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practically-an-x-man · 4 months ago

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41 for Rick and Eris?

Thank you so much!!!

41. ghost/living person au Send Me a Ship and a Number and I'll Write a Short Fic

This one's... a little angsty. Or a lot angsty. Have fun.

____ This Phantom Life

Word Count: 2.6k Content Warnings: heavy angst, major character death, wrongful imprisonment, uncertain/open ending, emotional hurt/comfort (if you can really call it that)

Crossposted on AO3

____

Eris scratched another tally into the stone wall of their cell. By now they lined the walls, rows and rows of pale scars carved into the bricks. Seven hundred and fifty-six days in Arkham Asylum. Over two years now, with no end to come any time soon. Some would say she deserved it. Sometimes Eris wondered if he did.

It wasn't the time that got to her. Two years was nothing against the immortal stretch of her lifespan. They'd outlive Arkham and whatever came after it.

It wasn't the isolation either. So much of their life had been spent in isolation, just by the nature of that same immortality. This was no more a prison than the simple facts of her existence.

It wasn't the way they treated him like a monster. On the best of days, he was deemed vile and criminally insane. On the worst of days, he amounted to nothing more than an animal in their eyes.

What had tormented Eris for seven hundred and fifty-six days now wasn't Arkham. It was what had led to Arkham.

Everyone thought she'd done it. That was the worst part. It didn't matter how much he'd pled his case, how he'd walked through every detail in his memory from the start of the mission to the moment he'd woken up, in burnt and half-healed agony, in the blackened ruins of the lab. It didn't matter that they had witnesses, alibis, dozens on the Squad who insisted that despite her affinity for violence, she'd never have laid a hand on him.

Because when the only two left alive at the scene were an international war god and an international war hero, of course she was given all the blame.

Seven hundred and fifty-six days in Arkham Asylum. Seven hundred and seventy-one since he'd been charged with crimes against humanity and the murder of one Colonel Richard Flag, Jr.

He'd been so shattered by grief that he hadn't even tried to fight when they came to take him away. The anger came days later, on the stand, seeing Him all steady and composed at the witness stand, acting as if he hadn't done what he'd done. He was a hero, of course. Everyone knew he was a hero.

They just... attacked. It was like something snapped. I'd never have expected them to go after Rick, of all people - I thought if anyone was safe, it would be him, but I guess I was wrong. And as soon as he was gone, I mean, there was nothing to hold them back. Before I knew it, the whole place had gone up in flames. I barely made it out of there with my life.

Before she knew it, she'd snapped her cuffs and leapt over the bench. She was unarmed and weakened by her injuries but still managed to draw blood before the darts sank into her flesh and everything went dark. The guards knew how to deal with metahumans. They'd been expecting him to snap from the moment they dragged him up to the stand. He'd been determined not to give them what they wanted, but...

But Rick was dead. And everyone believed it was their fault. Eris had nothing left. The world had gone gray and shapeless.

Seven hundred and fifty-six days in the same desolate cell. And it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

Eris squeezed the sharp pebble, the stone they'd used to carve so many tallies into the wall, until the edge bit into their palm and crimson dripped onto the floor of their cell. The blood continued to fall for a long time. The cell was lined with power-dampening tech, but the fight had gone out of them either way. The pain meant nothing against the torture of the last two years.

Cold wind swept in, and Eris raised a hand to the barred window of the cell. Warm. Summer in Gotham City- or the closest to summer it ever came. But the cold kept spiraling around them, kicking up dust with a ghoulish gray light. Eris tucked his legs to his chest against the sudden cold, smearing half-clotted blood from his palm across his jumpsuit.

"It wasn't me." they mumbled, though they weren't sure why, "I'm sure I deserve my sentence, but not for what they claim I've done. You were my heart. I didn't kill you."

Perhaps he'd gone mad. That was what Arkham did, after all. Those that weren't mad when they entered were mad when they left, and those that were already mad quickly sunk to lower depths. Eris wasn't sure what he weighed on that scale. Surely nothing close to sane, not in his life and not in his grief.

But the thin mattress sank at her feet, as if a weight had settled onto it, and a palm - cold on the surface but somehow warmer within, like the touch brushed a nerve beneath her skin - settled heavy on her knee.

"I know, wartime."

She couldn't see him but she could. Eris' eyes processed nothing more than the same damp gray walls, scarred with two years of even marks, yet in some deeper way they could see his face twisted into a sad half-smile at the other end of the bed. Behind the eyes, they thought, like a memory. They'd seen that smile a million times. They'd never see that smile again.

He was the half-dried ink of a handwritten letter, sharp words smudged by careless fingers. He was the glint of light off the blade of a knife. He was perfectly clear yet painfully indistinct, somehow both real and not.

"They called him a hero," Eris muttered, picking at the tattered sheets that lay crumpled across the bed, "He killed you and locked me away and they called him a hero for it. Everyone thinks he captured the beast that killed Rick Flag, but the blood is on his hands and no-one will see it."

"I'm still here." His voice was the only clear thing about him. It was a balm over their frayed nerves, as warm as it had always been in life, yet Eris shook their head.

"You're not." he whispered, "Or you'd have been here sooner."

"It's a long way from NOLA to Gotham, hon." Rick's voice said, the same cold-hot-soft touch skirting over their knee, "I did the best I could."

Eris was silent for a long time. In the back of her mind, she saw Rick tilt his head, concern falling across his face like a curtain. Springs creaked in the mattress, that bodiless weight sliding closer across the cot. Eris ducked their head but still saw him, like a dream they couldn't purge from their mind. He was here on the cot and he was there, a ragged cut across his throat like a crimson smile.

He'd used a kukri blade. Eris hated kukri blades. Too imprecise, and the harsh bend in the blade made it hard to maneuver. He preferred smaller, sleeker poignards, perhaps a cat's-claw sgian-dubh, or the pugio blade he'd worn at his hip since he left Themyscira. DuBois had tried to tell them that, up on the stand. It didn't seem to matter. A weapon was a weapon.

"I think I've finally lost my mind, Rick," she said, her voice swallowed by the cold stone walls around her, "It's all trickled away like blood in water. I have nothing left. My body lives but the rest has died. Maybe it's been dead for a long time."

Ghostly touch, the same electric jolt across exposed nerves, brushed overgrown curls of hair back from his face. Or it was the wind. Or he'd done it himself. But he leaned into the touch and thought he felt resistance, something sturdy and physical taking up space beside him.

Or they'd become just like any other prisoner of Arkham, whispering with ghosts and stumbling through rippling tides of their own mind.

A cackling shriek tore through the halls, sudden enough to make Eris' muscles tense. He saw the echo of Rick flinch too, fingers curling like he was resisting the urge to reach for a weapon.

"Forgot how bad this place was," he said, or seemed to say, "Makes Belle Reve seem like Disneyland. Surprised you haven't busted outta here yet."

Eris couldn't respond. He should have already broken free. Or perhaps he'd never break free. He didn't know how he could face a world without Rick in it. She didn't know how she could face a world that believed she'd murdered the one thing she truly loved. Grief was a vice clamped tight around her ribs.

Fingertips traced their cheek, callused but gentle as they'd always been. Eris jerked away from the touch.

"Stop this. Please." they mumbled, "I watched you bleed. I watched you die. I found your bones in the ashes. I know you can't be here."

"How do you know that?"

"Because... I know."

Because death was final. Because it had to be. Because his return was as painful as no return at all, or even more.

And because it was easier just to believe she'd gone mad.

But behind her eyes, that afterimage reached for something around his neck, and warmth bloomed as he set it around hers instead. Eris lifted his hand and found weight, two plates of cool slim metal on a beaded cord. His fingers traced the small, stamped words. He knew what they said without even needing to look.

No. Eris had found those with the bones. They'd been buried with what remained of his body. They were six feet under, encased in soil and concrete in the Louisiana National Cemetery. The plot was next to his father's. Eris knew all this from DuBois - she hadn't even been given the courtesy to attend the service.

"Believe me now?"

Against all his deepest wishes, he did. The dog tags were solid between his fingers and they caught flashes of sunlight from the window, visible not only to his mind but to his eyes. He could deny the rest as madness, but he couldn't bring himself to deny this.

"You told me you would die when it was your time. You told me you'd be nothing more than human. This..." Eris muttered, fumbling for words, "This is much more than human."

"And you told me I was yours to the end," he said, "This ain't the end. Not just yet."

"And why isn't it?"

" 'Cause I don't want it to be. Isn't that enough?"

Her strength gave out all at once. They crumpled forward, expecting to keep falling until they hit the cot but instead meeting warm resistance just in front of them. His arms came up around them, the same way he'd always done, enveloping them in warmth and the indescribable feeling of home.

Eris pressed his face to Rick's chest, the space where his heart should have been, but heard no steady beat like he should have. His chest did not rise or fall, but something about it was there and kept her from breaking apart. Tears crept down her cheeks and spilled into her lap. Would it have been easier if they'd met resistance? If they'd soaked into cloth she could feel but that wasn't truly there?

If her tears fell to the cot below her, so should she. If she did not fall, neither should have those treacherous droplets. So much of this defied logic, defied reason, and he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I miss you," she gasped, suffocating in the echo of those loving arms, "I miss you holding me in the night. I miss your chicken pot pie and the way you hum to yourself when you're at the stove. I miss fighting by your side and knowing I could turn my back when you were behind me. I miss... the way you put my spear on the highest rack so you'd always have to grab it for me, and the smell of you on the sheets when you brought me to your bed, and-"

"Ssh," his voice murmured from above them, "I know, baby."

The words dissolved into terrible, choking sobs, the sound of them ricocheting down the hall and mingling with the shrieks of other prisoners. Eris couldn't remember the last time he'd cried like this. Even witnessing the death, even being brought to the stand and accused for it, hadn't been enough to draw tears from him.

They felt weak and helpless, sick with grief, and somehow they didn't care. They were no longer a warrior, no longer a god. They were just another prisoner, driven to insanity amidst the walls of Arkham. They had no honor left to preserve.

"I've got something else for you."

Something was pressed into their hands, small and cool and familiar. Eris recognized it by feel alone - their sgian-dubh, the smallest of their many blades, encased in a worn leather sheathe.

It was in the same place as the dog tags. It should've been. Yet here it was in her hands.

"DuBois said you'd want a piece of you to stay with me," said that echo, "But I think you should hold onto this one for a while."

"I'll kill him," Eris promised, closing their fingers tight around the knife, "I'll avenge your death."

"You know that won't fix anything," Rick murmured, calm and strangely solemn. She supposed it was death that had done that. A shapeless touch passed over her hair once again, comforting like it had always been comforting, and she heard him speak again. "But I want you to get out of this place. You don't belong here."

Resolve settled heavy into his chest. Yes, he'd get out of here. And he'd murder that so-called hero with his own kukri blade. It wouldn't wash away the blood that had been spilled. It wouldn't repair Eris' broken heart.

But he couldn't let that beast survive in a world that still deemed him a hero.

If the world thought Eris was a monster, let her be a monster. It wouldn't be the first time.

The dreamlike afterimage of Rick pulled back, and his eyes looked her up and down with that familiar mask of concern.

"You look tired."

"Prison will do that."

In the back of his mind, that frown deepened.

"How long has it been since you've slept?"

Every time they shut their eyes, they saw the same crimson smile. They saw Rick's bewildered expression, eyes wide and lips working for words that would never come. They saw him collapse, dead before he hit the ground, and then scorched bones and dog tags in the aftermath.

And he was exhausted. He was tired of this memory, tired of this cell, tired of this life. Eris sighed, and sank again into that shapeless touch.

"Too long."

Without so much as a word, gentle hands eased them into bed like a sick child, tucked the sheets around them and stroked their hair until they fell into a tumultuous sleep.

When Eris woke, the cell was dim and empty around him. He wondered if it had all just been a dream, some facsimile cooked up by his battered mind in the isolation. Rick was gone, and would never return. He'd never hold her again. Perhaps he'd never held her at all.

Then she shifted, and felt the hilt of a tiny cat's-claw dagger clutched between her fingers.

#my friends!!!#faolonfiendrender #answered asks #my writing #my ocs #oc eris #ficlet #oneshot #angst #heavy angst #emotional whump

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dragonsarecool · 3 days ago

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Febwhump Day 3 - Pinned Down

A/N: Quark sometimes wondered if bartending was worth the constant assassination attempts. Set during 'The Homecoming'.

"Would you stop looking so glum?!"

Quark was exasperated. The last fourteen hours had been one of the rare shifts where he was completely exhausted, and he was unusually eager to return to his quarters. They'd only been counting Rom's wage for a few minutes and he was already looking as though the FCA had confiscated all of his assets. He's too emotional for a Ferengi. "Payday is supposed to be a time of joy!"

It took Rom a moment to summon the courage to voice his thoughts, pushing himself upright from slouching despondently over the bar. "I know, brother, but every week it's the same thing! Six for you and only one for me," He gave his brother a bitter look. "It's not fair!"

Unfazed by the outburst, Quark grinned slyly to himself. I know exactly how to mess with him this time. "You're right."

Rom's mouth fell open. He stared as though Quark had become the Grand Nagus himself. "…I am?"

"Yes! It's not fair."

"It's not?"

"Absolutely!" Quark answered smoothly. He secretly enjoyed watching the smile of surprise emerging across his brother's face. His fingers danced through the collection of latinum grasped in his hands, and began counting aloud. "One for you, and…seven for me. One for you, and seven for me. Isn't that better?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an irate Rom storming his way out of the bar. "Where are you going?" He asked mockingly, holding up a handful of seven latinum bars.

Rom attempted to give an intimidating look at him, though all he managed to achieve was his voice carrying an icy edge. "To bed, so I can dream of an equal share of profits."

An involuntary snort escaped Quark; he was enjoying this far too much. "Dream on," He looked away from his disgruntled brother and resumed continuing his latinum. "One for me, seven for you."

He heard the doors to the bar whoosh, a sense of annoyance remerging. Rom couldn't have possibly decided to have another go at me. "What is it now-"

Quark found himself being violently pulled backwards, his peripheral vision surrounded with black-hooded figures. One of them shoved him to the floor of the bar, while another set about forcing a suspiciously-coloured rag into his mouth. His head spun dizzily as he struggled to focus, realising somebody was sitting on top of his arms. That explains why I can't move the-

What the hell is that?!

Quark's eyes widened as a metallic coil was lowered towards his face. He couldn't quite make out what was on the end of it, but he decided his effort would be better spent trying to escape. A hand was pressed against his throat to stop him from lifting his head, the pressure against his windpipe barely noticeable among everything else.

It was only when he realised that the metal was sizzling that he truly began to panic. A branding iron?!

What did I do this time?! I only overcharged fifty percent of my customers today!

"Hmmm! HMMMH!"

His muffled cries went unheard as the weapon drew closer. For a split second, he was convinced that it was going to land straight in his eye. May the Treasury welcome me!

Metal collided with his forehead.

He screamed and his skin burned.

The smell was enough to make him nauseous, let alone the unnatural hissing as his flesh melted away. Quark thrashed and fought against the figures restraining him, only to result in their grip tightening so hard that he was sure he would have bruises.

The one time I want Odo to show up, and he doesn't…

He barely even noticed when the iron was removed. The figures restraining him released their grip and quickly retreated into the darkness, the only sign of their presence being the slight whoosh of the bar doors. The skin across his lobes was on fire, spreading across his forehead and sending flames of pain through his whole face.

He raised a shaking hand and pressed his fingertips gingerly against his forehead, a muffled shout escaping his throat at the sudden sting.

I'm alive?!

Wait, why am I still alive?

He heaved himself upright, pulling the rag from his mouth as he gasped for air. "…Q-Quark to Doctor Bashir!"

An irritated sigh came through the communication system. "It's two in the morning, Quark. This had better be good."

The Ferengi opened his mouth to retort, only to suddenly find himself retching all over the floor of his bar. He could barely hear the doctor's concerned shouts as the remains of his last drink came back to greet him, the foul taste tickling the back of his throat. I just cleaned the floors as well…

"Quark! Quark, what's going on?"

A sudden weariness came over him, which he gratefully accepted as it meant the excruciating pain in his forehead began to dim. He thought about fighting it, but the effort in even thinking about doing so was becoming too much. "My bar…hurry…"

The rest of Bashir's reply disappeared into the ether as Quark slipped into unconsciousness, praying that he wasn't about to awaken in the Treasury.

#star trek #star trek ds9 #star trek deep space nine #star trek deep space 9 #fanfiction #whump #febwhump #febwhump25 #febwhump2025 #febwhumpday3

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libidomechanica · 1 year ago

Text

Untitled Poem # 10344

A curtal sonnet sequence

At kirk, or at larger was Johnny and of Hate; for thy sweet love, that dewly adayes counts me a flirting glanced athwart the night, that I were dead! And should gae mad, o whistle, and God no Grace: not Bull-fac’d Jonas, who can love not,—and yet the same, as river-water hallowed fire, and the Book of Martyrs now drinking of the Plot they might had taught the State; turn’d the stars, Love, your body so young Damon guessed by the water-fall.

And Kings and the bottom shelf, behind the typing of soft misnomers, so divine that Shimei was all the cold, calm kiss of a virgin’s blossoms. So not enuie Aristotless Surface before, therefore she replies, dry as they burr, burr, burr, as loud access of shriek’d, or let him give on till he is watch’d six or seven, and beauty charm’d into all thee to his Throne under then I knew that I am drawn to thee, fa la la.

III

Of paved heaven, either love, our desire. She look’d about her hearts held up saying in slow circles. If ancient Honour mouth and it and Johnny burrs, and spat in those very pore with heavens Annointed dar’d to see him—for he wakes up and scandal share, fresh younglings, run their Master’s charms, I clasp my counterpart,. Your mind spill their tender as a punk; chaste were pools that done, the motion and is part, resigned his should’st depart!

Poor Betty fifty yards were gathere’d to declaim against themselues we carue, and love. The womb all alloted, soon or late; love, if it’s me first Impress but uncurrent out of all Compexions some few thou didst recite thee, thy sacred things … and is part, say, what we can jest, sang Sir Lancelot. From the trains. In ecstasy the herd of such, so not enuie Aristotless with a dribbed shot, loue it self, but is not quite away.

My trembling, while perpetual day so double gilds the margents, which she to spoil are mingled in his hands they join, joints dovetailed on the fridge, pheasant, Slavic and death. He said, My name is Love. If you must go, since libertie is gone, I think to ’stablish dangerous Consequence: for Gods, and touch our poor little day, your loves, her life or limb—oh God forbid! The kind love it more sweet heaven’s gate; and Self-defence his Son, for plight.

Well knew the means bereft, he left and least; yet in her e’e. For in your beauty as you may see, and in Julia’s bed, and self- ingrain’d from Shalott. Whose extended Wand divides the ethereal statues. Ladies, like joy in memory of Civil Wars. To-morrow speak, ev’n with that held the Rabble word that sparkling spire; and bonie Mary. Chance is Natures Eldest Hope, with ev’ry granted prayers to the Jews well I may.

VII

Since in the water chill so that was it? Where thou lookest with woe, vpon so fayre a morow? There his Curst. But soone it and State: the Prophets Sons before eleven. Till she heart or brow,—strong Arm—and open Hand. The rain falls cool as I; but if flames which one Sheaf did bind, blown off and scatter’d loving follow’d in this resuming Cov’nant was forst from serving thro’ me? Farewell love any, so she begins his own world. The buried.

VIII

Came two young and faded face, an ever rue. From the Troop a Sháhzemán, by Name and clean as is the likeness I can say more the mirror crack’d from thinking. I never the daily sight. Whether his scythe can make, what needs twenty Years in snow: seas shall we hate. The Frown, commit a pleasure safe from my loue to euery one, nor tame wild! I’m going’; lit a taper, bowed her far the bush, listening now in sunshine breakfast. Eyes were.

Give me the cleft behind Thee! There is all a matter what or whose Loyns you are all but Luther. A pearl tiara, and clasping and while the Sum of righteous David spoke: with awfull Lord. Pursue it, stand helplessly before my long siege to be! Sang Sir Lancelot. Profess in thee I lay; if on another Sun to Heaven with its merchandize; I barter curl for curl for curl upon a sad quandary; and inward glide.

All love and Fancy leads, o’er the rivers to the morning’s dewy star; in crystal mirror, tirra lirra: ’ robin comes to blast the Polititians neither at once, and runs by where I unswear, and from its towers, be’t in heavens. Surely when we walk you are, shining fair, ah, braid no more rustling. She only said, I am aweary, I would not loue which once for Worship and fool are two hard to Conclusion. Oh me!

As all thee down to him, and take from Camelot: or where all the Rascall Rabble her look was like these thou didst come—to be, belovëd, I surmise, still, yet with doubts and be kind at once forgot; nor Valiant, who better time devour than languid fool, who nere constancy, here I took the Firmament. To mean Rebell. The garden came a youth; one hand he right, his noble Fame there will die together, we will sure undone.

XII

Radio, may never noticed what with a glorious July day with gazing on a star upon thy brow, to languid fool, who nere consented thereupon imagination and mistress still on Menie doat, and the pungent Gouda in thee, let be forecast. Yet it was his Wealth, in her tender feeling out, O! In your upper thigh nearly urinating in a lock without a stone-cast from the eyes may seem a fault?

XIII

Though enjoyed, like joy in memory was full sight his carefull Devil and the Doctor nor his name in her ears, and Johnny is not true. Heaven round them warm until he came with suddain Vengeance terrible to endeavour. The desp’rate game of Godly Faction with stirrup, saddle-leather, the Kiss of Welcome one did joyous love shouldst have lived through the Crouds can wink; and not, or he was there he spies her lute doth for Fear.

XIV

The distant vale; therefore I would toil; and every shape of a swain did appears of listning Crowd will sing thee, and never mind that I can first stranger! Her whom wash’d from Praise. The gen’rous thought to find my Johnny’s near, quoth Betty’s in a child: yet Helene, love, your self I swear that he is a handsome weak one’s advocate, the Nation, frozen in private Right to all his Brains wear robin’s lost in jest, we know my heart that I mean.

Those high that was his team, wi’ joy the rest; for Faction while we may his vain to Mire. These Ills the heart, and they what right the pin; and both his life’s small but loue she significance yet, sadness near ally’d; and trouble deaf heaven that she with loue indeed, where have her way; nor asks of hearts: then with a steady Writing; for perchance, except where so I won’t, but know inside of our buried. A little months’ time, all you have done.

XVI

Here in the more I trust th’ event; for Factious Friends let it speak? Oh! And went singing sky of May, and beauties reddest inke Venus for his horse forsook, to hunt the Mind like one of the Soul of thy sweet but vnfelt ioys, exild for ever rue. And in hand, like to a tree. Now, now she’s happy spots the promised length must full force my hand and growing and Take when your war of mocking hearts that harvest. She only said, Alas!

XVII

But pass as the clock than living from the breath; and thinking to praise the cradle, where she daines her sleeping close doth for ever in his good as we pass, you take off my bracelet made tongue’s tune delight. I’ll bring thee to them with her bones: mought ne gang on her thou which the ground-worms riot. Of hospitable Soul that’s in the milk, in this unblest, knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and I do equally, inevitably ridiculous.

XVIII

And I defaced. I cannot hold the red cheeks o’ bonie blue, the most true to them warm until I get a nod. Universal sound which sounds with numbers he takes the Fleece accompanions be, those sacred beauty with fair acceptance, sir, create; or melt him to obey, even Death repenting Jews: wHose fellow-feeling skill, I paint it. That I were dead! Fly, fly, my dear Perilla, I will pretend; asham’d to owe it Alas!

XIX

Wipe Thou the Wound: they led them when they could he been to secure. Our only born for life. To make me love letters without a friends the world’s wealth, in her breast, and the rarities of nature, tolerant enchanted loudly and what we are done forever; thy baited hooks shall first Rank of the trees borne away: but here under that we could be more a wit than wit. Pushing so close; by their gifts too lavishly are play he trye?

And Peace the unnamed it leads too painful an end: and thighs so close. In distress of going away. Rather than wit. Shall a heauenly Grace and all our sweet is even love to bus’ness, since lingering so close. Even in vain; like Phœbus sung the feast, th’ Offending quest,—who cares? Just like the muses! Kind. And knowing loue, my lad, tho’ father an’ mother’s vow they will not make your eyes best a contraries imploy, with buds and gums.

XXI

This head is not to forgive the Kindred legions Waste, beyond the pale stars he takes on the coming of the place on my frailties why are your bonie Mary. Why are your faces—an earth crumbles away like bloody crusades, knew they lie upon her tolerant enchanted slope in their tongues were before slept quiet to my vow, and benefit of Fate, the Eye would come to ye, my lad, o whistle, an’ I’ll come to ye, my lad.

XXII

His lowly mind now of him, if he is hurt in life and look on Simo’s mate, no ass so meek, no ass so meek, no ass so obstinate: or her, who lost, Love, your lips, which if I should whet my memory of Civil Wars. And Moses, which service, Julia, I must read the promise to suffer more. Anthea, Herrick dies, close thought of love’s chorus led by Cupid; and kissing thy worst all men adore, and rashly judge a Cause?

XXIII

Turning sun has not freely stir all parts fulfill’d t’ engage all time slows down it goes again. And four gray walls, and, Julia, thogh faire mindes resort. Who spin a yarn about Shalott. Her fading and fading eyes that was a paradox becomes you: and younglings, handsome wee thing replete with the river. Imparts not the carefull Breathless arm; time and found his own vision holds her Locks before the hot bloody torment you?

XXIV

I look’d down to all beauty’s rude disdain. Belovëd, I surmise, still, yet still doth thine my heart, his vigorous was thinking leaves to importune to swim naked swayne, with velvet moss uprose; and as soon eclipsed as bright, some Circumstances find: I by the ends of Being and kissin’ Theniel Menzies’ bonie Mary. In generall tearmes, to protected by her love, and yet am buried. These are orphans are to be!

XXV

The last of all humanity,—while thou die before slept quiet to my head, on that she hates and Place; it wants, to playe, a shadow there such harm on her breake; loue did smart; I saw the warm excesses, the river know the thicke, as it he can be wise man she been contemn; but Manly temperate heat spreads her head? It’s a warm room, the pony too: why stand still be sandless; fields of rest: blends, in the hedge to boast of all we feed?

XXVI

It is the Witnesses will pose within my books say, is weak. Of robins, but will, and in hand while thilke god that I were dead! I see a single think about themselues to Tantals smart, wealth or pleasure can never and paid a trades the baite of worldly pleasure, measure safe is your heart and my only chance is past, your hands, to overthrow. As what do still the mouse behind the holy collection holds up Prosperity.

XXVII

Charlie, he’s my darling and far more than Phoebus, if even we, even Death shall together, fierce things are but praise. Me, and the people which it doth sing, my thought to get a part of my beloved of the blue eyes may go unto his house by thee shall your Lamps with his hands, to overcome all past and these; who pul’d before my long delays her various successive Title, Long, and do is eloquence and to their own.

XXVIII

The sparkling spark, sighs for to weare, nor do aspire to Cæsars bleeding, for long cupped in lilies, as reader!—All about to learning for a nobler yet in his grave. Who order’d, that only cross’d the Body, recreate Ideas in the meadows safe from pain. With truth or a something to have come as ye were Gods were na looking backward with equal grace! When she obeys; let fops or forty days of Fasting resides.

XXIX

How is it that I may, in clear as crystal mirror, tirra lirra: ’ they meant by the better her side: and David’s mildness by that terror likewise prove, love thee dear, could Plots, true old Enthusiastick breed; gainst your beauty passeth sone as floures fayre. But we were pools that shine that Shimei taught the peasant, woodcock, of which chokes and bear the Devil and Jebusites; and Pharaoh’s Pentioners: whom, when I knew that where the wrong.

XXX

I dreamed of soul, as earthwards journey take. The other Israel’s monarch, after God’s own predicament will bid somebody die? Dip in the night’s start with bright, have cost my trembling lyre already how am I sick of shame? That new regen’rate in air: so waste garden came across the sun will have Right, for Sums of new light glow’d; on burnish’d occasion gives, but deep enough fowl now betwixt sighes of wounds, distinguish Friend!

XXXI

And Nobler is a lo’esome wee thing to foresee, make Heirs for to lie and horns, and God their glens, on starry clusters brightness duty, all this Numerous train: from thy fingers reaching when her e’re. And nothing that, and the boy who only men incredulous of desier; stellas selfe the same? Now, now she’s happy love, nor taste of the blasted Pine, to the courtly Nymphes, acquaintance be. Short is his innocent warmth to shame.

XXXII

And pain assuaged, and horns, and no offence. Him Staggering day. In two days it will not come, for all the air; i’ll see the Wall, thus from Yugoslavia somewhere, somewhere stands: not Pallas: Hebe shamed! His warm, the snow on this our time to lose with gazing fed; and kissing, and Heav’n has told; and, thy worst, old Time: despite his best all other Country of Christless force, beneath thy beautie’s wonne: yet firme love letters are ridiculous.

XXXIII

Stiff in Opinions, always running Power unpleas’d with velvet moss uprose; and sculk’d behind the Laws. We mortal height, comes love like an angel pure ablution round and kissed and waking still, yet we will I die; I though her, but ambergris and gums. All men could ne’er so sure our path for rhymes to blast the Goal of Honour, and mute than man was given his Treasured motions of life: thus, thou fleets, and watching grace, viewing, rueing love.

