know them a bit, and heard all about the parade, all while staring down anyone at the bar who dared look their way with even the slightest stink eye.

But watching them that happy and comfortable, seeing not one, but two pairs of guys sloppily leaning against each other and sharing the occasional kiss while none of their friends seemed to bat an eye… something in Dean ached. Deeply.

Dean was 25 years old when he realized that a small part of him kind of, sort of, wanted to be part of this community. He couldn’t though. Not if he wanted to be on good terms with Dad. Not if he aimed to be the man Dad wanted him to be.

He left Indianapolis the next day.

---

4 - 2008

Dean was 29 years old and on his own personal highway to hell when he learned his brother went to a Pride parade before he ever did. They were driving through San José, the streets were lined with ads for Silicon Valley Pride, and Sam just casually decided to mention how fun it was the last time he went.

Thankfully they were at a red light, or else Dean probably would’ve slammed the breaks. He twisted to look at Sam head-on, his arm on the back of the seat.

“You what ?” he gawked.

Sam shrugged innocently. “What?”

“You went to one of these Pride things?”

“Yeah, dude.”

Dean’s brain was just trying and failing to load. “Why?” he finally asked.

“Jessica was in the GSA and some friends invited us. It was awesome.”

“She was in the what?”

“The G. S. A.,” Sam answered slowly. “Gay-Straight Alliance.”

“Oh.” Whatever that is, Dean thought. He kept eyeing the flyers. It was tomorrow.

“Green.”

“What?”

“Light’s green. Green means go.”

Dean rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

He kept driving and turned up the radio. Somebody To Love was playing, and as much as he liked Queen, he had to change the station. He tried to picture his little brother (his straight little brother) wearing rainbow face paint and having the time of his life at this thing. How come Sammy got to go when Dean could barely entertain the idea? Dean was the not-straight one. It wasn’t fair.

He channeled his jealousy into gripping the steering wheel.

“You okay, Dean?”

“Yeah.” No. “Yeah, m’fine.”

Dean was 29 years old when he died and went to hell without ever having gone to a Pride parade, knowing that his idiot ( straight! ) little brother already had.

---

5 - 2014

Dean was alive again and 35 years old (75, if you count hell) when he was formally invited to a Pride parade for the first time. It was a couple of days after that whole mess with Cas in Lucifer’s crypt, and he called Charlie. He just wanted to hear her voice, needed to know he was still on good terms with at least one of his best friends.

“So anyway,” Charlie said after a while of recounting what she’d been up to. "How single are you right now? My answer is: miserably."

Dean chuckled. Then he thought of Cas, and the smile disappeared. "Yeah, you and me both, sister."

“Would you mind coming with me to this thing next month? Going alone kinda sucks.”

Dean put the phone on speaker and placed it on the library table as he sat down with a beer. “What’s the thing?”

“Pride.”

Dean was glad no one was around to see him almost choke on his drink.

“You good?”

“Yeah, what was that?”

“Pride parade. Don’t have anyone to go with this year.”

“Why uh… Why? Why me?”

She knows.

“I dunno.”

She knows she knows she knows.

“You’re my friend, Dean. Thought maybe you might be interested. But never mind, I guess.”

And while all the alarms in Dean's head were blaring danger danger danger abort, he also hated to hear Charlie so disappointed.

“Hey, no, listen, Charlie, I… I would. Really. You know I support you, wholeheartedly." And that's obviously the only reason I would want to go. "But with Sam doing these trials, and Cas on the run with the angel tablet–”

“It’s okay Dean, I get it. Talk to you soon?”

“Yeah.”

And she hung up.

Dean knew, at this point, that there was nothing wrong with being queer. It wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, and it sure as hell didn’t mean you were wrong in the head or whatever.

But years of pretending to be a false version of yourself in an effort to please a man who was impossible to please wasn’t exactly an easy habit to break. As much as he wished it didn't, as much as he wished he could just exist, the thought of anyone finding out still made him sick to the stomach.

John’s voice still echoed in his ears. His words still drove Dean’s sense of self-worth and so many of his decisions. He tried to never stare at a good-looking guy for too long. He tried to not get too into it with Benny. He tried to keep his feelings for Cas at bay, tried to keep him at arm's length, tried to keep the fact that he was in love (deeply, stupidly in love) as close to his chest as he could.

Even that night at the crypt choking out the words to get through to Cas, he couldn’t bring himself to say what he meant. I love you, he’d wanted to say, because it was the truth. What came out, however, was I need you. And he did, he needed Cas more than air, but it wasn't quite everything.

It still got his heart split in two.

Was he so far gone over Cas that he couldn’t hide it? Had he been trying so hard and failing just as miserably this whole time? Was his attraction to dudes that obvious? Or did Charlie just have a sixth sense for this kinda thing?

It was probably the last one. He hoped it was.

Cas knew, for sure. Angels knew everything right? They could read minds, feel longing, or whatever. And if none of that ever tipped him off, well, Dean put it all on the line back in that crypt. He told Cas how he felt, told him he needed him, tried putting himself out there, and it got him left. Again. With Dean, it was always leave-or-get-left when it came to love. He was tired of it.

Dean was 35 years old, desperately in love with his best friend, and truly heartbroken for the third time in his life, when his other best friend– an out and proud lesbian– gave him a chance to go to Pride, to break through his shell, to finally embrace himself as he was; but because he was practically living in the closet, he couldn’t seem to find the handle after so many years of purposefully ignoring its existence, and he missed his chance. Besides, what was the point of going to a celebration of love without the love of his life by his side?

---

+1 - 2021

Dean is now 42 years old and the happiest he’s ever been. The love of his life? Cas? Turns out he’s felt the same way all along. They're kind of together now, and slowly but surely they’re working through a decade’s worth of shit.

They’ve been raising a kid together too, along with Sam and Eileen, and that kid is also God. After saving the world and whatnot, Jack decided to bring back some of their friends and family that died over the years: Mary, Kevin, Charlie. Yes, there are two Charlies now, but it’s not as confusing as you’d expect. (One is from another dimension, and the other one is Dean’s little sister. Simple.) Mary’s off hunting most of the time and Kevin’s applying to college.

They’ve got extended family now too, Jody and the girls. OG Charlie is staying with them for now, while she finds her footing. Most of that household is queer. Most of Dean's household is queer as well, actually. Turns out both Jack and Eileen are non-binary, Cas is gay in the broader sense of the word, and Dean…

Dean is bi. And everyone knows now.

Apparently, a lot of people had known for a long time. Sam has known since the siren back in ‘09 (even though Dean stands by the fact that it wasn’t like that, Sammy ), and everyone has slowly picked up on his and Cas’s thing over the years, so there’s that.

He still feels a bit weird about it. About calling Cas his boyfriend, about having the freedom to hold his hand in public, about the fact that they now have goddamn pride flags hung around the bunker. He feels even weirder about the fact that John’s voice in his head is now drowned out by the sounds of his home life, more lively and supportive than he ever expected to have.

He wasn’t expecting any of this, he didn’t think everything would change so fast. But when you spend the better part of your life pushing down such a huge part of you and then finally give yourself an out, a chance to show the people who love you who you really are, everything just... follows.

Love follows. Acceptance follows. Family follows. And he wasn’t really expecting any of it.

He certainly doesn’t expect it when Cas walks into the library after his weekly Thursday evening call with Claire and announces, matter-of-factly and with air quotes, “We’re going to "Pride" this weekend.”

Dean’s stomach drops. It’s the Sioux Falls Pride Parade and Festival, it’s in two days, and they’re leaving tomorrow to spend the night at Jody’s so they can all be there bright and early Saturday morning. Everyone immediately starts bustling about, packing and planning outfits and gathering flags to bring with them.

Dean just goes to his room– his and Cas’s now– to pack a small duffle.

Well, he means to. Instead, he takes out the duffle from the closet, puts it on the bed, and sits next to it for a while. An hour goes by. He thinks back to all those times he had brushes with one of these things and was just never in the right mindset. He’s not even sure he’s in the right mindset now, but he’s going. It’s happening.

“Jack’s all ready to go,” Cas says when he walks in. “We spent about half an hour putting together an outfit for Saturday. He wanted it to be as colorful as possible.”

Dean smiles, but it’s not all there. He looks at the empty duffle next to him.

“Yeah, I might need some help with that myself.”

Cas is in sweats and a hoodie. Yes it’s June, yes it’s hot, but he’s a quasi-angel, and the way he experiences the world Dean will never be able to wrap his head around. He walks over and stands in front of Dean, running a hand through his hair and down the side of his face until he’s cupping Dean’s jaw. Dean takes Cas’s hand and leaves a few kisses on the inside of his wrist, closing his eyes as he does.

Cas regards the empty bag and hums quietly, as if in thought, before walking over to their closet. Dean chases his hand, holding onto it until he’s completely out of reach. Cas starts searching, and Dean’s stomach knots more and more with each clang of the hangers. Cas finally pulls out a flannel from its hanger– purple with hints of blue and pink– and tosses it over. Dean can’t believe he didn’t think of it first.

They continue to pack in comfortable silence before changing and getting into bed. Dean doesn’t flop onto his stomach or cuddle into Cas’s side as he usually does; instead, he lies on his back and stares at the ceiling in a daze.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice snaps him out of it.

Dean turns his head and asks, automatically, “You okay?”

It’s a habit by now, asking each other that question. It’s part of the working-through-a-decade’s-worth-of-shit thing they’re doing. Turns out they share a whole lot of trauma. They share worries and insecurities. They share nightmares sometimes, mostly about the Empty.

“I’m okay,” Cas says, putting his hand on top of Dean’s heart for him to hold, and Dean can breathe a little easier.

“You nervous about this thing?” Dean asks, interlocking their fingers.

“The parade? No, not really.”

And then, because he's been working on communicating how he's feeling out loud or whatever, Dean looks back up at the ceiling and says, "I am. Kinda."

He feels Cas shifting and propping himself up on his elbow, and then he's in Dean's line of sight. Dean's gaze is drawn to him, like all of him has been since the moment they met, and Dean can't believe he just has this now. He has a boyfriend, and it's Cas, and he's looking down at Dean with stars in his eyes and a comforting smile that actually works because it's Cas.

And then Cas is leaning down and softly pressing their lips together, and that's also something Dean can’t believe he gets to do: kiss Cas good morning and good night and at any moment in between, kiss him I'm sorry, kiss him we're going to be okay, kiss him I love you.

"I love you too, Dean," Cas says once they've pulled away, and Dean didn't even realize he'd said it out loud, but it doesn't matter. "And you don't need to be nervous. I'll be there with you."

The thought should be a thousand times more nerve-wracking, not just going to Pride but going to Pride with Cas on his arm. It's not nerve-wracking at all, and he soon drifts off to sleep.

Friday goes by faster than it should. The six-hour drive to Sioux Falls, although packed in a car with five people, goes by in a blink. They stop for provisions before getting to Jody's, filling up on backpacks' worth of snacks.

They get to the house and are met with endless hugs and excitement to match. Patience, Alex, and Jody are already working on dinner for the bunch, while Charlie, Donna, and Kaia are running around prepping for the next day and dragging along a hesitant but nevertheless happy Claire. Dinner is chaotic and loud and there are way too many people at the table, and Dean has to step outside after a while.

He sits on the back porch steps. Claire joins him. She's holding a beer, he's not. He hasn't been drinking for a few months now. They don't talk, but she leans her head on his shoulder and they stay there a while, looking at the stars.

When they go back inside, Claire sits back down in her spot at Cas's left, across the table from Dean, and leans on his shoulder for a while too. It's her way of saying she cares, of saying I missed you without really saying it. Jack sits at Cas's right, talking excitedly with Patience about some tv show or other, and the image fills Dean with such fondness that he reaches over with his foot, presses it to Cas's ankle, and keeps it there for the rest of the night.

Dean, Cas, Jack, Sam, and Eileen spend the night spread out around in the living area while the girls sleep in their respective rooms, and Dean is only slightly less nervous as he falls asleep holding Cas’s hand.

---

The nerves all come flooding back as he’s parking the Impala the next morning.

They’re not able to get even remotely close to Phillips Avenue since the streets are so full. They park the three cars that all twelve of them came in as close as they can and then have to walk for another twenty minutes. From blocks and blocks away, people walk and holler and greet them excitedly, many of them trying to circle this swarm of flanneled individuals that are taking up a whole sidewalk. Granted, Dean and Claire are the only ones in their usual kind of outfit. The rest of the bunch is wearing as many colors as they could compile from their closets, half of them are wearing face paint, and the other half are carrying an assortment of pride flags.

They fit right in.

The walk toward the main avenue of the parade is kind of a blur for Dean. He knows he waved at a few people, some friends of Alex from high school joined the group at some point, and Jack already grabbed a snack from his backpack.

The actual parade is also kind of hazy. Getting out of the house that morning had been probably even more chaotic than the night before, so they’re a bit late and the parade has already been going for a good half hour. On top of that, they accidentally merge into it not quite at the starting point but a bit further down the road, in between a decked-out pickup truck and a group of people with dogs. Music is blaring, the dogs are all barking, a big float rides a few yards in front of them, and hundreds stand on the sidewalks recording on their phones and cheering them along.

Dean’s not sure they’re even supposed to be in the actual parade. Maybe they’re supposed to be on the sidewalks? Is this right? What is happening, what is he even doing here?

He doesn’t notice how heavy he’s breathing until Cas is squeezing his hand and beckoning him to meet his eyes. He does, and the blue in them, as imposing as the Atlantic, drowns out everything else around them. “You’re okay, my love,” Cas says. It’s a fact. As long as Dean is with him, he’s okay.

On his other side, Dean feels someone link their arm around his. It’s Charlie, and she’s beaming at them, her cheeks almost as red as her hair. It brings Dean back to reality, grounds him, but he’s okay now. He’s not alone, and he’s meant to be here.

He’s proud to be here.

The parade leads up to a sloping park, and at the lowest point of it, there’s a stage where Dean assumes someone will MC for the afternoon, or maybe perform. It’s grandiose in its simplicity, kind of like a Greek theater, with everyone settling down on the grass around it, expectantly.

“We’ll be right back,” Dean hears Sam say, and he turns to find they’re all set to spend the afternoon, towels laid and backpacks off (save for his). “Jack wants to go meet the drag queens,” Sam says with just a bit too much glee before he and Jack take off.

“It’s not just Jack,” Eileen smiles and follows.

Cas is already sitting, eating one of the PB&Js he packed as lunches for everyone. Jody and Donna are settling down as well and Charlie’s taking a dozen pictures, but the rest of the girls are all standing. “We’re gonna go check out the vendors,” Claire announces, and they start to take off as well.

“Be careful, please!” Dean calls after them, but they pay him no mind. He turns to Charlie. “Hey, your majesty, keep an eye on them will you?”

She smiles, bows gracefully, and heads in the same direction.

Jody stands and grabs Dean by the arm, beckoning him to talk in private for a second.

“What’s up?”

If Dean knows Jody at all, and he does, they’re on the brink of a mom talk.

“Look around, Dean.”

“What for?”

“Just look,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Please?”

So, at her request, Dean starts taking in the environment. Now that everyone is gathered, he can actually see all the people that came out (heh) for the event. There are church groups, pet shelters, skateboarders, and rollerskaters. Drag queens are already taking pictures by the stage, and at least two people are wearing unicorn heads. A few vendors’ tents and food trucks surround the park, and rainbows completely dominate the scenery. There are elders, and kids, and all kinds of families and couples, and everyone looks… happy. Free.

And Dean is here with them. He is one of them.

There’s no danger, no monsters of any kind. No one to judge him, hurt him, call him sick in the head.