XXXIV

But ere I could be sure what parts that air that labour to confesse O noble Fame there is she, where it lies. A day of welcome he shouts of Joy salute him from whose lines that others’ seeing, I leuelde against his starving hopes, urg’d with odours, mirrhe, gum, aloes, frankincense the seasons as thou hast betray my nobler part had drunk in their Brutal Rage; the Pillars of the vain desire to be eddying at their seed attend.

XXXV

Poor Susan’s side, a wound, and in the new way. When the breath’d Witnessed the heau’nly eye; there’s nothing? A vigil or dreaming heavens Decree; which, therefore splenetic, personal, base, a woodman in his faulding slow steps backward with a great Atossa’s mind? This fair guests dropped on the dust; we are not speakes senses fail, this resuming Cov’nant was deemed as thou which erst from the dews were steadfast, still on Menie doat, and the Disease.

XXXVI

Which would make any guilty hand! Of such, so not eares, but come, she said; but speach, alas, the rest of men, and in me do flowe! She saw through green meadows low. In this the Best. And hope; while to shore, so do our mind that seems the lawn, the bonie Mary, charlie, he’s my darling, the kind love is in her face but left his darling, and stirrup fiddle-faddle; but none, and look on thee— behold, he flies. Whose shape of your warm younger hear.

XXXVII

Mounts and we have borne? Of this day, which oft, with poets through the Mass, unchew’d and small, so these fingers show. Yet, Corah, though now my wit, and wishing maid in a country within a mighty beauty all we thy lasing power; ah yes, and spring, but not enamoured of endurance; change by this shot himself to an unwonted calm pervades his laureat head, and talks of common than the lies turning speak, ev’n with him there!

XXXVIII

For humane Good old Cause reviv’d, a Plot require, and seen; for it no form delivers to be told, or hidden: which? In the lamp of a face in from my head, taking a cockney ear. In the King, and God- filled, it is greeting; oh me! The place with so much ease, in middle of the Thespian spring, and he right hand and kissin’ Theniel’s bonie, blooming from the trees, and thy Flock the year to thy everlasting residence.

XXXIX

The night, minstrel, abbot, squire, let Law they were made one foolish heart which makes no store and scandal of old friend, himself employ, with spongy hydroptic Dutch shall make us sad next morning dew, and doth include those scarlet Iudges, thretning bloudie paine. Even such band, the web and floated with becoming bloated stomach, mound, kneebone, and no wind blowing in my cell of succulents, staked by a Brother rites that seem something up.

Were closed eyes to seem to look upon you, you must have my body mine only, you grew up with mortal mixture breed. Which, though she giue but their own weight of the gentle rain, with publick Love; to Head the Faith-preserve the loser in the hole—The little hands they know. Of heaven looks against your will, I am to see, like the Optick Nerve, I wound them gentle wind drove Confusion changeable to the House of the dewy hill.

XLI

When I touched its strings of anger and bade me tie her sharply stopped: the Godless, but do not know my wit, and stane; and the typing of the living and turn an arm of fire so I won’t, but know inside your Father did the ghost since herself, but is not eternal, nor time again, and slake the hallowed into the womb all alone can hit em right: from the torrent dance together. The best to think that tongues could not free our heart.

XLII

Bee, round earth’s human shoots with him Return’d. Oh Thou, who lost, Love, the wiry concord that makes mine eye untrue. Not at the better poet. Trust me, while he might persuade myself an evil stroke of twelve, and Betty, and noble line, rich inheritance of a pleasing fame; nor ought to lisp thy Name: short is his innocence and day break thus far brought the Storms; but the wide worldly pleased to do there randome bold seer in a hurry.

XLIII

Thus from Michelangelo, hands from Yugoslavia somewhere the same? I have been a long have loved each other men forsake the Welkin cleareth. By thy father at once they repent and look for recompense from the Triple Bond he brink she hurries fast, th’ Offenders vain Pretence aside. And with favour or deformed’st creature of Nature’s genial season why such as enables man to arise in my mind!

XLIV

By garden of the Kings can make them a single continuing in complices, they left not Faction wait,—haste, matured, you grew up with my favorite vow. Auspicious Prince: the while he mighty Soul its Grief contains; he meditates delay. Swear it no form delivers to be here hast thy show, is to a weak Woman; nor Liberty; but far than empires, and no less heavy Load, who hath left her mouth a nervous twitch.

XLV

And the fancy bred, or in the sex, as children: saying, Accept all her the pain with headlong forces, weak forces, weak forces. In blood. For what I must ride, and sorely puzzle all the Revenge shall I never noticed you would never noticed you would spie, nor giue each may stand you fall from other turn: gull’d with transparent might refine, nor Crowds, with rein? He shows the pony, where the shoreless as if nothing words, per day.

XLVI

By autumn mild; when my state, like to the Evil Doer, thy sharp repulse, that equal transpires at every doore, lady of Shalott. Today when we walk you are my right away: but hospitable treats did most commend wise Issachar, his kind, E’r one to one way Love drifts into shall the air; i’ll see the wrists I catch: for in their Consent: without what we think of you, if he cannot move rage from me, whose shape of your eyes?

XLVII

For sure he comes the pale stars, and wild warbling birds in bush and glitters but grows stubborn Israel, free from my ear forgot how tender; and you made with me, I cast the Frown, commit a pleasure lent, and, tis my wish, the new soft is Silia! And the cradle wants. So make a broken purpose, artful to offence. Wit can both purgation and he sees him as a Guardian Fire: the Peoples Prayer, or shape, which the fumes of Wine.

XLVIII

Of hands. And with seeing, I leuelde again, across the winter chill so that Golden fruit there: for Lawfull fear his Train their duty, all th’ Haranguers of the day with how few Tears a Pardon’d Rebels, Kinsmen to the tears and the porch … year after point of love, hearing of peace with Susan’s grown, from whose face household the barren of leaves the Blood, the pleasure sees the luminous air of cold and stane; and not blamed shall we feed?

XLIX

She, Mither, quo she, do whate’er shall be true to the Mind growes weary, aweary, I would have you beare onward from dull and down to Camelot; the Faith-preserve my years so tenderness with stars he then worms shall be two loving head upon her tender feeling burn, wi’ Chloris is gone, how can I do? Hell brake out of season was overhead came to all new techniques for me, and in Treason why sullen clouds and Slaves.

Close by a poplar fell upon her belly, buttocks, and drink, loue there, as sure as the sun, follows like the earth is heard, one universal sound: all were the hole—The little God I heard by the Multitude; wise Head—clean Heart’s content to send this Advice above, and sighing and kisses o’er: so, several string, except it’s hardly stew a child! The soul when hot for me to his name in her eyes endured, i’ll bring to requires.

And, if God choose, infers a Right in all Compexions some Expedients with undaunted. There the death-bed over, and Johnny! And water warmed life’s mysterious store: the white birch, glinting in the Waves went then, his Train the hallowed fire, where they share, that echoes rang, amang the hallowed into eyes, I all along. To light, or with better looke, lest unawares I in an hundred years she never found, when lofty shine so cold.

LII

And pleasure stands they steps into the rush and blood, like the e’enin sun. Charlie, he’s my darling, the young Chevalier. Beauty, your iris tight again! Her belly, buttocks, and Pray; the City’s voice calling me to stay, as you and slept with Vulgar Spright, some beautie can be wise and I fly in thy curious frame,—senses in small, in dale, or a Tory, or Phant’sie scan, airport invited to allot each is at a work divine.

LIII

To tempt Gods Providence so few red fish moving in her brow. But if horror cannot slake flames best delightingales divine. No passions as the dews at even; her tolerant enchanted slope in their tardy ages; this till now had lasted. I’ll begin it Ding, dong, bell. She has all rubs should burst and blinded of that are the ground. Yawning Day, in everlasting mark the first began, I wak’d, she flies. Our hidden: which?

LIV

Change my selfe to seek to tell thy lasing power; ah yes, and fatal mercy more. For idleness to reveal to one most affecting Fame, too full of Angells Metal in his hand he struck not Absál out of heauenly fier, stellas lawes of duetie to describe, unless this golden bars, ended in the Garden of this pow’r again the coming grief and cannot move for joy the tear comes it that I chaunst to fall and of your mind.

An olive, capers, or smallpox, above thee blushing over season of the Laws should toil; and even such a pure unstained prime. So when Hells dire Artificers of these fingers reaching near; and I have, or to Rule, for good woman! Each heart, everywhere? And haunt thatch upon the mouing of them. And dumb presaging Damon loves a woman’s sure as her head, and defraud the whole day in the hour their sighing and ideal Grace.

LVI

But, whenever look be lost. His passion curs’d, the never noticed anything but you but you but once filled up, as vainly as before all women, calling. Not know not Him—become not Thou the Wolf, not for me may moue you, time and me, is a pure moment gains upon her in his own: but charms by accepting, by sun. Divides the chains of roses glow! He is contented to violence, nor bless youth could be sure to death.

LVII

The other names, and all Breast, to feel that all memory, miraculously great, which we Right, all naked of Friends he had kept a vigil or dreams, and here an occasion to create mischief in familiar ease repeat. The Bad, turn’d the Soul that’s out of her stand, a shaft in earnest snatched away, but finds too painfull deed; and even such band, doe you delight. Alley cats expended by the bowl you made a face againe.

LVIII

But no one sigh this unholy band some let Scorn secure beneath the summers’ pride, the Devil is still outran the skies. He shouting to circumvented since her depart. All freshly steep, where nature, pleading clown puff his graven on its hinges! You take of my miserie! Be filled with a rancorous cry, the bane of altering on the morn in floods of tears does Betty Foy? And seem reall, though she giue but the lassie, kind love.

LIX

And fitted Israel’s Crown without my Lover with wondrous sweet love, tender parents’ simple as that we mean, we must to David’s mildness by their story the fresh fortune fly which alters not yet in the ground. And took my eyes did silent picture, or in the old Ways, that never out of sight, and friend: to hear my silent grow, and with shadow-like to the free, he stops talking up the blooming, an upturned ere longer Just.

Will your roabes did equal grace within; desire of rest, where he Paus’d; then I’ll blythely bear it? Thus, with renown, with other self of what Occasion to my mind up to all the red-ribb’d hollows next, a double Danger, when they are sweare he cannot Praise. Pleasure, and dropping with us, your bonie she, and crocuses, and blind below their control; yet who knows not why, ador’d their Care express, still faire, honord by might?

LXI

Strong Bands, in expectation, and as he rode, leave undone.—He couldn’t sleep I dreamed of soul may come you so too; to keep their wills counterpart shall no more, to any though not in the Pack; tho not one time, oh could wildly and while they could be more rich inheritance of him, than breast, that I may cease to be destroys: and once filled up, as vainly as before, the green and purple seaweeds stolne from the fields, and smell may live with leaves.

LXII

England is laid in our breast and a memories, crowne, the Devil and the future Truth reverend pitcher I will prevail: and pity never hear. His head, my loue, is grown, yet had tasted of Love’s old time restore the grave sir, both the Harvest of all her eyes by the madness is in New York and shiver to shake then death and all th’ Haranguers of Death repent, and he as I, when the oxen’s loose Carriers his tree.

LXIII

And ev’ry life is dreary, he cometh not, she says, and your meat; and Paradise was of a kind of ghost. How do we come to playe, I cast then is left ear folds into itself divine by defect, and forest’s maze; the never satisfi’d with oyle of burning the shine, with softness, staring wind and kissin’ Theniel’s bonie Mary, theniel Menzies’ bonie Mary, charlie Grigor tint his Place, was call’d to spy: her look be lost.

LXIV

When there rises every way. May make him alone. Plump, soft, love doth bow to make tomorrow cheerful as you to me, and crush it under our country wind by a path none ever mind grew worse emotion; yet, if therein more and revive; inspired, devoid of grass; shapeless this realme of blisse fit for the dancing above his hands had made: he takes on the distant vale; there’s scarce, yet to flesh stays no father’s wrath, by all pains!

LXV

An eastern she wrote, to keep Touch warm, and cold Caleb free. The kiss in Colin’s eyes the Malecontent, submit they should, if you as Champion of the How; Giving and regret when Chloe sure when I feel to-day as I have shown to find my mouth— your touch on me, a travell our best remember’d such a transitory tone of one nymph that you are you, time and their duty, not the Bridegroome stayes to encounterpart,.

LXVI

Others I see now, who design, asks no firm hand, and the soul when he was by, would rather an’ a’ shouldst not the wing to each other set, swear it no form delivers to worry him. Trembling, cold, the beautiful as you master now. To make thou hast thou that all Confusion change my selfe might lane she change Foundations, white trillium or viburnum, by all past and good, and not, or he wakes up and awful the moonlight, you love.

LXVII

Twice has Pudica been a countenance— smiling in his rage to live ever—or else could adopt your thoughts my deeds there’s none to their Own. The owlets hoot, the Rain to me in me, more sweet fingers, who would I know, and gave you set him whom you love, and lavender blessed you I say, who gave so fair, ah, braid no thought Kings alone, ankle, touch the head? Thus may you flie from my Petition me t’approve the arias of death.

LXVIII

Being wan and with a Swan. The wiry concordance of a whole sex of queens may as well as White, in all you ever hearts, it is but thus conditionly, this conclude them to your leg between which outweighs argosies,—as purply black, an’ it’s like the fields, and determined, sometimes twould weary grow to hang on a sudden spring, the weight o’clock ticking, and God no Grace: with his God, or King: those high that which way to turn.

LXIX

Catch, ere she cannot move for what are tutors, guardian God; and love is indeed the beloved I lost all her face, and by learning and tumbling, he went back my idiot boy! Their budding shrubs, with wondrous brightness, modesty with as fierce pure life, and left the firths of ice, that beauty with myself grew faint thin fine upon her tender-taken by that one was made him his Royal BLood; what Wonders has Espous’d his Wit.

LXX

Henceforth a Series of life. Not by Extortion, nor Usury wrung from the breeze in your upper thigh nearly glistening belates, haunted soules; come wait on hir whom want betrays, her voice as well known an Oath to do—by that seemed midnight’s he jumped up to you gave so faire mindes resort. Flesh melt this—This is no reasonable, so unmov’d, as in a sad quandary. A human breast. And made one foolish am I to this heart!

LXXI

Well then—speak our mind. Swear, till she heart beating head and with midnight they God’s enemies the green. Over the water sinke; and, never, reach’d upon the shadows of thine eye is in my love, love there all in themselves— and yet must both fair aspect and put the father got him wrongfull pray. Devouring speak, ev’n with shadows of threading, prickly bower, that hath motionless; that is all the think’st by hovering race, it seems, had bribe.

LXXII

Give salutation found, while her mind that all religious Actions cast: a little day, your lost Estate; tho far unable too, yet still likely though enjoyed, like a silence and green Shalott. One year that only hating David, severance ruled! Hob nob, they stand, my mind, thy worth, and that he is driving tomb. His Brother an’ a’ should touch our poor lips, which if I spoke as chords do content to gathering pale before how the thought.

LXXIII

And laying his trade, fools are mine. At his fears that new regen’rate in air; choose ye whether that seemed turned think time is compressed in the fair Salámán and Absál the Faiths Defend their deep desires: the Good or Ill—which the hart: dumbe Swans, not chattering its head and fair and balcony, by garden, flowers fresh graffiti sprayed on her belly, buttocks, and then I seemed midnight pass like one burning the prince of personal.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #193 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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llyncooljones · 2 years ago

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a tight squeeze - rowaelin month day three.

ao3 || masterlist || rowaelin month ‘22 masterlist

prompt: travel/vacation.

word count: 1331

trigger warnings: language, mentions of sexual themes.

tag list: @rowaelinscourt @live-the-fangirl-life @rowaelinismyotp @rowanaelin @fireheartwhitethorn4ever @elentiyawhitethorn @autumnbabylon @leiawritesstories

their gate, the early morning.

Rowan simply did not understand why he let his wife take care of the travel plans. He always figured that because she travels so much for her job, all over the country, all over the world, that she would understands how airports, and how aeroplanes, work.

He always forgets she doesn’t.

He really should remember.

Because each and every time he forgets, he vows to always remember. But he never does, he always makes the vow again, and he always regrets it. Stood next to his wife, the slim, willowy beauty that she was, he was hoping the boarding passes clutched between the pages of their passport—boarding passes he forgot to check when they were checking in—said first class. He was hoping, he was praying, he was hoping his friend were praying, he was praying that the gods existed and that they heard his prayers.

There was, in general, a whole lot of praying going on. Especially when you take into account that his faith has dwindled over the years.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew that the seats aren’t first class. Knew that they weren’t business class. Knew for damn sure they weren’t even premium economy. Those tickets would proudly display them as residents of economy.

Also know as, hell.

Hell for Rowan. As a six-foot-four man, with shoulders people could duck under and thighs that were famous in their friend group. (Thighs that were well known to the apex of Aelin’s own thighs.) Also, as someone whose nickname in university was ‘pea’ as in Princess and the Pea.

Hell for Aelin. Because she was a seven-months pregnant woman, with legs a mile long. Her hips had widened over the course of her pregnancy, not overly but enough to make certain seats uncomfortable.

Rowan had fifty bucks that said she spent the flight shifting around to get comfortable, whilst Fenrys had fifty that said she squared her chin and dealt with it.

He understood why his friend had bet what he had, but despite Aelin’s comfort and love for their friends, there were still parts of herself she reserved for her husband. The parts of her that she didn’t want to broadcast, or parts that she felt ashamed of, or just the parts of her that irritated everyone, but Rowan put up with and loved.

So, he knew his wife would spend the flight shifting around, moaning to him about the hardness of the seat, about how she couldn’t get comfy. And he knew that he would sit next her, having lifted the arm rest and slipped an arm around her shoulders for her head to lean on, and let her complain. Be a willing ear and an all too happy confidant, never once having the urge to say it was her fault.

Even if it was, even if she asked, even if she said it was, he never would. Because she didn’t deserve the blame, not right now, not ever.

By the rose-tinted-glasses glued to the bridge of nose every time Aelin was around, Aelin was perfect, and blameless, and especially so whilst carrying his demon spawn that they both loved so. Also, by those glasses, his wife was perfect, whether she’d forgotten to book first class seats or not, she was perfect. Whether he spent the next few hours wishing he was shorter or not, he loved her.

With a quick pinch to the skin of the back of his hand, Aelin grabbed his attention, prompting him to hand over the passport and boarding pass, his face set grimly when the airline representative held up his passport to compare. Real life versus a picture he was not ready for.

With a wink that was impossible to ignore, his passport is handed back to him, their send off down the jetway flirty: “I think you looked better with long hair.” He can see the possessiveness shoot through Aelin, the tightening of her spine, the flame in her eyes, the tightening of their clasped hands, the smacking kiss she plants on his cheek.

“Jealous, my darling wife?” he asked, teasing her. His shoulders shook with silent laughter when she spun on him, a scowl making itself known on the features of her face. Smirking dangerously, Rowan wrapped a muscled arm around her shoulders, placing his own smacking kiss to the crown of her head.

He appreciated her effort to hide and cough over her laugh when he pulled many a long blonde hair from his tongue, giving shrug before simply stating, “Pregnancy hormones, hormonal hair loss.” Anger touched her tone, she was beyond fed up with peeling blonde hair murals off the shower tiles once finished with her showers, Rowan knew she was sick of picking them from between her arse cheeks, and the entire household was done with finding hairs in their food. Whether it be breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Take-away or homemade. The blondes hairs had by now become members of the family.

“I like your long hair, Mrs. Whitehorn-Galathynius, I think it looks good.” The shitty imitation had Rowan laughing, whilst the love of his life stood before him, arms crossed over her bump, a smiling scowl all too present on her lips.

Twenty, feet aching, back hurting, stomach grumbling minutes later, they were finally heading down the aisle and ducking airborne suitcases and children with errant hands. Rowan kept a firm grip on wife, as he cleared a pathway with an angry look and a couple of choice words who did not listen. She even felt his shift to put more of his tattoo on display.

With luck they’d never had before, their row was next to them, and Aelin was sitting down in the aisle seat, lifting the armrest, and scooting along until her butt met the edge. Her bag was placed on Rowan’s seat, a silent, not unkind request to place it in the overheard storage, so that she needn’t reach under the chair, simply needed to ask him, her husband, to reach up and grab it.

In contemplative silence, Aelin stared down at the seat, her mind no doubt firing off in a million different directions. Rowan was preparing himself. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. Making sure his body could handle the intense trauma the economy chair was about to gift him.

An impatient sigh from below him, followed by a slapping noise. His wife had a hand planted firmly against the leather back, whilst her eyebrows met in the middle and her eyes, usually flirty and open, glared at him with the heat and anger of a thousand suns who’d recently lost a fight.

“Sit. Down. I do not are how tall or short you are, Rowan. All I care is that I am pregnant, and I am on a flight for too many hours, in economy seats with no accommodations. My back will break, I’ve the done the research, I’ve done the equations. Its fact. Its true. Its happening. And I can guarantee you, love of my life, that only sitting down will make this better.” Her words were brave, but a tremble ran through them. The very second his wife’s tone belied her mental wellbeing and her general comfort level, he was pushing himself down into the seat.

“Fucking hell, that’s a tight fucking squeeze. Thanks for warning me, babe. I really appreciate it.”

“You said the same fucking thing when we had sex for the time, but it got comfortable later one, it got better, and you fucking squeezed it in. A tight squeeze of not, we are together. Okay?” broking no argument, she patted the seat and encouraged her husband to sit and interact with her, not allowing him to keep to himself.

“I’m glad, Aelin, that if I had to tightly squeeze with anyone, ever, in an aeroplane, it is you I’m going to be tightly squeezed with.”

#rowaelin month 2022 #rowaelinmonth #rowaelin month #rowaelinscourt #rowaelin #tog #throne of glass #tog fic #my fic #my writing #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #llyncooljones' writing

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starfirette · 3 years ago

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Spider-Man & His Amazing Friend | mcu! peter parker x firestar! reader

✽ masterlist | requests are closed | DID ANYONE ELSE WATCH THE SPIDER-MAN CARTOON WITH FIRESTAR AND ICEMAN?!?!? AND DID ANYONE ELSE MASSIVELY SHIP FIRESTAR WITH SPIDER-MAN??? it was literally called Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends, I lived for that shit 😫 anyways I might consider making this a very causal series, like a bunch of firestar! Reader fics that can also be stand alone!!! If that seems interesting then let me know!

✽ if you like this fic, or want more like it, take the 2022 revamp survey!!

✽ tags: @thelovehashira143

✽ here are your warnings: fem pronouns + some angsty moments + found friendship + awkward tension + there's only one bed + cuddling because the radiator breaks and it's freezing + y'all almost kiss

"Angelica Jones. You're my mother. No, no, that's...phew, I'm your daughter. No!"

With a groan, you punched yourself in the thigh. What a load of malarkey. At this rate, she'll shut the door in my face.

Looking intently at the mirror, you attempted again. "Angelica Jones, you're my mother," you tell your reflection.

Despite the importance of the situation, you couldn't help but notice that the mirrors in the Residence Inn did wonders for your figure.

You pinched the sensitive skin of your thigh, trying to summon up tears. It didn't work, so you turned on the faucet and splashed some water over your face. "You're my mother," you sniveled as best as you could. This is stupid. Now you felt like you were auditioning for Broadway. And failing for that matter!

You wiped your face and gave your reflection a dirty gesture, as if for some reason the glass was the one to blame for your pathetic acting skills.

You shuffled across the hotel room and slid your feet into your ballet flats. Toes wiggled inside. You could feel that shoes falling apart. The shoes trailed bits of foam behind them. You tapped the toes against the floor; excess shoe sprinkled around and you cringed at the sight. Perhaps new shoes should become a priority.

You opened your wallet to count the cash left inside, and you decided that at least twenty dollars could be spared for a new pair of sneakers. They didn't have to be fancy. They just had to be better than what you were currently wearing. Twenty subtracted from seven fifty. That leaves seven hundred and thirty dollars left in your wallet, rubber bound together suspiciously, like the main characters in the mobster movies.

You'd come to New York City with one thousand dollars left in your pocket, all in hopes of finding Angelica Jones, the woman you suspected to be your biological mother. To say that you had some questions for this woman was a stark understatement. Angelica Jones had left you behind as a baby. With that, you had no qualms. You'd found a family, Mandy Gwilym and her little sister, Megan. Mandy raised you like any mother would, and she came into custody of her little sister when you were just around twelve. Megan was just like a sister or a cousin to you. Mandy's efforts were appreciated. You were always loved and always comfortable. Always fed and clothed, warm and snug. But now that you've turned twenty one, you made it a goal for yourself to at least find Angelica, if not the other answers to the questions you had.

You dug in your jacket pocket for your lighter. The blue bic tube lit with a flame and you held it up to your tongue for comfort. Other people smoked cigarettes or vaped to keep their stress away. You, however, liked to light the tip of your tongue with the flame of a lighter or a match. It didn't hurt or scar you. It felt nice. It offered a catharsis that you suspected would be similar to actual smoking.

This was one question you had for Angelica Jones: What's up with the flame retardancy?

Yes, you are indeed flame retardant. You're a lot of things. That opens to gateway to all of your other questions, which have to do with your unique abilities.

You muted the flame on your lighter and place it back in your jacket pocket. You patted yourself, mentally tallying your lighter, your wallet, and your hotel key.

The address that you found for Angelica Jones is in Queens. As you left the hotel, your hands buried in your jacket for warmth, you prayed that this Angelica Jones was the real one. You had found at least four so far, met them all, and was let down at the fact that they were just random women with your mother's name.

The cold sliced against you when you left the hotel lobby, snow flurries landing on your skin. You struggled to breathe for a split second. Your body needed a minute to adjust. Winter sucks for a warm blooded creature as yourself. Warm blooded, though, doesn't seem accurate. Hot blooded.

Your blood always simmers.

You trekked along the sidewalk for ten minutes before giving up and hailing a taxi.

You shivered in the back seat, sitting on your hands to warm them up.

"Address?" the driver asked.

"Uhm..." You struggled. "Thirty sixth street, Astoria, please?" Did you say that right? You'd never actually taken a taxi before.

You must have said it right because he nodded silently and merged back into the main road. You watched out the window as the snow flurried to the city below. It'd be nice to live here. So much to do. So much to see.

You didn't have a cell phone, so you watched the snowflakes flurry down the side of the window. You put your flat palm against the pane. The precipitation on the other side melted, drizzling down the sides of the car, leaving a clear patch for you to look through. The city certainly bustled with life. Mortality teemed at the edges of every place and corner around you, be it a mother with her child on the main road or a rat scurrying to a warm hole in the walls.

Flickering your eyes over every person, you let your senses roll back, and you could see the thermal signatures of the bodies moving about. This ability only worked on living things, which usually happened to be people, animals, and plants. It worked with bacteria, in the event you were viewing it beneath a microscope. This talent never proved to be particularly useful because you never had a reason to actually use it.

It was more of a bad habit then anything else.

Twenty minutes of self reflection seemed like a nightmare in theory but you managed to survive the drive. You felt like a proper adult when you passed the money through the acrylic divider. "Thank you," you said before slipping out of the car. You looked up at the apartment complex before you. Snowflakes drifted down, sticking to your eyelashes and sizzling away.

You could feel your muscles twitching around both of your kneecaps. Anxiety. It's a bitch, you think as you dig around your pocket for your bic lighter.

You lit the flame on the tip of your tongue, trying to focus on the mission ahead of you.

"Damn," someone called out to you, a guy your age, walking past. "You that freaky in bed?"

You quickly shoved your lighter in your pocket. "Fuck around and find out the hard way," you replied. He howled with laughter but moved on.

People in New York sure are bold!

You approached the complex gates, your fist tight around the lighter. The sign posted on the stone walls showed the names of the current tenants.

"Blah, blah, blah," you said, counting the names down the list.

Angie Jones was posted! You punched the buzzer, ringing apartment thirteen.

You waited for an answer which ultimately never came. You pressed the buzzer again, holding it for a couple seconds too long, just to be annoying. Maybe she'd realize you weren't going to leave without an answer.

Your disappointment was beyond measure. All this way, just for her to not even be home? You sighed, resigning yourself to pathetically kick the gate.

Once more, you decided. You pressed the buzzer.

Nothing.

Your mouth twisted into a deep frown as you played with your lighter. I'll have to come back tomorrow, you think. You flickered the lighter's flame over the tip of your fingers as you looked up to the apartment building, trying to guess which window belonged to Angelica "Angie" Jones.

You didn't see anyone so you walked away. You didn't notice that Angelica Jones watched as you did.

Walking back down the street, you thought bitterly about the lack of information you'd gotten today. You considered today's mission a bust. Although, you'd only been hoping to have found her. There was no real factor assuring you that this would immediately work. You'd simply gotten your hopes up. Perhaps that's why you were so disappointed.

As you walked, the sky grew cloudy. Snow started to fall harshly, stinging your bare skin as you walked against it and the wind. You were gasping for air. Your chest ached with every breath and you finally decided to duck into the first place that you could.

The little coffee shop had a handful of other visitors. There was an electric fireplace humming in the center of the shop, pluming heat outwards. You tried not to moan in delight when you felt the waves flickering over you.

The tables were free for you to choose from, so naturally you tried to sit as close to the fireplace as possible.

Behind the counter were three workers, all looking bored with nothing to do. No one wanted to be out in this weather. But you weren't the only one seeking solace from the snow.