He finds Claire’s blonde head amongst the sea of shoppers at the edge of the park. She’s holding hands with Kaia and has one of the biggest smiles Dean has ever seen on her face. There’s no shame in it, and she’s not in any danger either. Things are different now, and she has the freedom to be herself that he never had at her age.

He has it now too. He can be himself.

Dean doesn’t realize he’s about to cry until Jody pulls him down into a hug.

“Dean, I am so proud of you.”

And then he cries.

---

They spend the afternoon laying on the grass, eating, drinking, and enjoying the festivities. The girls come back from the vendors’ tents after a full hour, and most of the bags on their arms are Charlie’s. She gets Cas a mug that says bee yourself in rainbow colors with an image of a cartoon bee, and she gets Dean a button pin that says AC/DC in pink and blue. There’s a meaning behind that apparently, and Dean decides he’ll look it up later.

Jack memorizes all the drag queen’s names. Donna takes a million pictures. They trade numbers with a few people.

There’s a big fireworks show just after sundown. It starts to get windy and a bit chilly, so Dean grabs the nearest pride flag and wraps it around himself. Cas, the perpetual freak who just doesn’t feel temperature apparently, is wearing a t-shirt and shorts and smiling at him unabashedly.

“What?”

“That’s the bisexual flag.”

So it is. “Shut up,” Dean says, but he’s smiling too. “You want in on this?”

He doesn’t wait for Cas to respond before he wraps it around his shoulders as well. The fireworks continue.

“You know,” Cas says after a beat. “As beautiful as they are, pyrotechnics are extremely damaging to the environment.”

Dean can’t help but laugh because of course, Cas would say something like that in a moment like this. He laughs and laughs and regrets being the only one to have heard that; then again, he’s the only one who could’ve found that funny.

He laughs a bit more, wipes a tear, and sees that Cas is still just solemnly watching the show.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” He replies and then turns his head.

Dean wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him so bad. Then he remembers where he is, physically and in his life right now, realizes whom he’s surrounded by at this very second, and decides that he can.

So he does. It’s not unlike the way he kissed Cas when they rescued him from the Empty. Granted, there’s less sweat, blood, adrenaline. But just like that day, they’re both on the ground, and the gesture catches Cas by surprise. Just like that day, Dean pulls Cas in gently by the back of his neck and there’s no hesitance or fear. Just like that day, he just does it, presses their lips firmly together, and relishes in the taste of Castiel, in the feeling of the person he loves most in this world kissing him back.

The one big difference is this: that day marked the beginning of the rest of his life. Today? Today is just Dean’s first Pride.

[sailorhyunjinz]

~ ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕣!𝔽𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕩 ~

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: SMUT! sub!felix x gn!reader. Pillowhumping, panty sniffing, exhibitionism?? (getting caught alright?), masturbation (m), orgasm (m), cum, dumbification, hickies, mommy/daddy kink, sliiight humiliation, sliiight fear kink. 

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 1,6 k (oops...me intending on the series being drabbles)

ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖: clothes don’t have gender and so that is why this is gn!reader.

also sorry for everyone that wants to see felix as pure. we dont do pure in this household AKSHASJKASH

Felix looked up at the clock in boredom. 

“20 minutes left” 

He mumbled under his breath, impatiently shaking his leg as he zapped through multiple TV channels, trying to find something to pass time and distract from his ever growing that created a tent inbetween his legs. The minutes on the clock ticked unsufferably as his erection became harder to ignore. His hand trailed down his abdomen eventually landing on his bulge as he palmed himself through the rough fabric of his black jeans. Felix knew you’d be mad but his desire for release was stronger than his pride leading him to turn off the TV and sneaking into the bedroom. 

The room was a mess. Disorganised piles of papers and mugs that had been left in the window sill were crowding up the cozy room. With not a care in the world he stripped himself off his pants and underwear, pulling them down swiftly, causing his dick to spring free from their clothed prison. The pretty pink tip beaded with precum as veins cascaded down his length, the cold air brushing up against it causing shivers down Felix’s spine.  

He layed down in the unmade bed, shuffling under the covers as he took one of the many pillows that decorated the bed and straddled it, putting the soft fabric against his already twitching dick as he covered himself with the duvet. His sweet release waited for him but before he could begin humping the pillow like the dirty puppy he was Felix noticed something hanging off the side of the bed. He stretched his arm out to grab the piece of fabric, his gentle eyes widening upon realizing what he held in his grasp;

A pair of light pink lace panties.

He let out a questionable scoff, laughing at your disorganized self that happened to leave stuff everywhere, almost as if you made a trail with your belongings. Funny enough, those were Felix’s favorite panties on you. The thought of the semi-see through panties hugging your plump butt didn’t help with his painful erection that was resting against the pillow. 

Hesitantly, he lifted the fabric closer to his face, being hit with your familliar smell. His breath hitched, momentarily scared that you’d walk in and see him smelling your underwear like a creep. After many hesitant glances at the door he placed the soft fabric on the pillow, his sensitive head rubbing against it as he shifted in a quest to find a comfortable position. 

Small whines escaped his soft parted lips as his hips rolled against the pillow, the friction making Felix bunch up his fists. The contrast between the soft pillow beneath him and his rock-hard erection made the boy roll his head backwards, his neck on full display as his adams apple bobbed, harshly swallowing from the suspense his looming orgasm brought. 

“mhm,,, y-y/n,, j-just like that”

The horny boy kept on blabbering incoherently, occasionally forming a sentence as his pace increased, the crimson tip leaking with a string of precum, creating a wet patch on the pillowcase. His mind was clouded with thoughts of you, more specifically of you naked, standing infront of him as you pushed him down onto the bed. How your hair fell in your face as you looked down at the poor boy that was whimpering for you wrapped around him, so desperatly wanting to be inside you. His whines turned to moans as his dick was helplessly rubbing against the pillow, imagining that you were here to see how dirty of a boy he is. 

“f-faster y/n,,, pleaseee~” 

His breathing got heavier as his orgasm was approaching faster than he thought, his abdomen tightening as a flash of heat spread throughout his body. His knuckles whitened upon holding the pillow, bunching up the fabric in his small hands. A haphazardly smile contorted on his lips that were now red from him biting them repeatedly, trying to stifle the loudest of many moans. 

Felix didn’t succeed in that since the faint moans hit your ears as soon as you stepped into house. This was unusual for Felix. He was always such a good boy for you, letting you ruin him however you pleased so for him to masturbate behind your back made you wonder how much he’d fantasied about you. 

“y-yn,,, im gonna c-cum,,, please” he stuttered out, his eyes tightly shut as his hips slamming against the pillow that was decorated with your panties.

“Don’t think so” you clicked your tongue, lifting up Felix’s face by his chin. A tiny shriek ensued in the room, Felix hopelessly pulling the covers in order to cover up his shameful act. 

“W-when did you...?” He tilted his head, confused and pale as a ghost. 

“Since when did you have a thing for panties?” you asked, pointing at the bit of lace fabric that was sticking out from under the duvet. A bright blush fanned out on his freckled cheeks, his hand hastly grabbing the fabric and hiding it inside of his duvet fort which he surrounded himself with. You laughed at his pathetic attempt to hide away from your sharp gaze. The weight of the bed shifted as you sat down, putting a hand on his back and smiling at him before you snatched the lace fabric from his grasp, making him throw himself after your now standing figure. 

“What? You want these?” you swinged the panties in front of his wide eyed face, his brows furrowed upon your humiliating laugh. 

“G-give them back!” he stammers nervously, his ears turning a deep shade of red as he looks up at you from the bed. 

“They’re even wet” you cooed at the boy, feeling the fabric in your right hand, looking briefly at the panties before looking at the blushing boy whose gaze had dropped to the carpeted floor.

“Did you cum, babyboy?” 

Your voice ringed in Felix’s head as he quickly shook his head, his sweet brown eyes filling with dispair, desperate to feel you. You inched closer to the boy, bending down to look in his teary eyes, his orgasm in ruins. 

“Open,,, ahh-” 

You grabbed his face in one hand, prying his mouth open by squeezing his hot cheeks. His eyes twinkled as his mouth opened, shoving the panties into him. He tried to complain, whining but only being able to get out a couple of muffled sounds. 

“You’re way prettier when you shut up, lixie” 

He nods diligently, quietly slipping his hand to his sore dick underneath the covers. The covers moved slightly from his hand pumping his length and it didn’t take much time until you realized what he was doing. Yanking the covers from him you saw his throbbing dick, his hand wrapped around it as the tip glistened in the light. His hand rested on the fluffy pillow as he swallowed harshly, scared of what cruel fate awaited him. 

“Ride it”

Your voice was deadpan. Fear crawled in Felix’s skin as his whole body froze. 

“You must be stupid babyboy, I said ride it” 

You tsked, putting an emphasis on the last two words to which Felix snapped out of his lewd thoughts, shaking his head slightly, causing the part of the panties sticking out of his mouth to shake with him. His hips timidly yet again rolled against the cushion, his arms shaking from supporting himself as he felt the contact he’d been yearning for, rutting infront of you like a puppy. His hair bounced in his face, the poor boy sweating bullets underneath your intense stare. 

The orgasm for earlier made it’s way back, causing a tight knot to form in his abdomen which could unravel at slightest touch. You traced lightly along his thigh with your fingertip, goosebumps forming on his skin as a couple of muffled whines were let out from between his soft lips. His inaudible murmur got louder, eventually calling out your name weakly. 

“mommy/daddy,,, p-please” 

He clenched his jaw, biting down brutally on the thin fabric as the tension in his stomach built up from your touch. You leaned down to the side of his head, putting your lips on his ear before nibbling on it slightly, your hand automatically wrapping around his flushed neck. The bed shook from his slamming of the hips, hunting down his heavenly release. 

“hnng,,,mhhhm,,” 

Felix was struggling to keep himself focused on not spilling his seed everywhere, wanting to appear perservering infront of you but failing as his body cowers over the pillow, rounding his shoulders. The poor boys shakes as his pace quickened, longwinded whines dripping down his fragile body. 

You could tell that he was close by the way his spine arched forward, the cold air hitting his already erect nipples. You moved down to his neck, placing light butterfly kisses over his warm neck, licking tiny strokes before placing your lovebites precisely, marking him as yours. The last couple of grinds were uneven, the red tip leaking all over the pillow as his dick pulsated. The knot in his stomach resolved, melting him into a whiny puddle of hormones. Felix’s entire body shook as the white liquid trickled down his tip and creating a wet stain on the pillow. The overwhelmed boy panted heavily, his figure leaning into your arms slowly, wanting nothing more but to cuddle and make you forget about his sinful action but you had other plans. As soon as the thousands of small sparks in his brain went out and his eyes were no longer clouded with lust you removed the panties from his mouth, the poor boy panting and coughing. 

“t-thank you,,, mommy/daddy,,, i’ll-”

You scoffed causing Felix to feel scared once again, scared that he’d done something wrong. The panties were now slightly damp, coated by his saliva and bunched up into a ball in your tight grasp. Felix’s doe eyes dilated upon hearing the words coming out of your mouth. 

“I’d think you’d cuter wearing these” 

[darkandstormyart]

Xicheng fic recs

(figured i might make a list of my own)

(to be expanded as i dig out more treasure/remember stuff)

in no particular order:

Deep as the Yearning Night by FreckledStarKnight

“At first, it was pure chance. The second time was accidental. And the third time? Well, they say the third time’s the charm, after all. Lan Xichen discovers that Jiang Wanyin sings beautifully and is immediately enamored by it. His pursuit of Jiang Wanyin’s secret talent leads to a discovery and a series of events that he did not anticipate at all. Not that he’s complaining, of course. He got what he came for and more. Or, how two sect leaders get together through the song called love. CQL-verse.“

post-seclusion lxc

trying to get jc to sing

bonus lxc & jin ling feels i hadn’t considered before

cute

Always use protection by hesselives

“In which Lan Wangji attempts to hire a new bodyguard for his older brother, a well-known traveling exorcist. Jiang Wanyin doesn’t even make his carefully considered list of Top Ten Candidates, and yet here he is.

Lots of wandering in the countryside, distant yelling, and mildly inconvenient spirits.”

bodyguard au

honestly just really intersting worldbuilding

Rewrite the stars by Arashii

“Five great kingdoms have been fighting for years and when the kingdom of Yunmeng is destroyed, the Crown Prince Jiang Cheng vanishes.In Gusu, Lan Xichen makes an offer impossible for Jiang Cheng to refuse. His life or revenge? There’s only one option and Jiang Cheng swears loyalty to the man he hated the most his whole life, the Crown Prince of Gusu, Lan Xichen himself.Written for XiChengFest2020 - Day 4“

ROYALTY AU ROYALTY AU

enemies to lovers!

flashbacks! i love flashbacks so much ohmygod

No paths are bound by Arashii

“In seclusion, Lan Huan has the support of a ghost no one has seen since the massacre of Yunmeng Jiang. His feelings start changing with the often visits and conversations they share. Before Lan Huan can confess though, he ascends, leaving everything and everyone behind him.

Two hundred years later, back to the Human Realm and without powers, the Martial God Zewu-Jun has a mission to uphold. His Heavenly Calamity started. The clues are little and the support comes in the most unexpected form, the current Ghost King: Sandu Shengshou. Now they need to stick together to contain a menace that is slowly growing.“

TGCF AU TGCF AU

ghost king jiang cheng come on

doesn’t follow tgcf plot, just the setup so no spoilers

jiang cheng gets the dogs and the xichen he deserves

once upon a dream by cafedeolla

“Xicheng soulmate AU

An au where your dreams are small snippets of your soulmate’s day. They’d show small things like buying coffee, reading a book, or hanging out with people from their perspective.

The problem was that people always have expectations and Jiang Cheng knows he always falls short of them. Time and time again.“

soulmate au, but being soulmates is more a problem than a solution

misunderstandingssss all over the place

now with a squel (in progress?)

Lan Furen series by jagaimocchi

“Jiang Cheng leaves Lotus Pier before the Wen Internment Camp and before the destruction of his home. When he meets Lan Xichen on the run from the Wens after the burning of Cloud Recesses, his plan to live a peaceful life away from cultivation sects is quickly derailed. Now, free to make his own choices, he cannot find it in himself to leave the other man's side.

With love, patience and time, Jiang Cheng finds his own happiness and peace with his past.“

have you ever wanted a fic where jiang cheng peaces out from home in search for a better life, bc he’s Had Enough??? jags got you covered

adorable xicheng

good uncle-dad-figure Lan Qiren

ongoing <3

Just around the riverbend by JungleJelly

“One day.

Jiang Cheng just wanted one day of peace and quiet, away from home, away from his responsibilities, away from his idiot brother and his nutcases of a mother and father. Just a few hours alone — him and a boat and nothing else.

Clearly, that was too much to ask for.”

now with a new story in the series which is adorable too!!!

mermaid!lxc need i say more?

Bad ideas (where they lead) by JungleJelly

“Jiang Cheng is a busy man. Fortunately, he is also a huge pushover when it comes to his sister, so when she recommends that he start doing yoga, he agrees pretty easily.Featuring Lan Xichen in yoga pants, Jiang Cheng’s inability to handle a crush, and, perhaps most importantly, a big fluffy dog.“

done for 2020 MXTX MiniBang

yoga instructor Lan Xichen

Jiang Cheng is: struggling with a crush on the yoga guy from youtube & very angry about that

If there’s a price for rotten judgement by TheWanderingHeart

“All Jiang Cheng wants to do is, well... his job, really. Other than that? Keep the city safe, keep his nephew alive, keep his sanity intact (if possible).

So when his brother calls with unexpected news, he knows all of that is about to fly out of the window.

***

[Every instinct is telling him don’t ask, you don’t want to know. By this point, Nie HuaiSang has scooted closer to listen. Jiang Cheng takes a steadying breath and pulls out his antacids. “What did you do?”]”

superhero au, come on

jc just trying to do his job in peace

(he can’t)

i love it so much oh my god *sobs*

The Form of Boneless Ice by TheWanderingHeart

“Mythical beasts have long ago been driven to extinction by the gentry — hunted for sport, but more importantly for their magical cores. Since then, there remains only one creature that has never been caught. The Jiang’s retreated a long time ago. Abandoning land altogether, they sought safety where the humans could not reach.It all comes to a head though, purely by chance. (Or is it by fate that a spontaneous decision allows for them to meet? If fate were a rock!) Jiang Cheng suddenly finds his whole life balanced on the head of a pin — on the flimsy promise of a human boy. In his opinion, things cannot possibly get worse!(But then they do when the Wens decide it’s finally time to search for the elusive merpeople, and suddenly nowhere is safe.)“

there she goes again, with another beautiful xicheng story full of awwww and mythology

actually one of the first xicheng fics i read

i chose it because there were mermaids

painfully accurate takes on Jiang family dynamics

kids! lots of kids!

Let me Slytherin to Your Heart by TheWanderingHeart

“Jiang Cheng never thought he'd return to Hogwarts, but in hindsight, he probably should have known that someday he would.With his nephew about to start school, he reluctantly takes his good friend's bad parenting? career? advice and ends up tumbling head-first back into the madness that he hoped he'd left behind... and rediscovering some feelings he thought he'd left behind too.“

Harry Potter au!

just really fecking cute

lots of snakes

[I am not going to link all of Jo’s fics, though I probably could, just my 3 favourites. UOSB is there by default]

Talent Hunt Crew Finds Angry Guy Shouting On College Campus, Recruits Him For Vocal Projection Abilities by oh_fudgecakes

“Jiang Cheng, resident Angry Guy and heir to a conglomerate empire, has never been the apple of his father’s eye. Quashed under the shadow of his brilliant brother, the music prodigy Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng sees his chance to turn things around when he is recruited by the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt. One problem: he can’t sing to save his goddamn life.As he struggles to develop his nascent singing abilities, Jiang Cheng finds himself sucked into the whirlwind drama of reality TV, helped along by his adoring siblings, his irritable vocal coach Wen Qing, and strangely enough, the unfairly attractive host of the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt, Lan Xichen. Somewhere in the glare of the stage lights and an unexpected first love, Jiang Cheng stumbles upon the thing he was searching for all along: the courage to dream — and to attempt the impossible.“

done for 2019 MXTX Big Bang

uuuuuuuuuuh i might have cried maybe

heartwarming? painful at times? lots of family love?

slowburn xicheng being lovely

The Provenence of Hope series by velithya

“A chance meeting on a night hunt sets a course of events into motion that will change everything. Featuring Xicheng getting together, recovery for Lan Xichen, healing for Jiang Cheng, and always, always, hope.“

got everything. feels. hope. love. ~~healing~~

A Small Measure of Peace by Sandstone112

“With his brother in seclusion, Lan Xichen finds himself in temporary custody of his nephew with little to no expertise in the child-raising department. Uncertain and alone, Zewu-Jun is willing to do everything to be the person Yuan needs—even if it means inviting Sandu Shengshou to a playdate.“

a loooot of adorable family times with jc and lxc taking care of their nephews

good grandpa lqr!

canon but fixed and less painful

🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋if you wish to avoid scurvy:🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋

Some day I’m gonna make you mine series by locketofyourhair

xicheng getting together through the years

friends with benefits but the real benefits are the friends we made along the way

Take me over (take me tonight) by velithya

jiang cheng has a tattoo and lan xichen doesn’t stand a chance

i'd be the sweet feeling of release (mankind now dreams of) by piyo13

two bros, chilling in a cave, no feet apart because they don’t want to lose their cultivation powers what are you gonna do

haven’t read yet and shame on me, but AM GONNA:

Upon Our Silver Bridge by TheWanderingHeart obviously

““When the path ignites a soul, there's no remaining in place. The foot touches ground, but not for long.” ― Hakim Sanai

**

Lan Xichen's sorrows have caught the attention of something. Unlike the adventures and foes they have faced before, there is no obvious enemy here to defeat. If this is the same thing they thought had taken Nie Mingjue's life, then he believes it is fated for him to die as well. Nothing can stop the black fire when it wants to burn.Jiang Cheng is sure his part in this is over. Wei Wuxian is back, his grand adventure concluded, and he'd never been at the centre of it anyway. So what does it matter what happens to him in the end? Slowly, he will come to realise that there will always be a battle to fight, a story to tell, a choice to make, and there is no such thing as an end to anything.“

it was difficult to do things in 2020 and few i regret not doing more than not reading uosb yet :’(

i will tho

Emergency Help Wanted by piyo13

“EMERGENCY HELP WANTED I lied when I got my job. I told them I had a kid so I could leave early from work to pick him up from daycare, take him to doctor's appointments, and occasionally miss a day when he's sick. Long story short, I'm in too deep. I didn't think it through. Looking to rent a kid for bring your child to work day. Must be a boy ages four to six, longish dark hair, likes soccer. Must also be artistic as the macaroni noodle paintings I made seem a little advanced for his age. Also, I will pay extra for someone willing to play the role of husband when dropping him off. He's a prosecuting attorney who often brings his work home. Message me for further details. Serious inquiries only.“

Running Our Hands Through Embers by MarvelousMar

“If asked, Jiang Cheng would compare falling in love with Lan Xichen to a moth inevitably drawn to a flame.It burned.***In which Jiang Cheng discovers that even death can't help him escape from his trauma, so he embarks on a quest to save the people he loves, fix what he can, make the love of his life fall for him, and maybe, somewhere along the way, do a little bit of healing.”

The Beginner’s Guide to Moving On by InvincibleMel

gone from ao3, but i think there’s a link with a pdf going around

[clareguilty]

Coal Fires and Snowstorms

This was a request fic that was originally for the Overwatch cowboy but I changed to Arthur Morgan for... apparent reasons Arthur Morgan/F!Reader (reader also has big enby vibes) Rating: Mature | No Warnings Word Count: ~2,200

Arthur wakes with a wheeze, bolting upright and smacking his chest with his fist as he tries to pull in enough air.

He’s shirtless, but a woven blanket had been draped over him while he was unconscious. A ray of light cuts through a grimy window. The angle is harsh enough that it’s probably late in the evening.

The last thing Arthur can remember is the dark of the night and the clamoring of the law on his heels. So he’s been out for at least a day.

His lips are dry and cracked, and his muscles groan in protest with every movement. God, his head is pounding like he was hit by a damn train.

A door creaks open, and there’s a squeak of surprise. “Oh! You’re awake!”

Arthur blinks in the harsh sunlight that’s streaming into the small cabin. Whoever is there is bundled up in furs and a jacket with a bow over their shoulder. They’ve got two armfuls of game practically swallowing them.

“Who are you? Where am I?” He means for it to sound rough and demanding, but it’s more croaky and pathetic when the words pass his lips.

“I’m not really anybody, and this is my cabin up in Cumberland. The law chased you a long ways from Annesburg didn’t they? You must have done something real bad.” The hunter dumps all the game onto the table and rushes to the bedroll where Arthur lays. “You aren’t hurt too bad or nothing, but you’ve got a real nasty cough. I’ve got tea and herbs that should help. I bandaged up all the bleeding bits as best I could”

Arthur is bewildered. He knows there had been a fire in Annesburg -- the coal had gone up in a pyre in seconds. Somehow, he had gotten separated from Dutch and the others. The smoke had taken him like crows to a carcass, and he was lucky to make it across the ridge with the way his eyes and lungs were burning.

The last thing he remembered was the pinkertons still on his heels and the darkness of the trees as he tried to hide in the brush. He must have made it to cover before the smoke and the soot finally got him.

He flinches as the hunter sticks an open flask under his nose. “Tea. It’s bitter but you’ll need it.”

Arthur sniffs the mouth of the flask, but it sure does just smell like weeds and water. He takes a sip and wrinkles his nose. But the flavor is a small price to pay for the way the liquid soothes the burning in his mouth and throat.

“Thank you,” he says. “You could have left me in those woods to rot. I appreciate you dragging my sorry ass back here.”

You grin and pat the bandage on his arm. “It weren’t much trouble, but you sure are one large fella.” Arthur thinks you must be a young boy -- it’s hard to tell. Your hair is short under your cap but your voice isn’t all that low.

You turn to the game on the table and grab a knife from your belt. “I hunted enough for the both of us the next few days. It’s gonna be a while before you’ve got your strength back, and a snowstorm is rolling in off the Grizzlies anyways.”

Arthur frowns. “Bit early for snow, isn’t it?”

You shrug. “Winter never listens to me. At least the game was out. Everyone is trying to feed as much as they can before it gets too cold to hunt. That includes us.”

Arthur grunts and struggles to his feet. “I can help with those,” he offers.

You watch him with narrowed eyes, obviously skeptical of Arthur’s strength. “Take the small ones,” you offer up the rabbits and squirrels.

Arthur usually doesn’t have a problem skinning game, but the smoke must have gotten to him more than he thought because he finds himself having to take a rest after just a few minutes. He finishes off the flask of tea and sorts through his pack and weapons.

“My horse…” he asks after a while.

“She’s fine,” you say. “I found her not far from where you were unconscious and she helped me get you back here. She’s out back with my Old Girl.”

“Thank you,” Arthur sounds genuinely touched. “She really means a lot to me.”

You shoot him another smile. “You’re nothing but a big softie, ain’t ya? What could you have done to have the law chasing you all the way across the damn country?”

Arthur rubs the back of his neck, flushing in embarrassment. “My folks might have blown up Annesburg? I don’t actually know how much of it is left…”

“Ha!” you bark. “You’re with them van der Linde folks?”

Arthur’s silence is answer enough.

“I won’t judge,” you shrug. “You’re safe as long as you want to rest here.”

And rest Arthur does. He’s confined to the bedroll, rolled out on a warm pile of furs near the stove. You’re good company, witty and friendly and far too nosy for your own good. Arthur learns that you’ve has been living in these parts for a few years now, trapping and hunting and crafting to sell in town every few weeks. It’s more of a living than Arthur could ever ask for. Arthur thinks he might be sweet on you.

It’s another day before he’s got the strength to walk. He makes it outside to his horse, glad to see that she’s well taken care of. You had said you were going off to bathe in a nearby stream, and Arthur follows the sound of the water.

He’s not expecting what he finds. The water is shallow but fast moving, and he sees a familiar jacket hung on a branch by the bank.

You’re turned away, rinsing in the ice cold water, and Arthur can see the gooseflesh on your skin.

But when you turn slightly, it’s the swell of breasts and the curve of hips that catches Arthur’s attention. He averts his eyes quickly, darting back towards the cabin with his cheeks stained pink.

Now that he thinks about it, you had never said that you were a man. Arthur had simply figured it was most likely. The soft voice and gentle features make more sense now.

“You had better wash up if you want to,” you say when you return to the cabin. “The snow is coming in tonight. I can smell it. I stocked up on herbs for your cough and we’ve got plenty of provisions. I’m gonna split some more wood to bring inside.”

Arthur can’t help but find it attractive that you’re so knowledgeable and well prepared. He makes his way to the stream on his own and washes up in the frigid water, pushing through another coughing fit when the cold makes his muscles seize.

It’s already getting colder when he gets back inside. His weak breath fogs even inside the cabin and the little stove can’t do nearly enough to warm the small space.

“You’re going to freeze,” he tells you. He’s big enough to handle the cold -- spent a damn month up in the grizzlies without much of a problem -- but you surely won’t last the snowstorm.

“I’ve made it before,” you say with a huff and a glare. “I’ve got plenty of furs to keep me warm.”

“Put your bedroll beside mine,” Arthur insists. “We can share the blankets.”

The snow begins to fall, sticking to the ground in wet clumps, and you brace yourselves for the days to come. You’re practically strangers -- save for the fact that you had dragged Arthur out of the woods and saved his life. Now you have no choice but to rely on each other until the snow melts.

Arthur wakes in the night to your violent shivering under the blankets. He pulls you so that you’re pressed against his chest, tucking both of you under the quilts closer together. “I thought you said you’d made it through this before?”

You huff, teeth chattering. “I survived. I never said I kept warm.”

“Stay close to me. It’s my turn to keep you alive.” He drifts back to sleep to the howl of the winter winds.

The next morning he’s greeted by a bowl of piping stew that makes his sinuses burn. “I had some jarred peppers I keep for weather just like this. You’re in no condition for liquor so this is the best you’re gonna get.”

Arthur accepts the stew graciously. He’s not ready for the way you stand on your tippy toes to kiss him on the cheek when he offers to wash both of the bowls.

You pass the time snowed in with several rounds of cards. Arthur tells stories about him and the gang until his throat aches and he starts coughing again, and so the you regale Arthur with your life’s tale and a few stories you picked up over the years. You’re curled up next to each other in front of the stove, and you have no shame about burrowing against Arthur in a quest for body heat. He lets you steal as much as you want.

“I thought you were a boy when I first woke up,” Arthur says.

You shrug. “Most people do. I find it makes things easier a lot of the time. How’d you figure me out?” You don’t seem to feel too strongly one way or another about how Arthur and others see you.

Arthur hides his embarrassment behind a cough. “I, uh, caught you washing up in the stream.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “that’s pretty solid proof, ain’t it.” You’re smiling, not shy at all. “You’re not mad at me for lying, are you?”

“You never lied,” Arthur says. “I just came to my own conclusions. Doesn’t matter much to me anyways, whether you’re a man or a woman.”

You frown at that. “Doesn’t matter?”

“Nah,” Arthur ruffles your short hair. “You’re cute either way.”

It’s the right thing to say. The frown disappears and you settle back against him, humming contentedly.

He wakes in the night to the feeling of your breath on his neck. You shift and your lips brush against his skin. He can’t help the way his whole body tenses at the sensation. His arm is draped around your waist, holding you close because he knows you’ll freeze if he doesn’t.

He pulls you in closer. Every inch where your skin touches his feels oversensitive and hot. You’re still asleep -- he can tell from how slow you breath against his skin, but you reach an arm around his neck and burrow against him.

His heart begins to race. He’s flushed and half asleep and you fit against him so well in this tiny cabin that you’ve made your home. One of his hands slides down your back. You moan as his palm passes over the small of your back and the curve of your ass. His hand comes to the back of your thigh, but you shift again and rock your hips against him.

He gasps, then has to fight back a cough. He doesn’t want to wake you, but your quest for warmth has you plastered against him in a very compromising position. It’s starting to make his long johns downright painful, and he thinks he’ll combust in shame.

You rock against him once more, mumbling sleepily into his skin.

“Darlin’” he croaks. But the sound doesn’t wake you. He tries to wriggle an arm between you so he can push you off, but instead he winds up with a handful of your breast, and the most gorgeous sound he’s ever heard escapes your lips.

He freezes. He’s painfully hard now, and you’re still gently rocking against him in your sleep, perhaps even more so now that he’s got a hand on your chest.

“Arthur, please,” you whine.

He’s pretty sure you’re awake by now, so he readjusts his hand and rubs his thumb over the peak of your nipple. You let out another breathy moan against his skin. This time when he runs a hand over your ass he lets himself take a moment to appreciate how it feels under his palm, they way his fingers sink into the soft skin beneath your winter sleep clothes. He once again places his hand on the back of your thigh and pulls you so that your hips are lined up with his, straddling him under the blankets.

You whine against him once more and grind your hips downward. The friction does way more for him than he imagines it must for you, and his vision whites out momentarily at the heat and weight of you against him.