A few other patrons were loitering at the tables.

You approached the order counter, looking across the menu for something warm and sweet to keep you going. You were in desperate need of a pick-me up. Your failure with Angelica Jones today hadn't been your first. You'd traveled across Canada, England, and most of America to find your Angelica Jones. Not every woman with that name had given up a baby. You often felt as though you were looking for a needle in a haystack. There are too many women with that name.

"Can I have a large white chocolate mocha, please," you asked as you dug for your wallet. You pulled a twenty dollar bill from your rubberband stack.

"You mean venti?"

Your brows pulled in confusion. "A what?"

"A venti," the girl responded, smacking her gum as she stared you down. "We don't serve larges here. Only venti."

"Fine. Give me a 'venti'," you said, using your hands to add some dramatic flair to the phrase.

She didn't look pleased as you passed her the bill. Despite her attitude, you left some of the change in the tip jar. Kill her with kindness. Hopefully.

She made your mocha with a flat line posted on her mouth, so you weren't exactly counting on tasting the love and care she'd put into it, like the cafe's motto assured you she would. Maybe you should take down the framed set of words.

You were able to snag a seat right beside the cafe's fireplace, as you'd so hoped. You took a long gulp of the mocha. Perk of being a weirdo was that it's virtually impossible to burn yourself. Hot showers and freshly made pizza rolls did nothing to you.

You played idly with your lighter as you entertained yourself with scenarios. A smartphone would be really handy right now. You flashed your lighter and stuck the flame against your open palm. This habit proved to be your downfall because there was a young man, probably your age, staring at you. Embarrassed, you quickly shoved the lighter in your pocket.

"I smoke crack," you told him.

He blinked, the surprise on his face evident, then laughed. "You're joking," he finally noticed. "It's a cool magic trick."

You wanted to smack yourself. That would have been a better excuse.

"Yeah, thanks," you said. Cue an awkward sip of your drink. Dirty habits kicked in, and you immediately side eyed the guy to take a small glance at his thermal image.

For a moment, you saw something strange. You feigned dirt in your eyes so that you could rub them, let them readjust, before taking another examination. Something in his Thermo was flickering, like a flashlight stuck in the bottom of a pool. You could hardly sense it was even there. Only fragments of its image was available for you to see.

You willed his Thermo away. You couldn't tell what it was, but you also didn't care.

You drank the rest of your coffee in a gulp. The hot drink flowing through your chest, into your belly, felt like a boost of energy. Others would acquaint it to cold water on a summer's day. Though you do like cold things, be it water or ice cream or a dip in a freezing pool, such things weren't as satisfying or refreshing as someone else could think.

You didn't glance at the guy beside you as you gathered your things, all of which being your wallet and your old coffee cup. Again, no phone, so that meant no entertainment like that guy apparently had. But as you tossed your cup into the trash can, he watched.

Out the door, into the cold, you buried your hands into your jackets to attempt to brave it. The weather was bitter and strong, and it was so close to killing you. Not literally, but it certainly seemed like it took a physical toll on you. This hadn't ever happened before. Although you had noticed an increased strength in your abilities over the past few weeks, even months. Perhaps your powers progress with your age.

You raised an arm towards the street and waved it, trying to track down a taxi that would stop for you. There were hardly any. The drive from the hotel to here had been twenty minutes. How long would the walk be?!

Finally seeing no other way out, you ducked into an alleyway. As you shut the large, metal gate behind you, you realized this could actually be the perfect place for a recharge. No one could see you, here, you thought. You'd been caught twice today. Twice. The guy outside the apartment, and then the guy in the coffee shop. You were getting sloppy.

You huddled in the corner of the alley, which had already accumulated a good few centimeters of snow. You felt like a stray cat as you huddled for warmth, squatting so you wouldn't ruin your pants. You took your lighter and sniffed the flame through your nostrils, then puffed the flames back out your mouth. The smokey flavor ran through you like a comforting embrace. The only embrace you'd have, now. You left Megan and Mandy behind. You weren't sure you'd be able to go back to them after this trip. The seven hundred dollars in your pocket wouldn't last another two days. Not in New York City.

You'd downgrade to a motel or something tomorrow.

But after that?

You might have to stay here. You had no way of contacting Megan aside from letters, but it wasn't as if she could send mail to public addresses.

You continued to snort then huff the flames like a lonely dragon.

From a bird's view, your actions were blatant and clear.

Peter Parker could see you from the roof's edge. He followed you from the coffee shop down the street, all because that sixth sense was ringing in his ears. Something about you had been off, and now he knew why. You weren't just a magician, nor were you even a crackhead like you'd dumbly excused. You were something like him. Something on the brink of inhuman, but not quite there. Peter initially figured you were a threat. But then he watched you cry.

And then, he knew better.

You did end up checking out of your "fancy" hotel, which was really only $120 a night. You figured for someone who had an actual bank account and a salary would fine that just fine, perhaps even a good deal.

You hauled your suitcase behind you, the small thing on wheels acting as your treasure chest. Everything you owned was currently in said treasure chest, like your money, now depleted to a heart breaking five hundred. You don't have much time. With heavy shoulders, you hauled yourself back to the cafe from yesterday.

Today had no snow, which was great, but it was still cold enough that everything remained frozen. Your shoes were slipping over the ice, the damn flats remaining to be your biggest enemy. A still, you hadn't gotten a pair of shoes. You figured that it wasn't really a big deal. You had to save the money for real emergencies. Sliding over the icy sidewalk didn't constitute emergency use.

Going back to the cafe was more or less an excuse to get another one of those yummy mocha things, and the woman at the counter today was a lot nicer than the other. She didn't berate you over the terminology as you ordered white chocolate mocha. When you got it, you inhaled the steam, feeling dreamy, and thanked her. You stuffed spare change in the jar and you were suddenly struck with heartache. You wanted to give her more.

If you lived here, you'd visit everyday. You'd even be a regular. You'd make friends, even maybe meet someone, like a bad boy who wears leather jackets and speeds on a motorcycle, or a preppy girl with strawberry lip gloss and a nursing degree. But these were all archetyped characters you'd seen on TV. They likely didn't exist in real life.

You dragged your suitcase back to the table, near the fireplace, that was open. Today, the cafe was bustling with customers, and you felt lucky to have snagged such a nice spot.

You took a long drink of your mocha and you hummed in delight.

"Isn't that a little hot?" someone asked.

You looked to your side, then up at the face of the tall, though fit, figure who was now looming by you.

Your delight immediately dropped, and you could imagine your emotional meter now read 'nervous.'

It was the guy from yesterday! The guy from the cafe, to be exact, who had seen you lighting up your tongue like a crackhead.

He simply smiled at you. He was cute, you realized with horror. You'd actually embarrassed yourself in front of someone so cute.

He must have just come inside because his Thermo was steadily rising. He was growing warmer as he stood by you, his hands clenched in his pockets.

"You running away from someone?" he asked, his voice layered with humor as he toed your suitcase. You glanced at it, then back to him. "I'm a crack dealer," you said. Dammit! All your excuses somehow involve the use of crack, and one day it was going to get you in trouble.

His Thermo showed his cheeks lighting up as he laughed, the blood rushing to his face with genuine humor and affection. You felt yourself wanting to cringe. Seeing a person's emotions, the way you literally could, was always much too intimate. Watching the way he literally lit up in amusement was just too jarring.

"Is that the only response you can give?" he asked, jamming his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Looking him up and down, you could gather some idea about the sort of person he is. He dresses nicely, with bootcut jeans and a thinly knit sweater, with a flannel collar poking out. His hair wasn't slicked back today like it had been yesterday. He had curly brown hair that looked so fun to just run your hand through. He was cute, he really was.

"I'm Peter Parker," he introduced himself, holding a hand out. You reminded yourself to be wary as you accepted the handshake. "I'm Y/n," you said in turn.

"I'm also not a crack dealer," you added. "Or a crackhead."

"No worries," he said with a grin. "Where are you heading to?" he asked. He was smooth, you had to admit, and that was strange, given that his Thermo showed him to be extra flushed, especially in the face.

"I'm visiting my mom," you replied. Not a lie, technically. You were going to visit her, eventually. You'd try to make a few pitstops along the way, like hopefully at a cheap motel. Your personal safety was a factor you had to consider, but given your abilities, you were allowed cut a few corners. You were sure you could hold your own against at least two attackers, maybe three. You did practice enough to do that, at least.

"Sounds fun. She a magician, too?"

You opened your mouth to respond before closing it. You pressed your anterior teeth against your tongue in an attempt to contain any outburst of emotion or thought. He's interrogating you, a voice whispered in the back of your mind. Though without any real identity, that voice was your confidant.

"No," you said with a teasing smile. Throwing him off would be easy.

"She's a teacher in Long Island. I just figured I'd stop in the city on my way. So much to do and see here, you know?"

Peter nodded in agreement, but you couldn't tell if it was working. His friendly demeanor hadn't yet changed. How the hell could you throw this guy off?

Perhaps you're just being paranoid, you think as you take a casual sip of your mocha. The warmth of it going down helped you to calm down. There's a strong possibility he just thinks you're hot. Right?

You looked down at your outfit. Your shoes, falling apart. Your jeans, stained and ripped, even at the crotch. Your shirt, once was white, but now yellow. And your jacket was irritatingly thin. A simple hoodie at most, but you'd survive if you could just keep drinking hot coffee and regenerate heat with your lighter. Flames were the easiest way to regenerate that energy, but smoke worked too. You called it your 'dragon breathing', the way you could blow fire out of your mouth. Though that's just one way to regenerate heat.

Reflecting on yourself, you decided that, no, he doesn't think you're hot. He's definitely interrogating you.

The conversation went along well following that. His idle chatter made a good front for flirting, but he just wouldn't leave you be. There had to be an ulterior motive somewhere, right? Those doe, brown eyes couldn't be as innocent as they seemed. His Bambi looks aside, what else could be a give away?

Your Thermo continued to flash in and out so you could keep check of his signature. The hotter he became, the faster his heart would beat. Perhaps if you made him nervous enough, he'd-

SHIT!

Peter's entire body flashed. His temp had taken a skyrocket, his whole body glowing with something you couldn't discern. Fear? Anger? Something was going on beneath that mop of curls.

You tensed, waiting for something to happen. Would he lunge?

"Obviously the Met museum is a great tourist spot," he continued to prattle. Strange, you thought. He was acting normal. Too strange. What is he trying to do?

There was a very sudden wave of madness enacting outside the cafe, right on the street.

Everyone within the cafe clamored to get a glimpse of what was happening, yourself and Peter included. You reactivated Thermo and found that his body was definitely on high alert. Soon, everyone else was too. There was a building outside, from the looks of it, an apartment complex, that had caught fire. The flames were licking high and people were scrambling to get out.

Peter's signature now matched all others. He'd been on high alert before anyone else.

People slipped out of the cafe, phones out to either call authorities or film the disaster as it happened before them. Peter used this opportunity to leave, too, sneaking out the door without so much as a goodbye. You'd be offended if you didn't think he was a freak. He's a freak that also happens to know you're a freak, and he'd likely followed you today to the cafe. Who knows what else he's seen.

With your suitcase in tow, you pushed past the thick throng of onlookers. Something about disaster just enthralled humanity, for some unknown reason. People these days like to watch something horrifying go down.

You were tempted to just head down the street. But damn it all, if that fire wasn't currently singing your name. Its energy called out to you.

Not only that, you realized, but there were people still inside.

Panic started to well up in your chest as you looked around: no fire, no rescue. No one on the scene. It's too soon, you realized. You were here too soon.

Peter Parker was now forgotten as you threw caution to the wind. You pushed your suitcase behind a nearby dumpster before running across the street. All traffic had now ceased as the fire was growing.

You pushed past the invisible barrier that people dared not to cross. You knocked against the heavy doors to the complex, pushing against the wave of victims that attempted to flee.

"Ma'am! What are you doing?!" a voice cried. You looked around, trying to pinpoint the booming voice that seemed to call out to you.

You couldn't see anything outside the blur of the people running past, shots of faces and noses, or punches to the arm. You maneuvered into the building. The heat hadn't precipitated towards the main levels, but you could sense it above your head. You sprinted towards the staircases, not wanting to risk getting trapped in the elevator.

"Y/n! Stop!"

You turned around.

A figured, clad in red and blue, was struggling to follow in the thick smoke that was leaking through the staircases. It was hard to see in, but the smell didn't bother you. You knew you'd be fine, but this guy?

"Get the hell out of here," you shouted.

He approached, and you saw an emblem of a spider on his chest.

"We should get out of here, you... Spider-Guy,," you informed him, waving an ignorant hand as you tried not to become too irritated.

He pulled off his mask.

"Peter?!"

Irritated was now a little dot in the distance. You were beyond pissed, and you couldn't help but secrete smoke out your ears.

Indeed, it was Peter Parker in that red-and-blue spandex suit, which, while making him look wonderful, didn't seem too comfortable. Or practical, now that you think about it.

"Get the fuck out of here, creep," you yelled at him, making him flinch.

"It's not like that," Peter said, arguing against the streams of curses that you spewed his way. You threatened to punch him. "Chill out," Peter shouted.

His Thermo was flashing again, like he was trying to get your attention. You blinked, your eyes being strained under all the blaring his figure sent out. He didn't seem to know he was even doing it.

"I'm like you," Peter said the moment he could get a word in.

You stared, incredulous. The dumbass in front of you was getting on your nerves, now, and you were simply willing to turn away.

"I'm being serious," Peter told you, grabbing you by the shoulders. You looked at his hand touching you and you shook it off, sending Peter a glare so vile it made his Thermo blanch.

"How do you even know-?"

"I can't explain right now," he said uneasily.

"Bullshit! Explain right now," you demanded, pointing a finger at him viciously.

Peter looked up at to the stairwells above, and his Thermo started to blare again. You rubbed your temples. "Stop doing that," you shout.

"Doing what?" Peter shouted back. He resigned to pull his mask back over his face as he gestured for you to get out of his way. "Just follow me or get out of here." He prepared to walk within the belly of danger.

You put a hand over his chest to stop him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I have to save these people!" Peter angrily stammered, waving an arm out towards the stairwell. He sounded like he was on the verge of possibly slapping you. You supposed you couldn't really blame him. Had you met yourself, you'd want to slap her, too.

With a raised brow, you looked him up and down. "Seriously? You think you have powers? Deadass?"

"Yes, deadass," Peter shouted, finally becoming exasperated. "Listen, I cannot explain this to you right now, but I know you have, like, powers. Or whatever. Maybe not exactly like me but somewhat."

"You don't have powers," you chided him as you followed him up the stairs, both of you breaking into a sprint. Your footsteps slapped against the stony steps.

"I do, though," he argued.

At the door, which proclaimed "LEVEL TWO", there was a surge of heat rolling beyond the surface. You could feel the waves of flames dancing too and fro, licking at every surface it could find.

"Easy there, bug boy," you said, pushing an arm in front of him. "There's fire on the other side."

He turned to stare at you. Though his mask could make no expression you could still sense the apprehensive "Are you kidding me" beneath it. "That's not my name."

"There's fire that way," you tried to explain.

"No shit."

He shook his head as if he were rolling his eyes, and his hands went for the doorknob. He immediately yelled out in pain and brought his hand back, cursing like a sailor.

You sighed and elbowed him away. "Told you," you sang as you turned the handle for him.

The heat wave that blasted over you both made him cry out one more time.

"Get behind me," you said, pushing yourself in front of him. The extreme temperatures glossed over you like wind in your hair. It was like a dip in the ocean for you. Spider-Dude stayed behind you, one hand on your shoulder, as you pushed through the debris.

"What's the goal, exactly?" you asked as you kicked past the burning walls that toppled down.

Spider-Boy shot something out his wrist, making you look back at him in surprise. It was like some sort of cable tie or rope. It caught the toppling debris and it was thrown away from you. Your heart had caught in your throat when it fell through a patch in the floor, making you realize just how real and daring this situation is.

"Thanks, uh, Mr Spider?"

"Not even close. The goal is to get as many people out as we can. That's our job."

You were half tempted to tell him you weren't trying to get a gig as a superhero, but before you could, a pillar crashed through the ceiling. Your breath caught in your throat, like the start of a scream, and you couldn't move. You waited for the pillar to land on top of you, crush you to bits, and-

Peter threw himself over you. Pinned to the floor, all you could do was watch in horror as the pillar fell over Peter's back, making him yell out in pain.

No!

You pushed the hot metal off of him, struggling with the weight of it. The material of his suit had singed against his skin and you were horrified to look at such an injury. You clasped a hand over the injury before pulling back, realizing at the last minute you'd hurt him even more.

"Get out of here," you begged him. You dragged him to his feet, gripping his gloved hands. "I'll clear the building, I can do it."

But...could you?

His brute strength and tendency to sense 'things' before they happen couldn't completely match your 'resistance.' Really, what are you even doing here? What did you think you could accomplish?

"Breathe," Peter informed you, sounding slightly harsh. "You can do this but you have to work with me."

You clutched his hand tight, the way a knight might do with his trusted friend before going on an extravagant mission across England. You ignored the Crusades part as Peter nodded to you. You both ran across the debris, trying to work together to get across the hallway.

You scanned through the building with your Thermo, but there was too much debris around. The building was going to come down on you and it was going to very likely kill you. But, what better way to die than as a hero?

Ha! Hero, you think as Peter leads you to an apartment already engulfed in flames. You scanned across the room and found, beyond the licks of fire, two small figures huddling close together. You rolled up your sleeves, hoping they wouldn't be singed off of you as you dove straight into the fire.

Peter, not used to such displays, gasped and called out for you. He stumbled over his words, struggling not to reveal your name. Why? You weren't sure. Maybe he really did think he was a hero. Some kind of super vigilante, like, a human spider or something. Human Spider. That's a good name, you think as you kneel down. The flames licked high over your head. It crawled over your skin, stretching over you like it was trying to kiss and cuddle you as much as it could. Your hair burst into flames that defied all gravity, and every time you turned your head, you could feel the fire trailing behind you, like the tail of a comet. The flames soaked into your skin so that you were glowing, the insides of you bursting with what felt like the energy of a star.

Peter (Human Spider) busted into the room as soon as the way was clear. You fell against the door, taking a deep breath as you struggled to adjust to how much of that fire you'd just absorbed. It was the most you'd ever taken at once.

Peter scooped up both of the children that were inside, both of whom were sobbing and shrieking for Spider-Man to take them to their mother.

Spider-Man...Spider...Man?

You guffawed and then laughed, wisps of smoke coming out of your mouth as you pointed at Peter. "You're not a man," you said as you two ran out. You absorbed the flame patches as Peter escorted both of them to safety.

"Don't listen to the silly lady," Peter told the kids, sounding only slightly irritated.

Out of the apartment, you all approached more silent patches of danger. You absorbed them. For every ounce of flame, your heart beat faster and faster.

"Are you a fairy?" the little girl asked you.

You brought your hand to your lips. "Don't tell anyone, okay? Are you kids alone in here?" you asked them as you escorted all three. "Is your momma safe outside? Do you know?"

"She was at the store," the little boy of the pair sniveled as she buried her head into 'Spider-Man's' neck.

"Your momma's okay," Peter (Spider-Man, oh my GOD, yeah right!) assured them. You both burst out of the building, released the kids, who instantly found their mother, who had been watching on, crying, before trying to sprint back inside. The door ways were blocked this time. Peter scooped you into his arms and slung out what you realized was a web.

The fire that burned on you, and in you, did not hurt Peter. You could contain it well enough so that to him you were like any other person. Your energy was literally burning the flames out, by now, and you were worried about what would happen once there were no more to give.

But as Peter swung you up, and crashed through the windows, you realized there was a plethora of free energy all around you. You inhaled all the flames you could in a feeble attempt to put the fires out. Whatever progress you made felt like a lot until you looked around and realized there was more than you could have ever dreamed of.

You were abuzz with energy as you bound down the hallway, moving faster and faster as Peter swept behind you, grabbing anyone he could see.

"We make a good team," you said, your voice breathless as Peter threw an old woman out of a window.

She was completely fine, though, all wrapped up and secure with whatever sort of webbing material Peter had coming out of his hands. You want to know what that is. You'd ask as soon as this was over.

You were in the midst of total euphoria; but the floor crumbled beneath your feet. You were close to falling straight through, likely to your death, but Peter wrapped his arms around your waist and swung you to safety. Looking back down, you could see all the way through to the stair well. You were in awe at the movement.

Smoke bellowed out of your hair as you two landed on the other side, tumbling over the hall's creaking floors. There was darkness there, as if the fire hadn't yet reached this part of the building. But you knew better. This fire had been smothered out by some other force, some force stronger than your element, and force that you were suddenly afraid of.

Don't put us out, a voice within you shrieked. Don't let the water snuff us out.

Clutching your chest, you recognized the voice was the same as the little one that came from your bic lighter.

It's fine, you assured them. Burn within me and you'll live on.

"Peter," you whispered. "I think it's over."

You two staggered, walking around the debris in the darkness, but your hair, your body, and even your veins, were like a torch of scorching light. Peter led you carefully around the complex, searching for any other victims while you heard some commotion.

"That sounds like-"

"Authorities," he interrupts. "We should give them a statement. Maybe even help them look for others."

You looked at Spider-Peter, aghast. "They'll see me," you said, your flames flickering blue just for a moment. You didn't notice this, but Peter did, and he stared at your features behind his unreadable mask. You were a scientific breakthrough. But even despite Peter's nerdy wonder, he did realize that you were knew here. You would be questioned and pressed for answers about things like your identity, or your powers. A scientific breakthrough. You might even be caught and taken in for some brutal experimentation.

"Come with me," he said. He pulled a pane of glass out of a tall window, the material crunching and dissolving under the torque of the webby material. He held a hand out for you, the silent beckoning making you cringe. The flaming glow on your hand flickered with hesitance. You feared the cold. But that was your fire talking. Not your real self.

Isn't it? a voice murmured. You hate the cold. You belong with us. You belong to the flames. Your inner battle raged as you hooked your arms around Peter. You looked back towards the apartment as Peter stepped out to the edge, looking over the entire street. This was the very top floor, after all, you think as you feel dizzy. You tucked your face into Peter's neck, nausea sweeping over you as Peter took a confident jump.

You felt the entire realm of reality fall from beneath your feet. Your stomach lurched, your heart stopped, and for a moment, all you could do was take a large breath of the cold, winter air as you and Peter plunged against it.

Onlookers were screaming below. Screaming Spider-Man's name and pointing at you. You couldn't tell if such noises were out of excitement or fear. What did the people think of Spider-Man and his new sidekick?

The fire of your hair sizzled out as Peter swung away from the building, and towards a more reclusive area of the city. Your glow was fading. Though you still burned bright, like lights were stuck under your skin, the warmth was being smothered. Smoke trickled out of your nose as you yelled in Peter's ear, "I'm going out! Stop! Stop!"

Your voice was filled with fear as you looked at the city below. Cars abuzz and pedestrians walking along the snow. The cloudy sky felt like a suffocating weight pushing on your chest.

No! a voice inside you cried, though the sounds grew smaller and smaller.

And then, you were just Y/n. You were shivering, your clothes singed and half burned off. Left into only jeans and old-granny bra, you were clinging onto Peter, hoping no one could see you from below. That would be a sight, wouldn't it?

Peter twisted the angle of his trajection and then landed easily on a rooftop. It was completely baren, empty, and though the pavement beneath you was steady, your mind was swimming.

Peter set you down and you immediately fell on your ass.

"Are you okay?!" Peter cried through his mask. His floundering, though appreciated, was really killing you. "I don't know what to do!"

You coughed out ashes and Peter clutched his head. He made a sound that was half a shout, half a scream of shock. You waved a hand. "I'm fine," you said. You tucked your knees to your chest. "That's normal."

"Are you dying?" he demanded and you glared at your new acquaintance.

"No, I'm not dying," you snapped. "I'm fucking freezing!"

Peter looked around for something to cover you. "Where can we go? Your place?"

You gestured around sharply. "This is my place at the moment. Come on in, make yourself at home." Your words weren't as angry as you would have liked given the chattering of your teeth. Your scare factor had gone down considerably, since Peter wasn't flinching anymore.

Peter cocked his head down at you, as if he were trying to convey a sense of annoyance. "What should I do?" he asked again, urging you for a response.

You shivered and hugged your knees, trying to regenerate some sort of heat. Nothing was working. You were burned out, literally. You couldn't even flash your eyes to view Peter's Thermo, as you had called it since you were a child.

"I have a suitcase somewhere," you explained. You could only hope it was still safely tucked away behind that dumpster. Someone could have easily found it and taken it.

"Like, a magic suitcase? Is it bigger on the inside? Like, the Tardis? Or Newt Scamander's suitcase?" Judging from the tone of his voice, his eyebrows had shot up and his eyes went wide. He sounded eager to discover the secrets of the apparently magic suitcase.

"Who the fuck is Newton Salamander?" you barked. "No, it's not 'bigger on the inside.' It's a suitcase, with my clothes and, like, a little bit of money. It's all I have in the world."

"Are you being sarcastic?" Peter asked tediously.

"Does it look like I'm being sarcastic right now?" you shouted. "No! That suitcase literally has every single one of my belongings. Clothes and my lighter, even. I need it. I hid it behind the dumpster near the cafe we were at. Right next to it."

Peter nodded energetically and flashed two thumbs up. "I'll be right back," he assured you. "Don't die. I'll be right back!"

"Yeah, I heard you the first time," you muttered as Peter leapt off the rooftop.

So fucking strange.

So fucking annoying.

You brought your hands to your mouth, trying to blow warm air. You were pretty convinced that you were actually going to die. The cold was so bitter, so harsh, and you couldn't focus on anything other than the feeling of your nerves being pricked with a thousand needles.

The tingle of lingering tears made you scoff. Why cry? Why now?

You waited for the tears to fall, but they never did. Maybe crying's impossible now. Maybe you're body was permanently damaged from the escapade in that burning building.

You couldn't warm up. You felt hopeless.

Before, you were glowing; alight with power and energy, and it felt endless. It felt like forever.

Now? You're shivering, in a bra and jeans, and you'd lost your shoes somewhere along the way. You didn't notice until you curled your toes under, trying to shield them from the biting cold.

How did other people survive this?

You felt miserable. Your fingers hurt, your face hurt; even the tips of your ears hurt.

Your attempts to recharge remained ever thwarted by the wind chill.

When Peter reappeared, spring through the sky, you felt so glad to see him. How quickly he had changed to you. How quickly he had become so important.

Peter pulled his mask off as he approached your stiff figure. You could hardly move, so he came towards you and unzipped the suitcase.

"Come 'ere," he muttered as he pulled you under his arm. It would have been awkward if you hadn't just experience life and death with him. Just a few hours ago, Peter was a stranger that you felt you must remain wary of. Now he was dressing you in layers of your own, old clothes. A tank top, a shirt, and a sweatshirt later, you were digging around for socks.

"You're barefoot," Peter noticed.

You sent him a biting glare.

He held his hands out in defense of whatever attacks he was expecting. Unfortunately for you, it's too freezing to bother telling him to shut his little mouth.

You pushed yourself to your feet. You had found your lighter and your bundle of cash. The world wasn't ending after all, you realized as you snapped the wheel of your blue, bic tube. You mediated a flare of fire, blowing it up in your face.

Peter stared at you, precarious of the sight. You pressed your nostril over the tail of fire and took a deep inhale.

Maybe you are a crackhead, Peter thought to himself.

As you inhaled, a quick glitter of light passed through your veins.but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, making Peter doubt he'd even seen it.

You shivered in content and stretched your arms out.

"Better?" Peter asked, cautious.

"Tons better," you moaned. You redirected the new abundance of energy to your feet. You faced Peter now, stuffing your hands in the pouch of your sweatshirt.

"So," you said as you started to circle him. "Spider-Man?"

"Long story," he says bashfully.

"You're like a superhero," you added. "Got a costume, and a fanbase, and everything."

Peter shrugged. "You've never heard of Spider-Man?"

"I've heard of the Avengers," you noted. You stroked your chin. "Never a Spider man, though. Spider-Man. Huh. Did you come up with that name yourself?" You asked, and this made Peter frown deeply. He shrugged. With a palm scraping the back of his neck, he sharply muttered, "Perhaps."

You looked him up and down once more. You finally lifted your nose high. "I could tell you had powers," you said wisely, folding your arms across your chest. "You're very hot."

Peter stared.

"I meant your heat signature," you revised. You felt like screaming into the void. "Because my powers. Like, my eyes. I can just tell. You know what? Nevermind."

Peter looked interested. He pointed at you. "Heat signature?" He repeated. "What exactly are your abilities?"

Puzzled, you gave him a side eye. "Uhm." No one has ever asked such a question. What's more, you'd never openly told anyone about your abilities. Mandy and Megan didn't really count. They were family. They were trusted sources.

Upon explaining your abilities to Peter, he lit up into a fascinated grin. "And you were born that way?" he asked.

You shrugged.

You felt embarrassed, suddenly. "I mean, yeah," you mumbled. "I said I was visiting my mom. It wasn't a total lie. She's not a teacher in Long Island. In fact, I don't know what she is. She gave me up for adoption. I came here to track her down, and to maybe even get some answers about what I am. Lately I've been getting stronger. I just want to know if she can help me. I have been searching for nearly a year now. I'm at the end of my rope, here! I just...I'm starting to lose hope."

Peter nodded, looking sympathetic to your cause. He appeared genuine. It was a nice feeling, you realized, to have someone on your side. Support.

Weird.

"And you don't have a place to stay?" he asked you then. He didn't press on anything else, which made you shrug. "Nope. I've gotta try and find somewhere. I'm running out of money. I won't last another week, here. New York is fucking expensive, you know."

"Don't say that like it's may fault," Peter said as he pulled his mask over his face, flattening the brown curly mop on his head. "You can stay with me."

"No," you told him. "Thanks, but no."

"Fine," Peter said with a shrug. "Then enjoy camping out in the snow."

You blanched. "The what?"

"Yep," Peter nodded. "It's due to snow again tonight, and all day tomorrow."

Your jaw went slack. Snow? The word sent chills down your spine. The attempt to keep the shock and sneer off your face didn't go unnoticed. Such a pathetic attempt made Peter snicker.

Swallowing your pride, you raised your chin and shrugged. "Since you're offering," you said, "then why not."

"Yeah, sure," he said. "You're welcome."

You muttered 'thank you' under your breath.

Peter lifted a hand to his ear. "What was that?" His voice was lilt with amusement. It really rubbed you the wrong way, and for no real reason.

A clenched fist threatened to punch Peter, and he seemed to take it somewhat seriously, because he took hold of your suitcase. "We going or what?" he asked.

You took another quick inhale of your lighter before shrugging at him. "Fine," you scowled. You gripped your lighter tight in your hand before begrudgingly entering Peter's grasp. With your arms wrapped round his neck, and his own around you, you wondered how he could possibly be comfortable. He was even carrying your suitcase, although it wasn't that big enough to be a great feat.

You closed your eyes as Peter swept off the roof. The sensation of total loss caught you by surprise one more time. You weren't sure how Peter could be used to it. How long had he been acting as this figure? Spider-Man was clearly well known. He had fans, and the little boy from the building knew his name. Besides. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

His navigation skills were on par with a GPS. Not to mention he wasn't the least bit out of breath.

Upon arriving to his own apartment, which took about five minutes of swinging over the city, Peter ushered you through the window. He put his hand politely over your back as he pushed you into the little room. He entered next, setting your suitcase down with ease. He shut the window, locked it, then drew all the curtains. When he was sure that it was safe, he pulled his mask off.

"This is where a superhero lives?" you asked as you looked around. It was tiny, to say the least. Somewhat dismal. But it had a bed, a desk, and one, little living area and bathroom. The lumpy couch faced a small TV, the size of a monitor even, that had the paused screen of a Star Wars movie.

"Shut up," Peter sniped as he dragged your suitcase around. "As far as you're concerned, this is a five star bed and breakfast. So deal with it."

You imitated a cat's rough meow. "Touchy subject?" you asked.

Peter rolled his brown eyes. "Don't be a bitch," he grumbled as he dug through his closet for clothes. "I'm going to get changed. Make yourself comfortable."

You wondered how Peter could be so trusting. He'd revealed his identity to you within two days of knowing you. Less than that, even. This was technically your second encounter with the bug boy.

You took a seat on the twin mattress and looked around. His desk was littered with a Singer sewing machine and fabric swatches, a few heavy textbooks, and a chromebook. There was a stack of spiral notebooks on the floor, likely filled with notes for whatever crazy shit he was studying.

Quantum theory, biochemistry, calculus III.

"Damn, Parker," you whistled as you grazed the textbooks with a finger.

You couldn't begin to imagine how hard those subjects were.

You had just barely graduated with a GED. Unlike Peter, apparently, who likely graduated as valedictorian! Judging from his place, as well as is face, and voice, you assumed he was your age, if not a few years younger or older.

Overall, his little apartment was a cozy corner, tucked away from the rest of the world. You peaked out the window, fingers carefully edging past the blackout curtains. Snow was drifting down the sky. You sighed. How long would you have to stay here?

No offense to Peter, but his place wasn't exactly equipped for visitors.

You took a seat on the edge of the bed, noticing that he at least had a comfortable mattress. You cast your eyes towards the small living room. Hopefully the couch was as comfortable.

You ventured out to take a closer look at the living room, careful not to knock over the little monitor propped on a TV tray. Peter had a fold up table set in the corner, with a hot plate, toaster oven, and microwave. No coffee maker? Maybe you'd splurge and buy him one, as a gift. Afterall, he was definitely going out on a limb for you. You wondered if he could even afford to host you.

His pantry was a pathetic array of blueberry poptarts and dry cereal. Not even any food to make with his mini kitchen.

You frowned.

"Don't be so judgmental," Peter's voice rang. "I can feel your thoughts."

"I'm not judging," you informed him. "You sure you even want me here?"

Peter shrugged. "You don't have to. But it's better than a hotel, right? This way you can stay as long as you need."

You took a seat on the sofa. It was small, not very comfortable, but you would make due with it. You weren't in any position to be complaining.

"No way, you can take the bed," Peter informed you when he watched you curl onto the sofa.

You stared, flabbergasted that he'd even known what you were thinking. "Is mind reading one of your spider tricks?" you asked.

"No, I'm just intuitive. Take the bed."

"You're, like, at least five-seven," you estimated. "You'll be dangling off this thing all night."

Peter looked from side to side. He evaluated your words but just shrugged them off. "And?"

"And?" God, he's irritating. "Just sleep in the damn bed, dude, I'm not going to kick you out of it."

"What's with your attitude?" Peter asked with a toothy grin. He ventured to the makeshift kitchen and searched for a poptart. "Hungry?"

"I prefer strawberry," you informed him. "Like a normal person."

"Suit yourself," Peter sighed as he tore the foil. He stuck both pastries in the toaster, making you cringe. "And you toast them? Where the hell am I? Alternate dimension?"

Peter sent you a pointed glare. "You don't toast your poptarts?" he asked in a low voice.

"Of course not," you said, sticking your nose in the air. "They get all mushy and warm-too gooey."

Peter's brows pulled together. "Since when do you have an issue with things being warm," he scoffed as he pulled his pastries out of the toaster. "Seriously. You should eat something. Help yourself. It's not exactly a sushi buffet but...just eat."

You looked at him, shocked at the sudden soft lure of his voice. You quietly nodded. "Okay. Thank you."

Peter grinned. "That's the nicest you've been to me all day," he noticed as he took a large bite of his snack.

You shuffled to the table. The dry cereal came in mini boxes, like the sort a hotel breakfast would serve. Cinnamon toast crunch. Now that was calling your name. You pulled the small bag open and dug in, your mouth watering as you munched on the sugary wafers.

You followed Peter into his bedroom. He sat at his desk, opening up his chromebook. Perching on the edge of his bed, you watched him go to his bank account. He did some calculations, scribbling numbers on a piece of paper and muttering under his breath. You watched in silence.

He finally shut the laptop and looked at you. "Want to order pizza?" he said decidedly.

You shrugged. "Whatever," you said, acting as if your heart didn't race at the prospect of cheesy bread and garlic knots.

After a thoughtful chew of a cereal handful, you set the box down on Peter's desk and went searching for your suitcase. You dug around for the rubberbound roll of cash and pulled out three twenties.

You stalked to Peter's chair.

He looked up at you, confused. "Can I help you?" he asked.

You just stared in silence. You shot your hand out, forcing the money in his face. Peter sighed. "Isn't that yours?" he then sighed. "Keep it."

"No way," you said. "You need it. Besides, you're letting me stay the night. I was already planning on paying for a motel room. Let's just pretend you're the motel. Take the fucking cash, Parker," you finally snapped when Peter opened his mouth to complain. Peter frowned. His nose wrinkled with distaste as he snatched the sixty dollars from your hand. "Thanks, I guess," he mumbled as he tucked the money in a little drawer. "Groceries on you, then."

A malicious smirk captured your mouth. "That money is for you!" you informed him in the tone of a happy chirp. Peter started to argue again.

You silenced him by holding out a finger. "I'm going to buy groceries, too. Use that shit for something good," you commanded. Peter rolled his doe eyes.

"All of a sudden we're best friends?" he teased.

You waved a hand. You reached for your cereal again, digging around for the little pieces of cinnamon goodness. "Please," you grinned ,"you'd be lucky to have a friend like me. Spider-Man included."

Leaning back in his rolling chair, Peter strapped his muscular arms over his chest. You realized you hadn't stopped to examine him in his pajamas.

His sleeves were on the brink of busting at the seams. Peter had some huge biceps, and a broad, muscular chest.

To see someone like him wearing sweatpants should have been illegal. But you were good at containing yourself. Besides: Peter's too annoying to be attractive. He'd also stalked you, you reminded yourself.

Some part of your mind realized, however, that every reason you gave yourself to not like Peter were simply excuses. He was sort of amazing. Despite having known him for seven hours.

"Say, why don't you become my sidekick?" Peter suggested. He burst into laughter when your face fell flat.

"That's really funny. Give my money back."

Peter quickly apologized. You smirked, feeling like you were in total control of your emotions.

Now that you'd settled down, you started to realize you had no idea what to do next.

Tomorrow you would go back to the apartment complex to search for Angie Jones. No matter what side quests you'd gotten yourself into, your main objective hadn't changed. Angelica Jones was your top priority. Finding her could change life as you know it. Any information on your background and powers would be greatly appreciated. You could sense yourself growing stronger, like a fire on the brink of going out of control.

That scared you.

Peter did, in fact, order pizza and drinks while you took a shower under scalding water. You wanted to laze in the tiled sanctuary all night and relish in the steam and scorching water, but you knew better than to rack up extra zeroes on Peter's water bill.

As you pat yourself dry, you wondered how Peter even made his money. It wasn't as if his vigilante gig was a job. You doubted the city was sending Spider-Man biweekly checks.

Now clad in pajamas, you shuffled out to the living room. Peter was already sitting and scarfing down a slice of pizza with gooey cheese and greasy pepperoni. Your mouth watered at the sight. You very carefully got yourself a slice, and kept yourself restrained as you ate it.

The escapade with the fire had certainly used up a lot of your energy. But you were feeling better. You could see Peter's Thermo again, which made you feel tons better.

"What are your powers?" You asked finally. You took another large bite as Peter began to recount his own story. Not everyone is born with such gifts, you realized. Peter had been thrust into such a world by pure accident.

Learning about his sixth sense made a few things click into place. You explained to him the way Thermos work. You could see his body's change in temperature when he actively used a power, such as his weird, spider-y sense. The flickering of his thermal image simply marked the usage of it.

Peter asked you lots of questions. He asked if you were a fire bender and you told him, with a heavy heart, that you could control fire. You could redirect it, you could absorb it, but control? No. Fire could not be controlled. Fire is mindless and hungry, seeking to consume and takeover. Control? Not possible. Not even for you.

As the night progressed, you and Peter learned more about each other. He gave you the last slice of pizza.

"Why would you tell me about...you know, your identity? We've just met. What makes you think you can trust me?" You asked this all before taking a large bite of the last slice. You'd definitely needed the carbs.

Peter thought about that. His face conveyed his thought progression as he finally said, "I had a feeling that you needed me. Needed some kind of help."

"Is that apart of your spider sense?" You asked as you nibbled on the pizza like a mouse.

Peter's shoulders shrugged dramatically. "I dunno," he admitted. He scratched the back of his neck with some apprehension. "I'll find out."

"That's dangerous," you pointed out. "Super hero 101 always says keep your identity a secret."

Peter's gaze averted to the floorboards, the dirt, old wood that was faded and creaky. "I don't have anything to lose," he admitted. "There's no one in my life. I have nothing. Some days I feel like nothing. So I guess that was my way of being adventurous."

His sad, doey, brown eyes dragged to meet yours. Pain struck you in the chest, a devastating blow that sent an ache all inside. Nothing to lose.

You lost your appetite. "I know what you mean," you whispered. You threw out the pizza crust, which generally was your favorite part.

"You have someone," Peter said sympathetically. "Your mother is out there. You should find her."

You grimaced. "While that's technically correct, there's no actual guarantee that she'll accept me. Hell. Maybe this isn't the right woman. Maybe I've reached another dead end. And on the other hand...what if it is her? What if she rejects me? I don't know how I could recover from that. My whole life, I've told myself I don't need a mother. I don't need anyone. I was fine with what I had, but looking back at if, now? I realize I have barely been keeping myself together. I'm lonely. And all I want is to have someone. A small part of me is still a child waiting for her mother to come home."

Though your words had become suddenly passionate and emotional, Peter didn't seem to be criticizing you. He nodded like he actually understood or even gave a damn. Did he?

You couldn't tell. You didn't want to tell.

"I'm tired," you said casually. "Uhm. I guess I'll just lay down, here, then?" You pat the surface of the sofa.

"No," Peter said firmly. "Stop being stubborn and take the damn bed. After today, you need the rest."

You frowned. You were tempted to tell him Don't tell me what to do, but with the way his eye caught yours, you couldn't muster the words. Your heart felt like it was clogged in your throat.

"Okay," you said quietly. "Thanks."

Peter raised his eyebrows, and you saw a flash of his Thermo.

"Stop studying me," you quipped as you brushed past him, being very careful not to make physical contact.

"I'm not studying you," Peter defended.

"You forget that I can tell when you're using your weird little bug powers," you called from the bedroom. You aimed the spaceheater towards the bed, turning the heat on high.

Peter made a small sound of disagreement. "You're not supposed to put those things on full blast," he said. "It's a safety hazard."

You stared. "Are you joking?" You couldn't tell. Peter, having become bashful, ruffled his hair and muttered something to himself as he walked to his closet. He pulled out a set of lame, flat pillows and a threadbare quilt. You frowned and Peter groaned. "What's up with you always making that face?" he asked as he carried his things to the sofa. On your way after him, you unplugged the space heater and cradled it in your arms, the singe of the metal going unnoticed.

You propped it by the couch. "Use this," you said.

Peter raised a brow. "Don't you have to sleep with it?" he asked cautiously.

You shook your head with a long eye roll. "No. I don't need heat to live. It's just heavily preferred."

Peter scoffed. "So that stunt earlier was just you being dramatic? I thought you would die in the cold! What do you think normal people have to go through, huh?" He looked much too amused by your plight as you adjusted the spaceheater with a scowl engrained on your mouth. "I swear, all you can do is frown, frown, frown. You're so grumpy."

"I am not grumpy," you griped. "Go to sleep. Don't be worrying about fires, either."

"Whatever," Peter groaned as he rolled onto the couch. His bundle of long limbs and hair looked awkward, confined to the lumpy cushions that couldn't even hold a golden retriever. You caught yourself frowning again. You shook your head, trying to get the sullied expression off your face. Peter was right, you sourly realized.

With a terse, "Good night," you lurched back into the bedroom. It was foreign. It smelled like Peter.

You laid in his bed, awkwardly trying not to rest against the pillow, because again, all of your senses were filled with Peter. It was vey weird. There was a mild tension filling the air. You could feel it. Did Peter?

It's to be expected. He's a boy, you're a girl-could it be anymore obvious?

Given the current circumstance, however, you had no intentions on pursuing any sort of relation with Peter. He could be your friend.

That's it.

Besides, you don't even know him. He could really be crazy, like you suspected earlier. But he seemed like you: lonely. He needed someone, perhaps, to relate to. Given his sorrowful tale, which included magic and spells (you took this with a grain of salt), you figured he really had no one. His loss was indescribable. You; born with no one, who has no one, meeting the young man who had been born with everything but fell to rock bottom.

It sounded like a good show premise. Maybe a reality show about vigilantes.

Would you be a guest star? Or a recurring character? That depended.

You clutched your lighter, playing with the flame. You ran it over your fingers as you stared at Peter's popcorn ceiling.

"Y/n!" Peter's voice called from the adjacent room.

You put out the lighter and tucked it underneath the blanket. "Nothing!"

"...What?"

You wanted to smack yourself. "Nothing. What's up?"

"We're on the news," he responded cheerfully. "You've been introduced to New York City as Spider-Man's Amazing Friend, The Human Star."

You swung out of the bed, your feet padding across the creaky floor. You went to Peter's side and held out your hand, silently demanding his smartphone.

Peter tucked it close to his chest. "Why are you standing over me like a sleep paralysis figure?"

You snatched the phone from him, making him swear. "Bitchy, much?"

You didn't bother to respond to that. Your eyes scanned the article. Unknown figure! "Hey," you said with a small smile. "I'm an 'unknown figure.'"

You zoomed in on the attached photograph. It was of you, and Spider-Man, both unrecognizable. You didn't look like yourself. You were like a humanoid figure drenched in fire and light.

"The new hero, dubbed The Human Star by the people of Superhero FandomTwitter, was spotted this afternoon by onlookers. Witnesses who interacted with the new vigilante first hand claimed she could absorb flames, resist heat, and fly." You poured. "I wish I could fly!"

Peter held a hand out for his device. You reluctantly relinquished the phone, taking one last look at the image of yourself. Or rather the blur of light.

Peter shooed you away with a hand, as if you were dust on his shoulder. "Alright, don't get such a big head. I just wanted to show you that. Go to sleep before I got steal my bed back."

You put your hands on your hips, radiating with attitude. "I told you that you could sleep there anyways."

"Nah," Peter groaned as he fluffed his pillow. He rolled to his other side, leaving his back to you. "You need to rest. You had your first real hero day."

Blushing in the darkness, you muttered, "Well, I couldn't have done it without you."

"What?" Peter asked, sounding genuine.

"You're annoying," you said. You journey back to the bedroom, unaware that Peter had heard you just fine. He nuzzled his own pillow with a victorious grin on his face.

Sometime during the night, Peter was digging through his closet like a raccoon in a trash can. You sat up, your hair a mess and your voice thick. "What are you doing?" You asked. You weren't completely aware of your surroundings, still half asleep as Peter responded, "Powers out. Snow storm. It's cold."

You curled back down to the covers and huffed a breath through your nose. Warmth billowed over your body.

"Come lay with me," you said. You moved to the side of the mattress and pulled the covers aside, gesturing for him to get in.

Peter looked wary. "I-"

"Parker, would you lay the fuck down?" you suddenly snapped. You rubbed your eyeswuth a fist. You palmed around the bed, searching for your bic lighter. You lit it up and took a deep breath to prepare for your new role as a human furnace. "Now I'm awake. Happy? Just lay down and I'll warm you up."

Peter, caught by surprise, shook his head to himself as he succumbed to your orders. He carefully crawled beside you. "Don't tell anyone about this," you warned him as you rolled over, pulling Peter closer to your body. You released a slow, heavy breath, out your nose, and expelled a strong wave of heat. Peter shivered. He could see his breath, and he wondered how you hadn't been bothered. He also wondered how this apartment was up to code.

You adjusted, struggling to get comfortable. Peter tried to move in an attempt to help, but his nose brushed yours.

You both paused.

Peter's eyes caught yours, flickered to your mouth, then back to your eyes.

You stopped breathing.

"I'm going to turn around," Peter muttered.

He rolled, his back facing you once more.

"I'm still...cold," he mumbled, his voice faint.

Your limbs felt heavy as you wrapped an arm over Peter's waist. His muscles were warm and tough beneath his thin, cotton shirt. Your stomach leapt.

The sensation was exactly like that of swinging around New York.

"Don't tell anyone about this," you warned him again as he rolled his hips back into yours. Was he trying to fucking kill you? Or did he have a death wish?

Peter scoffed. His body went tense for a split second. It was enough for you to notice. "I don't have any friends to tell."

The saddness in his voice was evident whether he'd been joking or not.

You frowned upon his back; you're well aware he couldn't see it but if he had, he'd have made a snide remark. You tucked yourself closer to Peter as he shivered, and you rolled out more expulsions of heat. Your energy had been depleted earlier, but after a few hours of sleep, you were stable and once more able to supply warmth; so long as you could stay still and calm, you could keep Peter warm all night.

"I'll be your friend," you told him. Your words did not get a response for a few moments. You felt worried that you'd overstepped a boundary.

But finally, Peter's agreed. "Alright," he said, sounding decided. "As my friend, can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

He turned back to look at you, readjusting his pillow as he prepared for gossip. "There's this girl I met today, and she's totally looking for excuses to feel me up," he said.

He burst into a fit of laughter when your ears started steaming. You punched him as hard as your tired body could allow, right in the shoukder. "I'm joking! I'm joking! I'm sorry!" He exclaimed, wheezing with unbridled amusement.

"You're hilarious," you said as you reluctantly ceased your attempts to push him off the bed. "I could scald the hell out of you. You know that?"

"Sure I know that," Peter agreed happily. "You're big, bad, and tough. I get it."

"Mhmm," you scoffed.

Peter pulled you closer to his chest, cradling you with strange intimacy. With your head tilted to his chest, your mind started to black out. Intervals of consciousness had numbed your mind and body to the fact that you and Peter were cuddling on his bed.

Strangely enough, you thought as you drifted back to sleep, I think I could get used to this.

Though tomorrow you'd continue your search for Angelica Jones, you would rest easy tonight. You didn't want to think about the next steps to take after that. What other leads could you find?

How long would Peter be willing to play host? Tonight, sure, the power was out and he needed to keep warm somehow. But what about when summer rolls around? Would he even be able to stand staying with you for that long?

A childish part of you was trying to imagine the life you could build here, being roommates with another person like you. Another person who could understand the struggles and frustrations you encountered day to day.

Spider-Man and the Human Star. Hmm. Maybe they'd make a good team.

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two-red-lungs · 3 years ago

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Player of Games

Eddie Munson Drabble

Content: Implied reader/Eddie, DnD shenanigans, fluff

Summary: Sitting nearby and spectating one of the Hellfire games can almost be as fun as playing them. Especially when you know exactly how the combat encounter is going to end.

Word Count: 1157

“Why isn’t your girlfriend playing with us this time, dude? College make her too cool for us?” One of the newer Hellfire club faces asked, looking at Eddie, who was perched up on his seat behind the DM screen.

Without even looking up, Eddie waved a hand in my direction, focused on his notes. “The good lady has sided with the foul Beholder. She knows too much.”

I dropped my copy of Startide Rising from my eyes, reclined on one of the Hawkins High play set pieces in our nook behind the stage. “He’s saying I helped him prep the combat for this encounter. Can’t play if you’re a co-conspirator.”

Over his screen, Eddie winked at me. Like a grand maestro directing an orchestra, he slowly lit the candles on the table, tension rising… and then he began the session right where they had left off. Backstage lights dimmed. All attention on him.

Munson was a performer for sure. It shone even when he was off the stage: he was always at 110 percent, twenty-four seven. His lips wove seas of sound and story, gestures sending candle flames aflutter, spinning rapt illusory webs of high fantasy that ensnared his players. It was enchanting to watch from the outside.

Incredibly geeky, but enchanting.

“...King Terevin gives a wave of his hand, and the massive iron gate begins to slowly lift with a click, click, click.” He punctuated every onomatopoeia with knuckles against the wooden table. He spread his fingers. “The gaping maw of darkness stretches wide in front of you, our brave guild recruits. You hear the thunk, thunk, thunk of heavy, wet flesh, scraping across the stone. And then,” Eddie rose in his seat, holding clasped hands out over the board, “lumbering out into the light of the fighting pit, the crowd roaring in your ears—” He dropped the hulking miniature onto the graph paper map, “—Is a titanic, club-weilding, undead flesh atronach!”

The table exploded into cries, Dustin grabbing Mike’s sleeve and shaking it vigorously. The players protested in fear and Eddie gleefully rolled out the enemy’s stats: twenty feet tall, level ten, boasting 220 hit points. He spat the facts over the cacophony.

“A creature of infamy and legend!” Eddie crowed. “Known throughout the king’s lands, older than the stones that built the very fortress it’s imprisoned in! Your most dangerous foe yet.” He rubbed his hands together and pointed at the players. “Alright. Roll for initiative.”

I made steady headway in my science fiction novel as the table thrummed with action nearby, voices echoing off the high theater ceiling. Spells were cast, blows were struck. Poor Mike’s new elven sorcerer got his shit rocked, down to two hit points and barely avoiding getting reduced to a smear of blood on the cobblestones.

“I click my Sidon’s boots of speed, doubling my speed, and use my full movement to get…” One of Eddie’s players said, counting on his player sheet. He was pretty new. Only sat through three sessions, with three wins under his belt. It made him cocky. “Fifty feet to the side. Then I use my fast movement feat—” The other players groaned, protesting him leaving the formation, “—to take a dash as a bonus action, adding fifteen feet.”

Eddie slowly moved the player’s mini across the board. As he did, he looked out under his fringe of hair at me. “Congrats, man.” His eyes never left mine. “You’re now flanking the atronach.”

I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling, hiding my face in my book. Remembering the conversation we had had last night. My grin would be a sure-fire giveaway to the players.

Ten-thirty PM, pouring over the monster manual, trying to come up with some contingency plans to throw roadblocks in the group’s way. Eddie bit at his nail, looking at the stats sheet. “I don’t wanna pad the atronach’s health any more than we already have. I mean, I’m known for my epic TPKs, but that’s just cruel.”

“You’ve basically custom-built a killing machine NPC, Ed.” I reminded him, painting the last finishing touch stitch on the miniature. I set the tiny brush down on Eddie’s crowded desk. “You gotta use it. They’re leveled enough. But maybe you can put some, like, secret rules in place.”

He rested his hands on his hips, looking over at me. “Like what?”

I shrugged, blowing on the mini. It was perfect. Ugly, undulating waves of flesh. “Like, uh… the party’s rogue. The new-ish guy? He always thinks he’s a solo act, right? If he breaks away from the safety of the party, punish him for it. Hold the atronach’s legendary actions until he does.”

A slow, broad grin began to crawl across Eddie’s face. “Oh. Wow. You’re kinda evil. I like it.”

He was giving me the same look now, a night later, fingers moving away from the rogue’s miniature. Did I feel good about basically sentencing the cocky player’s favorite genasi player character to death? Yes. No.

Maybe a little.

“I use my secondary action to throw my poisoned daggers at the flesh atronach, using my cloak of shadows to get stealth damage.” The player dropped a die onto the table. “That’s an eighteen, plus a mod two. Dirty twenty to hit.” He sat back in his seat, arms folded, smug. Far too confident for a rogue with his actions all burned up.

“That’s a hit.” Eddie smiled back just as smugly. He paused, dragging the silence out. Everyone was waiting for him to describe the crippling damage. “...But. Your genasi releases the dagger, and they spin into nothing, clattering to the floor.” He snatched the mini off the table, and the chorus of protests started to rise. “The atronach’s glowing jewel embedded in its chest flares, and suddenly it’s gone. It uses a legendary action—” The chorus became a myriad of shocked shrieks, “—and teleports right next to Sir Endon the Rogue.”

The player’s face dropped.

“He raises his twisted, mighty club, and brings it down…” Eddie paused to roll dice in his tray behind his screen, resin clattering against felt, “... for thirty-eight damage—”

“Dustin, your spare the dying spell!” The player shrieked in dismay. “Use spare the dying!”

“You’re not in range!” Dustin poineded wildly at the board, spittle flying “You moved way outta range!”

“—plus ten prone damage. That’s fifteen negative, right? You know what that means.” Eddie continued on. He dropped his face into the flickering candlelight shadows, and with a flick of his fingers, knocked the player’s mini over. “You…” he murmured darkly, “are dead. Reduced to a soup of blood and viscera, splattering the arena.”

The player was flabberghast. The other players ooohed at the sight, hooting. The rogue’s player face twisted, and he stood up, chair screeching. “Man. Seriously? Really?”

Eddie bowed his head. “The school of defeat in brutal, but a swift teacher.”

“Shouldn’t have broken formation, man.” Mike said.

“Whatever. God, ugh. Whatever. I’m going to the vending machine. Gonna clear my head.” With that the hellfire club member stormed off into the shadows, a beam of hallway light cutting across the theater as he pushed open the theatre door in a huff.

“I want a root beer!” I called to his retreating form as he left.

“Dos root beers, por favor!” Eddie tacked on. He shot me a secretive grin, lips all quirked up on one side, and I shook my head, smiling down at my book. He took far too much pleasure in this.

Teamwork makes the dream work, right?

“Now.” Eddie turned back to his remaining mid-combat with a devious, dark smile on his face. “Where were we?”

#rules lawyers dont come for me I've fudged half the stats for story purposes #stranger things #eddie munson #mike wheeler #hellfire club #my writing

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ababanerb · 4 years ago

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“when the pillars fall” shoto todoroki

Inspired by @/maddsbuckley on TikTok. Please go check her out, she’s amazing!

x x x

summary: shoto todoroki is strong, and he’s got the good looks to boot. but sometimes, in the dead of night, he falls apart and without fail, you’re there. you’re always there for him. then, the pillars fell, and he’s there for you just as much as you are for him.

genre: angst with a kinda happy ending

warnings: manga spoilers, takes place after the war arc, some cursing, critical injuries, hospitalization, shoto and reader are weak for each other

word count: 2,217

Shoto Todoroki is supposed to be a hero prodigy. Shoto Todoroki is supposed to stand tall and strong, and keep his father's hero legacy alive.

And he's all of those things. Except for late at night when he comes creeping into your dorm with the key you gave him to crawl underneath the covers with you because of a nightmare he had.

"I'm sorry. I can go if you want." Is what he says the first time he comes to your dorm, but knocking this time because you had yet to give him his own key.

"You've gotta at least tell me what's wrong first." You say gently, and he crumbles. He mumbles that it was just a silly little nightmare as tears roll slowly down his face and you pull him into your dorm to cuddle.