He loses himself in the motion of your hips for several long moments, but then your whines grow frustrated and unsatisfied and he knows exactly what your after.

Gripping both of your hips tightly, he flips you both so that you’re laying back on the bedroll and he’s kneeling over you.

Your eyes fly open.

“Arthur?”

“You were asleep?” he looks absolutely bewildered.

“I thought so? I was having the best dream.” Your eyes look past him as you remember.

“I don’t think you were dreaming, sweetheart,” he chuckles. He leans in to place an open mouthed kiss against your neck. You gasp and dig your nails into his shoulder.

“Then I think you had better keep going, cowboy.”

[strawberrysoup]

Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 6

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever.

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader

word length: 2.9K

chapters: 6/?

warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. more detailed content warnings are included at the end of the chapter to avoid spoilers, click through the read more, CTRL + F “content warnings”.

notes: slightly shorter than my usual, but i needed to get some stuff fixed up. if ya’ll like my stories please consider donating to my ko-fi— a bitch is poor lmao

Steve swept you up in his arms and turned to deposit you on the landing upstairs, evidently trusting the others to keep you contained for a moment. There was an audible scuffle going on in the den, Bucky would be heard growling from outside—snapping at someone who made the mistake of asking how he’d gotten out there so fast? Tony was growling at Peter who looked seconds away from begging for forgiveness.

“You guys made it safe, I’m happy to see you Nat,” Steve drew the redhaired woman into his arms and sighed in relief, but you couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement; honestly you were having trouble thinking, your brain clouded with the sudden onset of absolute and uncontrolled panic.

The moment the black-haired man had been pulled away by the delta currently stomping back up the stairs, clarity had returned to you like a slap in the face. The golden fog that obscured your vision immediately dissipated and just as quickly you’d been overwhelmed with gut wrenching fear. You didn’t actually remember kicking Steve in the face or making a break for the stairs, but evidently you had and you cursed your hindbrain for running towards the stairs—you should’ve jumped straight out the window; you had a better chance at out running Bucky and whoever else was down there than the two alpha primes and their surrounding packmates.

Before you could even take a step towards the still wide-open window, the black-haired man appeared with a green flash and wrapped around you tightly. “Shhh , pet, no. No windows for you, darling, come now—back to your nest.”

In a moment of truly unusual harmony, your consciousness and hindbrain agreed that the bed was the last place you wanted to be. That wasn’t your bed, the omega hissed tearfully, you’d never made a nest—that wasn’t yours. It could barely be called a nest, even. There hadn’t been any careful consideration regarding the placement of the pillows and blankets, there were no articles of clothing or soft items that had been scavenged or stolen to elicit a feeling of safety or comfort. Worst of all was the way it smelled. Obviously, it didn’t reek, the mix of individual scents wasn’t a bad conglomeration, but your hindbrain whined at the unfamiliarity. This wasn’t your pack’s scent.

The cohesion was jarring, and you groaned. Regardless of the reasoning, your hindbrain was aware that you didn’t get to have a pack and that reminder always hurt. It desperately desired one, but an omega’s primary objective was survival.

After all, you in all of your fully conscious state knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you would never have a pack—it wasn’t a matter of wanting or not wanting at this point in your life. You were too old to be regressed into the type of omega that packs wanted, your body too badly reliant on the chemical reactions produced by suppressants after fifteen years to stop taking them. At your age, to be found by a pack meant death.

They would get sick of trying to fix you. You’d die from quitting the suppressants cold turkey. They’d beat you for disobedience until your body gave up. You were nearly thirty and that was ancient for an unbound omega and you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks. Especially an old dog who was bound and determined not to be taught.

“LOKI!” Bucky bellowed as he stomped past Steve and the redhead on the stairs, looking three shades past furious.

The man holding you let go very quickly after that, spinning you away and moving to intercept the furious delta with an equally unpleasant expression. Why couldn’t you have just fucking kept it together upon meeting Bruce—that blood in the water, shark nosed asshole, if you had reigned in your panic there was no way he could’ve scented you through your suppressants. Steve was a different story, but if you’d been quick and calm you probably could’ve made it.

You scanned the room quickly; Bruce was on the bed, checking on Wanda. Bucky and Loki were on the floor fighting, half entangled with Peter and Sam who were doing their best to put their own fight aside to keep the deltas from killing each other. Steve was still halfway down the stairs with the other redhead, talking to her quietly. Tony was—

“Okay, princess, okay,” Tony was wrapped tightly around you from behind, carefully keeping your head braced between his chin and shoulder when you tried to thrash. “This isn’t fair to you, you’re way too fragile for this right now. Put your head here, breathe with me.”

“Please let me go,” you didn’t realize you were crying until you spoke, words coming out in sobs. “I don’t want to die like this, please—”

“You are not going to die, little love,” Thor sounded so sad from where he came to stand in front of you. “I’m not going to bond you, not while you’re so upset. But the results of the tests Bruce ran showed that you are in danger. I cannot allow that and no matter how angry you are with us, we will not let you suffer needlessly.”

“I’m not suffering! I swear, I swear I’m not suffering I’m, I’m happy! I’m happy living my life the way I have been. Please, let me have the choice, I want to be alone, it makes me happy!”

Trying to explain to a literal God why you deserved personal agency was an exhausting business, especially when said God was as condescending as Thor. His indulgent and sad smile was nearly enough to tip you over the edge, but there really wasn’t a point in getting angry—he obviously couldn’t even fathom the concept that what he was doing was wrong. It’s not like you could do anything anyway, you weren’t built for violence but for running away. Every bone in your body vibrated with rage; the injustice was overwhelming.

For fifteen whole years you’d been just fine. You would’ve continued to be just fine, if it weren’t for some super nosed freaks crossing your path. What were the odds of the only people in the world who could scent you from beneath more than a decade’s worth of suppressant use would have a cabin in Quebec that you happened to clean—and run into said people because they happened to show up early; an incredibly unusual situation.

It made you think about Mrs. Hunt. She’d only called to give you a heads up because of the last time, when the homeowner had tried to assault you even while he’d thought that you were a beta . You wondered how long it would take her to realize something was wrong; it was getting late and you’d yet to return her cart despite telling her you’d be there shortly.

The real question would be whether she tried to help or not once she discovered your presentation. She could try to help, try to stick them with omega theft, but they could claim civic duty like Peter had earlier. Besides, that was contingent upon her wanting to help you considering you’d lied to her for so many years.

“You’re so distressed, won’t you let me purr for you?”

“Don’t! Don’t you dare take away—”

“Little love, please—”

“Don’t call me that. You don’t even know me,” you spat, turning to address the room at large. “What kind of fucking superheros are you? Let go of me! Let me go!”

Tony sighed and hefted you up into his arms, one wrapped around your torso while the other hooked under your knees and pinned you carefully across his body. You struggled uselessly against his strong hold; he wasn’t as strong as Thor or Steve, but his bicep was massive next to your head and you could feel his muscles through his clothes as he walked to the bed.

“We can’t, princess,” he murmured into the side of your head as he lowered both of you to the bed, sitting propped against a mass of pillows in the corner. “We’ll never find an unbound omega in your age range again. Plenty of omegas have been offered to us, but they’re all practically children. You’re our last chance—”

“There are plenty! You said plenty! Pick the oldest who wants to be in this fucking shit show and leave me alone!” Everyone tensed when the tone in your voice approached a shriek.

“We’re not taking an omega who’s not even legal to drink—”

“That alpha is like eighteen!” You tried to gesture to Peter, who gaped at you like you’d wounded him, but your arms were still pinned tightly to your sides.

“Peter is twenty-four, actually,” Tony spoke with mirth when Peter jumped onto the bed and crawled until he was pressed against Tony’s side and your back. “And before you ask, Wanda is twenty-six.”

“We’re so lucky to have found you,” the alpha half purred, pressing his nose into the back of your neck. “We’ll make you happy, happier than you are now.”

“It’s gonna be a rough start,” Bruce laid down in the nest a few feet away, welcoming the woman you recognized as the Black Widow into his arms when she slithered into the bed. “We have to balance your hormones, or you will die. You wouldn’t have lasted another year on those suppressants.”

“Death would be a reprieve,” you hissed shortly, freezing when the tone of the room immediately changed.

All attention was suddenly on you, Bruce still making direct eye contact with those sad puppy eyes, “I know that feeling, sweetheart—”

“We will do it another way then,” Thor interrupted, sending Bruce a quieting but loving look. “I said I would not bond you while you are in distress anda I will never break a promise to you. Open your mouth, this will be quick.”

Steve seemed to sigh in response and followed to stand next to the other prime, “I lost my chance. You’ll help her?”

Thor leveled the shorter blond with a careful look before nodding, both showing signs of deference and affection and respect that you did not care for. The rattle of a belt prompted Tony to turn you, setting you carefully between his legs while continuing to hold down your arms with what could appear to be an affectionate bear hug. He even linked his fingers with yours, squeezing gently as you tried to squirm.

“No. No, no no no, that’s disgusting, I won’t—”

“Shhh , I’ll do all the work little love, all you need to do is swallow.”

He was jerking his cock carefully, a flick of his wrist near the head catching your eye. That was a dangerous weapon, the same way you’d come to learn Steve’s was and you had no intention of letting it anywhere near your mouth. You clamped your lips shut, teeth grinding.

“Stubborn,” Peter snorted a laugh and you would’ve snapped at him had his hand not dove between your thighs, fingers gliding through the slick lips of your cunt until he found your clit.

You had to stop yourself from screeching, the head of Thor’s cock directly in front of your face. “Very. Come on now, open up.”

The fingers pinching your nose shut came as a shock, you’d crushed your eyes shut out without realizing it and they snapped open when your face was assaulted. Steve was kneeling on the bed, carefully cutting of your air supply with one hand and stroking your head with the other.

“Come on, precious, you’ve gotta breathe,” he stated softly, smiling when you were forced to pull your lips back to gasp for breath—until he realized your teeth were still locked together. “Really ‘mega?”

The next thing you knew his thumb was shoving against your molars, literally prying your jaw open. There was no way to fight it without hurting yourself, especially once he wedged his thick thumb between your top and bottom teeth. You barely had a second to anticipate the horror before an unnecessarily large cock found it’s way between your lips.

You tried to shriek, your brain finally catching up to the whole series of events, but it was no use. His scent was overwhelming and his dick stretched your lips, your jaw forced completely open. Thor groaned, a triggering noise as he very carefully pressed forward until your mouth was completely full and he was settled against you tongue.

“Suck for me, little love, just a little,” he grunted, just barely working his member between your lips while his huge hand stroked the rest.

It took a surprisingly small amount of time for a massive load of cum to shoot into your mouth. It was thick, and the way that Thor growled immediately made your pupils blow wide like you’d done a line of coke.  

Your body went lax immediately and you swallowed on instinct when a hand gently rubbed your throat. The fuzz in your brain was the result of arousal, a brutal orgasm that rocked your body at the sound in combination with your body’s sheer delight at the taste of alpha cum. Somewhere you realized that was disgusting but the haze in your brain made you more focused on the hand between your thighs rather than the indignity.

“Man, this shit ain’t fair,” Sam complained, panting from the exertion of trying to prevent Loki and Bucky from killing each other. “They get to cuddle and we—Hey!  Quit that, man!”

“All of you stop fighting,” Steve’s alpha order was brutal and effective.

The sounds of scuffling from behind Thor stopped immediately and there were huffs and snarls and low grumbles but the nest started shifting all around you. You were dropped back to lay against Tony’s chest, having inadvertently swallowed the entirety of the god’s massive load.

“She’s so cute,” Wanda cooed from somewhere to your left.

“We’ll need to go over what we’re doing from here,” Steve sighed once everyone had settled, still watching your dazed expression with a small smile. “But let’s just… nest for a bit, okay?”

The word nest triggered something in your half alpha-cum stoned brained and you looked around the den with a displeased expression. It was a terrible nest; all of the pillows and blankets were in weird heaps and the scent was so wrong. You didn’t really want to nest here, your hindbrain grumbled in agreement, but you’d fix the damn thing. You whined and wriggled until Steve gave Tony the go ahead to stop fully restraining you.

The bed was incredibly soft, which was an upside and crawling across it was like sinking your knees into clouds as you collected the soft heaps of blankets and pillows as you went. You wanted everything off so you could start from scratch, brain muddled by the wrongness of the current layout. You wanted to wash the sheets, the pillow cases, the blankets, all of it. The scent wasn’t right.

“Help her.” It was a quiet request from the Black Widow, who’d also started shifting around to remove the items. “She doesn’t like it like this.”

It was easier to get everything pushed away and in neat piles with the packs’ help, everyone immediately moving to help organize the pillows. You only snapped at the blond beta—Hawkeye, your memory supplied— once for putting a soft blanket on the pile with the not soft blankets. He immediately gave an apologetic burr to which your hindbrain purred back instinctually; evidently a good reaction.

“Why does she like Clint? They haven’t even spoken.”

“She doesn’t like him, she snarled at him!”

“She hasn’t purred at anyone else!”

“Shut up, fuckin’ idiot.”

The noise you made was one of discontent and disdain, the arguing deltas immediately quieting. You didn’t argue with the chirping growl that meant displeased omega, not in a real pack where the goal was to keep omegas pleased and docile. Somewhere your brain reminded you that this wasn’t your pack but the alpha hormones filling your blood and confusing you and yet somehow all you could focus on was whining and pushing at pack members to get them out of the way as your rearranged; clicking your teeth grumpily when you were handed a blanket instead of a pillow or vice versa.

You found yourself being corralled back into the corner, where Natasha and Wanda immediately wrapped themselves around you. Thor had found Bruce and settled beside and settled near your feet where you’d built an intricate nest wall of pillows and blankets. Two of the deltas, Tony and Loki seemed to be glaring at each other—even as Tony laid himself completely on top of the other and they both relaxed into comfortable holds.

It was interesting, watching the pack dynamics as they moved between each other. Clint wrapped around Natasha from behind the same way Carol found her way behind Wanda. Peter had weaseled his way into curling against Loki’s side while tossing a leg over the man’s hip, subsequently laying it over the backs of Tony’s thighs. Sam, Bucky and Steve all found their way into a neat grouping on the bed closest to the stairs, piled as close to the subsequent piles of superheros as possible.

There was some sort of pattern beginning to form in the back of your brain but you were still too confused, too sucked into your own omega hindbrain by the overwhelming introduction of alpha hormone to your system. Instead of following the thought through to the end, you found yourself warm and comfortable and full and falling asleep tucked between the groupings of presentations as if it wasn’t totally, 100% against your will.

 content warnings: forced cum eating, chemical manipulation, dead dove: do not eat

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love and Medicine ~ 8

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 4,175ish

Summary: Your roommates are annoyed and Gamora is determined to make you jump through hoops.

Notes: This is based off of Grey’s Anatomy 1x07. I do not own Marvel or Grey’s Anatomy.

When your alarm went off, you were naked in your bed. With a naked Steve beside you. A small groan passing between his lips, Steve reached around you to turn off the alarm clock and then cuddled into you.

“Hmmm,” you hummed, enjoying his arms around you way too much. “You have to get up now.”

“What?” Steve mumbled, half asleep. “What time is it?”

You smirked, rolling on top of him. “It’s 5:20, and I have pre-rounds. And you,” you booped his nose, “have to leave before they see you.”

You gave him a small kiss before rolling off of him.

“Oh, come on, now,” Steve grumbled. “Why don’t you just let them see?” He quickly rolled on top of you, pinning you down.

“No!”

“Please!”

“No! No!”

He began placing kisses all over you. Saying, ‘please’, between eat kiss.