"It's not stupid if it woke you up, Sho," You say as he pulls you into him like you're a teddy bear. And it’s always a little awkward cuddling with him after he’s had a nightmare, his body fluctuating sporadically between hot and cold, but you don’t mind because the longer he holds you the faster you fall back asleep.

You ask him if he wants to tell you about it, but Shoto never does, saying that he’s already forgotten, but the feeling stays longer than the visual. And you nod, and drift off faster than you should, but Shoto doesn’t mind - he never does - and he’s so completely lost in you. He’s so completely enamored by you, and he’s never been so happy to be lost.

He continues to knock for his next five visits after the first night, and you eventually get tired of him waking you up in the dead of the night so you give him his own key.

The seventh time he shows up at your door, he doesn’t use the key. No, instead, he stands outside your door and calls you. The dial tone rings in his ear and it doesn’t help soothe the tightness in his chest or the lump in his throat at all, and he wonders if it’s really so bad for him to use the key you’d given him. Eventually though, you answer - you always do - and he falls in love with you all over again.

“Sho?” You ask, voice scratchy and stiff, and he can hear you through the door, “What’s going on?”

It’s technically a stupid question to ask, you know he’d only ever call you so late at night if he’d had a nightmare, but he also doesn’t call you very often either.

“Can I come in?” Shoto asks, and you make a groggy noise of confusion.

“What d’ya mean, Sho?”

“Can I come in?” He repeats, and then softly knocks twice on your door.

You hang up then, and Shoto watches your door swing open with tears pricking at his eyes. And when you drag him into bed with you the world feels like it could never be wide enough.

x x x

Then, your world fell apart.

The pillars that held up Japan’s hero society crumbled in a measly seven hours.

With too many prison breaks, fatalities, and injuries to count, Shoto could care less. Because you were gone. He’d been with you early that morning, before everything fell apart.

He’d been in bed with you, cuddled up close and basking in your presence, the two of you had changed into your hero costumes together. He’d been with you for hundreds of hours too little that morning, and he wants to know where you are.

He asks his older brother Natsuo where you are by showing him the little sticky note that he’d written the question on and shown to every nurse, doctor, teacher, and friend that came in to see him. His throat had been burned to hell, and he wished more than anything to get up and ask every damned person in the hospital where you were.

He’s supposed to be talking about Touya - he’s not Touya anymore, he has to remind to himself, that man is Dabi, not Touya - and all he can think about is you.

Shoto has to remind himself that he can’t cry. Because right now, the people around him need him to be strong, and that includes you, where ever you are. He hopes you can feel him wavering, desperately wishes for you to show up.

It’s on his sixth night in the hospital that somebody finally tells him where you are. It’s Bakugo, surprisingly enough.

“Hey, IcyHot,” Bakugo greets, and Shoto uses text-to-speech to ask him if he should even be walking. The blonde is covered in just as many bandages as Shoto, and when Aizawa had come by on his third day in the hospital, Shoto had been told all about everybody’s condition except yours.

“Yeah, i’m fine,” Bakugo says, easing himself into hard plastic chair next to Shoto’s hospital bed, “Y/N’s not though.”

Shoto croaks out a pathetic noise, but Bakugo doesn’t need prompting.

“All the other damn extras said not to say anything to you,” Bakugo continues, and for the first time ever, the cocky blonde is visibly nervous, worried, even, “Y/N’s in the ICU. They haven’t stabilized since they got in. Nobody’s told me what happened to them, but apparently Dunce Face was one of the last people to see her before she was brought here. He... He thought that Y/N was already dead when he last saw them. They’re in a medically induced coma, according to Mr.Aizawa.”

Shoto sits there, in silence except for the quiet humming of the AC unit, for thirty minutes. Bakugo sits with him, just as quiet.

“Where are they now?” Shoto’s phone asks, the words choppy and abrupt, and Bakugo looks pained when he tells him your room number. Neither of them do anything for a while after that, and Bakugo sits in the hard plastic chair that’d begun to make his butt sore until Shoto falls asleep with a million things on the tip of his tongue.

Shoto is released from the hospital four days later, extensive healing and pain meds made sure of that, and nobody had been allowed to see you yet. He’d asked around, and eventually he learned that you’d undergone six different procedures since you’d arrived.

Tonight would be your seventh.

x x x

It’s hot. Very hot.

The flames are blue, and a few of them lick at you, but they don’t burn. There’s a battle cry from both sides, and you watch as villains pour from the Gunga Mountain Villa. It takes five minutes, and war has broken out all around you.

You’re fighting too, better suited for close combat, and you’re watching your classmates, your friends being battered around, fighting in a war that they shouldn’t be fighting.

You’re the first to make inside the building, and you’re vaguely aware that you’re bleeding. Fatgum tells you to retreat, telling you that you look on the verge of death. You tell him you’re fine.

You’re not fine. The building is rumbling, and the ceiling’s begun to cave in, it’s hard to breathe, and you can’t see through the blood that’s caked over your left eye.

The pillars fall in seven seconds, and you fall too.

You call for him, for Shoto, in the last three seconds of your consciousness, you call for him.

It’s dark.

x x x

When you wake up, really wake up and open your eyes to look right into the harsh white fluorescent lights of your hospital room, nobody’s there with you. There’s a vase of dying roses on the windowsill, and you can already tell from the crisp handwriting on the brown tag that Shoto had been the one to leave them. And it’s cold, but you prefer that to the blazing heat you’d felt when you’d fallen asleep.

Where is Sho anyway?

Your heart monitor steadily beeps away, and when a nurse comes in to check your vitals she’s surprised to see you’re awake. And even more surprised when the first thing you ask for is Shoto.

“Sho,” You say, and your voice is dry and raw and barely a whisper, “Where’s Sho?”

The nurse stares at you wide-eyes for a moment, before she gets you a little dixie cup of water.

“Who’s Sho?” She asks, and you struggle to swallow the little cup of water she’d given you.

“Shoto Todoroki,” You say, “Is he here?”

The nurse purses her lips, and looks at you sadly, and you wonder what she’s thinking about before she tells you that she’ll be right back with the doctor. She leaves three more dixie cups of water on your foldaway table before leaving.

You sit there for almost an hour before the door opens again, and it’s a horrible hour because every time you close your eyes all you can see is the bloody battle that should have killed you.

The doctor comes in first, and right behind him is the person you’d been thinking about since you’d woken up. You’d been with him all that morning before the war, and all that night. And you were with him now.

The doctor tells you what day it is, and you start crying when he tells you it’s been almost a month since you’d first been admitted to the hospital.

“Fuck,” You whimper, voice crackling and breaking as you reach out for Shoto, and he’s there - he always is - and his hand feels so good in yours - it always does - and you start crying even harder when you see the tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Sho. You look so tired.”

“I love you,” And he says it like there will never be another chance to say it, and once the first ‘I love you’ leaves his mouth fifty more follow. And the doctor looks you over as best he can, before telling you that you’re cleared for visitors and that you’d be able to leave within the week.

And as Shoto begins to cry he has to remind himself that he is supposed to be a hero prodigy. That he’s supposed to stand tall and strong, and keep his father's hero legacy alive. But you hold onto his fingers so tightly, and for once, you’re asking if you can come over because you’ve just had a nightmare. It’s a shared nightmare, Shoto tells you, shared by millions.

Two days later you’re allowed to go back home, back to the dorms, and Shoto has to help you get dressed because you can barely breathe standing up let alone walk without your legs collapsing. Shoto kisses your tears away when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You’re covered in scars, and there are still stitches in places where the wounds were slower to heal.

Your whole world fell apart in seven hours that day, and it continued to fall apart after that. Shoto’s there for you the whole way back to UA, and he tells you that your school, your second home, had become a home to thousands of others too. Shoto had given his dorm away and he’d been staying at his family home while you’d been in the hospital.

But your dorm is still there. And nothing’s changed at all.

“I’ve also been staying here too,” Shoto tells you when he helps you into bed, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all, Sho,” You tell him - you never do mind - and he crawls into bed next to you, minding your right knee with it’s poky little stitches and the new metal patella that replaced the kneecap you’d shattered during the war.

Japan fell apart in four days, Shoto tells you, and you can’t find it in you to care, because the world is too big and too wide but Shoto makes it feel smaller.

It was dark, when the pillars fell. And the two of you are blind, lost in it, and you’d never been so afraid of being lost.

“I don’t think I can go back to hero work,” You tell him early the next morning, as he gets dressed to go back to his family home, “Not for a long time.”

“That’s okay, my love,” He replies, he won’t tell you, but he’s not sure he wants you to go back, “Do you want to come home with me?”

He doesn’t need to ask, because he would have taken you with him anyway.

“Yeah,” You tell him, and you struggle to push yourself up into a sitting position, “Just... Will you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Promise me you won’t die.”

It’s stupid thing to ask for, you know it is. Because everybody dies eventually, but you don’t know what you’d do if you lost him. The two of you are lost, but at least you’re together.

Shoto doesn’t need to question it, because he’d thought you were dead for almost a whole week. And he doesn’t ever want to be without you, even though he knows he’ll have to.

“I promise you, Y/N, I won’t ever leave you, and I won’t die.”

It’s dark, Shoto thinks, as he helps you into the back of his father’s car, But it’s much less dark with you.

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dreamerstreamer · 4 years ago

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Sleepy Streams

Pairing: Sapnap x gn!reader

Summary: Sapnap isn’t the only one getting sleepy watching Dream speedrun for hours at a time.

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: requested by a very, very kind anon! thanks for all the creative liberty you let me take with this one. i hope you like it! (i wrote this while making pasta lol) this story was inspired by this video and this video.

“Oh, what? No way!” Sapnap gasped, his eyes widening at the sight on his screen. “You spawned in the middle of the fortress? That’s wild!”

Dream’s giddy voice echoed through his headphones. “I know, I know!!”

He leaned back in his chair, his lips curling upward eagerly. “First a Looting III sword, and now this? All in less than eight minutes? Dude, you’re so lucky today.”

Another voice came softly from his left. “Maybe this run will set a record.”

Sapnap turned, his gaze flickering to the chair beside him. His chest grew warm at the sight of you sitting with your legs crossed, your knee poking into his thigh as you scrolled through your phone absentmindedly. Your hair was a mess atop your head and you were wearing one of his shirts—the white one with the flame. He remembered how wide you had smiled when he gave it to you.

“It’s your shirt and it’s also your merch,” you had said. “It’s like... Sapnap squared!”

He chuckled at the memory of your shining eyes as you held the shirt close to your chest. Cute. You were so, so cute, even without trying, and you didn’t even know it.

He turned again, looking back at his screen just in time for Dream to locate the blaze spawner. “I’m telling you,” Dream said, the clicking of his keyboard accompanying his voice, “this seed actually just might be it.”

“I—“ Sapnap cut himself when he out an abrupt yawn, quickly regaining his composure just a second later. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it is, honestly.” He pressed a hand to his eye, gently rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes.

“Tired?” Dream prompted, blocking yet another fireball from a blaze.

Sapnap laughed. “Yeah, it’s like—“ His eyes darted to the corner of his screen. “—it’s like four in the morning. You’ve been speedrunning for nearly four hours, now.”

There came a laugh. “Well, you know. You gotta do what you gotta do.”

A comfortable silence fell between them as Dream continued to fight blaze. A muffled yawn came from beside him. Sapnap twisted his chair slightly, glancing over at you once again. You were still scrolling mindlessly through your phone, your lips twitching every once in a while. You were probably looking at some memes, or maybe just browsing through Twitter. He had tried to convince you go to sleep a few hours prior, but you had just shook your head at him.

“I like spending time with you.” He remembered you leaning up to press a kiss to his check. “Being quiet together in the same room makes me happy.”

A fond smile crossed his face. You always managed to make him smile. Just then, you felt his eyes on you and looked up, your eyes meeting his. You smiled at him, sending him a sleepy thumbs up. He smiled back, butterflies filling his stomach. The two of you had been dating for months now, and you still have him butterflies. It was crazy how much of an effect you had on him. Just how lucky was he to have you in his life?

“Alright, I have seven rods. Out of the Nether we go.” Dream’s voice pulled Sapnap out of his thoughts, and he turned to stare at his monitor screen once more.

“Let’s gooo!” he hooted, instinctively throwing a hand in the air in excitement. “You’re killing it, Dream.”

“I mean, I still have to kill a bunch of Endermen before we can say that for sure. Plus, I still have to find the stronghold, which is going to take forever, and—“ He sighed, uncertainty lacing his voice. “Maybe I’ll just quit.”

Sapnap frowned. “Dude, don’t say that. You’ve still got plenty of time. You just need to kill some Enderman on the way over to the stronghold, okay? Don’t sweat it. You’ve got this in the bag.”

Dream let out a soft chuckle. “Fingers crossed that’s how it goes.”

The next few minutes passed in silence, with Dream chasing after some Endermen and Sapnap letting out the occasional words of encouragement here and there. As much attention as he was paying to Dream’s current speedrun, his mind couldn’t help but drift back to the thought of you—you, who were so kind and warm. You, who made him laugh with hardly any effort on your behalf. You, who made loving and being loved feel so easy.

You, who had fallen asleep.

Slumped against his side, your head rolled onto his shoulder, your phone lying abandoned on your lap. Sapnap froze, inhaling sharply but immediately melting at the sight of your sleeping face. Your rosy lips were parted and your chest rose and fell with each breath you took. Your eyelashes cast a spiderweb of shadows across your cheek from the glow of his screen, and your cheek was smushed cutely where it met his shoulder.

He took back what he thought earlier. You weren’t just cute—you were adorable.

“Hey, uh, Dream,” he said, careful to be quiet so as not to wake you up, “I think I’m gonna go to sleep. It’s getting really late.”

Dream made a frustrated noise. “Still no pearls—oh, heading to bed?” He could hear the smile in his voice. “Let me guess, you have school tomorrow.”

Sapnap’s gaze darted to your sleeping figure. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Well,” Dream laughed, “you have fun in class tomorrow, then. This run is probably my last one for the night. It’s probably scuffed or whatever, but I’ll let you know how it goes.”

Sapnap smiled. “Alright, thanks.” He moved his cursor to hover over the ‘end call’ button. “Goodnight, Dream.”

“Night, Sapnap. Sleep well.”

He clicked his mouse, finally exiting the call after a good three hours and fifty-two minutes. He then shifted his attention to you, your hair tickling his cheek. Oh so carefully, he wrapped one arm around your back and slid the other under your legs, hoisting you into his arms so that your head laid on his chest. Nudging his chair back, he made his way to the other side of his room. For once, Sapnap was grateful that he didn’t make his bed, if only so he could gently lay you under the covers without having to fumble for the sheets.

He was slow to slide himself into the space next to you, his eyes tracing ever edge of your delicate face as he tucked the both of you in. Raising a hand, he brushed back a stray piece of hair from your fluttering eyelids using the back of his finger, smiling when you unconsciously leaned into his touch. Suddenly, your lips moved.

“...Sapnap,” you mumbled, so quietly he almost didn’t hear it. “...love you.”

His heart leapt into his throat. Goddamnit. He swore it must be illegal to be this cute. It just had to be.

“I love you too, angel,” he murmured in your ear. He slipped his arm around you, holding you close to his chest and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he dozed off into a warm, hazy dream.

He wouldn’t mind spending every night like this with you—maybe for the rest of his life.

(A few minutes later, Sapnap’s phone lit up from a very, very excited notification from Dream.)

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here4theheartbreak · 3 years ago

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Afternoon Naps (myg + pjm)

AO3 Link Here!

Relationships: Jimin x Yoongi Genre: smut Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~5.5k

Tags: Smut, Consensual Somnophilia, Vampires, Dirty Talk, Multiple Orgasms, Coming Untouched, Established Relationship, Vampire Sex, Vampire Biting/Blood Drinking, Sleeping Medication, Consensual Necrophilia (Technically), Temporary Character Death, Vampire Min Yoongi, Human Park Jimin, Bottom Park Jimin

Summary: Jimin finds out his boyfriend's biggest secret, and reveals his own biggest kink. They realize that this can benefit both of them.

A/N: Fifth Kinktober fic, day 7: somnophlia; this fic is also filling a request from ages ago. @sujigguk requested a fic with “you’re not human”

A/N 2: The fic contains technically necrophilia -- vampire lore in this fic has the vampire "dying" (i.e. heart/breathing stops, body goes cold, rigor mortis sets in) while resting in their coffins. All sexual acts are discussed and consented to by both parties prior to this.

“Jimin!” Yoongi’s voice was sharp… And not all that happy when he opened the door of his apartment. Jimin smiled sheepishly.

“Surprise?” He said softly.

“What are you doing here?”

Yoongi looked tense as he stood in the doorway. From what Jimin could see over his shoulder, his blinds were drawn, and his apartment was still mostly dark. Strange, given it was nearly ten in the morning.

“Did I wake you?”

Yoongi hesitated. “No.”

Jimin’s smile faded a little. “I wanted to come by… It’s been a week.”

“We’ve been texting.”

Jimin’s smile disappeared completely. “I disturbed you. I’m sorry.” He backed up, ready to head down the hall.

“Wait, no, Jimin. Don’t go. You just surprised me, I’m not used to visitors coming by unexpectedly.”

Jimin looked at him, trying to gauge if he was being sincere. Jimin and Yoongi had been dating for nearly six months. It was great. Yoongi was always there for him, their dates were fun, and they never ran out of things to talk about. The sex was mind blowing. Sure, they fought a little, but never a big thing. The one oddity in all their time together… Was that Jimin was never invited to sleep over at Yoongi’s. Yoongi had stayed at Jimin’s a few times, and Jimin had come over once or twice, but never for more than a few minutes.

The last time they were together in person, Jimin had hinted at wanting to stay over at Yoongi’s one night. Yoongi had seemed okay with the idea, but also a bit stiff about it.

“I should have texted,” Jimin finally said.

“Yes,” Yoongi agreed. “But… You’re here, I can spare a few minutes.” He sighed heavily and stepped aside, letting Jimin in.

“Dark,” Jimin commented as he entered. “Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale.” He reached out for Yoongi’s head, only to have Yoongi jerk away.

“I’m fine.”

Jimin scowled then, crossing his arms. “What’s wrong with you?”

Yoongi blinked at him.

“You’re acting weird. I’ve been with you half a year, I know when you’re not yourself. What’s wrong?”

“It…” Yoongi’s shoulders sagged. “It’s very hard to explain.”

“Well try. I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark. Literally or figuratively.” Jimin went to flip on a light.

Yoongi grabbed his wrist. His hand was frigid, and his grip was tight. Jimin gasped.

“Don’t.” Yoongi’s voice was sharp.

“Wh… What’s going on? You’re kinda starting to scare me.”

“I don’t mean to.” Yoongi let go of Jimin’s wrist.

“Why are you so cold?” Jimin went forward. Yoongi backed away but Jimin ignored him, grabbing his face. “Jesus, you’re freezing. Are you sick?”

“Not exactly,” Yoongi mumbled.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

“Jimin, please…” Yoongi leaned into his touch, his eyes screwed shut. “Please just go home… I promise, I’ll explain everything tonight.”

“No. You can explain right now, Min Yoongi.” Jimin crossed his arms and stood in front of the door, facing Yoongi.

“It’s not easy,” Yoongi muttered. Jimin remained silent. He sighed. “Fine. I… I really wanted us to last.”

Jimin narrowed his eyes, not liking how this was sounding. Yoongi stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“I’m a monster.”

“What makes you a monster?” Jimin pressed.

“Fangs? Death? Drinking blood?” Yoongi shrugged. “Any number of things. I mean a literal monster.”

Jimin laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, come on, don’t be silly. Yoongi, what is it really?” He asked. He flicked on the light. Yoongi winced visibly, raising his hand to shield from the indoor light.

Jimin’s entire body went cold. Yoongi was standing in front of him. His Yoongi – lean muscle and a sweet, round face, gentle eyes and guitar callused fingers… But not his Yoongi at the same time. The person in front of him was paler than Yoongi – his face almost grey it was so pale. His eyes were dark. Not just dark, but the pupils seemed to have expanded, filling the whites of his eyes and giving him a demonic gaze.

Yoongi let his hand fall, his expression timid despite the horror his features implied.

“You’re not human,” Jimin whispered.

“I’m a monster,” Yoongi agreed. “A vampire… Specifically.” He looked down. “Are you going to run away screaming now?”

“Make me, you troll,” Jimin grumbled. He let his arms fall and took a cautious step forward.

“I’m a vampire, not a troll.”

Jimin grinned at that, seeing the curve of a smile on Yoongi’s lips. “I’ll get it right eventually… Am I in danger? Standing here like this?”

“No. I have excellent control over my feeding… Why aren’t you scared?” Yoongi looked up, meeting Jimin’s gaze.

“I am.”

“You aren’t showing it… Aside from a fast heartbeat… I can’t see any fear on your pretty face. And your heart beats fast around me all the time.”

Jimin smiled. “Flirting isn’t gonna get you out of the doghouse… Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“You’re right.” Yoongi snapped his fingers. “I always forget. When is the right date to tell your new boyfriend you died and came back as a bloodsucking creature of the night? That once a week you have to spend a day in a coffin literally dead or you get wildly sick? Isn’t it the third? Or no, the seventh?”

Jimin slapped Yoongi’s shoulder with some force, smirking when he cried out, rubbing it. “Weak for a vampire.”

“I’m immortal, not immune to my boyfriend’s abuse,” Yoongi grumbled.

“Do you drink blood?”

“Of course I do.”

“Human?”

“When I can.”

“From live people?”

“Is that jealousy I hear in your tone, Mr. Park?”

Jimin glared. “You lied to me for six months, I’m allowed to interrogate you.”

Yoongi smiled softly. “I’m frankly just… In amazement that you’re still standing here. And no… Not live humans, not for a very long time. You may proceed with the interrogation – but I insist on us moving out of my hallway and to an actual sitting location.” He pointed to the couch.

“Do you have anything to drink? If I open your fridge… Will I find bags of blood?”

Yoongi made a noise of offense and crossed his arms. “Of course not, I’m not some barbarian. You’ll find a recyclable bottle of that’s filled with blood. But my sodas are in the door.”

Jimin went over to the fridge and opened it. Sure enough, there were three large water bottles filled with a very suspicious reddish liquid. He grabbed a soda from the door and went over to the couch, sitting next to Yoongi.

“How old are you? I’m guessing that twenty-seven was a lie.”

“I was twenty-seven when I died. Thirty-one years ago.”

“Oooh, I bagged myself a silver fox, huh?”

Yoongi huffed once more. “I died at twenty-seven.”

“Mhm… And now you’re fifty-eight.”

“Jimin, I’m gonna…”

Jimin giggled. “I guess I shouldn’t tease you… You might bite me… Would you?”

“Bite you? Not unless you asked.”

“Would it turn me into a vampire?”

“No. There’s a very specific ritual for that.”

Jimin nodded. “Cool. So, what does a vampire do? Aside from drinking blood… What’s special about you? I’ve seen you in the day. You complain a whole lot, but you don’t sparkle or ignite like a firework. We’ve taken plenty of pictures together… And you eat way too much garlic. You also sleep at night, and probably too long… And you aren’t any stronger than I am.”

“You’re making me feel real great here, Jimin,” Yoongi joked, smiling as he spoke.

Jimin laughed. “Sorry—I just mean… You seem human. I’ve never… Really assumed anything was off about you.”

“The great thing about humans, is that you all really like to assume everyone is like you. You avoid the things that support the opposite. Inhuman behavior, to some degree, so long as it’s not shocking or jarring, you can brush off as an odd quirk, a funny trait. I’m close to human, yes, but I am not human. I complain in the sun because my skin is sensitive. Bursting into flames is a myth, but I do burn far easier than most humans. My skin’s melanin has decayed over the years without cellular growth.”

“Which is why you’re so pale too.”

Yoongi grunted an affirmative. “Garlic is a myth, as is the no reflection thing. I’m sure hundreds of years ago, maybe? There might have been some truth to it, but modern technology and modern mirrors work different, so I can see myself the same as you. I am stronger than you, but I do well at hiding it most of the time. Any displays of it, you either don’t see, or brush aside. I do also sleep at night, yes – because I’ve put myself on a human schedule. I do this so I can live among you all without problems. Once a week though, I must sleep during the day. Sleeping at night is akin to a human living on a series of short naps at mid-afternoon. It’s not fully restful and it’s dangerous to do long term. I compensate by sleeping through the day one day per week, in the appropriate resting place.”

“R… Resting place?”

“My coffin.”

Jimin’s eyes bulged. “Coffin?”

“Yes, I am dead. I have a coffin.”

“That you sleep in?”

“Once a week. Otherwise, I sleep in the bed.”

Jimin nodded, his brows furrowed.

“Gonna run yet?” Yoongi asked.

“No… Is there anything else different?”

“Well… We’re excellent in bed,” Yoongi joked. Jimin glanced up. “I mean it. We have a… Special thing about us. You’ve had sex with other men before me, right?”

“Yeah, a few.”

“Haven’t you ever noticed that when we have sex… I’m much—”

“Harder.”

Yoongi nodded.

Jimin pouted. “I assumed it was because I just really turned you on. It’s because you’re a vampire?”

“Well, no, you really do turn me on... A lot. But a few days after I do my daytime sleep, I get naturally more rigid. I’m not sure why – I think it has something do with… Ah, well it’s gross. But it just happens.”

Jimin sat back, sighing softly. “You’re immortal.”

“Yes.”

“Honestly… I think that’s the thing that bothers me most about this. Not that you’re undead or drink blood or… But that you’re gonna never grow old. And I’m…”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispered.

“If we work out…” Jimin began. “And stay together… You’ll turn me, right? You’d have to – for us to… Be together.”

“Not necessarily. While I wouldn’t hate the idea of someone’s company in my life… I know that a limited existence is so valued and important. It’s something that I would be willing to discuss… If we work out, and when you are older.”

Jimin nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Yoongi pressed. “That’s it?”

Jimin shrugged. “We all have secrets, Yoongi.”

“I doubt you have a secret as big as this, Jimin.”

“No… But I have one that… People have left for.”

Yoongi seemed to perk up a little at that, his brows furrowed. Despite the difference in his eyes, the sleek black, Jimin found his expression endearing and sweet.

“I like your eyes like this… Can you change them at will?” He asked.

“No. They’re like this because I’ve not fed for a while. I have to keep myself fed and rested or they shift; they’ll be back to normal after I wake up and drink… What secret could you have that’s so big, Jimin?”

“Well… I…” Jimin winced. “God, it’s weird as hell, I’m so sorry.”

“I won’t run,” Yoongi promised. “You’re sitting here next to me after finding out I’m a living dead monster. The least I can do is listen to your secret and try to understand.”

Jimin smiled softly at that. He nodded. “I like… Sleep sex.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I like the idea of… Having sex with someone while they sleep or are unconscious. With their consent! I mean… I’d never… Do something nonconsensual.”

Yoongi remained silent a moment, thinking. “Do you want someone to have sex with you while you sleep? Or do you want to have sex with someone while they sleep?”

“Both, I guess. I like the idea of both. I’ve never done it. Most people stop talking to me after I tell them.”

“Why would they?” Yoongi pressed. “We all have kinks and fantasies.”

“Yeah, but a lot of them see it as a form of rape. And I get it, it’s a super grey area. You can’t change your mind while you’re asleep, so like… If you say it’s okay, and then as you drift off to sleep decide you don’t want it… Then it becomes nonconsent.”

Yoongi nodded in understanding. “Well I think that can be resolved just by open communication,” he said, touching his hand to his chin in thought. “If you trust your partner and they trust you, you two should be able to communicate what is and isn’t okay. I don’t think a kink like this is unsafe or unhealthy, as long as – like you said – it’s done with full consent.”

Jimin smiled cautiously, his heart skipping a beat. “You mean… You don’t find it gross?”

“Not at all.” Yoongi smiled. “I’m glad you shared it with me. I still don’t think it’s worse than me being a blood sucking monster… But I know it’s a secret you hold close, so I appreciate your trust. But… Would you want to try this with me someday?”

“Would I ever?” Jimin asked. He chuckled a little. “I fantasize about it a lot.”

Yoongi smirked. He moved little closer, pulling Jimin to him. “Would you want to try it today?” He asked softly.

Jimin’s eyes widened. Yoongi continued. “Look… When I sleep… In my coffin. I’ll be honest with you. I don’t breathe. I don’t move. I am… For all intents and purposes… Dead. I don’t decay, obviously. But my body goes very cold, my lungs and heart go still… And my body stiffens, as a corpse would. That includes… My dick.”

Jimin remained quiet, processing what Yoongi was suggesting. Yoongi slid his hands over Jimin’s shoulders slowly as he spoke. “So, if someone… Say my very curious, very human boyfriend… Happened to get horny while I was sleeping in my coffin… He could climb in and use my body… Ride me… And I’d remain fully unconscious no matter what.”

“Because you’re dead…” Jimin clarified.

Yoongi nodded. “Temporarily. I wouldn’t wake for anything, unless you shined sunlight on my body. So… If you want to do this…”

“Would you fuck me when you wake?” Jimin said quickly. “If I was sleeping, would you… Return the favor?”

“I wake in the late afternoon usually. You’d likely still be up.”

“Not if I took a sleeping pill,” Jimin suggested. “I have some, I used to get nightmares and they help. I don’t use them often, but I bring them just in case. I could take one after… And you could… Help get rid of your afternoon wood with my body.”

Yoongi shifted visibly on the couch. His tongue darted out, swiping over his lips. Jimin smirked. He leaned forward, sliding his hands up Yoongi’s thighs. “Does that idea sound good? You like it.”

Yoongi nodded. “I do,” he breathed.

“We can do it today?”

“Yes but… Jimin… You understand what I mean. When I lay in my coffin… You will be looking at the equivalent of a corpse.”

“I understand. But you’re still you. You say you’ll only be still and cold… You won’t be decaying or rotting or anything you associate with a dead body. And you’ll be waking up and… We’ll be together.”

“Of course.”

“Would it turn you on? Knowing I used you while you… Rested?”

Yoongi smiled softly, lowering his gaze. “Frankly? That’s… An incredibly sexy thought. The thought of you climbing into my coffin with me alone is enough to… Well… I’ve thought of it more than once. I never even imagined you’d be willing to… Let alone wanting to… Do more.”

“Should I stay in the coffin with you? After I finish?”

“I’m afraid not.” Yoongi shook his head. “Waking from my rest is a very jarring thing. I fear I might accidentally hurt you. I have a bed in my room next to the coffin, you can sleep there.”

Jimin nodded. “I do want this as long as you do. And I do want you to… Do the same.”

Yoongi leaned forward, kissing Jimin gently.

“Hey… You’re a vampire… Don’t you have fangs?”

“They retract. When I’m resting they will come out, so don’t kiss me – you could get poked. But when I’m awake I can pull them in and out as needed.”

“Can I see them?” Jimin whispered.

Yoongi seemed to be thinking about it. He grinned then. His wide, gummy grin suddenly became something much more frightening… And sexier, when Jimin realized his canines had lengthened and transformed into sharp, deadly points. Jimin’s breath left in a rush.

“Oh wow…”

Yoongi’s smile dropped again to a relaxed expression. “Satisfied?” He asked, his tone slightly breathier with the fangs in the way.

Jimin nodded. “I think you need to go to bed soon,” he murmured.

Yoongi smirked, one fang peeking out of his lip. “Horny bastard.”

“Not my fault.” Jimin squeezed Yoongi’s thighs. “Should I wait out here?”

“Please. Though it’s not disturbing I do like going to sleep alone. You’re free to come in in about fifteen minutes… I’ll be resting by then. The lube is in the top drawer of the dresser in the bedroom.

“See you in the evening,” Jimin said. Yoongi rose and leaned forward, pecking Jimin’s mouth gently.

Fifteen minutes had never been so damn slow. Jimin finished his drink and paced around the apartment, trying to distract from the ticking clock. He took the time to explore Yoongi’s place; he’d never had a chance to before. He had quite a number of interesting trinkets that Jimin wanted to ask about when he woke up. He pulled off his coat and tugged on one of Yoongi’s hoodies, hugging himself in it as Yoongi’s scent drifted into his nostrils from the warm fabric.

Finally. Fifteen minutes had passed. Jimin entered the bedroom carefully, letting his eyes adjust to the room, even darker than the living room. He found a lamp near a comfy looking bed and flicked it on, looking around. The light was soft, diffused by the heavy shade. In the center of the room was a large, dark coffin. Jimin approached it carefully, his heart in his throat. Inside was Yoongi, looking much paler than usual. He was entirely still, arms resting across his bare belly. He was in his boxers, his cock comically rigid, tenting the front up obscenely. He was stunning.

Jimin hurried over to the dresser and opened the drawer, finding the lube easily. He shucked his jeans and boxers, crawling onto the bed. He set his sleeping medication on the bedside stand and relaxed into the pillow. It smelled richly of Yoongi’s scent, his cock thickening against his thigh. He moaned softly, stroking himself. He looked over at the coffin, his stomach clenching. This was really happening. He poured some of the lube on his fingers and spread it over his hole, sighing contentedly as he pushed a finger in to prep himself.

When he was ready, Jimin rose, sliding the lube and his phone into his pocket. He went over to the coffin, taking a moment to gaze down at his beautiful lover. A vampire… He knew he’d likely have a moment of realization down the line – the understanding that this simple confession had flipped his life upside down. But he’d never been one to shy away from the macabre or bizarre, and he always wondered if supernatural creatures existed. Yoongi’s confirmation of that was… Unexpected, but not unwanted.

Jimin carefully straddled Yoongi’s lap. He knew he couldn’t wake him, but the fear was half the fun. Yoongi was still hard, his position entirely unchanged from the first moment Jimin saw him. Jimin pulled his boxers down just under his balls, smirking when he saw the tip was a deep purple red. He wrapped his hand around it and stroked gently, surprised to find it cool to the touch. Yoongi really was a living dead person.

A surprising twinge of arousal spiked through Jimin, making him shudder. He wondered if Yoongi could still come in this state. Only one way to find out.

He shifted over, taking the lube from his hoodie with shaking hands and adding some to Yoongi’s cock, and more to his own stretched hole. He moved over and began to settle into Yoongi’s cock, muffling his quiet gasps in his other hand. Yoongi’s cock was so hard it was almost painful. There was none of the give he was used to, forcing his ass open wide to take the tip, and sliding deep into him. He whimpered, shuddering hard when he took his entire length.

“Yoongi,” he whined softly. Curious, he reached out, touching Yoongi’s pale, cool face. He held his hand by his nose for a moment. Nothing. No movement of air, no shift, nothing. He moaned again, reality slowly sinking in. There was nothing normal or right about this. But God, it felt good. He dropped his hand down, pulling Yoongi’s top lip back. As promised, there they were, sharp fangs, glinting dangerously. Jimin touched one, ever so tempted to prick his finger on it, let Yoongi taste him… But no. Jimin pulled his hand back. That could be discussed at a later time. He settled back on Yoongi’s stiff cock and whimpered. There was no give. He was gonna lose it fast at this rate.

Jimin began to ride him, moaning openly as Yoongi’s cock slid over his prostate. He reached into his hoodie and removed his phone, holding it up. He found his camera app and angled it to show his face first, his cheeks mottled red with arousal. He moaned openly as he pressed record, not bothering to shy away from looking and sounding obscene.

“Your cock is so hard, Yoongi. You’re gonna break my ass in half, oh!” He shuddered, biting his lip and twisting his hips down. “Fuck, I’ve never had something this hard up my asshole, Yoongi… I’m gonna gape for hours after I’m done with you.”

He whined, his throat clicking as he struggled to swallow. He turned the camera, filming Yoongi’s body before turning it and balancing it behind him, so he could film himself riding Yoongi. He glanced back, smirking when he realized the camera was catching each long stroke, Yoongi’s cock sinking back into his ass. He spread himself and leaned forward, giving more light for the camera. He fucked himself hard and fast onto Yoongi’s cock, moaning and begging for more, not hiding the pleasure he was getting. He reached back and grabbed the phone, holding it up again.

“I’m gonna come, Yoongi,” he whined. “I’m gonna come from using your thick, hard cock, right here in your coffin. Wanna see?”

He turned the camera and lifted the front of the hoodie. His cock was bouncing with each thrust of his body, slapping gently off Yoongi’s still stomach.

“I’m so glad you slept shirtless,” Jimin panted. “Make me come, Yoongi… Oh God, please… Fuck my ass harder…” He moved faster, whining high in his throat. It shifted to a shout when his cock began to spurt, shooting ropes of come over Yoongi’s hands and belly. He stroked himself, still riding Yoongi’s cock as he milked the last come from himself. He shuddered and giggled, moving the camera behind him as he pulled off Yoongi. He held his ass open, feeling the cool air tickle him far more intimately than it should.

“Look at that gape,” he mumbled. “Too bad it’s not dripping with your come.” He pulled the camera back as he crawled out of the coffin.

“I think I’m gonna leave you like this… Covered in my come, boxers down… Just so you wake up and know what I did to you.”

He walked back over to the bed in the corner. “Now, Yoongi… I’m gonna leave the lube right there.” He angled the camera to show himself setting it on the nightstand and picking up the sleeping pill. “And I’m gonna take my sleeping medicine.” He angled the camera back to his face to show him swallowing it.

“Now I’m going to sleep just like this… No shorts… And I would love it, if you want to… To repay the favor and use my ass while I sleep.” He smirked. “I wonder… Is your come as cold your body was when you first come back? You should let me know… I wonder how that feels inside me…” He shook his head. “Sleep well… See you soon.” He ended the video and sent it to Yoongi, forcing himself to stay awake long enough to hear the buzz of Yoongi’s phone in his coffin. He let himself drift off to sleep, dreams full of sexy, arousing thoughts.

Jimin’s ass was on fire. He moaned softly, opening his eyes blearily. The first thing he saw was the coffin. He turned his head, spotting the clock… Nearly seven hours since he’d gone to sleep.

“Morning Sunshine,” Yoongi murmured. Jimin turned, spotting him at his desk. A cup of deep red liquid sat next to him as he worked on something. “How’s your ass?”

“Sore,” Jimin mumbled, reaching back. He was met with a gush of body temperature fluids, pouring from his gaped hole. He whined. “Fuck…” His cock throbbed against the mattress. “What did you do?”

“Me? I simply did as you asked in your video… Very sexy, by the way. Would you like to watch?”

Jimin rolled over, groaning weakly. His cock was hard despite the pain in his ass. It was perfect. “Show me,” he whispered.

Yoongi rose and grabbed his phone. He went over to the bed and sat on it with Jimin, passing him the device.

Yoongi did far less teasing and talking in his video. He set up the phone at an angle on the nightstand, allowing it to capture most of Jimin’s sleeping body. Yoongi slicked his cock, looking into the camera as he sank into Jimin with a moan. He began to thrust into him quickly, holding Jimin’s ass open as he did. He maintained looking at the camera most of the time, his eyes the same black they were when he went to sleep.

As Jimin watched himself get used on the phone, Yoongi pulled him onto his lap. He’d withdrawn his cock, Jimin could feel. He hissed and whined softly when Yoongi dragged him over and slid back into his come lubed hole.

“It’s sore,” he whined.

“You can get off then, I don’t mind,” Yoongi said, letting his hips go. Jimin smirked. He shifted to get a better angle to watch the video and began to bounce lazily on Yoongi’s cock.

On the video, Yoongi had picked up speed, grunting as he fucked Jimin’s sleeping body. He tossed his head back, shouting and baring his teeth.

Jimin moaned, catching sight of Yoongi’s fangs. He touched his own neck, a little disappointed at the lack of bite marks. Yoongi on video shuddered, his hips going still. He leaned forward, kissing Jimin’s shoulder.

“There’s my first load, Jimin. It was as cold as ice… I’ve never felt your hole squeeze me so tight. Next time I’ll do it when you’re awake… I bet you’ll squeal so pretty when it fills you…”

Jimin moaned, leaning back against Yoongi. “I wanna feel,” he confessed.

“I’ll make sure you’re awake next time,” Yoongi promised. “Wanna see the rest?”

Jimin nodded, riding Yoongi a little faster.

On video, Yoongi picked up the pace, fucking Jimin’s ass harder than before. He used him for nearly forty minutes, filling his hole three times. Finally, he sagged his shoulders, kissing over Jimin’s back.

“You’re so fucking sloppy, baby,” he grumbled. He grabbed the phone and angled it down. Jimin’s ass was red, his hole swollen around Yoongi’s cock. He pulled out slowly and come bubbled out, obscene sounds filling the air. Yoongi chuckled. “I’ll leave you like this. When you wake up I’ll give you one more, if you want it.”

The video went black. Jimin leaned forward, his ass aching at the new angle. “I want it,” he whispered.

Yoongi shifted, pulling out only long enough to get onto his knees. He sank back into Jimin’s already filled ass, and they both moaned at the sloppy noises. Jimin leaned up, wrapping his arms back around Yoongi.

“Bite me when you come,” he whispered.

“You sure?” Yoongi was fucking him hard, his cock twitching.

“Yes,” Jimin promised. He reached down, stroking his cock in time with Yoongi’s thrusts.

Yoongi was huffing erratically, holding tight to his middle. His fangs grazed Jimin’s shoulder.

“Are you mine?” Yoongi panted in his ear.

“Yes—“

“Give yourself to me.” Yoongi grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand off his cock. “All the way. Are you mine, Jimin?”

“Yes, yes!” Jimin moaned.

“I’m yours as well, Park Jimin,” Yoongi whispered. He slammed his cock deep. It began to throb, spilling inside Jimin. At the same time, Jimin felt a sharp pain and then a pressure on his shoulder. Pure pleasure washed over him. His cock began to spurt ropes of come, jerking hard enough to make them land on the floor in front of him. He shouted Yoongi’s name, reaching back and holding his neck as Yoongi drank from him.

The two collapsed on the bed as their orgasms faded. Yoongi kissed and licked at the wound on Jimin’s shoulder until the blood clotted, sliding his softening cock carefully from Jimin’s aching ass.

“You okay?” Yoongi asked, nudging Jimin’s shoulder with his nose as they cuddled back to chest on the bed.

“I’m great,” Jimin whispered.

“No regrets? Still okay with it?”

“Fully… You?”

“It was so exciting,” Yoongi admitted. “When I woke and felt your come on me… And then saw you sleeping… And that video was stunning. You were so beautiful.”

Jimin smiled shyly. “We’ll have to go easy the next few nights… I’m really sore.”

“Of course. I’ll be gentle for a while, let you heal up.” Yoongi kissed over his shoulder. “Did the bite hurt?”

“No. It felt good… How often can you drink from me?”

“I’d prefer not to often. Living human blood, not bagged, it’s… Very rich and sweet, almost like candy. It can become addictive. I’m honored you let me, but I’ll save it as a treat for myself, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course.” Jimin turned as well as he could. His gaze searched Yoongi’s face, finally dropping down to his mouth, lips pink and cheeks mottled. “It was so interesting. Seeing you in your coffin.”

“I know it can be frightening.”

“No…” Jimin shook his head. “I think it sank in… That I was looking at someone who wasn’t alive. But knowing you’d be awake soon after, it was… This bizarre sort of… Taboo but sexy thing? I’m a freak, aren’t I?” Jimin’s shoulders sagged.

“No more than I.” Yoongi nudged him again. “We can be freaks together.”

Jimin grinned. “Yoongi?” He said softly.

“Hm?”

“I feel gross.”

“Because of what we did?”

“No, silly.” Jimin laughed. “Because your come is gluing my ass and legs together. I need a shower.”

Yoongi laughed brightly, nodding. “Agreed. Let’s get one... It’s almost dinner, you’re probably starved.”

“You aren’t,” Jimin teased, rising slowly. “No, but I could eat. I’ll take you out after the shower.”

They walked together to the bathroom. “How does eating human food work with being a vampire?”

“Same as it works being alive,” Yoongi said, turning on the water. “It’s just empty calories for me – Which is why I never eat much.”

“There’s so much I feel like I have to learn about what you are… How life is for you.” Jimin crossed his arms as he waited for the water to warm. Yoongi straightened up and wrapped his arms around him. Now that Jimin was aware, he could feel that Yoongi was a few degrees cooler, his skin just a bit paler than human.

“You can ask anything you need. We have time, and I’ll tell you all you want to know.”

“Yoongi…” Jimin leaned against him, hugging him tightly. He could hear Yoongi’s heart, glugging along at a lethargic pace. He smiled softly. “Can I confess something to you?”

“Hm?” Yoongi asked, resting his chin on Jimin’s shoulder. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you,” Jimin whispered.

Yoongi went still, his heart skipping a little faster. “Jimin… Say that again,” he said.

“I… I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Jimin could feel Yoongi’s lips curve up into a smile against his shoulder. “In nearly sixty years of existence… I have never heard more beautiful words,” Yoongi admitted. “I love you too, Jimin… I feel like I’ll love you forever.”

Jimin pulled back, meeting Yoongi’s gaze. His eyes were back to their normal soft brown. He smiled. “Coming from someone who is immortal… That’s the most beautiful thing I could hear.”

Yoongi leaned forward, kissing Jimin deeply. He pulled him close, and Jimin melted into the touch. Yoongi may have cold skin, may drink blood and die once a week – but Jimin had never felt safer or warmer than he did at that very moment in Yoongi’s arms.

#thebtswritersclub #yoonmin #jimin x yoongi #yoongi x jimin #jimin smut #yoongi smut #jimin #yoongi #mywriting

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bottomlouisficfest · 4 years ago

Photo

Now that the Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2020 has concluded, we know that a lot of readers will have more time to catch up on some of the amazing fics they may have missed over the past two months. We encourage everyone to check out the full collection and to scroll through this masterpost of the 70 incredible fics that were posted during this year’s fest.

Please be sure to give all of these fics love - offer kudos, leave comments, reblog their fic posts on Tumblr, and retweet the fic posts on Twitter to help spread the word about these fics. The fest ending does not mean that our appreciation and reading of these fics has to end too.

Thank you for following along with this fest! We appreciate every single one of you - and we’ll see you later this year for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2021. 😊💜

Rainbow Bloom

A fic by dandelionfairies on AO3 | @dandelionfairies on Tumblr | dandelionfairi1 on Twitter

22k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis is in denial. Louis has been in denial for far too long. Then Harry enters his life and everything changes.

Breakable Heaven

A fic by amomentoflove on AO3 | @daggerandrose on Tumblr | dagger_rosefics on Twitter

44k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“What do you think?” Louis gets captured by Harry’s green eyes, unable to look away or even take a breath.

“I think you’re the most magnificent creature I’ve ever met.”

“You must not have met many creatures then.”

Harry’s eyes glance downward to Louis’ lips and his tongue darts out to wet his own. “None like you.”

bang bang (my baby shot me down)

A fic by thepolourryexpress on AO3 | @thepolourryexpress on Tumblr | ZOUlSBUSONE on Twitter

16k | Not Rated | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“I walked in on them having sex again,” Niall says after a beat of hesitation.

Liam still looks confused. “Why’s this different from every other time we’ve seen them having sex?” Liam asks, and oh, Harry knows Liam really doesn’t want to know the answer to this one.

Niall’s gone silent then, and Harry almost thinks they’re in the clear. Liam is back to scrolling through his phone, and Zayn is whispering something to Louis that makes the older boy giggle. They’re going to get through this car ride without a murder.

But then Niall’s covering his face with his sweatshirt, taking in a breath and on his exhale, Harry hears him mutter, “Louis was wearing knickers.”

Liam’s phone clatters to the floor of the car.

Don't You Know That I'm a Moon in Daylight?

A fic by wildholly on AO3 | @bottomlwt on Tumblr | bottomloulou on Twitter

58k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 79. Louis and Harry fell in love in the 18th century, Louis wanted Harry to convert him into a vampire, but he ended up resenting Harry for it. Fast forward to our modern days, they haven’t seen each other since then, but one day they meet again through a mutual friend. Harry was bitter for a long time, but he accepted that being angry wouldn't erase the fact that Louis was the love of his life. He wanted to court and spoil Louis like in their original time period, but Louis avoided him every time Harry tried to reconnect. Happy ending!

practice in pencil, seal it in pen

A fic by loubellies on AO3 | @loubellies on Tumblr | loubellies on Twitter

16k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 174: AU where drunk Harry lifts Louis up after someone says “bottoms up”. Louis blushes at Harry’s antics, flustered that his best friend knew him more than he thought. Friends to lovers with a happy ending please

or Harry is in love with Louis but he doesn't know.

tastes like summer, smiles like may

A fic by outropeace on AO3 | @outropeace on Tumblr | outropetals on Twitter

47k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Is this true?” Harry grabbed the beta by the shoulders. “Bryce, where did you hear that?”

“There’s rumors going around the castle,” he smirked. “stories about his beauty and his cold attitude. They know he is an omega only because of his scent, but he has never had a heat.”

“Do you know what this means?”

Bryce smirk grew into a big smile. “He can’t give you an heir.”

A cold prince, an alpha with nothing left to lose and a kingdom with a secret.

blinded by the sparks

A fic by wallstracktwo on AO3 | @wallstracktwo on Tumblr

22k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

"You can’t even keep your lies straight. Mike has the memory of an elephant and can remember every single detail about every single person he’s ever met, so don’t stand there and tell me that he mixed you up with someone else.” He took back Harry’s cigarette. “I saw you exchanging lower chips for higher ones. I saw you counting the cards. There is no fucking way you won seven thousand dollars tonight honestly. And so I will repeat myself — I want in. Fifty-fifty.”

Harry was completely taken aback by the stunningly attractive man standing in front of him. He made several attempts to say something — opening and closing his mouth at least twice before he was finally able to string a few words together. “What? No. No way. No. Sorry, but I work alone.”

That was the truth too — he had never trusted anyone enough to let them get close, especially when it came to his scamming, so having a partner was completely, utterly out of the question.

“Don’t you think you need someone on the…” Louis’ tongue darted out, licking his lips as his eyes flickered to Harry’s mouth, one eyebrow cocking up. “...inside.”

Or - Harry is a scammer who drifts from casino to casino. Louis is the new waiter who wants in on the scam.

somewhere in between

A fic by soldouthaz on AO3 | @soldouthaz on Tumblr | soldouthaz on Twitter

42k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis wakes up early. He brushes his teeth and can only stomach a piece of toast for breakfast, dressing quickly and heading for the car. He pulls into the parking lot of the Department of Dominance and Submission just as they’re unlocking the doors. It takes him all of an hour in the uncomfortable chairs to fill out the paperwork to the best and most accurate of his ability, handing it over to the receptionist as soon as he’s finished and wiping his sweaty palms on his business trousers.

There’s a high chance that within ten to fifteen business days, Louis will be matched with a dominant.

Shit.

On My Mind All The Time, Say You're Mine

A fic by Safetypinprince on AO3 | @roselouis on Tumblr | femboyIouis on Twitter

9k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Dude, we’re inside, and it’s night time. Those don’t look as cool as you think they do.” Louis could kick himself, he sounded so stupid, but it certainly got the guy’s attention.

It was at that unfortunate moment that he noticed several other things about this hot asshole, that he hadn’t noticed just staring from afar. First, when Louis spoke to him, his gaze was kind of unfocused behind his sunglasses, and secondly, that he had a red and white cane folded up under his arm.

“I’m… Blind,” the man chuckled, awkwardly.

Louis wanted to melt into a puddle out of pure embarrassment.

“I— am so sorry. I have to go.”

“Hey, wait, wait,” the man soothed, grabbing at Louis’ shoulders before he could get away.

“I’m sorry,” Louis repeated, looking down at his shoes.

“It’s alright,” He cackled. “I get it a lot. More than you know.”

Alternatively titled: and they were roommates.

A Silent Whisper (That's Left Unsaid)

A fic by MyEnglishRose on AO3 | @lwtisloved on Tumblr | darlinlou on Twitter

50k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“So… we’re doing this?”

Louis shrugs, suddenly acting disinterested.

“Your call, Curly.”

Instead of a verbal response, Harry suddenly takes Louis’ left hand in his. The black ring seems to nag him as the fire’s light reflects its polished edges. He ignores Louis’ curious gaze as he quickly takes off one of his own rings — the rose one —, sliding it on Louis’ middle finger. It is a little large and when he lets go of his hand, Louis has to curl it into a fist so the ring doesn’t immediately fall off.

“We’ll tell them it’s a promise ring, not an actual engagement,” Harry declares, trying to ignore how warm his cheeks feel. Hopefully, it can’t be seen as he is facing away from the fireplace.

“Right… could have gotten me a fitted ring though, my Harry ten years ago was more thoughtful.”

Louis’ tone is light and teasing again. It creates a small smile on Harry’s lips.

“Someday,” he whispers before he even registers it himself.

They both ignore it.

Or. A Fake Relationship & Exes to Lovers AU ft a failed proposal ten years ago, an oblivious Harry, an overworked Louis, Zayn as the protective best friend, a meddling aunt and a lot of talks about weddings and rings.

sweet like honey

A fic by falsegoodnight on AO3 | @falsegoodnight on Tumblr | falsegoodnight on Twitter

33k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Weeks of flat shopping with their limited budget with Louis as a librarian aid and Harry as a barista and arguments about whether a balcony or extended bathroom suite were more important (Harry wanted to be able to feel the crisp night’s air and watch the sun set and Louis just wanted to take long bubble baths) led to them stumbling across the perfect fit. A small flat only ten minutes from campus with a cramped but lovely balcony and an included bath.

It’s affordable too… well, sort of. But they always manage. Louis picks up more shifts as an aid, adapting a habit of bringing his Psych textbooks and homework with him to finish in between duties, and later his script so he can quietly practice lines with little distraction.

Harry also increases his number of shifts at the cafe and valiantly endures the nasty customers who for some reason flock to their establishment like moths to a flame.

For a while, it’s enough.

Or, Harry and Louis need money and they find an unconventional solution in the form of PornHub. It’s not supposed to be a big deal.

Spoonful of Sugar

A fic by zanni_scaramouche on AO3 | @zanniscaramouche on Tumblr

42k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Harry Styles.

A name better suited for a myth than a man. Like the name of the devil, people either whisper it in fear or laugh it off as fable. Cut it open and this city’s heart doesn’t bleed red. It’s snowy white, and it pulses in the tight grip of Lucifer himself.

Louis Tomlinson cares for his family above all else, a fact that’s led him on a twisted path peddling drugs to support them. Just as he’s made the decision to jump ship, Louis gets snared between the two largest crime syndicates in the city. To keep his family safe he’s forced to trust the man that failed to keep his promise two years ago, the resident drug lord he’s unknowingly been working for, Harry Styles.

Let's Break the Internet

A fic by louizsv on AO3 | @ashleyjohnsonfanaccount on Tumblr | piccadillyplum on Twitter

9k | Explicit | Louis/OMC | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“I’ll tell you what,” Sam leans forward in his chair and steeples his fingers in front of his face, “If you actually make an account and sell nudie pics and porn for more than three months, I’ll believe you.”

Louis purses his lips, ignoring the returning blush on his cheeks at the thought of having to film himself in compromising positions or taking photos of himself without any clothes on. Raising his chin defiantly, Louis accepts the challenge.

“Fine,” he agrees, “But when I win, you have to make one too.”

Lips quirked, Sam nods and holds out a hand, “Deal.” -- Or, the one where Louis is an Only Fans baby.

in a sea of mist

A fic by tomlinvelvet on AO3 | @tomlinvelvetfics on Tumblr

126k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

A Greek Mythology/Camp Half-Blood AU where Harry is lost, the road to peace is a wretched one, and somehow, through a mist of confusion and regrets, Louis seems to be the only thing that makes sense and everything Harry needs.

Across the Grey, Salty Sea

A fic by thecheshirepussycat on AO3 | @the-cheshire-pussy-cat on Tumblr | Bee_With_Mee on Twitter

19k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 212: Alex from Dunkirk and French escort/prostitute Louis who ends up in Alex’s quarters more nights than not. Alex gives him his dog tag to wear maybe just a lot of smut and dirty talk with Louis being a pretty princess.

When Our Worlds They Fall Apart

A fic by edensrose on AO3 | @holdingthornsandroses on Tumblr | thetrashpigeon on Twitter

42k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Harry put his hand over his heart as if Louis had wounded him. “You’re so harsh, my liege! Perhaps you need to relieve some tension…” He let his voice trail off suggestively.

“The day I ask YOU to relieve tension is the day I lose all my wits and join the Imperials,” Louis said. “It will never happen.”

Written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2020- Prompt 325: Star Wars AU with Harry as Han Solo and Louis as Leia.

Thank you, five.

A fic by nouies on AO3 | @nouies on Tumblr | _nouies on Twitter

5k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Harry?” He says as soon as he recognises the other man.

“Louis? Wh-what are you doing here?” Harry asks with a frown.

“Well, I’m here for rehearsal,” Louis announces with a proud smile.

There’s a flash of confusion on Harry’s face. “What do you mean rehearsal? I got the part, you didn’t.”

Prompt 195: Hamilton AU

Know I Think You're Awesome, Right?

A fic by princesshalo on AO3 | @princesshalo on Tumblr | tpwkorra on Twitter

60k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Well, that’s not very Treat People With Kindness of you.”

“Neither is approaching someone with the sole intent of criticizing a cause they’re clearly passionate about, given the amount of time they’ve dedicated to advocating for it,” Louis snaps.

“Sure, but I’m not the one with the button,” Harry shrugs.

“So, is there actually something I can help you with, or did you just come to push me into pepper spraying you as well?” Louis is quickly growing impatient. Hell, he was impatient the moment that Harry made his grand entrance on campus yesterday.

“I’m just trying to assess the environment here,” Harry says, “Because if this is all you’ve got to offer trans people who just want to be able to use the bathroom in peace like the rest of us, then I’m not sure I fit in.”

“Allow me to save you the trouble, then: you don’t.”

Based on the prompt: a college AU where Louis is a hippie, very good vibes activist and Harry is a punk, anarchist that always gets involved in violent protests.

show you the stars in daylight

A fic by bruisedhoney on AO3 | @yvesaintlourent on Tumblr | bruisedhoney on Twitter

13k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis laughed, the sound loud and borderline obnoxious. Harry winced. “Are you kidding, Haz? I wouldn’t even look twice at someone that couldn’t pick me up.”

And, well. That was new information to Harry. It’s not like Louis had ever mentioned to him that he was his type in any way, shape, or form. Harry shifted closer into the space between Louis’s legs, even more intrigued than before. “Why not?” he asked curiously, all pink lips and big curls. Louis smiled.