“Steve!” You squealed. “St-stoppp!

~~~

“You two get any sleep?” Scott asked, walking into the kitchen where Val and Clint were eating.

“Oh, she could oil the bedsprings as a courtesy or at least buy a padded headboard,” Val complained.

“So, uh, who’s the guy?” Clint asked.

“You think it was just one guy doing all that work?”

“Yeah, do you mind if I don’t think about that?”

“Oh, you jealous, Barton?” Scott teased.

“I’m not jealous.”

“Well, I am,” Val responded. “But at least I know she’ll be having a long day at work.”

They all froze when they heard a floor board near the top of the stairs squeak. The three of them rushed over to the doorway, wanting to see who was coming down the stairs. Steve snuck down the stairs and out the door, seen by Val, Clint, and Scott.

“Well, at least we know that brain surgery isn’t his only skill,” Val commented, going to get more coffee.

“They—they can’t be…” Clint stared at the front door in shock. “He’s… he’s our boss.”

“Yep,” Scott replied, glancing at his watch. “We’re late. You know, she has been scrubbing in a lot lately on his surgeries.”

“No, Y/N wouldn’t sleep with him just to… no.”

“Well, if she’s not ashamed of it, why is she keeping it a secret?” Val wondered.

“Maybe she didn’t. Maybe it just happened. You know, spontaneously, last night.”

“Good morning,” you greeted, entering the kitchen.

“Morning,” Val and Scott responded.

“So…” Val started, “it sounded like you were having some pretty radical sex last night, all night long. Who was the guy?”

“No one you know,” you lied with a shrug.

Clint, Scott, and Val all gave each other a look.

“We’re late,” Scott said. “Let’s go.”

~~~

“I’m gonna beed a major rush to make it through this day,” Clint said in the locker room. “I need a kick-ass surgery.”

“Ooh, you a bad boy last night, Clint?” Peter taunted.

“No,” Val answered for him. “That would be Y/N.”

“You a bad boy, Y/N?”

“Do tell,” Natasha urged.

“Nothing to tell,” you shrugged.

“That says it all, huh?”

Val slammed her locker door shut, annoyed at your lies.

“Sorry, I have a sex life,” you apologized.

“Don’t apologize,” Peter said. “Embrace it. Share it. Count me in.”

“Yeah, next time, just let me know if I need to go to a hotel so I can get some sleep,” Val said.

“Am I missing something?” You asked.

“You were just a little loud,” Scott replied.

Everyone left except you and Natasha.

“Do they know it’s Captain McDreamy keeping them up all night?” Natasha asked.

“I hope not,” you answered. “I already have Gamora riding me, I don’t need my roommates thinking I’m getting special treatment.”

~~~

You yawned as you and Natasha met up with the other interns and Dr. Gamora. You just hoped that you didn’t look as tired as you felt.

“Barton, Romanoff, Lang, Quill, go on to the clinic,” Gamora ordered. She looked up, catching Clint watch Steve through a window. Steve was putting in eye drops. “Barton, patients are waiting.” Clint scurried off. “You two,” Gamora motioned to you and Val, “come with me. Val, you’re hanging with me today.” Steve walked over. “Good morning, Dr. Rogers.”

“Dr. Gamora,” he replied as you yawned. “Late night, L/N?”

“No,” you responded, “caffeine just hasn’t kicked in yet.”

“If you’re at all religious, you would want to start praying it kicks in soon,” Gamora retorted. “There’s a consult in the pit. Girl with a fever and abdominal pain. After that, Lee in 3311 needs his meds. Mr. Jackson’s IV fell out, and he’s a hard stick. Post-ops in 1337, 3342, 3363, and 2381.”

You had nodded along, trying to get your tired brain to understand what she was saying. “3381, 3342, 3363,” you repeated, “and 23… 81?” 

Gamora simply glared at you instead of answering what you needed. “Why are you still standing in front of me?”

You quickly hurried down to the pit, not wanting to get on Gamora’s bad side anymore than you already were. You started your consultation with an eighteen year old girl named Jessie Todd. Her mother and father were both accompanying her. Jessie seemed nervous, biting her nails.

“I think she got some bug on her trip to Mexico with her friends,” Mrs. Todd said. “I told her not to go to a third-world country, but does she ever listen?”

“She’s been weak ever since and she’s lost weight,” Mr. Todd worried.

“Barely,” Jessie mumbled.

“And this morning, she passed out in the shower.”

“When was the trip?” You asked.

“A couple weeks ago,” Jessie answered. “I’m really fine. I just have a fever.”

“Okay, well, will you lie back for an exam for me?”

“No, please, I don’t need an exam. Just give me some antibiotics and send me home.”

“Well, maybe it is just a fever, but they called down for a surgeon, so I have to give the ok to let you go. So just let me do the exam.”

“Do the exam,” Mr. Todd urged.

“No. This is crazy. I’m fine.”

“For God's sake, Jessie, I don't want to spend my entire day here,” Mrs. Todd exclaimed.

“You know, actually, Mrs. Todd, this might be easier if we had some privacy,” you told the parents, sensing that Jessie was worried about their reactions to whatever was going on. “So would you two mind leaving the room?”

“That’s fine,” Mr. Todd said, guiding his wife away.

Jessie lied down and you began to push at her stomach.

“Ow,” Jessie complained. “Don’t push so hard.”

“Can you lift your shirt so I can examine your stomach?” You requested. With a sigh, Jessie slowly lifted her shift, revealing pink scars. “Where did you get these? Jessie… you've had surgery recently. These scars are still pink.”

“Don’t tell my parents.”

“You did this in Mexico so your parents wouldn't know? What did you have done?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Jessie—“

“I can’t!”

With a sigh, you walked away, ordering a CT for Jessie before heading to help the other patients that Gamora had for you.

~~~

You at just finished Gamora’s last job for you when she paged. You were quickly to go find her.

“You paged?” You questioned, finding her near a nurses station.

“Where are we?” She asked.

“I did the consult, did the IV, the meds, the Post-ops, everything.”

“How is your pit patient?”

“She’s febrile and has peritoneal signs.”

Both you and Gamora’s attentions go to Natasha, who is walking by looking ill.

“You alright, Romanoff?” Gamora wondered, not caring all that much.

“Fine,” Natasha responded, waving it off as she kept going. “On my way back to the clinic.”

“Anyway, about the pit patient.”

“I think she had some sort of illegal surgery done in Mexico,” you stated.

“Botched abortion?”

“No. She has four laparoscopic scars on her abdomen and won't say what they're from, the parents are clueless.”

“She’s a minor.”

“Seventeen. Freshman in college.”

“You order up for a CT?”

“Yes,” you nodded.

“So while she's there, the nurses couldn't get a Foley on Mr. Garay. He may need a Coude cath if you can't get a normal one in there. Write up post-op notes on all surgical-floor patients that had surgery within the last 24 hours. Be sure to document their EKG's and x-rays. Hunt them down if you can't find them.”

“Right away.”

~~~

You were exhausted by the time Jessie’s CT scans came back. Gamora was really working you to the bone. Of course, it didn’t help that you had spent most of the night up with Steve, having some of the most enjoyable sex you’ve ever had. But that wasn’t the point. Scans in hand, you found Gamora at the nurses station near the lobby.

“Dr. Gamora?” You walked up to her. “Jessie Todd’s abdominal CTs.” You handed her the scans.

She took them, holding them up to study them. “Is this girl fat?”

“Not at all,” you shook your head. “She’s a normal college kid.”

“So,” she handed the scans back to you, “what do you see?”

You took them back and studied them yourself. “Her stomach’s stapled. She’s had a gastric bypass.”

“And a bad one at, at that.”

Jessie Todd was moved into a patient room. So you and Gamora requested to speak to her parents outside of the hallway. You were tasked to explain to them what at happened.

“Gastric bypass is a procedure normally done on obese patients to help them lose weight,” you stated, after telling them what their daughter had done.

“Jessie?” Mr. Todd questioned. “She doesn’t need to lose weight.”

“Are you kidding?” Mrs. Todd responded. “This means the world to her. But it is so typical of this girl to take the easy way out. She's done it with everything since she was a little kid.”

“Mrs, Todd, nothing about this is gonna be easy,” Gamora said. “She's gonna face a lifelong struggle with malnutrition unless she has surgery to reverse the procedure.”

“Do the surgery,” Mrs. Todd ordered before turning to her husband. “I told her to watch the freshman 15. Don't eat junk, exercise. But when she came home Christmas, who had to take her out and buy her a brand new pair of size 6 jeans because she couldn't get in the ones I got her last summer?”

“Chrissy, you know, she tries so hard,” Mr. Todd retorted. “She does. She gets good grades. She gets A’s.”

“She had illegal surgery in Mexico.”

“Unfortunately, there were complications with the bypass,” Gamora stated.

“What do you mean?” Mr. Todd asked.

“She has what looks like an abscess under her diaphragm, and edema, which is a swelling of the bowel wall. I can't say for certain she'll recover completely.”

“Just do whatever you have to do to make her well, ok?”

“Of course, sir.”

Gamora walked away, and you stayed to check up on Jessie. It was then that Mrs. Todd entered Jessie’s room, angrily.

“Before you guys start,” Jessie quickly said, “I know you’re mad.”

“Disbelief, Jessie,” Mrs. Todd exclaimed. “Just disbelief.”

“I’m just concerned,” Mr. Todd added, much more calmly than his wife. “Where did you get the idea to do this?”

“The internet,” Jessie answered quietly.

“But, honey, there is a healthy way to lose weight,” Mrs. Todd said.

“Yeah, I tried that, but...it doesn't work for me like it does for you.”

“Hey,” Mr. Todd said, putting a hand on his daughter’s leg, “you don’t need to lose weight.”

“What are you eating?” Mrs. Todd quickly wondered. “And how much have you been working out? I mean, you know, most of the time, when people hit their target weight, they have to work to stay there.”

“Everyone gains weight in college, Mom,” Jessie responded. “It’s—it’s stressful. There’s... there's not enough time for exercise. I just thought if I wasn't worried about my diet, then… I could focus more on my studies.”

“So you took yet another shortcut? Life doesn’t work that way, Jessie.”

“Chrissy!” Mr. Todd exclaimed.

“What? You want to argue this?”

Huffing at his wife, Mr. Todd turned to you. “She has so much potential, if she would just apply herself—”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupted, having heard enough. “I think we should focus on taking care of your daughter. And, Jessie, your parents agree, the best thing to do is to reverse the bypass.”

“No!” Jessie shouted. “No, it's my body. I do not want surgery again. Please?”

“There were serious complications. And this is about your health.”

“But I’d rather be thin.”

“Well, I’m afraid the choice isn’t up to you,” Mrs. Todd responded.

~~~

With a sigh, you found yourself pushed up against the wall in the stairwell. You were tired and so over Mrs. Todd.

“Long day?” Tony’s voice came closer.

You opened your eyes to see him walking up the stairs. “You could say that,” you responded. “How’s trying to get a date with Dr. Potts going?”

“Not so well,” he sighed, coming to leaning against the wall beside you. “I’ve been bringing her coffee or tea every morning though. I’m trying.”

“You really screwed up,” you giggled.

“You’re telling me. How are you and Steve?”

“We’re… fine.”

“He told me you were up all last night.”

“What?!”

“Okay, he didn’t tell me. But I can see how tired both of you are. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

“It’s that obvious? Tony, are you serious? This could totally ruin—“

“Woah, woah, woah. Calm down there, Y/N. I’m just playing with you. Gosh, you need to take a chill pill or something.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just… I know we shouldn’t be doing what we are doing.”

“But you enjoy it too much to stop. I get it… I just wish I was getting some too.”

~~~

Natasha was standing in the hall looking nauseous.

“Romanoff!” Clint called, excitedly hurrying up to her. “I’m scrubbing in on a hemispherectomy with Rogers.”

“Get out!” She responded. “I would kill for that.”

“We're gonna cut out half a girl's brain and it's going to work. It's outrageous. Almost makes it hard to hate him.”

“Why do you hate him?”

“Oh, no reason.”

“You know about him and Y/N, don’t you?”

“You know?”

“When are you gonna figure out that I know everything?”

Noticing Val walking up from behind, Clint pointed at Natasha. “She knows.”

“What?” Val questioned. “About Y/N and the Captain?”

“It’s been going on for, like ever,” Natasha commented.

“Seriously?”

“And you didn’t tell us?” Clint wondered.

“Ooh, you’re a gossip, huh?” Natasha responded.

“I am not!”

“I am,” Val said.

“He’s about to go into major brain surgery on no sleep? Not very responsible.”

“Jealous much?” Natasha chuckled. “Sex all night isn't about being responsible.”

“No,” Val agreed, “it’s about sex all night. I can't believe you're not more pissed off about this, you of all people.”

“Well, Y/N works hard all day. She’s good at her job. Why should you care how she unwinds? I mean, you like to bake all night. Some people like to drink. Others like an occasional screaming orgasm.”

~~~

Gamora and you were carefully operating on Jessie in the OR. Gamora was letting you help with more than you thought she would.

“Handle with care,” Gamora advised as she handed you Jessie’s bowel. “This things—“

“Full of gunk,” you responded. “I know.”

“We need to free the bowel from the adhesions caused from the abscess. This poor girl. What was she thinking?”

“She wants her mother's approval. She wanted to please her.”

“And this damage is the result? Here, resect that.”

“Needle-tip Bovie, please,” you requested, handing the bowel back to Gamora.

“When you’re done here, you have post-ops waiting.”

“I know, Dr. Gamora.”

“Natasha also has the flu. So, you need to pick up the slack in the clinic as well.”

“Look, I’ll mop the floors, okay?” That earned you a glare from Gamora. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.”

“It's not the only thing that's inappropriate. While we're on the subject, you care to tell me what you think you're doing?”

“Look, I'll jump through hoops if you want me to. But what I do what I leave this hospital is my business.”

“Half this hospital knows your business. Flu isn't the only virus spreading around here.”

“I made a choice, and I know you don't respect me for that choice. But I'll live with the consequences.”

“Then I'll have lots of hoops for you to jump through.”

“I've done everything you've asked me to do. I may not do it your way but it gets done. So whatever else you got, bring it on.” 

Suddenly, Jessie’s bowel burst. Spraying you with toxic waste. You could hear the people watching in the gallery go, ‘ew’.

“Okay, Dr. L/N, now that you’ve drained the organ, we can attempt to repair it,” Gamora said.

“Now my day is perfect,” you muttered.

The nurses tried to clean you up the best they could as you operated. Though they seemed to only make it worse. After the surgery, you and Gamora headed out into the hallway together.

“I need a shower,” you commented.

“No, I need a shower,” Gamora retorted. “You need to go tell that girl's parents what kind of kid they're getting back.”

“You're not gonna let me shower first?”

“That would be a hoop, would it not?”

“It would qualify.”

“Shower first, then.”

You rushed to the locker room. Val and Natasha were already there.

“Ew, what smells?” Val asked as you passed her.

“That would be me,” you answered, "or more specifically, my patient's insides all over me.”

“That makes me strangely happy.”

“Oh, Y/N,” Natasha grimaced, “you smell like—“

“Karma.”

“What?” You asked Val.

“Nothing.”

“Something vile is stuck in your hair,” Natasha told you, pointing to your hairline. “You know, just go stand over there, please.” She shooed you to the other side of the aisle.

“Ugh, how much do I love being a surgeon right now?” You mumbled.

“Karma,” Val laughed.

“What does karma have to do with anything?”

“I'm just saying, you've been given all the best surgeries. And now you smell like putrid goo. And you're giving off a stench. Karma's a bitch.”

Gamora walked into the locker room. “Dr. Rogers needs an intern in surgery,” she stated. “Which one of you is clear?”

“I’m good!” Natasha raised her hand. She was still looking pale. “Where do you want me?”

“You need to lie down somewhere.”

“I’m fine, I’m completely healthy.”

“L/N?” 

“Of course,” Val grumbled.

“What is your problem?” You asked Val, annoyed.

“Um, you! Cause apparently you can help Captain McDreamy in ways the rest of us can’t.”

“You did not just say th—“

“Yes, I did!”

“Hey!” Gamora called out. “Natasha, hemispherectomy in OR 1 with Dr. Shepherd. Go.”

Natasha nodded and hurried away. Val marched off as well.

“Apparently, I’m not the only one with hoops,” Gamora smirked.

~~~

After showering, you found Mrs. and Mr. Todd in the lobby. As you walked, you explained to them what had gone on in surgery.

“We were able to reverse the gastric bypass, but we did lose a significant portion of her bowel,” you told them. “And because of the short gut syndrome, Jessie will never eat normally again.”

“Ok, wait, do…” Mr. Todd tried to put his thoughts together. “How do we help her here?”

“Well, getting proper nutrition will be a lifelong problem for Jessie.”

“Great,” Mrs. Todd murmured, annoyed, “as if we already don't have our hands full with her.”

“She gets good grades. She stays out of trouble. She's smart. I just think she feels like nothing she does is good enough for you.”

“If you somehow think that I'm responsible for this…”

“I think Jessie is killing herself to please you.”

“Oh, please. You have no idea what's going on in that girl's mind.”

“You're her mother. She worships the ground you walk on. She didn't do this for herself.”

“I think that this situation is completely—“

“Chrissy, shut up,” Mr. Todd interrupted.

Both you and Mrs. Todd looked shocked as Mr. Todd walked faster to Jessie’s room.

~~~

Clint had had an interesting day, to say the least. He had discovered that the anesthesiologist in Steve’s surgery was drunk. Bringing up to Dr. Rogers, both the anesthesiologist and Dr. Rogers got mad, throwing him out of the surgery. Which is why he needed another intern.

Durning the surgery, Natasha and Dr. Rogers quickly realized that Clint had been right. Allowing Natasha and another doctor to close, Steve requested Clint to met him outside of the OR.

“Let me explain,” Steve began.

“It’s fine,” Clint responded.

“No, there is a code among doctors. We're not supposed to ask each other questions, not within the walls of this hospital.”

“Okay, so, I was out of line.”

“No, you weren't. I was. I was out of line. Somebody should have taken responsibility. It should have been the guy doing the cutting. It should have been me. You didn't deserve what happened to you today. You did the right thing code or no code.” Steve held out his hand for Clint to shake. Hesitantly, Clint shook it. “You saw me leave the house this morning, didn’t you?”

Clint pulled his hand away. “Oh, was that you?”

“Hmm. I’m not using her. And I don’t favor her.”

“She’s pretty great, you know.”

“Mm-hmm. I know.”

~~~

You went to Jessie, getting her into a wheel chair so that you can walk her around while talking to her alone. You had made a phone call, and you needed to tell her about it.

“Did you fix me?” Jessie asked, after the two of you walked in silence for awhile. 

“No, not completely,” you responded.

“So, I won’t get fat?”

“No.”

“Oh. That’s awesome.”

“Jessie, I’ve asked social services to contact your parents.”

“What? Why?”

“They can help you.”

“With what?”

“You don't know this yet, but life isn't supposed to be like this. It's not supposed to be this hard. And your mom… she isn’t suppose to treat you this way.”

~~~

You were so extremely grateful when you were finally allowed to go home. It was late, so you were expecting your roommates to be asleep. When you entered the kitchen, you found Val frosting a cake.

“I thought you’d be asleep by now,” you commented, searching for food.

“Yeah, well, I’m not,” Val retorted. “If you wait a few minutes, you can have a piece of cake. Baked it chock-full of love. Actually, chock-full of unrelenting, all consuming rage and hostility, but it's still tasty.”

“So you know?”

“I know.”

“Well, do you want the long, sordid version, or do you want the short version, where I started sleeping with a guy who turned out to be my boss?”

“Neither.”

“Val, cut me some slack here.”

“No. You went to Dartmouth. Your parents— don’t get me started on that. I know you’re trying to hide who your parents are. But I know. You grew up— look at this house! You know, you walk into the OR, and there isn’t anyone who doubts that yo should be there. I… I grew up in a trailer park. I went to state school. I put myself through med school by posing in my underwear. You know, I walk into the OR, and everyone hopes I'm the nurse. Y-you have their respect without even trying, and you're throwing it away for...what? A few good surgeries?”

“No. It's not about the surgeries. It's not about getting ahead.”

“Then what? A little hot sex? You're willing to ruin your credibility over that? I mean, Y/N, what the hell are you doing?” You huffed, shaking your head. “Oh, my… you’re falling for him.”

“I am not.”

“Oh, you so are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You so are. Damn it, you poor girl.”

“You know, it's just that he's just so… And I'm just… I'm having a hard time.”

"Wow, you're all, uh, mushy and… warm and full of secret feelings.” Val handed you a piece of cake.

“I hate you!” You snatched the cake from her. “And your cake.”

“My cake is good. So, um, how hot is the sex?”

“Val.”