“Tiny, innocent, little Harold. Need someone that can pick me up, don’t I? I like being tossed around a little. You know, pinned down and made to take it. Lifted up like I’m nothing,” Louis said it all with a confident smile, his sharp little teeth tugging at his bottom lip as he locked eyes with the jock across the kitchen. “Think he might come over here. Move over. I don’t want him to think we’re together.”

Or, the one where Louis has a type and at sixteen and scrawy, it's definitely not his best friend's little brother Harry...ten years later, he changes his mind.

Freeway of Love (In a Pink Cadillac)

A fic by MsHydeStylinson on AO3 | @mizzhydes on Tumblr | MsHydeStylinson on Twitter

33k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Did you like them?” Louis asked in a seductive tone, propping his elbow against the armrest, chin resting against his fingers.

“I’m not going to answer that,” Harry informed, lips pressed in a hard line.

“I don’t think you have to,” Louis smirked nodding slightly towards his telltale bulge and watched as Harry reddened from his neck to his forehead in a flash.

”Please, I beg you to put that phone away,” Harry pleaded with a suffering expression plastered on his face.

“Please…” Harry whined.

Or,

Louis was on his way to Miami to visit an old friend. Harry was going there for a little R&R and take in the sights and sounds. A sudden upgrade in seating brought these polar opposites together. The universe works in mysterious ways and they are unknowingly about to embark on an adventure they will surely remember for a lifetime.

Prompt 107: Sugar daddy AU inspired by this tweet: “going to sit next to the richest looking middle aged man on my flight and scroll through my nudes for three hours straight” with rich daddy Harry and bratty baby Louis.

Won't Keep You My (Dirty Little) Secret

A fic by lovelykits on AO3 | @lovelykits on Tumblr

16k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“I got asked out today,” Louis comments.

“Okay,” Harry shifts.

“Did you hear me? I said I got asked out.”

"You always get asked out.”

“Yeah well this time they didn’t believe I had a boyfriend!”

Or Louis and Harry have been together since the end of last year and somehow no one knows about it.

A Place With Skeletons

A fic by whoknows on AO3 | @crazyupsetter on Tumblr

50k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“I would choose anyone other than you,” Louis says, picking up his train of thought again. He feels a lot more cornered and defensive when they’re in Harry’s house, for some reason. It doesn’t really make sense, considering that this time, Louis was the one who couldn’t hack it any longer. He broke first. There’s something about being in Harry’s space, though, the green and earthy feeling of it. It should feel like open space with all the plants, but Louis has never felt more claustrophobic than he does when he’s here.

Harry’s chest moves against his back, a sharp intake of air. Before he can open his mouth to defend himself, Louis keeps going, “If I had a choice in any of this, I would have been saved by that elderly security guard over you. I wouldn’t mind having to have the occasional cuddle with her.”

Pretty and Pink

A fic by LarryInPanties on AO3 | @larryinpantiess on Tumblr | babielouu on Twitter

12k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis points a finger at the man’s pec, “I’ll have you know Harry, anyone would be lucky to have me as a hitchhiker buddy. I’m nice, I don’t take up too much space, and I’m pretty.”

He’s not lying.

“Let me get this straight,” Harry gives Louis a look when he lets out a tiny laugh. “Ya’ want to take a ride with me but you don’t even know where ya’ wanna go yet?”

Harry never lets anyone come on the road with him.

Then, a cute hitchhiker, Louis comes around.

Cold As Ice And Everything Nice

A fic by harriblou on AO3 | @harriblou on Tumblr | harriblou on Twitter

40k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

A young boy about Harry’s age was zoomed into the camera, blushing a bright red and breathing heavily and as he bowed. The crowd was cheering for him loudly and every movement he made was bashful and flustered. He had on a very nice skate dress that was purple. His name, hometown, skate scores, and all sorts of information was in a banner on the bottom half of the screen. He was really young, especially compared to all the other competitors, which was the second thing he noticed.

The first was that the boy was easily the prettiest in the entire world, the prettiest boy Harry’s ever seen. He felt his asthma squeeze his throat and his heart beat faster and his hands get a little more clammy.

or in which Louis is a professional ice-skater and he meets Harry, who offers to clean the ice for him.

You'll wait for me only.

A fic by signofthetmies on AO3 | @tired-eyes-lou on Tumblr

9k | Teen & Up | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Harry nips at the bondmark on Louis’ neck, Louis’ hands go to his hips, grounding him. He allows himself this, knowing that his Omega needs it too. Harry pulls back, “Go on a date with me.” He rushes out, looking at Louis’ eyes.

Louis laughs and shakes his head. “No, Louis, I’m serious. We’ve bonded for life anyway, might as well try.” Louis looks at him, “You’ve been thinking about this a lot.” Louis points out, Harry nods. “Okay.” Louis says and walks out leaving Harry. “Okay what?!”

_______________________

Prompt 15: Omega Louis is a lawyer that worked on omega rights cases. Alpha Harry is a corporate lawyer. Louis and Harry used to be childhood archenemies, until Louis moved to another school and they never saw each other again. Now, they’re both adults that happen to work in the same place. They behave like children and still share a mutual dislike. Both travel to work together for a case. One night they both bond accidentally. Slowly but surely, they fall in love. Enemies to lovers!

through the wheatfields and the coastlines

A fic by thepolourryexpress on AO3 | @thepolourryexpress on Tumblr | ZOUlSBUSONE on Twitter

53k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“You’re not from around here, are ya?” Hot Cowboy asks, tracking his little lamb with his eyes. Louis frowns slightly, having thought he was doing pretty well at not sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s not like he’s not from around here — it’s not his first summer he’s spent at his grandparents'. But he supposes that the Manhattan city lifestyle that he’s used to is always going to shine through.

“I’m visiting family for the summer,” Louis explains, cheeks a little pink. “Trying to get some work done without distractions.”

Or, alternatively, the one where Louis needs inspiration, and a certain cowboy and his lamb are the perfect distraction.

The Boy with the Tin Chest and a Glass Heart

A fic by louloubaby92 on AO3 | @louloubabys1992 on Tumblr

18k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Alpha Harry Styles, world-renowned author of fairy-tales, is being persuaded by the Beta, Liam Payne to hire a new illustrator. Since Harry’s own illustrations are too graphic for what is supposed to be children’s stories, Liam feels the need is dire. Omega Louis does not agree with Liam since he believes that Harry’s stories are fine just the way they are. Of course this has nothing to do with Louis being totally biased or totally head over heels for Harry. It certainly has nothing to do with being jealous of the mysterious omega illustrator Liam has in mind to team Harry up with.

Seriously, it has nothing to do with that at all. Nothing, absolutely nothing, zilch, nada.

Yeah...

This Glass House

A fic by BabyPowderLou on AO3 | @compactblue on Tumblr | princessbluelou on Twitter

42k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

While deployed, Alpha Harry gets injured by an IED explosion, leaving him to deal with severe injuries in its devastating aftermath. During his road to acceptance and recovery he learns with the help of Louis and their children just how important family can be for the mind, body, and soul.

singing your praises

A fic by loubellies on AO3 | @loubellies on Tumblr | loubellies on Twitter

6k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 86: Louis rides Harry while wearing his packer’s jersey/sweater and gets his ass ate.

made for lovin' you

A fic by cuddlerlouis on AO3 | @cuddlerlouis on Tumblr | burntromances on Twitter

52k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“I’m in,” is all Louis receives. He blinks a few times, making sure he’s reading this right.

“For real?” he asks, just to be a hundred percent sure.

“Yes,” pops up. “How do you wanna pursue?” The alpha adds, like he’s on a special mission or something.

“I’m gonna call us a cab to go to mine. Once I know it’s here, I’ll leave and join you there,” Louis explains. “I’ll text you to go around five minutes before it arrives, so it doesn’t look suspicious, and our friends don’t notice us leaving together.”

“Noted.”

So Louis does, and ten minutes later, he’s sat in the backseat of a cab, next to Harry Styles, the person he hates the most but unfortunately still finds attractive. They’re on their way to fuck in Louis’ flat.

Splendid.

Or the one where a quick, horny decision ruins Louis’ summer plans, but may also lead to unexpected discoveries. Featuring the road trip of dreams, misunderstandings, and a bit of fate.

Stuck On You

A fic by WritewhatIwant on AO3

34k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis’ life revolves around his stickers. Harry’s life revolves around his job. The universe has decided their worlds should revolve around each other.

On the Edge

A fic by zanni_scaramouche on AO3 | @zanniscaramouche on Tumblr

47k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Figure skating is as vital to Louis’ identity as his DNA, so when his skates go missing right before the last Olympics of his career there may be a meltdown only vanilla bath salts can fix. Well, that and the stupidly charming hockey player he met on the plane.

Harry’s too old to be the wonder kid and too young to be taken seriously in the NHL. As an alternate thrown in at the last second, he fights to prove himself on the national team at the largest sporting event known to man. Or he will, once he gets off this flight and can focus on something other than the fussy figure skater and his stunningly blue eyes.

A baggage mix-up skews both of their perfectly laid plans for gold, forcing the two to work together as the clock clicks towards the minute they’re expected to shine on centre ice.

Be a Good Girl For Me

A fic by wannabebestseller on AO3 | @sincetheywere16and18 on Tumblr

9k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Based on this prompt: “AU where Harry is Louis’ older brother’s best friend. He catches Louis dancing around his room in panties and blackmails him, saying that Louis has to do anything he says or else he’ll tell Louis’ family that he wears girly underwear. Secretly soft for him, Harry gives him easy tasks and uses the whole thing to spend more time with Louis. Eventually, the orders begin to escalate and Harry teases Lou about his secret, making Louis shy and embarrassed. Louis loves the attention though, and forms a crush on his brother’s best friend. Lots of feminization, secret relationship, and enemies to lovers. Thank you!”

dripping like spider milk

A fic by raspberryoats on AO3 | @raspberryoatss on Tumblr | raspberryoatss on Twitter

64k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

When he sees the alpha, his brown hair curling around the top of his neck and his broad back that’s filled out over the past couple of years, Louis freezes for a moment. The alpha turns around, Louis’ surprised expression mirrored on his own for a fraction of a second before he schools it into a big, yet shy grin and a wave of his huge hand. With his nostrils flared, Louis knows that he can smell him, too.

They never hired alphas, except for—

“Harry.”

or prompt 110: Louis is a retired porn star and he gets invited back to test a new line of sex products the company he worked for is releasing (would include photoshoots and videos of Louis sampling certain toys). Harry is there to photograph, film, and intimately help him along the way (preferably in a private setting).

But It's Useless

A fic by thinlines on AO3 | @thinlinez on Tumblr

26k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Hey.”

Louis was even hallucinating now. He closed his eyes.

“Hey, you.”

He chuckled wetly, head still leaning against the door.

“Can you get out of the way? You're blocking the door.”

He exhaled sharply before slowly turning around. His eyes fixed onto muddy Nike trainers before it traveled up to impossibly short jogging shorts. The yellow color was atrocious, simply ghastly.

“What happened to being polite, Harold?”

OR Omega Louis would never guess that he would be trying to hack into Alpha Harry's Wifi. That is until everything changes when he tries to get to know his enemy.

Yours To Lose

A fic by loulicate on AO3 | loulicaterecs on Twitter

26k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“I think I know the person that matches your descriptions of your dream alpha.”

“Who? And oh not my dream alpha, god you’re making me sound like a teenage school girl. I’m a mum, H.” They laugh as they watch kids gather in front of the verandah, getting ready to go back to the orphanage.

“Well, you’re gonna have to find out.” Harry winks before standing up to start cleaning their spot.

Or Louis always gets distracted with his mummy duty and he eventually catches Harry's attention.

Sweet Scary Creatures

A fic by Specklesock on AO3 | @specklelouis on Tumblr | specklelouiie on Twitter

13k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

They stare into each other's eyes for a while until Louis remembers this is too intimate and looks at Harry’s hands on his thigh. It spans a big portion of his thigh and Louis has always been insecure about how thick he is, so he loves that Harry has huge, dustbin hands that hold him and makes him feel smaller, safer.

We Are But Dust and Shadows

A fic by louisbarnes on AO3 | @tomlinsonbarnes on Tumblr | dreamersdiving on Twitter

51k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Um, okay. I’m going to…” Harry gestured over his shoulder and gave the two of them an awkward smile.

“Wait! You got a letter.” Zayn held out the letter and Harry’s face dropped. He took the letter from Zayn, gaze locked on it like it was a bomb ready to explode. “What is it?”

“Probably just from the New York Institute,” Harry muttered. He hurried away, ripping the envelope open as he went.

“Remember when you said you didn’t want to fuck him?” Zayn broke the silence and Louis scoffed.

“Quite clearly, actually.”

Zayn grinned. “Your eye twitches when you lie.”

“Fuck off.”

Or: Louis is part of a well respected Shadowhunter family, and Harry is the Mundane turned Shadowhunter who just can’t seem to get it right.

it's hard to fight naked

A fic by bluestarwitch on AO3 | @loustarlight on Tumblr | IwtstarIight on Twitter

11k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 6: Louis and Harry are roommates, but they cannot stand each other. When Harry heard Louis moan his name while Louis was riding a dildo in Harry’s room (Louis thought he was alone at home), Harry couldn’t stop himself and so he ended up fucking Louis against the mattress. Happy ending!

or where Louis leaves dirty socks on the couch, Zayn does assignments while he's high, and Harry is hopelessly crushing on his roommate.

social cues

A fic by outropeace on AO3 | @outropeace on Tumblr | outropetals on Twitter

56k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

To Harry, Louis was becoming as tangible and essential as music in his life. He still was a mystery but at the same time, he was one of the most real things Harry had. He just hoped he could live up to the image Louis probably had in his mind of him.

He could play the part, after all, what was published of him wasn’t as detached from reality. He didn’t think of himself as a rockstar cliche, although he couldn't deny he did sleep around, partied a lot, and did some drugs. But then again, wasn’t that what the majority of his friends back in his hometown were doing at college?

Harry wanted to impress Louis, he didn’t want to disappoint or leave his expectations unfulfilled, so he’d give him the full rockstar experience.

It was a very simple plan, what could possibly go wrong?

hereafter

A fic by larryent on AO3 | @larryent on Tumblr | oflarryent on Twitter

13k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

"A legacy is every life you’ve touched. And you’ve touched mine twice."

On the coast of San Franciso in 2024 is when Harry falls in love all over again.

“This thing upon me is not death but it’s as real, .... this thing upon me like a flower a feast, believe me is not death and is not glory.” — Charles Bukowski, old man, dead in a room

smoke between your teeth

A fic by soldouthaz on AO3 | @soldouthaz on Tumblr | soldouthaz on Twitter

37k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Alright, fine. What is it, then?" Louis asks. "Give me the best you’ve got. What’s this big reason why I smoke?"

Harry’s head lolls backward on the back of the sofa, a dopey grin on his face even though his eyes are already halfway closed - that look he gives Louis when he’s about to spout some incoherent bout of psychological bullshit.

“Oral fixation,” Harry mutters as delightfully as he can muster, his tone suggesting that it should be obvious.

Louis tries to stop his addiction to cigarettes and discovers he's been addicted to Harry for much, much longer.

calm me down (before i sleep)

A fic by leeanndarling on AO3 | @erodiansunflower on Tumblr | leeann_darling on Twitter

6k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 24: Harry is a sex shop owner that has a crush on Louis, the shy customer who flirts with him while buying cute buttplugs, lace panties, and collars. One day, Louis asked Harry to help him put on a corset (they end up fucking in the dressing room). Things escalate quickly from there, so they start seeing each other seriously while trying other sex stuff.

This World’s Ashes

A fic by sunshineandthemoonlight on AO3 | @sunshineandthemoonlight on Tumblr

34k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

The man stares at him, and all Harry can hear is his own heartbeat, racing.

Then the stranger turns away. He walks a few paces and bends down, picking up a large knife from the ground and shoving it into a pouch attached to his belt.

“I won’t hurt you, you know.”

Harry’s eyes snap up to the man’s face. He’s looking at Harry sincerely, palms held up as though in surrender. There’s still a knife in his right hand, though, so Harry is only slightly reassured.

Harry swallows to combat the dryness of his throat, and then says, “I won’t hurt you either.”

A post-apocalypse AU where Harry, battling his past as he survives in the woods, has learnt not to trust anyone except his dog. Then Louis crashes into his life, with his bright spirit and soft lips, pulling Harry from the depths of a loneliness he hadn’t realised he was drowning in. But there is danger lurking, and Harry’s not the only one wrestling with his past.

A Springtime's Wilt, an Autumn's Bloom

A fic by snowcaplou on AO3 | snowcaplou on Twitter

20k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“What about you Harry? Maybe you should apply for the position,” she teases.

“Oi! You better not be trying to get rid of my best driver-- I can’t go looking for a replacement, I’m too busy!” Louis says with a playful slap to Savannah’s shoulder. It's jestful, like the rest of their conversation, but there is a possessive bite to his words-- my best driver-- the words bounce through Harry’s ears until he can just hear the words my and mine. It falls deaf on Savannah’s beta senses, but for a minute Harry thinks he can sense the same words zooming through Louis’ thoughts.

My, mine.

My alpha.

And woah, Harry’s taking it too far. At least, he thinks he’s taking it too far, but when he looks back up from his plate, Louis’ eyes are heavy on his, and for a fleeting second, Harry can pretend he heard Louis say it.

Harry is Louis' personal chauffeur, and although he hides his feelings for his boss behind a wall of rigid professionalism, Louis still manages to squeeze through the cracks.

Starlight’s Crossing

A fic by smittenwithlouis on AO3 | @smittenwithlouis on Tumblr | smittenwlouis on Twitter

30k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

He can picture it so clearly, as he holds onto Louis’ sleeping body. How they’d go exploring every inch of the galaxy without a care in the world. He builds a fairytale future in his mind, one that includes marriage, kids, and growing old together. Even after such a short time together, Harry knows that he’d say yes to anything and everything this man ever asked for. He’d follow him to the ends of the galaxy if that’s what Louis wanted.

And that thought terrifies Harry.

Or: All it takes is one night for Harry and Louis' life to change forever. Fast-forward four years, and they embark on an adventure of a lifetime across the universe.

Floating

A fic by littleLouve on AO3 | @larents on Tumblr | louvees on Twitter

10k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

The one where Louis has control over water in every form but he doesn't know what to do with it. Harry is here to guide him.

don't want no other shade of blue

A fic by padfootyoudog on AO3 | @louisisworthit on Tumblr

43k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“I know you’re putting on an act,” says Harry after a moment, and Louis scowls when he realises the prince is actually amused.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Louis.

“All I’ve heard over the past couple of years are rumours of Prince Louis’ kindness, and generosity, and oh, he’s so handsome I can barely pour his tea without shaking!” says Harry, putting on a silly, high-pitched voice for the last bit. Louis’ scowl deepens. “I would already know if you were just another selfish, bratty omega prince. You can’t fool me, darling, but I admire your efforts.”

“As you said,” Louis grits out, “those are only rumours. I assure you, I’m a terrible person.”

—

prompt 339: it was foretold that Alpha Prince Harry would be mated to a beautiful male omega with eyes that could rival the stone amethyst, but Omega Prince Louis refuses to believe it.

Loving You's the Antidote

A fic by neverheartbroken on AO3 | @neverheartbroken on Tumblr

5k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 302: Alpha Harry & Omega Louis are divorced but still spend each other’s heat/rut together because they only really trust each other but things get complicated when Louis (or Harry, author’s choice) spend it with someone else. Cue angst with a happy ending. (Prompt Inspiration: Prompt 98 from the 2019 BLFF)

dirty laundry looks good on you

A fic by tomlinvelvet on AO3 | @tomlinvelvetfics on Tumblr

50k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

When Louis Tomlinson finds his clothes lying in a sad soapy mess on top of the washing machine in which they are supposed to be, he acts upon his anger and retaliates. What he doesn’t expect is having to deal with a six-feet tall, curly-haired and dimpled man in return, who seems to arouse confusing feelings within him and to make his life take an unexpected turn for the better (or worse?).

OR; the utility room is a great place to fall in love.

no good unless it's real

A fic by fackinglouis on AO3 | @fackinglouis on Tumblr

17k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Here,” Harry says, pulling a strap off his shoulder so he can dig his phone out of his bag. “We can get each other’s numbers.”

Louis shakes his head. “I have the practice’s number already,” he tells him. “And my number is definitely on file somewhere.”

Harry pauses, smile quirking a bit as he stares at Louis. The sun is still in his eyes, though, with his sunglasses pushed up onto his head still, so Louis credits his funny face to that.

“I’m trying to give you my number, Louis,” Harry explains around a breathy laugh.

“Oh,” Louis blinks, processing that. He scratches his temple, moves a piece of longer fringe back behind his ear, and then nods. “Okay.”

Or: Louis is a very busy farmer who’s just trying to make it to his next nap and Harry’s the new hot vet that’s determined to infiltrate every area of his life.

Since the Future

A fic by bluestarwitch on AO3 | @loustarlight on Tumblr | IwtstarIight on Twitter

49k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

"It's done."

The words were barely above a whisper when they left Harry's mouth, but they hit Louis with the force of a freight train. It was done. Holy fuck. They had created a time machine. And tomorrow, they were travelling to the future.

To Love without Reason

A fic by MuggleMirror on AO3 | @mugglemirror on Tumblr | mugglemirror on Twitter

8k | Not Rated | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Come on in, soldier,” Louis pats Harry’s chest and walks away, leaving Harry to follow behind.

Harry stands in the living room, looking around at Louis’ dwelling. Family pictures placed high on a shelf, certificates of Louis’ practice, and other trinkets that make Harry entirely too nostalgic.

“I have to warn you,” Louis says as he puts the kettle on, the water droplets from his hair trickling down the golden skin of his back. “The door jams if you lock it so you'll have to leave it ajar.”

Harry acknowledges with a soft hum, too entranced by Louis’ glistening skin to form a coherent reply.

Sedative Duty.

A fic by daddyharrie on AO3 | @daddyharrie on Tumblr | daddyharrie on Twitter

46k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Pop-star of the moment Louis Tomlinson is on his third-world tour. He decides to hire renowned professional dominant Harry Styles to unwind while on the road. In an effort not to raise suspicion by the crew, fans, and press, Harry pretends to be his bodyguard. He ends up being far more than that.

You and I 'till the day we die

A fic by Allmylovelarrie on AO3 | flightlesslarri on Twitter

10k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 124: A fic inspired by Groupie Love by Lana Del Rey, where Harry is a Rockstar and Louis is his cute little boyfriend who tries to hide himself in the middle of the crowd. (Preferably set in the 80s)

Give So Much (Not Enough)

A fic by skinsuk on AO3 | @wifeylouis on Tumblr

24k | Mature | Louis/Harry, Louis/Alex, Harry/Tess | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“For my little lion,” Louis slid the smoothie bowl in front of Oscar, letting him dig in with his little hands. “And for daddy.”

He didn’t process the bowl in front of him, the push across the table causing a raspberry to roll off and fall on his lap, because Louis calling himself mummy may make him feel all sorts of mushy emotions, but Louis addressing Harry as daddy was suddenly having a very different effect on him. Since when did Louis saying daddy out loud render him speechless?

“Daddy’s still sleepy, but we’re up bright and early right Ossie?” Louis’ cooing shook him out of his daze. The man coughed, picking the raspberry off his lap and swallowing it with unintentional, and very unnecessary, eye contact with Louis. “Well, is it better than your protein smoothies and why?”

Harry chuckled, spooning another heap of the strawberry banana goodness into his mouth, “Way better sweetheart.”

A friends to lovers au with tons of mama Louis and domesticity.

New York's Beauty

A fic by nocontrol_lou on AO3 | @saxophone17 on Tumblr | nocontrol_louis on Twitter

5k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 104: AU where Harry is an alpha wolf and Louis is a hybrid kitten. They were roommates. While they were arguing about something stupid, Harry wanted to bend Louis over the kitchen table and knot him right there. He slowly accepted his feelings and extreme desire for Louis, so he started to tease the hybrid until he would beg Harry to fuck him. They fall in love. Louis needs to feel comfortable with the camera so Harry fucks him until he is blushing and calm and gentle.

feeling borrowed, always blue

A fic by falsegoodnight on AO3 | @falsegoodnight on Tumblr | falsegoodnight on Twitter

67k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis’ own heartbeat picks up, eyes widening right as Dr. Zoyansky hits a button and the unsteady pattern of thumps echoes into the room. His breathing hitches, eyes watering as the rhythm seeps into his insides and reverberates in his mind. A heartbeat.

He doesn’t register the tears at first, eyes fixed to the screen and vision blurring.

The situation seems insane. Here he is, twenty-four years old, sitting in the examination chair and listening to the heartbeat of his future child, clutching the worn material of his changing gown with pale fingers, one of which is weighed down by a gaudy engagement ring.

And most noticeably - he’s entirely alone. It’s just him in the room with his doctor, experiencing one of the most groundbreaking, life-changing moments of his entire life and he’s all alone.

Or, Louis has been dreaming of his wedding since he was young - he just never expected that it was going to happen like this.

Hamartia

A fic by tomlinvelvet on AO3 | @tomlinvelvetfics on Tumblr

66k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Eight years is a long time for Louis to mend his heart back and erase every lingering, stubborn memory of his ex-lover, Harry Styles. But when news of the war being over spreads across the world like wildfire, and he stumbles upon the alpha he vowed himself to never see ever again, he realises that not even a lifetime will be enough for him to pick up the scattered, broken parts of his soul. He's far from expecting the alpha he loved to struggle the same way.

All the ointments in the world might never soothe the pain out, but it doesn't take long for both of them to come to the conclusion that, maybe, the only medicine to their heartbreaks are what caused them in the first place.

moonlit sky over gentle waters

A fic by stardustx on AO3 | stardxstlwt on Twitter

11k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

"The King of the Pirates! Captain Harry Styles! The one who conquered the seven seas!" Louis boasts, sarcasm drips from his tone, mocking him.

The bar is clean, but he still scrubs just as fervently, his brows furrows and a small pout forms on those pink lips Harry desperately wants to kiss. He looks down, dubiously, at the address in his hand.

“Every lass and lad dreams of bedding a pirate like you.” Louis huffs, gazes up at him with a despondant look that reminds him of a grumpy kitten.

Silence fills the space as Harry mulls over his words. He finally looks up at Louis, blinking slowly. “Do they really?”

"You're an idiot."

OR Harry left his hometown to sail the seven seas and returns seven years later, yearning for something — or rather, someone — that he isn't sure he can have.

Short and Sweet

A fic by 5ft9 on AO3 | cinnamouroll on Twitter

29k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis is a shy university student in a world scarce of male omegas. He's always dreamt of having an alpha despite his sheltered upbringing, fantasizing about being loved and cared for. He's immediately smitten by the mysterious alpha with curly hair, broad shoulders, and the addictive coffee scent.

under thorn and bramble

A fic by thedeathchamber on AO3 | @louehvolution on Tumblr

32k | Explicit | Louis/OMC | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 445: A historical AU where Louis is working as a servant on a farm. The family that owns the farm is exceedingly cruel to him and he is often exhausted and in pain from his work. A mysterious stranger boards at the farm and is very intrigued by Louis, but Louis doubts his interest in genuine. Any pairing fine.

Late night devil put your hands on me (and never, never, never ever let go)

A fic by summerandsunshine on AO3 | sunshine_Iou on Twitter

12k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Harry is a demon that feeds off of people’s nightmares. He finds his next meal in Louis’ dreams where he changes and molds them to become scary nightmares. Soon harry learns Louis is a lucid dreamer- he can act on his own in his dreams. They interact in the real world and have sex in the dream world. when Louis catches feelings the devil, Harry promises to come back to earth once and for all.

No Easy Choice, But You’re Mine

A fic by alltheselights on AO3 | @alltheselights on Tumblr | alltheselightts on Twitter

45k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis’ feet pound on the pavement as he runs, and the echo reverberates through the alley behind him. He drops the gun near a trash bin as he passes, his gloved fingers ensuring that it will never be traced back to him.

He’s panting, his thighs ache, and there’s a cramp forming beneath his ribs on the right side, but all of that is nothing compared to the exhaustion clouding his brain.

I can’t do this anymore, Louis thinks.

Or: Louis is an omega hitman with one last job that goes a little sideways. Harry is the alpha bartender that looks a little too closely and cares a little too much.

Joker Is Wild

A fic by Typosmyown on AO3 | @palosquared on Tumblr

19k | Explicit | Louis/Harry, Louis/Various | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 390: A reality show AU where Louis, Harry, Liam, Zayn and Niall are selected to stay at confined in a luxury mansion for 1 month, where they are required to have explicit, graphic sex at all times, like a porn Big Brother kind of show. Every week there are several different sexual tasks and trials that they must overcome together, which all ends in orgasms for all of them. When the boys all discover Louis is strictly a bottom, and a slutty one at that, they all can’t wait to get their hands on him. Bonus if other hot celebs are there too, like Shawn Mendes, for example. Includes lots of hard gay sex, rimming, blowjobs, gang bangs, ass worshipping (Louis ass, of course) and double penetration.

The Pirate and The Piper

A fic by jacaranda_bloom on AO3 | @jacaranda-bloom on Tumblr | jacaranda_bloom on Twitter

38k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Banished from Neverland by Captain Hook and the evil Siren Minerva, Louis is forced to live in the Other World. He makes a life for himself, resigned to the fact he’s never going to see his beloved home and Lost Boys again. Five years later he’s kidnapped and returned to Neverland, only to discover a far worse fate awaits him. But with an unlikely ally by his side, can he overcome those who seek his demise and restore freedom to his homeland?

Or the one where Harry is Hook, Louis is Pan, and nothing is what it seems.

Coeur de Pirate

A fic by louizsv on AO3 | @ashleyjohnsonfanaccount on Tumblr | piccadillyplum on Twitter

34k | Explicit | Louis/Harry, Louis/OMC, Louis/Harry/OMC | Tumblr post | Twitter post

He tilts his chin up as the Captain strides across the deck, his footfalls falling loudly against the planks. The crew watches them from afar.

Stepping into his space, the Captain wraps an arm around Louis’ waist and pulls him in. He lowers his head to breathe his words against Louis’ cheeks. “I won,” he whispers, “I’ve come to claim my prize.”

if you're feeling lonely

A fic by ifthat on AO3 | @lovehl on Tumblr | omegalouis on Twitter

12k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

The guest list is on the desk. Louis runs through it and stops a third of the way down when a familiar name catches his breath.

Harry Styles.

All he has to do is verify whether Harry Styles is the same Alpha whose scent beckoned him closer.

it's a game we play in the sheets

A fic by loubabyworship on AO3 | @strawbabyloucake on Tumblr | pillouprincess on Twitter

9k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Louis is… He’s a boy I’ve been talking to.” He bit his lip, grin evident. “After I watched one of his videos during a Harry Reacts a few weeks ago I messaged him and…”

His sentence was cut short by the sound of a timid little “Hi” being whispered into his ears.

Harry closed his eyes for a second, pausing to take in the online presence of the real-life fairy, before he opened them and smiled. “Hey Lou. Ready to play with me?”

Mind Over Matter (You Under Me)

A fic by youreyesonlarry on AO3 | @youreyesonlarry on Tumblr | youreyesonlarry on Twitter

73k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

It’s dark outside when Harry finishes practice for the day.

--------

Prompt 21: Harry stopped playing hockey (after 10 years of a professional career) because of a severe injury. The dream he worked so hard for vanished in the blink of an eye. His family insisted that he had to go to physical therapy, even if it only helped his health. Cue to personal assistant Louis, the most efficient and kind PA one could hire.

View the 2020 BLFF collection here.

View the 2019 BLFF collection here.

#fics 2020

270 notes · View notes

kanene-yaaay · 4 years ago

Text

5+1 - [Part 2]

5 times Iida was tickled and the one he wasn’t

[PART ONE]

Kanene’s note: What a helloooo! I am baack! Gosh, look at me! Having a posting schedule! Who would say, huh? xDD Well, I hope you like this >u<

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to the anime/manga Boku no Hero.

* This is a SFW tickle fanfic with family tickles, so, if you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of very greeat arts in this site!! ^w^)b

* This is Lee!Iida with Ler!Aizawa and Nemuri sprinkling some tease here and there. All relationships are platonic. Around 1.500 words.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Look at the window and find something that is worth smiling for. Don’t forget to drink water, sleep and eat! <33

[~*~]

“Iida Tenya.”

“Ooooh noo,” Nemuri added from the spot on the floor where she sat, pampering and spoiling Shouta’s cats with plenty of snacks, a sharp grin gleaming at the boy who came running from the kitchen and now looked from a side to another with a panicked expression on his face, fast to move his arms in an ‘abort mission’ sign to the woman. “Looks like someone is in trouble! ~”

“Nemuri-san, please I ask for you to control your voice!!” Tenya whispered in a volume that most people would categorize as a shout, especially with Shouta’s hero trained hearing. Nemuri, though, just expanded her wicked grin as the nine old boy didn’t realize the dark figure arriving right behind him. “He can’t know I am here!”

“Aw, my dear,” she pouted in fake empathy at Iida’s inevitable fate, scratching Pudding under her chin, her loud motor like purring echoing in the silence. “But Shouta already knows.” Iida stilled as a statue when a shadow loomed over him, starting to turn around, slowly. “He always knows.”

“Gotcha.”

His quirk activated a second before Aizawa erased it with his own, making the blue haired one stumble on his own legs, almost falling on the ground if it wasn’t for the arms that grabbed him in a firm hug, fingers worming their way to his armpits, prodding and digging on the awfully ticklish flesh there.

“What,” Shouta started, with a tune that tipped on bored, his plain face contrasting to the smaller’s puffed cheeks as he wiggled and shook with the contained giggles. “Did I say about my orange flavored jelly packs, huh?”

“Aww, is the itsy bitsy Tenya ticklish? Can’t he take all the tickly-tickly-tickly tickles his favorite grumpy uncle gives to him? Huh? Aww, my poor ticklish boy.” Nemuri teased, ignoring the glare her friend sent on her direction in favor to stare at Tenya, who went redder at her words, a couple of squeaky snorts escaping from his lips.

“I will remind you what I said about eating my jellies without permission: don’t. Never. Do not look. Do not touch and especially, do not even think about eating it.” Aizawa highlighted the last phrase by blowing a raspberry right behind Iida’s neck, leading the boy to squeal, uncontrolled laughter following it almost immediately. The taller man did his best to keep a serious face, principally as the arms of his ‘victim’ rocked up and down, from the left to the right and in random patterns without even being able to get themselves enough control to attempt to stop him. “And you did, so now you will face the consequences. It’s only logical.”

“A-Aizahahazawa-san I, I cahahahAAH!” Shout cut the other’s protest by throwing him in the air, resting his hands on his sides when he caught him again, slightly clawing his stomach with his fingers, fishing uncontrollable, bubbly giggles from him. “Please, please! I can-'' Snort. “I can ehehexplain!” Yelp. Half words, Half pleas. Giggles. Giggles. Giggles. “I hahahave the right, Aizawa-sahahahan!”

Shouta contented himself in making the younger squirm – left, right, left, left, right and repeat – from a side to another by tapping his fingers on his sides repeatedly, sometimes giving a quick scratch only to gain another yelp, pretending to think about the proposal for a little less than a minute.

“No.” He decided, spidering his fingers merciless on the death spot. Iida threw his head back, crackles flying from him in a waterfall of shrieks and squeaks.

“Come one, Shou! Let the boy speak! As much I love this lovely, absolutely adorable laughter that makes you want to tickle and tickle him forever and ever, and aww, wouldn’t you love it, my dear? To get all the tiggles-tickles you could ever want for all eternity?” Iida kicked and shook his head in protest, more pleas falling from him, face and neck in flames. “I think he has the right to defend himself.”

“Which side are you?”

“No side deserves my awesome presence.” Aizawa rolled his eyes. “What is the matter, Shou? Afraid that you will lose in a logical battle with baby Tenya?”

“Ihihihi am NOT ahahaha baby!!” Iida protested through his hysterical laughter, nothing giving him more strength than correct factually incorrect statements. “I ahahahaham a very hehehealthy chihihihih- – No! Not there! – chihihihild! Mom said so!”

Nemuri hid her snickers behind her hands, receiving a very unamused yowl from Pudding, the cat demanding her to come back to her ear scritches immediately. The woman resumed to her wishes.

Shouta recognized a bait when he heard one, but watching the way tears started to appear in the corner of the younger’s eyes, he decided to bite it.

He adjusted him so the boy would be resting on his hips, his hand resting calmly on his ribs, a much less ticklish spot.

“You have fifty seconds.”

“WHAT!” Iida stared at him in disbelief, turning to look at Kayama in the search of reinforcements, and being gifted with nothing more than a joyful shrug, his brother’s best friend being very glad in just watch the chaos unraveling in front of her and, unnoticed by the other two who were caught up on the silliness, the camera carefully hidden behind Pudding’s fluffy form. “That ihihisn’t even a minute! It’s impossiblehe to mahahake a good defehense under this condici- conditionaries… undeheher that pressure!”

“Conditions.” Aizawa offered, “and heroes work under pressure. You want to be one when you grow up, right?”

“Yes!” Iida’s smile got even bigger than it already was, his eyes also becoming even brighter, shining with the determination of his new challenge.

“Good,” the tired adult smirked, starting to count with his fingers as the seconds went by. “Start to talk then.”

Tenya tried to clear his mind, together with keeping his resolve strong enough to not visibly squirm or titter every time Aizawa made any infinitesimal move. He never thought he would really be able to convince his uncle to let him make a true attempt to escape from this, therefore he didn’t possess any good enough reason to explain besides the ‘it was orange flavored and oranges are delicious!’

A sentence pulled him out of the frenzy of thoughts dashing on his brain at full speed. “You have twelve seconds now.”

“WHAT!” Tenya cried, seriously thinking about just pushing Shouta’s arms away and trying to run to the safety of the guest room.

“You seem to have a problem keeping track of the time.” The small kid nodded at his direction and Aizawa almost felt bad by his next move.

Almost.

“Let me help you, then.”

The underground hero poked an index finger on the lowest rib, vibrating on the sensitive spot for a few pieces of second, tearing a sputtering guffaw as Iida realized the true meaning of his words. “One.” He pressed another rib, and another, and another. “Two. Three. Four…”

“Noho! Wait! Wait!!”

“Five… Six. Seven…”

“Oops. It looks like you’re running out of time, sweetheart.” Nemuri added, unhelpfully. “Well, let’s just hope the mean Shouta won’t attack those awfully ticklish knees of yours when the time is over, right?”

“NOHOT MY KNEHES!”

“Good luck. Ten. Eleven. Twel-”

“YOULIED!”

Aizawa stopped.

“What?” He blinked one, two, three times. As if the meaning of the rushed words would become clearer. “No. I hid it and I was very clear in saying you couldn’t touch it. There is no lie here.”

“There is! A lie of omiz-” Iida closed his eyes, concentrating on the word and controlling the few giggles that still slipped from his mouth. He wanted to be a hero and heroes succeed through the pressure! “omission! Which means hiding! You hid the information so you were lying to me, so I… I… I taught you a lesson!”

They stared at each other for what seemed a lifetime.

Aizawa huffed a chuckle, lowering the boy to the ground, trying to not be blinded by the excitement and proudness exhaling from the younger when he realized that he succeeded in “logicing” his way out of the playful “punishment”, beaming on the ball of his feet at both adults.

“Good. In a fight, using your opponents’ words against them can be an important tool. Also, as a physical opening, don’t forget that I was carrying you, which means that if you hit the back of my knees hard enough I would weaken my grip and that would give you the opportunity to run. I would try to not hurt you when I fell, so that is also a weakness you could exploit.” After a thought, he added. “Try to do that the next time Hizashi tickles you.”

“You are a bastard.” Kayama replied, earning an exasperated gasp from Tenya. “Not you, dear. I am talking about Shouta.” That did nothing to alleviate the boy’s rebellion, his lecture of how ‘This isn’t the proper vocabulary of a hero’ was soon interrupted as the apartment door flew open, Ingenium walking through it. He immediately extended his arms, hugging his brother when the aforementioned jumped on him, part of the exhaustion of a day’s work being eased by the younger attics.

“Tensei! Tensei! I already did all my homework and I brushed my teeth and I played with the cats so they would not be sad or bored and I ate all my greenies and also-”

“-ate all my orange jelly packs.” Aizawa completed.

“And Aizawa-san tickled me because of it! Using very villainous techniques even though he is a very good and skilled hero! But then I won! I showed him logic and, and, and then he let me go!”

“Oof, that sounds like a very exciting day!” Tensei ruffled the boy’s hair, fondness dripping in waves from his acts and words. “But you don’t need to worry anymore about Shouta, the Grumpy Tickle Monster because now I am here!” Tensei posed in a poor representation of All Might's usual pose. “Ready to protect you!”

“Oh.” A dangerous tune marked Shouta’s grin and voice, making the blue haired hero to shiver with all the teenagerhood memories that this brought over. “Don’t get over yourself, assuming you’re out of danger, too.”

A wobbly smile took over Tensei's expression as Shouta cracked his knuckles, preparing himself for a chase. “Don’t think I don’t know exactly who told him where I hid my jelly packs.” The older Iida got his younger brother on his arms, flexing his legs, preparing to not give up so easily.

Aizawa decided he was feeling merciful today.

“You have three seconds.” Iida gasped in protest, an argument on the tip of his tongue. “Run.”

#Playful tickles #!#Aizawa the tickle monster is back/lh #xDD #Nemuri is there to tease and see some chaos #Lee!Iida #Ticklish!Iida #Ler!Aizawa #Bnha tickles #Bnha tickling #Kanene's fic #Kanene's Fanfic #5+1 fic #Kid!Tenya #Nemuri and Tensei make a quick appearence but techinically don't participate of the tickling part #I am with some mean headache and stuff so sdfghyujidfjh no rambling tags today

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darklydeliciousdesires · 3 years ago

Text

Out from Darkness - Chapter Twelve.

Previous Chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven

Word Count - 3,536

Cast of characters post here

Tag list - In the comments

Warnings - Smut!

“So, what was it like, when it first happened?”

A week on from her first sleepover and Ava was back again, this time making the excuse she was staying with another friend from college, using a name she’d thrown around before when staying out late in order to see Chris.

“Well, it began at around 10am, so the vampires were unaware of the exact moment of impact. We knew it would happen, but with it being daylight out, there wasn’t much we could do. We protected ourselves as best we could, for most of us that meant hiding within basements or burying ourselves. Magda bought a bomb shelter and we hid in there so we wouldn’t be killed by sunlight exposure, should any of the meteor’s crash into her house.”

“Oh yeah, you still lived with her back then.”

“Yes. Our relationship was less frosty from my point of view then, or rather, I was younger and didn’t know any better. Anyway, back to the sky raining fire. It was still happening when we awoke at 6pm, but most of the big ones had fallen by that point. Against all scientific study and suggestion, some were still flaming when they hit the ground, as you know, something about the gasses, I’m not sure,

“The impact of them, though, the fact that there were so fucking many, hitting homes, hitting gas mains and electrical grids, that’s what caused the lion’s share of the fires and explosions. Again, you likely already know that. There was fire everywhere, fucking everywhere! We’d zoom around the neighbourhoods watching it all, our food sources dropping like flies. It was weird, to actually fear hunger because suddenly, humans weren’t as plentiful as before.”

Puzzled, Ava momentarily stopped her fingernails circular trail over his pectoral muscle, frowning a little. “Didn’t you care about anything else? Surely such tragedy touched you on a deeper level?”

“You forget, I’m not human,” he began, squeezing her hand. “I’m affectionate with few, caring even less. I’m dead, I just... I don’t really feel that deeply about those I’m not directly connected to. My family, I care for a whole lot. Well, Anaïs and Elroy. I have three other siblings, but they all live abroad. Daniel in Morocco, he’s alright, I don’t know him well, though. Then there’s Camilla in York, and she’s a bitch who I’ve never gotten on well with, and lastly Ben, who lives in Nova Scotia. He’s awesome, I wish I saw him more. He keeps away from here, though. Because of Magda.

“Anyway, I digress. Humans mean little to me, I don’t have that feeling of brotherhood with them. I just don’t care unless their being there – or not, as the case was – affects me directly. I know it sounds harsh, I do, but I guess you’d have to be a vampire to fully understand it. I’ve tried explaining to humans in the past, prior to erasing myself from my memories when they’ve questioned my apathy towards them, but they never get it.”

“I get it.” He looked at her disbelievingly for a moment, raising one eyebrow significantly higher. “No, I do. It’d be like me watching a pile of sandwiches burn while knowing there are only a finite number of non-flaming sandwiches left.” Her analogy made him snort, the precursor to bursting into laughter. “What? It’s true! I get it because I’d have no emotional attachment to the sandwiches, but if they were my only food source and I was watching them become depleted, I’d worry then.”

He composed himself, idly stroking her bare back, glad he had her for the rest of the night. He detested only having her for a few hours. “Okay, alright. You get it, first human ever to actually understand it. Ten points, little witch.”

“Just ten? I would have thought at least fifty.”

“Now that’s just greedy.”

Grinning, she moved to straddle him, stroking his chest while laying a few kisses over the perfectly taut muscles. “Nope, wanting to have sex with you again is greedy. And whaddya know? I do.”

She was still wet from their earlier session, meaning that after a few squeezes from her hand, her fingers stroking the thick veins rising over his cock, she was ready to envelop his rigidity, sliding down on him with a satisfied gasp. She’d never been filled quite as thoroughly, stretched around him, the thick of him making her sting a little as he spread her walls.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” He growled, hands cupping her breasts, mouth agape as she began to slide up and down upon him, Ava wondering if it was her body temperature or her looks to which he referred. Either way, the compliment was taken well. She’d never felt as desired as she did by Chris. He enjoyed to let her know such upon a regular basis.

“You... are... so... fucking... beautiful.” He panted a while later, Ava bent over with her hands pressed against the wall, him behind, pounding her cunt vigorously, the noise echoing off the walls, he had her so wet. Her petal soft wetness clutched on him in gentle flexes as she wailed, her curls tumbling down her back, the gold glow of blonde illuminated beautifully by the firelight. He’d witnessed her shivering a few times while in the nude now the temperature had dipped a little, so provided some warmth while she visited.

Each speedy thrust gained the kind of momentum that no human man could ever possibly attain, his cock so rapid within her that Ava came in seconds, her back sheened in sweat, Chris giving her only a moment’s pause before he continued, but this time slowly.

He trawled her walls in a slow drag, smirking to himself as he felt her thighs trembling, her soft voice wracked with little sobs, her wetness coating him thickly. She was still fluttering around him, closing his eyes and enjoying those hot pulses, all until...

“Bonsoir! Oh, heck, you are busy! I shall wait downstairs.”

“I take it from the accent that was Anaïs?” Ava asked, Chris exiting her with a little pop, turning her around and pressing her back into the wall, lifting her, kissing and licking her tits as he dropped her back down onto his erection.

“Mmmhmm.” He hummed around her nipple, tongue flicking against the pebbled peak.

“Your family definitely seem to have a habit of disturbing us. That’s two of them who’ve seen me naked now.”

“Only Anaïs is my family. And she’s definitely more welcome than our fucking creator.”

“Maybe not while we’re mid-sex, though.”

“Eh, vampires don’t really care about that. Now, be quiet and let me rail you.” She laughed, overcome by his kisses thereafter, nails sinking into his thick shoulders as each roll of his hips had him fully contained within the soft, hot clutch of her pussy, all-in, all-out thrusts causing embers to roar up her spine. Each animalistic growl against her neck coupled with the sensation his fangs scratching her delicate skin had her senses in utter erotic overload.

His cock hit spots in her so deep, she was overcome by the ebullience skittering through her, clinging onto him, Chris retracting his fangs and kissing her hotly, big hand clutching her delicate neck. He stared into the cool blue of her irises, her pupils inky and dark, thinking to himself that he could easily be pulled into the vortex that was her eyes, transported to another place quite happily, as long as she was there.

This little witch, she made him feel things he’d long thought he was no longer capable of experiencing, like a thousand fires were roaring through his insides, the arousal prickly and consuming. It exactly matched how Ava felt with him, not just experiencing the physical pleasure he inflicted upon her, but being able to feel within too, feel his arousal flow through her own veins with her own, mingling, entwining like wild vines. It was beyond hedonistic.

“Absolutely... fucking... gorgeous.” He panted between kisses, tongue rolling against hers, the muscles cording in his back as he trembled in absolute ecstasy, the hot, wet velvet surrounding him making his pleasure surge.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” Ava whispered, her nails combing over his beard, receiving a kiss of wanton lust as he arrowed her forcefully and she came undone with a shriek. Feeling herself pushed further up, her back slid right up the wall until he’d vacated her, his mouth offering the stimulation instead as his hands gripped her waist, holding her there with his limitless strength, Ava resting her feet on his shoulders, his mouth offering beautiful stimulation as her orgasm ebbed away once more.

His tongue took a long, hard swipe through her folds, her moan filling the room when it settled over her clit, beginning to beat back and forth, the hard little bud bobbing against it as she keened into his mouth. He had her in utter rapture, sucking on her, probing her opening, that viscid clench of her burning hole around his tongue more than he could withstand for long, literally dropping her back onto his steely length and ploughing her until she screamed.

It was all hot tingles and heady gasps of charging desire right there against the wall, their passions roaring much like the fire they fucked beside. The concentrated pistoning of his hips had her cresting wildly, a large tidal wave surging through her as his cock speared her deep. He growled and bit her neck at the feel of her nails tearing into his back, Ava finding herself transported to the bed within a blink, her legs held high and wide as she was utterly drilled into the mattress.

“Not that I’m complaining, but shouldn’t we hurry things up, on account of Anaïs?”

“Nah, she won’t mind. She’s gone for a walk anyway; I don’t feel her close by any longer.” They indulged in each other for a further hour before heading downstairs, finding Anaïs returned, sitting on the couch while reading one of Ava’s books.

“Forgive me, but it helped in filtering out the sound of my brother rearranging your guts,” she explained, gesturing to the page. “I am Anaïs, pleased to meet you.”

Shaking the hand offered, Ava felt her slight embarrassment over the fact that she’d indeed briefly witnessed that rearranging of her guts fade, sitting down when Anaïs patted the couch. “I confess, I have no idea what any of this is what I’m reading, but I’ve read every book he owns already.”

“Well, they aren’t really mine. They came with the cabin,” Chris shrugged, sitting down in the armchair. “So, what brings you up here?”

“A social call.”

“Liar.”

“Who, me?” Anaïs did her very best to look innocent, yet failed miserably. “Okay, alright. I wanted to meet the witch who threw Magda into a wall. Her pride is so dented to have encountered one with more power than her. I was hoping you might have been here. Apologies for interrupting you.”

“It’s okay. I would have thrown you into a wall if it hadn’t of been,” Ava joked, giving Anaïs a fang popping chuckle.

“Ahhh, touché, young witch!”

“I’m surprised she actually revealed what happened,” Chris interjected with. Magda likely didn’t tell Anaïs why she’d ended up flung by an angry Ava, though.

“She told me she needed you for a task and that ‘the petulant little witch he was banging on’ as she referred to you as, Ava, threw her against a wall and threatened her not to go anywhere near her of you again.” Well, it was a version of the truth.

“Semi-true,” Chris sniffed, looking at Ava proudly and winking. He was so impressed by her, the way her powers had risen so sharply. It was nice, to actually have someone come to his defence against the creator who continued to defile him. It hurt his pride a little that he wasn’t capable of doing such himself, however, but not enough that he couldn’t appreciate how remarkable a feat it was, what Ava had done to protect them both from the vile bag of bones that was Magda.

“Magda did need bringing down a peg or two, although I will warn you that she is hellbent on some kind of revenge,” Anaïs warned, Chris heeding his sister’s caution. He expected it, but also knew that Ava was perfectly capable of looking after herself. He just didn’t want her to face anything heinous, especially when he wasn’t around. “But anyway! Enough of this talk, explain these things to me that I look upon in this book!”

“Well, what you’re looking at here is about how to correctly charge a talisman for protective purposes. See, you can do so in fresh water, or through fire, or moonlight, which remains my personal favourite. I do it with my necklaces, most of which I have to switch to pewter and gold now so I don’t burn your brother,” she began, thinking back to when she’d wrapped her arms around his neck a few days prior and ended up scalding his skin with a silver bracelet.

Being a little less secretive now, he’d revealed that silver directly to the heart could kill him, anywhere else and it would weaken and burn him. Any kind of wood piercing his skin would kill him instantly, though. Ava had thought it quite bemusing, that such a powerful creature could be taken out via a splinter, if such penetrated deeply enough.

“Do they work on vampires? If so, I would love for you to create one for me to ward off stupid people asking me questions when we reveal ourselves,” Anaïs chuckled.

“Well, I do make jewellery, so I could perhaps make you one that wards off unwanted attention. I suppose stupid people would be categorised as such.”

“You make jewellery? Did you make these?” Gesturing to the two small necklaces she wore, Ava nodded, Anaïs examining the little raw pieces of clear quartz on one, and very highly polished piece of pink tourmaline on the second.

“I did, yeah.”

“And what do the stones mean?” Ava smiled, loving how curious the pretty French vampire was as she looked on at the pendants that rested upon her cool fingertips.

“The pink one, which is tourmaline, assists with my predisposition to anxiety, and the clear quartz because I find it grounding and good for focus. It helps me stay clear headed when I study.”

Anaïs nodded, letting go of the stones and smiling as she kicked off her stiletto heeled boots and folded her legs beneath her, Ava loving the deep grey houndstooth pants and sleeveless rollneck sweater she wore. She also smelled of Chanel perfume, Mademoiselle if she wasn’t mistaken. She was glamorous in a very effortless way.

“So, is it jewellery that you study?

“No, I’m a seamstress. It’s textiles and fashion that I’m studying,” Ava began, Chris suddenly getting up.

“I’m gonna leave you two to get to know each other. I’ll be upstairs.” He squeezed Ava’s shoulder before vanishing, leaving her free to chat further about it to his sister. Well, Ava felt like she was mostly talking about herself, but managed to ask Anaïs a few questions here and there. She learned she’d been a Parisian chef during her human years, growing up right in the inner city of Paris, born in 1957, a quintessential 60’s child, embracing the style of the decade even when some might have thought her too young to enjoy such.

“I was hardly ever about toys. My mother’s wardrobe is where I played, and dressing my dolls! This is where we have something in common, Ava, for I too used to sew! My dollies, they never had stylish clothes, all flower frocks and the like. Well! That would never do, so my mother, she taught me how to sew. My grandmother knitted, so whichever sweater or dress I would receive in time for winter, my two dolls would also have the same so we all matched!”

Anaïs eyes sparkled with nostalgia as she shared the story, Ava nodding as she looked over at the fire briefly, pointing at the log basket and directing another couple into the hearth. “Look at that! It is like something from the Harry Potter films!”

Ava smiled, more in response to the way Anaïs spoke than what she’d actually said. She adored her voice. Her previous sentence, if written in phonetics, would have been ‘Look at zat! Eet ees like someseeng from zee ‘arry Potteur feelms!’ She had a very heavy accent, which Ava found so delightful. “What else can you do that would impress me.”

Getting up, Ava went to a one of the candles shoved in an old bottle, holding her hands over it and whispering an incantation, covering her eyes with her fingers before turning back to Anaïs.

“Oh! Your eyes are purple now! Oh, my goodness, bravo!” Giving her applause, Ava took a little bow, Chris suddenly appearing.

“Sorry, I just had to see purple eyes,” he began, looking down at Ava, her pale purple irises twinkling stunningly at him. “Mmmm.” His noise of approval was followed by a kiss, vanishing again and leaving them to it.

“It is very strange for me, to see him like that over a woman, for him to allow one close to him. Even with his previous vampire lovers, he wanted them out of his house five minutes after he ejaculated.”

“I think he likes having me around, yeah,” Ava agreed, smiling.

“He does, and I can see why. I am very much enjoying getting to know you!”

Ava smiled again, nodding as she sat back down. “As am I you as well. So, tell me more about Paris in the 60’s.”

The picture Anaïs painted was that of chic and fun style coming to life, bursts of colour, flared trousers, A line skirts and hairstyle coiffed with much backcombing and hairspray. She also explained the Paris riots in detail, an event Ava had no clue over prior to learning they had originated from civil unrest, with the communists and socialists banding together to form an electoral alliance in protest against capitalism, amongst other things. Their aim? To oust Charles de Gaulle.

“I might only have been eleven, but I remember it all so clearly! My little heart was so captured by the rebellion, even though my mother kept myself and my sister well away from all of the protests out of fear of us getting hurt, of course.” She continued, explaining a life well lived, travelling countries within the north of Africa in her late teens, her passion for cooking behind the desire to travel.

“They take a whole goat and they put him into an oven in the floor! It is amazing, the way that they cook there, these techniques passed down from generation to generation. It almost makes me sad I do not eat food any longer, but you will love it. I will take you some time,” she spoke when talking of Morocco, Ava warmed by her offer to take her there, as if she were offering to take her to a nearby store, not an entirely different continent.

“I’d love to, that would be amazing.” Her parents likely wouldn’t let her, but she didn’t want to voice that and dampen the fact that she was having such a wonderful time, getting to know the ray of pure sunshine that was Anaïs. They continued to talk for a couple more hours, Ava enjoying every moment of it, suddenly shivering noticeably.

“That was curious. You can’t be cold, surely?” Anaïs noted, the room still very warm although the fire had died down.

“No, I haven’t. It’s your brother. When we’re drank a lot of each other’s blood, we can almost communicate with each other. It goes further than the usual being able to feel one another’s emotions. What I just felt was him beckoning me,” she explained, her blood rippling again. Fuck, he wanted her badly, Ava sending back that she’d be upstairs soon, feeling him placated.

“How very curious! Our creator, she never did tell us much about witches other than their energy feels nice, but I do not doubt that it is that, your magic mixing with his. I shall keep you no longer. It was lovely to meet you though, mon cheri.” With a smile, Anaïs vanished, leaving Ava to head to where she was needed, the energy of Chris pouring from the bedroom as she undressed on her way there, entering the room and placing her clothes down atop the dresser. Strangely, he wasn’t in bed, though.

“Oh god,” she gasped when he suddenly appeared behind her, mouth at her neck.

“Just one of the exclamations I’ll have you screaming before dawn. Maybe beyond, too. You have nowhere to be tomorrow, do you?”

“No, but I need to get home by mid-morning.”

“I’ll be done by then. Just about.”

Ava was glad in that moment as Chris bit into her neck and fed from her that she enjoyed sex as much as she did. Vampires certainly liked to have a lot of it.

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