“What? Come on, my girlfriend broke up with me, I’m not getting any. Help a girl out with a few details.”

~~~

Steve showed up at your door an hour later, exhausted as well. You two headed up to your bedroom. You were both on either side of the bed, pulling back the covers.

“You know,” Steve slurred, “we could just…”

“Sleep?” You finished.

“We could, yeah, if… if you want to.”

“Yeah?”

You both crawled into bed. You turned off the lamp beside you before cuddling into Steve’s side. He reached over and turned off the lamp at his side.

“I could get used to this,” you whispered, falling asleep.

next chapter >

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2​​​. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

[dcforts]

15.20 fix it

As soon as the doors slammed shut, Sam’s face twisted in disgust, "Dude, you stink", he said, rolling down his window as fast as he could.

"Yeah, well, you would too if you'd fallen into a barrel of fish guts," grumbled Dean.

Sam grabbed his phone out of his pocket, "I bet you saw your life flashing before your eyes, didn’t you?"

Dean scoffed, "What are you talking about?" he said, driving down the road towards home.

"That werewolf - he was one second away from biting your head off."

"Shut up. He wasn't."

Sam snorted, too engrossed in his phone to argue. "I think it's time, Dean. You're ready to hang it up," he joked.

They joked about it these days.

Ever since - ever since Chuck and Jack - ever since they realized they were finally free, they knew they wanted things to change. It was a prospect that electrified them - the endless possibilities.

Except - it wasn’t as easy as they thought. At first they tried to go cold turkey, but it didn’t stick. They toasted to a dozen last hunts and retired weapons that they ended up taking out again the day after. If they checked the news, they found a case. If they found a case, they just couldn’t ignore it.

But ever since they stopped forcing the change on themselves, it had been easier. They weren’t exactly talking about it, but things had gradually started to get better.

These days, they only checked local, took entire weeks off, signed up for online courses and filled out jobs applications. It was weird, being given another chance at life. They were taking it slow and it was working.

Their last hunt could have been that one or the next or in ten years. They could stop for decades and then stumble on a ghost on a holiday. There was no way you could take the hunting out of a hunter. But the point – as they learned  – wasn’t to stop, the point was to start doing something else, allow themselves to want other things.

So, Dean didn't have any witty remarks for him.

"Yeah, maybe," he just said with a sigh. He threw a look at his brother still attached to his phone. "That Eileen?"

"Yeah, just got back. Told her we were bringing dinner. Can we get burgers from that place she likes?"

Dean rolled his eyes, but changed lanes anyway to make a turn that would add twenty minutes to their journey.

 *

They found Eileen at the map table, sharpening wooden stakes into a bucket.

"Hey, guys," she signed with a warm smile when she saw them.

Sam took the stairs so fast he nearly tumbled all the way down.

Honestly embarassing.

"How did it go?" she asked.

"Fine. You?" signed Sam.

She made a face, "I like it better when I'm with you."

Sam chuckled and blushed and Dean made a face behind his back.

"Alright," he interrupted loudly, "You guys eat, I'm gonna hit the shower first," he said and everyone looked down at his dirty clothes.

Eileen's nose wrinkled, "What is it?"

"Fish guts," mouthed Sam and she sticked her tongue out.

 *

Dean took the steps and walked through the maze of hallways.

As he rounded a corner, he found himself staring through the open door of Cas’ bedroom. Or, what had been his bedroom. He took in the empty space, the bare mattress slighly askew on the slats. No books on the nightstand, no trenchcoat draped over the chair. He couldn't recall the last time that room had been used. He grabbed the handle and closed the door before moving on.

He pushed his own door open and he stepped into the quiet room, dropping the duffel bag at his feet with a sigh.

"We brought dinner," he said, toeing off his boots. "Burgers."

From his place on the bed came Cas' voice, "With onions?" he asked, without looking up. He was scribbling something under the light of the lamp, propped against the bedframe, one leg tucked under the other.

He was surrounded, like he usually was these days, by notebooks filled with lists and numbers and sketches - the ingredients of the house they were planning to build together.

Dean huffed, "Yeah, with onions," he said, making his way towards him to plant a kiss on his temple. "You've been here all day? Did you even notice I was gone?"

"Mh," said Cas, then stopped writing and looked up at him, his face scrunched up, "What's that smell?"

"You don't wanna know, trust me," said Dean taking a step back to start gathering clean clothes, "I need a shower." He opened a drawer. "Wait, where's all my stuff?"

Cas put down his notebook and untangled his legs to swing them off the bed and get up. "I packed you a bag for tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow?"

"We're going to Jody's for her birthday."

"Right."

He stopped by Dean’s side as he was fishing out a fresh pair of socks from the dresser.

"Dean?"

"Mh?"

He turned and Cas leaned in to kiss him. A soft, excruciating kiss, as Cas was careful not to touch him and Dean tried with all he had to keep his hands away.

Some changes had been a struggle, a painful and slow crawling forward. Coming to terms with Cas had felt like a meteor instead, lightening-fast and incandescent and the easiest thing Dean had ever done.

Cas pulled back, "Of course I noticed," he whispered. Then his eyebrows knitted together, “Fish guts?” he asked, tilting his head a little on the side.

Dean nodded, still a little distracted, and Cas’ lips quirked up, “Well, hurry up or I'm stealing your fries," he said, walking out of the room.

Dean smiled to himself as he watched him go.

[chocolate-parfait]

can I suggest a headcanon for arthur, theo and comte ( or dazai ) reacting to their selectively mute s/o speaking for the first time? ( maybe even singing? ) you can decide if you want a scenario for one of them and what mc sounds like, wether shes soft spoken or has a mature voice~ whatever you feel comfortable with >:0 👌 — have a nice day ! ♡

I made some research to write this but tell me if anything's inaccurate or wrong! I'll fix it right away

Selectively mute MC - ikevamp headcanons (Arthur, Theo & Comte)

Arthur

Arthur's a bit suspicious when he sees how uncomfortable you seem to be on your first night. No normal person would feel completely at ease, that's for sure, and yet the way your gaze flickers around the room, the way you fidget with your own hands, the look of pure anxiety on your pretty features, they're all blatant red flags for him, though he decides to let you be. It's your first night, after all, for all he knows you could just be terribly shy, right?

He started piecing the signs together after a couple days when your voice was yet to be heard. The only thing they knew was your name, which you wrote on a piece of paper after Vincent's many soft encouragements.

The English writer had tried flirting with you a couple times, but after being met with the same indicators of discomfort as night one, he decided to step back and watch from the sidelines, occasionally helping others translate whatever you were trying to tell them with your body language.

Selective mutism had been diagnosed around 1870 for the first time, and although it was still a relatively new medical condition, he still was a couple decades more experienced when it came to medicine. After realizing that was your case, he moved to inform everyone in the mansion so that they could adjust their behaviors and avoid causing you too much distress.

Eventually Arthur becomes the person you spend most time with in the whole house; you can feel he genuinely cares and, despite the voices you had heard about his incorrigible attitudes and questionable habits, you start appreciating all the efforts he puts into making sure you're always comfortable and understood (his efforts were very much succeeding, by the way).

On one particular night, you decided to bring some coffee to his room, a silent gesture of support in his regards, but once you entered the bedroom, he turned to look you in the eyes and you saw his beautiful blue orbs, usually alight with mischief, now dark and wavering, surrounded by puffy, red skin. He had been crying. Despite all his best efforts to hide it, everyone knew the writer had his own ghosts from the past haunting him, but seeing him so wretched and broken made your heart squeeze in sympathy and pity.

Seeing your worried expression Arthur immediately turned the other way, letting out a self deprecating laugh as he thought this was probably not helping with your case at all. "Ah- D-don't worry about me! I just got some dust in my eyes. Clumsy old me-!" You set down the tray on his desk and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"A-arthur, you can tell me. I'm here for you."

His heart almost flew out of his chest as his wide eyes stared at you in disbelief. He abruptly stood up and had to stop himself from hugging you and twirling you around, grabbing your shoulders instead. "MC, you just spoke right now, didn't you?!". He was so shocked he completely forgot about his troubles and spent minutes fawning over you. He didn't realize he was coming off as too strong until he noticed your voice getting quieter and quieter. He then apologized and took a moment to cool himself off.

From then on, your relationship goes through revolutionary changes as he finally gets to learn more about your past, tastes and personality. Each little detail makes him more and more interested in what had been a complete mystery to everyone for days. As the writer of Sherlock Holmes he certainly couldn't let this one chance fly out of the window now, could he?

If his brain malfunctioned when he heard your voice for the first time, it is pretty accurate to say that he almost passed away for the second time when he heard your laugh! It's the best and most effective antidepressant he's tried in a long time, and the more open you become, the more the look in your eyes starts to brighten up, a worthy rival to the breathtaking smile that graces your lips every now and then.

Your voice is sweet, calm and soft, and Arthur feels as if he's floating on a cloud whenever he hears it. It isn't loud, either, making everything you say seem like the most intimate secret one could whisper to a close friend. On the other hand, your laugh is like the clear and light tinkling of a bell. Each time you let out even the smallest of chuckles his cheeks flush with a rosy blush, earning him stares and teasing remarks from the closest fellow vampire in the room.

Slowly, he starts to see his reactions for what they are: sprouts of a new love. As time passes by, he realizes he wants to hear more and more of your voice. He wants to hear you whimper his name lost in overwhelming pleasure, he wants to hear all the sweet nothings and declarations of love you can offer him, comforting words, even gibberish and dark secrets. Everything that comes out of your mouth is like molten gold to him, and he wants it all to himself.

He starts bragging to others, though it does not take long before you're comfortable enough to grace them with the sound of what Arthur has come to love so much. On one side he's jealous because you've denied him the privilege of being the only one to hear your voice, but at the same time he's also extremely proud of you! You're finally happy and there's no more traces of anxiety and worry in your eyes whenever you're surrounded by the other vampires, and that's one of the most important milestones he's honored have witnessed by your side.

Theo

Let's just say that you and theo start off on the wrong foot. To say that you're frightened of him at first is an understatement, and you very much avoid him for as much as you can. He feels guilt strangling his throat whenever he sees your quivering form running away from him, and after noting that you behaved similarly with everyone and still hadn't uttered a word in days made him worry even more.

Arthur's the one who comes up with a diagnosis, and with that everyone changes their manners and speech to make you feel more at ease. Theo, just like his blue haired friend, is actually pretty good at reading body language so he has no particular struggles when it comes to your needs. Unfortunately, he's not so smooth in regulating his tone and words, which often come out a little to harsh. Vincent often reprimands him for it, and he can't help but feel even worse when he realizes he's probably ruining your whole stay.

He starts distancing himself, and you gradually start sticking by the local angel's side, never leaving him for even a second; his vibes are so pure and soothing that they help you out with your anxiety and symptoms. Needless to say, he's also very understanding and is not at all bothered to speak in your stead. This leads to Vincent being the first one to hear your voice, and he's without doubt elated, but he also wishes for you to be able to socialize with the others, too. Theo in particular.

After days and days of the artist's endless rants on how good his little brother actually is, your image of the gruff man has been replaced by that of a soft hearted puppy. Too bad that this soft puppy looks like a hungry hunt dog more than a small, soft cloud of love.

Ironically enough, what brings you and Theo to a new stage of your basically nonexistent relationship is King. In the dog's presence he lets his guards down and turns into a loving owner of a very good and friendly golden nugget, subsequently becoming more approachable. Besides, everyone knows how helpful animals are in fighting anxiety and social disorders! And on the advice of Arthur, he invites you to his daily walk with his dog, hoping your fear will melt away with time.

He's a stubborn man, and even when such delicate issues come his way, he has no intention of giving up. No matter how much time it'll take him, he believes he's going to convince you he's not that bad as you first thought. Why is he trying so hard though? Well, not only it's something that stems from Vincent's care for you, but it's also something for your own good. If you were to avoid him for a whole month, you'd get nothing out of it, and a constant lingering sense of panic would follow you pretty much anywhere; but living for a whole month in those conditions is a no-no for Theo. He has no intention of uselessly make you suffer like that, and as he reminds himself of that, his willpower strengthens his determination to search for a common ground between you two.

Albeit slowly, you start getting less tense around him, and the fright fades away bit by bit with each walk in the woods with the Dutch art dealer and the excited bundle of golden hair. It's a lengthy process that takes many days, but Theo finally knows his efforts aren't vain when he hears you coo at the golden retriever. "King... you're such a good boy.." You say with with the warmest smile he had ever seen painted on someone's face as you patted his canine friend's head lovingly. In that moment he wished he could frame the scene and hang it up in his room next to his brother's paintings.

He didn't know whether it was the emotion of hearing your voice for the first time or the implications that told him you weren't that scared of him anymore, but he became hyper aware that his wasn't a normal heartbeat. Unsteady and crazy like that of a lovestruck fool. Was this all it took him to fall head over heels for someone? Or was this a process that had started way before?

It still takes you some time to be fully able to speak complete sentences in his presence, but once you do, he's overcome with one of the greatest feelings of satisfaction he had ever felt in his two lives, and he can definitely agree that everything was worth the wait and the labour.

Just like Arthur, your laugh almost makes him fly through the roof, but what turns him into a formless puddle of mushy feelings and amazement is your singing voice. The first time he hears you intone a medley to him he turns to stone and just stays there, unmoving. He has an eye for finding hidden talents, but oh God was your singing unexpected. His feeling may be out of place here, but he's so, so glad to have your singing all to himself. He finds the act extremely intimate, and for how much he may believe he doesn't deserve it, he cannot deny the positive effects it has on him

Sometimes, when you're talking to him, you can see him turn his face away and smile to himself like an idiot. In those times, he's thinking about how far you two came, and how glad he is to have persisted as much as he did.

Comte

Comte emanates a slightly threatening and imposing aura but it can also be calm and placid, like his voice. First and foremost he's a gentleman, but he sometimes comes off as very intimidating to those who are not used being around such strong presences like his. Luckily, he's a very patient man, and you can feel no judgement nor malice coming from him. He's lived a long, long life, and he knows better than overstepping people's boundaries and making fun of their insecurities.

When with him, you can do things at your own pace! If you don't feel like talking then he's totally okay with it; take your time to find your own way and pace of doing things, he'll gladly help if you ever ask him (with gestures or, once you're closer, with words).

The panic you feel in his presence dissolves gradually; there are no particular events that cause a turning point in your relationship, it just happens. Despite living in such a big mansion, avoiding all life forms is pretty much impossible, so you happen to share some interactions every now and then. Sometimes it's an afternoon tea, others it's just him making small talk as you clean his room (he's either talking to himself or asks answers you can nod to if you feel more comfortable). He immediately makes it clear that he doesn't expect nor want to pressure you in delivering any answer, and if you ever happen to feel too overwhelmed he excuses himself and leaves the room.

One day as you were dusting the shelves in his office, he casually says:"The weather's really nice today." But your head doesn't move in assent, instead he receives a shocking reply despite the ordinariness of the topic. "It really is... T-there's not a cloud in the sky, either." A shocked expression momentarily appears on his features, soon replaced by a wide smile as he hums back in agreement.

He doesn't let it show but he's utterly in love with your voice. It's an addiction but he still wants to give you enough space and time to get comfortable with the idea of speaking around him, so he tries to keep himself in check all the time.

It's when he hears you singing that he can't help but feel greedy, and the rare sight of Comte's blushing cheeks greets you for the first time ever. It's his weak point, use it as you may deem ;)

(okay but jokes aside WHY would you ever want to use it against him, he'd build a pyramid with a butter knife while doing a backflip if you asked him to tbh,, the man is Whipped.)

Everything you do has a meaning and a significance, so he's always taking in even the smallest piece of information you may subconsciously slip his way. Seeing how you trust him enough to lower your guards about him makes him all the more appreciative of the bond you two share. For this reason, if you ever want to try and get over your anxiety, he'll be there to walk with you from the first to the last step of your journey.

His favorite thing is when he's holding you in his arms, nuzzled against his chest while he dozes off to your heavenly humming. It makes him feel like a prince living his happy ever after in a fairytale and he couldn't be more grateful.

[oathofoaksart]

YOUNG JUSTICE OC: KITSUNE 

bio under the cut!

BASICS Name: Leiko Ara A.K.A: Kitsune; Lei, Kit, L.A [only by Charlie] Age: 16 [S1 Era], 21 [S2 Era] Gender: Cisgender Female Orientation: Grayromantic Bisexual

Skin: Fair Hair: Plum-Black Eyes: Black, fully golden and slit-pupiled as Kitsune Height: 5'6”, 6’1” in platforms Build: Lithe, built like a dancer Distinctions: Distinctly pretty. Sharpened canines and nails. A sharp dresser, obviously wealthy, rarely seen without some type of heel.

RELATIONS Parents: Ryuu Ara and Cho Miyamotou [estranged] Siblings: N/A Friends: Wally “Kid Flash” West, Zatanna Zatara, M’gann “Miss Martian” M’orzz, Raquel “Rocket” Irving, Kaldur’ahm “Aqualad”, Dick “Robin” Grayson, Conner “Superboy” Kent, Artemis Crock, Haley Overbea [OC] Partner/s: Wally “Kid Flash/Flash III” West (ev. post-S3) Misc.: Charles “Scribe” Jenson [OC], Penelope “Poppet” Caskett [@PoltergeistPrincessa] Affiliations: The Spiral, The Team

PERSONALITY Personality Type: ENTP-A [Assertive Debater] Temperament: Choleric-Sanguine Alignment: Chaotic Good Clever | Self-Assured | Driven | Arrogant | Spiteful

Aristocratic in both upbringing and nature, Leiko likes to carry herself with regality. Her confidence and well-honed charm makes her a popular figure among her school peers, even though she keeps everyone at a cool arm's length. Her social aloofness leaves her with little to no close friends, which she figures is just as well, since she finds friends to be a waste of time.

Around others in the heroic scene, Leiko allows herself to show off. She’s known for her theatrical and flamboyant attitude, topped with a haughtiness she cares little to subdue. She’s assertive, witty, and adores a challenge. She lets this completely unfurl as the vain and dramatic Kitsune, who views the world as her stage and anyone watching her audience.

Leiko struggles with unlearning a deep-seated cynicism against others and is often skeptical of actions claimed to be done out of good will, which clashes with the ethics of heroism. Her grasp on empathy leaves much to be desired as well; she can be condescending, sharp, and impatient when the situation calls for exactly the opposite.

Still, steadily Leiko finds herself learning humility, trust, and care from her teammates, along the way forming friendships no Swiss bank account could buy.

ABILITIES AND WEAKNESSES

Powers and Abilities:

Physiology:

Lei doesn’t possess a human soul, but of that of her namesake, a kitsune. Her “soul” is instead a Hoshi no Tama, usually referred to as her soul bead. It is a fist-sized pearl that resides within her body. This is the source of her magic as well as her heightened physical attributes.

Enhanced Senses: Lei demonstrates fox-like senses. She sees just as well at night as she does during the day, hears better than a normal human, and has a better sense of smell. This doubles in the supernatural side, she can see, hear, and smell beyond the mortal plane. 

Enhanced Physiology: Lei exhibits above-average speed, strength, endurance and rarely if ever comes down with diseases, viruses and the like.

Onmyodo: A traditional Japanese occultism

Illusion Magic: Lei’s strongest suit is her hold over illusion spells. Using a variety of paper charms, mirrors, physical cues, written and verbal spells, she's able to create confusion over her opponent. These illusions range from visual to audial, making it difficult to rely on one's own senses. Her illusions are often grandiose, jarringly colorful, with nods to the overall aesthetic influence of traditional Japanese art forms. In turn makes her relatively immune to similar tactics.  

Barriers: Can alternately use barriers as a sort of defense or a barring mechanism. Barriers set up by paper charms are stronger and more durable than barriers set by simple verbal spells, however combining both techniques grants the best results.

Pyrokinesis: Lei’s kitsunebi is a mystic fire she can conjure in the form of pillars and spheres. Notably different to “mortal” flame, as it burns exclusively supernatural/otherworldly beings, but brings the sensation of weakness and illness to the human body.

Weapons and Inventory:

Enchanted Parasol:

Kit’s go-to weapon. By reaching over her shoulder, the same way one would unsheath a sword, her oil paper parasol materializes into her hand in a burst of flame. It serves both as a defensive and offensive tool.

Closed: While in her hands it doesn’t appear to weigh any more than a regular parasol, in combat it carries an inexplicable weight, able to break concrete. She uses it as a melee weapon, much like a bat or a club. Kit also uses it as a makeshift wand/staff, for bigger and more complex spells. And a favorite stun tactic of hers is to mimic pumping the action to a shotgun, aiming her parasol and “firing” it. It creates a momentary illusion of being “shot” to whomever her target may have been. 

Open: Popping it open creates a quick-time personal shield, able to deflect various attacks and withstand a fair amount of explosive power. Ducking behind it obscures her from her opponent and she uses this window of time to work up a spell. Spinning the canopy of her parasol causes momentary dizziness. When jumping off of highland, the parasol allows Kit to glide for long distances (the amount of time and smoothness of the glide suffers when another person is in tow).

Ofuda: These paper charms can be used as delayed “bombs” affected by sticking them into walls, either simply timed or activated by touch. They also serve for warding spells. Gohei: A summoned short wand with a decorative paper trail, the length of the trail stretches during use. Lei uses it as a sort of weaponized gymnast ribbon, or a whip. Most effective against intaginable objects or enemies. Balance Charm: With Scribe's help and after many mishaps, Kit wears a beaded charm around her ankle which enables her limited enhanced movement. She appears to glide along, unweighted, making her movements seem feather light. It helps slow or cushion short distance falls and balance on unprobable surfaces. May also explain how she manages to fight in heels. Spellbook: Kit carries a small notebook with variant spells written herself for safe-keeping and for a quick reference check. Mirrors: Kit holds a small, two-faced mirror. The mirror serves to see through glamour illusions or create more intricate illusions of her own; more often than not, she uses it to admire a makeup job well done. Purification Salt: Ghosts in particular are vulnerable to salt, circles of it makes areas inaccessible to them. Calligraphy Set: A horse-hair brush, inkwell and a small stash of paper for written spells

Limitations and Weaknesses:

Water and Aquatic Environments: As host of a fire kitsune, Kitsune’s main and biggest weakness is water. Being around areas with large amounts of water dampens the potency of her magic, being doused in it cuts off completely until she dries off. While her parasol helps repel rain and small splashes, it can only do so much. The water effect includes any type, Lei incapacitaed by things such as baths and showers as well until she properly dries herself off.

Cynophobia: Lei’s “unprompted” fear of dogs, or really any sort of canine that aren’t foxes, can be traced back to Japanese folklore. Dogs were considered enemies of foxes, being used to hunt them down. People accused of being possessed by, or being kitsune, were sometimes forced to be licked head to toe by dogs in order to expel the demon to it’s true form. Dogs make Lei largely uncomfortable at best, aggressive dogs will either send her into a state of frozen terror or at worst, unabashed panic.

HISTORY [TRIGGER WARNING: SEXUAL HARASSMENT]

The only child of Ryuu Ara, a successful luxury hotel chain owner and president, Leiko grew up with the world served to her on a silver platter. She enrolled in the best schools, excelling in academics, popularity, and was starting to make headway as a teen model. Leiko formed into a pretty, precocious, if pretentious, girl.

At age 14, after wrapping up a student council meeting afterschool, the student body president forced her into a corner when she’d turned him down for a date. The boy grew increasingly aggressive, but was stopped from going beyond grasping at her blazer when a brilliant white flame unfurled from Leiko’s hands. She fled the second she found an opening, calling for help until she caught the attention of school security. The boy was found unconscious, but physically unharmed. (She would later find out, he complained of sudden illness and a downslide of rotten luck, with little to no memory on how he’d been knocked cold.)

Ryuu spared no expense on making sure justice was properly handed out, although that was simple when compared to the news Leiko gave him about her new ability to conjure flame. But he’d taken the revelation far easier than Leiko thought he would. Ryuu admitted it was something he’d been somewhat expecting, even dreading.

Leiko’s mother was something of a taboo subject. Outside of knowing her name was Cho (Ryuu never mentioned her maiden name) and that there had been an ugly divorce shortly after Leiko was born, she didn’t know much else. Even then, her father didn’t go into specifics beyond blaming Cho for Leiko’s newly discovered “peculiarity.” Ryuu ultimately decided it was best for Leiko to pretend she hadn’t discovered it. She had a bright future ahead of her as his heir and it wouldn’t be marred by her mother’s blood. Leiko obeyed despite her protests. They’d both come to realize, however, fire was just the beginning.

Over the following weeks, more abilities came to emerge, from heightened senses to supernatural awareness. She struggled under the pressure of maintaining the semblance of being normal. The weight of stress and desperation finally proved too much for Leiko, leading to a discussion gone sour, ending only when she noticed Ryuu backing away from the looming shadow of a four-tailed fox she cast on the wall. She would miss the following days of school when her eyes refused to revert back from their completely golden, slit-pupiled appearance.

Resigned, Ryuu took to looking into someone who could help Leiko with her magic troubles as this was beyond his reach.

That someone came to be a man by the name Scribe, a semi-public mystic who operated within New York. Scribe’s interest piqued at the mention of Leiko’s transformation and to the Ara’s slight relief, Scribe proved himself to be a sorcerer of true magic instead of a con-man looking for a quick buck. He’d confirmed their suspicions of Leiko being tied to the kitsune, fox spirits of Japanese lore, although he admitted he had little to no experience with said creatures.

Scribe refused to leave Leiko to sort things out on her own, however, and offered her a proposition. Scribe’s lifelong work dealt with a massive, mystical library he dubbed the Spiral, which housed knowledge from across space and time. Despite his years slaving away at discovering and archiving its secrets, progress was going at a crawl. He’d take Leiko under his wing, giving her access to whatever she could get her hands on and import what they couldn’t find from his various connections. In return, she’d take up being his personal assistant. Ryuu had been reluctant to let Leiko have a hands on approach and had made his dislike for Scribe apparent, but relented.

The world of magic was a far cry from the straight-laced, business-oriented life Leiko had grown in; it both terrified and fascinated her. Scribe, real name: Charles Mordichai Jenson (Charlie for short), proved to be an eccentric, but well-meaning guide where he could. As the two dove into research, Leiko let loose a sense of freedom and expression she stifled to fit her father’s expectations. Charlie was quick to help enable this. They were polar opposites in many ways, but Charlie saw a passion and potential in Leiko that mirrored his own at her age, and he fully intended to see it shine. It wasn’t long before Leiko wasn’t just checking inventory and jotting notes for both The Spiral and Jenson’s Comics (Charlie’s civilian pop culture store), but followed him out on relic retrievals and even the occasional “mystic field trip”. Charlie had been adamant on one thing when she stepped out of the safety of The Spiral however, much as he’d taken Scribe as his mantle, Leiko would have to make one of her own for the sake of her identity. It wasn’t a hard choice for her as it was practically staring her in the face, Kitsune took life. Over the next two years, Kitsune proved herself to be a capable magician despite being self-taught. Juggling her home, school and magic life was busy, but thrilling. Perhaps a little too thrilling. During an outing, Scribe and Kitsune were ambushed by a sorcerer named Felix Faust, who ultimately took Scribe prisoner. Well-aware of just how over her head she was, Kitsune went on a one-girl rescue mission to save her mentor anyway and was beyond relieved to find a young group of supers on the same trail.

The group, known simply as “The Team”, had been alerted of Scribe’s abduction through their resident mystic, Zatanna. Scribe had managed to send a distress signal before all communication cut off. Shoving down the twinge of jealousy that came with that revelation and of being out of the loop, Kitsune allied herself with the Team until Scribe was rescued. She was offered a permanent position on the Team, which she said she’d think over even though she had no interest in becoming a hero. She was more persuaded by the opposition placed by Scribe and the oddly genuine endearment shown by the Team’s speedster, Kid Flash.

Less than a few days later, an argument between Leiko and Charlie sparked by his confession of thinking she wasn’t right for the Team just yet sent her right to them out of spite.

Now taking a crash course in heroics, Kitsune tackles supercrime, training, self-reflection, team building and the frustrating, but integral importance of friendship.

NOTES

Kit has alternate versions of her Kitsune outfit and will switch between them mid-battle, either because she wasn’t feeling the one she was wearing, it got dirty, or a specific attack called for a wardrobe change

Because Lei’s brand of Onmyodo is largely “home-brew” given she’s self-taught, she incorporates other types of magic and styles to compensate 

Lei has the passive ability of being ridiculously lucky, she never loses games of chance such as coin flips and dice rolls

The nickname ‘Lei’ was originally coined by Wally West and it’s a nickname she only allows within the perimeter of the Cave

Lei is proud of her musical skill, it’s not uncommon to hear her singing to herself and will shred an electric guitar when given the chance

She has a pet Bearded Dragon named Prince. Prince was a at-Death’s-door rescue surrendered to Charlie, who gave him to her after she helped nurse Prince back to health and she wound up attached to him

Lei’s father is unaware she’s taken up heroism, as far as Ryuu knows, she’s studying under Charlie to get her curiosity of magic out of her system

[mfb-better-fury]

Episode 1

Night

In an observatory, a boy is alerted to the new star fragment and searches for it through his telescope. Upon seeing it he becomes excited to have finally found it.

In an area of ruins, a hooded figure watches the star fragment fall and speaks to himself: “When a dazzling light shines brightly on the earth, from the heavens a new star fragment will arrive and awaken a great power.” He then calls to the star fragment to give that great power to “the black sun”.

As both watch, the star fragment splits into 13 pieces. One piece targets the observatory and hits the boy and his bey Mercury Anubius. He is knocked to the floor from the impact but quickly rises to his knees to ensure his bey’s safety.

As the other fragments fall, one piece makes its landing near the ruins. The hooded figure demands to know what’s going on then calls for Johannes, telling him to collect the scattered pieces. When Johannes disappears, the figure muses to himself that it is only a matter of time before “Nemesis” is revived.

Madoka has just finished the repairs on Galaxy Pegasus from the battle against Spiral Force when she watches a piece of the star fragment fly past her window. She assumes that she imagined it due to her exhaustion.

A woman with long blue hair is cleaning the parts of a bey when a piece of the star fragment comes in through the window, knocking her from her chair. It’s a struggle for her to get to her knees and look across the desk, but she finds the parts of the bey dimly sparkling. After the brief difficulty to get back in her seat, she picks up the parts to look at them closer, then sighs and decides it’s something to worry about in the morning. She reassembles the bey and uses a cane to get to her feet, then turns off the desk light. Storm Aquario is left gleaming in the darkness.

Next Day

At Bey Park, the semi-final round of a tournament is taking place, commentated by Blader DJ and Gingka. Kenta is battling.

Gingka continuously tries cheering for Kenta even though DJ keeps reminding him he must be neutral.

In the final battle, Kenta uses Flame Claw, raising Gingka's urge to battle. After the tournament, Kenta and Gingka head to the B-Pit, Kenta with his victory trophy. Madoka is asleep at her desk, but Pegasus' repairs are complete.

Madoka is awakened by Gingka's antics, and he thanks her fervently for her work.

With Pegasus repaired, Gingka and Kenta are eager to battle and run out, Madoka chasing after them. Immediately after exiting, a plunger arrow shoots down at them, prompting Gingka to push Kenta down. The arrow sticks to the B-Pit’s outside wall just as Madoka steps out.

Gingka finds a message tied to the arrow, challenging him to a battle. They head to the misty island mentioned in the letter.

Gingka, Kenta, and Madoka arrive at the coast of the misty island to find no one waiting for them, prompting Gingka's anger. Kenta and Madoka discuss the strangeness of Gingka being challenged right as Pegasus' repairs are complete.

A rowboat appears in the mist and the challenger is revealed to be Kyoya, rowed by Benkei. Kenta and Madoka express their lack of enthusiasm to seeing another battle between Gingka and Kyoya, causing Benkei to get riled up and then fall out of the boat.

Benkei reminds them that in Gingka and Kyoya's last battle during the World Championships the two tied. Kyoya is here to settle that score.

Kyoya jumps out of the boat and readies Leone. Gingka agrees to battle with him. Kyoya states that the entire island will be their battlefield.

Rock Leone VS Galaxy Pegasus begins

There’s an immediate burst of dust at initial contact. Gingka and Kyoya begin running along the island coast, causing their friends to make chase. Using Lion Gale Force Wall, Kyoya has Leone create a tornado of sand, which Benkei boasts about. Madoka uses her computer to gather an explanation they can understand.

The sand twister picks up Pegasus and hurls it against a nearby boulder, smashing the stone into rubble. Pegasus recovers at Gingka’s call, but Kyoya has Leone and its twister pick up the debris to hurl at its opponent. Madoka and Kenta call this out, but Benkei quiets them and Kyoya claims this is a battle to see who will survive.

Gingka is a little miffed at the realization that these tactics are why Kyoya picked the location he did. Kyoya declares this is the way of the lion’s hunt and the way of his strength. At this, Gingka can’t help but agree, knowing Kyoya’s ways and recalling their first battle.

Gingka then announces that he won’t let himself lose, and directs Pegasus straight for Leone and its tornado. Kyoya mocks this, but Gingka knows what he’s doing. When Pegasus is picked up by the wind this time, it crashes into a tree that topples over on top of Leone, instantly dispersing the sand twister. Madoka and Kenta cheer.

Kyoya initially gives brief props to Gingka, but Leone then breaks through the tree and frees itself. Seeing this Gingka decides to lead Kyoya into the forest for a change of environment. Coming across a gathering of tall boulders, Leone uses them to gain height and achieve a domino effect of knocking the flat-sided rocks forward with the intent of crushing Pegasus.

Madoka calls a frightened warning to Gingka, who in turn calls for Pegasus to ride the last boulder, slanted like a ramp, and jump. It evades the falling domino rocks and smashes into another boulder ahead, which shoots debris back toward Leone. Madoka, Benkei, and Kenta have more trouble avoiding this debris than Kyoya and Leone do.

As the beys continue clashing, Kenta complains the battle is getting out of hand. Madoka growls about having just finished repairing Pegasus.

More boulders are destroyed in the fight and Gingka commends Kyoya on his strength and the battle. Kyoya replies with a promise to settle things, which Gingka denies due to Pegasus’ attack-type strength giving him the advantage in a head-on battle. Gingka aims to prove this by having Pegasus loop around to hit Leone just as such rather than in a racing style. Leone is sent flying and lands in a lake of mud, though manages to stay above the surface.

Gingka calls for Pegasus’ Starbooster Attack, using two trees as walls to gain height and soar above. Pegasus’ spirit appears, making Kenta cheer. Madoka adds that Leone is stuck in the mud meaning it’s unable to use its own move in retaliation.

As Pegasus shoots down, Kyoya calls to Leone, which swirls up the mud in a tower to catch Pegasus’ attack. Benkei attempts to name this move but struggles, making Kenta comment to simply call them all “Lion Gale Force Wall”.

Both battlers urge on their beys, with Pegasus cutting through the tornado. However, when the light clears, Pegasus is now in the mud and Leone is nowhere to be seen. Kyoya calls their attention to the sky, where Leone now spins after riding its tornado. Benkei praises his friend.

Leone flips itself over and Kyoya calls for its King Lion Reverse Windstrike. He then taunts Gingka for his backfiring plan in changing their location and claims his only reason to grow stronger is to finally defeat him.

Gingka counters Kyoya’s words claiming that whenever Kyoya gets stronger, he’ll become stronger still, and that he and Pegasus are in agreement on this. Kyoya brushes this off and calls to his own bey, having it ride down the center of its reverse tornado to smash into Pegasus, yelling that this time he will defeat Gingka.

In this moment, Kyoya and Leone awaken their power. The resulting energy destroys the mud pond and leaves a crater in its wake as Leone evolves, and Pegasus plummets to the ground beside Gingka, landing on its side. Everyone is completely stunned.

Kenta questions Madoka as to when she added this feature and why she kept it a secret, but she denies having anything to do with it. Rather than cheering, Benkei suddenly quiets them, staring intently at Kyoya who has gone completely still.

Kyoya’s face holds a bewildered and somewhat haunted expression. He’s completely ignoring the still-spinning, transformed Leone, instead staring across the crater at the defeated Pegasus. “I...won…?”

An energy pulses across Kyoya and he grabs his head. His vision darkens until only he, Leone, and Pegasus are visible. Whispers start to echo around him and he mutters shaking denials, even before the words become clear. The voice is dark and harsh, ordering him over and over that his job isn’t done until Pegasus is destroyed.

In desperation, his eyes shut tight as he continues clutching his head, Kyoya cries Benkei’s name.

Benkei rushes to action, demanding Gingka not touch Pegasus as he runs across the crater to get to Kyoya. As Gingka wonders what’s going on, Madoka sees hints of dark energy flickering around Kyoya, making her think back to Tsubasa’s battles against the dark power during the World Championships. Realization hits and she cries out in alarm that Kyoya’s been hiding an infection from his battle with Ryuga this whole time, startling Kenta and causing Gingka great concern.

As Benkei gets closer to Kyoya, Leone reacts and moves to block his path. Deciding to shout from where he stands, Benkei calls encouragement to Kyoya, reminding him that he’s beaten this before and he can do it again. This only further worries the other three as they learn how oblivious they’ve been to Kyoya’s plight when Benkei seems to have known all along.

In Kyoya’s blacked-out vision, Benkei’s words are staticky like they’re coming through an old radio, but they are getting through. Slowly Kyoya starts getting a hold of himself and manages to open his eyes, hesitantly looking toward the fallen Pegasus. He doesn’t need to go further. The battle is over. It’s over and he needs to calm down, take a breath-

The whispers turn into a roar, drowning out Benkei’s voice and ordering Kyoya to attack. His strength falters, his eyes glowing red as he stares at Pegasus. The others see Kyoya lower his arms as the dark aura around him starts to grow. Benkei calls out to him, but goes quiet when he hears his friend speak as if in a trance: “Destroy...Pegasus…”

Leone responds, rushing around Benkei toward Gingka and the others. Gingka moves to grab his bey, but Benkei once again orders him not to touch it. Before Leone can make contact with Pegasus, Dark Bull slams into the motionless bey, sending it flying away from danger. Bull takes the hit from Leone head-on, and the explosion knocks Gingka, Kenta, and Madoka back due to their close proximity.

Benkei grits his teeth and holds his ground, ordering Bull to attack Leone in an attempt to divert Kyoya’s attention. Kyoya roars behind him, claiming that if he gets in the way he’ll be destroyed too. The dark aura now fully envelopes him. Madoka is frantically trying to collect data on the new Leone but comes up with nothing. With the way Bull is being pushed back, Kenta realizes Leone isn’t behaving like a defense-type bey at all.

Benkei refuses to surrender, leading the battle away from Gingka and the others and calling Kyoya’s name. There is no reaction.

As Leone mercilessly attacks Bull, Benkei calls out again, this time telling Kyoya to remember Battle Bladers, to remember how they were hurt during it because of the Dark Nebula and Lightning L-Drago. Benkei demands to know if that’s what Kyoya wants to happen again, and if he wants to be responsible for repeating it – responsible for hurting his friends. Benkei asks Kyoya if he intends to hurt the people he’s been trying to protect all this time.

In the darkness, Kyoya jolts. Fuzzy memories of Battle Bladers dance around him – Reiji’s battles against Hyoma, Kenta, and Gingka. Yu showing up severely injured due to his own battle against him. Ryuga’s battles against Hikaru and Tsubasa. Ryuga’s battle against him.

Beyond the voice controlling him, Kyoya begins to hear others. Benkei’s first, encouraging him, promising that he won’t tell anyone and he’ll stay by his side. Nile’s comes next, chastising Kyoya for being stupid enough not to tell them about this; Demure’s voice chimes in with concern and asking what they can do to help.

Then, Kyoya’s own voice: “I know how to stop this. But I can’t do it by staying here.”

Tsubasa answers: “Whatever happens, we have each other, right?”

Hikaru adds: “Maybe I can’t be out there battling with you guys right now...but I’m with you no matter what.”

Kyoya slowly clenches his firsts, his breathing becoming strained. “I...won’t…”

In the battle, Leone’s attacks against Bull start to lose power and speed. Kyoya begins to growl, catching everyone’s attention. He grabs his head again, but this time the dark aura appears to be shrinking, bright green taking its place. Benkei immediately starts calling to him again, affirming his belief that Kyoya can pull out of it. Though scared and still not certain of the entire situation, Kenta and Madoka do the same. Gingka is silent, watching the events fearfully.

With a roar echoed by Leone’s spirit as it appears in a sudden storm of wind around them, Kyoya breaks free from the dark power’s grip. Both the aura and the glow to his eyes are fully replaced by blazing green. In response his bey shoots away from Bull, driving itself into the forest leaving destruction in its wake until at last becoming trapped within a boulder and ceasing its spin.

Calling back Bull, Benkei rushes to Kyoya’s side with the others close behind. Kyoya is unsteady on his feet when they reach him. He tries to turn to Gingka, but his vision doubles and he falls against Benkei due to sudden dizziness. He manages to get two words out: “I’m...sorry…” before losing consciousness. Benkei fixes his hold on Kyoya, promising that it’s alright and that everyone is safe. Madoka and Kenta decide to go off to search for Leone.

Gingka stares at Kyoya for several seconds before turning around to look back at Pegasus, still resting where Bull had knocked it back to protect it from Leone’s attack.

The boy from the observatory has arrived at a harbor and is in a great hurry to find Gingka. Unknown to him, Johannes is on his tail.